#angry bird torture art

[azsazz]

A Court of Four Horsemen

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Based off of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse featuring Rhysand as Conquest, Cassian as War, Eris as Famine, and Azriel as Death.

Warnings: War, famine, death, smut...a little bit of everything.

Word Count: 5,319

Notes: So so excited for this one. I've worked really hard on this and I hope you all enjoy it. Three parts to follow. Welcome Rhysand to Azsazz.

_________________________________________

I. The Lost Girl

It was the day the moon fell.

A cry that could be heard across Prythian, halting the townspeople in their tracks, conversations falling quiet as the hairs rose on the back of your neck, the pure anguish in the scream, streets shaking and birds flocking away in its wake.

The High Lady of the Night Court was dead.

Word had spread fast, the angry High Lord of the Night Court had lost the one thing in his life he thought he’d have forever, and now he was going to avenge her by taking over all of Prythian. 

If they wanted a war over his declaration, he welcomed it, forming a group of his most trusted warriors, mounting their steeds and setting out across the lands, ready for whatever the other High Lords were set to decide. They could join him and perhaps rule under him, or they could die.

They rode for six days across his lands, spreading the word and dealing with those who did not agree. All four were skilled in the art of killing, each had their own interesting ways to convince the fae that did not want to stand under his reign.

On the seventh day they reached a small town, your town. It was nearing nightfall, and they had traveled for such long hours that day that they knew there wasn’t another city for hours, considering themselves lucky to have found this one, as not even the High Lord had known this little village thrived off of his lands.

Thrived was not the correct word to describe the settlement you lived in, but it would have to do until the morning.

He rode into your town on a horse as white as the freshly fallen snow with a babe on his hip. He was the stark opposite of the wild creature beneath him: smooth, tanned skin, hair as silky dark as the night sky, wearing only the most expensive onyx fabrics. He did not look ready for war, no, he was dressed to conquer.

Following him were his comrades; a warlord who donned gleaming crimson siphons, face set like he hadn’t smiled in centuries, eyes harrowed with too much battle. He sat atop a stallion reminiscent of the red mountains of the Night Court, a large, gleaming sword settled comfortably in his grip, as though he was born holding the saber.

An auburn haired male followed on a well fed dark horse, reflecting that of stormy midnight. Your eyes widened as you realized it’s mane and tail were made of flame, hot, red and wild like his spirit, carrying the weight of his torturous father, how he hoped to kill the male and any High Lord that stood in thier way, bodies turned to ash and swept away with the wind they left on.

Ending the pack of powerful males was death incarnate. A pale horse below him, its coat the sickly pallor of a corpse, and you knew without a doubt that he would be the last thing you see when your time comes. The animal's hair seemed alive, made of dark mist, curling around Death's ear like they were whispering secrets to him, and when his hazel eyes cut to yours from underneath his black hood, you looked down immediately, bowing your head in the presence of them.

They had come with word that your territory was now under the rule of the future High King, who passed his babe off into the awaiting arms of the warlord as he addressed your town. The crimson glow washed across the babes sleeping face as the commander shifted him in his arms, asleep against his chest, still looking as menacing as battle itself, even with the fragile child in his grasp.

No one dared object as his violet eyes scanned the crowd, waiting patiently for some poor soul to do so. Death’s grip flexed on his knife as his shadows slithered through the crowd. They stopped when they reached you, and you stood completely still as they twisted up your legs and torso, reading your body language. One stalled in front of your face and you stared directly into it, into death itself, before they skittered away and back to their master.

You watch intently, nervous, fingers clutching at the fabric of your pants as you observe what seems to be a silent conversation from the party above. They stand tall upon their steeds, eyes going unfocused for only a moment, before the leader’s stormy violet eyes fall upon you.

Something happens then, your muscles lock up and you can’t move, can’t look away from that intense gaze. You’d heard about him, his powers, the male upon the white horse could shatter a mind with half of a thought. Maybe that’s what he was trying to do with you.

Show us where we’ll be staying, his silky smooth voice echoes in your mind instead, his abilities caressing against the inside of your head, goosebumps breaking out across your flesh. You can’t nod, too tightly under the wrath of his powers, so you think your response and he lets you go.

You gasp a short breath, swaying in your spot. He’s not the sort of male you keep waiting, as you slink your way through the crowd and towards the four warriors. The closer you get the more you notice; the dark crown resting upon his head, the bow stretched across his back. They are all incredibly beautiful and command attention with ease. You are sure that they will not fail their mission. These are not males to be messed with, and the crowd is dismissed as soon as you break from the mass of people, stepping up to face his horse.

He looks down upon you, you eye the jutting structure of his jaw, he looks as if he himself is in need of a hearty meal and a good night’s rest.

“What is your name?” he asks, and it’s the same silky voice that had purred in your head only a moment ago.

“It’s (Y/N), my King,” you respond politely, giving them all a bow.

“(Y/N),” he tastes your name on his tongue and finds he quite likes it, smirks as he speaks next, “Lead the way.”

It’s nothing much, your town, small and poor and not even on any map. How they had found it and why they thought making the trip here was beyond you, but you didn’t question it as you led the way to the best inn for travelers.

The babe awoke with a cry and Death immediately took him into his arms, singing him a harrowing song in a beautiful voice, low and raspy until the youngling settled, staring up at the male with wide eyes. 

The male on top of the black horse takes note of the fae within your town, most wearing ratty old clothes that do nothing to block out the bitter cold, their bones jutting out from hunger. He will not have much to do here.

The warlord scans the scared passerby, but stops only after seeing a few. He’s come to the same conclusion that the fiery haired male has, that these people were hungry, and they were not fit for war. He’d have to recruit warriors from somewhere else.

“This is the nicest inn we have,” you don’t know why you’re embarrassed. Perhaps it was the intimidating and spectacularly clean foursome before you, clothes thick and pristine, made for the harsh winters wind. You didn’t have a say where you grew up, how poor you were, but your cheeks reddened nonetheless as you gestured to the decaying boarding house.

The leader dismounted the horse with ease, landing lightly on his feet beside you, reins of the white beast held tightly in his hand as the horse shook out its blinding white mane. He was even more beautiful up close and you had to turn your head away to control the pounding in your heart.

“Where can I tie up Glory for the night?” His voice is soft, thankful even, as he pets his steed on his nose, admiring his animal.

“There’s a post just around the corner,” you start, turning on your heel to lead the pack to the stumps in the ground. The earth should be frozen enough to keep them upright all night, for you knew in the summer with the rain turning the dirt to mud the posts would fall over.

“No need to show us, (Y/N), I’m sure we can find it from here,” he gives you an easy smile, eyes gleaming like the stars about to appear in the night sky. “Though we are in need of something to eat, if you would be so kind as to point us in that direction.”

You swallow harshly, knowing full well that the only restaurant in your town was closed, the chef having succumbed to the illness that struck the town this time yearly. Thinking quickly on your feet, your respond just as nicely, “No need to worry about that milord, I will fetch you all something, even the babe. Why don’t you all get warmed up and settle in while you wait?”

He eyes you curiously and you wonder if he thinks you’re going to poison them. You wouldn’t, didn’t have the resources if you really wanted too, but you can’t help but fidget underneath his gaze.

“Very well,” he nods his head to his comrades, who take off on their horses in the way you’d pointed, “Formalities are unnecessary. Please, call me Rhysand.”

“Very well Rhysand,” your response is curt, and he dismisses you with his own nod, turning on his heel to follow the direction his friends had gone. You miss the glance he takes over his shoulder as you walk back towards your own home.

__________

You scrounge up just enough to make a pot of stew for the visitors after pleading to some of the people you trusted. When they were weary, needing food for their own families and thinking you wanted it for yourself, a simple lie on the behalf of the soon to be King helped you out. One of them even offered you milk from their family goat for the babe.

The owner of the inn you knew well, and offered up the dirty kitchen for you to use, even going so far as to scrounging up mismatched bowls and utensils to serve the food in.

One by one you ascended the rickety stairs, creaking with every step you took, delivering the food to the warriors.

Famine eyed the bowl and then you hungirly, as if it was you he wanted and not the food. You clutched the bowl and cup in your hands tighter to stop them from shaking beneath the gaze of the gorgeous male. He took the food without a word and closed the door in your face.

Death offered to help you, taking his own food as well as the babes bottle while you carried the warlord's portion. He moved silently and kept on your heels, your heart racing just a little bit faster as you felt his shadows swirling at your ankles. You shuddered as one slithered up the back of your spine, nearly tripping on the stair before you, but he steadied you and you caught a glimpse of his massacred hand, white-knuckled around the glass before he snatched it away, pulling down his sleeve over it with his teeth.

You couldn’t see the look on his face as he towered over you once you reached the top of the stairs, back pressed tightly to the wall behind you. Your breath was stuck in your throat, all you could see was the sharp smirk on his pink lips, hood pulled down and shadows swirling around the rest of his head. It was all you could wonder if his scarred hands matched the skin of his face.

You were both curious and terrified and you think he can tell by the way his smile lifts higher, catching the loud beating of your racing heart in his ears before he’s turning away, his robe swiftly following like his shadows down the hall.

The babe is with the warlord again, who’s shirtless, tanned skin glowing in the dim faelight. You know he could warm you in an instant if you were tucked up beside that large, muscular body, and your cheeks heat as you stutter out your words, passing him over the food.

He gives you a cheeky smile in return, looking you up and down once before stepping back and letting Death sweep into the room, thanking you for the meal. You nod once, spinning around on your heel as fast as you can before you’re making your way back down to the kitchen, nearly tripping down the stairs for an entirely different reason.

You lean against the counter trying to get your bearings. The utter beauty of these males was one thing, but they were dangerous, very much so, and you didn’t need to be getting caught up in the middle of it, no matter how desperate you were.

You scoop up the last of the hot stew and dump the pot into the sink – you’ll clean it when you come back down – you make for the stairs one more time, legs burning with underuse. You catch your breath at the top of the stairs, slowly making your way down past the other three rooms to his own.

You knock on the door with your foot, both hands occupied, and you need to catch your breath all over again once he’s opened the door.

His hair is slicked back and tousled, wet from washing up, like it was all he could bother to do to wrap a towel around his waist and run his fingers through his hair before opening the door. His skin is still dewey, and you swallow hard as you follow a drop as it rolls over his collarbone and down his pectoral.

“(Y/N),” his smirk is filled with mirth, eyes dancing with mischief, the very one that hadn’t been emoted from him since the passing of his mate. He hadn’t felt much of anything since then, only anger and the burn to avenge her the only way he knew how, to become the King of Prythian, and no one could stop him.

But you were something else. Kind and caring like his mate had been, treated so poorly by the people of your town, not sure where you really belonged, though you knew it wasn’t here. You were a dreamer and he noticed that.

“Here you are my King,” you bow your head once more, offering him the bowl and cup, praying that he takes it instead of staring down at you as he leans against the door like he’s doing now.

He likes the way you call him King, even if he hasn’t taken over the other courts yet. It has a nice ring to it, especially the way you say it and his cock awakens as you do. But you needn't call him King quite yet, for now Rhys will do just fine. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest, causing those muscles to bulge and your mouth to run dry. “Now, now, I thought I told you to call me Rhys.”

“Sorry, Rhys,” you squeak, flushing bright red as you stare into his intense eyes.

The side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk as he finally takes the food from you with a gracious smile. “Tell me (Y/N), have you eaten yet?”

And you want to lie to him, to tell him that you’ve eaten before they arrived or that there’s more food waiting downstairs, to turn around and run and never look back. Surely you’d be gone from his mind by this time tomorrow, and you could pleasure yourself to the thought of any one of these males everyday until the end of your terrible life.

But you can’t lie, because he will know, and by the look he’s giving you now as he retreats a step backwards into the room, he already does.

“Ah, no,” you clasp your hands together in front of you nervously, wavering in front of the door.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” he grins as he settles on the edge of the bed, nodding for you to join him. His voice purrs in your mind, making your heart jump, Hard. 

