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cherubispunk · 3 months

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NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

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)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

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. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #nephilim

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carmillascrusade · 4 months

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Shrouded affection | Emily Prentiss x f!reader

Images do not belong to me.

Summary: You and Emily pine hopelessly after one another all day everyday. When a small misunderstanding happens after having to share a bed, Emily decided to put a plan in motion to woo you and win over your heart. Your however, do not know who your secret admirer is and can only hope it’s the woman you are head over heels in love with.

Word count: 2,618

A/N: This will be a multi chapter story ( probably around 4-5 ish chapters?) and this chapter was more of a set up. Anyways, have a good Christmas/holidays! Personally, I can’t wait for pigs in blankets ( not those sausage roll version ones. The bacon wrapped ones).

Sleep deprived, you trudged your way into the BAU and up into the conference room. This wasn’t the only midnight call in, amd it certainly would not be the last. Your coffee burned your hand slightly as you gripped it, the thin paper of the cup not doing much to protect your hands from the scalding liquid inside.

Eyes bleary and hair tousled from sleep, you sat down with a huff. No matter how much you loved your job, the late nights and very early mornings would always be a nuisance. One thing you would always look forward to, however, was Emily. She could brighten your day just by walking into the room, for Emily prentiss shone as bright as the sun. And you lacklustre and dull, unworthy of her light.

The chair next to you was pulled out in a swift but jerky movement, the soft thud on the carpet filling the otherwise silent room. Shifting to the left slightly, you turns to face Emily who looked just as well as you did. Smiling slightly, you pushed your coffee cup towards her after noticing that she didn’t have one of her own; a hum of approval was all you got from her as she cradled your cup like a lifeline. Emily and mornings did but mix well.

Content to sit in silence with each other, you mentally prepared yourself for the case ahead, knowing it must be bad if your sleep was disrupted because of it. The quiet murmuring of your coworkers alerted you to their presence. How they were holding a conversation was beyond you. You can barely keep your eyes open yet theyre sharing a conversation. The world works in mysterious ways, you suppose.

Penelope presented the case; the victims having nothing in common but the elaborate, archaic symbols carved on their bodies post-mortem. She explained that the murders were occurring at regular intervals with escalating brutality, the unsub mastering their signature with every kill. With no leads, and only very little hope of catching the unsub, the team made their way to the jet in apprehension.

You slumped down next to Emily on the jet, resting your head on her shoulder in hopes of catching some shut eye before landing. Idle chatter between the team lulled you into slumber, dreaming of sweet things to subconsciously prepare yourself for the case ahead.

Emily looked down at you sleeping form, a soft smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards. She was glad that you were comfortable enough with her to lower your guard. Her love for you was steadfast and unwavering, a silent hymn that resonated in the chambers of her heart, flicking with divine intensity yet still unsung. Veiled in sacred garments of discretion, her love for you sat concealed.

Telling you about her affections would not be an option. She didn’t want to ruin the delicate friendship the two of you had curated over the years of working together. No, she wouldn’t do that to you.

Rossi slid into the booth opposite you and Emily, a slight smirk adorning his face. A small quip dancing on the tip of his tongue. “You know,” he drawled. “It would do us all a favour if you just told her.”

“Told her what?” Emily bit back defensively. She didn’t want to get interrogated by Rossi, or anyone else on the team.

“Well,” the smirk was still there, albeit slightly larger now. “If you were to admit your feelings, then the rest of us wouldn’t have to watch the two of you hopelessly opine after each other.”

Emily’s cheeks burned a rosy hue as she slightly raised her voice, careful to not wake you up. “ I do not pine after her!” A moment passed before she added, more uncertainly than her last statement. “And she certainly does not pine after me.”

Rossi just chuckled at that, that knowing look that he often had crossing his face. He wouldn’t expose you. Not today. Because he knew that sooner or later you and Emily would get your acts together and admit your feelings to one another, without his intervention. All he had to do was wait.

Emily sat in silence as she contemplated Rossi’s words. Is her love for you really that obvious? Do you truly pine after her as she does you? And if you did, what did that mean for your future? Would you want to try have a relationship with her?

