#archaic but those who know and remember KNOW

[starrbirrd]

something something ACOSF AU where the first fae-tradition Nesta learns is cutting her hair and sending it to Rhys as a declaration of war

#I'm sure y'all remember that ancient Tumblr post about this #i would love having this be a faerie culture thing #archaic but those who know and remember KNOW #probably that hewn city au with mor's sister i talked about #where she doesn't know what to make of this Made fae woman now technically in her care #she comes to breakfast one day with her hair shorn to her ears and the confusion continues #until she hears about it from keir or someone and she just LAUGHS because that's the most audacious thing she's ever seen someone do #anti rhysand #nesta archeron derserves better #anti inner circle #pro nesta #anti acosf #anti nessian

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH36

Time find out just how fucked up Toshiro got.

Hey Kabru. Chill.

That sure is a normal look to give your team mate. I'm sure you're a normal, well adjusted leader who understands when you step out of bounds.

Bold of you to assume they even care. They're too caught up in the plot of the second arc to even remember you...

So much to question here. The fact that Toshiro has retainers. The fact that they're all mildly bored. The fact that Marcille seems to hate it here. Marcille, hello??? Are you only interested in Falin? Do you just hate people that aren't her?

The fact that she's still wearing the frog costume makes this panel, honestly. What a legend.

This is so wholesome. Laios just decided to therapy this workaholic man all on his own, dangit. If he won't do it, who will? Senshi must be so proud.

Hang on, I just realized--.....is that.

Is that the cat girl...?!!? That I've been seeing? I thought it was just a hat at first, but those are ears, aren't they?! Is she the one that eventually joins the party?

Marcille, you're a beautiful frog woman to me.

If I didn't know that Chillchuck is a dad already, I would have known it at this point. What a thing to say. "oh no, which one of these kids grown men is going to cause more trouble if left unattended"

I'm sure that's fine.

...........

But when you put it that way, it seems a little.... simple?

Kabru is beginning to suspect he's in the wrong class.

"Ah yes, a little freak that scuttles around from paintings to reality and speaks in archaic and mysterious tones. GOTTA be a Sorcerer. And hella mad, too!"

The math checks out, your honor.

Her best, Karbohydrate. She did her best.

Oh Laios, you're a hoot.

Kabru, you literally said Laios is a terrible liar three seconds ago. Maybe be a little less obvious? 😂

...you've done this to yourself, mate.

Okay, you know what. I take it back. I still don't like Kabru but watching him suffer IS supremely entertaining.

Okay, I can see how he might jump to the wrong conclusions here. They did not, in fact, eat the orcs.....

Orcs are duty bound to slap ya upside the head.

I love how genuinely patient Senshi is, and how good he is at listening. Chillchuck was worried but he's just vibing with new friends.

I'm sure they're having a grand old time.

What do those ears do, hmmm?

I enjoy the fact that he says "they're all treated as heinous criminals" instead of passing moral judgement and saying 'they're beyond reproach' or the like. He knows the consequences, and remarks not at all on whether or not he agrees with the judgement itself.

I could also draw some parallels here about how Japan treats all drugs but. Well. That's another topic.

Oh, noooo. As opposed to that other way of dying, where your corpse is dragged about in a carnival fashion after you die, to dry up in the light of day forever after.

Oh wait.

This bitch is really only here for the drama. 😅

FALIN?!?!?!?! MY GIRL

WHY THE LONG......body...?

....................cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. Alright. Okay okay okay. Alright.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog

[caineinthecorner]

Language (The Demon Brothers)

★ Based on my language general hcs. Part 2 is here.

Hi. Today we have the demon brothers language hcs, brought to you by a single dumbass bilingual. :D

I include mentions of bilingual/multilingual MC, but I use the term MC and you interchangeably in the bullet points. It's the same thing who cares (you can also add whatever languages you think fit I am just going off vibes tbh)

★ Lucifer.

Since he was the strongest and highest ranked out of the brothers, his innate abilities were muddled the least.

This is to say that he remembers a lot from his innate knowledge as an angel, and can actually fare incredibly well on his own if you leave him in the human realm.

(the language he preferred back in his angel days was Archaic Latin, which is also Simeon's preferred language)

When Diavolo brought up the idea of the human exchange program he was like "(: ok" and binged human language for like two months straight like a total psychopath

He's like one of those fancy 10+ languages fluent polyglots (how)

Despite his fluency, it is rare to ever see him speak them. He has better things to do and prefers demon tongue.

Or if he does, the Loquar Ad Vos that was applied to you once you arrived in Devildom doesn't allow you to hear it.

You try to swear in your native language around him and oh boy it backfires

That is how you learn he's fluent in everything under the sun (exaggeration)

Frustrated, you grumble that you will learn demon tongue just to one up him

He takes it like a challenge. Enjoy reading a million books on the demonic language and having double the homework for your little joke.

(he gives you hard material to learn on purpose to see you fail. Enjoy hell buckoo. Double hell? Hell²)

You kept misspelling good morning in demon tongue as a demonic death threat and that somehow turned into an inside joke between the two of you.

He has to keep himself from chuckling whenever MC screws up words

Your accent is lovely though. Keep it up

★ Mammon.

Spanish and English.

Ok I actually can't justify myself further than "Mams would absolutely fucking go to Vegas" and the fact that USA has a large Latino population but hear me out

You cannot tell me that he would not watch telenovelas. Like. C'mon.

he has the vibes of a Spanish speaker is what I am saying

he was SO frustrated about having to learn human languages you have no idea

In fact he probably still struggles a bit and that makes him really mad

Why is it so complicated all of the sudden?! It wasn't complicated Before!

He unconsciously associates human languages with the trauma of the fall, and the stress and hurt and turbulent emotions it conveys

So learning new languages besides the two he knows is a touchy subject for him

(but like, he will learn MC's native language despite this. Whining to hell about it, but he will. Everything for MC)

You are actually very lucky that you have Loquar Ad Vos with you, bcs he actually switches from demon tongue to either English or Spanish mid sentence sometimes.

Not that you notice with your crusty translator (Loquar also works for human languages it supports), of course.

"Ayo can you [Spanish phrase], oh and give me a [English word], for a [spanglish nonsense]" <- Mammon's dumbass not functioning in trilingual

Also he has an accent but he's trying

The others are used to it so they don't question it anymore, but they deadass could not understand Mammon at some point because trilingual was not computing

It was frustrating to say the least

You two play charades with each other when the other forgets a word in your respective languages

"MC WHAT'S THE NAME OF THE ANIMAL FUCK THAT CHANGES HOME" "... Hermit crab?" "THATS THE BITCH"

★ Leviathan.

Japanese (very decent) and English (bad) are musts.

You cannot tell me for a second this fuck watches anime subbed OR dubbed. He's too weeb for that. He will watch the original dub version for the full emotional impact

He wanted to know what happens in the weeb world of the west (and internet discourse), so he learned English through shitty 2000s anime forums and Duolingo

Probably plays Duolingo competitively and/or cries if he loses his streak

His hearing and speaking English is okay, his writing is literally so so shit

Tried to learn a romantic language to be corny but failed miserably.

(He steered clear of languages his brothers know so he isn't self conscious)

It was probably Portuguese or something since Mammon kept talking about being good at figuring it out as a Spanish speaker (due to it being a romantic language)

The diacritical marks killed him on the spot

Meu português não é bom... (crying)

Victim of the you're* corrections

Runs his several-paragraphs-long rants about weeb stuff through Satan so the grammar is legit

Actually thinking about it would be absolutely fucking hilarious if he knew russian just for funsies. Yeah add Russian to the list

He sends you crusty Russian memes at unholy hours in the morning. Calls that bonding

Would absolutely swear in loud ass Russian while playing Valorant or smt

"ПИЗДЕЦ" "LEVI IT'S 2AM SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Ah + he knows Morse code (obviously). He was really excited when he discovered it and proceeded to obsess over it for like three weeks straight.

Although by the time he learned about it humans had already moved on from its wide-spead use at sea (post-1999), the Devildom Navy adapted Morse code for their own use as per Levi's command.

He teaches MC how to use Morse code (bashfully) and they send lil' messages to each other for fun

★ Satan.

He inherited a good chunk of Lucifer’s angel-knows-all-languages innate talents.

He doesn't have the angel knowledge of every language, of course, but he definitely has a really high count since birth; Unlike his brothers who had to relearn their languages of interest.

However, he can tell™ that the topic of languages is kinda taboo-y, as it signifies the traumatic fall he himself was not there to witness, and kept quiet about it.

The others (mostly) think he just learned languages in his free time.

He is the designated google translate person. When the other brothers need translations, they ask him.

He gets very frustrated when he has to translate something on the spot

Absolutely knows Chinese and Latin just to read fancy old human books and be a menace about it

He has a copy of the Art Of War in Chinese I will fight you on that

Actually he probably owns every important human book in its native language

Culprit of the you're* corrections

If he has to read another thesis-length essay abt weeb shit by leviathan he will actually lose his shit

You know the Voynich manuscript? He's probably trying to decode it for funsies.

If you and him (unfortunately) share a language, he will absolutely correct the living shit out of you when you speak it

Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't "erm ACtuAllY" MC. You can't.

His ass does not understand slang. At all. You tell him See You Later Alligator and he'll be like "tf you smoking ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ?"

★ Asmodeus.

French. And Korean. Maybe very mid English.

Ok so french is the language of lOVe and whatever + Korea is known for their heavy beauty-focused culture

I can see Asmo definitely picking up Korean just for makeup and self care brands purposes.

Like it is easier to browse for products he wants if he can actually browse the original places/websites himself

It's just more convenient and he's actually very good at language learning

+ Korean it is a "cutesy" language so it fits his vibe.

Like he absolutely would go "안녕 teehee (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)" to look disarming is what I am saying

He flirts to hell with Solomon in French. It is a language they both know and isn't supported by Loquar for translation so nobody can snoop their conversations

If you have the misfortune of knowing French I am so sorry for you bcs they are NASTY

Solomon is teaching him English. Asmo fakes being bad at it on purpose

★ Beelzebub.

He knows a decent amount of English.

What does he use it for? Order food. Obviously.