You fist your hands in your dress, taking a steadying deep breath that doesn’t calm your nerves at all, and you step inside of the room, closing the door behind you.

He was a beautiful male, and you wanted this – wanted to spend any amount of time with him that he’d allow, only if it even were just talking and sharing a bowl of stew. He needed this just as much as you did.

So that's why you join him on the bed, taking a seat on the edge, springs squealing as you sit, a leg tucked up under you. Rhys gives you a lopsided smile as you settle, cheeks pink with the embarrassment of your town’s awful everything.

He offers you the first bite, wiping the drips over the edge of the bowl and leaning in close and holding it out to you. As you part your lips you wonder if this is how he feeds his own babe, who’s being taken care of by the other members of his group.

You can’t imagine what he’s gone through, having lost a mate he’d spent so little time with. Finding your own mate has long since left your goals in life, exchanged for keeping yourself alive by any means necessary.

Taking the spoon into your mouth, you grimace at the taste, immediately embarrassed about serving this slop to males who had clearly eaten better than this their entire lives.

Quirking an amused eyebrow at your expression, Rhysand scoops up a bite of his own, and he tries to keep his face schooled in a calm expression, but you laugh when you see his lip curl slightly.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” you ask, though you know the answer. You want to know what kind of a High Lord he is, one that will lie to his people, or one who won’t sugar coat his thoughts.

“Oh, it’s absolutely awful,” he scoffs with a smirk and you glare back playfully, “But I won’t complain about a hot meal served to me by a beautiful female.”

And then you’re blushing again, looking down at where your hands rest atop your bent knee. This male…Gods, he was something. His sensual smirks and bright eyes, his way with words, you could see how he would be a great High King.

He reaches out gently, placing a hand beneath your chin and lifting so you’re looking into those earnest violet eyes again. 

“It’s true,” his voice is soft but you can hear the raw honesty of his statement, the silent suggestion behind his words.

Maybe he was just hurting. Missing the mate that had been taken from him and his child too soon, wanting to think about something other than the gaping wound in his chest, the empty feeling where she should be…

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, “Don’t think that.”

“Rhys–”

He cuts you off with a hum, “Nuh-uh, please,” he requests, bringing the spoon to your mouth again, “Let’s just enjoy this.”

“As much as we can,” you mutter, taking the bite of food.

He huffs a laugh, eyes glimmering, but he keeps quiet.

And he won’t stop looking at you like that as you share the rest of the meal. It’s gone before you even know it, but it’ll be enough to last you until your next meal…whenever that should be.

“Let me,” you offer, trying to take the bowl from his hands but he’s leaning back, keeping it from your reach as you lean further and further into him until you’re nearly toppling over into his lap, using your hand on the bed to keep you upright.

“No need,” he whispers, and he’s so close his breath causes your eyelashes to flutter. You watch the dirty bowl disappear into thin air, swept away in a dark mist and when you look back at him you catch his eyes flicking up from your lips to settle on yours.

“That’s a–” you swallow harshly, suddenly all too aware of how close you are to him, but you don’t want to back away, “That’s a neat trick.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can smell his arousal like the candle he’d lit across the room and you wonder if your own scent is as captivating as his. It’s all you can do to not shut your eyes and lean into his neck, sucking in a hearty breath straight from the source.

He clears his throat a little, leaning in just a bit more and you nearly go cross eyed looking at him as he purrs, “Do you want to see another?”

“That depends,” you murmur, “Does it involve anything else disappearing?”

Rhys’ smile is feline, “It involves my cock disappearing into that tight little cunt of yours.”

His mouth is on yours before the words even register, taking your face in both of his hands as he leans backwards to lie flat on the bed, pulling you with him.

You settle across his hips, one leg thrown over each side of his own. The towel he miraculously still has tied across his waist is thin and you can feel his hardened cock beneath the cloth.

It’s dizzying. His feverish kiss, tongue poking out and asking for permission, his fingers gentle with just the right amount of pressure as he explores the length of your body. You’re in bliss, drunk on lust as you courageously swirl your hips in a soft circle, a noise of pleasure escaping the High Lord.

“Have you ever…” he asks as you kiss down his torso, licking a hot stripe against his freshly showered skin. You can feel his muscles flexing beneath your tongue and your pussy throbs with anticipation.

“No,” you admit, cheeks flushing as you look up at him, wide-eyed. The innocent look on your face has him groaning, tossing his head back into the pillow for a moment, his cock pulsing from it confines.

“Don’t worry,” he’s breathless, tugging you back up to his lips and kissing you desperately between words like you’re a drug he can’t get enough of, “I’ll take good care of you.”

He brushes your hair back from your face messily, fisting it at the nape of your neck as you climb back down his body. His other hand rips the towel away, his cock red and stiff and dripping at the tip. He circles a large hand around it, giving it a few rough tugs and you swallow thickly at the sight. He grunts, nudging your head towards his cock.

You poke out your tongue, giving the head a kitten lick that has him shuddering beneath you at the unexpected sensation. You don’t know why, surely he wouldn’t have been expecting you to take him completely when never having done this before. Your pussy clenches at his reaction and your heart pounds in your chest, nervous and excited to feel him in your mouth.

So you did another thing he wasn’t expecting, taking him as far into your mouth as you can, hitting the back of your throat pleasurably. Rhys’ hips bucked up instinctively, his hand holding your hair firmly in place and you gagged slightly, a wet squelch coming from the back of your throat where his cock hit and he rumbled with pleasure.

You plant your hands firmly on his hips, eyes watering as you let him take control, conquering your mouth and abusing it like he owns it. You whimper at the taste of him, heavy on your tongue, swirling around as much of his cock as you could, using your hand to twist around the base of it.

He moans. Your mouth is so warm, and so wet. It had been too long since he’d fucked, he can feel his orgasm building rapidly.

But he is nothing short of a gentleman, as he lifts you off of him with a hiss at the loss, the cool air of the room caressing his throbbing cock as he flips you over onto your back, a squeal leaving your lips, fingers scrambling for purchase, clawing as his back. 

He kisses you because he can’t stop himself, moaning at the taste. You let your hands slide up his torso, smooth and soft as butter, and you moan at the feeling as he lowers his chest against yours when your hands wrap up around his shoulders and bury in his midnight hair.

He parts your legs with his own, rutting his firm cock against the crease in your pants. 

You gasp at the sensation, mouths pressed firmly together, his tongue hot against yours. Your heart is racing in your chest and his hands climb up your sides, exploring, shoving your shirt up as he goes. You struggle to slip your arms from the fabric, lips still moving feverishly against his own, but your naked torso arches up into his, skin burning against yours.

Rhys moves from your lips, dragging them across your cheek, down under your ear, sucking a mark harshly into the soft skin while you turn your head away in bliss to give him more room. His hands snake up your body again, a fistful of your breast in one hand while the other jerks your thin shirt from around your neck, mouth back against your skin in an instant.

You moan as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling sensually around the pert nub as he rocks into you again, the material of your pants against his sensitive dick has him grunting. He needs you out of those immediately.

He takes his time, kissing every inch of you on the way down, fingers playing with the waistline of your pants, dipping below the fabric. It has your stomach clenching, swooping with want, whining when he removes his hands completely, only for him to rip at the laces of your pants a second later.

And he’s tutting as you clench your legs together, the coolness of the room an icicle against your exposed cunt. His large hands spread your legs apart and he eyes your pussy like it’s such a prize.

“You are exquisite,” he murmurs, kissing along your thigh, nipping and suckling, dragging his lips across the soft skin.

His eyes watch you, returning the favor as he licks tentatively across your clit, your low moan and arching up into the air has Rhys going back for a second taste.

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. This clearly is a male who knows his way around a female’s body, but it’s driving you nuts the way his tongue swirls and fucks, pulling you just to the edge but never quite letting you freefall into orgasm. No, he wants you to beg, like all of the High Lords will beg for their lives when he comes to take over their courts.

And you’re a female of survival, will do what you have to to make it through the night, to get what you want out of the High Lord who’s bowed down in front of your cunt, lapping into it like he was made for it.

“Please, Rhys,” you whine, burying your fingers into his hair and twerking your hips against his tongue, trying to get him in the perfect position. It almost works until he stops your movements with a palm settled across your midriff.

“Fuck,” he moans, licking a hot stripe across your pussy, “Say my name like that again.”

“High King Rhys,” you lower your voice, eyes half-lidded and looking down at him where his face is buried in your cunt, “Please let me come.”

He does, adding his fingers into the mix, fucking into you with abandon, dragging against the bundle of nerves that has your breath heaving, body tensing as he helps you topple over into your climax, fist in his hair, the other curled in the sheets, legs shaking as you come with a cry of utter pleasure.

He’s climbing up you while you try to catch your breath, sated from release. Rhys holds your face in his hands, kissing you too softly like it’s all over. It can’t be, you feel too good but you haven’t even felt his long cock inside of you yet, and you go to speak, but he’s pressing his cock into you and your mouth goes lax at the sensation.

It seems like it lasts forever, him pressing into you so slowly, the drag of his long cock pushing all of the air from your lungs.

And you feel so good that he can’t even kiss you, pressing his forehead harshly into yours as his hips settle against your own, nothing but the sound of your shaky shared breath filling the room.

Shit, you didn’t think you could ever be so full, and its pure euphoria, the starbursts behind your shut eyes, Rhys’ lithe body pressed firmly against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding each other so tightly you don’t want to let go.

Can I move? He asks into your mind because he can’t speak. Because he’s using every ounce of resolve he has to keep himself from ravishing you completely. 

Gods, please, you respond mentally, and then he’s pulling out and slamming back into you just as quick, ripping a moan from your throat that settles deep within his bones.

He sets the pace, rocking into you rhythmically and with fervor, like he hasn’t enough time. His kisses are all teeth and sounds of arousal, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind while he’s fucking into you like the God he’ll be when he takes over Prythian.

It’s nearly too much to handle, the way his chest glides across yours with each thrust, his lips searching for yours in a desperate kiss, his hands everywhere as if he’s mapping each and every single thing about you, admitting it all to memory like the first and last time you’ll be together.

And you claw at his back because it’s the only thing you can do besides moan. You can’t even put words together to form a complete sentence, a plea of his name here, a cry of pleasure there as the feeling of your orgasm starts building within you.

Rhys hits that spot everytime without fail, no matter what position he puts you in. Leg lifted up around his shoulder, flipped over on your stomach, riding him. It’s like he’s inside of you somehow, knows exactly where his cock feels the best, buried deep within your tight cunt.

You come with a howl of his name on your lips and you’re sure everyone in the inn has heard you begging the future High King for release. And he fucks you through it, drawing out your keen as long as he can, cock somehow even harder as he praises himself.

He pulls out with a grunt and then he’s coming all over your stomach, spurting across your chest until he’s spent, collapsing back on his haunches as he stares down at you. His pupils are blown wide as you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, swirling a finger around in the come on your stomach, then ever so slowly raising that digit up to your lips and sucking on it lewdly.

“Oh,” he breathes, and his cock twitches with interest even though he’s just orgasmed, “You’re coming with us, (Y/N).”

#rhysand x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand #rhys/reader #rhys x reader #acotar #acotarxreader #acomaf #acowar #acomar #azsazz #a court of four horsemen #part one #rhysand smut

[disillusioneddanny]

Red Hood Tim Ask

@thegayonthemoon

hello! i'm so sorry, tumblr ate your ask :((( I saw it in my email but didn't se it in my ask box.

To answer your question, it's turning into a very long fic lol. I also got two different asks about my red hood tim fic so I'm going to share the backstory details in this one and in the other one I'll share some of my favorite parts I have planned :3

Basically it's a reverse Robin's au where Damian is the eldest and he becomes Shadow. but Tim? Tim becomes Robin.

TW for torture, Joker Jr. and Tim's inevitable death.