Shaking her head slightly, not wanting to crush her hopes before they truly began, Emily began to set up a plan. A way to win your devotion, to see if you found her worthy enough of loving.

The case was long and tedious; multiple loose ends leading you on wild goose chases around the small town you had found yourselves in. To say you were all exhausted would be an understatement. But, the killer was caught and you were great full that the word was just a little bit safer. The knowledge that your late nights and early mornings were for a good cause eased the toll on your mind and boys ever so slightly.

However, one of the many downsides to this case being that it ran over, causing you and the team to search for a new hotel for the night since your precious one was fully booked, unable to extend your stay for a day. You were the last to make it to the new hotel, your sore feat slowing you down significantly. To your surprise, Emily was waiting in the lobby, aimlessly reading over the rules of the hotel in hopes of staying awake long enough until you arrived.

“Em?” You questioned as you approached.

“Hey you,” she breathed, eyes droopy but smile still present nonetheless.

“What’re you still doing up? Aren’t you tired?” You asked, surely she was just as shattered as the rest of you were.

“About that,” she started, albeit slightly sheepishly. “There’s only one room left and since we were the last to arrive, we have to share.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You know I don’t mind sharing with you, Emily. You could’ve just text me the room number instead of waiting for me.”

“There’s only one bed.” She blurted out, cheeks tinted slightly red at the sudden outburst. “I, uh, I didn’t want to take the bed or something, you know, incase you wanted it.”

Your eyebrows rose slightly, amused at her embarrassed ramblings that were honestly rather endearing. “We can share.” You said, shrugging your shoulder nonchalantly. You took the key out of Emily’s hand and tugged her along, missing the furious blush painting her cheeks and neck in a lovely shade of scarlet.

Too tired to think about the implications of sharing a bed with Emily, you got into the elevator still holding her hand and pressed the button to the fifth floor. A weary sigh escaped you as you stood in the elevator, head dropping to Emily’s shoulder you closed your eyes briefly; the shrill ding of the elevator startling you awake as you reached your floor.

Emily’s small chuckle the only sound filling the otherwise silent corridor as she dragged you to your room. She took the keys back from you, opening the door and ushering you inside towards the bed. Lazily stripping from your clothes as Emily locked up, you climbed into bed, dressed only in your underwear.

Following closely behind, Emily shook her head slightly at your haphazardness trail of clothing; accepting her fate of having burning cheeks for the remainder of the night. Slightly more awake than you were, Emily changed into her pyjamas quietly, not wishing to wake you from your well deserved sleep.

Sighing, she looked at you longingly before turning to the first edition printing of Carmilla nestled in between her clothes. You were always speaking about the book and when she saw it in the antique book shop, she just knew she had to buy you it. Grinning softly, she covered the book with one of her tank tops and got into bed beside you, snuggling softly into the duvet. The two of you fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of the person beside you and what life would be like if the other required your love.

You woke up with a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle and a face buried in the crook of your neck. Turning around was impossible with the vice-like grip the toned arms had on you. Blinking slowly, you tried to recall last night and how exactly you had ended up in this predicament.

Your eyes widened as you realised just who was spooning you from behind. Emily. You began to shift in her hold, only to be met with a disgruntled sound as she pressed further into you.

“Emily?” You whisper as you shake her arms slightly. “Emily, we have to get up.”

A puff of air into your neck was the only reply you received, her hot breathe a welcome contrast to the frigid air of the hotel room. The embarrassment washed over you like a tidal wave as you lied there helplessly. What would she say when she woke up? Would she be repulsed and never want to speak to you again? Or would she pretend as if nothing had happened?

Your spiralling mind was brought to a halt as Emily began to move beside you, her grip loosening but still present. Chocolate eyes peered up at you under dark, luscious eyelashes before they moved down; eyes dilating as they landed on your chest, clad in a silky black bra. Seemingly snapping herself out of the trance she has found herself in, Emily pulled back muttering a quick “sorry” before clambering out of bed and dashing into the bathroom.

