morning star no more

divine punishment, or retribution? ✦ indie human lucifer from spn ✦ penned by venus

[venusianstars]

❝𝕸𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝕴 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖍𝖔𝖙. 𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖕𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖊. ❞

independent, selective, canon-divergent (turned human) LUCIFER of SUPERNATURAL, penned by ROSE.  mun is 25, this blog is 18+ with mature content! ANTI AI

NAVIGATION     -     google doc. about. verses. rules. starter call. open starter.

how you have fallen from heaven, MORNING STAR, son of the dawn! you have been cast down to the earth! but you are brought down to the realm of HUMANITY, to the depths of the pit. those who see you stare at you, they ponder your fate: "is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble, the man who made the world a wilderness, who overthrew its cities and would not let his captives go home?"

DISCLAIMER: yes, this blog uses mark pellegrino as the faceclaim for lucifer. i am vaguely aware of why he’s been rejected by the community, but truthfully, i have yet to find a better fc for the character. if this is a DNI for you, then just move on, the block button is free. additionally, this blog is based on the characterization of season 5’s lucifer, with minimal influence from later seasons. hence, the implied SA of sam winchester is not canon to this blog. if it still matters to your character in any way, the Cage is a torture device in itself, manifesting as your worst fears. it was designed for lucifer, and if sam ends up there, then it also uses any means to traumatize him. this is not to say lucifer is a perfect angel in my characterization, but i developed the concept of this au long before lucifer made a return in the show.

[rpmemes-galore]

enemies to…. friends? allies??  … sentence starters

“Don’t touch me. You still make me sick.”

“Fine. Come with. Just stay out of my way.”

“I didn’t even need your help. You can go, now.”

“I didn’t want to admit it, but you were good in a fight.”

“Yeah, you’re funny. You’re also still a pain in my ass.”

“I think they lied to us. We aren’t that different, after all.”

“I hated you. I think I still hate you. But, I need your help.”

“If I have to rely on you for this, will I be able to trust you?”

“This doesn’t mean I like you. I still think you’re insufferable.”

“Is this what your friends always have to deal with? I pity them.”

“No, no, don’t you die, now, I just started being able to tolerate you!”

“You have a point. And that might be the scariest thing I’ve ever said.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. You still disgust me. But you can be useful.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna finally win me over, then go get hurt like that?”

“Maybe… okay, hear me out, maybe we do have something in common.”

“You think this puts us on good terms? You’re still the enemy. You were just convenient.”

“You’re a lot different than I thought you would be. Still not sure if that’s good or bad, yet.”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to change my mind, but now I’m thinking things I never would’ve.”

“Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me. Let’s get this mission over with, then never acknowledge my existence, again, got it?”

[venusianstars]

@strxgxi <3 our new devil's minion

lucifer recognized the names in the book before he realized the true gravity of the publication. the demons spoke of the vampires, as if their drama was their own reality show for the past couple centuries - after all, that's when it started getting good. he never bothered himself with the details, until the interview with the vampire dropped, and became inescapable. he'd never bothered with a human book before, finding the entire medium trite and inarticulate. but intuition led him to purchase the thing, and then devour it whole. the author, one daniel molloy, knew far too much, and though it didn't make much sense, he knew he had to meet him. he never meddled with vampire affairs, but becoming a human has forced him to seek avenues he'd never cared to look down before.

lucifer could not understand email, nor could he seem to track the human. louis, lestat, armand - all named in the book - were more untouchable to him, in his limited form, so it seemed natural to try and seek out daniel molloy. the opportunity didn't come for a long while, and he was forced to search other leads and become accustomed to human life. at least the food was good. his chance finally came when lestat himself went on tour, and he heard of daniel molloy following him around with a documentary crew. all that was left was to wait for them to hit his town. electronic devices never came naturally to him, but he followed the tour's progress on his cheap touch screen phone and found a town to semi-settle in, waiting for them to stop there.

maybe his stalking of daniel molloy became obsessive. but this was a man that danced with vampires and lived to tell the tale - to commercial success, even. the ticket he bought to lestat's show afforded him his first glimpse of daniel molloy in person, and he realized he'd made a fatal mistake. the man was less man, and much more infant vampire, and his wariness grew. but he couldn't lose his chance. he left the show early, setting up shop at a bowling alley nearby, counting the minutes until daniel molloy appeared, not-so-alive but certainly in the flesh. the place was practically empty as he watched him with as empty of a mind as he could, only chancing an approach when the man had scored three strikes in a row.

