#a rare rosie post on politics

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hiiii

Can you make another Alastor x Rarity reader like I love it sm and I need more 😭😭❤️

If you do thank youuuu

I definitely can! My dear @sillyalastor, here will be yours and @nenerobobot’s post for Rarity-reader and Al! I hope you both like our kinda short follow up to the Radio Demon and his Drama Queen!

Alastor- Diamond Trio

Alastor knows how much of a detail-orientated and fussy woman you are, and he knows fashion colours, stitching processes, habits, facts and more on the top of his head. He knows what is considered eggshell white and what is considered ivory white. That’s how much time he spends with you

Alastor has been teaching you some new recipes, ones that get a bit messy. Whilst, you’re very worried about getting food on you and is wearing about five layers of protection each time you cook with him. He finds it cute and cheers you on for you being so precise and careful with the measurements. You’ll stand there for five minutes making sure the water percentage is just perfect and he thrives off that

Alastor is not a fan of you being friends with any of the Overlords except Rosie, so when he finds out, you befriended a fellow fashionista Velvette. He is supportive of your wishes but he is glaring down Velvette and threatening her behind your back to not hurt you or he’ll hurt her. Needless to say… Al’s protective and he doesn’t tolerate any of your friends trying to ruin your spirits or your work

So that means, if anybody rejects your outfit choice and creation you made for them, even politely. Alastor will hunt them down. You’re generous and you should be praised for that generosity. Alastor takes everything you give him, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll merely ask for some additions. He won’t ever demand a new outfit or item

Now. How did you and Alastor meet, you ask? You met him at a grand gala. It mainly consisted of Overlords but some Sinners can be invited and you were one of those rare sinners brought over to this incredible party

Alastor had been quite intrigued by you, the moment he saw you. A gorgeous, classy, sophisticated sinner dressed in the most pretty, regal maroon pink dress he has ever seen. You had attended this ‘best night ever’ party in hopes to find your prince, the man of your dreams and when you ran into a prissy but handsome Overlord that screamed prince-like grace, you immediately latched onto him. Unaware that you’re actual prince is the one Overlord all the guests avoided like the plague

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to just ignore the only shining jewel within this boring, prim and proper high-class party. He was so uninterested that he only got entertainment, out of talking to his dear friend, Rosie. So after some quick consideration, he begun to secretly follow you and your… date around the large palace hosting this gala. He was curious on what you’d do and the disgust he felt over this Overlord acting so uncharming and so harsh to a sweet lady such as yourself. He doesn’t tolerate women of radiance being disrespected

Alastor is so glad that you finally put your foot down after all the treatment: that ‘Prince’ of a Overlord making you pay for treats, making you give up the cushion seat, taking your rose for himself, making you throw your gorgeous silky-fabric shawl over a puddle so neither of you would slip. No gentleman should treat his lady this way and his blood is boiling in pure disgust at his fellow Overlord. The final straw is when that Overlord used you as a shield to block off the pretty strawberry icing cheesecake that came flying at the pair of you

Alastor watched from the sidelines with much pride and respect, over you talking that Overlord down and proclaiming he is a royal pain but of course, that ‘prince’ only cared about his looks and was scared of you drenched in the cake. Shaking off some of the cake on your dress, hair and face to get it onto the Overlord, out of raw rage. You ended up stomping out of the main big dance ballroom, furious and on the verge of crying. Leaving that ‘date’ of yours behind

Alastor couldn’t stop himself from following you. He was curious how a pretty mid-atlantic accented lady would handle being humiliated and having lashed out against her ‘date’ in front of almost ALL of the guests in the Gala. Your pretty sparkly almost diamond-like eyes poured tears, smudging your nice mascara and light blue eyeshadow as you stomped into the pretty empty gardens and cried out your rage

Oh. Alastor didn’t like seeing somebody so innocent and done no wrong mistreated like this. Even if it was amusing, he doesn’t like it

So, he finally approaches you after a few seconds of watching you vent out your feelings through sobs. His strong sharp crimson red eyes going from your forehead golden crown to the glass plumps to the still damp shawl tied around your shoulders in a classy princess style. You’re the most beautiful guest at this sorry excuse of a Gala. Alastor folds one arm behind his back, his own gala-style black, white and red coloured suit making his red and black colouration pop as he presents you with a rose

“I believe this is yours, my dear” Your glassy eyes turned over to look at him, the almost folded, multi-layers of your dress hugging your curves and hiding your leg movements as it just felt like this night went from the worst to the best. Is this the actual gentleman you’ve always wanted?! Gently reaching out, you’re a bit intimidated by how strong his glare is, how visible his golden yellow fangs are through that wide open grin, with how menacing his long fingers are

Taking the still stemmed rose from Alastor, you didn’t even know his name but you wished you did… you are a bit scared he may be a fake like that awful Overlord you were chasing after just before but he seems friendly enough. Alastor lifts up your hands with his single one, precisely placing the rose into your prettily curled and tied up hair, just above your bangs before speaking once more. His entire presence leaking charm, grace and poise

“Shall we dance?”

You were a bit shy, still drenched in destroyed layered cake batter but Alastor didn’t even chuckle at how ruined your clean, neat look is now. He merely snaps his fingers and like that, all the sweet confectionery remains are gone and all the ruffled, ripped or knotted parts of your dress and hair is smoothed out to perfection, as well as your slightly wet shawl back to being completely dry and your makeup returned to more presentable. Just like how you looked when you entered this Gala and when Alastor first saw you. Taking a deep breath, your cheeks flustered and blushy

You take his hand and with a single tug, you and him are dancing together in the calm, breezy, beautiful gardens of the giant gala palace, no music, no other prissy annoying guests. Just the plants, the animals and you two

Your eyes are no long filled to the brim with tears, anger and heartbreak. You’re now developing a sense of admiration and awe at Alastor being so gentlemanly and sweet with you in seconds flat, he’s treating you the way you wanted that blueblood ass to treat you and it’s making your heart flutter. Twirling slowly in a nice slow steady waltz, the only music ringing is the sound of the nearby birds singing

That night was the best night ever

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel love #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #romantic alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor x reader #alastor #radio demon x reader #radio demon #romantic alastor x reader #boyfriend imagines #polite boys #gentleman #boyfriend #romantic headcanons #romantic #the radio demon #headcanons #hazbin radio demon

[itsclydebitches]

Hazbin Hotel: Let's Talk About Cursing!

Trigger warning for lots of cursing in this post (obviously) and discussion of canon abuse scenes

As I delve further into the Hazbin Hotel fandom, I’ve inevitably come across a variety of people who dislike the show for an equal variety of reasons. One criticism I’ve seen with some consistency is in regards to the cursing and yeah, I get it. That’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. However, the repeated claim that the cursing is only there as a—failed—attempt at bad, lazy humor got me thinking about why I personally liked the cursing, and why I think it serves a greater purpose in the show.

Now yes, some of the cursing does function as an arguably simplistic joke. The most common setup I’ve noticed is one that leans into a contrast in tone/personalities. We see this a lot with the polite, comparatively timid Charlie as she navigates her distinctly vulgar domain.

Charlie: “Hi, mister!” Demon: “Go fuck yourself!”

The entirety of “Happy Day in Hell” plays with this contrast, setting up Charlie’s slightly skewed, but significantly optimistic perspective of Hell. We are shown again and again how her lyrics are contradicted or twisted into something less innocent through the visuals: a “revealing” street where it’s “hard not to stare” has BDSM going on in a nearby window, Charlie will “open the door” for her people and then literally does so... for a guy who’s already dead. (Or, you know, temporarily out of commission until he heals, or whatever demons do when they’re ‘killed’ by things other than angelic steel.) The entire point here is to contrast the happy, skipping girl claiming that there’s a “warm, fuzzy feeling” in the air with the actual environment of unchecked fires and decaying limbs. And yes, that can be amusing. Not necessarily for everyone as humor is highly subjective and dependent on context, but distilling this contrast down to the shock of a polite greeting getting a “Go fuck yourself!” in response is a kind of entertainment. Especially when Charlie’s reaction adds another layer: for me that’s a very funny—and currently relatable—expression.

We can potentially make the case that this humor format overstays its welcome, but I personally think the show does a good job of keeping Charlie’s cursing both simple and comparatively rare, so that when she is put into these contrast situations the humor lands better. The best example I can think of in the latter half of the show is Susan. There we get the whiplash of polite, trying-to-get-these-people-to-like-her Charlie reaching a breaking point to become “FUCK YOU, YOU OLD BITCH” Charlie. It’s a moment that builds off of the earlier surprise of the courteous Alastor calling someone an “Ornery old bitch”—while Rosie is trying (and failing) to find a nicer way to phrase this.

However, as stated above I think the cursing serves more of a purpose than to just be funny for (some) viewers. Beyond those who simply find cursing distasteful, I’ve seen a fair bit of, “This is so stupid. No one even talks like that!” going around.

Except... I do? I talk like that.

See, I like cursing. I was born to former hippie parents and grew up playing MMOs, so cursing was something I became pretty acclimated to. Personally, I’m glad I was because I’m fascinated by language and cursing—for better or worse—is an integral way that many people communicate. I was taught to see cursing not as the Bad Forbidden Thing You Must Never Ever Do, but rather as just another form of expression, something to be used in moderation and under specific circumstances. Once I became an adult I already understood how I wanted to curse and when it was appropriate to do so. People at work are often shocked when I tell them I curse a lot because no, of course I’m not doing that at my job. That isn't considered professional in this space. Among my friends though?

We can sound a lot like the Hazbin crew.

Undoubtedly the most common curse in the show is “fuck” and its variations, which very much tracks with my personal experience among other people who curse. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that it barely counts as a curse at all in some groups. It’s more of an easy, accepted way to add emphasis. Vaggie’s “What the fuck was that?” about Alastor’s commercial is a perfect example. She’s pissed and simply saying “What was that?” doesn’t carry the same weight, no matter how angry she may sound when she says it. Vox’s long “Fuuuuuuuck” at the end of “Stayed Gone” conveys an emotion you just can’t capture any other way. No dialogue at all would create a fundamentally different experience of Vox’s feelings and another non-cursing response is just gonna hit different. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“I don’t want to go to the party!” “I don’t want to go to the freaking party!” “I don’t want to go to the fucking party!”

The above represents three distinct characters to me and I think Hazbin Hotel gets that. Cursing isn’t thrown around randomly because something something cursing supposedly sells; it’s all linguistically logical. Characters curse when something surprising or bad happens, or when something unexpectedly good happens, when they’re angry, trying to be sexy, or they want to add that emphasis. That’s a lot of different situations where cursing can be useful and when you use “fuck” in your daily life a lot you become pretty desensitized to it. As said, for many it’s barely a curse at all. Which means that when you really want to curse you’ve got to up the ante. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the two uses of “cunt” I can recall—a word that is generally considered far worse than “fuck” and makes a lot of people understandably uncomfortable—is used by two of the worst characters in moments that are meant to horrify the viewer:

Adam: “Can’t wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts / I know it’s just been a week, but we’ll be back in six months!” Valentino: “When I say you’d better get that fucking cunt out of my studio, you say...?”

This horror is especially emphasized in Valentino’s scene. The creators know this word is coming up and deliberately build towards it. Angel is currently being abused and has been reminded that Valentino “owns” him. The above question is a part of a trio that Valentino asks (a standard structure in writing), wherein the third option is the outlier/most shocking of the three. The animation leans into that shock, with the music building and Valentino grabbing Angel to pull him close right on the word “cunt.” Perez even puts emphasis there because he knows that this is a significant word that will change our understanding of Valentino.

Despite having hit Angel multiple times and taunting him with the contract, this is the moment Valentino stops playing the ‘nice’ employer. This is the real him. No more fake compliments and endearments aimed at Charlie, no more fake comfort/intimacy aimed at Angel. That “cunt” conveys a hell of a lot about how Valentino really sees them and when you have a cast of characters who are already cursing on the regular, it takes a word on that level to do that kind of work. If Valentino had said, “get that fucking bitch out of my studio” it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact because he’s the kind of guy who uses "bitch" even when playing ‘nice.’

Adam’s line from “Hell is Forever” does very similar work. The scene needs a word to align with the horrific reveal that another extermination is just six months away, that conveys Adam’s deep disgust for Charlie’s people, and that still catches the viewer’s attention even though he’s the character (I believe) who curses the most. Here the music drops and Adam is a little closer to speaking than singing; there's this shift because, like with Valentino, our perception of him is shifting. This isn’t just some egotistical idiot who wants to be called “Dick Master,” he’s the leader of an army coming to gleefully kill them. Framing a whole world of people—people Charlie loves—as “cunts” while treating their murder as a holiday that can’t come soon enough creates an, 'Oh shit. This guy is actually a threat' understanding that you can’t quite get with anything else.

On a smaller scale, cursing does other character work throughout the whole show. I watched a number of cursing compilation vids for this meta (that was a trip lol) and again, cursing is not thrown in randomly. Each character has a unique way of cursing that aligns with their personality and motivations:

As said, Adam curses the most in the show which helps sell his truly over-the-top, irreverent personality. Linguistically, the amount he curses also allows for some fun grammatical play. Lines like, “Fucking love putting my name on shit, shit’s the best!” help convey the versatility of cursing.

Also as said, Charlie curses a fair bit but she’s comparatively polite and her cursing tends to be a result of genuinely big emotions—like saying “Crap” when she’s shocked and falls, or “Shit!” when Adam locks her out of the room—rather than sprinkled into her conversations as a modifier. That leaves space to create those moments of amused surprise when Charlie really let’s loose.

Sr Pentious curses even less than Charlie which fits his secretly gooey center. He talks a big game at the start of the show, but he’s actually quite bad at being, well, bad (especially the Amazon version compared to pilot!Pentious). His idea of getting one over on Alastor is ripping a bit of his coat. He loves his Egg Bois and “doesn’t want to live” without them. He has no desire to go into battle without minions/a big machine to hide behind and, of course, he’s the first to be redeemed. He's too much of a secret sweetheart to curse a lot.