In fact everyone kinda assumes he just knows a few food orders and that's it but no he's actually very decent at English (borderline fluent)

He learned through clunky conversation with small restaurant owners

Beel actually makes a great effort to enunciate every word clearly, so he doesn't like speaking long sentences

"Would you like Salsa with that, sweetheart?" "... Yes," <- Beel has no fucking clue wtf salsa is but it tastes good so who is he to defy food gods (a nice Mexican grandma with a killer Pozole) whom have blessed him

I also think he would probably know some kind of sign language

Fingerspelling maybe, solely because it allows him to talk while having his mouth full or bcs his games are loud and he can't hear words very well

That and, like, the Devildom equivalent of sign language. DSL or something.

Look at him. Absolute sweetheart. He would absolutely want to include deaf or hard of hearing ppl.

★ Belphegor.

Ok so

I am going to be very fr with you

I believe Belphie would be the only monolingual (demon tongue "native") of the brothers

at most he would remember a few phrases of a few languages from back when he was an angel, but not any specifics

Like this dude has ZERO interest in human culture I cannot think he would sit down to (re)learn anything

he would fall asleep trying to learn human verbs actually

He only knows how to tell you to fuck off on 4 languages (/hj)

None which you speak. So that's kinda awkward

He doesn't know how to cast Loquar (nor has any interest in learning how)

Beel casts it for him if he needs it

He can and will deadass just remove the translator spell from you if you try to annoy/interact with him (except if Beel is who casts it on you).

(so Beel now also casts Loquar for you)

Begone >:(

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date? #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me hcs #caineshcs

[m1ndbrand]

"all it took was..." — The new President

WARNINGS: Coriolanus Snow is it's own warning(Snow after the 10thGames, 2 years after to be precise); Mentions of death and corpse(small description, nothing big).

SUMMARY: The 12th Hunger Games winner unfortunately fortunately gets the attention of President Snow.

WORDS: 1.384

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the franchise The Hunger Games characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do claim what I wrote and only that.

A/N: If you know the tragedy of Coriolanus by William Shakespeare some names will be recognizable...Also I'm sorry but this chapter won't be the continuation of their little...encounter— but I promise, it's going to happen!

TAG-LIST: @sorry-mrs-jacobs; @phoward89;

MASTERLIST

He was never someone who believed in the stars and whatever they might mean to some people.

It seemed completely idiotic and beneath someone from the level of education, you would get from the Capitol to have this belief that in his humble opinion, of course — was archaic and beneath him.

Fate and stories written on the stars were all but a way of fairy tales being made, a topic on some and even a very important one at that "merging" some characters together like the universe itself deemed them a pair, one in two.

Star-crossed lovers.

How he hated that idea, he couldn't believe he even fed it to—

Let's not dwell on that topic, he had better things to do, like arrange a new Games Maker for the 12th Hunger Games.

Doctor Volumnia Gaul is no more, some freak accident with one or more than one mutt; it wasn't clear, the body was far too mutilated to be recognised by anyone at all if not for the DNA tests and well...the place of the accident, a place only a few people were able to enter and of course Doctor Gaul was one of those people, him included in the small pool.

It was slightly weird however how the mulls were able to break free, the reporters debated it for the first days the case broke daylight, but the theory was quickly suppressed.

After all, mulls were still in being tested and we're highly volatile, their behaviour unstable and unpredictable. And of course, accidents happen.

But the world continues to go around and so shall the Capitol, he needed to find someone and fast. 

He should have looked more into it, the selection that is. But he had more important things in his place, strength the security in the several points of entry on all distractions, the training of the peacekeepers and the change of the uniform like he so petitioned for just to name a few.

The new and young president had more important things to worry about than some person who would probably be soon replaced if so needed.

The theme he chose ,he didn't even try to remember the man's name, was an advanced-looking arena; a sign of the year the Capitol got a new President. Coriolanus liked the idea. It painted his future reign as one that would lead them into the future, lead them into a better time.

It painted him as a good leader.

The reaping ceremony passed without a problem. Some students clearly didn't like something— their tribute lack of attributes to make them win or the idea of having to participate in such 'twisted games' as the rebel-like-youth liked to name his games. He honestly couldn't care less, blue-ice-like eyes looking straight at the screens with a fake polite smile when the camera twists at him, showing his all too polished self composed with a deep red suit and thick coat that made his figure even more imposing than it normally is.

He would soon return to his manor and actually work, the two hours of the opening ceremony put his work ethic behind schedule more than he liked to admit.

There was much to be done to make the Capitol and the Districts into the way he saw fit and Coriolanus shouldn't waste more time than he already has.

Not even a day later he would have the files of everyone who chose to review. For some reason the late president did this— the threat of the Rebels was still very much a problem and he was of course scared shitless by them so all 'useful' information was of course turned into two paper pages that it was his duty to read through.

Coriolanus was just about to skim through them all but the very first file caught his attention, District One female tribute.

Not the girl's image he didn't even look at it properly, he already saw every tribute face on the reaping ceremony... all looked underfed and clearly not fit for an entertaining games in terms of pure brutal strength, the mentors would need to sell them well to the Capitol. No it was her name. Her last name rang a bell.

A big warning bell was inside his head and it made his eyebrows furrow, hand picked up the two-page long file and flipped through the description of her family. Something was amiss, he could feel it in his bones. Something was wrong. 

Coriolanus could almost feel the hunger tearing at his stomach, his small sweaty hand tightly gripping his equally moist cousin's hand as they received the news of his father's death.

His other small hand gripping the files of several names of supposed rebels that could be the reason behind his father's death. Blond hair falls against his sweaty forehead as at that time he didn't understand why he had to read the names of random men.

Brutus.

His hand grips the file on his hand, veins popping up as his eyes skim through the contents of the file, once and then twice. He didn't even sit down, reading in silence for 10 minutes over and over again to look out for another word, sentence, or anything more.

Only two people are still alive from her family— grandmother and little brother, Valeria Brutus and Menenius Brutus, then they got the last name from her grandfather. His hand moves the paper right and left, trying to see if her grandfather's first name was there. But it wasn't. It probably wasn't deemed to be useful information since he is dead. Putting the papers down he turns with a sigh to his window, chin rising as he looks to see all the perfectly arranged garden of pure white roses in the front of his mansion.

No this shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, not now. He got what he wanted he won, the victor. He was still standing with or without his father.

The nostalgic feeling of feeling hungry regrows once again and it makes him nauseous, sharp eyes turning to the face of the girl on the page. She looked like every other girl he reminds himself as he starts a little too long at her face. Eighteen, one more year and she should have been safe from the reaping.

A smile creeps on his lips. Amusement dancing in his eyes like he had just read a good enough joke.

He couldn't sleep.

Coriolanus hated to be in need of something even if it was just a simple pill to go to sleep. He was better than that, he could sleep alone thank you very much.

Couldn't he just get the information he wanted? He could, he had the resources, and he had the needs to if he so pleases, so why not?

No.

No, he wouldn't lose to this...whatever this is, curiosity, need— want to know. Closure.

Maybe that was it. Know the person or people that did this to him. To his family. The people that made him starve and struggle. Envy and step on people that he knew were living better than him, growing to bring them down so he could feel himself high above them all. Know the people that in a way, made him the way he is now.

Rising he presses the inside of his palms to his eyes.

For fucks sake— Shut the fuck up! 

His mouth was open. Eyes shot open and hands grabbing tightly the silk covers, knuckles turning white. Did he shout those words? Wasn't it all in his head? His hands were shaking, face was slightly flushed red from anger.

It's one of those episodes.

Rising he curses under his breath, feet carrying him to one of the small tables with some pills on them. Deep eyes thin as he tried to look into the colours of the various drugs that looked like they were thrown there and he picked a deep purple one in the midst of the rainbow and quickly gulped it down without water.

His attention is caught by the silver-like glow of the moonlight slipping through his windows, blue tired-looking eyes looking up at the sky, they find the stars instead of the moon that sings for attention. Wishing to catch a stray star amidst the ones that stay. Maybe he could catch it as it falls.

With those thoughts, sleep would soon catch him.

Previous

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #dark!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x you #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #thg x reader

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

I Can Fix That... | Dr. Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary| She's the detective assigned to investigate one of Gotham's top villains, Falcone, but as she follows her leads, she uncovers a new suspect: Dr. Jonathan Crane. His charisma and good looks won't stand in the way of justice, or at least that's what she thinks.

Warnings| Mentions of self-harm in the beginning in accordance to the movie (Batman Begins 2005). Not explicitly discussed but implied sexist and misogynistic work environment. Some archaic language when discussing psychiatric hospitals bc I tried to follow the language that the movie used. Violence with needles, drugging someone. Gun is mentioned but not used. Knife is mentioned a lot but never used to inflict pain. Smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex, restraints.

word count: 6757k (long-ass story bc I didn't want to make separate posts)

Song for a Guilty Sadist- Crywank 🎶

Butch 4 Butch- Rio Romeo 🎵

IFHY (feat. Pharrell)- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks <3

i 

She had been following him for weeks, stealing into the shadows at every turn as Jonathan Crane walked through Gotham City’s Police Station. She’d been suspicious of him for months and with the men in the police force finally working up the nerve to investigate Gothem’s leading henchman, Falcone, she’d uncovered a theory that pointed simultaneously at the notorious psychiatrist. Of course, the men in her force had refused to believe her, reminding her of Crane’s long history with the department and work to establish Gothem’s Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane: Arkham Asylum. But the real reason why Crane had never been investigated was because of his status in the department of justice, and it didn’t hurt that the man was charismatic. He knew how to work the system to get what he wanted. 

Jonathan Crane had a reputation of declaring criminals insane after mere minutes of deliberation, especially those who happened to work with or for Falcone. She’d been in charge of carrying out Falcone’s case and taking him to trial as a detective for the prosecution. After being put in jail, Falcone had managed to slash his wrists just enough to draw attention and a little bit of blood. He was immediately flagged for psychiatric evaluation, bringing Jonathan Crane once again into the basement interrogation rooms to administer an interview. When he clamored down the steps onto the basement floor, she was waiting for him by the door into Falcone’s interrogation room.  

“Dr. Crane,” she greeted him with a smile, drawing every ounce of her long lost theater-kid days into play. 

