Today's Document
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Love Begins
KIROKAZE
dirt enthusiast
RMH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Product Placement
Not today Justin
titsay
⁂
Kaledo Art
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
No title available
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
@soothfog
WITHOUT BRINGING ANY MORE PEOPLE INTO THE LOOP, 𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙳𝙰𝚈.
#SOOTHFOG. independent original character named lee melanthom. a prophet, a prognosticator, an unwitting soothsayer. (s)low activity. written by jordy (they/it/he), ‘95, other accounts here. side characters within lee’s narrative can be found on @alulars.
follows back from here on behalf of: @alulars
PROMPTS /// ABOUT + RULES ⤵
hello followers old and new. send prompts!
just wanted to say hi and that your promo for this blog is one of the most interesting and intriguing teasers for a character ever. I’ve been around the rpc for eight years and I’ve never thought ‘sold. I’m in.’ Immediately upon reading a promo. I hope you are genuinely proud of the character you’ve created!!!
hello! this is incredibly kind of you to think. even kinder of you to voice. thank you!
#SOOTHFOG. independent original character named lee melanthom. a prophet, a prognosticator, an unwitting soothsayer. written by jordy.
A tall man was learning from a vendor how to pronounce churro. High in the sticky clouds of time, he kept repeating churro while eating a churro. How to say this made you want to live? No hand to hold still here it was: someone giving someone comfort and someone memorizing hard how to ask for it again.
❥ NON - SEXUAL ACTS OF DOMINANCE .
feel free to edit or elaborate as you please . ( add ‘ reverse ‘ to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) . otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to …
[ lit ] your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine .
[ order ] your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .
[ guide ] your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .
[ pay ] your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )
[ open ] your muse opening a door for mine .
[ dry ] your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc .
[ instruct ] your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do .
[ groom ] your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc .
[ direct ] your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .
[ disagree ] your muse sternly telling mine ‘ no ‘ .
[ rest ] your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .
[ clean ] your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc . feel free to specify what and how .
[ answer ] your muse answering a question meant for mine .
[ coat ] your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .
[ pilot ] your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them .
[ stare ] your muse staring mine down .
[ placement ] your muse telling mine to sit down .
[ teach ] your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .
[ patience ] your muse telling mine to be patient .
[ tears ] your muse wiping away mine’s tears .
[ swat ] your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .
[ jewelry ] your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings .
[ enough ] your muse commanding mine to stop talking .
[ retrieve ] your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .
[ invite ] your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .
[ lean ] your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together .
[ calm ] your muse telling mine to ‘ just breathe ‘ .
[ scold ] your muse scolding mine for something .
[ comfort ] your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .
[ approval ] your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .
[ beckon ] your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking .
[ laces ] your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .
[ stay ] your muse telling mine to stay in the car .
[ defend ] your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them .
[ feed ] your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .
[ volume ] your muse demanding mine speak louder .
[ read ] your muse reading something to mine .
[ refill ] your muse refilling mine’s glass for them .
[ possessive ] your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other .
Gideon Glick as Tobias Bell and Jonathan Groff as Kevin ÉTOILE — The Slip (1.07)
chris messina as jason in she dies tomorrow
this is becoming tedious, watching the prophet sink down into his memories and wallow like a pig in shit. crowley rolls his eyes, huffing out an entirely performative puff of air. ❛ a credit card and a brick of coke? throw in a mirror and you’re off to the races. ❜ abruptly, he brightens. lit from within like an empty house. ❛ let’s take a stroll. ❜
he touches lee’s upper arm. his palm is hot even through the layers of lee’s clothes. there's a light pressure to it, as though he were preparing to shake lee awake. then it falls away.
they’re in a field of coarse, withered grass, grooves of mud cut across it. the air is cold and saturated, though there's no snow, not even on the peaks of the distant mountains that border the field. above them, the sun has slid lower in the sky, pulling long shadows from underneath their feet.
crowley claps his hands together, grinning. a mean show of teeth. ❛ there. that’s better. now we can have a proper chat. ❜
Logic would suggest prophets—by merit of their felled futures—are immune to punchlines. But jokes subvert logic; they are little farcical departures from known reality. Crowley's: lewd and eluding. Dirty. Lee scratches the uptick of his mouth with his thumb as one would a glob of crusted mustard.
Crowley grasps Lee's arm. Sultry. Lee shivers—abscission-y. Touch itself, from another, is a tropical topical of the present; pleasurable and potent and humiliating (as salacious as soliciting someone to sunscreen between your shoulder blades). Lee never asks; starvestruck, he basks. Lee exists here—now—profoundly. Wherever 'here' is.