he strolled over to the end of the lane, where shoes became required - shoes he'd reluctantly rented, feeling revolted by the concept, but by any means necessary. he murdered an entire town to summon death, surely he can force himself to wear bowling shoes. "daniel molloy?" he calls, crossing his arms in a casual way, a default pose. he calls upon the calming drawl of his archangel days, watching the 'old' man slowly. "i'd like a conversation with you."

[strxgxi]

“ Yes! See that, dad? Fuck you. “ Unlike the other, Daniel had used his gifts on the owner, the Jedi mind trick as he playfully nicknamed it so he didn’t have to bare the bowling shoes. No, Daniel was perfectly fine. Shouting at your deadbeat maker into oblivion was totally normal. He pointed down the lane. “ Fuck you. “ Bowling had just become an outlet. There was always a lane whatever shitbag city they went. Here he could think, he could calculate, let some tension out and relax. But what he hadn’t done yet tonight was feed.

He’d smelled the human before he ever made his approach. He was still less than two years of vampire age, but his senses strong. He hadn’t looked at him all though as he walked back to where the balls returned, picking up another ball. It was only when he spoke that he actually acknowledged him — by turning his back to him and facing the lane.

“ Call my agent, pal. “ Daniel lined up his shot, and with good form let the ball loose again down the lane. Strike number four. “ Ha! “ He snapped his fingers as he spun around with a large smile — until he saw the man was still standing there. So he sighed a bit and walked back to where he was again.

“ Listen, if you’re Talamasca, just out with it. “ But then he arched a brow with curiosity. “ Unless you’re a fan? If you are you probably think I’m a real asshole now. “ He chuckled softly, extending his hand, sharp nails having been painted a soft glittery pink by the vampire Lestat himself. “ Yeah, I’m Daniel Molloy. And you are? “ He briefly let his eyes glance at what was now the thump thump thump of the vein in his neck, but quickly brought them back to this stranger’s with a smile.

[venusianstars]

talamasca. the name of the order makes his mouth curl in distaste. the archival group of eternal cuckolds, observing endlessly and rarely interfering. a dull group, though annoyingly persistant. more than a few artifacts he needed could likely be found within the walls of one of their archives. tedious work. he'd be curious to see the level of documentation they have on himself, but not enough to actually go looking for trouble.

the glasses don't fool him, and the nails - though painted - are a dead giveaway to what he'd suspected. vampire. that places lucifer in a much more vulnerable position standing opposite him - in fact, the exact one he'd been hoping to avoid in seeking daniel molloy out over any others in association with the book. but he must persist. he's gotten this far, hasn't he?

a vaguely bemused expression slips onto his features and he regards his hand, before grasping it in a firm handshake. he's not in a position to refuse, after all. lucifer's fingers are almost as cold as daniel molloy's - a bad sign. his disregard for the vampiric species - and most monsters - did not mean he was ignorant to their physiologies. a warm vampire is a fed vampire, if he recalls correctly. "luke deville," he says with a faint quirk of lips, a funny little name he'd picked because no one would ever consider the devil walks among them. "i would have gone through your agent, but i assume i would have been dismissed as merely a fan. i've read your work, daniel molloy. i find it interesting that you managed to escape dubai with your life intact, but perhaps that's only half true. though if you're familiar with the talamasca, i'd suspect they have something to do with it."

"i suppose you can say that i come in peace," he adds, stepping backwards, hands folding behind his back. "curiosity drove me to seek you out."

[venusianstars]

like for a first meeting starter !!!

[venusianstars]

like for a post-season 5 starter !!!

[venusianstars]

PLOTTING CALL !!!

like this post for me to message you with plot ideas ! i'll still message people soon myself, this is just sort of a priority thing !