“Miss —,” he remembered her name and shook her hand with a serious glint in his blue eyes, covered by harsh rectangular glasses. His handshake was firm and strong, and he made eye contact that still shook her even after speaking with him so many times before. She didn’t let it show, however, and nodded towards the door. 

“He cut his wrists last night during the changing of the guard but we don’t know how he even got access to the weapon that he used; and I’ve spoken with him numerous time since we processed him and he’s never given me any reason to suspect that he was mentally unstable, but of course, you are the professional. It’s better that he be evaluated anyway-”

“In case anything were to happen,” he finished for me and clenched his jaw. He gave a curt nod of his head and went inside, shutting the door behind him and drawing the blinds on the door closed. She scoffed quietly beneath her breath and clenched her fists. Don’t be fooled by his good looks or superior smile, she told herself, Jonathan Crane was capable of things that she didn’t know of yet. He was not someone to admire, he was someone to distrust. 

After only ten minutes of quiet murmuring, she could hear clear and blood curdling screams through the door. She knocked on the door, “Dr. Crane?” She called through the door but it opened in her face before she could do anything. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair falling into his pale, angular face. 

“He’s definitely what I would classify as mentally unstable,” he chuckled calmly as he side-stepped her and closed the door. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed the glasses perched on his nose. “I can’t treat him here, I’ll need to move him to Arkham.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, more surprised than anything. He had started to walk down the hallway to the stairs when he turned around, stopping right in front of her face, his breath fanned across her face. 

“Are you questioning my diagnosis, detective?” He smirked, an underlying tone of warning below his wide-lipped smile. His blue eyes were unwavering as he studied her face, she swallowed to steady herself. 

“No, sir. Of course not.” She apologized and crossed her arms across her chest, ducking her head nervously. When she looked back up, his eyebrow was cocked. 

“Do I make you nervous, detective?” He smiled and she could tell he was setting a trap, attempting to make himself more likable, more trusting. As if he could be anything of the sort. She laughed lightly and met his eyes, holding his eye-contact defiantly. 

“No, sir.” She answered and he nodded. 

“Good day, Miss —.” He called with his back turned, walking to the stairs and climbing them quickly. She watched him leave and finally released a sigh of relief. There was something about him that unsettled her, but it was something that also attracted her with a devious strength, ripping factual and independent reasoning from her head. 

She had started following him when one of Falcone’s men had been moved to Arkham two weeks before. She switched her assignment for the day to escort the man to Arkham, getting a chance to see the asylum for herself. It was a large gothic building with a modern facade in the center of Gotham. The attendants at the door led the prisoner (or patient now) through the heavily guarded door into the hospital’s main ward that was closed to visitors. Even police or other officials had to obtain a special license that granted them clearance into the institution. The second time she’d stepped inside, she was following a few yards behind Crane, studying how he actually entered the building. They had a separate entrance for the asylum’s psychiatrists at the side of the building by the alley. She waited a few minutes for Crane to enter the building before she approached the guard stationed at the door and flashed her badge. He’d allowed her in but warned that he’d lose his job if he did it again. The next time she followed him, she would need a new method of entering the building, one that didn’t alert Crane that she was in the building in case he got suspicious. When she entered it was easier to blend in so she followed the maze of hallways until she reached a small hub with arrows guiding attendants to the different wards of the hospital. Dr. Crane’s office was included in the psychiatrist ward (funny they had their own ward). 

The psychiatrists each had their own labs, whether or not they used them was their own business, but she knew for sure that Crane used his but for what, she didn’t know. Walking down the hallway to his office, she peeked inside the wide panel of glass into his lab. He had one assistant who was copying his notes into a binder for Crane but quickly left when Crane shooed him away from the set of beakers and vials of powders he was working with. She flattened herself against the wall and pretended to answer a call on her phone as the assistant passed her in the hallway. She hurried to leave the institute, leaving through the same door she entered, thanking the security guard discreetly. 

This time as she watched Crane climb the stairs, she pulled aside a police officer and explained Falcone’s transfer. The officer nodded and left to initiate the transfer to Arkham, Falcone’s hysterical screams still audible through the thick steel door. Crane tugged at the starched collar of his shirt as he crossed the lobby of the police station, sighing in relief. Falcone had tried to corner him. Him! Falcone may have been powerful but he was stupid and Crane didn’t have patience for stupidity especially from someone who was supposed to be a criminal mastermind. News flash: he wasn’t. Falcone was sloppy and arrogant, he didn’t take his own threats seriously. He’d threatened to tell the police about Crane’s experimental drug concoctions but in reality, he still didn’t know the full extent of what Crane was planning to do to Gotham. 

“You don’t know anything,” Crane said pointedly, tired of Falcone’s attitude. 

“I know that half of the drugs we moved belong to you and the police still don’t know what they are or what they can do.” Falcone scratched his greasy nose. Crane almost laughed. He removed his glasses and sighed, reaching into his open briefcase. 

As soon as the words, “would you like to see my mask,” left his mouth, Falcone was done for. The only thing that had inspired a shred of panic for Crane was hearing the girl’s voice through the steel door, calling his name. He expected her to open the door and see his mask, and while he had an explanation that a normal officer would believe, he knew that she was different. He didn’t trust her but something about her made him laugh. She was good looking and smart but too invested in his work and he didn’t like that. He’d have to keep an eye on the young detective, Miss —. In fact, he’d like to strap her down… hide her away in his asylum and play with her head like he did with his other playthings - - - oops - - - patients. Same thing.

ii 

She pretended that her plan was straightforward, it was the only way that she could convince herself to go through with it. No one else in her department would have had the balls to sneak into the asylum where once you went in, you may not be able to leave, that is- if Dr. Crane diagnosed you accordingly. She left a note on her desk in her office, explaining where she was going and the evidence she had already collected. Photos, “destroyed” medical records, and recent missing shipments from cargo ships including one micro-wave machine meant for warfare. She made copies of everything and hid them away in a special box directed to the only person she really trusted in her department, Sgt. Gordon. Even if someone dumped the notes on her desk, Sgt. Gordon would find the box of evidence, she knew. Falcone had been transferred the day before and was nearing his second night in the institution, now was her time to investigate what he was planning to do to him and why. 

She stashed a small knife at her thigh, having learned that a woman had to carry multiple weapons in this city if she wanted to protect herself, which unfortunately, happened often. She checked her weapon and put it in her holster at the small of her back. She was wearing a gray quarter length top tucked into a black skirt. She pulled on her straight black leather coat and closed the door to her office, locking the door. She knew that Crane would be in his office, he almost never went home, and with Falcone there and at risk to disclose sensitive information, he would be sure to stay close by. 

The sun had already set hours before when she approached Arkham Asylum. Each window was bright with light but it didn’t make the building any more welcoming. She shivered as she approached the side door, seeing a different security guard at the door. He stood when she approached, not recognizing her.  

“Stand down, officer. I’m detective — on police business,” she showed him her badge.

“You’ll have to check in at the front, detective.” The officer sat back down with a nod. 

“My business here is strictly confidential; Dr. Crane said I could enter in this way.” She pointed at the side door and the officer looked nervously at her. He reached for his walkie-talkie. 

“I’m here about Falcone. I am the detective assigned to his case, he was transferred here two days ago. I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Crane about some of the things Falcone has said during his initial treatment. Because of the sensitivity of Falcone’s case in the department, as I’m sure you know, the department has asked that we keep this confidential. No one inside can know that I was here to meet about Falcone. We haven’t told the public yet that he’s been transferred here. Your compliance is necessary for this.” She lied out of her ass but the officer nodded slowly when she finished, his eyes widening at the mention of Falcone’s name. 

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry for delaying you. It’s just business.” 

“I understand completely, thank you officer.” She smiled kindly as the officer scanned her in. Once she was inside she hid her police badge and followed the path she had scouted days before, following the black arrows to the psychiatrist ward (again, funny that they had their own ward- almost as if they were patients themselves). Her black mary janes squeaked quietly as she finally turned onto the hallway where Dr. Crane’s office was located. A row of fluorescent bulbs flickered ominously and she rolled her eyes, silently cursing the asylum for its additional eeriness. His lab was empty and dark and his office was empty though the lights were still on. An assistant passed her, coming from a different lab with a pile of boxes in her arms. 

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Crane is right now?” She asked the assistant who shuffled the boxes in her arms to answer. 

“I saw him in the ward with the new transfer patients just before I picked these up, so he’s probably about to start a sit-down with a patient. Do you have an appointment with him?” She asked curiously, knowing it was too late for a business meeting. 

“No, I work in the office and I was going to request a few files to finish a transfer of a patient but it seems that he’s busy. I’ll try tomorrow morning. Thank you!” She smiled and the assistant nodded. 

“Have a nice night,” the assistant hurried off down the corridor into the hub. She wasted no time in checking the door to Crane’s office which was miraculously unlocked. She hurried inside and closed the door, making sure that she left everything as she had found it. The door to the lab was located inside Crane’s office, so she entered the lab through the office. The blinds were closed to the outside so she opened the flashlight on her phone and scanned the dark lab tables for the powders she had seen before. The room smelled heavily of chemicals and cleaning solution and it was hard to breathe normally already because she was nervous. The first table was empty of anything but the second was set up for what looked to be his next round of testing. A box that looked like a closed mouse trap was set up on the table. There was a single switch on the top of the box which she knew better than to turn but she examined it nonetheless, hoping to see what it may contain. A tray of petri dishes full of powder sat beside it. Each was marked with a different series of numbers and letters, denoting their different status, she assumed. She recognized the series on one of the dishes: F7jw009. The number had appeared on the list of drugs recovered from Falcone’s drug transport. It was one that hadn’t yet been tested to see what it was composed of. She didn’t recognize the two other dishes but she assumed the powder and the mousetrap device were used for the same thing.