Bemused at her strange actions, you hopped out of bed and got dressed, eager to get on the jet and head home. 15 minutes had passed and Emily still had not emerged from the bathroom. Unbeknownst to you, she was furiously trying to get the picture of you, half naked, out of her head. Sighing softly, your knuckles rapped against the sturdy oak of the bathroom door. When you got no response, you shouted out a quick “I’m going to go have breakfast! I’ll see you on the jet, Em.”

Silence was the only answer offered and you sullenly collected your belongings before heading down to meet the team, certain that you had ruined your friendships and Emily wanted nothing to do with you. Hopefully, you could apologise and go back to the easy friendship you had before. For life was not worth living if Emily wasn’t in it.

You chatted amicably to JJ as you walked to the jet, Emily still nowhere to be seen which tugged at those gnarly deep rooted insecurities that claimed you drove everyone away. Noticing your rather gloomy mood Jj attempted to cheer you up with a few jokes. When that didn’t work she decided to just bite the bullet and ask what was wrong.

“What’s got you so gloomy today?” She asked through a mouthful of Cheetos.

“Nothing.” You replied, unable to look at her as she’d be able to see right through you.

She eyed you wearily before nudging your shoulder with hers. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“I think Emily hates me.” You blurted out.

Shock coloured JJ’s face as she processed your words. Emily hating you? Never. “What? Why would you think that?”

A short breath of frustration left you, sounding more like an exasperated laugh than anything else, as you went into detail about the night before and why you believed Emily hated you due to her actions this morning. A small smirk played at the corners of JJ’s mouth as she realised just why Emily was acting the way she was, but her assurances were not enough to relinquish your mind from the shackles of doubt.

Now at the jet, you boarded and headed straight to the back; headphones on and pillow resting between you and the wall of the plane, you were desperate to fall asleep in hopes of avoiding any awkward interactions between you and Emily.

Emily clambered aboard not too long after, eyes drawn to your slouched form engulfed by the shadows dancing in the depths of the dimly lit jet. JJ called her over, gesturing for her to sit opposite her before striking up conversation. You being the topic.

“You know,” she started, already opening another bag of Cheetos. “Whatever happened this morning has made her think you hate her.”

“Hate her?” Emily questioned with furrowed brows. She had never intended to make you feel that she hated you. “I could never hate her.”

“Well, I know that. And you know that. But she doesn’t, so please fix it before the poor girl dies from heartbreak.”

The jet felt suffocating as Emily reflected on her actions this morning, and how they may have been perceived by you. She replayed the events of the morning in her mind, each moment a painful reminder of the emotions she had unintentionally stirred; guilt gnawing at her chest, leaving a sharp pain where her heart once beat away comfortably. Her love for you there but a whispered secret that echoes in the chambers of her heart.

Perhaps it was time to show you how dear you truly were to her.

Exhaustion was beginning to overtake you, creeping into your bones with such an icy chill that you had to take a moment to get past the shiver crawling down your spine. Shaking it off with a grumble, you made your way over to your desk in the bullpen- stupidly, you had left your apartment key in there and couldn’t get home without it. What you were not expecting, however, was a gift sat in the centre of your desk. Elegantly wrapped in a soft lavender paper, adorned with a silver bow and tag.

You were disappointed when you flipped the tag over, hoping to find a name attached, to see three small kisses scrawled messily in black ink. A quick glance around the bullpen found there to be no suspects loitering around, again disappointing but expected if the lack of name was anything to go by.

Running your tongue over your mouth in a brief moment of hesitance, you decided to open it. What could go wrong? Other than it being a deadly weapon of sorts. But if it was you were certain the sender would not have signed it off with a kiss. The paper pulled back to reveal a first edition printing of Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla, the original vampire tale said to have inspired Dracula. Eyes widening in glee, you picked the book up and carefully flicked through the pages, reminiscing on memories of your youth when you had first stumbled upon said book.

Hidden from sight, Emily watched as you discovered her gift. The joy radiating from you only making her decision to buy you the book even more worth it. She would do anything for you as long as you kept smiling. What would the world be without the glow you emanated? A world Emily wouldn’t even dare think about.

