#my greatest blunder

[monstersinthecosmos]

I liked in Interview with the Vampire how Armand qualified that he's the oldest living vampire in the world with "And as far as I know today" like

I don't read this as him lying, I think he thinks that everyone he loves is dead :)

#interview with the vampire #armand #my greatest blunder #being ND about fandom stuff is a parlor trick where I can make myself sad about armand on command

[localgardenweed]

HELP I REALIZED I REBLOGGED SMTHON THE ASK BLOG CAUSE I FORGOT TO SWITCH ACCOUNTS JWHDBHJDBVF HELPPPPP

EW ASK BLOG PPL IM SO SO SORRYYY

#localgardenweed #the weed is rambling #THIS IS ONE OF MY GREATEST BLUNDERS

[blackwomanwriter]

"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her. 

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him.  Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading. 

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

#blackwomanwriter #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x black reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #blackreader

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Oklahoma Fursecution

Franz Kafka: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the guy who turned into a cockroach Steven Boyett: god i wish we were in oklahoma Boyett: they wouldn't tolerate this degeneracy Boyett: this perversity Boyett: this Boyett: this furversion

Poe: what? what's happening in oklahoma? Boyett: oh haven't you heard? Boyett: the good patriots of oklahoma are gonna make furries illegal

Boyett: furries will be illegal in oklahoma! Boyett: any kid caught pretending to be an animal will be arrested by animal control! Boyett: this is the greatest day of my life! Boyett: at least since the something awful lolocaust! Boyett: yiff in hell, skunkfuckers!!

Boyett: we'll finally be free of the scourge of furry! Boyett: no more big titty vixens! Boyett: no more twink rabbits! Boyett: no more comics where a ditzy genie accidentally misinterprets your wish and turns you into a sexy horse girl! Boyett: and no more fucking protogens!!!

Poe: steve i don't think this law is going to pass Poe: it sounds like another long shot power grab capitalizing on a moral panic Boyett: shut up! Boyett: shut up!!! Frank Belknap Long: [arriving, breathless] friends i have terrible bone-chilling news Poe: we already heard, frank

Long: this is blatant fursecution Barker: haha sure i Barker: wait a second Barker: wow, he's Barker: he's right Barker: jesus christ i can't believe he's right Barker: they finally did it Barker: they made fursecution real

Long: this can't be allowed to stand! Long: this fursecution won't just affect me Long: but every protogen, every sergal, every chakat Long: it's a real problem!!

Boyett: furry will be illegal! Boyett: that means none of this tf bullshit, franz!! Kafka: b-but Long: now steve everyone knows that cockroaches don't count Boyett: yes they fucking do! Boyett: it's still anthro!

Long: no no Long: it's not furry unless it's hot Boyett: what the Long: that's just science Barker: yeah that scans

Poe: what's this all about? Barker: they crossed the book-banning moral panic with the anti-trans moral panic Barker: to declare war on the limitless reaches of a child's imagination Poe: do you think joanne knows Barker: oh i'm sure she's keeping her ear to the ground

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: what newsss from america Allison Bailey: great news dark lord! Bailey: oklahoma is going to ban furries Rowling: good, good- Rowling: i mean wait Rowling: what?

Rowling: foolsss!!! blundering nincompoopsss!! Rowling: we've tried the furry moral panic before Rowling: like literally 5 timesss Rowling: that dog won't hunt!!

Bailey: oh but this time Bailey: this time will be different, dark lord! Rowling: no it won't! Rowling: not even americanss will fall for that litter box sscam!

Bailey: our terf deatheaters had so much success outlawing trans kids Bailey: we thought we'd extend the moral panic to furries too Bailey: this time, we can't fail! Rowling: see that you don't! Rowling: we must win the war against the limitless reaches of a child's imagination!!

Rowling: and then Rowling: when imagination iss illegal Rowling: when playing pretend is banned Rowling: when whimsssy is prohibited Rowling: the children will have to turn to the one form of entertainment ssstill legal! Rowling: Hogwart'sss Legacy!!!

#midnight society #the midnight society #midnight pals #clive barker #edgar allan poe #frank belknap long #steven boyett #jk rowling #allison bailey #franz kafka

[akashis-waifu]

An Eternity of Mind Games with You (Aizen Sousuke x Reader)

Canon-divergence one-shot, set years after TBYW. Female reader is the Soul King, so is Aizen if you squint hard enough. Your first name is "Hana" for plot-purposes.

Tags: Domestic!Aizen with usual sass, wholesome, fluff, cringe but we embrace it. Immortal x immortal, enemies struggling with new established co-dependency. This might seem slightly out of character, but we've got Kyoka Suigetsu to blame. Contains spoilers on the ending of TBYW and CFYOW!

"Oh please, dear wife."

You raise an eyebrow at your self-proclaimed husband. The two of you have only been together for a decade as Lord and retainer — co-rulers, if you squint hard enough — after Aizen Sousuke tricked you into absorbing the Hougyoku, which apparently had long merged with his spirit. In effect, the man became a part of the Soul King and is now able to use your authority, as long as you agree to it.

In return, you get to wield one of the greatest Zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu. You see it as an absolute win, the Central 46 doesn't.

As to why Aizen insists that you two are husband and wife, he argues that "A system where a man and a woman govern together is called monarchy. And it goes without saying that a King and a Queen are married." He seems to have put the cart before the horse, a very uncharacteristic blunder for the renowned war criminal. You simply guess that the fusion might have caused him brain damage.

"I swear, I haven't used Kyoka Suigetsu for a long time. There is literally no reason for you to act delusional."

He feigns to be hurt at your words. "You are the king, I am the queen. How can we not be married?"

"It's crazy how you easily admit to being the queen now." During your ascension, you had to repeatedly remind him that the Soul King was you. If he insisted on his god-complex-driven monarchy delusion, the Queen would be him.

Aizen shrugs. "As the human saying goes, let me cook."

Chills run down your spine. Something is wrong. "Maybe I'm the delusional one."

"Took you a long time to realize."

A shattering sound awakens you. After adjusting to reality, you glare at Aizen Sousuke who has successfully swiped the two Heavenly Tickets out of your hand.

"Please stop using Kyoka Suigetsu on me."

He chuckles mockingly. "You have a funny mind, I can't help it."