There was a small bookcase attached to the base of the lab table and she crouched, scanning the spines. The books on the top, free of dust, were on phobias. A bound scientific paper on the chemical structure of fear sat on top of the textbooks. She picked it up and flipped through the pages, noticing strokes of pen and notes on many of the pages. In the centerfold of the paper, she saw a picture of a cartoon scarecrow, one from a halloween decoration. It looked like it had been ripped from a kid’s storybook. She stared at the picture, struggling to place where she had heard about a scarecrow before in the precinct… she flipped farther through the pages and landed on a second photo shoved between the pages. It was a drawing of a mask made of burlap. The mask resembled a scarecrow’s face, she furrowed her eyebrows, more uneasy. Finally, she flipped to the very end where she found a clear note detailing what Crane thought the synopsis of the paper had been: 

Fear can be constructed using a series of complex compounds and put into an admissible form. They have already invented serums that temporarily remove the presence of fear by blocking certain receptors in the brain that receive signals of distress or pain. By doing the very opposite, temporarily numbing the receptors that calm the nervous system when danger has been averted, fight or flight is heightened and the human mind is more susceptible to the suggestion of danger and terror. Fear merely needs to be suggested to elicit a response after the brain is prepped for the reaction. Fear can be weaponized. Building the compounds of fear into a powder, the drug can be administered immediately into the air and receive a simultaneous reaction. Pills? Water? How can we distribute this powder? What is the easiest way to administer fear to the entire population? 

iii 

The distinct click of a door opening and closing shocked her back to attention. She put the bound paper back onto the shelf and switched off the light on her phone. In the dark she scrambled into a hidden alcove inside the lab behind one of the hooded chemical boxes. She was pretty sure that the lab’s closet would be shared with the lab next door but she couldn’t remember which side of the room it was on. Dr. Crane had gone into his office and removed his suit jacket. He was too excited by Falcone’s reaction to his fear serum in powder form and he needed to get a handle on himself. It was nearly midnight when he checked his watch. Most of his colleagues would be gone by now, just the night staff remained to look after the patients. Night was the perfect time to work undisturbed in his lab, especially because his assistant couldn’t know the full extent of his research into the chemical compounds of human fear. He slipped his coat over the back of his desk chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. 

He exhaled slowly and removed a stack of papers from his desk, flipping through them as he opened the door into his lab and kicked the door closed with the heel of his shoe. His elbow flicked on the lightswitch and he spread out the papers on the first lab table, seemingly absorbed by the chemical structures his assistant had prepared for him to review. He scribbled a note in red pen on the corner of the document, berating his assistant for his obvious mistake with one of the compound structures. What was this? High school chemistry class? He licked his thumb and turned the page, writing another note in the margin. 

“I know you’re here, Miss —.” He smiled, not looking up from his notes. He tossed the first set of pages further down the table and moved to the next one. “You and your perfume… I can always tell where you’ve been by your scent. I don’t think you’re naive enough to wear perfume in your field, especially when on your little jaunts into other people’s business. So, the lovely smell is from your shampoo, I venture. You use an expensive brand of shampoo because you think that your hair is your best attribute, and I agree, it's one of the best. Your job makes you feel dirty too, doesn’t it? This city makes you feel dirty and so you wash your hair every night with the same sulfate-free shampoo to get the smell of our city out of your system. Your shampoo smells like mint and you like it the best because it makes your head feel cleaner, tingly,” he laughed and moved to the next stack of stapled papers. “And that’s why you chose this job, a detective, because you feel like you’re cleaning up our streets; removing all of the bad blood of Gotham but it’s been a disappointment to say the least. The system is backwards, though you knew that from the beginning, you thought you could fix it. You want things to be right and I don’t blame you, so do I.” 

Dr. Crane finished writing a note on the last paper and capped the pen. He circled the table once before moving to the second table. 

“I’m cleaning the city in my own way, I guess you could say. This city needs a restart button, a way to begin everything again and start fresh. Fear can do that, fear can be controlled and it controls.” 

She could barely breathe, her back was pressed against the wall of his lab. She was scared and she knew that he knew. Fear was his thing, his kink and she anticipated the absolute worst as she waited out her fate, wondering how long it would take for him to find her or if she could manage to escape. 

“This machine can diffuse the compounded form of fear. I’ve used it on most of your suspects, all of them Faclone’s men. I even used it on Falcone himself. Oh, I wish you could have seen his face! The second the powder entered his system he abandoned the arrogant criminal persona, he reverted back to who he was at his very core. He was suddenly controllable and easy to manage. So you see how this could be used to clean up Gotham. It’s a way to seize back control of our city, take it away from the people who run it now; the sycophants and billionaires.” 

Crane pulled a needle from the drawer at his hip and flicked the glass tube. Her chest rose and fell in a state of panic. Dr. Crane leaned against the counter calmly. 

“That’s why you like me. I’m clean. I’m orderly and smart. I’m the opposite of the criminal justice system that reminds you of this dirty city. And, Y/N, that’s why I like you.”

She tensed at his use of her first name. She’d never heard him use it before and it sent a chill down her spine. She reached for her gun. Dr. Crane rounded the corner and stabbed the needle into her neck, pushing the tranquilizer into her bloodstream. She wobbled before slumping back against the wall. She managed to push past him and run for the office door but the drugs worked almost immediately and her legs began to go numb. She couldn’t feel anything below her waist and she worried that he would break her legs running without being able to feel which bones she was using to get away. She collapsed on the floor of the lab and looked up at Dr. Crane who smiled down at her, his hair disheveled. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed and crouched at her feet, “I applaud you for your efforts. You may have succeeded had I not recognized the smell of your shampoo. I know you’ve been here before. You’re a smart girl but I won this game, and the victor gets the spoils. That’s how it works, Miss —.” He crawled over her and pulled the needle from her neck. She didn’t even feel it. Her hair that he loved so much was fanned out on the floor, falling in loose curls. He twirled a curl between his fingers and nodded approvingly. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect. Afterall, you are my colleague, of sorts,” he shrugged and stood up, straddling her. “It’s a pity that you became a detective. You would have done well in this bloodthirsty field because,” he disappeared for a moment and returned with a set of keys which he slipped into his front pocket, “you’re like me.” 

He pulled her up and put one of her arms around his shoulder, supporting the brunt of her weight that way. Though he was small and lanky, he was muscular and strong. He dragged her through the door in his lab that connected to a separate room that she hadn’t even noticed. He flipped the light switch with his elbow and sighed with pleasure when the room was lit up with light. 

“Here it is. This is where the real fun happens, Y/N. This is where I test my new treatments on our most psychotic patients. Falcone will be here soon, perhaps tomorrow once you and I finish our discussion.” The room was smaller than the lab and housed what looked like a mortuary slab. She tried to scream but her mouth was numb. He dragged her to the table and lifted her onto the flat surface. The numerous straps he buckled around her waist, her wrists, and her feet. When she was secured onto his table, he pushed a peddle at his foot which titled the table forward, propping her more upright. 

“Ah, and now I can finally see you,” Dr. Crane smiled and moved her hair so that it was caught behind her back. He straightened her hair against her chest, running his fingers through the strands. He moved a stool in front of the table and sat on it, his legs spread and his arms across against his chest. “Do I make you nervous now, detective?” He smirked and chuckled darkly when she couldn’t respond. “It will wear off soon. It’s one of those doses that act quickly but then wear off just as quickly. I wouldn’t do anything to you while you were in this state. What kind of man would I be if I did that?” 

He watched her for a few minutes, his bright blue eyes trailing up and down her body. She knew what that look meant from men. Her gun was so close and yet she knew she wouldn't be able to reach it even when she regained control over her body. While he waited, he arranged numerous tools and vials around the room, humming softly to himself. She could feel herself starting to get feeling back in her stomach as the blood recirculated from her heart. Her hands and her feet took the longest to twitch awake. She dropped her head from left to right, groaning in the absence of words. Dr. Crane came back and checked her pulse, pinching her wrist and counting the seconds on his watch. 

“Good girl, you’re coming back. Can you speak yet?” He supported her chin with his hand and when she didn’t answer he nodded. “That’s all right. You’re all right.” He soothed her and she couldn’t help but relax as his eyes checked over her. “Now, Miss —, where are your weapons?” He posed the question theoretically and touched her, she flinched beneath his hands. He felt around her waist and inside her jacket. “There aren’t many places to hide it.” He whispered and wrapped his hands around her waist, finding the gun at the small of her back. “Ah, here it is.” He smiled as he took the gun from its holster and tossed it onto a small lab table. “You have something else, don’t you. You’re smart so of course, you have a second weapon.”  He licked his lips, thinking but it didn’t take him long to trail his hands up her thighs, glancing up into her eyes as he did. Her skirt rose as he felt below it and soon, his fingers were on top of the knife’s handle. 

“What do we have here?” He lifted her skirt, showing the knife’s hiding place at the top of her thigh. “This is honestly almost funny so forgive me if I laugh.” He ripped the knife from the holster and she cried out as much as she could, terrified by his quick movement. He let her skirt fall back into place and twirled the knife in his hand, examining the small blade. “You’ve just made my night so much more interesting, Miss —.” He smirked darkly. 

iv 

She finally regained her ability to speak though her words were jumbled and hard to get out around her tongue.

“Use your words, honey.” Dr. Crane frowned frustratedly. 

“Please…” she managed, “don’t… hurt… me.” She pushed the words out and he listened carefully. 

“Oh but it’s so hard to resist when you so willingly came here and with your own weapons. Can you see how this might be hard for me?” He furrowed his brow as he spoke and she couldn’t tell what was sarcasm and what was real. 

“It was nothing personal… I had a job to do.” She whispered weakly and he cocked his head, his lips parted. 

“You know it's funny because Falcone’s men all said the same thing. I know you didn’t work with them… but I can make it look like you did.” He whispered close to her face and her chest clenched with fear. “I can do whatever I want, do you understand? I have the power to say that you checked yourself in and I evaluated you. I found you on the verge of a psychotic breakdown because we all know you were already prone to hysterics. But your office shouldn’t worry because I’ll be your psychiatrist. And so what if you happen to disappear- go missing? No one comes in here, except for you, and that was stupid.” 