Interestingly, Niffty doesn’t seem to curse at all. At least, not enough for me to think of examples off the top of my head. Right now I’m inclined to read that as an extension of her lived experiences/design—the cute 1950’s housewife archetype who is obsessed with keeping things clean doesn’t [gasp!] curse—as well as a way to maintain her legitimate creep factor. As said, cursing is common among the hotel residents and is a way for them to linguistically fit in. Niffty, however, is positioned more as an outsider (despite how much they all obviously love her): she’s actually scary in a way most demons aren’t and despite how weird this whole world is, she stands out as someone no one else can make sense of (even Alastor). If cursing is normal, Niffty is a character who is decidedly positioned as not normal.

Angel curses a fair bit, though his irreverence is conveyed more through innuendos. Angel is great at verbally twisting others’ words (especially Husk’s) to give himself a conversational advantage:

Husk: “Go fuck yourself” Angel: “Only if you watch me~”

Husk: “You’ve come—” Angel: [very loud orgasm noise] Husk: “...to the right place.”

Meanwhile, Husk uses “fuck” plenty, but he’s also one of the few characters who use “bullshit" too. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly revealing about that choice, but just giving him a go-to curse that’s otherwise used infrequently helps make his character distinct in a cast of other cursing characters.

Vaggie occasionally curses in Spanish, showing us her heritage if she used to be human, or a distinct knowledge/verbal preference if she’s always been an angel.

Heaven, as the ‘good’ side, doesn’t curse as a general rule, which leaves room for cursing to do more of that silent character work. We’re reminded of the stuffy, overly critical beings she’s dealing with when Charlie receives the combined judgement of the court for saying, “Fuck yeah!” In contrast, we understand just how shocked St. Peter is to see a Morningstar when he lets out an unintentional “Fuck!” The angry vindication of Charlie’s “That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying!” lands harder after multiple scenes of very little cursing, and Lute’s “Some crack-whore who fucked up already? / He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth—” helps set her apart as an exorcist + Adam's second in command: her shocking violence comes through in her word choice too; words that supposedly don't belong in Heaven.

In what’s arguably the funniest line in the whole show, Lucifer undermines his dramatic standoff with Adam by going, “You mess with my daughter and now I’m going to fuck you.” Beyond just cutting the tension, that fits his bumbling, oblivious personality perfectly. Lucifer is crazy powerful and can absolutely wreck Adam. He also has none of the classy intimidation that, say, Alastor displays when he tries to convey that. This is a depressed himbo who makes ducks in his free time and settles on, “Hey, bitch!” when greeting his estranged daughter. Of course he’s going to accidentally turn a threat into a promise of sex.

Which finally brings me to Alastor, someone whose cursing is already understood well by the fandom. He’s characterized as manipulatively courteous, using manners to both hide his true nature and draw attention to his power—’You’re so beneath me I’ll just calmly sip my coffee and politely ask who you are, despite the fact that we've fought multiple times.’ This is a guy who calls people “My dear” and unironically insults them with the phrase “wacky nonsense.” So when he curses you can BET it’s gonna have an impact. It sure did for me. I had to pause the episode after Alastor’s first “Fuck you” because it was so shocking to hear that language from him. And that’s the point! The scene wants that reaction from the audience. The "Fuck you"s visceral anger contrasting the fake laughs he and Lucifer have been giving, the quick-fire exchange that’s suddenly cut short by Alastor’s choice of a direct insult, the fact that he’s officially dropping the polite veneer they’ve both been indulging in and raising the stakes before Charlie intervenes, the loss of the radio filter that otherwise demonstrates his control over a situation... all of it screams, ‘THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER MOMENT.’

"Fuck you” reveals that, for the first time in the show, Alastor is legitimately threatened by someone. Which makes sense given that, you know, Lucifer is the King of Hell. Cursing for Alastor isn’t normal, so when he does curse it’s going to reveal something about a guy who otherwise is obsessed with being unknowable. Having the King of Hell dismiss him is actually infuriating in a way Sir Pentious’ threats could never be and the exchange kicks off a rivalry that rattles Alastor in ways Vox’s never has. (Side note: is it any wonder people ship them? Character A making control freak Character B feel vulnerable is classic!) It’s no surprise to me than that the one other true curse we get from Alastor is, “I’m about to end your fucking life,” delivered to Adam who, like Lucifer, poses a legitimate threat and does end up beating him. I say “true” curse because calling Susan a “bitch” does similar work for him, but the takeaway is humorous rather than dramatic. It’s funny that the only people who can piss Alastor off enough to curse are the First Man/a powerful exorcist angel threatening his life, the literal King of Hell... and Susan.

So there’s a lot going on here, more than what many viewers might assume if they approach the show as just “stupid,” needlessly vulgar entertainment. As shown above, I don’t think the cursing is needless, especially given that, well... they’re in Hell. They’re sinners, supposedly the worst that humanity has to offer, so of course they're going to curse a lot. Does cursing mean you’re a bad person? No. Can you craft a hellish world that doesn't rely on cursing to convey a group's immoral nature? Sure.

Does it make sense that a writer would equate a sinful, irreverent cast with linguistic rebellion and would want to convey a certain vibe that, frankly, you just can’t get without dropping an F bomb?

Yeah, I think so. No one has to like that kind of creative decision, but it’s worth acknowledging it as a deliberate choice.

That’s all! Thanks for reading this fucking long post ✌️

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel meta #mymetas #tw cursing #cw cursing #tw abuse #cw abuse

[sitp-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 28

I’ve been reccing underrated fics since this blog was created and so I thought “there’s no easier @hprecfest prompt than this one” lol famous last words, this post took me ages to prepare 😂 I was initially overwhelmed by the amount of fics that came to mind, and going through my bookmarks and old recs only made it worse. How was I supposed to shortlist?? In the end I gave up and decided to rec 2 Drarry fics + 2 rare pairs. I could have included so many more but I really didn’t want this to become a tl;dr post and these rec blurbs are already going out of control, so here we go!

Day 28) an under-rated fic:

Drarry

In Dreams by @moonflower-rose (E, 38k)

Harry wasn't expecting to ever see Draco Malfoy again. He also wasn't expecting to walk into a political conspiracy that morning either, but apparently that's exactly what the day has in store for him.

I’ve screamed quite a few times about this fic (see my rec here) and every time I do it’s in the hopes that more folks will stop whatever they’re doing and go feast on this. not only a delicious and intriguing case fic with Rosie’s trademark epic dialogue and superb sense of humour, this also wins the award of best fic opening I have ever read. the way I gasped at chapter one and am forever haunted by its utterly devastating ending oh my god!!! my heart belongs to this gritty Harry, and the slow burn is masterfully crafted within the urgency of their teamwork to solve the mystery combining comfort, grief and hope in a thrilling, poignant and perfectly paced adventure. plus, the emotional payoff is chef’s kiss, honestly I cannot recommend this enough!

Survival of the Species by @romaine2424 (E, 47k)

Draco approaches Harry on the 9 ¾ platform, after their sons have boarded the Hogwarts Express, and invites him over for tea. The discussion they have leads them on an adventure that neither could have expected. There be dragons! HPDH compliant but before any other canon info had been released.

considering this masterpiece was published back in 2007 I think I’m allowed to say this is definitely a formative story when it comes to the creature genre, more specifically Veela fic. I first read this a couple years ago and my jaw legit dropped at the amount of world-building and carefully researched lore that went into this. so detailed and intricate and different from everything I’ve seen before or since, I was truly fascinated and couldn’t stop reading. kudos to the amazing slow burn covering years of their struggles stuck together in a dragon cave and having to rely on each other to survive. I loved seeing the hardships and how they genuinely came to care for each other, definitely one of the most moving and convincing Veela love stories I’ve read in the fandom.

Rare pair

With a Look by earlybloomingparentheses (Ginny + Deamus, E, 5k)

Now, twenty years old and done with boys and looking forward very much to putting her hand down some lucky girl’s shirt later this evening, Ginny looks at Dean Thomas’s gold-painted fingernails and feels heat pool between her legs.

I think about this fic every now and then - such a sensitive, thought-provoking and beautiful homage to the 🏳️‍🌈 community. the visceral and contemplative tone takes it beyond your regular PWP, and I’ve rarely seen gender and queerness explored quite like this. seeing Ginny figuring out and owning her identify is mesmerizing. her voice is powerful, sexy, earnest and articulates so many complex and layered feelings - I was particularly moved by the inner turmoil of not looking “queer enough”. I’m sure this fic will be eye-opening and comforting to so many people out there, and that’s why I never cease to rec it. an intimate character study, a sinfully hot and self-indulgent threesome but above anything, a poignant love letter to the queer community.

Passion, Patents, and Pen Pals at the Ministry by @violetclarity and @yrfrndfrnkly, art by @anaxandria-writes and @veelawings (Hermione/Pansy, T, 32k)

After an extremely ill-timed lovers'-tiff-turned-food-fight at the Ministry leaves her less one boyfriend and suspended without pay for six months, Hermione pleads for some position–anything–to fill her days until her suspension is up. The good news is, her temporary position in the Magical Games & Sports's Ludicrous Patents office is just down the corridor from Harry's office in General Inquiries. The bad news is Harry's officemate is Pansy Parkinson, the Ministry's operations are shockingly outdated, and every altercation between Hermione and Pansy winds up a headline in MoM's internal rogue gossip zine, Hot Goss.

rivals to secret pen pals to lovers yes please?? this hilarious Pansmione is a ship triumph and yet criminally underrated. I had a blast getting into the world of Ministry gossip & politics, and immediately fell in love with all the characters, l especially with this lovely meddling Harry. it’s SO MUCH FUN to watch poor him (and Blaise omg what a duo) in the middle of a ladies’ tug of war. I’m impressed by the amount of world-building especially around their workplace, not to mention all the side interactions and the fun, organic slow burn. I love this take on identity porn with tons of banter and Pansy and Mione connecting through their shared worldview and feminist principles, such a power couple ✊🏼 the mix of semi-epistolary, witty dialogue, dorky meddling friends and mild angst make for peak entertaining, I laughed non-stop and cheered so bad for them. femslash ftw!!!

#hprecfest2023 #day 28 #an underrated fic

[zestials]

↳ zestial's territory.

as an old , powerful overlord , zestial does have a territory within the city. the secrets of the past are not buried there. it's an ominous , nightmarish section of the city that borders carmilla's weapons district & rosie's cannibal town. ( going off the assumption that the vees corresponded the pictures of the overlords with where they are located on the pentagram , he was between the two for a whole second in the finale song. )

the further in one goes the more dangerous it is , if you've made it to the center where his personal home is located ( which you can see at the link ) , you're either double dead , worse than dead or a friend !

business meetings meanwhile are held in a gothic style cathedral ( i'll link here once i eventually do a full post & visual on it ) on the outskirts towards carmilla's section. tall spires cut sharp silhouettes in the skyline , stained glass windows create web shaped shadows on the floor. it's primarily made of different sorts of stone & much of it is detailed with morbid , horrific art pieces that have been carved in.

there's a staff full of demons that upkeep it in his absence , employing those that are aesthetically ghastly or serve one purpose or another. ( he likes them ravenous but polite & obedient ! + generally treats them well , they are loyal out of a sort of respect despite the fear most would assume. though there's surely a hint of that too. )

the mere presence of the territory is off , an unsettling feeling that creeps across your skin & one will feel eyes on them constantly with no discernible source. think of the most haunted place possible , there you go ! screams often echo , shadows slither by from the corner of your eye & there's odd , creepy chitterlings. it seems like a different realm entirely at times , a heavy , eerie , suffocating place.

buildings are often leaning , as if conspiring to keep secrets. there's rotting , boarded up windows & creaking rusty doors. lights flicker in the distance to draw in unsuspecting passerby & strange symbols are often etched into crumbling walls ; like rituals may have once been preformed there with hints of sulfur still clinging to the air. alleyways seem twisting & never-ending , especially at night. much of the flora is dangerous in one way or another , poisonous flowers sprouting in the cracks of cement , gnarled sharp trees , etc. corpses have been left to rot & the occasional spectacle's made when needed. there are plenty of old ruins that are left like reminders but not nearly extensive as the doomsday district. some of these ruins even contain shelters beneath used during exterminations , which you're welcome to use ... for a price ! they also don't make half bad torture chambers.

despite all this there are some residents. most notably of which are some various crime organizations that zestial allows within by way of deals made. ( also a very central location for them to get their hands on weapons via carmilla & for zestial to receive any information they've gathered. ) crossing him rarely happens anymore , he's made sure of that + could result in them losing their weapon deals , all around not something that often happens.

many of the other souls that occupy space move slowly & with a deliberate gait , some choose to keep their faces hidden behind cloaks & speak in hushed , foreboding tones. visitors have been known to have lingering nightmares after leaving.

** i also like to think zestial held the entirety of that little section of the pentagram for better part of the last few centuries & has some sort of deal / partnership with carmilla ( but obviously , i won't directly mention that in threads w/ carmillas unless it's agreed upon beforehand. ♥ ) that ended up being cleaned & turned into space for her ventures when she became an overlord to benefit them both.

#almost 700 words of me talking abt zee's territory . #i have .. plans to make visuals but it'll take .. forever so they can come later <3 #i like to think there's some real funky entities living there <33 #* ── a haunting curse. : headcanons.

[lowqualitygarbage]

It never even crossed Charlie’s mind that their little corner of the Wasteland was unusual for having so many Ghouls in positions of power in a mixed community until Husk brought it up in a bout of drunken reminiscing. Alastor posited that it was probably due to Zestial’s influence.

Quite possibly the oldest being in the Wasteland, Zestial is a rare sentient Glowing One. Unlike many of the more passive pre-war Ghouls, he is fully willing to use his cunning and centuries’ worth of experience and wisdom with devastating efficiency. Able to emit levels of radiation that could near-instantly heal nearby Ghouls and poison anything else in his range, the ancient Overlord could probably destroy any settlement that tried to kill or exile their Ghoul populations.

In the rare meetings between Overlords, Zestial is a moderating influence; his experience and age giving him a broader perspective than his short-lived peers, and a deep well of patience that was rare amongst some of the most brutal people in the Wastelands. In respect for his more “fragile” human Overlords and subjects, Zestial wears a specially-lined overcoat that blocks most of his passive radiation.

