heaven burner.

𝖌𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖘.

[abenzstern]

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞. ✶⃰⭑ #abenzstern, an independent & private multimuse blog, navigated by kyles ( any pronouns, 25+ ). established in 2016, rebooted 2022. features canon muses from various sources, as well as original muses from fandomless original canon. primarily centring genres including: science fiction, fantasy ( high, dark, urban ), contemporary ( comedy, romance, sports ), and action-adventure. 21+ only, minors dni. low activity.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⦓ ‎‎‎‎‎‎Ⅰ carrd, Ⅱ memes, Ⅲ tracker, Ⅳ plot call ⦔

themes explored : adventure on alien planets, love in all forms, an exercise in building trust, vibrant snapshots into life ( because it is worth living ), positive mental health, overcoming adversity, and learning how to heal after tragedy.

current high muse : isaac lahey, jean moreau, roronoa zoro.

welcome to one of the most inconsistently updated and frequently emotionally damaging roleplay blogs on this hellsite. i am kyles, and i have been chained to my writing blogs for longer than some of tumblr's users have been alive ( yeehaw ). i have a very busy life and ask that you employ patience when interacting with me, both ic and ooc. other than that, normal ground rules apply!

don't be an asshole. don't engage with screwed up media / discourse ( i.e. homoph*bia, r*cism, ableism, etc. ). don't post petty vagues. there'll be no warnings, just an immediate hardblock.

re: formatting. all i ask is that you keep it legible by avoiding multi-spacing between words, bizarre font types, and coloured text ... or i may cry. other than that, i tend to format match.

to get a thread going: send memes, reply to memes, send me an im ... i'm chill. please have some idea of who you'd like to interact with when approaching me.

concerning smut. i don't write it here. happy to imply and ftb. our characters are grown adults… if they're not, get away from me.

lastly, ya pal has a spicy neurotype and wants to write funny little scenarios with funny little people living in their funny little brain. i will match your enthusiasm.

[abenzstern]

hello, darlings.

[abenzstern]

hello, darlings.

[abenzstern]

guys, i've been offered to co-host a panel with a big book company in usa to close out their freaking annual convention... i'm yelling??? iykyk and i am cusping a mental breakdown over this.

[abenzstern]

I'm back in the building again, and by building, I mean doctor who brainrot era 😌

[abenzstern]

so you're telling me we spent all of the first half of this season building empathy for cressida only to suddenly backtrack, turn her into a cartoon villain, and have her shipped off???? what was the point?????????

[general-cyno]

I need you, Zoro. You're my captain, Luffy. And I'm your first mate.

[satellitewar-archived]

from @abenzstern: to garrus, from scott : "uh… everything's under control. situation normal."

the turian lumbers over, rifle in hand, and eyes the glowing console over scott's shoulder to survey the damage. "well. so much for laying low." in the upper left corner of the screen scott scrambles to turn off, there's a glowing red circle — a bright, dangerous alarm flashing on and off. the mercenaries are coming. everything's under control, ryder claims, but the approaching danger and enemies ahead leave garrus no choice but to get into position. in seconds, they'll be overwhelmed. time to make sure that doesn't happen. "they'll come in through the south doors," garrus asserts, lightly bumping into scott from behind to get his attention before he heads for a flanking position by the doors. "elevator's on its way up. you'd better move." he ducks down to a crouch, tucked out of view, and gives ryder a quick gesture with his head. they'd be sitting ducks in the center of the room, easily picked off by an arriving elevator of mercenaries, but stationed on either side of the doors... they might have a chance to take them down. "time to see how you are in a fight," he teases the human, chuffing. "i've been waiting for this."

[abenzstern]

" so much for laying low? we're totally laying low! we are laying the lowest of lows. i haven't even tripped the ala— " mid-sentence, as if the ghost of christmas past was summoned by that charles dickens guy himself (side note: not a very cool guy, he's read allllll about him in his holopad), the alarm flares to life. it's pretty loud, actually. if scott wasn't a cool guy himself, he might've even covered his ears with his hands. as it is... cool guy is very much attempting to shut off the evil alarm with very cool hacking skills. " —fuck. okay. i definitely jinxed that. sam?! "

〈 𝑅𝑌𝐷𝐸𝑅, 𝐼 𝐷𝑂 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐻𝐴𝑉𝐸 𝐴𝑁𝑌 𝑊𝑂𝑂𝐷. 〉

sam responds dutifully, the electronic monotone competing with the blaring background.