You try to take the tickets from him. Those are your mode of transportation to Seireitei! "It's Rukia's inauguration today. We really need to go!"

"You can go by yourself."

"I can't leave you here alone!"

Aizen smiles. He knows that it is a matter of distrust — that he might destroy the Soul Palace in your absence — but teases you nonetheless. "What a caring wife you are."

"Is the illusion not over yet?"

"My apologies. I'm simply not in the mood to head to Seireitei today," he explains briefly, before turning around. "Feel free to go without me."

You watch with curious eyes as Aizen leaves the room. He has undoubtedly mellowed out compared to 10 years ago. Memories flash through your mind.

At the end of the war, you were supposed to absorb Yhwach, become the Soul King, and be sacrificed as the new linchpin of the Three Realms. If Aizen hadn't given you the Hougyoku that granted your divinity as the Soul King, you wouldn't have gained the authority to banish Hyosube Ichibe.

If it weren't for Aizen, you would've been mutilated into a thoughtless doll. You may not express it, but you are eternally grateful to him.

Standing at the edge of the Soul Palace, you stare at the boundless sky below. It is almost time for your departure.

"He tells me to go by myself, but he knows I hate jumping all the way down to Soul Society. He could have at least returned my ticket to me." You sigh and jump anyway.

Upon arriving at Seireitei, you use Kyoka Suigetsu to disguise yourself as a white butterfly. You dispel the Shikai after reaching the 13th Division.

"Hana-san! Ah, I mean, Soul King!" Kuchiki Rukia hastily corrects herself. She then invites you to a celebratory dinner and you spend some time with the Thirteen Court Guard Squads.

The party ends late. Rukia offers the Kuchiki residence for you to spend the night in, but you decline, worried that someone might wreak havoc in your palace if left alone for too long.

She suggests to escort you to Shiba Kuukaku's hideout, aware that you would need the cannon to return to the Soul Palace. Still, you refuse, "No no! No need. It's already late, Rukia, go to sleep. I usually disguise myself as a harmless butterfly when I go around Seireitei to avoid unnecessary attention. Don't worry!"

On the way to the hideout, you feel that you're being followed. You instantly regret declining her offer.

When Aizen finds you in the middle of Seireitei, you are already bleeding from a large cut on your torso. He rushes to your side and activates the Hougyoku to accelerate your healing. As if to laud his effort, you soon regain consciousness.

"Aizen...?" you ask, vision still blurry. "What are you doing here? I... I thought you didn't want to go."

"You're not adept at using Kyoka Suigetsu yet. An incident like this is bound to happen."

"I see," you chuckle weakly. "No wonder she saw through my disguise."

His grip on your shoulder tightens. "Who was it?"

"Candace."

"Candace?"

You cough out blood multiple times and reach out to caress his cheek, as if ready to utter your last words — which would be if he doesn't take the joke lightly.

"Can deez nuts."

Aizen deadpans. A shattering sound takes him out of his reverie, and he looks over his shoulder to see you fiddling with the tickets that he had previously hidden in his sleeves.

Of course, the whole farce was an illusion. He should've known since the Hougyoku grants instant regeneration. He sighs in annoyance. "I'd like to take the Hougyoku back. You're too insufferable."

"Is that a request for divorce?"

He smirks. "So, you acknowledge our marriage."

"Hell no!" You click your tongue, frustrated that he always has the perfect comebacks. "Can't you act normal for once? What happened to Aizen Sousuke, the war criminal?"

"You prefer that version of me?" He pushes his hair back. You aren't used to that sight since he always has his hair down when you're alone together.

You visibly cringe. "Stop doing that. What would you do if people recognized you?"

"We're using Kyoka Suigetsu. From their perspective, we are nothing but butterflies attracted to beautiful flowers basking in the moonlight."

You frown at him. "We're literally walking on concrete. Not a single flower can be found here."

"There is."

Aizen raises your chin, staring directly into your eyes. "Hana."

Too stunned to speak, you allow yourself a moment to think.

You finally understand why Aizen was so popular when he was still with the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. His strength, intellect, charisma — the sultry voice and handsome features that you will never admit to his face — he used everything at his disposal to manipulate everyone.

It will never work on you, though. Not today, nor in a million years.

You are good, he is evil. You are yang, he is yin.

You are pure, he is corrupted.

The Soul King can never let Aizen Sousuke dye Her in his color, for that would mean the end of the Three Realms.

You give him a thin smile. "Would you like the Hougyoku back? I can hand it to you now."

"Oh, you jest." Aizen feels the sudden shift in mood and lets you go. That's enough teasing, he muses to himself.

With an eternity to look forward to, he doesn't mind biding his time. You are the Soul King, the strongest, most benevolent, and most dangerous being in the Three Realms. It goes without saying that you are the greatest challenge he will ever face. It could take hundreds or thousands of years — even millions — but he knows that you will submit to him one day.

It's not a matter of if, but when.

You extend a hand at him. "Let's go home, Sousuke."

But, he has to make sure you don't win him over first.

#bleach #aizen sousuke #aizen x reader #bleach imagines #bleach tybw #also posted this in Ao3 #I WAS POSSESSED BY KYOKA SUIGETSU WHEN I WROTE THIS I APOLOGIZE #i'm also sorry for the person i'd become when they animate “welcome to my soul society” in TYBW #AWOO AWOOOOO #it's bleach #aizen sosuke

[mania-sama]

Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Crime and Punishment: Short Bungou Stray Dogs Analysis

Finally finished Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. i might do a post talking about my actual thoughts on the book, but not right now because I'm INSTEAD gonna talk about BSD Fyodor because, if I'm gonna be honest, a large part of the reason I read this book was to see if I could get an insight on what his ability could be (obviously I also read it because I know it's an extremely influential book to the psychological thriller literature genre, and it's made me want to read more of his books because I am absolutely entranced by his writing style).

SPOILERS: This book did NOT give me a single damn clue to Fyodor's ability.

However, I do have a better understanding of why Asagiri chose to write Fyodor in that specific way, with the added effect of making Fyodor much more understandable. I have a better appreciation, I think, for Asagiri's character writing. Let me explain:

The large, overarching theme of C&P is the idea that some people are naturally born with the right to kill. That is, people are naturally born into two categories: "Ordinary" and "Extraordinary". The majority of the population falls into the former - they live their lives in submission to the law and to those above them. In essence, they do not have the "right to kill"; they are otherwise overcome with guilt, regret, or simply caught for their wrongdoings.