I seriously hope we see more Zestial in Season 2, he seems super interesting. Trying to keep specifics of what he does in this AU vague until we learn more about him. For now he’s a sentient Glowing One that was probably in a fairly powerful political/military/industrial role before the Great War and becoming ghoulified. 

For the major Ghouls in this AU, he and Rosie are pre-war, with him being an older adult and Rosie being a child when the bombs fell. Husk is post-war, but still relatively old, probably around a hundred or so, and was older when he turned. Velvette is a baby - she’s probably just hitting 30 or so, and has only been a Ghoul for a few years (she was already with Valentino and Vox before she became a Ghoul, and they stuck with her and probably made fun of her hair falling out and her nose falling off or something when she got radiation sickness).

#Vault 666 #Hazbin AU #Hazbin Hotel AU #Fallout AU #Zestial #Hazbin Zestial #Overlord Zestial #Hazbin Hotel Zestial #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel Fanart #why the fuck did adding details to his shoes make him look like his feet are facing the same direction #sometimes Rosie and Vel will cuddle-pile him after meetings because he's so warm and it feels nice #totally doesn't make Carmilla jealous nope

[handeaux]

Cincinnati Surrendered To The Automobile When Jaywalking Was Outlawed

How many Cincinnatians subscribed to Popular Mechanics magazine in 1912? And how many of those subscribers recognized, in the September issue, a tiny article on Page 414 that laid out the future of the Queen City? It all seemed so innocent:

“The city pedestrian who cares not for traffic regulations at street corners, but strays all over the street, crossing in the middle of the block, or attempting to save time by choosing a diagonal route across a street intersection instead of adhering to the regular crossing, is designated as a ‘jay walker’ in Kansas City. Kansas City recently adopted a new ordinance for the control of foot traffic as well as vehicles, and ‘jay walking’ is to be prevented as rigidly as ‘jay driving.’”

That squib appeared adjacent to another brief item on how the brand-new town of Speedway, Indiana allowed only motorized vehicles on its streets, banning anything pulled by horses. In combination, the two articles sounded the death knell for a way of life that had existed for millennia.

Look at the illustrations that grace the old books about Cincinnati. There is no such thing as jaywalking. The streets were owned and enjoyed by the people. Pedestrians share the road with wheeled vehicles, crossing wherever convenient, even stopping in the middle of the street to chat. Horse-drawn carriages and wagons hauled passengers and freight. Men pulling handcarts and pushing wheelbarrows dodge the throng. The only motorized vehicles were the electric street cars, and they were confined to their tracks.

During election season, Cincinnati’s streets filled with torchlit political parades. On at least one occasion, a parade filled Vine Street from Fourth Street to McMicken with chanting men waving flaming brands, lighting the clouds above with a rosy glow. When any dignitary showed up in town, they were expected to speechify from their hotel balcony and people thronged the street below, halting traffic as they cheered. People crossing the street from any direction weren’t “jay walking.” They were just “walking.” The automobile changed all that.

Horse-drawn vehicles and electric streetcars killed a fair number of people, but the motor car quickly notched more than a hundred fatalities and many more injuries every year. Local media often blamed the victims. The Cincinnati Post [8 January 1916] piled on:

“Fourth-st. is the mecca of Cincinnati’s jay walkers. Most of the jay-walking is done between Vine and Race-sts. The other day we counted 20 persons crossing the street at different points at one time – and none was using a cross-walk. Fortunately accidents are rare on this street because of the extreme care exercised by autoists.”

It appears not to have occurred to the writer that this behavior, just five years previous, would have been considered normal.

The hammer landed in 1917. Cincinnati joined the ranks of other auto-infested cities that criminalized jaywalking. The new law went into effect in May of that year, restricting automobiles to no more than 8 miles per hour in the business district and 15 miles per hour in residential districts. For the first time, pedestrians were restricted to sidewalks and crosswalks. Pedestrians – literally – fought the new law. According to the Post [23 May 1917]:

“Theodore Mitchell, 38, agent, 631 Maple-av, is the first person to be arrested on a charge of jay-walking since the new traffic ordinance went into effect. Traffic Patrolman [Edward] Schraffenberger charged Mitchell attempting to make a short cut at Fifth and Walnut streets. When reminded of his mistake, Mitchell became angry, Schraffenberger said. Mitchell, charged with disorderly conduct and violating the traffic ordinance, was cited to appear in court Thursday.”

If you’d asked the cops, however, they would unanimously aver that the chief violators were women. The Post [21 May 1917] quoted Police Lieutenant Charles Wolsefer:

“The women are awful. They just don’t pay any attention at all. Just take a look at them crossing on Race-st.”

The reporter did so, and counted 48 jaywalkers, of whom 37 were women. A few days later, another Post reporter followed another policeman on patrol who confronted 25 jaywalkers, of which only two were men.

Among the first arrested was Miss Ella Bright of 538 Howell Avenue, Clifton, a teacher at Woodward High School. Miss Bright did not care for the attitude of the city policeman who accosted her. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [7 June 1917]:

“She declared she had been upbraided unduly by an officer because she crossed the street in a manner which was a violation of the traffic laws after alighting from a street car.”

In August of that year, Mrs. John Mongan, 4217 Glenway Avenue, Price Hill, was arrested for striking a police officer who grabbed her arm as she executed a “Dutch Cut” (diagonal jaywalking) across the intersection at Sixth & Race.

Former U.S. President William Howard Taft, then on the law faculty at Yale, was visiting his hometown that year and blithely jogged across Sixth Street near Main, only to be corralled by Officer Joseph Schindler, who gave the law professor a little legal lesson.

The Post even enlisted its “boy reporter,” 12-year-old Freddy Printz, to test the city’s ability to enforce the new jaywalking regulations. On 7 July 1917, Freddy reported his fruitless attempts to get bawled out by a police officer. Despite blatantly jaywalking at five different locations, he only earned a polite reprimand from one officer.

While the local constabulary was doing their best to enforce the new laws, the automobiles were merciless. On 21 May 1918, the Post reported on the 25th traffic fatality of the year. The victim, a 12-year-old girl, was the twelfth child killed by an automobile that year.

Curiously, although Cincinnati outlawed jaywalking, the city had omitted one very important detail that might have contributed to compliance with the new law. A letter signed only “Chicagoan” appeared in the Post on 13 June 1917. The writer suggested that, like other cities attempting to get pedestrians to cross at intersections, Cincinnati should assist pedestrians by painting white lines on the street to mark approved pedestrian crossing paths. Cincinnati’s mandatory crosswalks were unmarked!

#cincinnati streets #jaywalking #cincinnati automobiles

[capuletangel]

Slow Like Honey

Inspired By The Song; Slow Like Honey

Word Count: 2333

Story Summary: Ben Solo falls into a deep obsession with the local new baker, and Ben always gets what he wants.

Tags: DEAD DOVE; Stalking, Obsession, Creepy Ben Solo, Non-Con, Bittersweet Fluff, Misogyny, Major Character Death, Dark Themes and Eventual Smut. AFAB. 

Also Posted To AO3 | Wattpad

Masterlist

Chapter One; Ben Is A Patient Man

Ben had always gone to the bakery, Lazy Loaf. Though not because he wanted to. God, no. His mother sent him once a week to get bread, maybe some sweet rolls if she asked for them. Always the same bitter old woman that served him, never offering a smile, never asking if he wanted anything else, just him buying bread and leaving.

He’d always appreciated soft spoken women, looked out for them—but after high school it went dry, only catching a brief look at a girl at a grocery store. The sightings were rare. Especially in rural texas. Leaving Ben hungry. Desperate for affection.

A long ten years had passed since high school, and he remained the same hungry man he’d been in senior year. She reminded him of how much he craved. Her weakness made Ben aware of it.

Stern and distasteful. Husky tone from all the cigarettes she’d shoved into her lungs, excessive frown-lines burnt into her face via the insufferable Texas sun, subpar bakes if you asked for Ben’s opinion and a crooked smile which revealed her cramped rotten teeth.

He’d never have gone if his mother hadn’t wanted him to. Ben would find any excuse to not visit it, resisting bile that raised in his throat at the mere sight of the wretched hag. And that was Ben being polite.

But then, the baker passed. Good riddance, Ben thought. Leaving the bleak store empty for a few months. Fading away in its cul-de-sac, surrounded by other derelict stores.

A good three months before new sage green paint layered the front of the shop, in contrast to the former beige. Delicate, trendy font spelling out ‘LOAF’ instead of the former cheesy name written in the boring, dated, comic sans font. The inside is decorated with a display, organised — cared for, soft wall lamps and a sight for sore eyes.

Poor Ben’s eyes thumped at the sight of a girl. A woman, if you will. Small, kind, sweet. Confused when he first saw her. Wondered if he were so desperate he’d formed a hallucination. If he’d gone insane from being so touch starved. So abandoned by the lack of feminine touch.

Her cheeks were rosy, plush with youth. A coating of flour smudged over her left eyebrow. Dressed in a sweater which hid underneath a linen apron, thin blue stripes contrasting against the off-white fabric. Soiled with splashes of food colourings, batters and icings, some faded — some fresh. Hair clipped up into a messy bun. A tender smile.

Instantly wrapped around her finger. She would smile at him, holding the most beautiful grin he’d ever seen. She wishes him a good day and laughs — flushes at his jokes. Nothing like the stale old woman who worked there for years beforehand. The woman who reminded him more of a man rather than any lady.

No, she was a delight. To talk to. To look at. To know. He found it hard to take his eyes off of her. Adorable. With her delicate voice, her coquettish blushed cheeks, and her bakes. Her bakes were to die for.

Far better than the previous owners. Ben found himself going bi-weekly, instead of just on his mother’s command. He’d get two Danish pastries each time. He’d go to the store hungry, but not for the baked goods. Graced by her presence. The cadences of her small talk and the dainty hands which seemed so fragile, yet made such pretty patisseries. Award worthy.

“Will that be all?” she would ask him, and he smiles every time she does. She knows his order like it’s the back of her hand, but she always insists that he should experiment, try something different. But, he refuses each time, and she still says it without fail.

She’s teasing him, he thinks. Flirting. Flirting in such an innocent way.

He looks like a mess compared to her, his dirty plaid shirts and stained jeans from working on the ranch. Huge, overly large hands that could crack her if he wanted to, but he didn’t, he reminded himself.

He wanted to see her in one of his flannels, imagining how they’d reach her mid thighs. How the material would drown her. Cover all of her, he’d be the only one to see what was beneath the material. He’d make sure of it. Protect her, even if it meant he’d have to capture her.

Of course, he doesn’t go into the bakery every day. That’d be creepy. Ben isn’t creepy. Ben is a nice guy. He just likes to see her. He wants to guard her.

Ordering the same thing each time, two Danish pastries. He isn’t sure why. Perhaps they remind him of when he first met her; they were the first things he bought. She always tells him he should change it up, that the buns are just as good, but Ben doesn’t like change, so he tells her maybe next time.

She just moved into town. He wondered why she’d come here — to this broken-down town in rural Texas. It must’ve been fate, he thought. There was no other explanation. A gift from a higher power for all the struggles he’d encountered over the last twenty-eight years. A present, just for him. But, he is also for her. A hulk of a man, though Ben was also soft. He’d hold her, soothe all her worries. Ben would take care of her.

She told him she was from Seattle. He knew little about Seattle. God, he’d barely even left Lakeridge.

He’d been to Houston a few times, and a small town near Waco for a shipment issue. She talked about how she missed the city, missed the rain, and her friends. She’d come down to live with her father — he was ill and she wanted to live a simple life with him until he passed.

That made him even more entranced by her. She cares about people and sees the best in them. She wants to nurture them. Ben wants to be nurtured by her. Have her hands run through his hair as he cuddled her. Whisper sweet nothings until they fall asleep in each other’s arms. The time would come, he knew that. He was hopeful. But most importantly, he’s patient.

Ben is a patient man. He reminds himself each time he walks into the bakery. He is a patient man. Ben had always struggled with the concept of patience, but he’d wait for her. He would wait a lifetime if it meant one day she’d be his.

She isn’t like the other girls he’s been with. She would understand his needs, understand that he cares, understand that he’d die for her. And besides, she doesn’t want any other male attention. He can see that. He knows that. He knows her. He’s always been excellent at reading people.

She wears the same sweaters for everyday of the week, organised. Like Ben. But she’s quirkier than him. Ben wears tattered flannel shirts over and over again. But, she wears unique sweaters.

Monday is a brown chunky knit. It hangs so loosely that it shows her left collarbone, and if he’s lucky, her bra strap too. When he first saw it, he had to tear his eyes from her, instead forcing himself to act as if he was interested in another loaf of bread. Imagining how soft her skin was. How she’d feel beneath him. How she’d taste.

Tuesday is a multi-colour knit. It hangs off of her in such an adorable way; she has to roll the sleeves up so they don’t dangle over her hands. That’s another thing that drives Ben into a frenzy. How tiny she is, compared to him. He works with his body all day. Heaving heavy equipment, which built up an impressive amount of muscle. She came up to his chest. So meek for him.

Wednesday is a cream cotton, she wears a turtleneck underneath it.

Thursday is another multi coloured knit, but it’s jagged and thick. She made it herself. She told him. He couldn’t contain his smile when she told him that. So feminine, baking and knitting for fun. He knew he wasn’t wrong about her. She had a nurturing energy about her, a natural caretaker.

Ben’s mother Leia wasn’t like that. He’d always craved it as a boy. Wishing that his mother could be gentle and ladylike. But she was stern. Ben broke that out of her. Eventually.

Friday is a green fluffy material. He wants to cuddle her in it, nuzzle into her chest, he finds himself leaning in sometimes when she wears it. He wants to feel her tender touch.

She is classic. Unchanging. He likes that.

She isn’t after attention. She’s herself. She laughs at Ben’s jokes. When she tilts her head back, some hair falls out of her bun and falls in front of her face. Ben wants to tuck it behind her ear for her. But, he resists, he’ll do it one day. And he’ll follow it with a soft kiss, and she will blush and kiss him back so tenderly.