" wood? what the hell does wood have to do with anything?! "

〈 𝐼𝑇 𝐻𝐴𝑆 𝑅𝐸𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐻𝑈𝑀𝐴𝑁 𝐵𝐸𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝐻𝐴𝑉𝐸 𝐴 𝐶𝑈𝐿𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐴𝐿 𝑅𝐼𝑇𝑈𝐴𝐿 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐹𝑂𝑅𝑀𝐸𝐷 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝐺𝑂𝑂𝐷 𝐿𝑈𝐶𝐾. 𝐼𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝑂𝑀𝑃𝐿𝐼𝑆𝐻𝐸𝐷 𝐵𝑌 '𝐾𝑁𝑂𝐶𝐾𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑂𝑁 𝑊𝑂𝑂𝐷' 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸𝑆. 〉

" um, what? "

〈 𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑅𝑈𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐶𝑂𝑅𝑅𝐸𝐶𝑇. 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑂𝑈𝑇 𝑂𝐹 𝐿𝑈𝐶𝐾. 〉

truthfully, it's quite an accomplishment for an emotionless and bodyless voice to sound so sassy.

" okay, first of all— rude! " scott's hand slams down on the keyboard as he abandons his task, following garrus' instruction to place himself on the opposite side of the elevator doors. " second, wow buddy, you've really been working on your humour. i'd be proud if i wasn't so offended. you hear that, garrus? my kid's growing up. "

〈 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐾 𝑌𝑂𝑈, 𝑆𝐶𝑂𝑇𝑇. 〉

blaster in hand, scott shoots garrus a wink as he twirls it around his finger like a moron. thankfully, he's channelling cool guy well enough that it doesn't accidentally misfire. the elevator doors chime.

" try not to be too impressed by my mad skills. you could come off looking clingy, and honestly, that'd be embarrassing for both of us. "

[rejectory]

@abenzstern *

whenever it looks to him zoro is on his way to hurting, just a second more of thinking, POP!!, luffy bursts the bubble.

“ehhhh, i don't know.”

('inconvenient'? so cool. luffy shouldn't be fazed. it's the greatest-swordsman-to-be-duh he's awing at.)

“but i'm not gonna let you bleed out. don't worry.”

what kind of captain would he be if he did?

cool as a cucumber (or as sanji), luffy shoos zoro like a spooked land animal to sit his butt down on the wine rack, bubble gum-lengthening his arms hypnotically. keep calm. zzziiippp times two, one for each grabbing: a glittery point from the east, seaweed from the west.

that's not a mistake. he needs to chompchomp on something to distract the stress. what if this scars? west again!-- now he's got a needle and thread and zoro's sake.

luffy goes to his knobby knees. chewing very close, he pokes at zoro's cheek.

[abenzstern]

surprisingly, not bleeding out does make his laundry list of priorities these days, so the witty retort hovering on the tip of his tongue dies as quickly as luffy's hesitance.

times really have changed.

into something dire? hard to know. until now, zoro's always been rather single-minded in his pursuits. to add two items to his list is, in its own way, a foray into death by a thousand cuts.

or rebirth.

he's too much of an alcoholic to consider this, though. especially when his list is so unfathomable that it might even drive nami, in a rare stroke of madness, to team up with sanji.

this entirely inconceivable alliance brokered in hell itself can never come to pass.

no. this list will go with him to his grave.

luffy's poke to his cheek draws zoro from his internal existential dread, a mood almost as dark in colour as his unfocused eyes.

they flicker now, settling on the uncharacteristic seriousness of his captain.

the alcohol is a welcomed guest to this abstract moment. zoro grips the bottle's neck and swigs it like it isn't sake. it's a choice worth regretting tomorrow.

heat settles beneath his skin and he wonders at how fast-acting liquor can be.

not this fast.

his next splash of sake cleans the wound. zoro doesn't flinch.

" reef knots, " he says encouragingly in his toneless voice. the prolonged eye contact would be uncomfortable, were it shared with anyone else. so too would the loud chewing. " half sail, strong winds. you know it. "

yes, it was going to scar.