“You might die tonight, detective. I’m sorry to say it because you are one of the most attractive women I have met in Gotham and I fear that you have ruined our chances of continuing this to a second date.” He studied the curvature of her clavicle as it dipped above her sternum. Not knowing what else to do, she kissed him. Dr. Crane stiffened as her lips met his. He pulled away, stopping short a few inches from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“If I’m going to die, I might as well make the most of it,” she shrugged and kissed him again, her head leaning as far forward as she could reach. She hoped that she sounded truthful enough. He pulled away again and stared at her, his forehead creased as he watched her. She panted softly, straining against her restraints. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest had broken out into hives from the stress. Fear made her even more beautiful. Going against his better judgment, he leaned forward into her and kissed her hesitantly. Slowly, he began to kiss her more aggressively, his tongue dragging against the roof of her mouth before he captured her top lip in a deep kiss. Her hands instinctively went to reach for his hair but they snapped back against the table. He broke away, panting, and took a few steps back, resting his back against the wall. 

“I don’t trust you,” he put his hands on his hips, still holding the knife. 

“What can I do, Jonathan?” She tried using his first name and he raised an eyebrow again, “I can’t move, no one can hear me scream, you’re going to kill me… what reason is there left to trust me? So, either kiss me or go ahead and kill me.” She nearly cried, overwhelmed and terrified. Her plan had been to seduce him, to use most men’s fatal flaw against him, but she worried that it wouldn’t work with Dr. Jonathan Crane. In a way, she had planned for this. The evidence was back in her office waiting to be discovered. She hadn’t gotten a chance to take pictures of the lab but maybe depending on how far he went with this, she could get away. But God, even though she was terrified and held on a slab against her will, he was beautiful. He was looking at her with his aquamarine eyes, his black hair gelled and falling around his face. Even his glasses looked perfect on his face. 

“Jonathan…” she started with a shakily voice, “despite why I came today and what you’ve told me about what you want to do to Gotham, right now, more than anything, I want you to come here and kiss me because while I may hate you and you may be the cause of my death, I want you. Give me some comfort if you’re going to take everything away from me.” 

“Freud would have some things to say about you, Y/N.” He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and studied the edge of the knife. “Your psychology is so interesting,” he flicked his eyes up to her’s and set the knife down on the table. “To study you…” he trailed off as he loosened his tie and ripped it from his neck. He approached her, standing far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her mouth. She exhaled, waiting. “I almost studied anatomy,” he pushed a hand against her navel, holding her even more in place. 

“Why didn’t you?” She whispered. 

“I loved the human mind too much to abandon it,” he smiled and drew a hand up her thigh. Her muscles spasmed beneath his hand. He leaned in against her ear, “I know you’re scared of me,” he whispered calmly, “and isn’t that incredible? That you can be so afraid of something that you want so much?” His hand pulled down her underwear and it stretched between her open thighs, held apart by the restraints. His hand went further still, gently tracing the folds of her labia. She knew that she was wet and it embarrassed her, though she knew it helped confirm her story that she wanted him, he didn’t seem to care either way. His thumb rubbed her clit as he slowly inserted his middle finger into her, pushing past the initial resistance. She always hated fingering because it didn’t feel like how people pretended it did. That being said, she sighed as he gently inserted a second finger and pulled against the top of her cunt, fingering her slowly. 

“The body holds fear because our bodies hold memories,” he explained as he pressed her clit harder. “I can find what really scares you and I can fix it.” 

“I’m scared of you,” she whispered, her breath escaping in a sharp pant. 

“I can fix that.” 

He pulled his fingers out of her and held her neck still against the table as he kissed her. The sense of urgency to fight and escape melted into an afterthought when the back of his hand slid slowly down one side of her neck, making the tendons flex. He held her neck still as he kissed down to her collarbones, licking their shelves and tracing the bone with his tongue. His free hand groped her breast over her tight shirt and then surrounded her waist. She started shifting her hips back and forth, wishing that she had something between them to relieve the pressure she felt. He smiled against her skin and clicked his tongue, pulling away from her. He pressed the pedal again with his foot and the table reclined once again as it had been. He climbed onto the table and sat above her on his knees, looking down at her as she panted. 

“Look at me,” he told her and made sure that her eyes met his. “I have no plans to kill you tonight and I know this act is solely for the benefit of your own survival. But knowing that I will not kill you, would you like to change your mind?” He put both hands around her waist, showing the pale flesh of his forearms. She tried to weigh her options, she tried to think clearly but it all felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real enough to have consequences, so she shook her head and licked her lips quickly.

“No, keep going.” She whispered, “please.” Dr. Crane chuckled lightly and trailed his fingers down to her ankles. 

“In that case, would you like to see my mask?” He smiled darkly, teasing her. 

“No, I want to see your face.” She answered calmly and he nodded. 

“Fine.” He removed the restraints around her ankles. He took the knife from the table and cut away her underwear with one strong swipe of the blade. She gasped and he smirked, “I’m a doctor, remember? I know how to use a knife, detective.” 

He put the knife aside and pulled her knees up, sitting between them. He unbuckled his pants and withdrew his erection, glistening with precum. He guided himself into her with his hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She gasped again as he entered her. He rocked his hips slowly back and forth and groaned, watching her mouth open in a silent moan. She raised her knees higher, closer to her chest, giving him a better angle at which to fuck her. His hands pressed against her stomach and his thrusts became faster as his body began to learn hers. 

“You’re getting wetter,” he observed with a sly smile, “I must be doing something right.” He teased her as he started to rub her clit with his thumb, the rest of his hand pressed against her uterus. She couldn’t even speak. It had been months since she’d last had sex and even then, it wasn’t good sex. “I’m going to go harder but you can take it,” he told her matter of factly and placed either hand by her hips on the table. Leaning forward he shifted his hips slowly but harder, going deeper without much care for how her body adapted to the thrusts. “There you go,” he grunted as his hips bucked rhythmically into hers. She cried out, her body sliding up and down against the table, hot with her perspiration. Holding onto the top of the table, he moved farther up, pushing more inside of her, and started thrusting fast. He was suddenly in so deep and only backing away a few inches before snapping back in. Her hips bounced off of his and she gripped the excess material around her wrists to help her stay stationary. 

“Slow… God, please! Slow down… its so much, fuck.” She whimpered and smiled down at her face, flushed and angry with red. He slowed his hips, squeezing his glutes together whenever he thrusted inside. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, still rocking in and out of her. Her body shuttered from the high and started to build a more even climax. She hummed against his lips, her voicing getting higher as she started to orgasm. 

“And here comes the orgasm,” Jonathan smiled and sped up slightly, leaving hickies up and down her neck. She orgasmed with a shuttering cry that she couldn’t cover with her hand, but he didn’t let her finish there. “Fuck, you got so tight again.” He groaned as she panted, her system overwhelmed with waves of pleasure and exertion. She started to tighten further around him as her thighs squeezed his hips. Her breath left her lungs in short pants and she moaned beneath him like a pitiful creature. “Are you cumming again?” He laughed and stroked her cheek. She nodded weakly and he kissed her again briefly. 

“Its so tight, fuck. I won’t last much longer like this.” He took her hips in his hands and started a steady rhythm, pulling her hips onto his cock and thrusting at the same time. She came around him and he groaned animalistically, his thrusts becoming more sporadic and needy. He watched her breasts bounce inside her shirt and how he slid in and out of her, her cum collecting at the base of his shaft. Finishing with fast, desperate movements, he moaned loudly. She felt him finish inside her and it felt almost better than if she had finished herself. He pulled down her bottom lip with his thumb and admired her fucked-out face. Her pupils were shot and she shook slightly from the high. Finally, he pulled out and stuffed himself back into his pants. He sighed as he straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. He took the gun and the knife and stuffed them both into a drawer and locked it with a set of keys from his pocket. They stared at each other for a while until Jonathan broke the silence, clearing his throat. 

“You’re coming home with me tonight, Miss —. We’ll decide what to do with you later.” 

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #fanfiction #cillian fanfic #smut #peaky blinders #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfic #hot scarecrow #young cillian murphy #dc scarecrow #jonathan crane

[vagabond-umlaut]

Year In Review 2023

Inspired by this post by the lovely Bloomy [@bloompompom] to list my favourites from the stories I've written, 'cause YES. Self-love is one of the best forms of love. And there's no better way to start a new year than by giving that amazing person in our reflection a well-earned pat on the back and a genuine compliment. 😊❤️

⁕ skew lines

This was the 1st full-fledged oneshot I wrote here. And honestly, I'm in love with the way I executed the plot and expressed the many emotions of the characters here. I read this to motivate myself whenever I fall into a writing slump, no jokes.

⁕ paper planes

This was a simple way of expressing just how much I adore the idea of raising the two cutest angels in the world, 'Miki and 'Gumi, along with Satoru... An extremely self-indulgent piece, I admit. Teeheehee.

⁕ BTS: BEHOLD THE SCREEN

I love SMAUs. I love 'Toru x Shortie even more. Need I say anything more? HEHE.

⁕ One Day, Three Autumns

This series haunts me every day and night. I had never shown the courage to deal with complicated emotions and complicated characters before I started this. But now, I feel so happy with myself, I decided to take the plunge and give it my all. It is my best work in my eyes till date.

⁕ six seeds, like rubies...

One of my shortest writings, but one of my most cherished ones for sure. I love the archaic and poetic quality this work carries, besides the fact it heralded the beginning of my feelings for the feared yet so dear King of Curses.

⁕ cauterize; cicatrize

The innumerable ideas and myriad possibilities this story gives rise to in my brain earns it a spot on this list. I cannot wait to write more for this particular version of the King of Curses & his Queen in the new year!

⁕ tv taught me how to feel; now real life has no appeal

I wrote 4.3k in less than a day. Taking only two breaks. Can you imagine? Yeah, no. Nor can I, honestly. But I really did. And this made my self-confidence increase so much for real!!

⁕ JJK Historical AU ✨✨

I like it for what it is today; I'm certain I shall love it for what it will be tomorrow.

And last but definitely not the least— Thank you so so much to all those who have read my stories. And/Or have interacted with them. I cannot express adequately how much I love and appreciate every one of you wonderful people, my loves. Thank you so very much once again. Wishing you all a marvellous New Year 2024 ahead! 😊😊❤️❤️

This cute divider is by @benkeibear.