[venusianstars]

it's not somewhere that lucifer would typically find himself. to be fair, most human-made locations are not ones he'd frequent, but new orleans itself seemed ripe with sin and debauchery to a level that disgusted him. the demons, he could put up with. but there were ley lines here that needed to be studied and followed that were crucial to his goal of ending the world, and though he didn't care to maintain a facade of mortal life, he still found himself in a dingy bar, distastefully watching the drunkards converse with whores and the whores become drunkards.

there was supposedly a demon or something or other in hiding in new orleans, one who had cut off all contact with hell and rejected lucifer's leadership. he was bored at the presentation meg gave him, but there was time to kill before the next horseman ritual, and he found himself here.

there was a shift in the air as a blonde creature entered the joint. he could sense the difference between it and the despicable mouth breathers that fill this place - not that he considers vampires to be much higher on the totem pole. his lips curl downward, but his interest is at least renewed.

he watches him with no regard or concern for if he's seen. no vampire in existence could measure up to an archangel, though plenty would surely love to try. he doesn't believe the centuries-old thing is his sought-after contact, but perhaps it would lead him there. plenty of vampires decided to entirely ignore the demonic apocalypse, and plenty more didn't believe the rumors that lucifer himself had returned from the depths of the underworld. whoever this particular vampire is likely erred on that side. lucifer's head tilts as his disinterest in watching the thing find a victim takes hold, already calculating whether or not he should just disappear from the bar. he's certain it noticed his eyes, or at least his power, but boredom grips him in the wastes of his evening.

@eladead

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: Ah, New Orleans. Home sweet home after the tour of The Vampire Lestat finally comes to a close. The curtains befall the bus that has been haunting every major highway for the past few months. Now, sitting on a parking lot like eye candy in Hollywood, the bus is a reminder that the rockstar is still out and about. He tells his band to finally consider a real vacation, now that each of them has an avenue to invest their millions in something tangible, like getting a life and going to therapy. Considering it for himself, Lestat retraces his steps to where it all began.

New Orleans has been issued a warning, an official reminder that it has suffered an irreversible consequence of the destructive climate change. In a matter of years, the major city is going to sink into the maw of destruction. The streets will be flooded. The memories washed away. Tourists will no longer recall their drunken stupors, and history will be devoured by bouncing pebbles.

With a twisted stomach, Lestat walks the cemented streets among the flying cars. It's not a celebratory weekend, yet people flood with curiosity, inching closer to the sinful strees where all the fun is for five bucks. Shots taken, shots fired into shot glasses. There is Hell down on Bourbon, and the gull of voices in the twilight spreads a pleasant buzz throughout Lestat's body. The vampire retraces his way home to the French Quarter. It used to be different, but it carries a face of history with it. It's gorgeous here, despite the future considerations.

A bar for delinquents invites him inside and in a dimly-lit speakeasy, that prides itself to having personnel from a dive bar, he settles at the bar. He likes conversing with strangers, picking his next meal. Nothing like New Orlean homemade special: an intoxicated man with a neck that keeps on gifting a vampire's share. Dressed in leather, as per his famous visage, Lestat sinks in the attention of those who recognize him. Couple of autographs. Couple of pictures. He is finally left alone to nurse a strawberry cosmopolitan, passing as human to those who (miraculously) don't know his name. He is friendly with the neighbor to his left, keenly aware, at the same time, on prickling eyes on the back of his head.

Lestat ignores the searing sensation of someone's attention. Good, this is a regular for him.

Despite the heavier air that tenses the bar, the vampire promptly ignores it. What's another devious night? New Orleans is known for its secrets. He does not pay attention, aside from gifting a devouring stranger a quick glance over the rim of his sunglasses. He smiles into the crowd and returns to his chosen victim, sliding his cosmopolitan closer to whisper something in his ear.

"You know," the voice carries like a whisper, intended, perhaps, to reach an audience. "I like when the shy ones just stare me down. Tickles." The vampire grins at his drunken counterpart slumps a little, erupting into bubbly laughter. The mortal has no idea what the vampire is talking about, but not like Lestat needs him to. He has made his point, and that is enough.