This fic is also all @castrian-amore's fault because he has an amazing Red Hood Tim cosplay and I got inspired. i may have sent them the tim drake art first but still shhhh

At twelve years old he's running the streets taking pictures of his favorite duo, Batman and Shadow when he gets snatched up by Joker who in a bid to get Harley Quinn to take him back, tortures him for two months in an attempt to turn him into Joker Junior.

He kidnaps Harley and shows him his newest creation and she's horrified. But she has no clue how she can save this poor kid from the maniac. So she plots a way to save Tim and agrees to stay with Joker.

While they're together, Harley tries to help Tim as much as she can and she tells him stories to distract him from everything that's happening. She tells him about the little bird, Robin and how it's associated with life changing experiences and that it teaches you that even in the harshest of winters, the light of spring will appear.

Finally, Harley gets Tim out of the Joker's clutches and to Batman who takes on look at Tim and is like adoption bait. He learns that the Drakes didn't even know that their son was missing for two months and gets custody of Tim. But the problem is that it's not the only reason Bruce wants Tim. Bruce wants him because Tim managed to endure two months of torture with Joker and knows Bruce's secret identity and never once gave it away, not only that but he's concerned that Tim still might turn into Joker Jr and it's better if he just keeps Tim with him so he can keep an eye on him.

He encourages Tim to become a vigilante in an effort to make sure that the kid doesn't become a villain. Not that Tim really plans to? He's getting to live with his hero and be a vigilante and that's all that matters to him. So he takes on the name Robin as a symbol of his own rebirth after everything that has happened to him. And Batman raises him to be a soldier because that's the only way Bruce can convince himself that Tim won't become Joker Junior.

Anyway, years go by and it's miserable for Tim because he's taught to be a soldier and Bruce continually treats him like he's a threat. And he makes friends with this little kid in Crime Alley named Jason who thinks Robin is a hero.

Then the fight with Darkseid happens and Bruce is thrown into the timestream and Tim is desperate to save him. Because Bruce is all Tim knows and he doesn't know what to do without getting orders because that's all he's used to and Damian treats him like total shit.

So Tim goes on his Brucequest and dies against the Widower. Ra's sends back the information that Tim found about Bruce along with his Robin suit and tells Damian that he's dead. Only, Ra's has brought Tim back to life and has decided to make the kid his own personal soldier.

This is all the backstory for the story.

The fic itself takes place with Jason as Robin and wanting to know more about the Robin who used to come visit him in Crime Alley and bought him chili dogs. Especially because the plaque hanging in front of Tim's Robin suit doesn't say "a good soldier." no you see, it says "a precious son" something that Tim never saw himself as because Bruce never treated him that way.

Jason eventually meets the new Gotham crime lord named Red Hood who is a little too angry at Batman and Nightwing (Damian)

#dis asks #reverse robins #red hood tim drake #dis dreams #dis answers #dis writes

[myers-meadow]

Otis B. Driftwood x fem OC: 🌺 A muse for him and him alone 💟

Title: A muse for him and him alone (chapter 1)

Warnings: (mild) gore, rape/non-con, dub-con, captivity, necrophilia, mentions of torture.

Summary: Even the Devil himself has art block sometimes... In the fresh group of victims that comes to the house, Otis discovers a muse. Inspiration and amusement drive him to keep her around, and both grow attached. With complex feelings keeping her alive, she must find a way to ensure her survival in the household, even if she gets in the way of what the family considers as their normal.

Word count: 2137

This is a very 'Meadow'-esque exploration of what it would be like to be kept by Otis as a victim and a muse. It follows a theatre-like akte structure, and is overall somewhat fragmented, as dairies can often be. In this fic I allow myself to be entirely myself and go as dark, as soft, and as intimate as I want. This will have multiple parts, a lot of it is planned out, but I will take my time and enjoy the process.

Please enjoy! Don't forget to let me know if you did! <3

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

AKTE 0: “Ich will Frei sein – richtig Frei sein!“

The road was long, never-ending, the heat almost bearable with the windows down, stray hairs catching in my lipstick at the corners of my mouth, singing along to those songs about freedom on the cd we brought from home, complaining about the mediocre gas station food. Andra, Jip and me squished in the backseat; Christoff and Bram in the front, doing their best to ignore the off-key singing from behind them, focussing on road and directions. This trip was so unplanned it was ridiculous, yet each of us joined with that enthusiasm of feeling like the summer laid in wait at our feet. We slept in joined beds or when one of us couldn’t stand it anymore, they took the car, stayed up too late to see the stars, to see so far across the plains, to hear different birds from those we have at home. To feel the coldness of the night set in, the dew waiting on the grass when first light woke us since each motel room had those shitty thin curtains, and telling ourselves we’d nap in the car. I’m sure Bram had a friend of a friend he was meeting at our destination, and Christoff and Jip were mending their messy relationship, but I was there for Andra. I hoped that if we spent these two weeks together, that her friendly touches would grow to linger. That I’d know for sure that she’d taste like cigarettes and toothpaste, that I’d not have to ask Jip to rub sunscreen on my shoulders again, that the ride would be full of stolen touches and pretending we didn’t notice the others staring.

AKTE I: Disbelief

How did we go from singing along to Helge Schneider and daydreaming in the car to this- to being hunted for sport; Andra and me stripped almost nude, tied up and gagged in some disgusting room with faded bloodstains on the floor. It was the big man with the dark hair who took us, but it was a team effort. Bram, Christoff and Jip must be somewhere, taking by the others. There were so many of them – god my head hurt. It throbbed and my vision followed the pulse of my heart. The rag around my head to gag me was tied so poorly I managed it down with ease. Andra, next to me, already awake, was littered with bruises and small cuts, open skin on her knees and forearms from falling and crawling away, panicked eyes staring into mine. And before I could think of what to say, before I could even test the give of the rope binding my arms behind my back, the bear of a guy came back. It was a blur of screaming, dizziness, cursing, and being pulled by my hair as a sharp pain through it all.

“Fuck, the bitch broke my nose!” the bear roared, knocking me to the wall with enough force that the wall itself shook. The door slammed open, and the white haired guy entered. Otis. Why did I remember his name with my head splitting open from the pain? He was angry, but when he saw me already down on the ground (cowering), Andra still tied, fallen over on her chair, and the bear clutching his nose, he burst out laughing.

“Finally met one who bested ya? Serves you right for taking first pick, asshole.” And he easily dodged my attempts to swat at him like a cat and dragged me off by the scruff of my neck.

Otis’ room was in sharp contrast to the rest of the house and I didn’t dare say a word as he strapped me to the wall, and stepped back to admire me, sleazy grin on his face. As he retreated to put on a record, I looked around at the many crude drawings on the walls. On the ceiling too, and in the middle of it was written ‘god won’t help you now’ and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. It was a laugh like the ones where the roller coaster creeps closer to that tipping point, close to the free fall – but not knowing when it’d come. Maniacal and scary. Some upbeat blues rock perfected the absurdist reality of the situation.

Otis, reappearing, eyebrows raised, said: “You havin’ fun, missy?”

But of course I wasn’t, as much like roller coasters, this was no fun at all. “I didn’t even meant to kick him that hard,” I said, wheezing, trying to catch my breath from laughing. The knife in Otis’ hand glinted as he came closer. Death was a given, but I’d love to have another go at the fighting thing- The door swung open, a girl marched in, voice loud and high-pitched.

“They got away, Otis quick!”

“Goddamnit!” he cursed loudly, slamming the knife right next to my head, the sound of the splintering wood resounding in my head as he grabbed a rifle from behind the opened door. He complained all the while, and I leaned my head back against the wall, sighing with the relief of my demise pushed back.

AKTE II: Art show

Evening fell. When Otis returned, I’d almost fallen asleep. He let me, or made me, depending how you look at it, go to the bathroom. It was no more or less bad than anything else I could imagine to have my last moments on this earth be. There was a song stuck in my head and I hummed it quietly as I washed my hands for as long as Otis let me, before he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back to his bedroom. Where the big bear of a man favoured rope, Otis preferred chains. Of course they were heavy, of course they were uncomfortable – but did any of that truly matter at the end of a life like this? I remembered family, and all the girls I had just a little too intense of a friendship with, and the many cats I’ve loved and cuddled. It would’ve been nice to have more time. To tell my parents of my travels, of what America is like, of how the people were all so nice.

Otis set me down on his desk chair, wrapping the chain around my chest and the back of the chair. I let my head fall back to watch him as he chatted idly, referencing conversations we shared the night before, when things were still normal, as he sharpened his knife or whatever it was that evil men do.

“You and your friends,” he said, pointing at me, “you sure are a lively bunch. We don’t get ones like you often. I don’t appreciate the noise as much, but you, you’re filling my head with thoughts. Do you have any idea how it is to be cooped up in here all day – no fresh ideas, no thoughts to share, nothing of value to ever come through these parts? But you’ve opened the doors of my mind.”

“So all those things you said about being an artist, about your art, that’s all bullshit?” I asked, moving my legs to try and swing the chair around to face him properly.

“A simple guy like me can’t be an artist? Is that it?” his tone was all venom. He wanted to scare me.

“Yeah, sure, you kill people, everyone can do that, but do you create? Can you create something from the ground up?”

He scoffed, but seemed amused as he leaned himself down to my level, his hands on my underarms – surprisingly warm, but I could practically taste the copper and cigarettes that clung to him. His eyes were even stranger in the low light than they were in the candle light of the dinner the night before.

“Oh, I’ll show you, mama.”

The ‘art’ was behind a curtain, and he pulled it back with a grand gesture, grinning widely. Going behind me, he pushed the chair until it was in front of it. It was a creature, unclear of what it was made of, but it resembled half snake, half human. A long forked tongue past horrifyingly realistic looking lips. The human half was endearingly ugly-looking.

“Wow,” I said, too absorbed in looking at it that the sound of my own voice startled me. I scooted the chair closer with awkward movements to see the detail better. Each scale was painstakingly carved and painted, the colour almost shimmery, just like how real snakeskin looks. “This is amazing. What is this made of? Is that clay?”

Otis stared at me, without words for a second.

“The detail is incredible,” I said, scooting myself another few centimetres closer. “The tongue is a very nice touch. It almost looks like a man captured by a witch, who cursed him after he lied to her. Like something out of a fairy tale. Cursed to reflect the crime committed.”

Otis just laughed but I paid him no mind, too busy staring at the complexity and high level of realism in the artwork.

“I can’t believe you created this – how long did it take you? Must’ve spent entire days on it to get all these details just right.” Admiration, mixed with a healthy measure of disbelief, dripped from my voice. “Each individual scale… You’d almost think it’s a real snake.”

Otis snorted.

I tried to reach out to feel the texture of the body, but was held back by the chains and cursed at the feeling.

“This should be in one of those big museums, selling for millions to those eclectic rich people in ugly suits. To think of a concept like this! The mythological meaning of a snake, and that with a sizable project like this. Do you make things like this regularly? God, it’s beautiful.”

In my head, thoughts swirled around, clashing in opposite directions. How could art this beautiful exist in an unassuming place, so far out in the middle of nowhere? Assuming he had no formal artistic education, and learned by doing, making it all the more impressive. Worse than that; how could a man so deeply evil have created something of such beauty with hands that have taken the lives of my friends?

All thoughts halted when he grabbed me by the neck and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my lips.

AKTE III: Bad moon rising

Night fell, and my fear of death went down with the setting sun. Otis dropped a corpse down on his bed. Where did he even get her? She wasn’t anyone I knew. A small relief.

“It’s time for bed,” he announced with a vile grin. He tied the chain that bound me to the frame of his bed, leash short. I’d have to sleep on the floor. Somehow that wasn’t the worst that happened in the past 24 hours, so I laid my head on my folded arm and closed my eyes to rest. Once I laid still for a couple minutes, a harrowing tiredness set in – yet my thoughts raced. As soon as I felt my consciousness fade, the bed creaked. Grunts accompanied it and I looked up. It was dark, but without question, there was the shape of Otis, mounting the corpse. I stifled my gasp with my hand, eyes wide, lip curled with disgust. He noticed, and laughed, teeth bared in a grin like that of a wolf.