Mentioning those who I've annoyed so much this year & hope to annoy even more in the future days: @pupkashi, @heresan, @javarium, @avatarofstars, @manjibunny, @nanamikentoseyebags, @saenora, @nkogneatho, @satocidal, @thefallofruins, @roseqzpd, @poe-daydreams, @yuujispinkhair, @seeingivy, @satoruhour, @tender-rosiey, @konigbabe, @dellalyra, @ritsatoru, @4sat0ruu, @strawberrystepmom, @guccirosegold + many others whom I cannot remember right now but please know, I love y'all so much! *MWAH MWAH MWAH* 🥰🥰🥰

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kit posts 📝

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Heart and Alchemical Womb-Centered Grounded Spirituality and Leadership From The Melody of Love, Pre-View

We are in the middle of an incredibly important shift in consciousness, a real transformative time and turning of the Ages. In this new era, we either ascend or face the consequences—this is grown woman speech here.

Humanity gets to decide whether we journey towards truth, meaning increase our value so that we can ascend with Mother Earth and create what is termed “The New Earth” or stay on the path of violence, pillaging, materialism, domination, individualism, competition, sex trafficking, and senseless destruction. This world needs its Mother. Bring love, but also bring her a machete, meaning—some level of destruction and death are always necessary, but the senseless destruction, death, and complete disregard for human life are harmful to the bodies and psyches us all.

This paradigm shift requires a certain type of woman, female bodied person, or feminine soul; one who recognises the isolation, pain and destructiveness of the old ways, is ready to carve out paths to the new ways, and acknowledges the sacredness of being on this incredibly loving and rigorous journey of full aliveness within our body. If you are reading my work, I believe this woman is you and you deserve a vibrant body and lively life because you need to be in a space of full power in order to release your unique gifts. More than ever, we need courageous way showers like you who are not afraid to do their own internal and external ‘work’ in order to remain steady and grounded in the face of present and future chaos and who will continue to shine the brightest wettest light and hold space for others, no matter what. I call this archetypal frequency in female form the lover-warrior. We deeply need to love. But also need to remember how to fight..spiritually. Because when we understand who we really are, then we can favorably shift the reality, our own individual reality and the collective one. That's how powerful the feminine is.

As womb holders, even if our wombs have been surgically removed, energetically our wombs are still present and available which means that we have access to the grandest intelligence: the ability to feel… deeply. We can intuit next step directions and solutions that do not look like those same old archaic solutions.  That’s because we are natural born leaders and if you study human behavior and psychology objectively, you will realize how women have always been leaders. Males are generally and wonderfully physically stronger but females are mentally, psychically, and spiritually superior which makes us natural leaders. I do want to be clear— I’m not talking about status quo women. I am talking about awakened women. We are experiencing the results of a world built and run by men--and we have to be honest about that without ego. And men, especially, have to be more honest about what's happening. We are not to be at odds with one other or we all lose this game.

We live this robotic, unnatural, anti-nature, anti-care system that was designed by males for the wellbeing of men. . We may be female but our bodies are living in a male energy system and the result of it has been exhaustion, lack of fulfillment, burnout, heavy monthly bleed times, an increase in infertility and other female reproductive chronic issues, and the like. Everything about life, including the structure of marriage, how a typical work week is organized, the 9-5 Monday-Friday toxicity, exhausts women but gives men more energy, status, and power. As a woman of African ancestry who feels deeply connected to many parts of the global world, I always found it fascinating that even though men were out front acting as "leaders," it was the African wives behind the scenes giving direction and counsel to their husbands while holding a baby in one arm and stirring a homemade pot of stew with the other one. Any African woman knows this to be true. But the continent of Africa has massive issues and shadows, as does the rest of the entire world. The lack of true feminine energy present on the planet is making us all unwell and the earth will kick us out of here if we don’t discover better ways to align. I know women want to hear that men are the saviors just like what we read in Disney books. We fall asleep then are magically awakened by our Prince Charming who awakens us from our ignorant sleepy frequency. But, my love, these were all deliberate programs planted into the psyches of little girls that bankrupted us of our real power. Primal power.

We were lied to and all must deprogram from the scarcity, greed, and lack neurology we learned as little girls so that we can have full access to our intelligent alchemical natures and female resources to live more as magical women, divine beings, fulfilled wives/spouses, daughters, nieces, and mothers and less needy, victims, or prey.  We must get to know our feet, our calves, our legs, our hips, our pelvises, our asses, our spines, our bellies, breasts, throats, mouths, etc. Women/female bodied people are leaders (and the first teachers and healers as well) who will always give birth to new leaders no matter what. We are the ones divinely designed to midwife the New Earth through the magic of our frequency, vibration, thoughts, beliefs, and habits/action terrestrially and cosmically, and sometimes while in the embrace of a mature lover which can beautifully be a man (or not). But having a man, being with a man, in the way it is being falsely taught in male-centered women spaces online is never required and easily can separate you from the truth of your full aliveness -mainly because you are living through the programming and script and not fully conscious and accessing your entire body and its potential. And when you do, you can easily trigger a male’s fragile ego.

Ma’am, I’m going deep and wide in this book series—no tip-toeing around. A book series of love that isn't fluffy and is willing to tell the whole truth.

India Ame'ye, Author mmm-inbreath!

[cherubispunk]

NEPHILIM (series masterlist) - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there.

a note from Lucy: biblical imagry, canibalism as a mataphor, animal imagry, joels stiff upper lip, mutual pining, two grown adults being bloody cowards!!! It's all fucking crack cocaine to me. So...enjoy two iditos in love. All parts are in chronological order.

playlist

NEPHILIM: BAMBI

w/c: 1563 | angst, fluff

summary: when does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n but reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, no physical description of reader apart from ‘long lashes’, brief descriptions of injury and blood, religious imagery, use of guns/ being taught to shoot, me not remembering how to shoot even though I was taught how to so there may be inaccuracies lolsies, Joel is a little bit of a dick but it’s only because he cares!

NEPHILIM

w/c: 2498 | angst, smut

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

NEPHILIM: THE FALLEN | POEM

wc: 2755 | angst, fluff?, smut

summary: fallen or damned? who's to tell when it's joel miller

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, yearning, idiots in love, angst angst angst!!!!!!, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, oral sex (m! receiving), rough oral sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit) - Lucy crying over a bloody google doc :)

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #nephilim #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miler #joel miller fanfic #joel the last of us

[jbaileyfansite]

Meet one of the artists, disruptors, educators, groundbreakers, innovators, and storytellers who all helped make the world a better place for LGBTQ+ people.

Whether he is starring as Lord Anthony Bridgerton on Bridgerton, Tim Laughlin on Fellow Travelers, or Fiyero in the upcoming Wicked movies, Jonathan Bailey is one of the most popular and sought-after actors of our time. But despite his credits playing a wide variety of characters, the largest obstacle he still had to face in 2023 is the “endless, tedious, and archaic commentary that playing gay can capsize a man’s career.”

For both his career and personal life, Bailey is on a mission to continue to make space. “As some of us have stepped into a golden age of progress and representation, let’s remember to look back and make space for those who are yet to be elevated in their privilege,” he says. “Send us brilliant scripts and ideas in which we can support stories of our Black, brown, trans, gender-bent, and underrepresented community members. If I can help get an important story made, I will.”

Speaking of looking back, Bailey is incredibly proud to “help bring an important new queer story to screen. One that I know I would have devoured and cherished had I not been a part of it.”

Beginning with the McCarthyism of the 1950s, Fellow Travelers tells a love story between men that spans several decades and tackles the new obstacles that came with each of them.

“We are benefactors of the battles of our queer ancestors of all races and gender identities, so we must continue to fight for everyone on our Pride flag. I believe wholeheartedly that this concept works across all industries. If we keep wrestling to make space for others, our complicated, sensitive, sexy community will remain as unified, generous, and fearless as possible. United.”

Jonathan Bailey being one of the Out100 Innovators of 2023 [x]

#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #out100 #out100 interview #interviews:2023 #fellow travelers #out magazine 2023 #jonathanbailey #lgbtqplus #lgbtq #lgbtq+ #interviews #NEW!

[earlgreytea68]

The timing of "From Now On We Are Enemies" is epic, of course: stuck on a greatest hits compilation when it looks like your band is over, broken up, done, boom.

The lyrics of "From Now On We Are Enemies" are some of Pete's most brutally sardonic lyrics, like, I know they are this is a song about Amadeus but I NEVER LISTEN TO WHAT THEY SAY lol and I believe them that Pete wanted a song that felt like Amadeus (and it does, just the use of that slightly archaic word "rejoice" helps to set that scene) but it is very hard to read "A composer but never composed / singing the symphonies of the overdosed" as being about Amadeus, like the composer who sings is...Patrick. It's just Patrick. That's the composer who sings the symphonies of the overdosed. IT'S SO SPOT-ON hahaha which his lyrics almost never are so very on-the-nose that it's almost like they HAD to say it was about Amadeus. And there are so many enduring Pete themes in the lyrics, in ways that feels so unrelievedly harsh: Nobody will ever remember me (think, e.g., the end of "Flu Game"), I was just a kid and too young for all of this (think, e.g., "the kid was alright but it went to his head"), "a downward spiral, just a pirouette" (think, e.g., "I'm every cliche but I simply do it best"). (And, of course, "fall to your knees," which...that's all over Pete's lyrics lol I won't get into all that right now.)

So anyway, there's the lyrics and the timing, knowing that a song with those lyrics showed up just as he was losing his band: I only want what I can't have, over and over and over again throughout the song. But then:

The title. Just the title of this song. It's just so delicious. What a Pete Wentz move. Because on its surface, it's, like, devastating. To title a song with these lyrics and that timing feels like a gut punch, like stealing your breath away with the painful tragedy of it all. "From now on, WE are enemies." But. BUT. The line in the movie is said to God. The enemy is God. It's just so layered, that Pete was never saying his band was the enemy, the enemy was the stuff outside of their control.

And now, in the year 2023, Patrick can sing this song -- this particular song with this title and these lyrics and that timing -- and he can sing his heart out over I only want what I can't have, and you know what? None of it is true anymore. They overcame all of the forces outside of their control and here they are, on stage together, rejoicing.