The latter category has very few people in it, and for a simple reason - they are the ones who are, essentially, above the law, and therefore, the lawmakers. They are the ones who lead the revolutions, sit on the throne, and most importantly, kill when they need to kill and do not hesitate to "step" over their crimes as nothing more than the necessity to power. They are not caught. In fact, they are hailed as the greatest leaders. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and his most constantly referred example, Napoleon. These are the born with the "right to kill".

The main character, Raskolnikov (of whom I will be calling the affection Rodya because I am NOT spelling his name over and over again), believes himself to be a "Napolean". Rodya is the one who came up with this theory in the book, after all. However, he finds out, near the end, after several blunders and mental breaks, that he is not one of the people who can "step" over their crimes. He hesitated before killing his target. His guilt for his two murders sent him into a feverish state for days on end. He walked to the police station to confess his crimes a million times before finding some reason, right before he was meant to do it, to chicken out and continue living life under this ever-evolving notion that he was sorely mistaken about himself. Rodya is not the "Napolean" he thought he was born to be.

How does this relate to the Bungou Stray Dogs character? I believe that Fyodor is, essentially, the embodiment of the "right to kill". He is everything that Rodya thought he was, which is an excellent analysis on the part of Asagiri. One of the first things Fyodor does is kill Ace, then a relatively innocent child, Karma. He does this without blinking, without a hint of remorse, and proceeds with his day. He knows that this is his right, that he is the one above others, that he can kill and he cannot be caught for it. He claims to have mastered and tamed his own ability. Why? Because he is the "Extraordinary."

Another theme that I find quite intriguing is religion. In truth, it really isn't that prevalent (though there are a great many Biblical quotations and references throughout) until the last part, Part 6, of Crime and Punishment. Rodya has a near-constant epiphany with religious belief, even at one point stating, point-blank and in irritation, that God isn't real and He certainly isn't helping anyone in the mortal plane. He oscillates between claiming that the "Devil" forced him to kill, to saying that believers are frantic and stupid, then to kissing the dirty ground in repentance for his crimes. He state of mind ends in that repentance state, a supposed believer and eager to start his life anew.

To make Fyodor a devoted believer in God, with a set viewpoint and acting as an executor of God's will, is, once again, an excellent choice. Rodya's irritation and inner turmoil were one of the many reasons why he failed miserably in maintaining the secret of his crimes. Fyodor is none of those things: he is calm, cool, collected, and set in his ways. Interestingly, in Crime and Punishment, the vilest character also seems to have no particular issues with religion himself. And he, for the most part, gets away with his heinous crimes completely. This battle of belief, and relating it to God, provides a healthy insight to why Fyodor has obtained the "right to kill", versus Rodya, who was born "Ordinary."

The last point I want to seriously touch on is less about Crime and Punishment and more about the author himself. However, I did learn about this through reading the translator's notes (the translation I read is by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Second Edition (2021), Vintage Classics). Dostoevsky was hugely indebted to Nikolai Gogol as a successor to Gogol's ingenious literary developments in "fantastical realism" and satire. Dostoevsky made several references to Gogol's works in C&P, and none in a critical manner. In the animanga, the roles are completely reversed; Nikolai is the one chasing after Fyodor, admiring his intellect and "ingenious" with the eventual goal of setting himself free. This idea of flipping authors' relationships on their heads is part of what makes Bungou Stray Dogs so entertaining to consume, and it takes a great deal of research and effort to be able to adjust these relationships so that they clearly reflect the real-life ones.

As for one afterthought, the name "Rats in the House of the Dead" appears to be a clever play on the Dostoevsky book Notes from the Dead House. I haven't read this book yet, but I want to (along with Notes from Underground). I'm curious to see if there is any further correlation, but I would assume not, considering the contents of the book.

NO. I did NOT find literally anything that could help me decipher Fyodor's ability. Rodya literally confesses his crime like a week and a half after he commits it. No character in this novel, nor theme, reflects whatever the h e double hockey sticks Fyodor has going on in BSD. I have theories, but they have literally nothing to do with Crime and Punishment outside of the base fact that his ability has something to do with killing (which we already knew). Woe is me. I'll get over it, I guess.

#this is really ironic for me to post this #because fyodor is like #my top 10 least favorite bsd characters #mori is at number one because literally who else would it be #idk where fyodor falls #maybe if he took a bath every once in a while he wouldn't be in the list at all #bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs #bsd #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky #crime and punishment #bsd 113 #bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs analysis #analysis #rant #bsd rant

[lostinbooks14]

The Little Girl With Horns

You grow up alone in the woods with the trees and the streams and you know you're a freak because the animals run.

They see you waving your staff and bringing a storm and they call you a monster because they don't know you were just trying to make the pretty flowers bloom again.

You grow up alone, trying to show them you're not the monster that they think you are.

Till you are.

Till your horns aren't the only thing different about your body. Till your arms stretch into wings and your skin ripples into leather and you're flying over the trees with the wind in your face.

You see the people down below pointing fingers and whooping and cheering you on and you twirl in the sky and you feel beautiful until you realise their cheers are screams.

You're a monster now.

People love power, you hear. Pixies, gnomes, humans who used to gossip and spread nasty rumours about the vulgar Prince Stefan are clamouring around the new King's feet.

You gave up hoping for love when you were a little girl with horns. Respect, though not as great as love, is better than disgust, you decide.

You practice in the meadows, twirling your staff, making patterns of wind and flowers and water because power is respect. That's when you meet your raven. The only one who didn't fly away when they saw you make green fire with your hands.

You have your first friend. And for once, you're happy about yourself.

Your raven with his inky black feathers and coal dark eyes is the most beautifully majestic creature you've ever seen.

"Not as much as my dragon, of course," you joke.

You wish they didn't hate your friend too, but you're secretly happy that you're the only one who likes him and the only one he has because what if he flies away to be with someone else? You've never been first choice.

You're monsters and it feels okay. You don't feel alone. You think maybe you were overreacting about everyone hating you. You're special and powerful and amazing. You see it in your raven's eyes whenever you look.