Thursday is his favourite day. That’s when she’s happiest. Of course, she is always happy to see Ben. She wears her hand-knitted sweater, and it makes him feel so light. He can’t wait for her to knit him something. Even if it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen, he’d cherish it. Cling to it. But it is closely followed by Monday. Her skin does something to him. She does something to him.

He knows she is desperate for him. Just as desperate as he is for her, but she wouldn’t make a move because she thinks Ben would say no. He knows she feels that way because of how shy she is. Submission runs off of her.

“Hey kid,” he hums as he sees her, swiftly running his eyes over every inch of her, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the semi he gets from the excitement of her presence.

Whenever he sees her, it’s like time is standing still. He basks in her presence. He wants to stand in that bakery for hours, watching her knead bread, glaze buns, and decorate the small cupcakes she makes. Watching as she smiles as he talks to her. She blushes easily.

“Hey stranger,” she flashed him an angelic smile. Sometimes Ben wonders if she is an angel, so delicate and talented. “I have no idea what you’ll order,” she taunts. She’s so horny for him. He knows it. He almost doubles over as she speaks, but he plays it cool, raising an eyebrow and playing along with her flirting.

“What do you think would best suit me, ma’am?”

“Well, I’d love to encourage some experimentation, we have cherry turnovers this morning—fresh out of the oven—fruit tarts, eclairs, apple strudels, but...” she’d already made her way over to the danish pastries, sliding two into a brown paper bag, “I think that you’re a classical man, unchanging, old-fashioned... so I’m going to make the brave decision of handing you some danish pastries, is that completely outspoken?”

Ben looks at her with fake disgust, clutching a hand to his chest, taking the bag she passed him and peering inside with a grimace. “I can not believe that you would lower me to a danish pastry.”

There it was, that laugh. Tilting her head with a delightful giggle as her lips parted, a smile reaching her eyes.

A piece of her hair detached from the up-do, dangling in front of her face, which she tucks behind her ear, looking up at Ben with an expression that made his semi turn into a full erect one. So tempted to have brushed it away with his own fingertips, feel her skin beneath his fingertips, inhale her scent—which was vanilla and lavender.

“Thank you,” he says, giving her a five-dollar note that had been crumpled in his fist due to lust and bewilderment. Wondering if she knew what she did to him, but shook off those thoughts. Of course she does. She means to. She wants to. Just as he wants her to.

It isn’t unrequited, they just both struggle with words. Two awkward people finding an interest in each other will always be difficult. But he’ll wait for when the time is right. He is a patient man. And she doesn’t want to make Ben uncomfortable. She is only twenty, after all. Still young. She feels like he’ll be disgusted. But she’ll learn he won’t. She’ll learn.

“Is that a new jumper?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the dark orange wool. It had small specks of white running through the yarn. He had never seen it before. She wore cream cotton one on Wednesdays. It upset him. She wasn’t sticking to her routine jumpers.

“Oh, this?” She smiles, running a hand over the sweater, rubbing the sleeves under her dainty fingers, “I made it the other day—I spilt something over my old cream one which was oddly a godsend, I’d just finished making this thirty-minutes before, do you like it?” God. Ben thought. He didn’t mind the change when it came to knowing she made it herself. It turned him on.

“Yeah, it’s nice—the colour suits you.” The words flew out of Ben’s mouth before he could catch them. Tensing, would she think that’s creepy?

“Thank you. Orange has always been one of my favourite colours.”

Ben nodded stiffly. It was getting harder and harder to not touch her. To ignore the ache in his groin. He is a patient man, he reminds himself. Tearing his eyes away from hers. “Thank you,” he ushered, holding up the bag, almost like it was a toast.

The bell jingled as he opened the door to leave, giving her a tight smile as he turned his head to look at her again. “Have a good day, Ben!” she called.

Even his name on her tongue made him spiral. He couldn’t wait until she was screaming it.

#ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #adcu fanfiction #adcu smut #adcu community #dead dove do not eat #dead dove #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #ben solo fanfiction

[digitalsatyr23]

Humans of Arachnia

Many great kingdoms have risen and turned to ash throughout Arachnia's history. People change, migrate, intermingle, and create something new. Though their histories, culture, and origins differ, in the years following the Great Cataclysm, ten primary ethnicities continue to persist.

(Warning: Long post is long)

Gaire/Gairen: Resourceful, hardworking, and adaptable, the Gaire (gai-reh) are the backbone of Boccovia. They are the farmer, the local militia, the lenient guardsman, and the friendly pickpocket. Gairen folk tend to live in small, tight-knit communities near plains and mountains, tending to fields and flocks. Also known as the laughing people, they have endured countless hardships and continued to find happiness and joy in their lives through song and dance. They aren’t pushovers, though. When there’s no one else to answer the call, Gairen take matters into their own hands. They are the ones that carry the torch and the pitchfork. They are the ones that see monsters for what they really are. When they feel that their communities are threatened, these peace-loving commoners can transform into an angry, snarling mob in the blink of an eye.

Gairen are about middle-height compared to the rest of their kin. The Gaire tend to have thin, sinewy muscle and coarse skin from the labor they devote themselves to. Good-humored and good-natured, Gairen have a curve to their mouths that make them look like they’re always grinning. Gairen most commonly have brown eyes, though blue is becoming more prevalent. Their hair could be ashen blonde, wood brown, or charcoal black, which they wear long if they can get away with it. Most Gairen have rosy skin which tans nicely in the midday sun. Gairen women tend to be a bit plumper, both because they like to treat themselves with good food and drink when they can, but also because a bit of fat is looked at favorably, not to mention how handy it is during the freezing winters.

Gairen never write the laws, merely uphold them. While they keep the peace and abide by whatever code is in place, Gairen also look at vigilantes favorably, as they know that laws can only go so far when concerning true justice. Gairen towns and villages are headed by mayors, who help gather taxes to improve on anything needed in the settlement and pay for any military or personal support to help deal with local threats, such as monsters and bandits. A traditional Gairen home involves two working parents, and at least two children who help with cleaning and feeding livestock. With the rise of literacy, Gairen families try to give their offspring the best education they can afford, hoping their children will have better options when they’re all grown up. Since their communities are so small, everyone tends to know everyone, and the local jail may be filled with conversation between old friends sharing a drink between bars.

Magi: A rare and powerful breed of humans, Magi (ma-jai) are the only humans naturally capable of magic who don’t have the blood of supernatural beings in their veins. Through their powers, humanity has achieved greatness. They are the blood and bones of the Empire. As Boccovia has traditionally been a mageocracy, even the weakest Magi are considered nobility. Holding both arcane and political power, they amass wealth and work tirelessly to perfect their arts in their traveling towers. While Magi are an uncommon type of human, they can be found all over Boccovia and many are appointed as lords to watch over settlements. When they aren’t politically inclined, they are usually moving from place to place, trying to unearth whatever arcane secrets were buried by the Great Cataclysm. They are highly intelligent and have greater stamina than their slim forms let on. Perhaps it was their power, perhaps it was their status, but their egos have long since been bloated and they see the rest of humanity as beneath them.

Magi are among the tallest humans. As lanky as they can be overbearing, they tower over their peers and look down on them – both figuratively and literally. Magi have a great deal of physical endurance from a young age, though they rarely develop strong muscles. This is because many forego physical tasks all together by using their arcana to manipulate themselves and objects around them. The brain of a Magi is actually bigger than that of a regular human’s, though their overall size makes the difference hard to notice. Further still within their bodies, there is a unique organ that allows them to absorb small traces of ether like vitamins and it is through this that they are able to naturally use magic. Due in part to their ability to absorb ether, Magi are also less likely to be harmed by mana, and in fact they harbor a natural fascination and obsession with such materials. Magi also have a second heart, and it’s because of this that they can become so physically capable – if only they pushed themselves to do so. Magi can be born with natural hair or eye colors, but are also prone to unusual colors as well. Those born near certain types of mana take on hues similar to them. This is most striking in their eyes which glow in the dark, shimmering with eerie arcane hues.

In spite of the amount of arcane and political power Magi share, they make up only a fraction of the population. For every 1,000 humans born, only a single Magi emerges. Those born as Magi are seemingly random, thought to have been gifted with power through Giccacius’s blessing. Those who hold political offices use their power in a careful and calculating manner, directing workers and resources to seemingly unknowable ends. Settlements that are ruled or at least controlled by Magi have laws favoring magic users. Some Magi have even stressed a potential law to ban the use of magic by non-Magi, but this law is unlikely to pass as it would make finding sorcerers quite difficult. For you see, in order to increase the chances of breeding a new Magi, said Magi will seek out mates of a magical inclination – including humans who draw their lineage from supernatural sources. It is not all that uncommon for a poor farmer to sell off their son or daughter to join a Magi’s harem, though from a practical standpoint this is a life of luxury. Those who join a Magi’s harem never have to worry about food, water, or shelter. They bask in wealth and are always treated well. Another curious facet of Magi are they only use members of their harem for procreation, as they view sex for pleasure as beneath them. Since Magi live in a mageocracy, the best way to rise up in Magi society is to become an arcane master. The ruler of Boccovia (often called the Sage King, despite Boccovia being an empire) is typically the strongest of their flock. If ever a Magi wanted the throne for himself, he need only challenge the Sage King. Prospective usurpers should be careful, however, as even when they defeat the king they still have to pass the tests of The Burning Prophets. These primordial beings are rumored to have been some of the first humans, and it is they that choose a monarch to rule over humanity. Those who they deem unworthy of the throne are smote and absorbed into the bodies of the prophets, and then they seek out a more appropriate ruler. Power isn’t everything in the world of the Magi… You also have to know how to use it.

Geire/Geiren: Once a sprawling civilization of unimaginable wealth and power, the Geire (gi-reh) have long since fallen from grace and are now the cursed denizens of the deserts. They stalk the shadows for shelter from the sun and live out days of solitude in the arid wastelands they call home. Sometimes they delve into the ancient ruins of their ancestors, seeking answers to the curse that has befallen them, while others have long accepted their fate and give thanks for the blessed cold nights under the moon. Geiren are formidable swordsmen, some of which are known to dance beautifully upon the sands while cutting their enemies to ribbons. To cross a Geiren bladedancer is to invite death. To defeat one is to know true mastery of the blade.

Though they tend to hunch over somewhat, Geiren are relatively tall by human standards and their lack of reliable food and water means many are rather thin. Though once colored with a deep brown skin, their ancient curse has left them albino, with pale as the moon skin and equally white hair along with striking red or yellow eyes. It is a common practice, though, for Geiren to use certain plants and berries to make dyes and color their hair, with black being the most common shade. They burn profusely under the sun, and thus most of their hunting and traveling takes place at night. In order for bladedancers to learn the lightning-fast reflexes required of their style, they often hunt bare-handed for snakes and similar creatures. To gain an edge against the desert predators they hunt, Geiren sometimes grow out and sharpen their nails, leading to a somewhat bestial appearance. They dress in flowing dark robes, with men and women alike covering their mouths, only allowing their intent to be viewed from their eyes.

Geire live in small nomadic tribes, settling wherever they can find peace and quiet from monsters, the Scarro, and slavers. Because the desert regions are so rarely traveled by other Boccovians, Geiren and other desert denizens are easy pickings for slavers looking to avoid the law. Though a fully trained bladedancer is formidable, it is all too common for inexperienced youths to meet their ends at the hands of more experienced, better equipped raiders. Those tribes who do have properly trained warriors are able to maintain a certain level of peace amongst themselves, to which they spend much of their time practicing their ritual dances, scavenging for food, and reciting prayers to the gods. In their hearts, they have given up hope for having their cursed lifted, but it is tradition to pray to the gods in the hopes of catching their eye. Another common trait among Geiren that makes them vulnerable to outsiders is they tend to sleep during the day and awake at night, for very little can be done under the blistering sun. The strongest among them do what they can to watch over their slumbering tribesmen and plan out with the village chieftain where to move next.

Scarro: An enduring people, the Scarro (sk-ah-row) have been riding upon the desert plains for thousands of years. Having been attacked by countless civilizations throughout history, the Scarro have persisted. Among their enemies are the Geire, who had once enslaved them, as well as the Black Marketeers who seek to make the same mistake as the Geiren had centuries ago. Powerfully built, passionate and proud, Scarro sandriders are a fearsome lot that have kept their deserts safe from monsters time after time. Though they have made some trade agreements with The Boccovian Empire, they are by and large their own people. They make their homes in the same blistering sands as the scorpions they cherish. The sandriders train young scorpions from an early age and raise them to become gigantic things and ride them into battle, and Scarro even bind weapons into their long hair braids to emulate the stinging tails of the scorpion. They fashion fine armors out of chitin and scout out the plains in search of prey. Once you cross them, you will be hard-pressed to fully escape their grasp.

Scarro are similar in size to the mighty Craeger, and just as muscular. Their skin ranges from bronze to a dark brown, their eyes range from brown, black, hazel, and occasionally a deep green, and their hair is almost always a dark black. The Albina Scarro are known to have much lighter skin and sandy hair. The Red Claw Scarro are incredibly violent and paint their hands with the blood of their enemies, the Crimson Scarro dye their braids with red scorpion venom, and the Tailless don’t wear braids at all, have stark black skin and only operate at night. There are many other tribes of Scarro, though these are some of the most striking beyond the typical dark-haired and brown-skinned sandrider. Scarro typically shave all of their hair except for the braids which they continue to grow and braid with all manner of blades. These “battle braids” as they are called are meant to emulate the vicious sting of scorpions, and the more talented warriors even swing them around in battle, cutting down more than a few surprised slavers and bandits. Scarro don’t wear very much clothing, preferring only to cover the softer and more vulnerable parts of their bodies with linen wraps and chitin armor.

