#and yes by that I mean deceased at the edge of creation

[princessmadafu]

Sunday Thoughts

Evolution -- do we need it?

OK so I'm the first to admit that God didn't create us in His own image, that life evolved from little bits of self-replicating chemical structures over hundreds of millions of years, and that Eve and Adam didn't co-habit with dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden. That's just nuts! Humans create gods, not the other way around.

Every culture has its own Creation myths, its First Woman myths, its own Ejection from Paradise myths. The word Paradise, incidentally, deriving from the Old Iranian meaning a walled enclosure - something similar to my back garden, but not to my front garden which is only bounded by hedges full of crawlspace for the foxes and hedgehogs.

Note to foxes and hedgehogs - it's not that you're unwelcome in Paradise, it's just that the walled-garden designer only envisioned a lawn, a path along the washing-line, and a bit of space around the edges for a herbaceous border full of slugs. He wasn't very environmentally aware and the local parish council have Serious Rules about knocking holes in Paradise walls in case your dogs escape and attack your neighbour's washing-line full of "I Love Cats" T-shirts.

Auch, I'm rambling again! Where was I?

Evolution... Humans continue to evolve. For a while there, biologists were positing this vision of humans born with iPhone-ready thumbs and massive stomachs to balance plates of burgers on. As technology progresses, we won't need smartphone thumbs because we'll be able to implant microchips in our brains and just have a quick split-second thought-process to access Amazon and order a new T-shirt with Ik hou van katten on it because it looks more cool and street-cred in Dutch than English. Unless you're Dutch, of course, and prefer an Amazon "InstaThink" T-shirt with Napenda paka on it. Or just an Amazon "Global InstaThink" emoji of a smiley heart and a happy playful cat, to avoid confusion in places where cats are menu items.

Where was I?...

Oh yes, I remember, some failed medical student who poured faeces over a tribute to Captain Tom in order to protest about the use of private jets. I mean, that is a Big Fail, isn't it? Even her dad says so:

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-11272351/Father-eco-zealot-21-poured-FAECES-Captain-Tom-memorial-said-felt-sick-ashamed.html

When did she get her InstaChip implanted? Is she an experiment? Is this the way evolution is heading? I'm going to swear a little bit so close your eyes if you don't want to read the next few words:

******* ****** ****** **** !!!!

There, all done - you can open your eyes now.

I have my own personal theory of short-term evolution, and it's basically called "Just Growing Up" and learning how to be a thoughtful, responsible, adult member of society. A person who thinks of all the consequences of her defiling Captain Tom's memorial, the grief she's caused to his family and supporters, the revulsion of her own family, the revulsion of the guy who created the memorial, the general public, the cleaners who put themselves at risk when they mop up her public hygiene sh*tfest, and the vast majority of her former friends and all those potential future employers who are going to remember her name.

This is a long Sunday thoughts post, but to get back to the point; what would Jesus say?

I mean, who knows what Jesus got up to when He was 21? It's not recorded anywhere, but knowing Jesus as I think do, He probably wasn't throwing buckets of faeces over memorials to much-loved recently deceased persons.

And He'd probably say, "Let me show you a kinder way to love."

[mianavs]

Savior Complex

He stripped you of your lifeline but refused to let you perish

Chrollo x f!reader

a/n: some chrollo content for your enjoyment

tw: dubcon, imprisonment

wc: 2.1k

Stealing Hatsu from others was akin to eating for Chrollo Lucilfer. He did it to strengthen his abilities and spared little thought on how it affected his victims. To him, people were equivalent to puppets in that they could be used and discarded without a second thought. The only time he spared a thought for his victims was when their Hatsu disappeared from Bandit’s Secret indicating their demise. Chrollo likened it to mourning his victims despite the depravity behind the sentiment.

You were different, however, in more ways than one.

There was no other way to put it—you were a genius nen user. Without any formal training, you developed your ability to manipulate the minds of others. While other geniuses profited off their Hatsu and used it to rise the ranks of society, you were trapped by yours and used it strictly for survival. Bought by a Mafia boss at a young age, you practiced your ‘gift’ on anyone your master sent.

Everything changed when a new esteemed client of your master’s walked into your workshop. Chrollo’s original target had been your master’s rare treasures but, after hearing about your gift, he altered his plan and included your Hatsu. It was a riskier plan, showing up in person for a session, but to Chrollo your ability was worth it.

The first thing that caught his attention was the cold emptiness of the room. Concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and the smell of disinfectant and death pervaded the small room. You sat on one of the chairs in the center with two armed men on either side. You were a frail young woman in a dirty white gown and with equally dirty hair that lie atop your head in a tangled mess. You were obviously malnourished judging from your sunken cheeks, bony wrists, and knobby knees. The most damning evidence of your mistreatment, however, had to be the leather shackle around your ankle that was connected to a large chain and attached to the wall.

In spite of your dreadful conditions, you rose from your seat with the grace of a newborn deer and greeted Chrollo with a bright smile that caught him off-guard.

“Welcome Dearest Client and please take a seat.”

Chrollo was convinced your lilting voice could soothe a raging beast as he unconsciously lowered his guard and sat down in front of you. Warmth dripped from your eyes as they traversed Chrollo’s face while yours radiated a child-like innocence as you started to explain the process.

“I will look into your eyes for a minute to search your mind for emotions I can use to create your fantasy. Is that alright, Dear Client?”

“Of course, Miss—I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name.”

Your eyes widened at the word ‘name’ while the men behind you shifted uncomfortably. “Um…name? I-I don’t know what—”

“What do other’s call you?” Chrollo interrupted.

“Oh! Then I guess I have multiple names. I’m called ‘You’, ‘Witch’, and ‘Woman’ so please pick whatever you prefer.” You stated and Chrollo started to assess your character and the situation you were in.

“I’ll stick with Miss for now,” he declared before initiating Skill Hunter. “Now, can you tell me a little bit about your gift?”

“Of course,” You were completely oblivious to the growing tension that radiated from your guards and started your explanation. “My creations all take place in the client’s mind but I am always present. They are crafted around positive emotions or memories that I find.”

“So these fantasies are all positive?” Chrollo’s voice successfully masked his disappointment.

“Yes,” you replied fondly. “I use my gift to make other’s happy even if it’s only temporary.”

“Oh…and how long do they usually last?”

“At first, I could only last a couple of minutes but after making a vow, I was able to create fantasies that lasted up to three hours.”

“And what vow is that?” Chrollo asked, genuinely curious.

“Loss of my sight if I ever stopped using my gift. My eyes have no purpose if I can’t use them to search people’s minds and create fantasies for them.” Your smile dimmed as you uttered those words while something akin to pity stirred inside Chrollo; however, it wasn’t enough to spare you.

“What a beautiful sentiment,” Chrollo’s honeyed compliment warmed your heart and your smile brightened once more. “Shall we begin?”

Unlike most of client’s you dealt with, Chrollo’s positive memories and emotions revolved around a group of people instead of jewelry, money, fame. Instead of the luxurious mansions, clear skies, and sandy beaches you normally created the setting of Chrollo’s fantasy was a junkyard city.

You distanced yourself from the client as you usually did and watched from afar. Chrollo greeted each and everyone of the group members but tears welled up in his eyes when a large muscular man approached him.

You panicked at the sight of tears until you felt a wave of happiness from Chrollo and your worries faded away. For you, these moments were priceless and made you forget the pain in your stomach or the weariness in your bones. Seeing your clients happy negated any unpleasant emotions you held against your master and gave your life meaning.

Other clients merely forgot about your existence or purposefully ignored you but Chrollo surprised you by seeking you out.

Where are you? I want you to meet my family.

A strange warmth settled in your stomach at Chrollo’s request and you emerged from your hiding spot. You approached him hesitantly until he reached his hand out causing you to freeze in shock.

“Is there something wrong?” Chrollo asked, confusion written all over his face.

“I-I don’t know. Client’s usually don’t want to see me…why do you?”

“I want to share some of my happiness with you. Is that wrong?” Chrollo’s smile dazzled you and before you realized it, hot tears prickled your eyes.

“T-thank you,” you cried. “N-no one has ever done s-something like this f-for me.”

You accepted Chrollo’s hand and interacted with his family as if the fantasy were real. After delving into Chrollo’s mind some more, you learned that the muscular man was actually deceased and focused on perfecting him for your client.

Like always, you wished your fantasies could last forever along with your client’s happiness but it was an impossible desire and your masterpiece started to crumble. The flaming red sky of the junkyard city turned to fuchsia, then pink, until it became a white void. One by one, the group members disappeared as well until Uvogin was the only one left. He bid Chrollo farewell with a toothy grin on his face before he too became one with the white void.

“I see it’s time to return.” Chrollo commented staring into the white void that was once his beloved city.

“Yes, I’m sorry it ended so soon.” You answered, lowering your head.

Suddenly, Chrollo’s hand grabbed your chin and you met his eyes full of emotions that went beyond your comprehension. “No, Miss, it is I who is sorry.”

You wanted to ask what he meant but your fantasy dissipated into nothing and you were kicked out of Chrollo’s mind.

Your eyes fluttered open to blood splattered walls and your hand lying on an old book held by Chrollo. Everything had gone according to plan and the spiders eliminated everyone in the building including your owner. As the Phantom Troupe hauled out the treasures located in the bunker, Chrollo regained consciousness and fulfilled the last condition of Skill Hunter.

“What…happened?” Your eyes widened in horror when they landed on your fallen guards lying in a pool of their own blood. “H-how?!”

Chrollo watched as you whipped your head around for help only to be met with silence. Your seemingly constant smile was long gone replaced with a horror-stricken face Chrollo was used to seeing on his victims—but you were no ordinary victim.

You trembled as you watched the old book in Chrollo’s hands disappear and darted to your feet in an attempt to run away only to collapse on the ground when your chain extended its entire length.

Teary-eyed, you looked up at Chrollo who decided he never wanted to see that terrified expression on your face ever again. He softened his own face as he crouched down next to you and dried your tears with his thumbs. Confusion replaced fear on your weary face and Chrollo sighed in relief knowing it would be easier to dispel confusion as opposed to fear.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” Chrollo apologized, before knocking you out in a fraction of a second. “But I’ll take care of you now.”

When you woke up to the black void that was your vision, a broken wail erupted from your chest that alarmed various voices in the room. You flailed your arms in front of you to see if you could at least make out their outline but it was to no avail. With your vision gone, the gravity of your situation pumped adrenaline to your limbs causing you to scramble to your knees and crawl on the bed only to fall out of it and onto the cold floor.

“Hey!”

“Are you okay?”

“Get the boss!”

The shoulder you landed on throbbed painfully but the ringing in your head from listening to disembodied voices you didn’t recognize was worse. Curling up into a ball, you clamped your hands onto your ears to cancel out the harsh noise but it was to no avail. A plethora of negative thoughts filled your mind only to be dispelled by a familiar soothing voice that overpowered all noise.