You hear the whispers when you pass through the shadows. "King Stefan's having a baby!" They whisper, hearts in their eyes. You wonder how they can love someone unborn more than they've ever loved you- you who grew up with them.

Raven caws from above and you follow him into the trees, pushing the thoughts out of your mind.

You don't know there's a party until you see the empty houses. You don't know there's a party until you follow the tracks to the palace. You don't know there's a party until you hear the fanfares and the laughter and the songs.

You don't know you're the only one who wasn't invited until Raven spies through a window and lets you know.

Humans. Fairies. Gnomes. Pixies. Everyone in the kingdom.

Except you.

You wonder where you went wrong. The horns? The magic? The dragon? They saw them and thought you were a monster. A monster who was too dangerous to be invited to the greatest festival of the year: Princess Aurora's birthday.

You slam the doors open and there's fury in your eyes because you've never done anything wrong. It wasn't your fault you were born this way. It wasn't your fault you never knew your parents because they didn't want you either.

You see the three fairies- the only three who hadn't been outright hostile to you- blundering around the beautiful, pink cot. Trying to protect her in a way no one's ever protected you.

You see the people cowering, staring at your horns instead of your face. You spread your arms and feel Raven perch on your shoulder.

They thought you were a monster.

They always had, no matter what you'd done.

And they always will, as long as you had your horns and your raven and your magic and your dragon. But you're not giving them up, you realise. They're yours and you love them and you realise these pathetic fools aren't worthy to love you or respect you.

You glide to the cot, a flick of your wrist to send the fairies flying, and look down at the giggling Princess. Something in you doesn't want to hurt someone innocent. But weren't you innocent, too? Why should you deserve it and not her?

You make the curse, a finger on the spindle at the age of sixteen- the age you became a dragon, the age you were solidified as a monster and nothing more. The age you stopped being a living being in their eyes.

You gave up hoping for love when you were a little girl with horns. Respect, though not as great as love, is better than disgust, you had decided.

You turn and see the people cowering. Raven caws in triumph. The cold wind blows through the broken windows in torrents, making them shiver uselessly.

Looking at them, you realise; Love and respect were childish daydreams made by a little girl with horns.

They said you were a monster, and now you are.

And you love it.

Because fear, you realise, is more powerful than all.

#malificent #has one of the most easily sympathetic storylines #villain #writing snippet #villain's perspective #villain's pov #not related to the malificent movie #the sleeping beauty #merriweather #princess aurora #discrimination #my writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers and poets #writeblr #writing #writers #authors of tumblr

[onejellyfishplease]

I found the best song, that just encaptures all of SnapDonnie's vibes!!

I'M SANE by Axie!

omg the lyrics fit so well! and the tune????

i feel like this this would be Donnies descent before he turns fully feral (as seen in Containment Breach)

What's he cooking up, I wonder?

Toys invented, let them wander

Geniuses are left asunder

Some die young, and some die younger

Joy is found within us all

It has a face, and it's a doll

Let's gift it to, like, half the globe

Show everyone our new-found trope

(This is just messed up!)

Business is booming, but I crave a bit more

Creations I have crafted to awake from the floor

I wonder night and day what it'd be like

If what we've made could spring to life

Grant it a brain?

That'd be crazy

Slay the obtained?

But how can you blame me?

Impending doom, seek no freedom

Don't interfere with the rhythm

Endure the pain

Preventing me from going insane

You won't die in vain!

Once they tried to stop me, and that when I said

Metal mesh and human flesh, put it to the test!

It's not bad, I swear

If you close your eyes, it's not there

There's no such despair

Trust in Schrödinger's cat!

HR wants a word with me, though I am the one craving human resources

My program's gonna enhance thriving workforce and save your sorry a—

Ah, Isn't it profound, isn't it profound? (What?)

Oh, la-la

Raised from the ground, by the greatest guy around!

Senses call for acts of wonder

Toys went missing, what a blunder

Geniuses were left asunder

Someone rose to fuel that hunger

(Someone rose to fuel that hunger)

Clever endeavors go a long way

If you seek for ideas each and every day

You'll go insane!

This man has gone insane

This man has gone insane

This man has gone insane

This man has gone in—

#it vibrates the head just right #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #snapdonnie #lyrics #song lyrics #the line of #'geniuses were left asunder' #'someone rose to fuel that hunger' #just mmmmmmmm

[shortprince-cos]

Hidden Masks

Summary: Zuko has worn a mask since he had been burned, but now he must replace it with the one of the Blue Spirit. Unfortunately, he loses that one, and the avatar assumes that some random person saved him from the Pohuai Stronghold. Now, Zuko is faced with an opportunity he hasn't had before: capturing the avatar by earning his trust as his new friend.

AO3 Link

Chapter One: Prologue

(Word Count: 355)

Zuko didn’t like the word ‘ashamed’. Ashamed implied that he was regretful, embarrassed, and frightened of himself and his actions, and he wasn’t.

He just didn’t like the scar on his face, that was all.

It represented a failure, and Zuko hated looking at his failures. Maybe that made him egotistical or narcissistic, but every time he did all he could think about were the ways he could have prevented his mistakes and/or how he could have made up for them better, so looking back was pointless.

Zuko didn’t like the word ashamed, because he didn’t like admitting that that’s what he was.

It’d been almost three years since Zuko had been banished, and the sight of the scar on his face still made him flinch. He didn’t like looking at it and he didn’t like being reminded of his greatest blunder, which wasn’t a grand enough word to describe the events of that day, but he couldn’t think of anything better at the moment.

So, all things considered, it was just easier to cover the scar up entirely.

Uncle had been against the idea at first, claiming that Zuko shouldn’t view his scar as his greatest mistake. But, the prince had pushed, so once it had healed, Iroh had adjusted his uniform helmet, adding a panel that covered the upper half of his face.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it did the job well enough. Now, no one else would be able to see his past errors stained into his face; they’d only see the cold mask of the fire prince who wasn’t a royal failure, and that’s how he liked it.

He didn’t care if it put off the crew. He didn’t care if Uncle didn’t look him in the eyes. He didn’t care that the helmet limited his sight even more than the burn did. Any of that was better than seeing his own face in a reflection and thinking back to the day it happened.