“Ain’t ever seen a guy make sweet love before?” he taunted. “Or would you rather join us? Sure you can, if ya ask nicely.”

The hardness of the cold floor was far preferable. The chains rattled as I shook my head wildly. Pressing my eyes closed, trying to shut it all out, to pretend it wasn’t happening. The noise was worse with my mind filling in the blanks, so I stared up at him again, with disbelieving eyes. How could he get worse, so, so much worse than he already was? What is wrong with this family? And then, at the back of my head: at least it wasn’t me. And, for her: at least she wouldn’t have to live with the trauma of it – although I will, for the both of us. His pleasured grunts and the creaking increased in speed and volume. No words in any language I know of could describe this.

With a final grunt, and then a deep sigh, he came. A cold arm that hit mine made me crawl as far away from the bed as the chain allowed me. Just in time, as Otis rolled the whole body off the bed, thudding down to face me, mangled and twisted with lifelessness. I screamed. Loud and shrill. The first time I did that day. I could barely hear his laughter over the blood rushing in my ears. 

#otis b driftwood #otis driftwood x oc #otis driftwood #otis b driftwood x oc #house of 1000 corpses #otis driftwood fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher community

[gazellefamily]

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 3 (2023) "Tommy, AVOID. Despite your continual adoration for human lady snuff, this movie features long sequences of cute raccoons, bunnies, and otters being cybernetically tortured. and I know thats where you draw the line. The High Evolutionary is so far down the villain checklist but he kinda ate in this. Art Direction was A+. Much DMT (or AI?) used by concept designers here. Soundtrack? Weak. Does anyone really like The The's "This Is The Day". Spotify has been pushing it on me for a decade. WEAK, espesh for a spaceship action sequence. Gamora and Nebula: Seen every movie they're in and still don't get who they are, how their personalities are different. Just two angry primary-colored birds. Rocket? Fucking much respect and love to Rocket, espesh after enduring his origin. Groot is like Chewbacca; big mutes can't ever get annoying." -Sonny Gazelle

[coelakanths]

..... Vylad

rubs hands together

- similar to garroth, he was taught a lot of homesteading skills but is bad at all of them

- one of the only things he really truly excels at, found only after his death, is killing people

- died as a teenager. killed by zane

- textbook knowledge on all things outside (bugs, herbs, trees, etc) before he became a knight

- lost most of his short and long term memory ability after his torture in the nether so he tries to write stuff down

- has the most beautiful handwriting

- lover of everything in the overworld esp after his torture. sunrises, rippling water, chirping birds… the little things mean so much

- never ever got sick when he was alive. like it was crazy he never got sick and almost never cried. zianna saw it as a medical marvel but it freaked garte out a lot

- spent so much time in the nether that he’s always cold. constantly wearing like five layers and his hands are freezing constantly

- almost never gets angry

- weird about dante. thinks he’s great but looks too much like gene to really befriend him

- overprotective of children specifically teenagers

- great at art but never draws bc he doesn’t have the time to. super good at realism

- ears are pierced <3

- doesn’t really consider himself human anymore. most of the time he just feels like a walking corpse

- zones out a lot

#i for sure have more but <3 eek ack #sleepy sys tag #asks #vylad #vylad romeave #mcd #minecraft diaries

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin​ for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST— 

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse 

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle 

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can 

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear 

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode? 

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion 

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home: 

All hail Incitatus the king 

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts 

oh god is that hamilton 

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven 

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again 

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way 

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj 

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway) 

Me internally vs externally 

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance” 

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit 

?

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different 

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up 

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like 

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap 

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

?

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

?

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

#opera #opera tag #results #screencaps #captions #caption #caption this #caption contest #this seems to have gone over well and I am Pleased

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

~

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

~

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

#writing #writeblr #excerpt from my wip #my wip #my writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #fantasy romance #lgbt romance writing #lgbt writing #lila's wips: acogs #bean's excerpts

[theplumsoldier]

fear he who fears nothing

prologue summary: as a public figure living in modern germany, you would have thought your past was just that, just a past, but now, it has come back to haunt you and pushes you into the clutches of one baron zemo, while making you acquainted with the american heroes, falcon and the winter soldier.

series warnings: vulgar language: cursing; explicit scenes: mentions of blood, explosions, shootings, torture, injuries; a wannabe’s pathetic try at german; hinting at sexual themes.

a/n: little german is used in this but enough that i felt the need to add translations. translations will be marked as italic and are hedged in between “<>”. note i am not familiar with the languages colloquialisms so if you notice something wrong with my translations, you are most welcome to message me!  this is the prologue to my series “fear he who fears nothing”. it will kick of in the next year in will be no longer than around six to seven parts. i haven’t figured it all out yet, but im working it out and updating along the way!

The two men, the ones whose identities later would be divulged and state to be an age-old relic and a national hero on the lam, did not at all fit into the club. It was always dark inside the White Lady, however the blinding lights – which one would not be wrong in their observation, should they deter them prone to trigger epileptic seizures – could not hide the two most rigid gents standing tall in the midst of the dance floor. You can ask why one, who does not dance, would stand on the dancefloor, however, your words would be in vain and your time lost, for Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes do not have time for anyone who is not Baron Zemo—

Who in this very second was in full swing of a Super Smash Bros match, using your club for arena.

The White Lady was a luxurious club, everyone in Germany was well aware of that. A place for important people and all who frequented the state of the art club knew the person next to, too, spent money like water. It was not a space for gang violence and illegalities, so when security had let them distract for just long enough, politicians and business owners, men and women of wealth ran around, much portraying the image which comes to mind when one would think of a fox entering a henhouse.

Panicking, people ran about like headless chickens, not for the exit, per say; for when in shock, instinct conquers rationality, sprinting and pushing their peers as if their lives depended on it. In a way it did, but in a club of important Europeans, they were not the target. Should they injure tonight, it would merely be in the result of the live American action movie-like fight which had now taken to the balcony lounge.

It took a rough shove to the back to send you back to the current state of affairs. It dawned on you now you would have to act, howbeit you had yet to figure out in which way.

Ushering past the frantic dancers that previously had revelled, you went pretty much unnoticed up the stairs. Pretty much unnoticed surpassing entirely unnoticed due your loyal bodyguard.

You quelled the urge to scream at the fighters when two of them pretty much shot through the air, hurling through at least 30k worth of ceiling lights.

They were the ones you had heard of multiple times through the years now: They were the “good guys”, from America. Albeit as they impoverished you, ruining 10 years of blood and sweat, before your very eyes, they were far from the good guys. Having pushed through what you had over the years, it now became clear if anybody was going to push you to your knees it had better be in another setting, with a whole other mood–preferably with some Frank Ocean in the background.

“Na los, komm schon!” Lina called, shoving you back down the stairs to get you out of danger. Your safety was her priority and so she updated security of your location via her Bluetooth earpiece. <Let’s go, come on!>

You were halfway down the stairs when the sound of an explosion went off. It was impossible to tell where it came from, but the next thing you knew was shattered glass raining from the ceiling. A group of red lights had severed from the ceiling and judging by the panic-stricken cries people were hurt.

The lights were suddenly killed, the whole club jet black for seconds until the standby generator switched on. You used this to your advantage, and scurried past Lina. You knew she only acted in your best interest, however your moral compass did not allow this terrorist to destroy your club.

When the lights turned on, the whole place lit up in a hideous yellow light, the kind you will find makes life difficult for drug addicts. This allowed you to properly see the damage done. It made you angry, seeing all these people suffer in your club; foreigners using your territory as playground.

“YN!”

“Schafft sie hier raus! Ich werde dafür sorgen, dass es hier oben kein Versteck gibt! Die Polizei soll Krankenwägen schicken, die Türsteher sollen die Umgebung sichern! Bin gleich draußen!” Lina protested, stepping up the staircase but you were adamant, and if Lina had learned one thing in her many years of her current position, it was that you were stubborn and steadfast as hell. “Ich komme schon klar, kümmern Sie sich um die Kunden!” <Get them out of here! I’m going to make sure there’s no hiding up here! Contact the police and have them send ambulances, have the bouncers secure the perimeter! Be right out!” > <I’ll be fine, tend to the customers!>

With that you sprinted down the hall to your office, punching in the code to unlock the door. At least your safe space was still intact. For now.

Getting the gun from the classic secret-safe-behind-the-wall-painting spot, you swiftly checked the chamber for rounds at full tilt. Finding only five bullets, clicked it back in place and took a second to exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Checking the chamber was about as nifty as your skills – if one could even call it that – got, so let’s just say it was going to be fun carrying out your little idea, threatening them.

You made sure to only hit the floor – it had to be replaced anyway – when shooting, and if a couple of toes would suffer your not-at-all refined skills, so be it–better that than accidentally killing one of these buffoons because you were not about to have a death on your conscience.

That got their attention.

“Y’all better get the fuck out of my club now!”

Shooting pretty much fuelled your wrath, but a fuming woman with a gun in her hand was something to fear, and you wholeheartedly trusted these idiots knew that.

“Ma’am, you should get—”

“Shut up!” seethed you, jaw clenched as much as the index finger you kept hovering over the trigger. “Now!”

You had lost sight of the bird-man. You hoped he had the decency to have grabbed a broom by now, cleaning up what chaos he so ignorantly had commenced with his little cyborg friend.

“Ah, Miss YN,” charmed Helmut Zemo then, not letting down his guard to the soldier not far from him, but he allowed himself to send you a duplicitous smile, evidently having convinced himself that this was a friendly visit.

But you had two bullets left and one hell of a grudge against this one.

“I was hoping to find you here,” spoke he, he thick-laced accent ringing through the room with an aftertaste of a memory of someone you once knew. “Perhaps we could have a little... Chit-chat, hm? Put down the gun, will you?”

“Du Hurensohn!” swore you and grit your teeth. “There are other ways to reach out to a person than destroying their livelihood!”

“Well, I had to get your attention, you understand—”

“Yeah, you got it alright! Now get the hell out of my club before I blow out your brains!”

That is if there are any left, you thought, waving the gun towards the exit. God, you hoped the police had the place surrounded.

Sirens sounded from the street, and the Winter Soldier took the opportunity – Zemo being distracted with you – to charge at him, attacking him with a knife. Zemo noticed the change in your expression, and thwarted the attempt.

You did not noticed the man coming up from behind you before he had you in a neck lock, pulling you away from the balcony railing. Screaming, you pulled the trigger, trying to twist your arm around, while out of his reach, and shoot him blindly. To no avail, however. The sound of the shots must have been what ushered the police through the doors, yelling and firing warning shots to stop the whole affair.

You could not be sure, though, for while you struggled for air, clawing at the assailant’s muscular arm, you vision veiled in black and the last thing you felt before drifting off, was a heaviness taking you to sleep.

#fatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #sam wilson #falcon #the winter soldier #marvel #the avengers #sebastian stan smut #Sebastian Stan #anthony mackie #anthony mackie smut #marvel smut #baron zemo

[vajranam]

Five Dakinis Families

All dakinis have extraordinary powers -- the worldly ones and those referred to as wisdom dakinis -- but only the motivation of the latter is completely pure.  The life story of the Mahasiddha, Tilopa (988 - 1069) tells how after he met the dakinis who could manipulate appearances, he encountered the ones embodying the five activities, and then at last, in the heart of the mandala, The Wisdom Dakini, herself.  The Life of Padmasambhava According to Yeshe Tsogyal describes a similar progression. 

Tilopa Meets the Dakinis  

The 4th Chetsang Rinpoche (1770-1862) of the Drikung Kagyu tells how the Bengali brahmin boy, Salyeu, out minding water buffalo, was visited by a "fearsome, ugly woman" who told him to ". . . herd buffalo And read scriptures. There you will find the prophecies of the Dakinis."