“Dearest Client?” You uncovered you ears and uncurled your body only to hit your shoulder on the ground once again causing you to hiss in pain. Warm hands gently lifted you up and you jerked from the sudden movement.

“Shhh it’s alright, Miss. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer and I’ll be making you happy from now on.”

“B-but my sight…my gift—” The soft bed surprised you as he sat you down on the edge. “W-what are you—”

His hands cupped both cheeks and turned your head forward. “I’m sorry about your gift but I promise I’ll use it well.”

“W-what…how did…I-I don’t—”

“Stay still for me…please.” You were captivated by the gentle firmness of his voice and did as he asked.

When the meaning behind his words hit, you wondered if your gift would even work in your current state. Before you could voice your doubts, however, the darkness that enveloped you turned lighter and lighter until it was a white void you would recognize anywhere. Splashes of color materialized until they formed your last creation—the junkyard city.

“This…made you happy?”

Seeing Chrollo again made your heart swell and you ran to him wanting nothing more than to see his features up close.  You took in his disheveled black hair, pale skin, and pools of grey and teared up from simply being able to see another person once again. Raising your hand, you touched his cheek and gasped from how real it felt being on the receiving end of the fantasy.

“Amazing…I-I can’t bel—”

Chrollo’s hand shot out and pulled you into his chest while his arms wrapped around your frail form possessively. His scent and warmth assaulted your senses making your head spin but Chrollo only tightened his hold pressing against your skin harshly. Overwhelmed by the sensations pulsating through your body, you clung to Chrollo not knowing what else to do.

“You’re mine now,” his voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck. “I’ll be your eyes from now on.”

A chill ran up your spine as Chrollo’s mouth trailed kisses up your neck to your mouth. An uncomfortable knot started to build in your stomach as his tongue probed your mouth and pressed against yours. You gave Chrollo free reign over your body not because you reciprocated his desire but because you didn’t know any better.

Your entire existence revolved around pleasing others, so when your tainted fantasy ends and you return to your dark reality; you learn to accept your new role. Moving forward whenever Chrollo visits your room, you continue to let him do whatever he wants to your body by convincing yourself that it’s his happiness that is most important. So when he leaves you naked and trembling with a dull ache between your legs, your mind does what it has always done best—it makes things up to help you cope with your miserable life.

#chrollo x reader #hxh x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #chrollo fanfic #chrollo scenario #chrollo imagine #hxh imagines #hxh scenarios #yandere chrollo #tw: dubcon #tw: imprisonment #navs.hxh

[yamisnuffles]

Let Them Eat Crepes

Crowley suffers through Aziraphale eating crepes after the rescue at the Bastille.

Rated M. Read on Ao3

A very silly thing written as a gift for @racketghost to hopefully bring her some cheer. - - - - -

When Crowley had taken up residence in Paris, it hadn’t been to play host to a fussy angel with a death wish. He’d thought of the angel. Of course he had. Any time through history when he kept a room with a bed, he took some time to imagine said angel in said bed. But Paris was a nightmare and he was only there to keep up appearances, maybe scrape up the occasional detail for a report. He hadn’t thought Aziraphale would ever actually appear. Not in the middle of a bloody revolution. Certainly not dressed like that.

“What good fortune they offer crepes at the very same inn where you are keeping a room,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sipped at his cider. It was supposed to pair well with the crepes. Not that he was eating any himself, despite having ordered food. Somehow his plates always ended up in front of Aziraphale.

“Yeah, fortunate.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and speared another bite on his fork. “And such good ones, too.”

He punctuated the statement with a moan that sent Crowley’s blood on a trip south. He took a much larger gulp of cider. Alcohol tended to at least postpone the inevitable reaction to watching the angel eat. At this rate, he’d probably be better off asking for a whole cask. They were only two plates in and hadn’t yet reached the cruelest part of any meal.

Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale resented the creation of forks. Sure, he would use them, but there always came a moment in any meal when he abandoned his utensils in favor of more natural options. Whether it was licking the last bit of broth from a bowl or chasing some spot of cream with his fingers, it happened without fail and it was hell. Literal hell. Well, maybe not literal but Crowley thought it came close to anything they’d come up with Downstairs.

He was, at present, using a torn off scrap of crepe to sop up a bit of golden yolk. He swept the delicate pastry across the plate and let it drag through gooey Gruyère that clung to his thumb and forefinger. Once this process was complete, he would pop it all into his mouth with a moan and suck his fingers clean. He continued on with a single minded focus until the plate was absolutely spotless and Crowley was on the edge of breaking his tightly clenched jaw.

Aziraphale stopped short of putting the final bite in his mouth and looked up at Crowley, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “I know you said you didn’t want any, but maybe just a taste? It really was divine.”

He held out that final scrap on the tip of glistening fingers, as though he expected Crowley to simply nip it away.

Hell. It was hell and Crowley was going to die.

He licked his lips. “Nah. No. M’fine.” He coughed and looked at the empty bottom of his mug. He considered getting more but he needed more than just alcohol at that point. “I’ve got a few good bottles in my room. How about we head up there.”

Aziraphale ate the rejected scrap of food and licked away the grease that had coated his fingers as he held it. “But I haven’t finished yet,” he said with a frown. “It would be a shame to go through all that nasty business at the Bastille without at least eating my fill.”

Wide blue eyes drifted toward the kitchen and then back at Crowley, widening further as they went. Eyebrows lifted up. A bottom lip made its appearance and wobbled for good measure. It really was a marvel, looking back, that it had taken Crowley so long to suggest Aziraphale take on temptations. The angel was a natural at it.

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth and considered his options. “Ehhh, it’ll be fine. They’ll bring the food up.” They might not know why, but given they’d only started offering crepes an hour ago, it was hardly the most confusing thing they’d been through that day. “We can finish up in my room.”

“Oh, good.” It was clear the moment Aziraphale was appeased because his pout was instantly replaced by a smile. “Well then, lead the way.”

Crowley risked a surreptitious glance downward that he hoped his glasses blocked from view. Despite the growing tension in his abdomen, it didn’t look like his trousers were in a state to give him away. If he walked a little oddly, he had to hope Aziraphale was too focused on the promise of future crepes to notice.

When they got up to Crowley’s room, Aziraphale gave it all an appraising look. He wrinkled his nose at one of the chairs, removed his hat, and used it to wipe the offending furniture off before he took a seat. “Charming place you have here.”

Crowley shrugged with as much disinterest as he could physically muster and went into the small bedroom off the main room. The wardrobe had been repurposed as a wine cabinet. “Doesn’t need to be charming. I’m a demon. It’s supposed to be dark and dank and gloomy,” he called back as he ran his fingers over the labels of some of the wine he’d liberated from now deceased nobles. He grabbed two bottles of Chardonnay and glasses for the both of them and, after a moment of chewing on his lip, a bottle of Champagne. “Besides, not like I’m planning on staying much longer.”

When he returned, he found two large platters of crepes had been delivered. Aziraphale had a fork in hand but seemed unable to decide which to sample first. He settled on one dusted in sugar with sliced lemons on top. His lips puckered slightly around the lemon before relaxing back to a smile. Crowley wanted to lick into his mouth and see if the tartness of the lemon remained or if it would be all Aziraphale. Instead he uncorked a bottle with his teeth and drank a hearty swig of Chardonnay.

“If dark and dank is what you were going for,” Aziraphale said, “then well done, my dear. It’s good to hear you won’t be lingering, though.”

Crowley swallowed down more wine. Between that and all the cider before, he could feel his limbs loosening. He stretched out his legs, forgetting why he’d been keeping them crossed in the first place. “Not much more to do here, really. Can only write, ‘the humans have chopped off more heads’ so many times. Got my commendation, anyway. Might as well head out before Downstairs starts expecting something new and exciting.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Seems prudent.”

He picked up a stray slice of lemon, dabbed it in sugar, licked it clean, and then did it all over again again. Crowley watched the whole thing, entirely enraptured, especially when Aziraphale’s thick, pink tongue would make an appearance to remove any lingering sugar from his lips. Warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol Crowley had imbibed settled firmly between his legs. His feet had wandered dangerously close to enemy territory. He pulled them back and threw one foot over a knee in an attempt to disguise the growing tenting in his trousers.

“Those worth losing your head over?” he asked, nodding his head toward the food.

Aziraphale took the bottle from Crowley and poured himself a glass. “Sometimes you miss life’s little pleasures and you have to take a risk to get what you want.”

Pink blossomed high on his cheeks. Crowley tilted his head.

“But death? For crepes?”

Aziraphale smiled around another bite. “Yes, well, it would have only been discorporation and they’re really rather good, if a bit clueless.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about crepes?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a small huff of laughter. Silence settled in while he continued on eating. Crowley was certain he was missing something but he was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think straight.

It was odd to see the angel in red. Some secret part buried deep in his chest liked it, loved the message of rebellion that it shouted to the world. He'd never admit to it but, as much as he liked it, he'd loved every last gold thread on the absurd outfit that had come before. He could still see heavy manacles around delicate, lace covered wrists. He could practically feel the ghost of curved calves wrapped in sumptuous stockings. His fingers ached from the memory of feet clad in ostentatious silk. How he'd wanted to take it all off, piece by ridiculous piece.

And there Aziraphale was before him, with a view of the bed just beyond. Maybe he would wear those chains again. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d put himself entirely in Crowley’s hands. Crowley could spread him out on the mattress and peel it all away until only pale skin and paler hair remained.

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a clatter. “Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that he could imagine it all perfectly, Aziraphale really was back in all his finery. Only, it wasn’t identical to what he’d been wearing before. Gold had been replaced by silver and a vein of deep scarlet ran through the embroidery on the sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly frivolous of me,” Aziraphale said, oblivious to Crowley’s growing distress, “but Heaven can hardly fault me if I didn’t mean to do it. I had been thinking about how much nicer silk was against the skin but… no, I certainly don’t remember actually willing it back.”

“Right, unhhhh—” Crowley’s voice came out as a choked squeak. He opened another bottle and, in a maneuver not recommended to those without demonic serpentine attributes, downed half of it in one tremendous gulp. He tried not to consider the way the angel’s eyes were trained on his neck as he ran the back of his hand across wine stained lips. “Sometimes these things just happen. You know. No use worrying about it. No one will see you here, so just eat the rest of your crepes.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tugged down slightly. “If you’re impatient to be somewhere, don’t let me keep you.”

“Not impatient just…” Crowley switched the cross of his legs in search of some relief. He had to use one hand to still the other in order to keep from palming away the ever building tension. “You know.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I do. Are you alright, my dear? You seem uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m, er…” Crowley tugged at his collar. It was too tight. He could feel himself swallowing and every swallow sent his mind elsewhere. “Hot. Should probably open the windows.” He was halfway to his feet when he remembered why getting to his feet under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze was probably not the best idea. It didn’t seem likely the angel would be secretly ecstatic to find out that he was hopelessly hard just from watching him eat. “Actually, nah. Would need to open the curtains and with your clothes… best to keep things shut. I’ll be fine. Really. Get back to your crepes. You said it yourself, it would be a shame not to finish after everything you did to get them.”