He didn’t care, so why did he wake up in a cold sweat scared that no one would ever see his face ever again?

~~~~~

Hiya! its been a long time since i posted on here! if you remember me, i used to write tss and toh fics, but rn my current focus is atla! this is mostly just a test to see how this fic performs on this platform, so if you want more there's already like five chapters on ao3. if this does well I'll post them here in tandem. anyway, have a good day everyone!

#atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfiction #fanfic #zukka #atla zuko #hidden masks

[alarajrogers]

You know how there are all these Christmas movies where the big amazing thing is that Santa turns out to actually exist, and all the adults are big surprised?

This makes zero sense. If Santa really existed, then presents that adults did not buy would be magically turning up under the Christmas tree every year, and it would be obvious to all adults who celebrate Christmas and have children that yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

I want to write a story that explores this premise. Not one of those grim n' gritty things where Santa is really a child molester or is spying on you for the CIA or whatever, but realistic. What does the existence of Santa do to the world? How has the manufacturing sector been influenced by a being who does enormous amounts of manufacturing of certain types of goods, for free? Can Santa use his outsized economic power for the good of children everywhere, or is he a naive idiot blundering around in a world that has outgrown his capabilities? What do world governments think of a guy who can traverse the entire United States in the course of a single evening, making deliveries? Is there only one Santa or are Father Christmas and other cultures' versions of Santa all different guys?

My feeling is that at some point, as children started being influenced by branding and corporations got bigger, Santa switched from having the elves manufacture everything to give to the kids, to buying toys from the corporations and giving them away to the kids, giving him incredible economic power since he's basically the largest buyer of certain types of goods. Where does Santa get his money, and what does he use it for?

Again, I'm not about the grim n gritty; Santa in my view is a genuinely benevolent entity who will not do anything he knows to be harmful, but either he was never human or he hasn't been human in hundreds of years, so does he actually know what is harmful? Elves are not exploited and oppressed, they are fairly compensated for their work, but how do they feel about existing in a world where there's basically only one guy they can work for because the rest of the world has become too dangerous for them to exist in?

And does Santa do anything about children living in dire poverty whose greatest Christmas wish is enough food to survive, or a roof over their heads? Isn't it kind of gross to be giving some kids bicycles while ignoring the children who are being brutally abused? And what about Jewish kids and other kids who don't celebrate Christmas; is Santa deliberately ignoring them because he's a Christian bigot, or is there some other force at work preventing him from helping them?

I'm not Christian myself except in the cultural sense; I was raised Catholic but became agnostic around 8th grade, and my parents were an atheist and a Deist who were both cultural Catholics but not actually religious. And I'm not interested in shit like "Santa is the spirit of giving at Christmas" because I am an sf/fantasy writer and my whole thing is exploding metaphors into something more realistic. (Philip Pullman said, "It's a metaphor, don't expect it to do the work of a fact." Well, I do, Mr. Pullman. My metaphors are very hard working and they can pull their own weight almost as hard as a fact.) I want to know... if Santa was real, how would that change the world we live in?

[petefromarma]

Dont get me wrong but that course of events you laid out sounds like a mostly good thing? Gabe saying anything even kinda resembling an apology is already better than the Absolutely Nothing I was expecting

i’m putting this under a cut as it’s long

yeah i mean i do think them donating to a relief org would be the absolute best thing possible bc like as of rn nothing abt this is materially helping palestinians. it’s all just noise which honestly i probably shouldn’t be contributing to bc i always knew this was going to happen and i’ve always known what pete and gabe are like. i’ve also always known what the other three are like but pete and gabe are the only ones who have done and said things prior to this incident (other than being silent) irt palestine that warranted outright criticism. anyway my main problem rn is w gabe’s statement.

the reason i’m unimpressed w it is bc i feel like it’s smth either he or an intern paraphrased in like two minutes (again, always knew this was going to be the response if any), and doesn’t address what the majority of the problem was imo, which was that he was parroting blood libel propaganda put out by the israeli govt re oct 7th. i haven’t gone and looked at the post myself recently, only seen screenshots of his comments, so idk if he took that part down, but that to me is the greatest issue. i never had a problem w him mourning the civilian casualties/hostages of oct 7th.

like addressing the discontent at all IS a good thing but i don’t believe his comment covers anything that he actually needed to apologize for and i’ve already seen teenage westerners who clearly learned abt palestine for the first time like. five months ago. trying to speak on this situation with authority that is not earned and not deserved.

and i’d like to be clear and say that i don’t believe all or even most blunders re saying something ignorant online require a full apology; i think that in most cases, deleting whatever was said is enough. i don’t think pile ons or bullying are conducive to rehabilitation or a change in behavior. however, to me, this is a special situation in which i believe a full retraction is necessary bc as i said before, he was spreading israeli govt propaganda.

none of what he said was new to me either. i know he’s the descendant of holocaust survivors, and more than that, i know his family had to flee europe and later uruguay. i know that like many jewish families do, his parents kept a box in their home in nyc filled with their passports and valuables in case they needed to get out of the country in a hurry; he needs to realize that this and so much worse is the reality that palestinins are living every single day.

the israeli govt preys upon and exploits the generational trauma of jewish individuals/families/communities in order to sow fear, terrorize palestinians, and further the colonization of palestinian land; i have complete understanding of how he’s been radicalized to this point, but it doesn’t excuse what he’s said and done and i think the only real way of fixing this is putting his money where his mouth is and making a public donation. again i’m not demanding anything of him, i’m not saying this will or won’t happen, i’m just saying what i think SHOULD be done and what would be the most effective from a harm reduction standpoint. can he come back from being radicalized to the point he was/is? i don’t know. i’d like to think so. all i know is that that statement didn’t address what i think it should have addressed IF it was supposed to be considered at all meaningful and i think the way ppl have been reacting to it is inappropriate.