[venusianstars]

the whisper, of course, carries to him, by design and his own supernatural hearing. it sets his teeth on edge, as if this lowlife vampire knows anything about who he is. the city is likely to turn to ruin sooner rather than later, a victim to natural damage done by humans amplified by the apocalypse he's crafting to spite his father reconstruct the world into one without humanity. whether vampires play into that future, he has yet to decide. any non-angelic creature is disgusting to him, but he is actively at war with heaven.

his cold blue eyes linger on the boisterous vampire, watching him play with his food. watching the thing think he's playing with him. it's ridiculous, but at least more entertaining than the dredges of the evening his demonic foot soldier sent him to. perhaps tonight is the night to reconsider the vampiric inclusion of his pre-planned apocalypse, though something about the blond makes him resistant. he cannot read minds, but he doesn't need to. some vampires still pray - not to god of course - and he stretches his mind out to seek them out. still, dull. dull days, dull nights, and if his demonic forces were more efficient, this war would already be won....

lucifer sets down the drink he never even touched, strolling slowly across the room, his pace as drawling as his usual speech pattern. his eyes catch sight of the tour bus outside the window, and though he cares little for human affairs, he recognizes the type of vehicle. oh, wonderful. a vampire with a following. his gaze is still on the blond as he walks up to him, expression mostly distant but mouth turned downward in distaste. he hardly spares a glance for the mortal that is already half-putty to the vampiric appetite. "do you know marax?" he asks, refusing to mince words. his interest only extends so far - and he would never claim to be someone who lies to himself. the demon marax is who meg sent him here to meet, but he hardly feels any presence beyond that of this vampire himself, who seems much too eager to languidly enjoy an alcoholically subdued mortal's blood.

[venusianstars]

@strxgxi <3 our new devil's minion

lucifer recognized the names in the book before he realized the true gravity of the publication. the demons spoke of the vampires, as if their drama was their own reality show for the past couple centuries - after all, that's when it started getting good. he never bothered himself with the details, until the interview with the vampire dropped, and became inescapable. he'd never bothered with a human book before, finding the entire medium trite and inarticulate. but intuition led him to purchase the thing, and then devour it whole. the author, one daniel molloy, knew far too much, and though it didn't make much sense, he knew he had to meet him. he never meddled with vampire affairs, but becoming a human has forced him to seek avenues he'd never cared to look down before.

lucifer could not understand email, nor could he seem to track the human. louis, lestat, armand - all named in the book - were more untouchable to him, in his limited form, so it seemed natural to try and seek out daniel molloy. the opportunity didn't come for a long while, and he was forced to search other leads and become accustomed to human life. at least the food was good. his chance finally came when lestat himself went on tour, and he heard of daniel molloy following him around with a documentary crew. all that was left was to wait for them to hit his town. electronic devices never came naturally to him, but he followed the tour's progress on his cheap touch screen phone and found a town to semi-settle in, waiting for them to stop there.

maybe his stalking of daniel molloy became obsessive. but this was a man that danced with vampires and lived to tell the tale - to commercial success, even. the ticket he bought to lestat's show afforded him his first glimpse of daniel molloy in person, and he realized he'd made a fatal mistake. the man was less man, and much more infant vampire, and his wariness grew. but he couldn't lose his chance. he left the show early, setting up shop at a bowling alley nearby, counting the minutes until daniel molloy appeared, not-so-alive but certainly in the flesh. the place was practically empty as he watched him with as empty of a mind as he could, only chancing an approach when the man had scored three strikes in a row.

he strolled over to the end of the lane, where shoes became required - shoes he'd reluctantly rented, feeling revolted by the concept, but by any means necessary. he murdered an entire town to summon death, surely he can force himself to wear bowling shoes. "daniel molloy?" he calls, crossing his arms in a casual way, a default pose. he calls upon the calming drawl of his archangel days, watching the 'old' man slowly. "i'd like a conversation with you."

[venusianstars]

@crispyblonde asked: “Everyone fears their own mortality.”

"i don't. i'm not mortal, anyway--" but that's a lie, now, isn't it? he could die any moment. he's almost died tonight. his hands are still shaking, and he fucking hates it. she's hit the nail on the damned head, and his throat feels like it's closing up. "i've been in hell for centuries, i know what the afterlife holds." but in this form? if he died a human? would he get pulled into hell, tortured? would his father bring him to heaven-- that's so laughable he can't even finish the thought. purgatory? or just nothingness, emptiness? he rarely breaks that sarcastic composure, the slow drawl of words, but there's a heat as he turns it back on jessica, wiping blood from his cheek. "and you? you've already been to the pearly gates - are you telling me you fear it?"