The Scarro are a collection of tribes with similar beliefs and appearances, though as has been explained, some do differ greatly. Their chieftains are their mightiest warriors, and they pay heed only to their kin and the words of the village shaman. Generally, Scarro tribes build homes in one area and continue to scout around a somewhat vague territory, sometimes growing in size and sometimes shrinking. Their homes, or “burrows” as they like to call them, are dome-shaped structures similar to igloos which they build out of clay and eventually paint. A Scarro burrow is a beautiful sight to behold, something that catches many outsiders off-guard due to the Scarro’s perceived savage nature. To many humans, the Scarro appear quite primitive as they have not changed much over the years. But the Scarro believe the life of a scorpion to be sacred and see little reason to use the teachings and technology of other races, especially since they have seen the pain and sorrow certain advances have brought their neighbors. Scarro men are exclusively warriors while Scarro women are gatherers. One of the most sacred duties of their women is the search for water, a scarce commodity in the desert. These water bearers carry clay jugs with them as a means to collect, and are typically escorted by a small band of sandriders. Scarro men take on many wives over the course of their lifetime in order to breed more children, as not all Scarro children make it to adulthood. Their dead are buried deep within the sands, which the Scarro consider an important task. Once buried, they are said to have "returned to the winds." The mourning period for Scarro involve days of passionate cries and circling around the graves on their mounts. Once the mourning ritual is complete, the fallen Scarro’s scorpion is released into the wild, never to be seen again. As the dead are returned to the winds, so too are the scorpions.

Uther/Utheran: Some say the Uther (oo-thur) came from the sea itself and learned to walk on land. Whether this is true or not, the Uther are the finest sailors in all of Boccovia. Sure-footed, adventurous, and free, these pioneers and privateers live along the four corners of Boccovia’s shoreline, fishing, sailing, and keeping sea monsters at bay. Utheran are carefree drunkards, but also soldiers of fortune. Despite their cheerful exterior, they are capable combatants and master strategists. The Uther appear peaceful and halfhearted not because they don’t take things seriously, but because they believe in having fun and enjoying what life has to offer. Their philosophy is "If you’re going to die anyway, why not die alive?" They are the sea-charterers, the treasure seekers, and the runaway lovers.

Uther are similar in height and build to the Losha, for they share a common lineage. Utheran hair comes in shades of red, black, and sometimes even white. Their eyes are most commonly blue, with hazel being the second most common color. They are fair-skinned, though months at sea might leave their skin rough and salt-weathered, and they tan quite easily. Utheran love to tattoo their bodies in dark inks, typically symbols related to family crests, their ships, favored sea creatures, and other things that remind them of their past and make them think fondly of the future. Men and women alike wear their hair long, and what facial hair they can grow is well-loved by other human women.

Sea-faring is an important part of Utheran culture, and as such, their children are taught from an early age how to swim, tie knots, and manage various aspects of a ship. Utheran nobility have military backgrounds and man battleships with which they use to escort merchant vessels across the sea. Even low-born Utheran families own some kind of ship or boat, and many fishermen take their children out to learn how to work cages, lines, and eventually harpoons. Utheran port towns are headed by wardens, who keep close track of trade agreements, shipping logs, and decide who gets to own what kind of ship. Recently, Utheran wardens have been working with Free Tero blacksmiths as part of the mass development of cannons with which military vessels have made great use of in fending off the horrors of the deep. Forms of fencing are commonly practiced among Utheran sailors, and many a salty sailor would not have survived were it not for his trusty cutlass. Pistols have become increasingly common among sailors as well, though they are not always reliable when out at sea. It is common practice for soldiers to carry many guns with them in case one gets soaked or another gun jams due to moisture and salt. The Utheran prize the freedom that sailing gives them, and while they form close bonds with their crew, they are individuals first and last. The best way to get your name out in Utheran society is to spend time out in the ocean, fighting off pirates, raiders, and the dreaded Viscaeren.

Craeger/Craegerian: Said to have emerged from the rock itself, the Craeger (cray-gur) are descendants of the warrior people of Klingenheim, who learned to till what little land they had and fought for the rest. Tough, broad-shouldered, and always looking for a fight, these hardened people from Northern Boccovia first kept the dreaded Viscaeren at bay, then later the horrors of the Acid Sea, known as the Tainted. Craeger are a no-nonsense people, seeking practical solutions to their problems – which leads to violence fairly often. Warriors train and compete with one another, seeking to become the best of their settlement. They welcome the strong, laugh at the weak, yet never yield in their duty to keep their fellow man safe from harm. Woe unto those who draw the ire of a Craegerian village, for once they are set on a warpath, trying to make peace with the Craeger is like trying to push a boulder up a hill.

Craeger are tall and thick-muscled, sometimes appearing ugly to others due to their raw physicality. Even their women are unusually muscular and strong compared to the average human. They are a rough yet fair-looking folk, with wavy red or blonde hair and green or brown eyes. Craeger are sometimes thick-browed, and often sport squat noses. Their hands are ugly, calloused things, worn from hard work and battle. A Craegerian is often littered with scars from their youth, as they do not train with wooden swords. Craeger are loud and even boastful, always prizing the chance to show off their strength and skill in whatever they do.

Before they joined The Boccovian Empire, the Kings of Klingenheim presided over grand feasting halls and passed rings around to the warriors to create a bond between the two classes, while their queens passed around drinking cups for celebration and relaxation. The tradition has not been lost on them, and they still gather under their greatest warrior in the feasting halls to drink to the good times and drink to the bad times. Alcohol is a very important part of Craegerian culture. It gets them ready for battle, it makes them feel great after a successful venture, and is a useful tool for cleaning wounds while away from home. Mead, in particular, is seen as a drink of the gods, the honey-soaked beverage granting visions of valor and paradise. To them, drinking is communing with the gods, or “high lords” as they call them. Anyone who is tough and battle-ready, regardless of gender, is a welcomed addition in their community. Though a two-pair marriage is traditional, it is not uncommon for a warrior to have side-lovers to sate their needs after long days fighting men, monsters, or even worse. To them, their spouse is their cup, and their lovers are the jewels upon the cup – prized and sought after, but not strictly necessary.

Losha/Loshan: Intelligent and captivating, strong-willed and cunning, the Losha (low-shah) are the source of The Boccovian Empire’s military might. Soldiers, scouts, tacticians, and generals, Loshan humans have a knack for commanding a battlefield and charge ever towards victory. Said to be the descendants of the Carthagians, the Losha carry themselves in a proud and dignified manner. Most at home when clad in steel and swinging a sword, the Losha make for fine knights. Losha settlements are found on the western front of Boccovia, with many situated near mountainous terrain at high altitudes. Ambitious to a fault, they are always competing with one another to see who’s the best in their particular field. Strict and disciplined, they view most other humans as lazy, or at worst, immoral. Women are the primary authority figures in Loshan cities, and it is these women who lead the imperial armies in times of trouble… Though at times, the Loshan seem so efficient and self-reliant, one wonders if they need The Empire, or if The Empire needs them?

The Losha are similar in height to the Gaire, with lean athletic builds. Interestingly, women are on average taller than men. Both men and women are made to wear armor from an early age, and a true Loshan is rarely seen without at least a pair of good boots or bracers on. They are fair-skinned, with blue or green eyes, and their hair runs the gamut from black, brown, auburn, and red – with red being the most common. Red hair is seen as a sign of status, and these individuals tend to move up in the ranks in life and eventually become political or military leaders. Loshan have great posture, taught to stand tall and stand proud. To many other humans, the Losha appear beautiful and statuesque – made all the more impressive when wearing imperial armor and riding on a fine steed. They practice strict cleanliness as well, with most men keeping their beards shaven at all times.

Each Loshan has a required military service of three years, starting when they turn 16. Afterwards, they can either return to their towns or branch out and continue to rise in rank. While political and territorial disputes occur between humans every so often, the Loshan fight monsters more often than other humans: giants, beasts, Porga, and especially the Undead. Loshan military expeditions are commonly lead by paladins and undead slayers so that they can hunt down undead wherever they might appear as efficiently as possible. There’s an almost uncanny zeal with which they try to fight off such creatures. They view mistakes as irreversible stains on their lives, and it was them that helped push back the undead scourges into Scauldowa, so now that the seal has weakened and more and more undead are trickling into Boccovia, they feel it is their solemn duty to push them back before it is too late. Loshan settlements are governed almost exclusively by military leaders, whether former or current. They instill their military discipline onto the masses, and work to maintain a certain code of ethics: no unnecessary violence, no theft, always tell the truth, and no sex before marriage. Loshan leaders do what they can to channel the repressed energy of their people into fighting spirit and political zeal. The best way to get ahead in Loshan society is to continue moving up the ranks in their armies until you can retire, surrounded by war trophies and pristine medals.

Igear/Igearan: In order to meet the incredible demand for bronze, iron, and gold, The Boccovian Empire had to go to extreme methods to compete with the better positioned and more industrious Tero of Kijihn. As such, settlements were constructed in mountains, and then later underground. Over time, these settlements developed their own unique culture. The Igear (ee-geer) are… Quite distinct from other humans, yet they still maintain their relations with The Empire. Simultaneously, the Igear have created a vast criminal network beneath the ground known as The City Beneath Cities. Igearan are durable, hardworking folk, with an eye for opportunity and a deep-rooted bitterness for surface dwellers. Keeping the best weapons and armor for themselves, bands of raiders lead by Black Marketeers attack remote settlements and traffic slaves by the hundreds. People say that centuries underground have left them changed forever. The question is… In what way?

Igearan are the shortest of the humans, as the long years moving through tunnels has created a need for smaller people. They hunch over naturally, though they stand up straight whenever they can. The average Igearan is incredibly fit due to years spent exercising, mining, and practicing with spears near underground rivers. The Igear are black of hair, pale-skinned, and have beady dark red eyes that almost gleam with a sinister light. Igearan can no longer see color the same way other humans do, and instead have learned to see in the dark and pick up any subtle sounds or smells. Due to this adaption, the light of the sun is blinding to them, and most who venture to the surface where goggles with black lenses. To most humans, the Igear appear human enough, but they'll always say there’s something off about them, though most can’t put it into words. This is because the Igearan can trace their lineage back to vampire lords of old, and even the weakest of their numbers still pose a threat to surface-dwelling warriors. This trace of vampire blood lends them great strength for their size, and honeyed words that make people believe what they want them to believe. If an Igearan becomes a full vampire (which their leaders tend to do), it is said that they take on a monstrous guise that makes other vampires flee at the sight of them.

After the many hard years in the mines, the Igear were found to become physically weak and brittle. After trying to rely on the arcana of The Empire, they found simpler solutions in continued exercise, grinding up the bones of fish from their underground rivers, and feasting on the iridescent mushrooms that can be found all over their tunnels. Once they established a means of staying healthy, their industriousness improved, yet they started to feel cheated by The Empire and began to keep the best ores and gear for themselves, only selling "choice" bits to the imperial traders that visited them. The Igear follow The Empire only as much as it suits them, but the Igear are the true rulers of their domain. Many clans of Igear exist: Starborne, Marsups, Shrewbits, Longtails, but all pay heed to the Goldari, the lords of The City Beneath Cities. The Goldari are equals amongst themselves, though they are effectively a council of kings that direct and command the other clans, appointing leaders, directing resources, and splitting the wealth earned from their Black Marketeers.

As head of the Igear, the Goldari clan has helped to maintain the Igear's long relationship with The Empire, though they take whatever opportunity presents itself to swindle traders that come their way. Where they truly profit is in their vast criminal network. As the Igear have created the tunnels necessary for continuous mining over the centuries, they have carefully mapped out the underground and move The City Beneath Cities whenever it becomes necessary, maintaining its longevity from everlasting to everlasting. They have created political alliances with a variety of monsters over the years, including the dreaded Thaloqua (serpent-headed tarantula creatures from the stars), which have become their primary benefactors. Individually, an Igearan is a greedy and morbid individual that is always looking out for himself. Collectively, the Igear are ruthless and conniving, perhaps even monstrous. Though many remain ignorant of their activities underground, they remain a black stain on Boccovia's history - one that a certain individual has worked tirelessly to correct.

Aira/Airan: Strong-willed people, the Aira (i-rah) originated from the bitter cold tundras of Rogdova before the Great Cataclysm rearranged their ancestral homes and the dragons took what remained. While some stayed in what is now known as Wyravaen and allied themselves with the dragons of the Xenshin Empire, others migrated across the seas, seeking new homes. What they found was the Boccovian Empire. The two factions fought to a stand-still, their blood collectively staining the battlefield for years. It wasn't until the intervention of a certain philosopher that the two warring groups finally made peace. Though the Airan people joined The Empire, they have always been a fringe community, preferring to live near coastal regions and forested mountains where they can practice their spiritual beliefs in peace.

The Aira are short and thin compared to other humans. Nonetheless, they are quite formidable in terms of speed and strength. Their skin, though somewhat pale, takes on a light olive hue. Their eyes are black and brown, along with their hair which is long and straight, and often tied in various braids. The Aira tend to tattoo their bodies with rune-like symbols and eye-themed patterns. It is said they do this so they can watch for spirits at all times, even while asleep. A passerby might even give an Airan a second glance, thinking that their tattooed eyes looked their way.

Airan settlements are headed by lords appointed by higher-ranking nobility. These lords watch over their people and give land to warriors in exchange for their protection. These warriors create a deep bond between themselves and their lord. Airan laws favor the various classes in a hierarchical top-to-bottom way, with the lords and similar nobles at the top, the warrior class below them, and everyone else below warriors. Men and women are equal in Airan society. Favor is granted by class and merit, not by physical appearance. Even though the class system may be in place, there is a level of mutual respect passed around Airan communities which keep them working together in harmony. The peasants mine the iron, the artisans smith weapons from the iron, the weapons are wielded by the warriors, and these warriors keep the lords safe while they maintain peace and order. In spite of the rigid class system, people can move up or down the ladder. Youths are taken into the military at a young age and taught to wield weapons and are strictly disciplined. If they show promise, even a girl from an artisan’s family could become employed by a lord. And in the case of lazy or belligerent lords, a warrior may feel inclined to behead them and take their place.