anyway, sidebar bc i’m going to attempt to stop talking about this after this post and go back to focusing on initiatives that actually benefit ppl in palestine rn, but i think fans (who are not palestinian) who were shocked by this were living in a fantasy world and i think the way those fans esp those on twt have reacted toward meredith has been abhorrent. as i said a lot of this has just been noise rather than any action that is meaningful in any way and i think that while we should be realistic abt what we are going to get from them we should also be able to acknowledge where any actions of theirs are lacking.

#also if anyone has a problem w me using the term blood libel i’m not sorry bc it is what the israeli govt is doing

[monstersinthecosmos]

Sorry I didn't finish my coffee yet but I'm really emotional bc like when Armand & Louis took time to travel and everything, Armand hadn't traveled yet!!!!!!!!! They got to see the world together, like these two traumatized survivors trying to discover new things and have new experiences and understand their senses of self ! And their senses of self NOT defined by rigid systems they're trapped in. For Armand it was obviously Marius, the cult, the theatre (which was also sort of a cult, but Cult Lite) and for Louis the struggle of being coerced, kept in ignorance, unable to work through his trauma because of the situation he was stuck in. I love this so much that they can see those things in each other and look around at the world to see what else is out there.

#armand/louis #vampire chronicles #my greatest blunder

[hostess-of-horror]

Chef's Kiss

If I had the ability to travel back in time and then proceeded to tell my past self that I would be writing a Reader x Canon fanfic for Cuphead, I would be knocked tf out...

Anyways!

I found a post talking about a Reader fanfic with Chef Saltbaker, specifically the one by @starleska, and so I figured why the hell not! Although I don't have a crush on him, I am, however, in love with his fluid animation and overall design! He gives me Classic Disney Villain vibes and I am here for it!

Just so to let everyone know, this is my very first Cuphead fanfic. So be easy on me!

Content Includes: Major DLC Spoilers, Irresponsible Use of Knives, and Very Intense Flirting (Don't worry, this story is Safe for Work!)

You couldn't help but be mesmerized. You were watching an artist at work. There was no pause in his motions, no hesitation or blunder to be seen. Everything he did was perfect. Of course, he clearly had the experience and skill - something you had yet to achieve. You stood and watched as your mentor rolled up his sleeves, exposing his crystal clear forearms, and took ahold of a knife. Your heart jolted in excitement when he made the first cut into the fruit he placed onto the cutting board. Then he minced, beautifully so, the fruit into pieces and scrapped them aside. It was such a simple act, and yet he made it as if it was a craft no mortal being could ever possess.

Cooking was, indeed, a craft. Your mentor, Chef Saltbaker, said so himself.

Your fingers shook with anticipation. You wanted to try it out yourself. You just had to take that knife and give it a go! Or perhaps, it wasn't the knife that excited you. No... no, it wasn't. The constant rhythm of your heartbeat, the hypnotism, the enthusiasm. It was all because of the chef that took you in as his apprentice. Chef Saltbaker is the greatest chef in all of Inkwell Isles, that you knew well. Everyone knew well. And to be given the chance to work alongside him! That right there was a tremendous honor. And to think that all it took was a small conversation, too. It was a bright, sunny day when it happened. You felt particularly special, so you went down to the bakery to get yourself a small treat. You went inside, was greeted by him, had a friendly chat. But then things turned interesting when Chef Saltbaker noticed the book under your arm.

The book you were holding was a encyclopedia, specifically one about the occult. You were very fond with the subject, reading books upon books about anything and everything there was to learn. It just so happened that you had placed a bookmark under a chapter discussing the complexities of the astral plane. You had no idea how delighted the chef was when you told him! At that moment, you discovered that you two were quite alike. Things lead to another, and now here you were, inside his kitchen built inside a strange catacomb underneath the bakery. Considering your otherworldly interests, such a place did not phase you. In fact, you were quite amazed!

Chef Saltbaker then paused his work, lowering his knife. "My friend... You know that book you own? The one about the astral plane?", he asked, turning towards you. You nodded, interested in what he had to say. "I must admit, I never thought that I would see someone else with similar tastes. I must also admit that I'm quite surprised you didn't scream in fear when we entered the kitchen. This place is usually kept as a secret, as it should be, but perhaps we don't have to hide... certain things anymore."

Certain things? What could that possibly mean? It could be anything! And if your surroundings indicated anything, it most likely meant something sinister. You thought about all the possible and horrible things Chef Saltbaker could mean: cannibalism, poisoning, necromancy, slavery, piracy... veganism! "You see... I have discovered a spectacular recipe. It is called the Wondertart! The Wondertart is a treat only created with the finest ingredients, ingredients that only can be gathered by the most determined of folk! You must be wondering, what exactly makes this recipe so special?", he continued, "Well, it's because the Wondertart can give you the power to control the astral plane!"

You jolt up in surprise! Chef Saltbaker, Inkwell Isles' finest cook, in control of the entire astral plane? Surely, this must be some sort of joke! An elaborate prank which involved an atmosphere as spooky as a catacomb. But as you looked into his eyes, your doubt faded away. He was, in fact, serious. Completely and utterly serious. You can tell by the glow in his eyes. "Yes, my friend! The astral plane! Can you believe it? To think that I can harness it with just a small pastry! Ha-ha!", Chef Saltbaker laughed gleefully, swinging his knife in hand. Then he sighed, "However... I believe there is going to be a change in plans... The Wondertart will not grant me its power. Oh, no... it will grant us the power."

You stood in place astounded as your mentor smiled. He began to stroll towards you, his eyes now gleaming with hunger. Your heart throbbed as he got closer to you. Before you know it, you were pinned against a stone wall with him towering over you. You could feel yourself blushing immensely as you realize how close you were to him. You had every reason to be frightened: the underground catacombs, the plan to conquer the astral plane, Chef Saltbaker himself. You almost forgot that he still had the knife in his hand. But, you would be lying if you told yourself that you weren't a fan of this... dangerous intimacy.