[venusianstars]

} been tuning into love island lately and now i desperately wish we could've had an episode where gabriel pulled a bunch of demons and angels and the winchesters for his own villa

[venusianstars]

@des0latiion liked for a first meeting starter x

it was entirely an accident that the pair meets at all. lucifer read reports of strange deaths in the area - and oh, how he loathes driving when he's known the euphoria of air slipping through his wings. the town hadn't been in his initial route, but the wounds of the murder victims were familiar, like that of an angel blade... he has no interest in finding his angelic siblings - or, more specifically, his siblings finding him - but if he can confirm the stab wounds, then he needs to find out why they were on the earthly plane to begin with. is his father making moves? is there a reason he was dragged from the cage and forced into a human existence? leads are sparse, and he's hardly getting by as is.

he decides to take a page from the hunter handbook - which almost disgusts him more than being just a human - and shows up to the morgue with a fake badge and a suit he managed to scrounge up a few states back. he walks into the funeral home with a purpose and swagger, channeling that old archangel confidence that used to be natural. even with his pride, it's been hard to adjust to being powerless.

"excuse me," he states, making eye contact with the mortician, flashing him the badge. "fbi. i need to see the body of gavin shore, as well as his death certificate."

[venusianstars]

@crispyblonde asked: “Smooth. Very smooth. You definitely know how to make a good first impression.”

stumbling over the awkwardness of his own body isn't something he's used to in any capacity. is it human, this need to chuck himself through a window over a fumbling crash? whatever. he ignores the awful desire to flee, considering it a symptom of the afflicted disease of a human life rather than anything he would feel naturally. maybe it's something leftover from taking up semi-permanent residence in nick's body, an inheritance from the brain of its previous inhabitant. his piss-poor coffee - a new vice, discovered when the cage's fractures in his mind leaked into his bed - is all over the front of the blonde woman's top. it's her saving grace that it's long gone cold.

"and you definitely know how to look where you're going," he says, voice slow and dripping with sarcasm and disinterest.

the antique shop was stuffed, every shelf closing in on its customers with trinkets and useless objects. lucifer had come in search of a... something. he's not sure, really, the exact shape it's in, just that it's small, and made of a specific metal, a rare one. it was his intense searching and scanning for the object - likely indiscernibly different to the human eye, so would that equal his eyes now as well? - that led to their crash. his eyes flick down to the object in her hands, seemingly unapologetic over his coffee drying on her clothes. when his gaze returns to her face, and his blood runs cold. jessica moore. he couldn't forget her face - hell, he'd worn her face briefly, in an appeal to sam. his saving grace is that she's never seen his, and sam likely wasn't carrying around a photograph of the devil in his wallet. if she's even in contact with sam. her return from heaven must have been a well-kept secret, but he doesn't try to fool himself that she's not who he thinks.

"what were you looking at so intently that drove you into my coffee cup?"

[venusianstars]

} okayyyy the semi annual depressive + with a side of suicidal ideation slump is. not over but past the worst of it. sorry about my brief disappearance but I'm hopping on this week to be sososososo active and send asks n shit <3

[venusianstars]

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ OPEN STARTER

SPITTING BLOOD in a grimy alleyway had never been in lucifer's plan. the destruction of all humanity, certainly. the merging of his grace and sam winchester's soul? eternally. relying upon a wildly beating heart and achingly expanding lungs never factored in, for obvious reasons. the glimpse he'd caught of himself in the dark glass of a nearby shop confirmed one thing - he's in his secondary vessel, the backup that was a means to an end of co-habitating in sam's perfect composition.

he wipes his mouth in utter disgust, a feeling that churns his stomach with threatened expulsion. the vampires attacking him had been an unwelcome addition to the surprise of waking up topside, bones aching and neck throbbing. the damned mosquitos had actually looked shocked when lucifer groaned to life. he got the distinct impression that his vessel had, in fact, just died before the devil came calling.

it should have been easy to smite the bastards down. he had no clue why he'd been released from the cage, but he should've brought hell with him. instead, the nearest vamp had regained its senses and snapped the bones of his fingers. it hurt. that was the final hole in the ship, sinking into horrific realization. no grace flowed through him, his being dark and shuttered. the pain doesn't lessen. his blood rushes. it's grotesque. almost worse than that - someone had to come to his rescue. with decapitated bodies littering the alleyway and a singular figure standing over him, lucifer is still fighting the lurching of his stomach.