The smile on your face never left, even as you climbed into your bed that night. Even as you fell into a deep slumber with one wish plaguing your mind. The gift so precious and thoughtful that you couldn’t help but swoon. Optimistically dreaming of scenarios of Emily revealing herself to be the gift giver, and you two could share saccharine words and touches as you confessed your love.

A girl could dream.

A/NII: This feels really boring as it’s just a set up for the rest of the story but I hope you enjoyed. Omg, you know what I also love, glitteberry J20 and it only comes out around Christmas time.

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader

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kradogsrats · 4 months

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I feel like there's something interesting going on with Queen Aditi the Merciful, Queen Aditi who is feared and respected by the dragons, Queen Aditi who abolished the duel of blood and ash, and her descendant Prince Karim the student of history, Karim who casually uses archaic Sunfire greetings, Karim who is obsessed with the glory of his people's past, and who demands a duel of blood and ash as a sacred ritual that no king or queen can abolish...

Like, Aaravos definitely removes Aditi at least in part because it perpetuates and intensifies the destabilization of Xadia by the draconic succession crisis, but I wonder if Aditi was also a turning point in some kind of Sunfire culture reformation. Aaravos calls her "arrogant," which could be simply because she was doing shit like stepping in to decide who would be the next dragon monarch, but could also potentially refer to any number of changes she may have instigated that were not in favor of his vision. Maybe to think you can change thousands of years of tradition and culture is arrogance? Either way, she did things like look at an apparently sacrosanct tradition of violence and say, "this is fucking stupid and we're not going to do it anymore."

Anyway, I think that's interesting in the context of s4's Sunfire plotline centered around holding respect and compassion for tradition but also looking to a future that may not include it? Also then s5's dichotomy of Karim addressing Sol Regem as "true King of the Dragons" and Kim'dael naming Janai as "true Queen of Lux Aurea," like... one of those is Aditi's legacy and the other is something older and more brutal, that Aditi may have been pushing away.

#karim #janai #sunfire elves #aditi #the dragon prince

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002yb · 7 months

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Ahhh ABO au where Jason is the only omega in the batfam and Bruce is having a hard time arranging his marriage/blocking off bad suitors.

and dick is like "Hey B look at meeee" and Bruce thinks hes joking every time until Dick brutalizes a potential match for Jason because the marriage talks were getting serious and Jason seemed like he was considering the guy.

What’s annoying is that it’s a good match. This alpha would be good for Jason, to Jason. Despite that, Dick’s hackles are raised at the perceived threat. Teeth bared and growl so low Jason sits upright to stare at him, wide eyed and alert, albeit confused - concerned.

Even Bruce is startled, gaze darting between Dick and the prospective alpha across from them. The older alpha’s brows furrow as he tries to figure if Dick picked up on something Bruce missed, a danger or threat.

To say Bruce has missed a lot would be an understatement. Even now, Bruce mistakes Dick’s warning for something it isn’t. That’s been the problem for months though, hasn’t it? Soft protests against an archaic tradition overlooked. Shows of intent brushed off with a fond clap to Dick’s shoulder. An open and honest declaration to court Jason, to pursue him - chuckled over like some paltry joke that stung like a slap across the face because Bruce must see Dick as an undesirable - unworthy - alpha for his cherished omega.

And maybe Bruce isn’t wrong about that, but he is wrong about this.

The only danger in the room is Dick.

“Would you fight for him?” Dick asks. The growl that tore from him before is a barely bitten back thing now, but Dick doesn’t need the threat of it to make another alpha cower or show them their place. There’s steel in Dick’s gaze, a biting chill and crushing pressure in the low timber of his voice when he taunts, “Could you?”

It's a loaded question, purposefully asked to manipulate a choice answer. This is an alpha that would be good for Jason, to Jason. There's nothing else for them to say but an expected, "Of course."

It makes Dick smile, all bared teeth with a promise to bite. The threat in it has Jason shuddering beside him, cheeks flushing softly at the shameless throwing down of a metaphorical glove.

“Prove it.”