Aziraphale picked at his final crepe. His whole body melted with a moan as soon as it touched his tongue. All the while, his eyes were still locked on Crowley.

“Oh, but it wasn’t just me who went through a lot for these.” He carefully cut another portion of crepe and nudged the sliced tip of a strawberry onto it. He then swirled it through a cloud of rich cream and held up the fork. “Strawberries and whipped cream. Try a bite. For your troubles.”

The whipped cream lost its structure against the warm crepe. A rivulette of white travelled down the length of the fork and onto Aziraphale’s fingers. Crowley licked his lips. He couldn’t possibly take that bite or he would never be able to stop. But Aziraphale was looking at him so expectantly and he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

He leaned forward and took the fork into his mouth. It was alright, as food went, but he barely registered the taste. He was far too focused on the way his cock pressed to his stomach when he was bent forward. And then there was proximity of those white, sticky fingers. His head swam with visions of grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and licking the cream away.

It was all a mouthful too far. He’d tried. He really had. His eyes shut as a desperate groan tore up from his throat and his trousers became a mirror of Aziraphale’s fingers, wet and sticky and warm. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open his eyes again. He fell back into his seat and dared to crack open one eye.

Aziraphale was smiling. “I told you it was good.” He pushed the plate forward. “Would you like to share the rest?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his head back. “Nah, you eat it. I’m good for at least a couple more hours.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing #racketghost

[birdlord]

Every Book I Read in 2018

Again, better late than never??

01 On the Town; Marshall Berman - A freewheeling personal and general history of Times Square, which had some great historical tidbits I’d never read before. I think I would have got more out of it if I were interested in Broadway musicals...

02 Stephen Florida; Gabe Habash - A slim little book that follows a college wrestler. One of those books that is described as muscular, when what they mean is brutal. 

03 Green Grass, Running Water; Thomas King - Four plot lines intertwine in a story blending mythology, creation, and modern First Nations people dealing with massive transformational change to their lands. I did sometimes feel like I would have enjoyed it more as an audio storytelling experience. 

04 People who Eat Darkness: The Fate of Lucie Blackman; Richard Lloyd Parry - I don’t often read books like this, but this is essentially a true-crime sort of story, about the murder of a British woman who works as a bar hostess in Japan. Parry covers not just her story, but the whole aftermath, which even pulls in Tony Blair, eventually. 

05 My Brother’s Husband; Gengoroh Tagame - Weirdly, two Japan-related books in a row! Another culture-clash tale, when the Canadian husband visits his deceased husband Ryoji’s single-parent brother. The couple had never been to Japan while Ryoji was alive, and so the story of slow acceptance (helped along by little Kana’s openhearted curiosity) is suffused with sadness. 

06 Ghosts of the Tsunami: Life & Death in Japan’s Disaster Zone; Richard Lloyd Parry - And, let’s make it three! When the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan in 2011, I remember thinking that the reaction seemed so orderly, so...Japanese. But this examination puts you right in the various affected communities, following different people, including schoolchildren from Okawa primary. Like with the other Parry book above, we hear about all of the grief, ghosts and lawsuits that follow the disaster. 

07 Mademoiselle: Coco Chanel and the Pulse of History; Rhonda K. Garelick - Once she became famous, Coco Chanel built a scaffolding of lies about her past, and the purpose of this biography is to attempt to see the truth behind them. Garelick concentrates heavily on Chanel’s collaboration with the Nazis, which must have been a challenge given that her company still exists, under her name.

08 Kubrick; Michael Herr - “They speak about the dumbing of America as a foregone thing, already completed, but, duh, it’s a process, and we haven’t seen anything yet. The contemplation of this culture isn’t for sissies, and speaking about it without becoming shrill is increasingly difficult, maybe impossible.” Whoa!

09 Call Me by Your Name; Andre Aciman - I did read this after seeing the film, so as usual it was hard to divorce it from the movie experience. 

10 The Left Hand of Darkness; Ursula K LeGuin - A thought experiment about a genderless world, seen from the perspective of an off-planet envoy, who has a range of reactions to the world’s inhabitants. The most enduring section of the book involves a brutal 3-month expedition undertaken by the exiled envoy and a local, a trial by ice, wind and snow. A winter read. 

11 Stamped from the Beginning; Ibram X. Kendi - I don’t think I’d really fully grokked the idea that southern white supremacy built itself in order to prevent an uprising of the black and white underclasses, together. The basic rubric of this book is separating American movements, parties and individuals’ thinking into one of three categories: assimilationist, segregationist or genuinely antiracist. Supporting results like abolitionism does NOT make one antiracist, since support could come those with less pure motivations. I highly recommend this one, though it was copy-edited in a pretty haphazard manner!

12 Witches, Midwives and Nurses: A History of Women Healers; Barbara Ehrenreich & Dierdre English - A short book charting a couple of parallel stories, of women healers in Europe being dismissed as witches, and the masculinization of medicine (particularly midwifery and the medicine of birth) in the USA. 

13 Her Body and Other Parties; Carmen Maria Machado - Short stories skirting the edge of a lot of genres; horror, science fiction, dark comedy. These are women’s stories, that refuse to be dismissed as chick lit. It didn’t connect with me as deeply as it has for some, but I see the appeal. 

14 Look Alive Out There; Sloane Crosley - Largely comedic set of essays by a writer whose earlier work I read, about a decade back. It’s a strange experience, to return to someone who has written memoir that seemed to exemplify that late-2000s era and discover that she - and you - have grown. 

15 Homesick for Another World; Otessa Moshfegh - Moshfegh’s choice of words (not to mention her characters themselves) remain utterly revolting. I often found myself looking up, shaking my head as if to say THIS BOOK. Considerably funnier than Eileen, which was the first of hers that I read. 

16 My Year of Rest & Relaxation; Otessa Moshfegh - After reading this, I found out that Moshfegh basically set out to get her work noticed by populating it with these vile young women. Well, it worked! Your tolerance for unlikeable main characters will be tested by this rich Columbia grad who decides to prescribe herself into a virtual coma within her NY apartment, at the turn of the millennium. And yes, it ends where you think it does. 

17 They Can’t Kill us Until They Kill Us; Hanif Abdurraquabi - This collection of music-related writing is wildly far-ranging, poetic and emotional. For myself, I did find I was more interested in those that were related to bands or musicians I had some experience with myself , which was not always the case. 

18 The Bad Food Bible: How and Why to Eat Sinfully; Aaron Carroll and Nina Teicholtz - If you’re a reader of the food media, most of what’s in here will be familiar to you, debunking fears of meat, GMOs, gluten, MSG. The authors keep their own experience, taste and interests very much in the forefront, which ends up feeling smug and irritating. 

19 The Mere Wife: A Novel; Maria Dahvana Headley - My knowledge of Beowulf is scant at best, but this retelling stood very much on its own two feet, set in a tony suburb and comparing the experience of two very different mothers of two very different sons. 

20 How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays; Alexander Chee - I’m very much On The Record as being against writers writing about writing, but this might just be an exception. 

21 Vancouver Special; Charles Demers - A sort of update on Douglas Coupland’s City of Glass, a book I loved and reread many times. This one has both a more historical bent, and an actual political viewpoint, contrasting with Coupland’s Gen X remoteness.

22 Crudo; Olivia Laing - A rushing frantic little novel, incorporating Trump tweets and Kathy Acker quotes throughout. A difficult read so close to the events described, but I can see this being an amazing window into this weird time, once a few years have passed. 

23 Hits & Misses; Simon Rich - This might also be on the line of “writers writing about writing” but Rich manages to do so in a charmingly self-deprecating way. 

24 2020 Commission Report on the North Korean Nuclear Attacks Against the US; Jeffrey Lewis - Speculative fiction written as a government report, responding, as we all have been doing, to the endlessly unprecedented Trump presidency. It all started with a tweet, of course...

25 A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster; Rebecca Solnit - This book is intended to counter the idea that disasters (“natural” and otherwise) lead people to indulge their worst sides. Solnit looks at the aftermath of some 20th C disasters like the Halifax Explosion, 9/11 and various earthquakes to find examples of people banding together to help the wounded and homeless, even taking the opportunity to create new institutions when authorities fail to do so. A tonic for a world in which disasters are likely to become increasingly common. 

26 How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them; Jason Stanley - When I lived in Scotland in 2010, I went to an anti-fascist rally in Edinburgh, and I remember feeling like those attitudes were closer to the surface over there, where at home in Canada they felt abstract. This book traces how fascist policies lurk within democratic frameworks, and can sometimes metastasize to take over the host. Suffice it to say I was probably wrong then, and I’m definitely wrong now.

[whatscallion]

rise: ch. viii

//- A Medieval AU based on some Marvel parallels that follows Natalia Romanova in her rise to divinity.

Chapter Summary: The God Widow’s hunt continues as the threads of The Order’s web fall prey to her wiles in an effort to rid the Free World of the ingrained corruption.

Chapter Word Count: 1,428

Previous Chapters: Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven

Tagging: @cptsteven @blackberrywidow​ ( message / ask to get tagged! )

It had not been so easy. There had been an underlying understanding that to rid the world of this slithering regime, all one needed to do was cut the head off the snake. But in the brilliant absence of St. Johann, more false idols prevailed. The vacuum of his absence demanded to be filled in one way or another, through cunning cowardice or violent upheaval. The cathedrals fell away, splintered from The Order yet still bearing its brand and colors. Each piece of stained glass now glistened in a farce wrapped in lies, layered one on top of the other. An unfortunate turn unforeseen, yet surprise was absent as light was shed upon a fierce opportunity none could pass up. The weak defeated one another in pitiful attempts to grasp at slivers if elusive power, allowing the twisted branches of a forged tree to become diseased in their own right.

And yet none dare think of Saint Johann’s demise and the newborn legend surrounding it. There had been low murmurings, as if speaking any louder would bring the wrath down upon the gossipers. God had taken form, tearing down the walls and claiming blasphemy upon the thin shoulders of a once revered leader. In His anger, fire ignited to purge Rifthelm of The Order’s own beating heart. A lie cleansed, only to leave a charred scar upon the fabric of history, ash smeared in relevant chaos. Beneath the dull veneer of day to day existence, a scramble occurred in the wake of perceived devastation.

The God Widow grew quiet, and most thought she burned to cinder as a foolish martyr for a cause larger than the followers. The new bishops would learn their folly in forced ignorance, for the God Widow survived. In the following months, it was learned that her initial efforts, though monumental, did not allow her peace. The fated destiny bestowed upon strong shoulders was left unfulfilled, searing mirth into veins of granite. Johann had reached many, and these contingencies were not of his doing.