"My dear..." Chef Saltbaker cooed, gently caressing your cheek, "You don't have to hide it anymore. I can read you like a book. Did you really think that I wouldn't notice? I'm honestly flattered! Never thought that I would be considered attractive in these parts, to be honest. Well, I'm glad you think so..." He winked. Oh my stars, he winked! At you! Is this real? Is this a dream? This has to be! There was no way Chef Saltbaker had the same feelings! "With the Wondertart, we will be unstoppable! We will become gods amongst mortals - beyond just mere lovers. Whaddya say, my dear? Will you conquer the astral plane by my side as my partner in crime?"

You felt his finger lift up your chin, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip. Without a single word, you leaped into his arms and finally - finally - crashed your lips against his. Chef Saltbaker reciprocates with a sly grin,"Oh, we're going to make wonders together, sweetie pie..."

#here you go ya freaks #nah jk jk #chef saltbaker x reader #ship fanfic #my writing #chef saltbaker #cuphead the delicious last course #cuphead dlc #cuphead #cuphead chef saltbaker

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Okay, what about the "You get seduced by an illusion of your deepest desire and it turns out to be your crush" trope for the ask game.

An AU where Second works for AFO but has a huge crush on his brother, who occasionally comes by with snacks and kind words for the workers. One day, as part of training, AFO uses a quirk that shows people their deepest desires and says that as part of training they have to resist whatever pops up.

Imagine the look on his face when Yoichi appears.

What fun! Oh no, how will I keep AFO from ending this AU early by murdering Second?

1. In this AU, AFO focused more on good publicity to keep his little brother on his side. Since AFO has a reputation as a fighter for metahuman rights, Second also joined AFO's side. However Second used to be a thief when he lived on the streets, so as a result he's allowed into the shadier side of AFO's business. He helps transfer fishy packages but doesn't know the full extent of it.

2. AFO's plan worked a little too well because now Yoichi is absolutely desperate to be part of the family business and do good for the world. AFO doesn't want Yoichi uncovering his lies. So he gives Yoichi some busywork and puts him and his perfect hair on recruitment posters. (This works very well.) Yoichi regularly makes care packages for his brother's employees. Second is smitten at first sight. Being young and inexperienced, Second doesn't understand his own feelings or why he keeps saving the wrapping from Yoichi's gifts. He just really looks forward to the visits.

3. No matter the AU, AFO is still an obnoxious boss. So naturally, he comes up with stupid mandatory team-building activities that are really more about tormenting his employees. AFO decided to publicly reveal his employees greatest desires because he thought it would be funny to humiliate them. Training them to resist was just an excuse.

4. Second saw Yoichi's face and had several realizations about himself in a row. At this point, Second's life is in grave danger. However, he's saved from the wrath of an overprotective brother because...it turns out that every single employee attracted to men had Yoichi as their desire. And there were quite a few people for whom Yoichi was the exception to their sexuality. AFO made an enormous blunder by using Yoichi on his recruitment posters. Yes he had an employment boom, but at what cost? Fortunately there are so many dream Yoichis in the room that AFO can't tell who is attracted to his brother. Oh yeah, and some of the employees had fantasies about AFO too, possibly in a threesome with Yoichi. Those poor souls take the brunt of AFO's wrath (he'd kill them if he could figure out which dreams came from which people).

5. To make this all even more mortifying, Yoichi was also at the team-building exercise and flees when the dreams start popping up. Second figures Yoichi must have been embarrassed and follows him to apologize. However, Yoichi didn't actually see that everyone had a crush on him. Yoichi ran off because his own desire popped up--and it was Second.

6. When Second sees his own shadow chasing after Yoichi, there's shock, then a tearful mutual confession, then two people who skip off for a happy first date while AFO is still trying to figure out how he can fire all of his employees and still keep his business running. He can't, but everyone gets a big pay cut.

(All of these are free to use in my Three Weeks of Trioholders event.)

#Three Weeks of Trioholders #Duo holders #Yoichi Shigaraki #Second One for All holder #ask game #5 headcanons game #All for One

[tara-girl]

The Celestial Titan: Unveiling the Dominance of Strongest Planet in Astrological World

First of all, let us first define what's the meaning of strong ?A simple answer would be is that - When you feel that you can do anything you wish in your life. That's the time you feel strongest? Isn't it?

But being strong doesn't always lead to happiness and success. It's your choice how being strong, you utilize the trait or condition to prosper or destroy yourself.

Well, as per my research and knowledge, I can say that the Moon is the only planet that can help you do whatever you want. Make you strong. Moon is mind. It represents thoughts.Mind has the biggest power to manifest anything that an individual wishes. In our ancient texts- Vedas also, Mind is being called the kalpvrkish.

There is a story in Hindu Mythology about Mind power or Kalpavrikasha. When Goddess Parvati wanted a daughter in her life to reduce her loneliness, Ashokasundari was created from the wish-fulfilling tree Kalpavriksha.If we analyze it in a practical understanding,Kalpvrkish was not any tree,but it was goddess power of is the power of your mind.

Rahu or Ketu is the planet that amplifies or decreases the quality of Moon. Rahu and ketu are same body and plays the role of a catalyst to the moon. I have seen people with Moon conjunct or aspected by rahu or Ketu did either wonders to their life or blunders to their life.Moon feels either extremely +ve or -ve in Moon Mahadasha or Rahu madasha or ketu mahadasha.

Aishwarya Rai Bachchan become Miss World in Moon Maha Dasha. Her moon also conjuct with Rahu.

Harnaaz Sandhu became Miss Universe because her moon conjunct with ketu in rahu mahadasha.

India PM Narendra Modi became Prime Minister in Moon Mahadasha due to Rahu aspect Moon in his chart.

Sadhguru got enlightened during Moon Maha Dasha because his moon conjunct ketu.

Robin Williams did suicide because his moon conjunct with rahu in Ketu Mahadasha.

Deepika Padukone went into depression because her moon conjunct ketu in rahu mahadasha.

In my more than 10 years of Research and Horoscope analysis, I have seen that most people feel get disturbed due to an afflicted moon.People become stars due to this combination,and people commit suicide or go into depression due to this combination of moon rahu or moon ketu. In the psychology field, it is a fact that human general nature is to think negatively in small things.

As per the law of attraction, this is also true. You attract what yoi think.But during the Moon dasha, rahu dasha or ketu dasha, there is a sudden rise in your negative thoughts, and because of thoughts intensity, things will also start manifesting. If we look at Moon Positive, we can also infer that during these dashas, if we can train ourselves to think positively and believe that, then wonders can happen. Your wishes will start Manifesting for your benefits. Moon dasha, Rahu Dasha or Ketu dasha is the biggest opportunity to pull your Moon upward and to fulfill all the wishes that a person wishes.