With this, she disappeared.

Some time later, while he was reading under a shapa [hat-shaped?] tree, she returned, and asked him to identify himself to her. He gave the appropriate, ordinary information, but she corrected him, saying: 

"Your country is Oddiyana in the North; your father is Chakrasamvara; your mother is Vajrayogini: your brother is Pantsapana [Hind: Panchpana], and I am your sister, Bliss-giver.  If you want to find the true buffalo go to the forest of the bodhi tree.  There the stainless Dakinis hold the ear-whispered teachings."   

He said, "If I go there, the Dakinis will pose obstacles and prevent me from succeeding." She said: "Yogi, you can get the teachings. You have received the predictions And kept the samaya vows."

Realizing she was a Dakini, he said: "The path is dangerous and I do not know how to traverse it." In reply she gave him a crystal ladder, a jeweled bridge, and a coral-handled key, saying: "I give you my blessings; depart without hesitation."

The young man, who would become known as Mahasiddha Tilopa, then crosses the country to reach Oddiyana where, using the magical tools, he negotiates  a poison lake and the "iron wall of Ghandola."   Then, he chooses the correct one of the three gates to the Temple of Ghandola and, using his coral key, he enters.    

First, he meets nirmanakaya "stainless Dakinis Who desire flesh and blood." in their many fearsome forms that make terrible noises and threatening gestures, but he is not afraid.  Frustrated, they fell into a faint, and when they regained their composure, they begged his forgiveness and admitted:

    "We are to you as the butterfly to the lamp; The butterfly hopes to extinguish the lamp, But instead dies in the light. ... , ... ." 

One among them continued:  "I am just an ordinary being, without authority.  If I do not ask our leader's permission to let you in, She will eat my flesh and drink my blood.  Therefore, precious one, do not think unkindly of me."

Then, samboghakaya Loka Karma Dakinis appear, but by making the three threatening ritual gestures, Tilopa overpowers their faculties of body, speech and mind. They suffer the same as the previous group, and their leader, "a  Minister," goes to announce him to the Queen.   When she permits him to enter, he does not even bow but rather assumes a state of meditation, so the host of attending Dakinis get angry, saying:

"She is the blessed one, The mother of the Buddhas of the Three Times.  Let us beat him Who shows no respect."

The Mother intervenes saying that he is ". . .  . The father of the Buddhas of the Three Times.  Even a rain of vajras . . . Could not destroy him. Therefore I will give him the teachings."

She instructs him in prana [breath/energy] and other unrecorded things, but he insists on more, and Tilopa says that he wants " . . . the perfect teaching.  The stainless bliss, the great secret Of the ordinary and the extraordinary."

She then agrees to confer the three wish-fulfilling gems including the self-arising body of co-emergent Wisdom and Means united; the speech that is the 7-syllable self-arising emerald in the Dharmakara, and the 5-pointed vajra jewel of self-arising mind, but only if he can understand the signs.  The host of Dakinis express their doubt that he will be able to understand the signs, but Tilopa responds directly to the Mother, that he has 3 special keys, and that they are:   

1.  The self-liberation key of samaya that grants access to "the light of wisdom which dispels the darkness of ignorance, And to self-awareness, self-arising, ad self-clarity." 

2.  "the key of experience Which opens the door to the mind-as-such, Self-appearing clarity which is ever unborn, . . .  ." and

3. "the key of experience of the realized yogi" that opens the door to "Mind-as-such, Dharma-as-such, and Dharmakaya."

At that the Dakinis rejoice and hold a Ganachakra feast in which they prepare the sindhura (vermillion powder) mandala and further empower him by means of both oral and mental transmissions.  They give him 13 distinct tantras for the future benefit of beings including Tantra of Vajra Dakini, Tantra of Sangwai Zo and Tantra of Vajradhara Self-appearance.  Then they liken him to a bird and, having addressed him as Chakrasamvara and as Prajnabadra, they beg him to remain with them.  

Knowing the future, Tilopa explains that he must return to Tsukgi Norbu (Crest Jewel) Monastery "For the spiritual sons Naropa, Ririkasori and others."  

As he was leaving, a formless Dakini bestowed 9 special objects with instructions to:

1. "loosen the knot of the mind"

2. "act like a sword striking water"

3. "chase the sun of realization" [a lasso?]4. "see samaya in the mirror of your mind" 5. "see that the light of awareness is wisdom"6. "turn the wheel of the channel and wind net" 7. "see the outer mirror equalizing taste" 8. "see the mahamudra [a seal?] of self-liberation" 9. hold "the jewel of great-bliss speech"

And that, according to the Drikung Kagyu, is "how Tilopa as a human being over- powered the Dakinis, and how he received the teachings. "

Consorts of Transcendent Buddhas

Tibetan Buddhism acknowledges, besides the historical Buddha Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni (532-486 BCE) other buddhas (awakened ones/fully aware ones) of the past and the future. At the ultimate level of reality there are transcendental buddhas.  These are thought of as five families or categories of buddhas.  

Their female consorts are regarded as "enlightened wisdom" which, paired with the male aspect or "skillful means," give rise to the enlightened compassionate activity of the universe(s).  Hence there are 5 major corresponding dakinis: Padma-Dakini, Buddha-Dakini, Ratna-Dakini, Karma-Dakini, and Vajra-Dakini or Vishva-Dakini (vajra-cross dakini.)

Dakinis of the Five Families

The Padma or lotus dakini is stocky with oily, pink skin.  

She is talkative and lusty. 

She controls gods, demons and men.

With her, the doors to rebirth in lower realms are closed.

Buddha (Sangye) dakini is bluish white.

She is smiling, placid and long-lived.

She confers longevity and rebirth in the dakini paradise.

Ratna or jewel dakini is tall, slim, golden- skinned with white hair.

She sings and dances.

She grants wealth and success in life.

With her the hell realms will be closed. 

The Karma or activity dakini is white and radiant.

She is smiling, respectful, 

trustworthy, and generous.

She grants worldly success and rebirth as a human.

Vajra (Dorje) or thunderbolt dakini is fair, flushed and radiant.

She has special marks such as 5 white moles at her brow.

Compassionate, pure, virtuous and devout, with her there is no falling into any lower realm.

[From John Stevens' Lust for Enlightenment (Shambala 1990)  citing Dowman's Divine Madman.]

or Four  Orders 

The Sanglingma or Life of Padmasambhava According to Yeshe Tsogyal repeatedly makes reference to four orders.

The lowest order of dakini consists of beings who have not fully divorced themselves from the world of existence,��samsara.  This worldly kind of dakini is the sort that may behave like Tricksters -- sometimes helpful; at other times, mischief-making. These  dakinis can appear as beautiful fairies or angels, but also as ghouls and demons. 

or Five Sisters

In the life story of Padmasambhava, The 5 Tsering-ma were transformed from evil-doers who could manipulate beings by means of visual and auditory illusions into sworn and bound protectors of the dharma by the Guru.

 From Thinley Norbu's Magic Dance: The Display of the Self-Nature of

the Five Wisdom Dakinis. (Shambhala, 1999):

Five Wisdom Sisters,

If we do not complement you,

You become five witches,

Making us ill and bringing us suffering.

Because we cannot banish you,

Always our fate depends on you.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

If we do complement you,

You become five angels,

Making us healthy and bringing us happiness.

Because we cannot separate from you,

Always our fate depends on you.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Nothing can be done without depending on your mood.

Farmers cannot grow their crops,

Politicians cannot rule their countries,

Engineers cannot work their machines,

Doctors cannot heal their patients,

Scientists cannot do their research,

Philosophers cannot make their logic,

Artists cannot create their art,

Without depending on your mood.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Nothing can be known without depending on your grace.

Tibetan lamas cannot chant with cool highland habit,

Indian gurus cannot sing with warm lowland habit,

Japanese roshis cannot sit with dark cushion habit,

Muslim sheikhs cannot dance with bright robed habit,

Jewish rabbis cannot pray with soft-voiced habit

Without depending on your grace.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Even the most mysterious miracles cannot occur without complementing your purity.

Buddha Shakyamuni cannot rest with tranquil gaze of his lotus eyes underneath the Bodhi tree,

Guru Padmasambhava cannot play magically with countless sky-walking dakinis,

Lord Jesus cannot walk weightlessly across the water,

Prophet Moses cannot see the radiantly burning bush,

Brahmin Saraha-pa cannot straighten arrows, singing wisdom hymns with his arrow-maker girl,

Crazy saint Tilopa cannot eat fish and torture Naropa,

Greatest yogi Milarepa cannot remain in his cave, singing and accepting hardships

Without complementing your purity.

You are so patient.

Whoever wants to stay,

If you don't exist,

Cannot stay.

Whoever wants to go,

If you don't exist,

Cannot go.

Whoever wants to taste or touch,

If you don't exist,

Cannot taste or touch.

Whatever our actions,

You are always supporting

Patiently without complaining.

But we ignorant beings

Are always ungrateful,

Stepping on you,

Calling you Earth.

You are so constant.

Whoever wants to be purified,

If you don't exist,

Cannot be purified.

Whoever wants to quench their thirst,

If you don't exist,

Cannot quench their thirst.

Whoever wants to hear,

If you don't exist,

Cannot hear

Whatever our actions,

You are always flowing

Ceaselessly without complaining.

But we desiring beings

Are always ungrateful,

Splashing you,

Calling you Water.

You are so clear.

Whoever wants to fight,

If you don't exist,

Cannot fight.

Whoever wants to love,

If you don't exist,

Cannot love.

Whoever wants to see,

If you don't exist,

Cannot see.

Whatever our actions,

You are always glowing

Un-obscuredly without complaining.

But we proud beings

Are always ungrateful

Smothering you,

Calling you Fire.

You are so light.

Whoever wants to rise,

If you don't exist,

Cannot rise.

Whoever wants to move,

If you don't exist,

Cannot move.

Whoever wants to smell,

If you don't exist,

Cannot smell.

Whatever our actions,

You are always moving

Weightlessly without complaining.

But we envious beings

Are always ungrateful,

Fanning you,

Calling you Air.

You are so open.

Whoever wants to exist,

If you don't exist,

Cannot exist.

Whoever doesn't want to exist,

If you don't exist,

Cannot cease to exist.

Whoever wants to know phenomena,

If you don't exist,

Cannot know phenomena.

Whatever our actions,

You are always welcoming

Spaciously without complaining.

But we ignorant beings

Are always ungrateful,

Emptying you,

Calling you Space.

You are our undemanding slave,

Tirelessly serving us,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings

To fulfill our worldly wishes.

You are our powerful queen,

Seductively conquering us,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings,

Into desirable qualities.

You are our Wisdom Dakini,

Effortlessly guiding us with your magic dance,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings,

Into desireless qualities.

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #self care #zen #visualization #tibet

[dani-dimitrescu]

𝗖𝗼𝗽𝘆/𝗣𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘂𝘁! 𝗥𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲! Bold what applies; if you don’t see what applies to your muse, you may add it to the end of the section after the line. It’s a very long checklist, so feel free to put it under a read more like this!

I'm exploring Daniela's long forgotten past....