[abenzstern]

rejoice, dear readers! for it is i, your favoured lady whistledown, and as your self-appointed herald of good news, just like the wise men past, i too have arrived with bountiful gifts counting three. first, it is with great pleasure that i offer the glittering gift of gold to all young ladies bright and fair— and those of us no longer— for it seems the trying times befalling the marquess of bath have culminated in the rather fortuitous appearance of a long-lost heir. yes, meddling mothers of hopeful maidens, you have heard my whistled tune correctly: this author is pleased to announce the arrival of an unwed earl this season, one whose wealth is almost as notable as his mysterious origins, isaac lahey, the earl of bath. should an aspiring young lady seek to snatch up his heart, she might one day find herself a very titled lady indeed. as for those of you curious of my own station, i retain my titled rank as your beloved lady whistledown, marchioness of gossip. in doing as my title compels me, i humbly come before you as a wise woman, offering the gift of frankincense with a passionate heart. to those of us more learned folk, a simple sentiment is universally known: there is no known gift more pure than the sight of a well-to-do lady holding naught but a flimsy parasol in the eye of an etiquettical storm. of course, not all storms are weathered quite as gracefully as those miss martin seems to find herself within at increasing frequency. it is said that even the great philosopher atticus himself aspires to be "an old man with an old wife, laughing at old jokes from a wild youth", though i do not think dear atticus intended his wife to be of wild youth in his own old manhood. yet it appears this young lady's forebears insist it to be so—and with ill-matched viscounts some thirty years her senior, no less. to consider miss martin may well be a sparkling red ruby deserving the setting of an ostentatious crown, seeing her shelved within a dusty old box is a crime this author finds reprehensible. perhaps the queen might consider doling the hand of her own divine intervention, or perhaps our great leader will let yet another vibrant gemstone tarnish in the rain. as for myrrh, i offer my condolences for the death of miss branson's prospects after being seen promenading in an unseemly green gown on a wednesday. i myself am scandalised by this social misstep, for the stone-faced silence of her friends led to a rather tall fall from grace. perhaps they saw opportunity in the elimination of a fellow rival. to have friends likened to enemies, wonders never cease. it seems this new season has found its spark among the dreary weathers past. let us pray it does not catch too early, for this author has always been devoted to the art of a good old-fashioned slow burn. yours truly, lady whistledown.

not three months past was he living in a room half the size of a cloakroom... only to have graduated to the golden subject of the local noblepersons gossip column? never one for dissonance as he faced the truth of the lady's words, isaac was forced to acknowledge a desinence to his old life among the majority. sharks will circle, his grandfather had said only hours prior when discussing his debut, and this lettering was second testament to the bloodletting they would commit the moment he stepped foot into the dance hall tonight. isaac gratefully took the warning and pocketed it in his posture, as static as it could be in a jostling carriage so close to its destination.

he was struck with admiration for an unknown woman who criticised the queen as casually as one criticised a vase of flowers. the petty reporting of miss branson's misstep was a stark contrast in tone to that of miss martin. just who was @martyroshka, and why did lady whistledown herself so valiantly protect her?

he would likely find out tonight. that is, presuming he survived the entire ordeal.

the carriage drew to a stop, the coachman whistling before the door was pulled open. isaac drew back his hand quickly, having reached for the handle out of natural habit.

well.

here went nothing.

[abenzstern]

howdy dudie. i'm online. hope everyone's having a good friday evening/saturday morning/arvo depending on timezone.

[scarletsourcesarchived-deactiva]

This is an oc x canon safe zone.

[abenzstern]

" you're bleeding, by the way. " luffy to zoro

╰☆ FNAF PROMPTS | accepting. ft. @rejectory

a smattering of corpses litter the liminal space, feeding the earth in that cyclic way his master used to emphasise during the lectures zoro spent only half-tuned into. the quiet post clash, though— that's something he sinks into in the same way luffy sinks his teeth into anything edible (and sometimes, inedible too).

zoro wipes his blade clean on the slip of his darkened sash. luffy stands three paces to his left, all jazzed up like the dancer he probably was in a past life.

adrenaline junkies, nami would mutter. but nami isn't here, and zoro's all spent up on adrenaline rushes ... enough to last this lifetime and the next.

in the catastrophic aftermath, luffy regains his voice first, because of course he does, and—

huh. so that's what that is.

the slick of a wound like an oil spill down his cheekbone.

familiar in the same way unfamiliar things are—

zoro frowns at the sight of his ink-tipped fingers, a vibrant shade of crimson like the rose beds from another life. he wonders if this nick will scar too.

" hm. "

deadpanned. he wipes his cheek on the back of his hand. it smears, but doesn't stem the flow.

" inconvenient. any good at stitches? "

[rpstartersinc]

* 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐘'𝐒 ( 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. )

feel free to change pronouns / wording!