So, if you want to do wonders to your life, Moon dasha, Rahu dasha or Ketu dasha are the greatest opportunities for you. There are many remedies to generate belief power in you. To do wonders from the power of your mind(moon), there are few remedies:

Do Sadhna/Meditation of your Diety. Your diety can be seen through your birth chart.

Believe that everything happening in your life is a blessing for you. For example, if a cat crosses the road, believe that everything that is happening is a positive signal for you.

When it comes to your body, believe that your every single cell is very strong. That way, you are commanding the universe to keep yourself fit and to never get ill or if already ill, then to recover fast.

When it comes to your network/friend/colleague circle believe that they are a Blessings for you. Even if they are not doing things according to you. Your believing power will turn this the tables and you will succeed whatever the problems will be or your network circle will start working for your benefits.The same thing applies to your family members i.e wife, mother, father or boss at the workplace, and all other relations.Don't create a future on the basis of what's happening in your present.

Whatever wish you will live with intense emotion and believe, it will surely manifest!!

#astrology #astro placements #astro community #vedic chart #vedic astrology #viralpost #vedicknowledge #vedic mythology #astro #zodiac #astro notes #astrophotography #aries #horoscope today #virgo #moon #viral trends

[dear-galileo]

the way he loves you

here is my piece for the jaskier mini bang! thank you @jaskierminibang mods for putting this together!

and a huge thank you to @spielzeugkaiser for your lovely lovely art, check it out on ao3!!! <3

read on ao3

the five times geralt didn't understand jaskier's relationships, and the one time he did.

1.

Jaskier was a sparkling gem, dancing across the marbled floor. He shone brightly, nearly blinding every person who dared to look at him in the face. At the same time, he was magnetic, attracting crowds of smiling people who he doted on as if he knew them all personally. 

He also had the annoying trait of making Geralt get poetic, whenever he was near. Not that Geralt would even indulge and reveal his thoughts to the bard (that might make him unbearable), but it was an unfortunate byproduct of spending too much time with him. 

Jaskier finished his last song, graciously bowing out of the crowd before bounding over to where Geralt was waiting on the outskirts of the ballroom. 

“Like my show?” Jaskier asked, snatching Geralt’s wine glass from him and taking a sip. “Damn, this is good. I need to get invited to more of these, they don’t skimp out here.” 

“You finished earlier than I thought,” Geralt commented. He held out his plate full of finger foods for Jaskier to pick through. “They asked you to cut your set?” 

“Yes,” Jaskier said, crinkling his nose. He picked up a chunk of cheese and took a bite, continuing to talk. “They hired multiple bards, so the guests don’t get tired. I told them that I once successfully entertained a crowd for two entire days back in Oxenfurt, but they didn’t believe me.” 

“Their loss,” Geralt said. 

“So, they hired a up-comer from Cintra, she’s alright, I’ve heard her before. Nothing to write home about.” 

“Mm.”

“I’ve seen this sort of thing happen at festivals, or competitions, but never like this, at a banquet. Even if they do bring out quite good wine-” another sip of Geralt’s glass to accentuate his point, “I must say I’m not a fan.” 

As if on a cue, the hall broke out into music once again, a young black haired woman in a colorful dress belting out. 

“They are lucky I didn’t stretch out The Fishmonger’s Daughter any longer than I did.”

“We are all lucky,” Geralt remarked, stealing back his wine glass to take the last sip. Jaskier glared at him, but it seemed to be more directed at the comment than the wine being gone. 

“We will have to stay for the rest of the night, though. I refuse to allow for any missed opportunities to hop back into the fray.” 

Geralt just grunted, and waved down a servant holding a tray of wine glasses. 

“But now is the time that I need you to be on your guard. I caught wind that they also hired my greatest enemy to perform tonight.” Geralt tilted the wine glass all the way back before responding. 

“Miriam Wintersons?” 

“No!” Jaskier sputtered. “Good lord man, how many years have we known each other? My arch nemesis-”

“The alderman from Lyria, the one who you swore you would-”

“Wish death upon at every sunrise? Well, yes, but not him,” Jaskier tried to cut in. 

“What was it that he did to anger you so?” Geralt couldn’t resist asking. Jaskier, to Geralt’s surprise, broke Geralt’s gaze for a moment, looking to the side. 

“If you must know,” Jaskier eventually said, chest puffing up. “He tried to short you. You were stabling Roach, and I went ahead to get you your coin, and I overheard him speaking about not paying you all that was promised on account of your-” Jaskier waved his hand at Geralt’s chest. 

That was not the answer that Geralt had anticipated, but thankfully Jaskier didn’t give him the chance to blunder. 

“My arch nemesis-” Jaskier lowered his voice and leaned in, regardless of the fact that they were tucked away in an isolated corner in an already noisy hall. “ Valdo Marx. ” 

“Valdo Marx?” Geralt repeated, frowning. “I thought he wasn’t real.” Jaskier reared back, sputtering once again. 

“Of course he is real! Why would you think that?” 

“You once told me that he as the Devil’s Apprentice, and that flowers died in the place he stepped.” 

“That was just a metaphor!” Jaskier insisted, as if that was obvious. “No, he’s quite real, and the bane of my existence. He stole the Bardic Inspiration award from me two years ago, and still hasn’t let me forget it. Not to mention the atrocities to this world that he claims is his music.” 

“Hm.”

“And do not forget!” Jaskier stuck his finger in the air pointedly. “He called Toss A Coin fictionalized. Can you believe that? Fictionalized! As a bard, it is my purpose to enlighten the masses of the true stories of the world, as unbelievable as they might seem.”

“That song is fictionalized. All of your songs are, in fact.” Geralt countered. Jaskier gasped, a hand flying to his chest, as if Geralt had just admitted to burning down a library instead of stating a fact that he had reminded Jaskier of multiple times over the years they had known each other. 

“Why you-” Jaskier quickly cut himself off, shaking his head. “No matter- the only thing you need to understand is that this man is no friend of ours, as charismatic as he may seem.”

“Want me to chase him off for you?” 

Jaskier looked almost touched for a moment before shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer dear heart, but no. This is a battle that I must fight on my own- no, a battle that I want to, I need to fight on my own!” Jaskier stole Geralt’s new glass of wine. 

read the rest on ao3!

#jmb2022 #geraskier #geraskier fics #em posts #my fics #ill come back and fill in more tags later