Freath: The watchful oaks of Boccovia, the Freath (free-ah-th) are a collection of various tribes that worship The Life Seed. The Freath, like the Southern Huldra of Tenrai, view nature itself to be the source of life, not the gods. Because of this, the Freath live among what they hold sacred – the trees. A Freath tribe gather in forests, typically around a treant or dryad, and keep a close eye on the surrounding area and its denizens. Because the destruction of nature is an essential element of modern civilization, they are always trying to push back against the machine that is development and progress, and have been known to raid their more industrious neighbors. Simultaneously, they keep those who try to live in harmony with nature safe from harm, fighting men, monsters, and the unspeakable terrors that sometimes cross over from other planes. Though they are hated and sometimes even feared by their fellow man, they protect the natural world out of respect for life and a strong sense of duty, for without nature, how would man ever survive?

Freath are of a modest stature and healthy in appearance, having partaken in the finest flora they can grow. They have athletic builds, as they are used to racing through forests, climbing up trees and mountains, and swimming along rivers – a favorite activity for them. Freath have black and brown hair that they adorn with bones, horns (antlers in particular), and feathers. The particular arrangement and decorations in their hair could tell you what tribe they are from, what star they were born under, even how big their family is. Their eyes are typically brown or hazel, and they have bronze skin, though sometimes they can become pale from staying under a thick forest canopy for too long. Freath have full lips, somewhat round noses, as well as thickly calloused hands and feet. A Freath never wears shoes, as they feel disconnected from the earth when doing so. They will decorate their ankles, however - often with painted hide or patterned cloth.

Freath settlements work alongside whatever treants, dryads, or other nature spirits live near their communities. They offer gifts to the forest spirits in exchange for guidance. The one who communicates and gives these gifts are known as shamans, and they work closely with the spirits of the wood. The Freath believe every single person has an animal spirit alongside them that was meant to watch over and protect them. To this end, a shaman can draw out what they believe to be this animal spirit. Sometimes these are manifested in a physical sense, becoming animal companions or familiars. Other times, they might form as markings or tattoos on their skin. The Freath work to embody nature, and practice all manner of druidic magics to this end. When they hunt, it is a spiritual experience and they always thank the beasts they slay for the meal, for without the sacrifice of the animal, there would be no feast. Typically, men are the ones that hunt while women forage for fruits, nuts, and useful herbs. It is an easy task for the hunters and gatherers, though, for the food is provided by the forest spirits the shaman communes with. Shamans pass on their duties to their offspring, and those children in turn pass this duty onto their children when the time comes.

Author's Note: As you can probably tell, many of Arachnia's human ethnicities draw strong inspiration from existing ethnicities and cultures. When I made these, I never meant any disrespect towards existing cultures and people. I simply wanted there to be diversity among my setting's humans, so I looked to real life for inspiration. I also wanted to give my humans a dash of the familiar, as some of my other fantasy races can be quite alien in design and mindset. Anyway, for those who got this far, thank you for reading! I plan to periodically upload more race lore in the future - though perhaps not as long or dense as this particular post. Have a nice day!

#writeblr #my writing #fantasy #dark fantasy #arachnia #arachnia fables #fictional ethnicities #fictional cultures #worldbuilding #world lore

[jessicafurseth]

Reading List, Six Months Later edition.

"I want you to understand exactly what you are getting: you are getting a woman who for some time now has felt radically separated from most of the ideas that seem to interest people. You are getting a woman who, somewhere along the line, misplaced whatever slight faith she ever had in the social contract, in the meliorative principle, in the whole grand pattern of human endeavor." - Joan Didion *** “I don’t actually think we are equipped, physiologically or mentally, to be delivered catastrophic and confusing news and pictures, 24/7. We are analog creatures in a digital world." What might news designed for 21st century humans look like? TL;DR we need hope, agency and dignity. [Amanda Ripley, The Washington Post] I Made Every Big Pandemic Life Change I Could. Now What? [Stacia Brown, The Cut] "I started noticing my age in every part of my internet experience. I get confused whenever Instagram changes its layout. I use GIFs to make jokes in Slack. I have posted song lyrics on my Instagram Story. The range of mannerisms is so broad, the signs such a staple of my online behavior for the past 15 years, that it’s not even worth trying to fight them." Millennials are the first generation to age out of the internet [Kate Lindsay, The Atlantic] "The problems with Twitter are not engineering problems. They are political problems." Welcome to hell, Elon [Nilay Patel, The Verge] "This year, I’ve noticed a new undercurrent of desperation, an almost pagan yearning for a change of season. It feels preindustrial, as if people are going to start lighting bonfires in their cul-de-sacs to cleanse the air of humidity and evil spirits." Is "cozy season" a cry for help? [Kathryn Jezer-Morton, The Cut] ... Kathryn Jezer-Morton's column on The Cut, called "Brooding", is ostensibly about parenting but it has far wider appeal than this - I absolutely loved her stories about how to raise a resilient child, and what does it mean to be an adult orphan. "I become aware that each piece of furniture will outlive me, and the house might outlive us all. The baby — god willing — will outlive me. The citrus trees will outlive him if the drought breaks. As I push the pram through the door, and unstack the things in the hallway, I ask my husband if a house can be a mother because we live inside it." If a House Can Be a Mother [Ella Baxter, Astra] "So rarely do we look at the present, innocent of fresh disaster, as a rosy beforetime: we live in the aftertime of events, some more catastrophic than others." In the Beforetime [Yiyun Li, The New Yorker] The Women Naming Their Babies After Themselves [Maggie Mertens, The Atlantic] Maternal Instinct Is a Myth That Men Created [Chelsea Conaboy, The New York Times] The Right to Not Be Pregnant [Charlotte Shane, Harpers] “There is a great freedom that comes with being older. You lose any embarrassment.” On learning to swim at 69 [The Guardian] The enduring influence of Star Wars’ bizarre jazz group [Stevie Chick, The Guardian] "For me, the deal we struck was that you’d always be here, so I don’t need to worry about doing the stuff I always did to keep you around. For you, the deal was that I’d promise to keep doing that stuff." From the archives of "Our One Fight" at Slate, the most fascinating relationship column of all times. "What’s happening now is a restlessness, a searching, a wholesale reexamination of the role that work should play in a woman’s life and identity. “If we look at the second wave of feminism, the goal was to access the things that white men had,” says Mia Birdsong, author of How We Show Up: Reclaiming Family, Friendship, and Community. But now, instead of breaking the glass ceiling, Birdsong says she and many other women would rather leave the building altogether. “I want to go and sit beneath trees, or sit in a field, or whatever,” she says, laughing." A New Take on Ambition for 2022 [Ann Friedman, Elle] "Writing fan mail creates an opportunity to take pleasure in my own intemperate passions. Articulating what turns me on about beautiful work transforms distant admiration into intimacy." The Case for Writing Fan Mail [Rachael Bedard, The New York Times] Joan Didion’s Magic Trick [Caitlin Flanagan, The Atlantic] Queen Elizabeth II: A travel icon [Conde Nast Traveller] A year on the River Thames, in pictures [Jill Mead, The Guardian] Pause [Mary Ruefle, Granta] Fiona Apple sings The Whole of the Moon

#reading list

[rambleonwithrosie]

My fellow Americans WHATEVER HAPPENS in the coming days with the election. For the love of everything worth anything in this world don't forget to be decent people to each other. We're all of us more than what we vote and most of us hate both options this election much the same as the last. So be kind and find common ground instead of division.

Don't make 2020 worse than it already is! Be civil no matter what!

#a rare rosie post on politics #american election #2020 #2020 election

[baiwu-jinji]

hi! sorry to bother you, but i'm always interested in your opinions, i was thinking lately about the (deliberate) parallel between xie lian's suporting the celestial pagoda and jun wu's maintaining the heaven crossing bridge while their spiritual power is fluctuating and depleting itself, both failing in their endeavours. i was wondering if one could read into the differences. the pagoda is like xianle, the reign of xie lian's father and the status quo, that we know is tyrannical -duh- (1/4)

and especially unfair to the people outside the capital; even if the crisis is artificial (and we don't know to what extent), it reveals the injustices of the system. jun wu's bridge is meant to unite heaven and earth, it's really a revolutionary idea that the heavenly officials hated and ended up sabotaging to cannibalize his kingdom. here the crisis highlights heaven's injustices. BUT, after everything, jun wu's heavenly reign is not that different from its predecessor, (2/4) it's still a terribly corrupted heaven and common people still suffer miserably. i haven't read the extras and i don't remember if there's any evidence in the text that xie lian's heaven is any less corrupted -except for jun wu's own demise-, and godhood can be still achieved by terrible means. (3/4) idk, maybe those falling buildings mirror the things that collpase in them: in xie lian's case, home, his (over)confidence, his gilded innocence, in jun wu's his revolutionary attitude, his idealism, his love for the common people. mmm do you have any thoughts on this? (4/4)

 Hi! First of all fun fact: the director of tgcf donghua said that Xie Lian struggling to hold up the pagoda is his favourite part in the book. You made some great points about the symbolic meanings of the collapse of the pagoda and the bridge, and the last line is very well-put (so I emboldened it for you haha). Although I don’t know why you think Xie Lian’s father is tyrannical…The people of Yong’an accused him of incompetence, not of tyranny (and tbh I don’t think he’s especially incompetent either as kings and emperors go).

It is ruthless to shut the people of Yong’an out of the capital, but it’s also a practical move to prioritize the capital because the capital is the political and economic centre, if you mess up the capital you mess up the kingdom. The moral of the story is no one can bring justice and parity to everywhere and no one can save everyone; this not only goes for Xie Lian but for Xie Lian’s father too.

I agree that the system is unjust and you’re right about that, but I was just thinking whether it’s possible to have a system that’s perfectly fair and just. In Xianle there’s great economic disparity and social inequality (as was the case throughout ancient Chinese history), but a more equal distribution of wealth and resources, which sounds nice in theory, is rarely so rosy in reality. China during last century did try to implement a system of absolute equality among the people where living is collectivist and there’s no economic or social disparity (and this was precisely to uproot the “feudal” system that exists in Xianle and which lingered on in 20th century China), but the new system turned out to be terribly inefficient and huge amount of resources was wasted, and the result is that everyone was equally poor and equally unproductive, and then there was a three-year famine (1959-1961) where the economy collapsed and millions of people starved to death equally. All this rambling is not to say that the situation in Xianle was handled brilliantly in any way, but that sometimes it’s impossible to find the perfect solution.

The heaven, as you said, is also unjust. The heavenly realm in Chinese myths is often a reflection of real-life politics in the Chinese imperial court, therefore it won’t be any less corrupt than the human realm. Now that you mentioned it, I do wonder what the new order in heavenly court is like post-Jun Wu. They’re still rebuilding the heavenly capital in the extra chapters I think, so it didn’t say. Jun Wu didn’t die btw, he was restrained under Tonglu Mountain.

#xie lian #jun wu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing

[kalocklyle]

alright so I know literally no one cares about this but it’s my social media I’m doing what I want /lh

I’ve been seeing a lot of slander about justin russo on the internet lately and I’m currently hyperfixated on wizards of waverly place so here’s why justin is an awesome character/doesn’t deserve the hate he gets

He’s kind and treats those he loves well. Justin is canonically really good at comforting people. Although he argues with Alex a lot, at the end of the day, he’s also her older brother and genuinely cares about her. When Professor Crumbs threatens to take Alex’s magic away because she doesn’t turn her report card in, Justin says that Crumbs will also have to take his magic away. Justin is ultimately selfless. We see again and again the sacrifices he makes for Alex and I think we mainly see his kindness in that relationship. Despite that, I think he’s also notably kind to Juliet. When he finds out that he made the mistake of reporting Juliet and her parents, he instantly tries to fix it. Not only does he try to fix it, but he puts his job as Monster Hunter in jeopardy for Juliet and her parents - her parents haven’t even been that nice to him. Justin is ultimately selfless and at the end of the day, he sacrifices himself or what he wants for others. When Rosie turns back into a good angel, instead of selfishly continuing to date her and keeping her in the mortal world (which he could have done - she literally offers to stay with him), he gives her up because he realizes the world needs a guardian angel more than he needs a girlfriend. Even though it hurts because he loved her, he gives her up. There’s no “award” for doing this - he won’t move up a level in the wizard competition, he really won’t get any recognition for giving Rosie up. He doesn’t even get any recognition for turning the moral compass back to good. He does it because it’s the right thing to do. Although later I’ll argue that Justin is constantly seeking validation, I also think that the heroic/good things he does are often done with no expectation of being praised for it. He does them because he has a strong sense of morals. He’s also kind to Harper, Zeke, his parents, and even Max, who people rarely ever show kindness to in the show.

He’s in touch with his emotions. When the show starts, Justin is very against anything that will show him as feminine or emotional. In fact, he even says he’s allergic to emotions (or something like that) to cover for the fact that he’s crying over his missing dog. As the show goes on, we see Justin start to embrace and accept his emotions more and to lose touch with his toxic masculinity. I think dating Juliet changed him in a lot of ways (making him more relaxed, etc), and I think one was encouraging him to be more emotional. After Wizards vs. Vampires, Justin is pretty emotional and open about his emotions in the show. He’s even open with talking about them. In the movie, he opens up to Alex about how he feels like Jerry & Theresa wouldn’t love him as much if he were less “perfect,” which brings me to my next point.

At the end of the day, Justin is a sad character. I know it’s a kid’s show but they really do cover a lot of issues so bear w me. I’m hyperfixated and I like to over analyze shows so I’ve thought about this a lot. Justin is the oldest, which means he already deals with pressure to be perfect. Then, add in the fact that his parents are constantly describing him as the “perfect child” and putting him on a pedestal, while pitting the kids against each other as a result of the wizard culture bc of the family competition (I love Jerry & Theresa but they’re not perfect). He’s also a high achiever and we know he puts extreme pressure on himself to do well - they always make a joke about it but it’s actually quite sad. He literally feels poorly about himself when he gets a B and bases his entire self worth on his grades and skills as a wizard. In fact, in the movie he voices doubt about whether or not he’s good at anything other than magic. I have a few things I want to say about all of this. First of all, I think Justin is constantly seeking validation. I think as the oldest and “best” child, he feels the need to be perfect all the time, but he also does many of the things he does because he just wants validation. When Harper decides to run a marathon, Justin does too, and sadly his accomplishment of finishing it is overshadowed by Harper “winning.” I also think Justin feels threatened by the success of others because he thinks it invalidates his. When he opens up to Alex in the movie, he says that he’s jealous of her because it seems like everything comes naturally to her. Justin feels as if his parents loving his siblings takes away from their love from his. It’s irrational, but very real. Which brings me to my next point - Justin has generalized anxiety disorder. It makes sense - the overthinking, the outbursts he has (Alex refers to it as a conniption once) of panic or frustration, the overachieving, etc. As someone who probably has autism, I also think he’s autistic (which would explain his troubles with tone, struggle making friends, obsessions with things like Captain Jim Bob Sherwood and science, being better w robots than people, and so much more).