" you're being a jerk. "

" you know i have somewhere i have to be. "

" guess it depends on what you believe. "

" you want your usual, right? "

" you beat up a man in broad daylight. "

" it's like you're not even trying here. "

" i am just trying to figure out who you are. "

" you want the job or not? "

" thanks for babysitting. "

" i wish someone would buy me a ring. "

" that good-looking guy i recognise, who are all these other punks? "

" you should know what happens to little kids who don't eat their dinners. their bodies stay the same size forever and they never get to ride the adult rides at the amusement park. "

" how about some burger with that ketchup? "

" everything's better swimming in ketchup. "

" don't tell me to calm down. "

" you know that this is the right thing to do. "

" i'm hardly fit to be raising a kid. "

" just keep your eyes on the monitor and keep people out. "

" we're going to have so much fun together. "

" you do realise that lunch is the most important meal of the day? "

" it's just a theory. "

" sleeping is not a crime. "

" why don't we just kill him? "

" i'm coming with you. "

" about time, starting to think maybe you fell asleep on the job. "

" you're bleeding, by the way. "

" i like to stay well-informed. "

" i really loved this place as a kid. "

" you've been acting suspicious since the moment you opened the door. "

" it's been a weird night. "

" this place... it gets to people. "

" you security hires, you never last. "

" wanna dance? "

" don't let this place get to you. "

" warmer... "

" i made a mess, i'm sorry. "

" it's not funny! "

" it's nice that we can finally agree about something. "

" you just have to know how to look. "

" from where i sit, i'd say you're lucky. "

" no more sleeping on the job. "

" you're not here to have fun. "

" i'll give you anything you want. "

" i thought i was gonna die. "

" you can come out now! "

" i won't get angry at you. "

" ghost children possessing giant robots? thanks for the heads-up. "

" they're spring locks. "

" they tend to be pretty unstable. "

" i don't think they like me very much. "

" i don't really see how that's any of your business. "

" finding the guy that did this is the only thing that matters to me. "

" you just had an accident, you're okay. "

" i saw your eyes, you were terrified. "

" you were never the right person to take care of her. "

" you can't stay in there forever, you know? "

" i managed to stop the bleeding, but you're probably gonna need stitches. "

" they tried to kill me. "

" it's not just their ghosts that are inside of those machines. "

" it's their bodies. "

" i tried to warn you. "

" he really messed you up, didn't he? "

" you couldn't just leave it alone, could you? "

" i have something for you to play with. "

" a little old for temper tantrums, aren't we? "

" you had one job, one. "

" that's two jobs. "

" i won't let you hurt her, too. "

" they know what you did. "

" look at the nasty things that you have become! "

" look how small you are, how worthless you are! "

" you are wretched, rotten little beasts. "

" i made you! "

" i always come back. "

" i'm having a hard time just processing everything that happened. "

" you never know what can happen. "

" do you think if you drink enough milk, you just turn into a cow? "

[polarean]

PERFECT TIMING FOR A BREAK. WILL IS A GIFT, really, to this unbearable experience ---- having company elevates it from absolutely and totally fucking unbearable to the slightly - less - awful absolutely fucking unbearable. jameson doesn't even bother to glance over his shoulder to the ( now indistinguishable ) path he'd picked from his sorting to deliver the tape. he doesn't have the energy to hoist himself back over a dozen obstacles to return to the riveting box of doctor's appointment bills that he'd almost fallen asleep trying to sort. not one of them relevant, by the way. back in his home town, he would've been out in the back already burning the box as the heap of utter garbage that it was.

but he's here, in his uncomfortable suit, brushing the dust off one box with his hand to take a seat. given as it's filled to the brim with what will almost certainly be more useless evidence, it holds pretty firm under him. " if this ---- " a nod around the room, his arms crossed over his chest, " is our shared hallucination, then we definitely are having an awful, terrible, no good, very bad trip. seriously, if this is what my mind comes up with on drugs, i'm never gonna do drugs again. " if only it was that easy : never do another hit ( not that he did many in the first place ) and this place would magically disappear. he, jameson hellbolt, who spends his whole free time drinking his liver to death, actually has better things to do. incredible.

" this is awful. i'd rather be eaten by giant spiders. i'd rather have to retake my tort law exam. " he flicks his hair out of his eyes. they're going to be here for the next several years, at this rate. or worse, the firm is gonna bring in some other interns, who will fuck up what he and will had managed so far, and then they'd have to start over again. brooding doesn't look great on jameson, but nonetheless, it's all he can manage right now. " this is malicious compliance. and those assholes, i hate to say, did a great fucking job at it. i'm not built to be this bored, will. i'm not gonna survive this. "

@heruglyphs

[abenzstern]

google: how to survive being trapped in a room full of evil (and possibly sentient?) paperwork sent to law firm to sort. top listing, reddit: "AITA for sending fifty-two boxes of receipts to the law firm that asked for my..." huh. weirdly relevant. posted only three days ago...?