But like all infestations, there had to be a lethal retribution in retaliation.

The land surrounding Gothamite proved to be barely suitable for subtle trap, though the contrast between moonlight and lack thereof remained its only redeeming quality. Though the obscure objective was fundamental at best, it was always so easy to watch as those proclaiming to be better than most fell for it so willingly. Intricacies were hidden within the quiet details throughout every aspect, even the casual fire burning away. It was meant to be seen as a mistake - bait, even. In the darkness of the midnight land, a beacon of light drew the attention of those willing to seek out those who were not welcome. A crude tent was propped up just beyond the halo of light the burning embers offered, complete with a bored equestrian beast beside it. The scene was set, and all that was needed now was the action to work as a brilliant catalyst.

They weren’t as silent as they had thought, the frozen leaves crunching beneath soft snow with each hurried step they had taken. It was a beginner’s mistake, and one they would pay dearly for. Four men wearing the fortuned colors of The Order maneuvered through the ghostlike trees, pupils wide to soak in as much of the ambient light as possible. Borders of Gothamite were covertly and routinely surveyed to maintain the recruitment of newcomers to the shambles of an agency fallen from grace and power. Their combined arrogance by simply upholding a banner was enough to create a sloppy relic of a streamlined and efficient past. If there was one thing the God Widow could find favorable in the The Order, it was it’s creation of absolute and nearly otherworldly killers. There was rarely a sect in this world that could compare, yet little ambition held her in finding such places. There were bigger and far more prevailing things upon the horizon, beckoning her attention further.

Four men, cloaked and cowled as if they were His own gift to the world. Momentarily, Natalia found herself curious of what was passed through the bastardized bloodlines and skillsets. By this display alone, they were surely as pathetic as even the most lowly of rejects. In that instant, a pang in her heart nearly stole her breath away, the image of Matthias crossing her mind. It was a vivid painting, one that put weight upon the letter nestled within her coat. Such minute anguish would be channeled in precise and combustive moments, acting as necessary fuel in order to remain as determined as ever.

They moved in closer to the small camp, unaware of the danger lurking overhead. The horse - perceived as granite in color in the lack of brilliant hues - gave a bored sway of its head, barely granting them any mind as it returned back to gnawing on the metal bar in its mouth. Peace and tranquility exuded from the small site, yet it wouldn’t last.

Four men. Four arrows. One release.

This was child’s play, the bow lowering as the men fell. Obsidian blurred the edges of their silhouettes against the untouched snow, the crimson of their blood unseen until morning light. Silence was no longer necessary as the renowned God Widow sank into the snow from her perch among the brittle treetops. Three men remained still in their haphazard slumber on cold snow. One was left alive intentionally, though it wouldn’t be for long. Though her expertise lie with the brandished steel of a sword, there was no doubting her proficiency in nearly anything within her grasp, capable of turning everything into a suitable weapon, be it knife or arrow.

“You wear blasphemous colors,” she spoke dully, coming upon the lone survivor before crouching over him. The arrow protruded crudely from his chest, her hand now grasping the shaft to garner his attention in full with the lightning of pain shooting through him. “Do you know who it is that made you fall?”

“Y-Yes. Th-Th God W-Widow,” he stammered, voice thick with his own blood. His answer brought no change in her stony expression, save for the tightening of her grip upon the arrow. Fear overtook him.

“The Order is in Gothamite, is it not?” In the shadows, he was painted a coward in harsh brushstrokes, and Natalia was thoroughly unimpressed. This was not a man worthy to follow even the most twisted of beliefs.

He nodded in response to her question, the idea of brandishing his stiletto miles from any amount of coherent thought or logic.

“Curious. I may have to do something about that. Might I get the name of the vulture leading this particular cathedral? I’ve a need to finish what I’ve started.” The dark and dulcet tones of the fire-haired woman conveyed nonchalance, as if this was simply another deed in another day without the weakness of sympathy. This poison was infecting good men, and she was meant to eradicate at the expense of their own lives. It was a means to an end, and she would bring the entire web of lies down with her if necessary.

“M-M-...” The boy was struggling, which served to test her patience enough to begin a slow twist of the arrow in order to pull his attention back to her with a pained shriek. A curl of her lips brought a defined angle in the ethereal lighting. “C-Cardinal Z-Zemo.”

The name was familiar enough to give her all the information she needed. One of the prominent followers beneath the deceased Saint Johann, known for his relentless determination. It was laughable to her, at least, that he sought out Gothamite, of all places, to begin his own small regime. Truly, she wanted to balk at his choice of venue, as well as the pitiful scouts he had sent out. Their deaths would surely signal her coming, and retribution would fall upon the Cardinal swiftly.

The God Widow leaned down further, her small form huddled over the dying man so her whisper held more weight in its intimacy in his last moments.

“Give Johann my regards,” she purred, brandishing her teeth in a smile almost too broad for her face before pulling the arrow from the man’s chest without mercy. A handful of seconds was all he was afforded in his short life, lips barely forming around a cry for his mother before he was simply no more.

The wrath she’d used in Rifthelm was stoked once more, directed now at the grittiness of Gothamite and its inhabitants.

#black widow #natasha romanoff #avalon #medieval au #fic series #mine

[theonyxpath]

The latest from Travis, our humble Geist 2nd Edition developer:

Sin-Eaters borrow the term Memento from the Latin phrase memento mori, “remember that you must die”. People have been finding or making tokens by which to remember death for nearly as long as they’ve been dying, but to the Bound they are something more. A Memento is a physical object with a Twilight presence, transformed by the resonance of death into something that’s no longer entirely of the living.

Death Trinkets

Most Mementos are ordinary objects that were transformed by playing an important role in someone’s death, or by acting as one of a ghost’s Anchors. The Bound have never been able to figure out exactly what turns one object into a Memento while another remains untouched; one grisly murder might result in the murder weapon itself becoming a token of death, while another death, just as violent, leaves the murder weapon unaltered, but creates a Memento out of the porcelain doll sitting on the shelf next to where the victim died.

Mementos can also come from more unusual sources. Objects brought back from the Underworld often become Mementos, resonating with the purpose for which they were returned to the world of the living. With effort, the Bound can even create Mementos, infusing an object of their own creation with Plasm and deathly inspiration. Geists can also create Mementos, through their own demise: a geist that’s torn apart or otherwise ended leaves a physical token of their existence in the form of a mask, and certain Ceremonies can create Mementos by trapping a ghost in one of its Anchors.

Some Sin-Eaters claim to own even stranger Mementos: the bones of a Kerberoi, bottled souls, undead hearts, and more. Such stories are exactly as fanciful as they are impossible to prove, but if nothing else they turn a common Memento into a great conversation starter.

Enduring Treasures

Mementos, like Sin-Eaters themselves, are equally solid to physical matter and Twilight ephemera. They’re also damned hard to destroy — they’re never damaged by accidents or environmental hazards, and even deliberate attempts to destroy them require overcoming an extremely high Durability. (Yes, that means a Memento umbrella can be used as a shield, and a Memento leather jacket is roughly the equivalent of a Kevlar vest.) The Bound can feed a Memento to their geist for a full refill of Plasm, but that’s considered a tool of last resort.

Aside from their Key, which we’ve already discussed, all Mementos have a supernatural effect of their very own — from a marble that always rolls toward the closest exit to a bootleg record pressed onto an old x-ray film that plays new songs by dead rock stars, Mementos warp the world around them. Sometimes they’re obvious, sometimes subtle; sometimes they’re powerful, sometimes they don’t seem to have a practical use, but people do strange things for a taste of magic, and Memento cults are known to spring up around charismatic individuals or especially remarkable Mementos. Even the Bound are known to be impressed by a well-curated collection of Mementos, artfully arranged by theme or expressing the sheer variety of death.

Greater Mementos

While most Mementos have a weird, but ultimately minor, supernatural effects, rumors abound of those with truly staggering power: A watch that stops you from aging as long as you wear it. A perfectly-preserved Roman trireme that can sail to any port in the Mediterranean in one night. A date book that tells you exactly when, where, and how you’re fated to die.

No one can seem to agree on what makes these Mementos, if they even exist, so powerful. Is it because they’re associated with famous deaths, like Caesar’s assassination or the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper? Is it because they’re very old, like the 430,000-year- old skull of the first known murder victim? Or is it just sheer dumb luck and random cosmic convergence?

Whatever the truth, even the rumor of a greater Memento can set the occult world on edge, and an actual, verifiable greater Memento is the sort of thing krewes and cults go to war over.

Example Mementos

Just to whet your appetite, here are a couple of example Mementos from the book. (The usual disclaimers about this being non-final, pre-editing text apply.)

The Cold Harbor Diary

Key: Stillness

Description: A small, bloodstained, leather-bound book, filled with notes written by a Union soldier during the American Civil War. Despite being made in the 1860s, it looks almost new. The pages are a uniform cream, the blood on the cover barely dry. The entries begin cheerfully, but become increasingly nihilistic and distraught as the diary goes on. The final entry is uncharacteristically short and to the point: “June 3. Cold Harbor. I was killed.”

Effect: The body of anyone who dies holding the Cold Harbor Diary cannot be identified. Fingerprints, DNA, dental records, and more all fail. Even the deceased’s loved ones can’t do better than “It sort of looks like him, maybe, but it’s hard to tell.” This effect does not extend to the deceased’s ghost.

The Drowned Phone

Key: Deep Waters

Description: A banged-up smartphone a few years out of date. Drops of water under the screen and behind the lens of the back camera create weird distortions in the display and in any photos taken with it. Despite that, the phone functions perfectly, though the operating system refuses to update to the latest version.

Effect: The phone can make calls and access the internet from anywhere, regardless of reception, provided it is at least partially submerged in water (which doesn’t affect it the way you’d expect). Audio sent this way is raspy and distorted on the other end, but usually still comprehensible. The phone can even make — and, according to one previous owner, receive — calls from the Underworld.

Next Time

Power that goes unused is little more than bragging rights. Sin-Eaters use their powers in service of their fellow dead and in opposition to the forces that would exploit them. So, next week will we learn about Reapers, or about ghosts?