That is new.
Knowing, definitively, 'when' he is but not 'where'.
Wide, grassy plains repeat and repeat exactly how (and why) noise, here, does not. The clap never returns. Echoless. As if the land ascribes to the same monkly vow of now.
"You have—" it is objectively pleasanter in this field (just so) and that disrupts Lee's oversized and in effect ill-fitting grouchiness he wears because he thinks he should; still, his eyes flick to Crowley's, their hazel hue shimmering like wish-tossed pennies oxidized-green. But Lee cannot outperform the elements: even marooned to snowless lands, his cold, grave stare is not so cold nor dark: his eyebags (sunken maroon dunes) are far darker. He huffs and abandons the charade. In this present state, remembering the time he was counting down to until Kaye's birth lags, foggily delayed (like the weather-late bus); his brow riffle-shuffle-bends. Then. Politer, eyebrows raised rather than his voice: "You have until seven forty-nine."
Wind hoarsely croons. The air feels lozenge-cool on his neck and face. Acclimating to the gentler climate, the pointy-jut of Lee's graying chin peeks out from his collar like a blind field mouse. "Where are we?"
LEE MELANTHOM & CROWLEY. /// @soothfog + @inl4ndempire
lee’s even seen this baby in particular. he can smell it. anticipation without desperation. desire denuded, scraped of all its edges until it is smooth and featureless as stone. bloody unappetizing.
it is indeed maundy thursday, so there is no better time to post this sonnet by gay wwi-poet wilfred owen. i love, love the contrast between the cold, dead crucifix and the warm live hand that is kissed directly (more analysis here)
there is only one of everything, margaret atwood
Chris Messina as Will Harper in The Boogyman 03/?
Barbara Cooney on receiving the Caldecott Medal in 1959:
"I believe that children in this country need a more robust literary diet than they are getting.... It does not hurt them to read about good and evil, love and hate, life and death. Nor do I think they should read only about things that they understand.... a man’s reach should exceed his grasp. So should a child’s. For myself, I will never talk down to—or draw down to—children."
@soothfog continued from here
he raises his eyebrows. ❛ oh yes, ❜ slow, grave with sarcasm. ❛ you're really going nowhere fast. must be important. ❜
the narrow patch of dry concrete beneath the awning is empty but for them. when lee glances away, crowley sidles a few steps closer, into arms reach. oppressive, almost, in his proximity, reducing lee’s range of vision.
he withdraws one of his hands from his coat to gesture dismissively at the air. ❛ come on, what’s the rush? you’ve seen one baby, you’ve seen them all. ❜ lee’s even seen this baby in particular. he can smell it. anticipation without desperation. desire denuded, scraped of all its edges until it is smooth and featureless as stone.
bloody unappetizing. he considers this. ❛ worried if you’re not there, it won’t happen? tree, forest, et cetera. ❜
Soft and fond: “It will happen.” The words, kettle-white, spout and hotly sprout from his mouth up into the nipping air. Lee stares. His gaze flattens in on itself like a paper möbius strip bug-squished—and he remembers: Kaye painting Lee's bitten fingernails green-sun-spurge while they sit on the grass verge past the highway's right exit merge, his car's gas tank stalled empty waiting for his sister to emerge, foreheads sweat-sheened as if recently, ineffectively asperged and upon arrival, his sister purges the urge to verbally scourge and Kaye (with poor vocals and in poorer taste) cast as a white Aretha Franklin in her first grade play singing Amazing Grace and Kaye days-old, he holds, her blonding head so shiny-bald it looks bronze-rubbed-superstitiously-gold. Two hours, Lee grounds himself, two hours and twenty-two minutes. His small, warm smile naturally spreads then dulls as all entropy demands.
Candid: “I enjoy your sense of humor, Crowley.” And he means it. Without ulterior purpose. He isn't appraising for purity. This is pure praise.
Then, recalling what will come, Lee's eyes crinkle along his temples like amateurly draped crepe streamers at Kaye's fifth birthday party: “I'm more worried I don't have a gift." His stare is targeted. He uncrosses his arms to friction heat into his cheeks; his wool-mittened palms chafe more than spark (ornate songbirds knit on the backs comically look as if they are scavenging his beard for nesting materials). Giving up, his hands re-home, once more, into his armpits and he stoops his chin below the flimsy wall of his coat collar. “Do you know what every child wishes for?”
While Everything Else Was Falling Apart by Ada Limón
really into voraciously consuming short stories / flash fiction / novellas as of late (obviously always poetry but im trying to expand my diet). rec me your favs.