Surely falling to their knees will shortly follow lol

#fall out boy #fob

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Ive been thinking about this, am I the only one whos kinda bothered when people say that ACOTAR was medieval aesthically while ACOMAF and onward are regency era/elizabethan/victorian/some other english time period? Like, again, im no history expert and this is all primarily vibes based, but the way I see it, the world of ACOTAR was already very aesthetically victorian, both the human and the fae part of it. Like, when Feyre leaves shes given this impractical dress with thin gloves and silly small hat, I dont know if she was wearing a corset which is like The thing that people think of when they think of that time period, but regardless, the vibes were all there, same goes for her sisters and their new mansion. And then in the fae world its like, Tamlin is living in a manor house, thats not exactly what I think of when I think of medieval times yknow. Honestly, I think when people say that ACOTAR felt more medieval while ACOMAF feels victorian, what theyre actually trying to express is the loss of whimsy between books, but that doesnt really have anything to do with the time-period its vaguely set in. The way I see it, Feyre was experiencing the victorian countryside lifestyle with tamlin and now that shes living with rhys shes experiencing the victorian city lifestyle, like the spring court and the night court are really not that different imo, except the way the spring court does the tithe is oddly medieval but I know that doylistically thats just to make Tamlin look backwards and archaic in comparison to Rhysand so I dont really feel like engaging with that on a deeper in-uinverse level if Im being honest

I will say that the men's clothes in both the SC and the NC do seem very medieval, but its like, 'commoner' medieval. Like, theyre just wearing normal ass pants that look like modern pants and then a shirt and then a garment thats kinda like a vest but it has a diffrent name, I dont remember what it is in english but in german its called Tunika. I bet they dont even wear stockings under their stupid modern pants! And its so annoying because its like, bro theyre monarchs, the monarchy is all about keeping up appearances and displaying their wealth whenever they can and stupid symbolism, thats why court clothing has historically slayed so hard, and here come these bozos, again, probably not even wearing stockings to emphasise their supple calves (although thats admittedly more 17th or 18th century iirc). And for Tamlin it atleast makes sense for his character, but we're told that Rhysand ascended to the throne when he was pretty young and that he actually wanted that unlike Tamlin, thats one of the reasons why hes sooooo much better supposedly, so how come he dresses like Tamlins slightly more goth cousin??

And what kills me even more is that I think actual 19th century european court clothes would suit Rhysand so well, like you know that style of suit with the shoulder pads with those weird little dangly strings, it has a kinda militaristic vibe and its often worn with a sash and a bunch of medals? Cmon, Rhys would absolutely slay that and it would fit his personality too. whatever, does he atleast wear something cool for Starfall? or for when he goes to reanact Feyre's sexual assault in the court of nightmares? Or is he just wearing that one fucking tunic thats just black but it has silverthreads worked into the fabric for thise scenes?? whatever, its midnight I gotta stop rambling about this shit and go to bed good nightttt

#miscellaneous acotar thoughts #anti rhysand #for his crimes against fashion

[astrum-aetherium]

What do you think Henry whispered in Camilla's ear at the end? It's a moment that really stuck with me somehow and I love hearing theories about it

what can possibly be more personal, more ponderous and intimate than i love you?

i'm sure this is something everyone who has read TSH has previously wondered about. i know i have. what i also know is that the most common theory is "live forever", and yes — it would make sense, given that henry is undeniably a devoted little teacher's pet to julian, but it does seem a little melodramatic to me (specifically because julian did abandon them all in the end as well, lol). henry going out with a bang (literally) wouldn't be defined by something as simple as that, however much meaning is attached to it in theory. besides, we've all heard that theory a million times over. i'll offer a new one.

he's goddamn pretentious. to the bone. he refused to take his SATs and thereby consciously denied himself the opportunity to attend any prestigious schools (which he would've certainly gotten into and dominated) for singularly aesthetic reasons. you simply can't get more pretentious than that. i always say that he's too intelligent for his own good — to the point it no longer benefits him at times. just too smart to possess any ability to reflect on himself. almost amusing in that way.

therefore, i believe it was something along the lines of a riddle — something that would keep camilla puzzling over it for a long time succeeding his death. and yes, you can say that his suicide was an impulsive decision and all that, but he had been (even verbally) entertaining suicidal ideology way before he actually went through with it. plus, he just seems like someone who would have something like that — his last words — memorized and ready to go at all times, specifically at a time as dangerous as toying with the possibility of being detained and thrown in jail for murder. just a thought.

i'm almost 100% sure it was also in any language other than english, according to his customs. i've already elaborated on how pretentious he is. he wouldn't make it easy for anyone to figure him out that quickly, not even camilla. the i love you was just a premise, nearly nothing compared to the whisper. and if it's not english, then it must be one of the languages that he does know. assuming that it's either latin or ancient greek, he would go out of his merry way to make it as complex and hardly translatable as he can. he would apply the most archaic of archaic versions of those languages, even with one simple phrase. as i said, he would've planned it out beforehand deliberately. it makes perfect sense.

what it would be, however, is a whole other conversation of its own. maybe that very "i love you" or previously mentioned "live forever", just in a different language. that is the simplest answer i can offer. i like to dig deeper when it comes to mysteries such as this one, though, so i've been gathering my thoughts all day today in order to predominantly satisfy myself with an obnoxiously pretentious answer. how about: "to the stars" (kitsch but fitting, obviously convoluted, and in a different language) or a translated version of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" — just to deride religion and tradition one last time. or, perhaps, "permanence". something that perpetuates his convicted disbelief in vanitas. "never gone"; "the conclusion". and i know, all of these sound dumb as hell in english, but do remember — they would be uttered in a different language, and in a complex way, too. to be mulled over; wondered about for a long time, even as a scholar.

someone needs to hook me up with ms tartt's phone number so we can settle this once and for all, lol. but then again, i don't want to know. i don't want a simple answer to such a mystifying, ponderous question. i'm fine with eternally musing over it — it certainly keeps me entertained.

#astrum asks #henry winter #the secret history #donna tartt #camilla macaulay #tsh #tsh theory #live forever is a very good guess but it's simple #and i don't like simple answers to complex questions #especially when it comes to theorizing about books #i have an english major mind through and through

[al-the-remix]

Years pass but people still remain gross about WAGs. And now they dress it up with “intellectual” terms like industrial complex and post-colonial supremacist whatchamacallit. Give me the messy puck bunny blogs at least they’re open about hating WAGs.

Yeah, I can't say I have many complex things to say on the topic, except that that dialogue has been in this fandom forever (all fandoms forever; tumblr, the birthplace of the 'not-like-other-girls-girl') but it's especially bad in rpf and I'm exhausted of reading the same tired iterations on "well, I could NEVER understand how another woman could live like that--" STOP. Just stop it, it's not your life, and it's likely never going to be your life, for all the aforementioned unfair reasons. You don't have to compare yourselves to them constantly. It doesn't make you lesser or them better for being (presumably) born into a more privileged circumstance and it doesn't make them lesser and you better for achieving some enlightened pearl of knowledge.

The puck bunny blogs irk me just as much, and if you find one better than the other I guess it's more a question of what rolls your stomach more: spite or smugness. But in my opinion, calling Kathy an ageing escort that Sid pitty dates is just as nauseating as talking down your nose about her like she's some ignorant waif that cant make her own decisions about her life or her relationship.

Yes, the NHL is an intrinsically racist, misogynistic, homophobic, capitalist, fatphobic--and all the other bad terrible things--nightmare creature whose ailment runs all the way up to the giant sucking malignancy attached to its heart that is Garry Bettman and Bill Dayley, and further, to the executives that they shill for, and even further back to the time period, tenets, and culture that the sport was founded on. Remember, this is the same organization whose administrative and players (retired and current) repeatedly spit in the face of their teammates who've suffered chronic and debilitating injuries, and continue to mock journalists and veterans who try to bring those issues to the forefront, stating that the injury is worth it to win -- (or that the possibility of injury is worth it, considering these comments so often come from players that are still relatively hale).

Hmmm, sounds incredibly familiar to the position the NHL takes on another rampant issue in the sport: sexual assault.

There's a reason why the NHL is falling behind in popularity (and in value) compared to other sports organisations and it's because they cling to their archaic values and methods and flat-out refuse to let them go -- and thus attract players and administrative and fans who find all that entails appealing. It's not everyone in the sport obviously but it's a large enough faction to keep things stagnant -- just go take a look at Ian Kenedy's twitter page and start scrolling through the replies to his tweets if you want a taste of what we're up against here.

If you want to do anything, ANYTHING AT ALL to help improve the hockey culture, there are multiple avenues to explore that might actually make a difference --first of all getting involved in your community not just the internet community-- in chipping away at who this game attracts, how they see themselves, how they see others, how they see hockey players, and how those hockey players see themselves and others. Those avenues do not include dunking on wags. I get it, they all look the same, haha. it's weird, their children and husbands can't tell them apart, hahaha. There, I said it too and now I never have to hear that fucking joke again. Move ON.

I understand that the lines between reality and fiction can blur easily when it comes to rpf, but making actually, completely serious judgements on other people's private emotional lives and relationships is completely out of the realm of reality. You can't know, you can never know completely. It can be difficult enough to identify these things when it comes to a friend or a family member how are you possibly going to make a pronouncement that someone's relationship is stale or without intimacy or connection when literally have no idea who they really are? I've been stalked and I've had people write fanfiction about me and I can 100% say that what they gleamed of who I was and what my life was like from the outside did not run true.

Analyzing those aspects and their intersexuality is worthwhile -- if anyone has an actual interest in these topics I suggest reading: Wille O'ree's biography, Bern Saunder's biography, Fred Sasakamoose's Call Me Indian, Black Ice: The Lost History of the Colored Hockey League of the Maritimes by Darril and George Frosy, On Account of Darkness by Ian Kennedy, Why I didn't say anything by Sheldon Kennedy, Crossing The Line by Laura Robinson, Major Misconduct by Jeremy Allingham, Finding Murph by Rick Westhead -- There are more than that if you're willing to dig for them ... but especially after the back to back Kyle Beach and Hockey Cannada lawsuits I've just had it to up to here with the takes about the ~uwu poor hockey men~~ and their repressed homosexual longings and lack of overall male intimacy and companionship --- who do you think is doing said repressing?? THE HORRIBLE UWU MEN. (Said in exaggeration and jest but also not fucking really.) They are victims unto themselves. 99% refuse to speak up or do anything about the inequality, harassment, and overall intrinsic issues in the sport, the ones who bravely do are shunned by the others who refuse to help themselves or others. They don't see themselves as emotionally underdeveloped manchildren stranded on the frigid island of masculine solitude and arrested development. They like their lives, they don't care about what kind of impact that lifestyle has on other people (or on the environment or on the economy). They like their cookie-cutter world, conservative sandbox and comfortable wealthy liberalism... and most of all they like their hot blond skinny wives and they don't care what sort of social constructs have led to them pursuing a very specific type of woman. The vast majority of them have zero interest in having their eyes opened to a more complex and diverse worldview and it's not the fault of anyone but themselves, least of all the women who get pulled along in their wake.