#Onyx Path Publishing #White Wolf Entertainment #Geist: The Sin-Eaters #Geist The Sin-Eaters #Chronicles of Darkness

[hyungswons-blog]

demigod!shownu

percy jackson and the olympians au ft. monsta x

shownu, son of hephaestus

the first day in camp you stumble in all dishevelled

you probably just fought a colchis bull and you’re panting and your hair is burned on the tips and it’s just traumatic

so you’re like crying when a satyr finds you resting against the tree and he helps you towards the Big House

kihyun patches up your wounds and feeds you some ambrosia before showing you around the camp

but it doesn’t last long because some kid (read: changkyun) accidentally aimed at himself during archery practice and kihyun apologizes and rushes back to the Big House because apparently changkyun’s left butt cheek is… anyways

he leaves you at the edge of the forest

you decide to explore the woods a little bit because you still have to get everything sorted out and this all seems like a dream like what the hell

it’s getting kind of dark though and now you’re lost good fucking job

and just when you think it can’t get worse

IS THAT ANOTHER FUCKING COLCHIS BULL

you don’t know how you defeated one in the first place so there’s no way you can do it AGAIN plus didn’t kihyun say something about magical boundaries why do you have to suffer again do the gods hate u???

its eyes train on you and you freeze but instead of the glowing red eyes you saw earlier these are warm and the metal bull approaches you and nudges your hand because PET ME

??? wait it’s a robot…??? how does that work

it’s actually a kinda cute moment but then it’s interrupted by this big dude stomping towards you and you swear this is scarier than when the colchis bull was barrelling towards you

he kinda just stops in front of you and looks between you and the bull

and then

he’s like,,, tugging the bull away nervously

“sorry.”

he’s so curt and it’s kinda intimidating if you put it together with his physique

but you’re lost so you trail after him

“hey,,, um,,, im kinda lost,,,”

“hi lost” he says it so seriously like

anyways you wave off his lame dad joke and ask him to bring you back to the camp

he doesn’t talk at all while you two walk together and it’s really awkward

so he brings you to his little workshop in the woods to drop off the bull and it’s not actually little it’s huge and it has all these… creations

“wow this is so cool”

his smile is adorably shy because compliments are foreign these days since he never lets anyone near his workshop “really?”

“yeah did you make all of these?”

he nods and watches you as you explore the hideout and run your hands over his useless works and your fingers trace over something carved into a desk

“hw <3 yj”

“what’s this?”

he knows exactly what you’re talking about but he doesn’t say anything, just looks down with a sad smile and says

“we’re late for dinner”

you’re blubbering and finally you’re like “uhmdjcksjdhg ok,,,” so he walks you back and hands you awkwardly back over to kihyun

“sorry, that’s shownu, he’s really awkward anyways you can sit at the hermes table until you’re claimed”

but you keep looking over at the hephaestus table because shownu ,, still looks awkward,, even though he’s laughing and joking along with his siblings(??) but on second thought all of the hephaestus kids look awkward and out of place

anyways

for the next few days you really tend to notice shownu’s absence whenever he’s not around at the campfires and stuff

and you’re still really curious about that little carving because??? shownu is dating??? but you never see him do the fluffy fluff lovey love thing with ANYONE

so you do the natural thing and ask changkyun because he seems to know everything that happens in the camp (everyone says aphrodite kids are the biggest gossipers so ,, changkyun is really an enigma,,)

he tells you that a long time ago,,, and i mean a LONG time ago,, shownu was dating a fellow camper who was a child of demeter and they were this cute calm lowkey couple

and then one day he was testing out one of his machines he’d made for her valentines day gift

it was the cute metal bull because, if shownu were ever too busy to cuddle her, the bull would

it was stupid but he loved it and he was sure she would too

and then he fucked up

he mixed up the cute bull with a copy of a colchis bull he’d made to discover their weaknesses

long story short,,, when his girlfriend walked into the hephaestus cabin which shownu had cleared out for the day to work on the surprise,,

the colchis bull set her ablaze

shownu tried really hard to save her because as a special son of hephaestus, he’s immune to fire (kinda like the cyclops)

two things came out of that fire alive

but shownu’s girlfriend did not

and neither did the cabin

so shownu had to deal with the fact that he’d killed his lover and burnt down half of the cabins

that’s why he’d made his new workshop in the forest away from everyone and never liked people around his creations

he even stopped making dangerous things

are you crying or is that just rain,, on your face..

so one day you decide to search for him because why does he always isolate himself over a mistake,,

you,, kinda get lost again tbh

and it’s like deja vu when a very familiar nice metal bull comes bounding up to you so you gotta scratch him,, i mean,, his cute little tail is wagging happily

but he doesn’t stop for long and he’s trotting back the way he came from and you just gotta follow him

you’re not surprised when he leads you back to shownu’s workshop

cautiously, you enter it and you’re met with the sound of whirring and clanking and you peek behind a pillar

WOW,,, shownu is HOT when he works,,

like there’s soot all over him and his muscles are bulging and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration,,, what the hELL HE WASN'T THIS HOT BEFORE

he catches you staring and he’s like “oh,, did you get lost again?”

you shake your head and slowly approach him

“changkyun,, told me,, about yeojoo,,”

his eyes widen and he kinda just goes back to making a protective helmet because jooheon broke his last one and capture the flag is this friday

“shownu,, you don’t have to blame yourself,,”

shownu: “,,,”

“it was just a mistake. you gotta forgive yourself. yeojoo would want you to.”

“but yeojoo’s not here.”

“,,, she’s always with you, shownu. in ur heart,,”

sniffle sniffle

that’s all you came to tell him so you leave him to dwell on your words (but you return many times throughout the next few weeks just to watch him work)(and he likes showing off his creations and the way your eyes light up)

then one night you get claimed

you scrape half your dinner plate into the fire and pray for your mother to just claim you already gdi

lo and behold,, the world hates you

welcome the new child of demeter

THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE YOUR DECEASED SIBLING WAS THE GIRLFRIEND OF THE GUY YOU MAY,, HAVE A SLIGHT,, CRUSH ON,,, WHY?!!???

when shownu finds out he feels SO FUCKING GUILTY

he KILLED YOUR SISTER

AND HE THINKS YOU'RE CUTE

THAT'S LIKE ,, DOUBLE BETRAYAL

so he does his best to avoid you but by now you know how to get to his little workshop in the woods and you KNOW he’s been avoiding you because when you wave at him he immediately looks away

time to confront him

so you stomp in and he’s disassembling that cute metal bull and you yell at him to stop: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!!”

he drops the head on the floor in surprise and he’s like “,, y/n,,,”

“what are you doing” you repeat calmer this time. like what is he doing to the cute bull and what is he doing thinking he can just pretend you don’t exist??????

“you shouldn’t be here,,,”

“but i am”

“y/n,, please,,leave”

“why? you think you’re betraying yeojoo by getting closer to me?”

the thought of him still being hung up on his ex,, hurts a lot tbh

shownu doesn’t say anything even though your assumption is wrong

“shownu,,” you beg “please,, tell me what you’re thinking,, that it’s not because you still love yeojoo,, tell me you feel what i feel too,,”

he nods slowly, avoiding your gaze “i,, i do,,”

your heart: AHJSKASLSJSHDKFKH

your face: “...but…?”

for the first time you see shownu vulnerable (he’s crying)

“i don’t want to hurt anyone again”

you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair “you’re not going to”

“i’m a son of hephaestus” he says bitterly “machines always have a tendency to malfunction”

“so why can’t your heart malfunction just this once,,, to forgive yourself,,”

“,,,”

“shownu, when you make your contraptions, do you get it perfect on the first try?”

“,,,no”

“exactly, you make mistakes and you learn from them and fix them,, think of your life in the same way”

“it’s,, not that easy”

you intertwine your fingers together and smile reassuringly at him “that’s why you work as a team. the more workers, the quicker the result”

“,,,thank you y/n”

and then he surprises you

he kisses your cheek!!! and then shyly looks away because he’s all red

but it’s so cute that you just laugh “pls rebuild the cute bull”

“yes ma’am”

#monsta x #shownu #monsta x scenarios #shownu scenarios #monsta x fluff #monsta x angst #monsta x au #monsta x shownu #what e ve n is this #is it a #monsta x drabbles #?? #demigod au

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 8)

From the foot of the double doors of the Plushie Palace's main doors and past its massive neosteel gates of the Plushie Palace, two security guards dressed like medieval knights rolled out a red carpet, before an employee dressed as a royal herald ran out, who was followed shortly by a cadre of flying drones with fancy hats like the handmaidens, squires, and scribes of yore.

Tony set the cab down right at the edge of the carpet. “Enjoy yourself in there!” he grinned and laughed, before his projector deactivated, and the door swung open.

The herald put her trumpet/megaphone to her lips. “Hear ye, hear ye! Returning to the Plushie Palace, these Hallowed Halls of Imagination, the Fortress of Fun, the Place of Furry Friends for everyone:

“Lady Winter Schnee, and her sister, Lady Weiss Schnee!”

Winter daintily stepped out onto the red carpet, trying and failing to keep composed and dignified as she waved and smiled at the welcoming party and the small crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk. A Handmaiden-Bot floated up to her head, and daintily put a modest white crown on her head, its points shaped like the fractals of a snowflake.

It was made out of sturdy, visually striking, but otherwise cheap polymers, but Winter still squealed and jumped with delight, eyes bright and smile as radiant as the first time she was first there at the age of 3.

A different Handmaiden-Bot hovered over to Weiss, with her own personal crown. She tried to wave it off, but it insistently hovered and beeped beside her, so she sighed, and let it put it on her own head, too.

The other “Servant” Bots floated in formation beside them, flapping their “wings” in unison, the “face” panels on their round bodies all looking as dignified as two dots and a single line could be. Winter took it in stride, holding her head up high in appropriately regal fashion before she sashayed down the red carpet.

Weiss looked at the pedestrians laughing, smiling, shaking their heads, or recording the whole spectacle with their phone, then she turned to her sister, happily soaking up the attention. She sighed playfully, and hurried on after her—in the dignified and proper manner of a fellow Lady of the Court, of course!

The herald put her trumpet/megaphone under her arm and fell in step with them. “Know that even with your long absence, milady, the Plushie Palace still welcomes you as warmly and heartily as it always did!” she said. “The halls may expand and rearrange themselves, the faces of the staff and the guard may change, but all your perks and privileges are forever, as per your lifetime membership and the graces granted by the Lady Scarlatina and her predecessors.”

“Wonderful to hear, my good woman!” Winter said in an exaggeratedly “proper” voice.

Weiss resisted the urge to snicker.

“Are there any orders and requests you wish done for this visit, milady?”

“Yes,” Winter said, “I want every single plushie I have ever ordered from your company or had been gifted to me to be remade, exactly as I got them the day they came off the fabricators, errors and all. Flubber Butter is not Flubber Butter without his one slightly larger than the other eye, and don’t you think that I don’t remember exactly which side it was on!”

The herald put her hand to her chest. “We would never dare, milady! Then, now, and forevermore, we take great pains to make all of our creations exactly to how our loyal patrons wish them to be. I must warn you though, that due to legal constrictions, company policy, and the inevitable passing of some of our artisans, we are unable to reproduce most of the limited edition and/or handmade plushies, for obvious reasons.”

Winter sighed. “It’s no trouble; I’ve made peace with the fact that Dr. Blep belongs to another now...”

The herald nodded sympathetically. “Tis tragic, but take heart: we have far more friends to make new memories with than ever before,” she said, smiling. “Would you like me to lead you to our newest additions, milady?”

“Later,” Winter said as they passed under the gate and into the massive front gardens/courtyard.