Ultimately, Justin has a strong moral backbone. Although he’s a stickler for the rules and this oftentimes leads him to do bad things initially, he always does the right thing in the end. For example, when Justin and Alex go to court and Justin duplicates himself to be his lawyer, his lawyer ultimately proves that Justin is guilty; he even says something along the lines of “We’re Justin Russo. We always do what’s moral and just.” Justin has a strong sense of justice (which could also be from being autistic but I could do a whole other post about neurodivergency coding in WOWP and Disney & Nick shows overall bc there’s a ton of coding) and does what he thinks is right, most of the time. Sure, sometimes he does bad things, but he’s also a teenager at the end of the day and he’s highly competitive.

Finally, Justin Russo is super progressive - in fact, he’s probably the most progressive characters of the show. He acknowledges climate change and actively tries to create a solution for it. In fact, for his science fair project he makes a water powered engine, which would reduce carbon emissions. He also wears a shirt at one point that says “Make art not war.” I will admit that his biases against the werewolf he dated were problematic, but he clearly grew from that because he never held any of that against Mason. He’s also into science and is a nerd and although this is a stereotype, most young people who are into science and are nerds are progressive. I’m pretty sure he also is well aware of current events and would probably read the newspaper. Also I myself headcanon Justin as trans and bi (again could make another post about characters in wowp that are queer)

Little note even tho probably no one will see this - this is all just for fun. If you disagree with anything I said, just say it politely hahsh. Also please don’t make fun of me for this WOWP is a huge hyperfixation and comfort thing for me rn and I just wanted to make a silly little post where I analyze one of my comfort characters. Also I kin Justin so pls don’t like hate on him in the comments.

#justin russo #wizards of waverly place #wowp #alex russo #harper finkle #juliet van heusen #max russo #theresa russo #jerry russo #russo siblings #disney channel #character analysis

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - Traces

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 痕迹, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S1 Shaw. Contains spoilers for S1 but not S2

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s second S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

“Whoosh-”

Along with the roar of the wind, Shaw steps on the skateboard, bringing it into his arms deftly.

At present, the sun is hanging in the sky, rays of light radiating in all directions, the rosy dawn as brilliant as fire. The corridor in front of him is a contrast to the sunny early morning - it’s pitch-dark, and stretches so far in that he can’t see the end.

Carrying the skateboard on his back, Shaw pauses at the entrance for a moment. Then, he takes large strides into the long corridor. After making several turns left and right, a door suddenly appears before him. Shaw reaches out, giving it a nonchalant push-

A brightness almost glaring to the eyes emerges.

Shaw takes a few steps towards this dazzling light, leaning against the wall indolently, and removes the Dragonfly Eye in front of his chest. Lowering his head, his gaze concentrates on the Dragonfly Eye from the Warring States in his palm. His body temperature lingers on the smooth and round bead he just removed. The intricate patterns, pretty lustre, and the bluish purple radiance remain the same as always. After a moment, Shaw stands before the light, the indifference in his eyes gradually shedding off.

The time to make an archive has arrived.

As he stretches out his arm, a face vividly and abruptly surfaces in his mind -

“...I’m just caring about you out of politeness.”

“I still want to wish you a complete success.”

“If I really change the direction of history at the very last moment, will we get to meet again next time?”

The next time they meet... Thinking of that petty girl who had complained about him gloomily while having a look of anticipation on her face, complex emotions flash across Shaw’s eyes. The corners of his lips sink indistinctly.

When the early morning had risen on the flat rooftop, there were actually some things he didn’t say. This world was already on the verge of collapse. After he successfully archives it, when exactly would they meet again, and under what circumstances?

“Tch. Thinking about it makes me look forward to it a little.” Even though he says the words “look forward to”, there isn’t a trace of a light-hearted smile in his eyes. There is a faint emotion in his bright eyes. In the next second, Shaw arches his brows slightly, clenching his fist and furling the Dragonfly Eye. The body temperature that lingered on it earlier has long since vanished, and the coldness of glass enters his palm. He shuts his narrow eyes. When he opens them again, he turns around abruptly, crossing over the door and leaving. 

Before archiving it, he suddenly really wanted to take another look at this world.

Unlike at dawn, the sun is no longer barely making an appearance. Right now, the sun has become much warmer. Gleaming, scorching light spreads across the entire city. Shaw walks to a hidden riverside, and there happens to be a line of tall city walls along it. With his long legs, he jumps up deftly. Shaw sits at the edge of the city wall, leaving one leg dangling freely. He arches his chin slightly, looking out at the city past the low bushes. With the height of the city wall, the scenery of the vicinity enters Shaw’s eyes.

On this day in Loveland City, the sky remains slightly overcast. The weather remains stuffy and hot. It doesn’t seem any different from a typical day.

But the eternal night is clearly about to arrive.

Shaw looks away, lowering his head. Even though he wanted to see this city, there isn’t any interest to “view the scenery” on his face, and his eyes are lacking in vigour. Suddenly thinking of something, Shaw rifles through his bag for a while. Finally, he takes out a ball-point pen. A small, pink and grinning bunny plush is at the tip of this pen.

“...as expected of her taste. It’s truly worrying.” He purses his lips in disdain, but the corners of his lips also curl upwards subconsciously. “Forget it. Even though her taste is a little lacking, she’s still pretty reliable.” Shaw gently flicks that silly and smiling bunny. His tone brings with it a rare seriousness. “I’m relying on you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Lifting his head to have a final look at the entire city, Shaw keeps the pen, then jumps off the city wall nimbly.

Sunlight filters through the gaps of the leaves, falling on Shaw’s face. Because of the intense sunlight, a certain emotion flickering in his eyes is no longer clear. There is clear reluctance in his eyes, but his pursed lips are unwavering.

“All right, there isn’t anything worth reminiscing over...” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I really have to put in the work this time. I can’t fall behind that scaredy-cat.” In the end, all the emotions become a soft smile at the corners of his lips.

“Awful weather. It’s so hot.” Shaw grumbles, taking large strides without a turn of his head. Very soon, he stands before that ball of light once again. He takes out the Dragonfly Eye glass bead. This time, he no longer hesitates as he stretches out his hand.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Shaw stares at the Dragonfly Eye in his hand with shock. Disbelief is etched on his face - the archiving actually failed!

Could it be that this world can’t be archived?

“Troublesome.” Shaw combs his hair with his hand in slight frustration. His eyes are narrowed impatiently. Aside from these emotions, uncertainty surfaces.

Just as he told her this morning when bidding her farewell, “archiving” the world is something that he’s always been doing. Every world has its innate meaning and value. When this world is no longer able to persist and inevitably heads towards its destined destruction, it would be a great waste for everything that happened here to vanish along with the destruction. After all, its history and destroyed truths are worth understanding and drawing lessons from by people in the future.

In that case, certain things have to be done by someone. Archiving the world and preserving the truth - Shaw has been selected to do these tasks.

However, he has currently failed at these tasks.

The word “failure” has never appeared in Shaw’s dictionary. “Is this world so completely broken that I can’t even archive it?” He furrows his brows, crossing his arms. He faces the light, lost in thought.

This is the first time he has faced a situation where he’s unable to make an archive. Different world lines had been destroyed due to various reasons, but their truths were all preserved perfectly by him prior to their destruction. So what did the failure of making an archive now mean? Could it be... Thinking of a possibility, Shaw’s narrowed eyes suddenly brighten.

“Unless she can really do it.”

The seed of conjecture is sown. For some reason, the more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced. With this conjecture in mind, he takes out the Dragonfly Eye and tries again. As expected, he fails again. Hanging the Dragonfly Eye in front of his chest, Shaw arches his brow, casting a sidelong glance at the light while he ponders with a smile. “After thinking about it, that’s the only possibility... I don’t believe in failures that happen for no reason.”

Slinging his bag over his shoulder in a fluid motion, Shaw seems to be in a pretty good mood. He takes another look at this archive spot. Then, he walks off without a turn of his head.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Casually kicking open the door to the antique shop, Shaw senses a somewhat unfamiliar presence the moment he walks in-

“Ah, you’re finally back. I’ve been waiting for an entire afternoon!” The speaker is an old man with a long braid. The old man has the appearance of an old urchin, but is dressed in a suit resembling a uniform. He clearly looks especially out of place.

“Come come come, want a drink of water?” Right after speaking, the old man instantly responds to his own question. “Almost forgot that you dislike drinking water. There’s Cola over there. You can help yourself to it.”

Shaw arches his brows, finding this situation infuriating yet almost laughable. “Hey, is this your antique shop? You’re so natural in turning yourself into a host.”

The old man laughs as he waves his hand. “Why distinguish what belongs to you or me? Ever since your mentor gave me the keys, I’ve been here many times. Of course I'm familiar with this place.”

Shaw lets out an impolite “hmph”. “Does Mentor giving you the keys mean that you can just barge in and make this place your home?”

The old man isn’t irritated at all. “You rascal. I specially came here to clear up your confusion... So, you failed with today’s archiving, didn’t you?”

Shaw doesn't respond to the old man immediately. He walks past the old man, taking out a can of Cola from a corner. After opening it, he downs several big gulps. Finally having his fill, Shaw lifts his eyes and glances at the old man. “Who asked you to clear up any confusion? It’s just a trivial problem. I already know why it happened after thinking about it.” Seeing that the old man is still grinning, he arches his brows slightly. “Since you’re already here, what do you want to say? Say it quickly.”

The old man shakes his head. “Child, why are you so impatient... Even though you don’t have much patience, you’ve always been pretty good in your tasks.” Hearing these somewhat complimentary words from this old man, Shaw “hmphs” softly, turning around to look at him indolently.

“How does it feel to face defeat for the first time?”

Hearing these half-teasing words, Shaw gives the old man a look over. Because of the impending eternal night, and because of the fear of an unknown future, numerous people are terrified beyond compare. But judging from this old man’s posture - his hair is tied neatly, his clothes are proper, and he even has a happy expression - one can’t see any anxiousness from him.

Shaw purses his lips secretly. Perhaps he had made the same conjecture, and didn’t see a need to run.

“Nothing much. Anyway, the problem was definitely not because of me.” Shaw lets out a “hmph”, and his expression is indifferent. 

The old man laughs again. “Oh? You’re that confident? But your line of thinking is correct.” He touches his non-existent beard in an enigmatic manner. “When it comes to archiving... things will naturally be archived when it’s the appropriate time. The reason why it failed is because it isn’t time for this world to be archived.”

Shaw takes several sips of Cola. He lifts his eyes and stares at the old man, reluctantly patient as he listens to this old man’s pretentiousness. “Just take your usual gaming experiences as an example. You can only save your progress at system-approved archive points, correct?” 

Shaw curls the corners of his lips. “I couldn’t tell that you actually know quite a lot.”

The old man is immensely proud of himself. “Of course. Don’t judge me based on my age. The thing I love most is trying new things!” After he’s done flaunting, he hurriedly returns to the topic. “As I was saying, today’s failure is only because... this world hasn’t reached the stage of destruction.”

After hearing the old man finish his last sentence, Shaw seems to heave an indistinct sigh of relief. However, a teasing expression remains on his face. He scoffs softly. “Did I need you to tell me that? I guessed it since a long time ago.”

Just as what he thought about at the archive point earlier, his failure was proof of a reality that was about to occur - the “luck” of that girl who had wished the both of them luck just a few hours ago was actually pretty good. Lifting his eyes, he meets the gossipy eyes of the old man, and Shaw immediately frowns. “Are you done?” The old man grins and nods. Shaw arches his brows. “In that case, you can leave.” Saying this, he walks to the door of the antique store and opens it. “Tch. Saying only one useful sentence after talking for half a day. How long-winded.”

The moment the door shuts after the old man leaves, Shaw looks at the empty antique shop, a smile surfacing on his face.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Outside the window, the sky at dusk has quietly turned a red hue, akin to a Vermilion Bird. The setting sun droops at the west side. After a short while, red scorching clouds illuminate the entire land. Shaw leans against the window indolently, taking periodic sips of Cola. “You’re pretty capable. Looks like you didn’t waste that bit of QUEEN gene.”

He lifts his head slightly, looking at the glowing red clouds. His expression seems calm, but the curl at the corners of his lips continues to rise. “Then again, it doesn’t count as a surprise.”

Even though he doesn’t know how she managed to succeed, since the world is still this world, she’s...

“A little silly, but pretty interesting.” Just as the rumination in his eyes grows thicker, a doubt he had deliberately avoided earlier flashes in his mind - the success of this matter is definitely not as effortless as drawing a winning prize. What’s the price to pay behind her success, and what effects and consequences would it bring to this world?

Unfortunately, he’s unable to predict the future. The only thing he’s certain of is that since this world wouldn’t be destroyed, everything will continue moving forward. And he must also continue carrying out his promise - “The next time we meet, I won’t be late again.”

Recalling the promise he made to her in the morning, Shaw scratches his head, a little irritated. “If I had known about this earlier, I wouldn’t have needed to say that.” While saying this, he sways the light Cola. The can is already empty. Shaw tosses it casually, and the empty can falls into the rubbish bin steadily. Looking at the parabola, he lets out a soft “tch”. “I’m already starting to get curious.”

Shaw stuffs one hand into his pocket, a slanted smile on one side of his lips. The expression in his eyes clearly reads - he’s truly very curious about the next time they meet.