" are you shitting my dick?! " the outburst is punctuated with a rather violent slapping of hand-to-forehead in tragic outrage as his thumb slides down, down, down to read the offending post. fuck. this motherfucker is posting about their debacle. horror-filled eyes lift from his phone to meet jameson's, icicle blue a stark contrast to their ordinarily ocean warmth. " this asshole. get a load of it. fuck. "

he hands jameson his phone like its full of hot rocks and begins pacing like an anxious 1900s-era wife awaiting her husband's return from the local "pub" (see: brothel). will's skin crawls as he eyes the precariously stacked piles of his own torment.

" — it's just like sysiphus. i'm gonna invoke the wrath of the gods for this tyrannical powerplay. do you think they'll accept taco bell as a substitute for a blood sacrifice? " he blinks into his own stupor, quickly shifting into a full-fledged fantasy plot involving dubiously candlelit rooms and creepy chanting. " ...unless this is the fifth circle of hell. jameson, this can't be, right? "

his voice wavers. three boxes to his left shudder, as if in answer to his fear-driven question. will bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth as he lingers on the precipice of madness. wait. channel cam. what would cam do?

a wave of otherworldly resolve sets his shoulders, now poised for a venture into his own variation of the hundred-years war. suddenly, will claps his hands together, the grim set of his mouth only slightly downturned.

" gamification! "

word of the day: the application of typical elements of game playing (e.g. point scoring, competition with others, rules of play) to other areas of activity, typically as an online marketing technique to encourage engagement with a product or service.

" rules of engagement: fifty points for every cleared box. five if something relevant is found, another five if it's catalogued. where'd we put that whiteboard, fuck... you got anything to add? "

[sanctos]

@abenzstern from here !

indeed , vengeance is a motivator he's well acquainted with ,   as is this notion of generational hatred.    demetrius offers a curt nod ,    lets his gaze linger to the blood on her arm ——— not particularly worried about it ,    but rather checking ,    ensuring its not going to be more of a problem than a mild inconvenience.    but there's something about it.    something familiar about her ——— he catches it on a slight breeze ,    the scent of dragon's blood in the air.    ah.    no wonder he cares enough to stop and speak with her.

❛❛ you fight well , ❜❜       he says ,    looking away now and into the distance ,    to where the figure had disappeared ,       ❛❛ though i am curious how combat in any form prevents hatred.    the living can still be well filled with want for vengeance. ❜❜       he speaks from a place of knowing ,     almost too much knowing ——— firm and familiar as though he knows nothing else ,    the word vengeance quite at home on his tongue.     his own thirst for it was only sowed due to the living.    his very life would not be if not for one life spared ,    able to brew centuries of hatred. 

when he's sure the figure won't be coming back ,    his shoulders ease ,    as much as demetrius' usual rigid posture allows for ease.    his own sword returns to its sheath ,    and he turns to the other again ,    now offering his full attention.      ❛❛ was your intention to send a message ,    through their life ?    perhaps a threat ? ❜❜

[abenzstern]

the chasm between their beliefs widens further, this strange entity wielding misjudgement as sharp as the blade by her side. he speaks from a place of knowing in a way that brokers no room for arguments, a place that leaves mira feeling as if she's four years old again and childish in demeanour. who is he? why do his eyes feel familiar, the way they trek her form for further injury?

[ "i don't want to fight with wooden swords anymore!" a seven-year-old mira shouts at her master. there are welts on her arms, as red and angry as the smoke billowing from her nose. he stands stoic in the face of her emotional tirade. the amber of his eyes. the amber of his eyes. ]

mira shakes out of the memory at the sight of eyes so similar making jarring contact with her own. she wilts like a flower cut too short at the stem. it's bothersome, this discomfit among those her instincts deem wiser.

" a message, yes. though not one of a threatening nature. " wise or not, her deference would remain hidden behind false bravado. from what she could recall, this fatal flaw was something she still held in spades despite many well-equipped attempts to dissuade it. " do you seek death, sir? or perhaps you are like me— inclined to offer mercy to stack the cards in your own favour, should you find yourself at the pointy end of another's blade? "

a smile dances in her eyes, though there is no curl to her lips. on the horizon, the sunlight is eaten by silky white clouds. they remind her of smoke. she isn't sure why that matters.

looking back towards the stranger, mira bows her head downward in a show of respect.

" i am mira. i thank you for the compliment. " at this, she does smile—a small crest hinting amusement in the upticked corner of her mouth. " are you here to live too? "

[abenzstern]

YIPPEE I PASSED MY 69 PAGE ASSIGNMENT