She grinned as she watched patrons old and young spread out all over the tables, benches, and gazebos, having tea parties and spirited discussions with their beloved inanimate friends occupying the other seats, all persons and plushies dressed in all manner of outfits and of course, fancy hats.

“I want to explore with just my sister for a while,” she finished as they came to the massive double doors leading into the palace proper.

“Enjoy yourselves, milady,” the herald said. “And if you need any assistance, there is as many willing hands as ever, just waiting to rush to your aid!” she said before bowed out, and disappeared.

Two guards at either side of the door greeted her and pushed open the massive double doors; Weiss and Winter had to shield their eyes as they stepped into the Palace's foyer, with its marble floors and silken banners, the portraits of the Plushie Palace’s former and current CEO’s lining the walls, and the massive, elaborate, and antique chandelier hovering far above their heads, casting it all in a bright, wondrous light.

Just a few centuries ago, the Plushie Palace would have probably just been a massive showcase for PR purposes, with the actual store being in a more discrete area of shelves upon shelves of boxed plushies ready to be plucked and brought to the counter, or a large and expansive warehouse that was kept out of sight and access but to the employees.

But advances in telecommunication, logistics, and automated manufacturing had made it so that comm-crystal shopping made physical stores all but obsolete, if all you needed was the products they offered; C-Commerce was just much faster, infinitely more convenient, and offered a whole host of luxuries and advantages that its counterpart could not.

So the physical stores and locations adapted, offered something their technomagical counterpart could not:

An experience.

Winter and Weiss wandered through elaborate show rooms: grand dining halls, palatial sets, and famous landmarks from Avalon's numerous cultures, both real and fictional; lovingly recreated scenes from pop culture and timeless tales; exciting displays such as plushie pilots flying through the air, trying to gun each other down with harmless balls of charged air, collecting the other team's aviator's caps and scarves for trophies as they flew off their owners' heads and fluttered to the ground.

They marveled at museums that chronicled the history of the company, the evolution of their trademark fabrics that became the de facto choice for premium plush toys, famous owners, interesting anecdotes, lovingly preserved examples of the works of their deceased masters and mistresses of the needle and thread, generously donated items from collectors who wished to inspire and delight a new generation of plush toy lovers.

(Winter sighed as she passed by Leela Lucavi, her limited edition Jasper Lamia toy with actual jasper gems for eyes from an earlier, long-over run of the Monsters and Mythology line. She cast a longing look over her shoulder at her beloved companion now floating in the center of a protective crystal case, until Weiss tugged at her sleeve and they continued on.)

And most importantly, Winter got to handle and see the toys with her own eyes and hands than a virtual simulator, dress them up in all manner of elaborate outfits herself, be the one to rigorously test whatever topper suited her fancy for that particular toy's visage, before finally sitting down with them in tea tables, dens, and meeting rooms, seeing if she would enjoy their presence after she had “a brief chat” with them over actual, excellently brewed tea and freshly baked goods, provided by their food-and-beverage lessees.

(Weiss joined in with her sister's screening process, getting less and less patient with her thorough standards, until she learned that among said lessees was a Fiorina's, and she could enjoy a triple chocolate cake shake in lieu of tea.)

All the while, childhood companions were lovingly recreated, lopsided ears, misshapen eyes, and miscoulored patterns and all, the extremely rare hiccups in an otherwise flawless fabrication process that one could only experience after being so unlucky, or ordering an extremely large number of plushies over a very long period of time.

As the numbers for Winter's bill kept on rising, gaining more commas, and going even further to the left, Weiss suddenly understood why their father had not been as enamored with these ridiculously adorable, soft, and cuddly toys as she, her sister, and their mother were.

Many hours later, Winter visited the last location on her list: the always shifting “Special of the Month” wings. As it was Autumn everywhere else in Avalon (Candela and the Viridian Valley only experienced two seasons: “The Fury and The Flood”), and the Eve of the Ether was coming up in little over a month, the theme was:

“Fun and Frights!”

Winter and Weiss both had second thoughts as they came up to the display at the entrance, showing off the annual return of the Plushie Palace's Keeper of the Grove plushies. In spite of their reputation for making ANYTHING cute, they were still a popular component in mean-spirited pranks this time of the year, if just their glowing red button-eyes in light or darkness. The two of them decided to give it a wide berth as they entered the area and checked out the much less terrifying offerings—Winter casting glances over her shoulder every now and then.

She added a few more plushies, outfits, and hats to her growing collection, until they reached a room-wide set piece, for just one item at the center of it all:

“Eluna, the White Wolf, the Moonlight Huntress, the Protector of the City of Solaris—the Limited Edition version!” Winter cried as she rushed up to its stand, a miniature mountain. “I thought you couldn't see these anymore outside of private collections!”

Weiss stopped. She looked at the plush toy inside the protective crystal casing: a white wolf, with a long, flowing mane that glowed like pale moonlight. Where had she heard that before…?

“She’s the guardian deity of the city, back when it was still a struggling port town, their symbolism for the incredibly dangerous swamp creatures that protected them from foreign invaders and each other alike,” Winter said, seemingly reading her mind as she skirted around the display, leaning down and standing up on the balls of her feet, admiring the toy from every angle. “Kind of like the Keeper of the Grove, except benevolent and infinitely less terrifying!”

Winter stopped at the front of it, leaning forward and gazing into the plush toy's face, admiring the incredibly intricate detail in the stitching and the fabric. “In the promotional cartoon, she was the mentor figure and overall leader of the group, the source of the other Lunar Warriors' powers, their defender from threats both from without and within, striking down foes with her Starlight Spear, and helping her wards overcome their personal demons with her boundless compassion and wisdom.”

Thunk. Winter squished her face into the glass.

“I had the BIGGEST crush on her when I was a kid!” she cried. “Still do, actually! I mean, yes, she’s fictional and a wolf, but her voice actress gives me SHIVERS when she says her battle cry, and when she cosplays humanoid Ellie at cons and public appearances--” she made a noise that made Weiss rather uncomfortable.

She slowly stepped up some distance behind Winter, still thinking. Where had she heard that before…? She blinked. “Wait, didn't you keep talking for like a year about how you mom was getting you one?”

“8 months and 23 days!” Winter replied. “I forgot how much I wanted her...” she said as she put her hand to the glass. “And now I remember just how badly...” she whispered, tearing up. “The review sites that got exclusive copies said it really was objectively the softest, fluffiest, cuddliest plush toy the company has ever produced, and every single lucky person who managed to get one themselves say it's even better than they said!

“They haven't produced a single plushie that's been able to match it in terms of pure softness and cuddling experience—even less likely now that the special secret fabric blend they used died with its inventor...” she moped.

“Why didn't you get it?” Weiss asked.

Winter sighed, slowly pulling away from the crystal case. The smudge mark she'd left disappeared in a wave of energy pulsing up and down the surface. “Mom said we we'd buy it after we got back from our trip...” she frowned. “… You know, that trip.”

Weiss' own face fell. “Ah...”

Winter cast one last longing look at the Eluna plushie, before she turned around. “I suppose that's life: some things just pass you by...”

“… Or maybe they were just waiting for you to come back,” said a third voice.

Winter and Weiss looked up, smiled as they saw a familiar face with the same iconic bunny ears atop her headband:

Velvet Scarlatina, latest of the Scarlatina family and heiress of the Plushie Palace, smiled and bowed.

“Welcome back, Miladies Schnee~!”

#white rose #rwby #the keeper of the grove #fanfic

[tinymixtapes]