Name: Valeria Lupei

Age: 19

Height: 5'5

Birthdate: April 16 1931

Gender: cis-male | cis-female | trans-male | trans-female | non-binary | agender |

Sexuality: homosexual | heterosexual | bisexual (But leans more towards women)| pansexual | asexual |

Hairstyle: crew cut | pixie cut | bob | shoulder length | elbow length | hip length or longer

Hair Texture:  straight | straight-wavy | wavy | wavy-curled | curled | extra curled | ultimate curls

Hair Color: black | dark brown | brown | light brown | auburn / red | ginger | strawberry blonde | dirty blonde | blonde | platinum | gray | silver | white |

Eye Color: brown | hazel | amber | blue | green | gray |

Body Type: muscular | athletic | average | scrawny | curvy | fat | chubby |

Skin Tone: pale | fair | golden | beige | bronze | ebony |

Markings: scar(s) | tattoo(s) | piercing(s) | beauty mark(s) |

Posture: upright | neutral | slumped

Face Shape: round | oval | heart | square | long

Physical Needs: glasses or contacts | hearing aid(s) | braces or similar | wheelchair

Physical Conditions: lesion | partial or total paralysis | blindness | deafness | muteness | missing limb | terminal illness

Mental Conditions: depression | anxiety | autism | PTSD or ASD | psychopathy | sociopathy | personality disorder | panic disorder | OCD

Physical Health: dying | could be better | can’t complain | pretty good | immortal |

Mental Health: kill me | ugh | can’t complain | aww yeah | I AM INVINCIBLE |

IQ: 60 or less | 61-80 | 81-100 | 101-120 | over 120

Gestures: never | rarely | sometimes | often | wildly | animated like a toon |

Direct Family: mother | father | brother | sister(s) | son(s) | daughter(s)

Relationship Status: single | in a relationship | its complicated | engaged | married | divorced | widowed

Pets: dog(s) | cat(s) | bird(s) | hamster(s) | turtle(s) | fish |

Social Class: very low | low | middle-low | middle | middle-high | high | very high | space race asshole

Education Level: less than high school | high school | college | masters | doctorate

Residence: dorm room | studio | loft | apartment | city house | suburb house | mansion or manor | penthouse | yacht | trailer | farm house

Housemates: family member(s) | friend(s) | landlord or landlady | none |

Mode of Transportation: public transit | taxi | rideshare | hired driver | motorcycle | scooter | bicycle | car | camper |

Usual Outfit: formal | casual | lazy | sport casual | uniform |

Grooming: lazy | stylishly unkempt | average | prettied up | meticulous

Most Common Smile: sheepish | happy-go-lucky | arrogant | smirk | sadistic | in love | literally doesn’t smile |

Social Life: non-existent | limited | it’s there | active | constant

Preferred Drink: water | alcohol | juice | coffee | tea | carbonated drinks |

Preferred Food: sweets | meats | fruits | vegetables | carbohydrates

Preferred Sports: team sports | water sports | martial arts | athletics | gymnastics | mind sports | extreme sports | none

Preferred Environment: big city | small town | suburbs | arid desert | woods | rainforest | mountains | open fields | beach |

Strong Point: brute force | agility | stamina | intelligence | wisdom | charm

Weak Point: brute force | agility | stamina | intelligence | wisdom | charm

Perceptiveness: oblivious | dull | average | sharp | mind-reader

Speech: vulgar | basic | average | polite | educated | pretentious

Creativity: dull | conventional | average | unconventional | prodigy |

Best Intelligence: nature smart | music smart | numbers smart | people smart | self smart | picture smart | language smart | body smart

Inclination: arts | sciences | mathematics | humanities

Criminal Record: underage drinking | drunk driving | assault | arson | manslaughter | murder | attempted murder | sexual crime | protest or activism | false accusations | black mail | nothing that can be proven | none

Moral Code: self-interest | utilitarianism | universal law | religious

Luck: witchcraft | stereotypically Irish | average | really? | historically Irish

Sense of Humor: constant | sassy | normal | can take a joke but can’t say one | slow but there | stick in the mud

Preferred Comedy: none | slapstick | absurdity | potentially offensive | stand-up | wordplay | cultured

Self-Discipline: what is that | noooooo | when they want to | decent | militant

Easily Embarrassed? shameless | pretty tolerant | average | sensitive | don’t even talk to them

Shows Affection: doesn’t | rarely | sometimes | often | at every chance

Likeability: non-existent | when they try | pretty okay | cool person | godlike

Irrational Phobias: bugs | wild animals | darkness | touch | birds | crowds | the ocean

Common Fears: buss | wild animals | darkness | death | untimely death | ridicule | isolation

Type of Drunk: happy | sad | risk-taker | angry | philosophical | doesn’t get drunk | doesn’t drink

Vices: smoking | drinking | self-harm | illicit drugs | prescription drugs | murder | torture |

Deadly Sin: pride | wrath | gluttony | greed | envy | sloth | lust

Heavenly Virtue: humility | patience | temperance | charity | kindness | diligence | chastity

Theme Color(s): black | brown | dark blue | light blue | dark green | light green | yellow | orange | red | pink | purple | white | gold | silver

Favorite Input: novels | textbooks | magazines | newspapers | TV shows | movies | sports channels | documentaries | radio | blogs | music |

Favorite Output: non-fiction | fiction | poetry | songwriting | drawing | painting | sculpture | crafts | photography | film | vlogging | sport | sleep |

Favorite Genre: comedy | romance | thriller | horror | mystery | science fiction | fantasy | contemporary | historical | literary | action or adventure | drama | tragedy

#pre cadou dani #about Valeria #the past

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 27. Chapter

Alex tries to resist being put on display again, forcing Malachi to put him back in his place. And as if that wouldn’t have been enough, the arrival of an unexpected guest shakes Alex to his core.

Previous Masterlist Next

Content warnings: dehumanisation, captor bonding, abuse, cutting, blood, mentions of torture

Tagging: @galaxywhump @slaintetowhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpsideblog @thewhiteraven73 @ohmywhump @deluxewhump @insanitywishes @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l @astrobly @frnkieroismydaddy @ariirenn @swordkallya @a-terrible-pun

The night in which Malachi had shared his bed instantly became one of Alex’s favourite memories. He’d felt so safe and treasured waking up cradled in the Fae’s arms, happily enjoyed being fed breakfast in bed as well as the soft affection Malachi gave in abundance. Everything had been so perfect that he had almost forgotten about how awful he’d felt sitting in the cage the evening before. However, his memories came back quickly once he laid eyes on the oversized golden birdcage displayed prominently in the centre of the ballroom a week later.

This time the dominant colour of the decoration was red, and Alex’s heart sank as he noticed that he fit in perfectly with his rouged lips and the backless crimson robe that displayed the crest carved into his shoulder. Malachi had been ecstatic about how his pet had looked in the cage and how impressed the other faeries had been, so of course he wanted to recreate that. It had been naïve of Alex to think he wouldn’t just because he’d cried. He would have to sit still in the cage again, locked in, stared at and surrounded by faeries from every direction, unmoving, quiet, and alone while Malachi was busy entertaining his guests… the thought alone was enough to bring tears into his eyes.

Without thinking Alex stopped walking.

“N-no,” he stuttered and stemmed himself against the leash.

Surprised Malachi turned around. “What is it, darling?”

“I don’t, I don’t want to sit in the cage again.” Alex nervously watched the frown form on Malachi’s face.

“Why not? Is it not an easy task? All you need to do is sit on these soft pillows and stay still, that shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, you did so well last time, so why wouldn’t you want to do it again?”

“I didn’t like how everyone looked at me,” Alex explained. “I don’t want people to look at me like that again, please master, please don’t let them.”

Malachi huffed. “Ridiculous. The entire point of this installation is for everyone to look at you, after all you are the centrepiece.”

“But, but, but I don’t want to be,” Alex whined, giving Malachi his best pout and puppy eyes. “Please master, please don’t make me. Please, I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“If you want to be good, then stop making such a fuss this very instance and behave, pet,” Malachi reprimanded sternly. He gave the leash a sharp yank, and Alex stumbled as the collar dug painfully into his neck.

“No, please –“ He weakly tried to get away from the cage, but had no chance against the Fae’s superhuman strength.

“I said behave!” Malachi hissed and grabbed Alex’s arm, forcefully shoving him onto the low table in the middle of the room.

Alex whimpered, surprised at Malachi’s sudden roughness.

Malachi opened the cage door. “Get inside,” he ordered in a tone that left no room for argument, and Alex shakily obeyed.

“Please, master, please,” Alex begged again while Malachi arranged his limbs and clothes, hoping to sway him before it was too late. “Please don’t make me do this, please, I don’t want to do this, please, master, please don’t –“

He squealed at the sharp pain welling up in his cheek, only noticing belatedly that Malachi had used one of his claws to cut him. Too shocked to say anything he stared at the Fae looming above him.

“This is your last warning, pet.” Malachi announced, his perfectly manicured hands showing no trace of the claws that were hidden underneath the immaculate glamour. “Talk back at me again, and you will be disciplined. Understood?”

“Yes, master.” Unable to hold back his tears Alex began to cry.

Malachi sighed. “Hush, sweetheart, it’s alright,” he soothed and carefully wiped the tears away with his embroidered handkerchief. “Please don’t cry, darling. You’ll smudge the makeup.”

“Sorry,” Alex whimpered, trying his best to force the tears back down. The cut across his cheek hurt, and he could feel the blood slowly running over his skin.

“Hush, my sweet, hush. Don’t worry, you will do so well for me, just relax and wait here until I come to get you; there’s a good boy.” Malachi gently stroked over his hair until he calmed down, then went back to give his posture and clothes the finishing touches. Alex tensed when the cage door was closed and locked but managed to stay still.

“Ah, it’s gorgeous,” Malachi assessed. “As expected everything goes together perfectly, but oh, if I’d known before how magnificently a small cut would enhance the installation… that deep red line of blood against pale skin… simply beautiful.”

“Really?” Alex asked hesitantly, feeling rather embarrassed about the prospect of having the consequence of his disobedience displayed so openly. He wished he could wipe the blood away but knew that it would only make Malachi angry again if he moved out of position.

Malachi smiled and Alex’s heart fluttered. “Of course, darling. You look perfect, like a piece of art,” he assured, then checked his pocket watch. “The guests will arrive soon, so use the last minutes to compose yourself. Just stay as you are and relax, I know you’ll do great for me. Behave yourself, and I promise you will be rewarded. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Alex’s miserable nod was enough for Malachi.

This evening was somehow even worse than the last time he’d sat in the cage. The cut on his cheek burned, and he could feel the dried blood pulling at his skin whenever he moved his face. Just like Malachi the other faeries seemed to like it a lot, but instead of reassuring him it only left a bitter taste in his mouth. Something about the way his pain was perceived as artistic and beautiful made him feel sick to the stomach. All he wanted was to get out of the cage and back to his room, but he knew that he couldn’t possibly disappoint Malachi like that. And so he stayed where he was, unmoving and quiet, trying his best to distract himself by counting the rose petals strewn around the cage.

At first his strategy seemed to work, and the happenings around barely registered to him, when suddenly a familiar voice cut through, sending an icy shiver down his spine. His head snapped up, wide eyes searching the room, a cold fear rising within. No, it couldn’t be, this was impossible; Malachi had said he was gone, it couldn’t be… Alex’s eyes locked on to a Fae halfway across the room. He froze.

Rían.

The Fae Lord was of medium height, had light brown hair and pale skin, and wore fine clothes made of blue brocade. With his strong glamour he looked almost deceptively human, the unsettling aura that usually surrounded faeries all but missing completely. And yet he was the one that had haunted Alex’s dreams all throughout the last decade.

Ten years ago Alex had met Rían an entirely different person, young, naïve, and awfully desperate. He’d known that deal he’d struck with the Fae would change his life forever, but he hadn’t expected any of the horrible things that had happened because of it. Rían had been so nice to him, acting all understanding and empathetic, and speaking in such a calm manner that made everything he said sound so very reasonable. But then Alex’s conscience had hindered him from following his orders and the Fae had reacted mercilessly, throwing Alex into a dark cell, and declaring him fair game for all of his vassals to amuse themselves with.

It had taken Alex months to escape, as well as many years to cope with the experience. He’d finally come to think of himself fully freed from Rían’s influence, reassured by Malachi’s insistence that the other Fae Lord hadn’t been seen around the Court for years. But now here he was, in the middle of the ballroom, eyes locked on Alex and walking towards him.

Alex was petrified by fear, everything in him screamed at him to run away and hide, but found himself utterly unable to move. Not that it would change anything, he was still very much locked inside this cage as well as strictly ordered to stay in position. Malachi would be so mad at him if he moved, but there was Rían, coming to a halt in front of the bars, standing right there less than a meter away from him, smiling. Frozen in place Alex trembled as his breathing turned fast and shallow, panic taking over.