"you uh, you really... stepped up, there." the words are strained, barely making it past gritted teeth. the pain is intense, all-consuming - perhaps because he's never experience pain the way a human does. he's not quite thanking his savior, too prideful for that, or perhaps the idea doesn't even cross his mind.

[venusianstars]

he had heard something about an island a lifetime ago, when his archangel grace still flowed through him more steadily than the blood that he now relies on. it was an accident that he found himself in florida to begin with, and the island mentioned by his demonic army from years ago slipped into his mind when he had to run from miami.

being human had been a more difficult task than he anticipated, and passing himself off as a hunter seemed pragmatic. until it wasn't. the boat hadn't been easy to book, but escaping the mainland had been a necessity he had been forced to afford. there was no knowing if the rumored coven even existed, or if they had been loyal to lucifer's cause. not that anyone would believe him to be the fallen archangel now, with his pitiful lung capacity and utter lack of power. there was perhaps a trace, viewable to only those ancient enough - and calculating enough - to look for it. at minimum, he expected the island to be a place to recover from his dislocated shoulder and the fatal wounds he kept on seeming to survive.

the blood stopped dripping an hour before he reached the island. stacked into a boat with human tourists, he plans to just blend in. that plan changes when he catches a phantom whiff of the sharp scent of vampirism, a smell that is more memory than real. he swears to himself it's just paranoia - a nasty, unavoidable feeling that permeated his waking hours of humanity. but the eyes on his group feel innumerable as he tries to conceal himself in the center of it all. perhaps the rumors were true. his pride refuses to let him believe he's made a mistake, permits him to believe he can discreetly wander off on his own. he has no interest in joining the cattle prey of human tourists.

he realizes his mistake on the beach, the sun reaching the horizon but not quite there yet. whatever creature he feels stalking him, is immune to the sun. nothing spells out danger quite like realizing he's out of his depth, and powerless. his hand cups around his weapon in his waistband, even as his expression remains casual, staring out at the ocean. "haven't had the company to watch the sunset with me in ages. beautiful, isn't it?" he calls out, feigning a disregard for danger.

@devourcr

[venusianstars]

it's not somewhere that lucifer would typically find himself. to be fair, most human-made locations are not ones he'd frequent, but new orleans itself seemed ripe with sin and debauchery to a level that disgusted him. the demons, he could put up with. but there were ley lines here that needed to be studied and followed that were crucial to his goal of ending the world, and though he didn't care to maintain a facade of mortal life, he still found himself in a dingy bar, distastefully watching the drunkards converse with whores and the whores become drunkards.

there was supposedly a demon or something or other in hiding in new orleans, one who had cut off all contact with hell and rejected lucifer's leadership. he was bored at the presentation meg gave him, but there was time to kill before the next horseman ritual, and he found himself here.

there was a shift in the air as a blonde creature entered the joint. he could sense the difference between it and the despicable mouth breathers that fill this place - not that he considers vampires to be much higher on the totem pole. his lips curl downward, but his interest is at least renewed.

he watches him with no regard or concern for if he's seen. no vampire in existence could measure up to an archangel, though plenty would surely love to try. he doesn't believe the centuries-old thing is his sought-after contact, but perhaps it would lead him there. plenty of vampires decided to entirely ignore the demonic apocalypse, and plenty more didn't believe the rumors that lucifer himself had returned from the depths of the underworld. whoever this particular vampire is likely erred on that side. lucifer's head tilts as his disinterest in watching the thing find a victim takes hold, already calculating whether or not he should just disappear from the bar. he's certain it noticed his eyes, or at least his power, but boredom grips him in the wastes of his evening.

@eladead

[venusianstars]

google doc updated with background! just need to fully write out verses but i am open for interaction :) doc in the pinned post!