Column: Favorite Rap Mixtapes of July 2018

With a cascade of releases spewing from the likes of DatPiff, LiveMixtapes, Bandcamp, and SoundCloud, it can be difficult to keep up with the overbearing yet increasingly vital mixtape game. In this column, we aim to immerse ourselves in this hyper-prolific world and share our favorite releases each month. The focus will primarily be on rap mixtapes — loosely defined here as free (or sometimes free-to-stream) digital releases — but we’ll keep things loose enough to branch out if/when we feel it necessary. (Check out last month’s installment here.) You could argue that the prolific nature of modern mixtape milieus makes for a mess of inaccessibility. You could, but we at TMT would be much too busy listening to mixtapes to participate in that academic exercise. Onto our informal survey of July 2018 then: nine writers, 14 tapes, mad points of reference and impressions, scenes and feels. Yes, it’s just a sampling, dreamy and incomplete, but selective, like picking curios from a cabinet or fishing life in the notochords, curated by your favorite jet-setting rap connoisseurs, this one writing from the suburbs of Nashville, where the flea market dollar bins are like the barbecues, i.e., smoking. –Samuel Diamond --- 03 Greedo - God Level [STREAM] Don’t doubt that God Level is the most compelling of 03 Greedo’s offerings to date, almost entirely by design. Of course, context is everything: this, his self-proclaimed debut album, came amidst the commencement of his 20-year prison sentence, a fact plainly reflected in the sheer breadth and depth of this project. Greedo utilizes the hour-and-a-half-plus to cover plenty of stylistic ground, with a knowing and foreboding, yet never overly rueful, presence behind the mic. As Jeff Weiss puts it in his heartfelt profile, “a Greedo song exists for every emotion and every occasion,” and no less so than across God Level’s expanse: there’s more conventional going in alongside post-Thugger gurgle; West Coast bounce here, blown-out trap there. And, of course, it’s all wrapped in cover art that slyly references Greedo’s iconoclastic streak, the last laugh in a sordid state of affairs. Clearly, to attain this Level, you have to kill a few idols first. –Soe Jherwood --- Future - Beast Mode 2 [STREAM] The mixtape is Future’s format. Beast Mode 2 is his 19th and the follow-up to his 14th, Beast Mode. The latter was a cold turn for the Atlanta trailblazer; a darker, colder reflection that helped flesh out his character from a 2D trap star to who we hear today. Beast Mode II follows that trend. The weight of success is a tired trope, but when Future sings “Pouring up in public, damn I hate the real me” on the tape’s final track, it doesn’t sound like the millionaire’s cry to the masses about how money doesn’t make you happy. He’s not singing for you or as a part of the emo-rap trend. This is his format, only one of two direct sequels. Unlike the elaborate sculptures of Evol or DS2, Beast Mode 2 is for Future, an etching in a diary. A passing moment. –Sam Tornow --- Pink Siifu - Ensley [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] Ensley is a girl’s name meaning one’s own meadow. But who is she to Pink Siifu? Track five, “Proud/Pray,” might offer a hint, as Pink raps, “This is for my sister.” Maybe he’s just talking about that song, but having relocated from Birmingham to Cincinnati to Los Angeles to his current artistic sojourn in New York, not to mention having also released music under the names iiye, [email protected], and Liv Martez, Siifu too could be an Ensley, at least in spirit, as he seeks to continuously terraform new ground for this rap shit. The meadow sprawls, and with 26 songs clocking in at over an hour, this tape is also scaled up from the field. But don’t let that fence you off — there’s a whole ecosystem here, and Bandcamp has put together a convenient guide for the journey. –Samuel Diamond --- RetcH - After the Verdict [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] It’s far too easy to let the details of RetcH’s run-ins with the law overcloud what After the Verdict properly announces: that the man is back on his bullshit. Sure, titles like “Made it Out” are reminders that the New Jersey rapper just shook off decades of jail time, but even the most explicit engagement with the court case refrains from ham-handed reckoning in favor of unapologetic flexes, like the kickoff, “I clutch the slimmy that was stocky and some beef and broccoli/ And smoke a choppy with a mami on my way to papi.” Far from a calculated return to form, After the Verdict is a refinement of the gnarled, snappish flows we heard on Finesse the World unspooled over a trim batch of ghoulish instrumentals from GRiMM Doza. Despite RetcH’s affinity for every trap upstart’s favorite purple concoction, it’s unclear whether he belongs in the same conversation with his glitzier contemporaries or with those gunning for “something made for grown folk.” What’s clearer is who this music isn’t for: the polite society do-gooders who’d smugly donate to cash-starved schools yet would flee a high-end restaurant as soon as RetcH walks in. Thankfully, RetcH will keep on snarling and sneering, erasing demarcations you thought were fixed and bum-rushing every yuppie function from Millburn to Moorestown along the way. –Cirrus Slump --- Rabit - CRY ALONE DIE ALONE [STREAM] The thing about invoking DJ Screw’s influence in nearly any beat-based form is that it’s already implied. Nevertheless, in an era of wanton creative theft, it never hurts to be explicit. Like any Houston native, Rabit’s always been outspoken about his love for Screw, but CRY ALONE DIE ALONE is his first full-on embrace of the deceased originator’s iconic mixtape form. It’s a far cry from an original Gray Tape, but so is just about everything; merging Houston classics, witch house, and the cutting edge of bass music — three distinct branches of the larger Screw family tree — the mix is less a faithful re-creation than a survey of the breadth of the legend’s influence in the nearly 20 years since his death. There’s a lot of baggage that comes along with making a self-anointed “screw tape,” as there are thin lines between tribute and imitation, or appreciation and exploitation. And the Houston originals here, including”Diamonds and Wood” and “Pourin’ Up,” provide such a zoomed-out view of the city’s vibrant scene that they can initially scan as something closer to gesture than considered selection. Repeated listens put that out of mind, however; the tape owns its origins to such an extent, from the cover art to its June 27 release date, that it can only be a labor of love. –Corrigan B --- Chief Keef - Mansion Musick [STREAM] Things were simpler in 2012. Finally Rich, and especially “Citgo” (the 13th track on the deluxe version), projected effortless style and grit, taking rap to a place it hadn’t been before and one that we didn’t recognize. It’s difficult to say whether Chief Keef has been less or more vital to music in the years since. On one hand, the 17 (or so) mixtapes he’s released since Finally Rich have attracted little mainstream recognition, and none of them has produced a single with the magnitude of “I Don’t Like.” As Corrigan B put it in his review of the very underrated Thot Breaker, “fuckers in school don’t say much about Chief Keef these days.” On the other hand, Keith Cozart’s signature is scribbled thoroughly and, it seems, permanently across the landscape of rap music. I still find his music exciting in its own right, and it shows that he knows and embraces who he is, down to those idiosyncrasies of his style that haven’t been as widely emulated as others. In a couple important ways, Mansion Musick sounds similar to the last 17 (or so) post-Finally Rich mixtapes; the vocals are clear and high in the mix, the variety of drum sounds is small, and the approach to composition and songwriting is unmistakably closer to the sputtering idyll of “Citgo” than the furious staccato of “I Don’t Like.” The piano-driven opening and closing tracks and well-executed collaborations with Playboi Carti and Tadoe particularly stand out. –Will Neibergall --- DJ Surrup - Kids See Ghosts of Screw [STREAM] It’s not at all a knock on Kanye West and Kid Cudi when I write that DJ Surrup’s slowed and throwed version of their Kids See Ghosts project is better than the original. (It’s actually my favorite of the recent G.O.O.D. projects, other than the masterful Daytona of course, plus…) Surrup has been quietly improving upon hit records for years now, and Ye seems to bring out some of the best in him (and vice versa), as The Life of Purple Pablo is also a prime example of Surrup’s sleepy-eyed, sharp-eared genius. By not only slowing and scratching his source material, but reordering and reimagining it in ways extra conducive to replay, Surrup proves himself not yet another “ghost” of Screw, but rather a diamond in the rough of remix culture. And no offense or anything, but Cudi kind of sounds in transition here, which is all kinds of bonus awesome. –Samuel Diamond --- Fat Trel - Finally Free [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] When Fat Trel was locked up on weapons charges in spring 2016, it seemed like another setback in the D.C. street rap king’s belabored transition to wider success. 2013’s SDMG mixtape was blisteringly good, with daring, diverse production that showcased how Trel could hop on anything, be himself, and make it work, leading him to sign with the (perhaps ill-fitting) MMG label. His career has been in idle since then, save for a steady output of video singles since his September 2017 release date. And while the long-awaited Finally Free doesn’t electrify like early-career Trel, that may be a good thing; adjusting gracefully to the vicissitudes of 2018’s rap landscape, the rapper has eased off the drill-and-molly anthems and found a new sweet spot over the mourning, low-slung style of beat pioneered by 808 Mafia. But rather than swag rapping, Trel spits the same unshakable flow that made him famous — so effortless you sometimes forget he’s even rapping. –Nick Henderson --- King Carter - Prisoner of Mind [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] Slums don’t let up. Forget simply taking over this column; the crew is about to fuck around and go the 2018 equivalent of All City, whatever that may be. King Carter’s Prisoner of Mind is one of the latest in a superstring of quantum-entangled collabos from SlumsNYC and frequent comrades such as Standing on the Corner, Slauson Malone, Medhane, Caleb Giles, et al., but it isn’t just one of the latest or just anything for that matter. Streaming this, I laughed, I cried, I came, I died, I came back to life, and I made sure to download the split-track version so I could do it all (or some, but mostly all) over again. Major props due Ade Hakim (a.k.a. Sixpress) who handles the bulk of production on here and has been on an absolute killing spree of late. –Samuel Diamond --- Lil Boii Kantu - 514 [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] The fact that Lil Boii Kantu is able to hammer out non-cringeworthy covers of classic Blink-182 cuts and produce goth trap tunes that slap just as hard never fails to astound me. There’s no shortage of SoundCloud artists who claim versatility, but few can toss the word around and back it up as well as this L.A.-based emcee. Kantu’s sophomore tape picks up where Trippie Redd’s A Love Letter to You left off in 2017, pairing the former’s croaky, auto-tuned howls with murky plug beats. “Senior Ditch Day,” Kantu’s ode to pre-graduation blues, is 514’s choicest offering, laden with screechy pop-punk riffage and teenage romanticism. –Jude Noel --- Big Kahuna OG - SKY CHRYME [STREAM · DOWNLOAD] Richmond-based rap collective Mutant Academy offers a wayward vision of what it means to be a rap crew today. Though there isn’t a fail-safe path to ensure stardom, many of the most celebrated rap groups of the decade have made an art of capitalizing on the “outsider” image. If there’s a unifying “edge” to the four Mutant rappers — Big Kahuna OG, Fly Anakin, Henny L.O., and Koncept Jack$on — it’s that they’re apostles of a particular blunted, Virginia-grown everyman lifestyle wherein Ohbliv loops and Nickelus F epistles are daily sustenance. From without, this seems a plausible way of corralling local support. Yet the group found its early devotees largely by way of the internet, which in turn had Richmonders jetting to the nearest backyard boogie. The squad’s been sitting on so much material that the rollout of the recently excavated SKY CHRYME had the casual air of a SoundCloud loosie. However, disposable, SKY CHRYME is not; Kahuna feels personable without the media manicure, and the mostly homegrown, skyward beats will have even the most fusty of heads retract their diagnosis of the death of “real hip-hop” and start muttering, begrudgingly at first, conspicuously with time, “the internet is the fucking move.” –Cirrus Slump --- Theravada - State of the Art [STREAM · DOWNLOAD ] The State of the Art is goonish, unemployed, unshaven, waking up at 2 PM, driving to the fye to sell back used Eastern Conference Records releases, hoping to get enough to pick up a 2-for-30, getting broken off with an extra $2 and using it to cop some even more obscure early 00s shit, most likely from another region, with a beer-stained pen-and-pixel cover. Theravada channels that come-up, not sonically, but emotionally, giving you that “Hold up, who’s this character?” feeling. My brother said we went to the same high school, but I don’t think that’s right. I did meet the dude after a show at a pool hall in my old neighborhood, though; having never heard the word “theravada” at that point, I thought he was telling me his name was Nirvana over and over: true story. That would’ve been about the time he was working on this, I assume. The moral: Y2K was real, the singularity already happened, is still happening, and right now as you read this, it’s the year 2000. –Samuel Diamond --- Hoodrich Pablo Juan and Danny Wolf - Hoodwolf 2 [STREAM] Hoodwolf’s overstuffed successor makes the cut, despite falling short of the airtight cohesion that Atlanta duo Hoodrich Pablo Juan and Danny Wolf sealed into their debut collaboration. Populated by a deep supporting cast of emcees and producers, Hoodwolf 2 exchanges the pair’s industrial minimalism for a diverse blend of timbres and experimentation. While HPJ’s delivery remains as oddly layered and tongue-in-cheek as ever, Wolf dabbles in slasher-flick dissonance on “Bitch Nigga,” Zaytoven-inspired decadence on “Everything Rare,” and even a trap-inflected appropriation of traditional Japanese music on “Just Vibe” — exclusive to Datpiff and SoundCloud. Despite muddy mixing and phoned-in features by Lil Skies and the ever-uninspired Rich the Kid, Hoodwolf 2 reaches some impressive heights, especially when its respective collaborators embrace their innate weirdness. When your missteps are this good, you’re doing something right. –Jude Noel --- 03 Greedo & Nef the Pharoah - Porter 2 Grape EP [STREAM] In early July, 03 Greedo began what will be a considerably long hiatus from hip-hop recording and performance. Luckily (and bittersweetly) for fans, he’s promised that there’s plenty of unreleased music stowed away on hard drives, which will appear on upcoming projects. This EP, in fact, is the first to be released while he’s behind bars. It’s a collaboration with fellow Californian Nef the Pharoah, and, despite being recorded with 03 Greedo’s sentence looming on the horizon, it’s fun and carefree in a DJ Mustard summer-vibe kinda way. It fits snugly into the lexicon of hot weather-friendly California hip-hop, and Nef and Greedo balance each other’s styles surprisingly well: Nef with a consistent G-funk flavor and delivery, Greedo more melody-savvy and radio-adaptable. It’s a fun, bite-sized, easily digestible listen for warmer weather, landing just at the right time. Despite its feel-good allure, this EP will land heavy on the ears of fans who’ve been following Greedo’s explosive trajectory over the past year. It’s the beginning of a long goodbye, but at least we have unreleased material (that hopefully will contain more Nef collabs) to look forward to. –Alex Brown http://j.mp/2LWnt54