#dickjay #jaydick #omegaverse #possessive!dick grayson #words

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architectuul · 4 months

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The Future Is Noir

Scenography for the darkness with the uncertain future. Architecture of fear in the cinema of 1920s.

Considered the quintessential work of German expressionist cinema, the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) by Robert Wiene tells the story of an insane hypnotist who uses a brainwashed somnambulist to commit murders.

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The film thematizes brutal and irrational authority. Caligari can be representing the German war government, with the symbolic of the common man conditioned to kill. The film include the destabilized contrast between the subjective perception of reality, and the duality of human nature.

An unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker's 1897 novel Dracula in film is the German version of Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (1922) by F. W. Murnau. Nosferatu is an archaic Romanian word Nesuferitu` meaning the offensive or the insufferable one. The movie is actually about the First World War and the plague is a metaphor for the mass death and destruction of the war.

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Nosferatu was banned in Sweden due to excessive horror until 1972. All known prints and negatives were destroyed under the terms of settlement of a lawsuit by Bram Stoker's widow.

Berlin – Die Sinfonie der Großstadt (1927) is an experimental documentary by Walther Ruttmann. It begins with a drive of a high-speed train pulled by a steam locomotive through meadows, arbor and residential areas into the city and thus delimits the surrounding area from the big city.

The train arrives at Anhalter Bahnhof near the city center, where streets empty in the morning are filling up with people on their way to work. The rhythm of the city is getting faster and faster. With the 12 o'clock bell strike, the speed collapses. After lunch break and food intake, however, it begins to accelerate again in the afternoon.

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Cabiria (1914), an Italian epic silent film by Giovanni Pastrone, was shot in Turin. The film is set in ancient Sicily, Carthage, and Cirta during the period of the Second Punic War (218–202 BC).

It follows a melodramatic main plot about an abducted little girl, Cabiria, and features an eruption of Mount Etna, heinous religious rituals in Carthage, the alpine trek of Hannibal, Archimedes' defeat of the Roman fleet at the Siege of Syracuse and Scipio maneuvering in North Africa.

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One the most influential films in cinema history, Dziga Vertov's exhilarating ode to Bolshevik Russia the Man with a Movie Camera (1929). It is a visual argument for the place of the documentary filmmaker as a worker, educator, and eyewitness in a proletariat society. The film is an impressionistic view of urban daily life, seen from a purely cinematic perspective.

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#architecture film #film photography #documentary #1920s #German expressionism movie

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xxsycamore · 2 months

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🤪 - Kenshin (ikesen) please?

Thank you!

Will you forgive me for shamelessly putting my own meme into this... credits to the original poster t/homas_violence on twitter ofc!

[🤪] 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑…

KENSHIN:

"...What's a Nissan Pulsar?"

Oh. He didn't laugh. Now you feel awkward.

You have just told Kenshin a joke that you and Sasuke came up with, inspired by how often you have to translate things back and forth between archaic and modern terms. It goes like this: Committing seppuku (ritual suicide) with my wakizashi (small sword) because I failed my daimyo (feudal lord) by crashing his Nissan pulsar (untranslatable)

To his question, you simply echo the last part of the joke. It's untranslatable.

Kenshin's facial expression doesn't change one bit. He puts his hand on his chin.

"Sasuke knows I'd kill him if he dares to kill himself."

...Well, you guess that makes sense.

"It's good that he possesses no wakizashi."

...That's true.

"And I'm in no possession of any Nissan Pulsars yet, so we shouldn't worry about any of that."

Yet?!

You're both quiet. Kenshin still has his hand on his chin.

. . .

"Haha."

What's with that overdue, super-fake-sounding, almost creepy laughter??

"I love your jokes. I'm glad that you include me in them. It's our joke now."

Ignoring the way Sasuke has been brutally erased from anything spoken in the last five minutes, you sigh and let out a small laughter of your own, which ends up sounding as fake as Kenshin's... but the truth is, you're terribly enamored of him at this moment.