Rían’s voice was smooth and pleasant as he spoke. “Now look at what an exotic little bird Malachi caught,” he said. “Hello there, Kieran. It’s been a while.”

Alex’s mind came up blank, incapable to even think of how to form words; this couldn’t be happening.

“I have to say, I hadn’t expected my visit to this Court to turn out quite so interesting.” Rían cocked his head and slowly looked him over, a small smile playing around his lips. “My, this is truly unexpected.”

No, no, no, this couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t be. Alex couldn’t think of a time when he’d ever been more scared than at this very moment, and yet all he could do was staying still and quiet, not leaving his position. What if Rían wanted to punish him for his escape? Sure, ten years had passed, but to an immortal faerie that kind of time meant nothing. Would Rían be satisfied with hurting him or would he, like Darerca, want to kill him? Alex felt like he was close to passing out from fear, when finally rescue came.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Malachi asked as he stepped up next to Rían.

Alex could have cried from relief, surely his master would protect him. He loved him and Alex had been so good, not moving out of position at all despite his fear. Besides, he had promised that he would never let anyone hurt him again.

Without faltering Rían turned to Malachi. “It truly is, you’ve always had an excellent eye for these kinds of things, Lord Malachi.”

“You flatter me, Lord Rían,” Malachi gave back, clearly pleased with the compliment. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, what a pleasant surprise.”

Alex frowned slightly, why would Malachi refer to this as a pleasant surprise? He’d never mentioned having any kinds of positive relationship to Rían before, but then again, he was probably just being polite. Tensely Alex continued to watch the two Fae Lords.

“The sentiment is very much shared on my side, I am quite looking forward to catching up with you,” Rían assured. “However, I first just have to ask where and when you found your lovely new pet.”

“Oh, it stumbled right into my arms in this very room, about eight months ago,” Malachi replied with a small smile.

“That’s quite recent. How did you get it this docile so quickly?”

Alex shivered under Rían’s gaze.

“Oh, you know me, I’ve always been of the opinion that simple torture is horribly ineffective when it comes to taming pets. It appears that my approach is indeed the superior one to achieve the desired results.”

“Hmm.” Rían’s smile had disappeared. “Do you only use it for decoration?”

Malachi smirked. “Oh no, it's very much a multipurpose pet, this one, quite multifaceted in its talents.” His meaningful grin caused Alex to blush.

“I see.”

For a moment they regarded Alex in silence, who tried his hardest not to squirm.

“I am not sure whether you remembered, but this human used to be mine,” Rían began slowly.

“Oh, I know,” Malachi said light-heartedly.

“If that is so, you might also be aware that I have never actually withdrawn my claim on it.”

Alex flinched, terrified of what that might mean. Rían’s tone had sounded nothing but conversational, but he knew better than to assume that the disinterest it conveyed was real.

Malachi too sounded utterly unconcerned. “Pardon my bluntness, but after the, well, failure that your handling of this human was, I wouldn’t have thought that you’d still be interested in it.”

“Ha, I guess that’s fair,” Rían admitted, flashing Malachi a self-deprecating smile. “Of course I would be more than willing to reimburse you for the trouble. Name a price, and we’ll see what can be done.”

Alex’s eyes went wide with fear and he whimpered. No, this couldn’t be. Malachi wouldn’t sell him, right? He couldn’t do that; sure, he seemed a lot he more friendly with Rían than Alex would have expected, but he loved him. Malachi loved him.

Malachi’s eyes flicked to him as he couldn’t help shifting his weight restlessly. “Keep you position, pet,” he reminded him, and Alex froze again. Satisfied with his compliance Malachi turned back to Rían. “I’m afraid that there is no price you could provide that would be high enough to weigh up to pain of losing my beloved darling pet.”

“Are you certain about that? I’m sure we could –“

“No,” Malachi interrupted decidedly. “I am sorry, but I will not change my mind on this.”

“And if I decide maintain to my claim?” Rían pressed.

Malachi met his eyes calmly. “Then you and I will have to settle this with a duel.”  

His entire body wound up by tension Alex held his breath.  

Rían huffed. “Oh please, no human is worth getting that kind of animosity between us, you know how much I value your friendship,” he appeased.

Malachi smiled and clapped Rían on the shoulder. “As do I, my friend, as do I.”

#tw dehumanisation #tw captor bonding #tw cutting #tw blood #cage #caged #put on display #public whump #mentions of torture #tw abuse #collared and leashed #whump #pet whump #fae whump #pet whumpee #broken whumpee #fae whumper #intimate whumper #unseelie pet series #Alex #Malachi #Rían #my writing

[popentertainment-moviereviews]

MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Starring Lewis Tan, Jessica McNamee, Josh Lawson, Tadanobu Asano, Mehcad Brooks, Ludi Lin, Chin Han, Joe Taslim, Hiroyuki Sanada, Matilda Kimber, Laura Brent, Max Huang, Sisi Stringer, Mel Jarnson, Nathan Jones, Daniel Nelson, Ian Streetz, Yukiko Shinohara and the voices of Damon Herriman and Angus Sampson.

Screenplay by Greg Russo and Dave Callaham.

Directed by Simon McQuoid.

Distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures. 110 minutes. Rated R.

In full disclosure, I’ve never played any of the Mortal Kombat video games that this movie is based on. Nor have I seen any of the 1990s movies or TV series that this new film is rebooting. I get that I am not the movie’s target audience. Perhaps there is a deep vein of intelligence, wonder and nostalgia that I am just not picking up on.

But, simply coming into this world and this film as a stand-alone piece of entertainment: Wow, was this a bad movie. If I ever were to have an urge to go back and investigate the originals (and admittedly, that wasn’t all that likely), sitting through the new Mortal Kombat movie has probably cured me of that.

Let’s face it, in the whole history of movies based on video games, there probably hasn’t been one that really worked. And there have been tons that have been pretty terrible, including Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, The Angry Birds Movie, Silent Hill, Sonic the Hedgehog, Doom, Prince of Persia, Super Mario Brothers, and many, many more. (I’m not counting Pokémon because it was a card game before it was a video game, but those probably would make the list, too, although I hear Detective Pikachu was pretty good.)

The whole idea behind the two art forms is just too different. Games don’t necessarily ride on coherent stories or complex emotions. They are meant to make you react. They are primal: Kill the bad guy. Avoid the lasers or bombs. Drive faster. Jump over the void. Shoot the hell out of the place. And that’s fine. That is what the games are for – to get your adrenaline going.

However, you need a little more shading in a movie. You need a plot, and likable characters, and a narrative arc. Simply beating the shit out of every obstacle that gets in your way is not going to cut it on film. Besides, really, there is nothing more boring than watching someone else play a video game. Essentially, that is all these films are, an entire audience of people looking over some other player’s shoulder as he is having fun.

Occasionally the new Mortal Kombat film will have lighter moments where it is a bit self-aware and has fun with itself and its audience – like when one of the heroes derisively points out that the Mortal Kombat tournament name isn’t even spelled right – but these instances are sadly rather rare.

Instead, Mortal Kombat is focused on stupidly graphic violence. Literally, on a few occasions I was shocked at how grotesque some of the special effects were, and I’m certainly not squeamish or a prude.

Now I know there are some audiences that will go for particularly graphic scenes of death and mayhem, and for them Mortal Kombat will probably be a favorite. However, for an action-adventure melodrama based on a video game, Mortal Kombat more than dips its toes in the waters of the torture porn horror films that were briefly popular ten to fifteen years ago. It all seemed like overkill – both figuratively and literally.

Mortal Kombat has a mostly pretty unknown cast, in fact the only two actors I recognized were Hiroyuki Sanada and Mehcad Brooks (he left Supergirl for this?). There is not much in the way of deep acting here, but none is really needed. In a world where people have white glowing eyes and don’t even seem bothered when their bodies suddenly grow scaly armor with no warning, subtle line reading is not at a premium.

On the plus side, the sets and art direction are pretty incredible, and the special effects – even though they are often overly bloody and disgusting – are very well done.

The story? It makes little to no sense, but in fairness to the filmmakers I don’t believe they ever wanted it to. The plot is creaky, and the dialogue is clunky, but the movie seems to see those as necessary evils to move things along to the next battle royale. The script even goes so far to refer to the action on screen as a game.

That it is, but it sure as hell isn’t a good movie.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2021 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: April 23, 2021.

#Mortal Kombat #2021 #Movie Reviews #Lewis Tan #Jay S. Jacobs

[your-dietician]

How intense psychotherapy and a Bel-Air love nest led to John Lennon's classic debut album

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/how-intense-psychotherapy-and-a-bel-air-love-nest-led-to-john-lennons-classic-debut-album/

How intense psychotherapy and a Bel-Air love nest led to John Lennon's classic debut album

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in January 1970. (Richard DiLello / Yoko Ono Lennon)

In the months before John Lennon and Yoko Ono entered Abbey Road Studios in London to start work on what would become the album “John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band,” the couple were renting a home on Nimes Road in one of L.A.’s fanciest neighborhoods, Bel-Air.

The Beatles were still the most famous group in the world but were in the midst of breaking up, with members traveling to and from London to finish “Abbey Road,” work on various solo projects for their label Apple Records and argue about release schedules and royalties.

Living along a curvy lane behind walls that afforded complete privacy and overwhelming views of the city, Lennon and Ono were a world away from that drama. They woke to the sounds of chirping birds, sprinklers and lawnmowers, enjoyed their tea alone and, when so inclined, chilled by the pool. Lennon worked on some songs, including “Working Class Hero,” “Mother,” “Well, Well, Well” and “God.”

Then, each morning, Lennon would drive down Beverly Glen to psychologist Arthur Janov’s West Hollywood office, enter a darkened, soundproof room and scream as loudly and violently as he could.

“He used to finish a session feeling incredibly good,” Janov once recalled.

This backdrop set the tone for “John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band,” which came out in December 1970 and is the subject of an exhaustively documented box set just released by Capitol/UME and the Lennon estate. Called “John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (The Ultimate Collection),” it comes with six CDs, two Blu-ray discs, a hardbound book, poster and postcards. It’s a revelatory set, especially for those with access to hi-fi gear and a darkened, soundproof room.

Newly mixed to increase Lennon’s vocal presence from fresh high-resolution transfers, the set features 87 recordings that have never been officially released, including rehearsal sessions, demo tapes recorded on Nimes Road and a series of alternative mixes drawn from unused tracks — congas on “Hold On” are a revelation, for example. An accompanying coffee table book, “John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band,” offers an even deeper dive into the couple’s creative partnership.

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“During 1970, we did extensive Primal Scream therapy for six months, which was very beneficial for us and many of the songs were inspired as a result of those sessions,” writes Ono in the preface to the coffee table book, adding that “John’s songs were a literate expression of his feelings.” (Ono declined an interview request for this article.)

John Lennon relaxing by the swimming pool at his and Yoko Ono’s rented home in Bel-Air during the summer of 1970. (Yoko Ono Lennon)

The result, “John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band,” was Lennon’s debut solo album. It was issued the same day as Ono’s companion album, “Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band,” and found Lennon in an intimate setting with a few friends purging unfiltered emotions into songs about “freaks on the phone,” isolation, leaders who “tortured and scared you for 20-odd years” and his lack of belief in, among concepts, Jesus, magic, Adolf Hitler, the I Ching, the Buddha, yoga, kings and the Beatles.

“He had changed a hell of a lot because of this primal scream thing, and that was really heavy,” says Klaus Voormann, who played bass on the album, on the phone from Germany. “It was heavy for him, it was heavy for Yoko, and it was heavy for us.”

As with most things Beatle-related, the critics loved Lennon’s “Plastic Ono Band” when it came out. Creem’s Dave Marsh wrote that it was “interesting and even enlightening to see a man working out his trauma on black plastic but more than that, it’s totally enthralling to see that Lennon has once again unified, to some degree, his life and his music into a truly whole statement.”