[renegaderoots]

BASIC INFORMATION

♚┋FULL NAME: Theodor De Vries ♚┋PRONUNCIATION: Theo-dor (German pronunciation) ♚┋NICKNAME(S): Teddy, Theo ♚┋TITLE: The Gargoyle  ♚┋OCCUPATION: shop owner / contract killer  ♚┋~AGE: 36 ♚┋DATE OF BIRTH: 15 August ♚┋GENDER: Cisgender ♚┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/his ♚┋ORIENTATION: Homoromantic Demisexual  ♚┋NATIONALITY: German  ♚┋RELIGION: the best to describe it would be...a religious atheist?  ♚┋SPECIES: Human ♚┋AFFILIATION: technically, his son. Realistically, the Morrison family. ♚┋GENERATION: third  ♚┋THREAT LEVEL: for somebody born to be a vicious killer willing to fight dirty, Espen’s threat level is low. He isn’t aggressive or malicious, nor does he take any pleasure in violence. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

♚┋FACE CLAIM: André Hamann / Chris Hemsworth  ♚┋EYE COLOUR: Green ♚┋HAIR COLOUR: dark blonde  ♚┋DOMINANT HAND: ambidextrous  ♚┋HEIGHT: 184 centimeters or 6′0 ♚┋WEIGHT: 158 lbs ♚┋TATTOOS: Just...too many to possibly list. Think up every imaginable gothic cliché in existence and you’ll probably find it somewhere on his body - along with a cupcake on his left butt cheek because he’s an idiot.  ♚┋SCARS: predominantly burn scars. ♚┋PIERCINGS: snakebites  ♚┋GLASSES: in theory, yes, but the lazy bastard doesn’t even know how to put on two matching socks so, like, what do you expect here?

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

♚┋JUNG TYPE: ISTP ♚┋SUBTYPE: Logical ♚┋ENNEATYPE: 7w8 ♚┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral ♚┋TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine/Choleric ♚┋SCHEMA: VH, SI, NP ♚┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Visual-Spatial, Bodily-Kinesthetic, Logical-mathematical  ♚┋~IQ: 132 ♚┋NEUROTYPE:  Unsure as of yet.  ♚┋AT RISK? Well, I mean, solely based on environmental factors, there’d be ample reason to believe he may be at risk. 

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

♚┋HOMETOWN: Cologne, Germany ♚┋CURRENT: Dublin, Ireland ♚┋LANGUAGE(S): German (mother tongue), Dutch (native speaker level), Irish (lower-intermediate level) ♚┋SOCIAL CLASS: upper middle class ♚┋DEGREE: Master’s degree ♚┋SUBJECT(S): Forensic nursing  ♚┋PARENT #1: Gerrit De Vries, deceased ♚┋PARENT #2: Beatrice De Vries neé Hoffmann, deceased ♚┋SIBLING(S): Lena De Vries, deceased, Alexander De Vries, deceased ♚┋MAIN SHIP: Espen/Sam (bromance) ♚┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single ♚┋CHILDREN: Oliver De Vries, alive, three years  ♚┋PET(S): none ♚┋ADOPTED? Yes. After his parents’ death, Espen was adopted by his paternal grandfather.  ♚┋RAP SHEET? Nothing yet. ♚┋PRISON TIME? Not yet. 

VICES / HABITS

♚┋SMOKES? like a chimney.  ♚┋DRINKS?  Yes. ♚┋DOES DRUGS?  Used to, yes. Stimulants (i.e. ecstasy) and hallucinogens like LSD ♚┋IS VIOLENT? Not at all, ironically enough. This is so hard to believe because Espen’s family consisted primarily of criminals, including former intelligence agents, one might be quick to falsely assume that their natures - violent, predominantly - are irrevocably ingrained in his being; but this couldn’t be further from the truth. If at all necessary, Espen will only react defensively, thus defending himself physically, when there’s no other way.  ♚┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Not anymore.  ♚┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes. ♚┋HABITS: perpetually confused about what clothes are - likes to walk around his flat completely nude. Unsurprisingly, he also sleeps without any clothes on. Cannot sit on chairs like normal people. Hello bad blood circulation.  ♚┋HOBBIES: sewing, alternative fashion, taxidermy, reading (mostly Gothic literature because he’s extra like that), taking care of baby bats, vblogging, weaponry, medieval history, travelling around the world to visit castles, tarot card reading, make up (both theater and alternative), book reviews on youtube, gaming ♚┋TICS: grunting (especially when stressed or extremely anxious. It’s happened before that that’s all he does while he completely shuts down normal communication.)  ♚┋OBSESSION(S): none ♚┋COMPULSION(S): has to arrange food a certain way on his plate lest he won’t eat it 

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

♚┋HOUSE: Gryffindor  ♚┋VICE: Wrath ♚┋VIRTUE: Temperance ♚┋ELEMENT: Fire ♚┋ANGEL: Uriel  ♚┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Vampire ♚┋ANIMAL: black cat  ♚┋MUTATION: time manipulation  ♚┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? No. Sadly, he has morals. 

STATUS INFORMATION

♚┋DEVELOPMENT: Semi-developed ♚┋SHIPPING: Shiplocked. Not to a particular ship, mind you, but because of Espen’s background and personality, it would be ooc for him to commit to multiple ships (even if they’re regarded separately).  ♚┋VERSE: Multiverse ♚┋VERSE TYPE: crime, slice of life ♚┋CANON: crime ♚┋PLOTTING: open  ♚┋CREATION DATE: August 2017

CHARACTER SUMMARY

After five minutes, you’ll have no better descriptor for Espen other than fucking weird – and rightfully so. Everything from his demeanor down to his most perfunctory mannerisms, the man defies social conventions without even trying all that hard. Raised to patch up his mother’s career as a discharged intelligence agent, Espen grew up isolated from his peers, trained and groomed mostly and certainly not treated like a son. Eventually, their renegade ways caught up with them; the result being murder in the first degree. Following these events, he was adopted by his paternal grandfather and Theo became Espen. All tragedies aside, his golden heart and warm eyes give away his personality at first glance. There’s compassion in his actions that shouldn’t be feasible given that his body count is heavy. Now that there’s another life in the picture, namely his kid, Espen is determined to find the exeunt to his tragedy. Good morals and good character, unfortunately, don’t mean shit when you’re indebted to a crime cartel.

APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Physically, the guy is average and contrary to what one might believe, he doesn’t really stick out from the crowd save for his colorful sleeve tattoos. Standing 6’0 tall, Espen isn’t exactly a frightening, towering figure either. How he manages to stay fit with the serious sweet tooth that he has is a mystery, but his build is, without doubt, rather muscular. His accent is quite a minuscular detail yet, still, a faint German accent can be heard. What will certainly turn some heads, however, is his clothing. True to his decade-old fondness for the Goth subculture, you won’t ever see him wearing anything that isn’t various shades of black. When he can be bothered to dress up, Espen likes to wear a combination of Edwardian and Trad Goth attire, though the classic ’90 aesthetic of the vampire is also something he wears daily. Due to his appearance, his demeanor is key and he knows this. You can’t just be withdrawn or aloof looking like him, so he goes out of his way to be kind and courteous – especially towards elder people.  Since his wardrobe is black and then black, his light brown hair and green eyes are accentuated even moreso, his look always attentive. And when you’re close enough to him, you will smell a few drops of a vintage perfume for women, namely Guerlain Shalimar; a coveted assortment of vanilla, tonka beans and castoreum musk.  

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

Espen is the pinnacle of wasted brilliance and proof, as he says, that one’s IQ is relative if there’s not a grain of ambition in your body. That’s pretty much his lot in life; a double-edged sword, if you will, with which he has accidentally stabbed himself more than once. His intelligence is only outmatched by how much of a fucking sloth he is. He’s Snorlax personified, essentially, and if nobody actively pestered him to be productive, the guy would probably just suffocate in his own filth. As the common genius stereotype would suggest, Espen is emotionally inhibited and socially inept, unable to function in social settings. This, while somewhat true, isn’t entirely accurate either. Sure, his tact is less than ready to tango and he often comes across as remorselessly crude because he has only a rudimentary grasp on what is socially acceptable. Simultaneously, however, he is not content to just build a wall of silence around him. No, Espen tries his best to tune in to what others are partial towards, reacting accordingly. There’s also always a kernel of humor in his interactions, one that might imply he doesn’t take anything seriously. Because if he does, it matters. Be that as it may, a cold, malicious asshole he is not. He could be; would have enough reason to be – yet he is not if his numerous flaws can be reined in. Even his humoristic take on pessimism is charming. He’s the type of person who knows his odds, yet still does the thing to crack others up. In contrast to this, though, Espen isn’t idealistic – he knows the world is a shithole. Often a devil’s advocate and a complete shut-in when stress hits him, emotions still make him feel insecure and incompetent – every emotional response might be the wrong one, after all.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

Espen doesn’t really care for languages, yet can communicate on native speaker level in three languages – English, Dutch, German. Where he really shines is his creativity and fashion sense. He loves giving baby bats fashion advice, quickly one to offer help when things are tough at home, too. Of course, he shouldn’t be underestimated either. Though not proud of this skillset, per se, he is nonetheless adept at social engineering, sociology, basic psychology, martial arts, vehicle and foot surveillance, marksmanship, and, naturally, hand-to-hand combat. As mentioned above, giving in to his benevolent and amiable side, Espen pursued a master’s degree in forensic nursing. Beyond that, he is also excellent at forgetting important dates, being late, being tired and eating everyone’s food. Oh, yes, and an obscure knowledge of medieval and Celtic history to boot, he’s really into medieval markets/costumes.

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

In a word, odd. Just plain fucking odd. Here he is not even able to survive without somebody constantly kicking his ass to get his shit together; here he is with barely an idea what decorum is and he still tries to be kind, even though it’s technically not in his nature to be any of that. Although Espen may come across as secretive, private and somewhat shy at first, any worries are forgotten as soon as mischief, fun, or sweets are involved. Now, ever since his family died, Espen has been somewhat clingy with the few people he has in his life, much like a cat demanding instant and constant attention. He doesn’t take well to being ignored, and won’t stop until he has your undivided attention. As for romance, Espen isn’t really made for that; not in the conventional sense. A very solitary creature by default, it is very hard for even him to tell whether what he feels are genuinely deep emotions or just what he feels compelled to feel. Either way, if you express interest, Espen will go to great lengths to ensure you feel nothing but wanted and validated.

INSPIRED BY: the guy on Lie to Me, Edmund (King Lear), Deadpool tbh 

#profile;Espen