As the setting sun gradually sinks in the west, the heat of the red clouds are reduced to embers.

Shaw subconsciously touches the Dragonfly Eye in front of his chest, and the coldness of the glass seeps into his palm. He lowers his head slightly, looking at this rounded bead which had accompanied him for a very long time. The glow of sunset streaming in from the glass window passes through the intricate patterns on the surface of the Dragonfly Eye easily, giving off a faint, bluish purple lustre.

Shaw lifts the Dragonfly Eye to his eye level. The bluish purple colour is sparkling and crystal-clear, as though it’s about to draw him into it. A bold idea which he never had before suddenly flashes in his mind. Shaw sucks in a quick breath, half-narrowing his eyes as he seems to ponder on the possibility of that thought.

Time flows by second after second, and minute after minute.

Finally, Shaw collects himself. He presses the Dragonfly Eye to his own forehead.

Just as he senses its scope of power encasing him completely, a word leaps out of his mouth. “Save.”

Through this exquisite bead, he clearly sees an inverted reflection of himself.

Twilight is about to encircle the city, but-

Outside the window, the sun, which had already sunk below the horizon, suddenly rises from the west. The clouds drift back, the sparrows fly backwards, and the river surges in the opposite direction.

...

At an inconceivable pace, the entire world forges ahead against the current at the velocity of light.

More S2 content: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc shaw

[hotchnersbiitch]

Hometown

A/N: Hey guys! I really need request so I can get more posts out, requests keep me motivated to write. 

Request: @ijustcomeheretoread​ (I hope this was good, I don't know how I feel about it :/ I tried my best 

Paring: Spencer Reid x reader 

Category: fluff

Warning: none 

Word count: 1,853~ 7min 24sec

-

BAU was currently on the plane heading to a case that was in your hometown, you didn't say anything about it though because you just wanted to focus on the case and not bring your personal life into it. You laid your head on your boyfriend, Spencer’s shoulder. You have been together for almost a year now and the team knew, well technically they found out on their own because the two of you were not as sly as you thought you were. It didn't matter though everyone was happy for the two of you, you and Spencer were head over heels for each other. The team exited the plane and got into their government issues vehicles to head to the police station to start their investigation. You were quiet on the drive there while the rest of the team chatted with one another, you just stared out the window looking at all the different places you grew up around. You had so many memories from this town, it was just a sentimental moment for you.  

“Are you okay Y/N? You're awfully quiet, it's not like you.” Spencer says quietly to you and you just nod giving him a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah, I’m great actually.” You say pecking his cheek before looking back out the window as you pulled into the police station. Everyone made their way inside to a meeting room as Hotchner started assigning the team with tasks, he assigned you, Spencer, and JJ to come up with a geographical profile of the murders. It felt weird to be back where you grew up, you only saw your mom on the holidays and birthdays, you talked to your mom a lot but you just didn't see her very often. 

“The first murder happened in Harris Park,” JJ says placing a marker on the location on the map. 

“Which is about 5 miles north from the second crime scene at Greene Park.” You say looking through the crime scene photos as JJ places the second marker. 

“How’d you know that? You haven't even looked at the map.” Spencer asks with a confused chuckle. 

“Yeah? I thought only Spencer could do that. You've been hanging around him too much.” JJ says with a laugh and you just shrug.

“I grew up here.” You state matter-of-factly, you didn't think it was very important. JJ nods her head in understanding. 

“Why haven't you ever told me that?” Spencer asks, he never thought to ask you where you grew up before. 

“Because I didn't think it mattered all that much, or that you guys would even care.” You replied with a small laugh. 

“Well, you know I care,” Spencer says while leaning back in his chair. 

“I know, it's not a big deal, I didn't want it to interfere with the case,” you add looking down at your hands. 

“Well babe, it actually could be very beneficial for the case since you know the surrounding areas very well. Did you know any of the victims?” He asks scooting closer to you in his chair. 

“Well I guess that true, and no I didn't know any of the victims, they would have been in like grade school when I left for college,” you reply sitting up a bit. 

“Well that doesn't matter, you still could provide better insight into the locations of the crimes,” JJ says and you nod. 

“Yeah you're right, I’m pretty sure Hotch knows this is where I grew up because he rarely has me help with the geographical profile.” You say and Spencer nods. 

“Yeah, I noticed that too. But I didn't say anything because I wanted to work alongside you.” He says softly with a chuckle and you just blush at his words. 

“Okay lovebirds, back to work,” JJ says with a laugh.

 In no time you guys had the profile done, with you knowing all the locations it went by a lot quicker. You didn't know why but you felt kind of bad that you didn't tell Spencer where you were from, growing up for you was rough, you got into trouble and there was just a lot of bad memories from being here. But you tried to focus on the positive memories of this town. 

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice snapped you out of your head. 

“Huh, what?” You said with a small chuckle looking at him. 

“I said your name like ten times. Were at the hotel.” He says placing a hand on your thigh. 

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking.” You said as you got out of the car grabbing your bag, Spencer does the same and grabs your hand with his empty one. 

“What about?” He questions and you just bit your lip. 

“I just kind of feel bad I guess, I don't know its stupid.” You say second-guessing yourself. Spencer squeezed your hand softly as he leads you inside the lobby with the rest of the team. 

“No hun its not stupid, somethings bothering you. You know you can tell me, you've never had a hard time telling me what's been bothering you in the past.” He says softly taking both room keys from Hotch before walking with you to your room. Aaron didn't allow you and Spencer to share a hotel room but Spencer would hang out with you in your room before he went to his own for the night. Spencer opened the door letting you walk in first, you sit down on the bed crossing your legs. 

“I just feel bad not tell you I grew up here, and I kind of miss my mom and... See its stupid.” You mumbled the last part under your breath. Spencer frowned setting his bag down before sitting next to you on the bed. 

“There's no reason to feel bad, I’m not mad or anything. I was curious as to why you didn't tell me. And it is not stupid at all, you're allowed to feel this way, it's not stupid to have feelings.” He says and you sigh nodding your head. You knew he was right, you leaned against him as he wrapped his long arms around you. You were quiet for several moments before deciding what to say. 

“Do you want to meet my mom?” you asked softly nervous about what his response might be. 

“If you want to we can, you've met my mother I seem it's only fair if I meet yours.” He says feeling a bit nervous to meet his girlfriend's mom. 

“Well only if you want to, I don't want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable.” You add and Spencer squeezes you a bit in the hug. 

“I want to, you have made her seem like a very nice lady in the past so why not? Were here, its the perfect time.” Spencer says, you smile and look up at him. 

“Okay, can we go now before it gets too late?” You ask and Spencer nods.

“Yeah of course,” he said standing up you stand up as well before grabbing his hand. You let Aaron know where you guys were going before walking out to the SUV getting in the driver's side. Once Spencer got in you headed out towards the direction of your mom's house. 

“I’m excited.” You say as you drive down the all too familiar road. 

“Me too, I hope she likes me,” Spencer says, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. 

“She's the sweetest lady ever Spence, she's gonna love you.” You say pulling into the driveway. The house looked exactly the same from when you were a kid, the inside still looked the same too. You got out of the car waiting for Spencer before making your way up the footpath to the porch. You knocked on the door waiting for your mom to answer. The door opened as you saw your mom, she has a surprised look on her face. 

“Y/N?! What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly, immediately wrapping you in a hug. She ushered both of you inside before you spoke. 

“Well we're here on a case but I wanted to come to see you since I was in town.” You said you were about to introduce Spencer when she interrupted you. 

“This handsome hunk must be Spencer?” She asks looking at you before shaking Spencer's hand, you rolled your eyes. 

“Yes Ma’am,” he said politely, his voice a bit shaky with nervousness. 

“Oh, god mom.” You mumble causing her to laugh. 

“You guys have a seat, I'll get you some coffee.” She said happily before making her way into the kitchen, you sat with Spencer on the couch. 

“Sorry about that, she doesn’t have a filter half the time.” You say quietly with a small laugh, kissing Spencer's rosy cheek.

“Don't apologize. It's okay.” He says with a chuckle as your mom walks in the living room with two cups of coffee before handing one to you and the other to Spencer. 

“Thank you,” Spencer says taking a sip before setting it on the table that was in front of them. She took a seat in her recliner before speaking. 

“So you guys are here for the murders happening in the park?” she asks and you nod. 

“Yeah, we can't say too much about it but we should have an arrest soon.” You say taking a drink of coffee from the mug. 

“I’m proud of you, I have a crime-fighting daughter. I bet your mother is very proud to Spencer?” she says sitting up a bit.

“Yeah, she is.” He says with a soft smile. 

“Where are you from Spencer?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada.” He answers his nervousness starting to leave his body as he began to feel comfortable.

“Oh really? You know, Y/N was conceived in Las Vegas.” She said with a laugh, you felt you face heat up and you let out a groan. 

“Oh my God, mother, he doesn't want to know that.” You say laughing at your mother's words, Spencer chuckling too. 

“Well, it's true!” She says throwing her hands up in the air as you all laugh. You and Spencer spent a couple of hours just talking and laughing with your mom, Spencer was enjoying himself and thought your mom was sweet. You gave your mom a hug at the door saying ‘I love yous’ before you left. 

“It was very nice meeting you Dr. Reid, I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” She said shaking his hand. 

“You too, thank you for the coffee.” He says with a sweet smile, you give your mom one last hug before you both left the house getting into the car. You get in looking over at Spencer with a smile. 

“Thank went well!” you said happily leaning over kissing Spencer sweetly. 

“Yeah, it went very well. I’m glad I got to meet her.” He said with a smile setting a hand on your knee as you drove back to the hotel. 

“Conceived in Las Vegas, huh?” Spencer asks with a laugh, you just roll your eyes at him playfully. 

“Oh shut up.” 

You couldn't have asked for a better night.

#criminal minds imagines #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shots #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan oneshots #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan imagines

[ailendolin]

WIP Wednesday

Since there’s no new chapter of The In-Between this week, I thought I’d share the beginning of something new I’ve been working on. This is the (shitty) first draft of a modern AU that will be part of what I’ve been tentatively calling the Rosie Anthology - a series of unrelated Horatio/Archie baby fics that got inspired by this lovely post of Ioan holding a baby.

Huge thanks to @hopelessdreamer80 and @fyeahmeninroyalnavy for cheering me on in this endeavour! 💙 I hope you enjoy this little snippet.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of the bookshop’s doorbell ringing thirty minutes before opening hours. That rarely happened, and never when Horatio was the only one in. Already wary, he slowly looked up from the order forms he was in the process of filling out.

The second sign of trouble was a well-known voice calling out, “Mr. H?” with more enthusiasm and energy than any person in their right mind should have this early in the morning. Horatio tried not to groan when Miss Katherine “Kitty” Cobham from next door’s music shop The Duchess stuck her head round the door and practically beamed when she found him standing behind the counter. Dread pooled in his stomach. He knew that smile. He had seen it before, aimed like a weapon at unsuspecting people, himself among them more than a few times, unfortunately. It always spelled trouble, and glancing from her to the baby in her arms and the bag slung over her shoulder he could wager exactly what kind it would be this time.

He let out a long sigh but still managed to pull up his lips in his best customer-friendly smile.

“Good morning, Miss Cobham,” he said. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

He regretted his politeness the moment he saw Miss Cobham’s grin widen. “I’m so glad you asked, Mr. H.”

#hornblower #hornblower fanfic #horatio hornblower #Kitty Cobham #archie x horatio #my fic

[quixoticanarchy]

[id: colorful banner reading 'My tumblr year in review.']

I posted 8,358 times in 2021

533 posts created (6%)

7825 posts reblogged (94%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 14.7 posts.

I added 1,781 tags in 2021

#skravler - 619 posts

#tolkien - 270 posts

#silmarillion - 187 posts

#quotes - 123 posts

#geography things - 105 posts

#thats some good geomorphology! - 103 posts

#art - 101 posts

#quality - 97 posts

#hm a callout - 92 posts

#coronavirus - 84 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#‘yellow ribbons’ is relatively tame; and by 2005 merle’s political songs are like ‘maybe the us should invest in fixing problems at home’

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The Dwarves at Khazad-dum should not be blamed for delving “too deep” and disturbing the Balrog, given that their intensive mithril mining was serving a largely external demand for mithril, especially from the Elves. Attributing the awakening of the Balrog and the downfall of Khazad-dum to the Dwarves’ greed is a simplistic and racist explanation that obscures the market pressures to which they were subjected in order to meet Elvish demands for the rare precious metal that they alone had access to. In this essay i will

1361 notes • Posted 2021-02-12 02:13:25 GMT

#4

I don’t know if anybody wanted this but since we’re all laughing at the ship stuck in the Suez Canal, here are a bunch of things to read about how container ships transformed the global economy, starred in the so-called logistics revolution, helped to make supply chains move a lot faster and seemingly more streamlined, while impacting everything from forms of protest to the physical geography of port cities to labor conditions among longshore workers

1906 notes • Posted 2021-03-24 21:55:42 GMT

#3

as someone who got my start in activism or whatever by doing anti-war organizing under the Obama administration... let me tell you, pay attention to foreign policy under Biden. pay attention to the war machine. I don’t think things will look rosy and repaired on the home front either, but I know that the brutality of US empire will continue absolutely unabated on the global stage. trying to mobilize against that is difficult and maddening, but we’ve got to do it. and it’ll teach you a lot about the true orientation of this country, whatever color the administration is.

8909 notes • Posted 2021-01-27 02:38:38 GMT

#2

if handed a piece of paper what sort of doodle is your instinctive go-to

16907 notes • Posted 2021-08-18 21:45:08 GMT

#1

The strange curse of being a geography major and seeing commentary about “shipping” on this site only to realize it has nothing to do with containerization and the transformation of the global supply chain...

73195 notes • Posted 2021-03-18 18:24:23 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#hm hm yeah that tracks #but idk how it counts more things tagged w my own tag than posts i actually made...? unless reblogs dont count #anyway yeah it's all tolkien and geography and some politics for spice what do i expect #almost wish i could see past years just to know how appallingly my activity here skyrocketed in recent times #but some things are better left unknown