The Times’ Robert Hilburn called it “nothing short of a masterpiece,” and “a work that is filled with pain and sorrow, searching and struggle. It is frightfully honest, profoundly moving.” That its emotion is tied to a bestselling psychology self-help book is often overlooked, but it played a central role in Hilburn’s review.

Arthur Janov in 1998. (Ann Summa/Getty Images)

“Primal therapy has to do with the traumas you’ve undergone in the womb, at birth, in infancy and childhood,” Janov explained in an interview excerpted in the book. “We have needs that we are all born with, and when those basic needs are not met, we hurt. And when that hurt is big enough, it’s imprinted in the system. It changes our whole physiologic system and all those pains are held in storage, causing tension, anxiety and depression.”

After Lennon and Ono read Janov’s book, “The Primal Scream” (subtitled “Primal Therapy: The Cure for Neurosis”), Ono asked that Janov travel to them in London, which he did. “He was in bad shape. He couldn’t leave his room,” Janov said of Lennon. But Janov had work in L.A., so Lennon and Ono followed him back and rented a home in Bel-Air. Lennon wasn’t the only one enduring pain. He and Ono had been trying to have a baby, but she had suffered two miscarriages.

Forced to return to England six months later to deal with visa issues, Lennon and Ono were barely off the plane before they entered Abbey Road. The sparse, emotionally raw Lennon solo album is dense with echoes of his West Hollywood wails, and the sessions were the same, Voormann says.

Voormann, best known for creating the art for “Revolver,” had met Lennon and the rest of the Beatles long before Beatlemania took hold, when they were rocking the Star Club in Hamburg, Germany, in the early 1960s, and he remained within the band’s inner circle. At the end of the decade, Voormann had just concluded a run with Manfred Mann when Lennon called to ask whether he’d join him, Ono, Ringo Starr and producer Phil Spector at Abbey Road. Needless to say, it was a welcome invitation.

At Abbey Road, Voormann described walking into “a whole vibe. There was crying. There was laughing. There was happiness. There was hugging each other. And we were all part of this amazing atmosphere.”

John Lennon at EMI Studios in London on Oct. 9, 1970. (Yoko Ono Lennon)

Simon Hilton, the box set’s producer and production manager, said that contrary to reports that Lennon “was angry and throwing headphones and stuff and making a fuss” during the week at Abbey Road, “there’s no evidence of that at all.”

Listening to the rehearsal tapes, which find Lennon, Starr and Voormann working through classics including “Honey Don’t,” “Mystery Train,” “Glad All Over” and the Beatles’ “Get Back,” Hilton continues, “you can hear what an amazing time they were having.”

The three were “obviously working really hard but also really enjoying being in each other’s presence. They were such good mates and I’m sure after the tensions of sitting in the room with Paul and George and Ringo, this was a huge relief.” (Hilton stresses that “John never had any beef with Ringo, ever.”)

“There is a playfulness among the three main musicians that in no way represents how earnest the songs are,” says Rob Stevens, who worked as a mixing engineer on “The Ultimate Collection” and oversaw the raw studio mix recordings and outtakes. “The laser beam is turned on right when the take starts and it’s turned off at the end — and there’s some real silliness before and afterwards.”

A Klaus Voormann illustration from the “John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band” sessions in October 1970. (Klaus Voormann)

All you need to do is listen to “Mother,” the wrenching opening song on the album, to appreciate the ways in which primal scream therapy informed the sessions.

Voormann remembers worrying about Lennon’s vocal cords as he sung the track’s climactic ending, which finds the singer pushing his limits. “I was thinking, ‘Oh my God, I hope he’s not going to lose his voice.'” Lennon, the bassist adds, was never trained as a singer, and cited as an example once requesting “Please Mr. Postman” during the Hamburg days. Lennon declined. “He said, ‘No, let’s do it as the last number because if I do that now, I’m going to be hoarse all night.'”

Lennon is on the cusp of hoarseness, Voormann says, in the final version of “Mother,” which is a song that addresses Lennon’s relationship with his mom, Julia, who as a young parent left Lennon to live with his Aunt Mimi and only sporadically reached out after that. (“I lost her twice,” Lennon recalled during an interview. “Once as a 5-year-old when I was moved in with my aunty, and once again when she actually physically died.”)

“His voice is already starting to break on the record,” Voormann says, “and it’s fantastic because he is really screaming as much and as long as he can. He wanted to get that out of his system. The wounds were opened up inside of him, and these wounds he put into those songs.”

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in London on Feb. 11, 1970. (Richard DiLello / Yoko Ono Lennon)

If there was a flaw, for Ono it was in the final mix. Lennon’s voice wasn’t prominent enough. For this new remaster, Ono suggested the engineers make it more prominent. “That was Yoko’s directive right from the beginning,” says Paul Hicks, who mixed and engineered much of the new set. “‘Bring John’s voice out to the fore’ and ‘You’ll find all the emotion in John’s voice.'”

Adds Rob Stevens of Lennon and Ono’s Lenono Archives, “Bringing John’s voice up was a real revelation for just about anybody who had listened to anything else that he had done.” Referring to a microphone effect that adds a sharp echo, Stevens added that Lennon “covered his voice up with a ton of slap. There’s a ton of reverb.” Stevens says that in the process of working on the recordings, he was able to remove the reverb and hear the unfiltered Lennon. “What was there was the same emotion but more nuanced because there wasn’t a slap or two or three behind it.”

The producer and engineer John Leckie was 20 when he landed a coveted entry-level job running tape at Abbey Road Studios in London. He started in January 1970 and, not long after, was in the studio recording “All Things Must Pass” with George Harrison, and half a year later he was working on Lennon’s record.

Leckie, who has gone on to produce essential records by the Fall, Radiohead, XTC, Elastica, My Morning Jacket and dozens more, says that he recalls this early Lennon session as being a relaxed, comfortable environment. Spector was a quiet, unobtrusive presence — there was no “Wall of Sound” at Abbey Road — and Ono was more involved with the creative back and forth.

“Phil wasn’t there all the time, but my memory is that he was there a lot of time and when he was there, it was really good vibes. It’s funny, because when people ask me about this record, they always seem to think there was this angst — dreadful, painful. ‘What was it like to be in the room with John pouring out all this angst about his abuse over the years and the terrible terror he was going through?'”

Leckie continues, “It wasn’t like that at all, and you can tell by this box and the outtakes it was great fun. He was playing with his best friends. He was playing with Ringo and Klaus Voormann, and he’d known Klaus since Hamburg.”

Voormann underscores the sense of camaraderie at play, an experience jarred by hearing the rehearsal tapes anew. “All this came back to me. It felt so good having certainty knowing we were really a group — this little tiny group, just Ringo, me and John.”

Lennon’s solo debut, in hindsight, was an outlier. He started recording its follow-up, “Imagine,” less than a year later, and not long after that, he and Ono separated. Lennon moved back to L.A. and commenced a bender that many nights led him just a block from Janov’s office, getting drunk with Harry Nilsson at the Troubadour. Lennon and Ono reconciled a few years later. The five studio albums that followed “Plastic Ono Band,” while accomplished, seldom matched the feral energy and sharpened pen found on his debut.

Meanwhile, by 1974, Janov was in the pages of The Times being lumped in with Dear Abby, Billy Graham, radio talk show hosts and witches, as a guru who “professes to have an answer for sale.” A documentary called “Primal Process” followed a few years later. One reviewer praised the film but warned that “the continuous crying can be taxing.” In the 1980s, the English new wave group Tears for Fears took its name from Janov’s therapeutic method, and the similarly inspired “Shout” became one of its signature hits.

Janov, for the record, loved “John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band.” Speaking to Hilburn in 1970, the therapist and author, who died in 2017, described it as “a very dialectic album. It is the most personal statement imaginable, yet it has a universal language. It could only be written by someone who has arrived at a state of understanding himself. It isn’t something that any kid with a guitar could sit down and write.”

This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.

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[baekuras]

@g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n

I wanted to put this in an ask but then I decided to lay back a bit into my pillow and more thoughts hit me every time I stopped one like a marathon so imma get them all out right now

Let me start with that I love talking to you always just...LOOK at all this art that happened Moreso with the griffins than er-au because thats a wholeass long post at this point (yes i still have ideas for that too to draw i can not stop yet oops) all because of some tags on a post about a cat with baby bunnies-it's amazing

Anyhow What do you mean „idk if this is a Aiden lives situation“ of course it is there is no other option Although my brain defaults to angst

which is why i didn't follow the thought of „Aiden doesn't die“ which was followed by „if he does he comes back“ both which can end super badly so i...am leaving that (and the thoughts of now him outliving everyone or coming back wrong and it's all even worse etc etc you know the deal)

bUT my brain continued a bit anyway and with the griffins au I don't even wanna imagine what would happen if Aiden died An emotional witcher and 4 griffins all angry and/or grieving Not a good mix, maybe for revenge but definitley not for everyone else especially if Lambert has to calm 1-4 kids down while being a mess himself probably (yes my brain also did go to „What if they/one of them gets so out of hand Lambert would have to fight them or would run away from that chaos because it's all too much for everyone and ouch)

So right now my angst braincells are only for my ocs (latest I did was hang someone on their ribcage for a bit after torture after experimentation after lovers betrayal so that's good for now (i am so sorry i will let it end well too but woops)

But luckily for us all Aiden lives v-v

Second though interjected somewhere between those ramblings and how I always get whiplash when I actually play the witcher 3 and hear Aiden spelled out (idk how it's said in polish tbh i am not gonna read subtitles only and i refuse to play the game in german) considering how in german the Ai is spelled like...eye and not like, well, uh (h)ey idk how to word things with words

but now to griffins and half the continent of geralts friends/acquaintances being at kaer morhen

imaging everyones reaction to seeing the griffins first is great fun

Lambert and Aiden either arrive as late as possible for dramatic entrance OR are the first there just lounging with 4 griffins around as if that was the most normal thing in the world (which it is for them but come on, they know)

also tfw you are unsure what's weirder, a cat witcher at kaer morhen or griffins at kaer morhen (how about 2 cats vs 4 griffins, someone grab gaetan quick!)

I also like to imagine that at some point the griffin siblings decided to see how long it'd take them to convince someone to pet/cuddle them and whoever gets them to do so fastest wins New game is „Find the buff-witchers/anyone really (thanks GERALT) and see which one tosses them first“ they will still try even having long outgrown that possibility but come on (Letho beware, he is new and now on their radar of „Bother that Witcher“) Look they are Lambert and Aiden's kids I doubt they have much restraint or....anything

also don't refuse them they got a whole family to go and sulk to and they know how to be cute all big eyed and floofy and shit Even if Lamb and Aiden aren't around they WILL find Eskel (they know who is in charge come on) and be all sulky around him because SOMEONE refused to give them food they don't even like and that was probably bad by now!

I also wonder, considering I drew Aiden on the biggest girl, who rode a griffin first (and who else would gain the privilege) I wanna say Aiden, but I wouldn't put it past Lambert ofc but also i am sure one of the kids just...wriggled through the legs of an unsuspecting witcher until they were able to take off, witcher safely on their back

ALSO baby birds and cats are very mouthy (the amount of scratches and bites kittens can give you is insane and some really dont wanna learn that nothing will happen pls play with the toys instead thank you) so....baby griffins must have been a mess in that department as well

#the witcher #griffins au #also school lied we got distance learning till 12th of february so yay for me only 2 hours of work on thursdays! Don't ask i won't have a lo #gical answer #i had thoughts #i put thoughts into words....probably #i had a literaly bullet list of...points and i had to sort through them it was a mess #i also didn't expect to see deadpool but make him eskel today but i am not against it #i have emptied my brain for the day i had to answer one semi complicated question and read one uni level text and i am done #i also had a nap #that usually helps in shutting anything down #so i shall leave it at this for now aka untill another thought comes barreling in