∎ Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event | 💌 event masterlist

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin uesugi #ikemen sengoku uesugi kenshin #ikemen kenshin #ikesen sasuke #ikemen sengoku sasuke #sasuke sarutobi #steal my heart!! xxsycamore's 1500 followers celebration event

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onlyhurtforaminute · 2 years

Video

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ABORTED-VORACIOUS HAEMOGLOBINIC SYNDROME

#ABORTED #BRUTAL DEATH METAL;#TECHNICAL BRUTAL DEATH METAL #DEATH METAL;#HEAVY METAL #METAL;#THE ARCHAIC ABATTOIR #2005 ALBUM

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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 9 months

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first day as the envoy of Yan, and i have a brilliant, amazing, fool-proof plan to assassinate the warmongering tyrant of Qin. I've got the head of a famous general inside a box, a poison dagger hidden inside a map and my backup is ruthless murderer who killed a man at age 13. mark my words, this day will go down in history!

update: my backup got cold feet and became catatonic with fear the moment we set foot in the palace. i quickly spun a story about him being a country bumpkin who was suffering culture shock but now the guards are suspicious and i have to approach the throne room alone--well, mostly alone. Oh, General-Inside-A-Box, we're really in it now.

update: the Warmonger laughed at my joke! i am going to get a good evaluation for regicide, which is normal to want and possible to achieve.

update: it's time to present the map. my palms are sweaty, knees weak and this scroll feels so heavy. i regret eating so much of my niang's dalu mian beforehand because someone didn't put enough salt inside this box and the general (heaven rest his brave soul) is starting to smell and to be honest it's making me a little nauseous. the fear rises in my gullet, strong and acrid, threatening to choke me, but i force it down and put on a brave front, like a swan on a tranquil lake, kicking like mad underneath. this is my one opportunity and i cannot let it slip away. Yan too small to meet the might of this tyrant in open battle. for the sake of my people and all that i love, i must prevail.

update: i missed.

update: i am now chasing the Warmonger around the throne room. he cant unsheathe his Hugely Impractical Ceremonial Sword and none of his ministers are permitted to carry weapons so they just stand on the sidelines yelling advice. eventually the court physician comes to his senses and throws his medicine bag at me, giving the Warmonger an opening to finally get his sword out and cut me down. i throw my knife at him (also missed) as a final act of defiance but frankly speaking, there's not much face left to salvage here. when i enter the afterlife, the general is laughing so hard his head almost falls off again. i am never going to live this down.

update: I go down in history as a hero and one of the Five Great Assassins. really makes you wonder about the other four.

update: oh my god! my best friend is here too! what a sight for sore eyes, i can't wait to catch up and play some tunes with him!

notes under the cut:

The story takes place in 228 BC, the King of Qin is in the middle of a brutal war of conquest. In the span of just ten years (In 230--221 BC) he will unify china and become the first Emperor (the terracotta warriors belong to him). He will go down in history as both a cruel tyrant and brilliant statesman, to call him influential is to say the Yangtze river is "just a big puddle."

Jing ke -- (the assassin) originally hails from the state of Wei, which was conquered by Qin, afterwards he became a retainer of Yan and joined the plot to seek revenge. I simplified the story a lot for the sake of narrative clarity.

General Huan Yi -- former general of Qin who lost favour with the King. In an absolute bro move, he agreed to commit suicide and let his head be used as a "gift" for the assassination attempt. I couldn't find any sources on how severed heads were preserved during this time, but drying + curing with salt seemed pretty reasonable so i went with that.

yes, i did just combine the Second Century Warlord with Eminem to create an unholy abomination that is the deepest of deep cuts. 娘 Niáng -- [Mum] considered archaic 打卤面 Dǎ lǔ miàn--braised noodles

Jing Ke's buddy Gao Jianli (who is a famous musician) ALSO tries to kill King Qin to avenge his friend's death. He was recognised and blinded before his first attempt, but was allowed to stay. During this time, he ingratiated himself with the king and hid weights inside his instrument, biding his time until he could get close enough to take a swing (spoiler: he also missed).

#jing ke #qin shi huang #history meme #ancient china #chinese history #fuck ups make it into the annals of history jot that down #jing ke livetweets his botched assassination attempt posthumerously. uh. deathtweets ig.#my writing

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