#no offence to the ghost of andrea dworkin but I feel her possess me every time I'm forced to here a take like this #not that i claim to be in her league in literally anything only that the wags would benefit from living together all together in a lesbian #commune away from the internet experiencing bliss and many orgasms while the men are doomed to play out a pantomime of heterosexual sex #on the ice penetrating each other with their skate blades and sticks and shins and elbows night after night forever all the while grinning #and proclaiming it's all for the love of the game #im sure this is filled with spelling errors and mistakes but im tired and i tap out #ill be back when i have saved up enough energy for my next rant or someone posts a new picture of steve yzerman in the tag

[pattern-recognition]

Just wanna share about the kufiyah. My college campus has a large Arabic student body so it's cool to see a lot people wear it-- usually as a loose shawl but sometimes as a headwrap. Also one time my grandma was just wearing one to church. She didn't know the significance (it was a gift from a friend) and she later gave it to me as a gift as well. Which is good since I was worried she'd get jumped or something while out nowadays lol

the surge of interest of kufiyas in the west, beyond people who are actually arabs, as a symbol of solidarity with palestine is interesting because i can’t remember the last time there was a mass-adoption of a physical gesture of political affiliation, at least to this scale. there have been more half-hearted emblems in recent memory, like when people in the US tried to encourage the wearing of safety pins in solidarity with immigrants, and there are more ‘seasonal,’ for lack of a better term, badges such as poppies being worn in europe to commemorate WWI. those gestures simply aren’t of like calibre though, and it’s worth noting that the kufiya is distinct as it’s a (mostly) left-wing symbol, and unambiguously a retort against the neoliberal status quo and the DoD narrative. all fashion is, at least unconsciously, a reflection of political allegiance or class status. those who still cling to vestigial ‘punk’ ideology emblamatize their individualist neo-anarchism, fascists have a variety of symbolic apparel even if it’s not distinctly theirs or explicit, like archaic skinhead fashion or simple flecktarn parkas, Iranian politicians wear western suits yet forego a tie, etc etc. it’s a near universal phenomenon, and there are as many visual codes, derivations, nuances, rejections, resurgences, etc as their are outfits in the world. in short though, it’s somewhat of a comfort to see/have a left-wing symbol to adopt that’s also taken up by others. occasionally i feel silly wearing my telogreika or modified soviet chore-coat, but every group has their semiotics.

also, political matters aside, kufiyas are objectively cool as hell. i love seeing the variety in them, from the color palette to the patternization. the most emblematic of palestine is obviously the black and white kufiya with the fishnet and grape leaf pattern, but purely aesthetically i prefer the two I own in the more general pan-arabic houndstooth-esque pattern, one in white/red and the other (my Hirbawi made one) in grey. i’m not the type of person to usually own more than one of a specific item, but it’s nice having a spare to lend out when the need arises. i’ve been wanting to get another from Hibawi to gift to my father but, as anyone familiar with them will know, they’ve been out of stock/unable to continue production for months, the former because of huge demand and the latter because of the IOF’s imperialist war

my only caveat with the trends as they are rn is the cheap commodification of solidarity. even when a certain percent of the proceeds of a commodity are donated to a worthy cause, it’s demeaning to see protest diluted into the purchasing of a t-shirt with a catchy slogan, especially when most of them are produced and distributed by virtue of the same imperialist economic system that’s at fault for the whole conflagration. no ethical consumption, etc etc, nothing new to report

#lurklore

[baronessblixen]

Saw your tags:

I have a theory I wanted to outsource, and so came here. :DDD

CC often uses biblical language in his mytharc episodes, often at odds with his own messaging. And I was wondering... is he trying to use biblical phraseology in order to access a quick and dirty mythological scope for the average viewing audience? Drawing from his knowledge of Catholicism? Or trying to put a bunch of disparate parts together and see what sticks?

I do think his niche interest is in fate; and though that's a concept that can be done really well-- Monday, for example, or the concept of Mulder and Scully as a fated duo, for other example-- I don't know if it works how he posits.

The problem with mythological (or any kind of) fate, I believe (and I'm spit balling now), is that it must carefully adhere to a set of rules with definite, distinct guidelines. If this, then that. If that, then this. Broken only if the characters change their own fates by changing who they are, etc. Those concepts are fun to play with for curses or... etc., etc.; but it doesn't quite work, I believe, with a constantly shifting mytharc.

In short: I can see the CC vision; but believe the reliance on really archaic religious wording kind of... hindered? his message. I mean, who is going to take a zealot spouting judgment day seriously if they sound two hundred years older than the very texts they believe in?

It's a two-layered problem: using a medium-- religion in this case-- out of its proper context to give a mystical flavor to your script but not following its rules; then mashing it with other mythological ideas without following those rules. Thus, you ultimately get Existence that has three separate ideas for the conception of the magical or miraculous or doomsday baby. Pick your poison.

tldr: The tools, be they monsters or mythology, must be wielded with proper care.

Or so I posit. ;)))

I'm not well-versed in Christianity - or any religion - cause I don't have much interest in it. Many of the parallels he's drawn I've only become aware of after the fact because fans were analyzing episodes. So I neither know what his messaging is nor what it's supposed be.

It often feels to me like he's trying to squeeze in too many ideas and concepts - including religion and religious symbolism. Like you said. He mashes everything together and hopes for the best. I mean the whole Biogenesis arc is that, isn't? The way Mulder and CSM are laying there look like Jesus on the cross.

I know I read about CC and religion once but I don't remember his stance on it anymore. I'm not sure if he's really interested in fate as a concept or if it's more like prophecies. I very much agree that his biblical and oftentimes metaphorical and allegorial wording doesn't always work.

#lovely asks #i'm just not a fan at all of organized religion #and i think CC is often torn #like mulder and scully but in one person and then the result is #i don't know 😂

[stormbornwitch]

Witchcraft and the Law

There is a reason why at the top of my blog it says "It's only safe to practice witchcraft when the world doesn't believe in magic." - and this is why.

Australia, because it was once a British Colony, inherited many of the archaic laws of Great Britain, including the Witchcraft Act of 1735. This was an act of the Parliament of the Kingdom of Great Britain in 1735 which made it a crime for a person to claim that any human being had magical powers or was guilty of witchcraft.

You wouldn't think it, but for people practising witchcraft at the time, this law was actually a good thing. With this act, the law abolished the hunting and execution of witches in Great Britain. The maximum penalty set out by the act was now a year in prison. When you consider that the previous punishment was death by hanging.... a year in prison doesn't sound so bad does it?

Now let's get back to the present. Surely old laws Iike this aren't still around.... right? Wrong - scraps of this law remained part of the criminal code in the states and territories of Australia until only recently. Each of the states and territories must manually get rid of these laws. This relies on the government of each state/territory not believing that witchcraft is real and that tarrot readers mean no harm...

To put it into context:

In New South Wales the Witchcraft Act of 1735 was repealed by the Imperial Acts Application Act of 1969. However the offence of fortune telling [Section 4 (2) (n) of the Vagrancy Act, 1902, NSW] wasn't repealed until 1979 by the Summary Offences Act.

In South Australia, the Statutes Amendment and Repeal (Public Offences) Act of 1991 abolished the Witchcraft laws. However, this act came with a new section [Section 40] which means that it is a crime in South Australia if "A person who, with intent to defraud purports to acts as a spiritualist or medium or to exercise powers of telepathy or clairvoyance or other similar powers".

Queensland's Criminal Code Section 432 'Pretending to Exercise Witchcraft or Tell Fortunes' was only omitted from the Code by Justice and Other Legislation Bill in 2000. This previously meant it was a crime in Queensland to: a) Pretend to one to exercise [or use] witchcraft [or sorcery or enchantment or conjuration]. b) Undertook to one to tell his [or her] future fortunes. c) Pretend to one , by virtue of a pretended skill in [or knowledge of] some occult science, to discover where [or in what manner] certain goods supposed to have been stolen [or lost] might be found.

Victoria's Attorney-General Rob Hulls introduced legislation repealing the Vagrancy Act in 2005 which made it an offence to profess or pretend to tell fortunes or use any kind of witchcraft, sorcery, enchantment or conjuration.

In the Northern Territory, the Witchcraft Act of 1735 was only recently repealed in 2013 by Attorney-General John Elferink. The Act was however was replaced under the Summary Offences Act of 2016. It is still currently illegal on the Northern Territory to "tell fortunes, or use any subtle craft, means or device, by palmistry or otherwise, to deceive and impose upon a person" [NT Gov, 2016, 57 (1) (d)]

Tasmania, Western Australia and the ACT have no laws against witchcraft.

Okay, see what I mean? Now, many of these modern Australian laws against witchcraft and fortune telling are trying to protect people against fraud or getting ripped-off or deceived by someone. However, they can just as easily be used to prosecute anyone practising witchcraft who offers a service to someone else (and they don't like the outcome of that service).

Now, there are many countries around the world where things are a lot worse for those practising witchcraft. But it's important to remember that just because there is an accepting witchcraft community online does not mean it is safe to practice witchcraft. If you're an Australian practising witchcraft; know the laws that apply in your state/territory. If you're from another country; know the laws that apply to witchcraft in your country and stay hidden.

If you are travelling to another country and you don't know their laws on witchcraft - do not post about your practice online under your real name. Be safe, stay hidden if necessary and remember: It's only safe to practice witchcraft when the world doesn't believe in magic.

- Marci

#witchcraft #witch #traditional witchcraft #tarrot #australian witch #stormbornwitch #marci talks about stuff #law