#cause of death: dum dum live

[snickerdoodlles]

🪐 brainrot so bad I saw this in my rec list and went "fucking mood" before I remembered this is Tumblr and Tumblr already has a special Jeff

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

John Wayne (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 1

Hiii! Inspired by the song of the same name by lady Gaga, and these two(flash warning for this one) edits of Predo Pascal(🤭) Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, making out, pet names, Miguel being a big ass flirt, slight nsfw but no smut. Mentions of hanging and death Lowkey highkey very cheesy and cliché but in a fun way.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.1k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Bandits, cowboys, shoot outs, saloon fights, all things you’ve heard rumors about the Wild West while you lived in the city. Your classmates telling you stories they’ve heard from a long distance relative or from a friend of a friend of a friend.

But as you sit down at your fathers office at his new job, you couldn’t help but think that all those stories were nothing more than that. Stories. Lame, boring, make-believe stories. Who would have know that being the sheriff’s daughter in a dum-fuck nowhere town would have been so uneventful, on an exciting day, he’d lock up a drunk. You wish your parents had just stayed on the east coast as you let out an exasperated huff, dropping your pencil on your school workbook, and you lean back in his chair, letting your eyes wander to the ceiling.

“Alright O’Hara,” The muffled sound of your father’s voice was heard from the outside of the door, followed by some clinking. Causing you to sit in the chair properly before he appeared through the door. “Ima need you to sit tight in this cell for a few days ‘til the state sheriff is able to get down here and give me your reward money.”

To your surprise, a man in cuffs came through the door first. Your eyes widened in silent curiosity as you studied the new mystery man. You've never seen him in town before, because you were certain you would have remembered a man as handsome as him.

He’s getting arrested by my father what the fuck is wrong with me?

Your father didn’t acknowledge your presence, but that didn’t stop the other man’s eyes from falling onto you immediately. The definition of tall, dark and handsome, a towering frame, tan skin, semi-permanent wrinkles in between his brows and at the end of his lips, in indication he scowls too much, and his muscles, they could easily snap you in half if he wanted to. Dark worn out blue jeans, dust brown cowboy boots, a black hat, a flannel that emphasizes his arms with ever movement and-fuck he caught you staring. Warmth flared all over your face as you finally tore your gaze from his, barely catching the small smirk and hmph he let out in amusement. How could he not? When his captor’s daughter is checking him out.

It seems your father didn’t catch your wandering eyes, but he sure as hell caught his mischievous look in his, the rage quickly filling his face as he tossed the larger man in the cell quickly after taking off his cuffs. Locking him in before pointing an accusing finger at him with his right hand, while his left gripped the iron bars tight enough for his knuckles to turn white as he spoke. “Don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, don’t even think about my daughter.” He hissed the threat, before turning over to face you, visibly relaxing as his tone softened. “Ima step out of the room to make a few calls. Yell if he causes you any trouble darlin’.” You nodded, your fathers eyes traveled down to your abandoned work, “And finish your school work, you’re lucky to be attending college.” He added before leaving the room, an uncomfortable silence falling on you and the unknown crook. Keeping your eyes glued to your notebook despite your mind being elsewhere.

“So.” He finally spoke after cleaning his throat, moving to lean against the iron bars of his enclosure. “What’s your name preciosa?” He asked, his head tilting and his lips twitched upwards as he watched you. (Sweetie)

“My father told you not to talk to me.” You fumbled out almost too quickly, the words coming out rushed and almost panicked much to your dismay. Your face warmed up once more as you could feel his eyes bore into you, your eyes remained downwards, your hands balled into fist on your lap as you try not to think about him watching you as if you were in a cage and not him. You were certain if you met his gaze your combust into flash hotter than the sun.

He let out an unamused laugh, shifting his head forward as three of his fingers went to grab the rim of his cowboy hat, taking it revealing his disheveled brown locks, slightly wavy from being covered.

“Does it look like I’m the type to listen to authority, sweetheart?” God the nicknames were making you weak in the knees.

“Well, no-“

“Come on gorgeous,” He cooed, “indulge me.”

You bit on your bottom lip as you mentally battled with the idea, your father probably wouldn’t like the idea, but if it’s just your name, then what’s the harm right?

With a small sigh, you finally gain the courage to meet his gaze, almost dropping it immediately when you notice the look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way your kitten looks at a loose mouse. Like he would pounce on you if he wasn't confined.

“It’s…It’s (Y/N).” You finally utter, it came out meek, soft, you hated how it almost made you sound weak. His brow raised as he brought his hand up to cup around his ear, a silent way of asking you to speak up, but you could tell by the way his smirk pulled up he definitely heard you. With a huff and an eye, you repeat your name, with more confidence this time.

He released a low whistle as his hand dropped again, “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to giggle at the compliment or roll your eyes at the cheesiness, his accident drawing out a bit more while emphasizing beautiful both times. You went with both.

“What’s your name?”you asked, getting up from the chair you were sitting in and making your way towards the cell, not too close but close enough for him to reach for your hand and gently raise it towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it, it made your whole body tingle as he threw you a quick wink and a playful smirk.

“Names’ Miguel O’Hara, but you can call me Mig.”

—

Your father had informed you that Miguel would be stuck with him for a few weeks, due to the state chief being preoccupied with the bounty on Jesse James’s head, they were close to changing him apparently and he had all his attention on him at the moment. When Miguel was informed he only scoffed and grumbled, seemingly moody that he wasn’t top priority. You found it funny, it’s as if he wanted a bigger prize money attached to him, coming out a few thousand short of the other man.

You would never admit it, not to your friends, not to your mother and especially not to your father, but you couldn’t help but grow a bit fond of the cowboy. It’s cliché you know, the daughter of a cop falling for the outlaw but it’s hard not too when he’s always complimenting you or calling you pet names, and he knew how to hold a good conversation.

You’ve never acted out too much with your parents before, always did good in school, never snuck out, never went out to meet boys that didn’t ask for permission beforehand. So when you caught yourself sneaking at your father’s work keys in the late hours of the night to sneak out of the house and into the station to talk to the man whose mere existence cost more then the pure-breed horse you took from the stall every night to visit, it was invigorating but also utterly terrifying in the chances of you getting caught. Despite your initial fear, it didn’t mean you didn’t start to get sloppy.

Both with sneaking out, and with the cowboy.

—

A yawn escaped Miguel’s chapped lips as he lazily rubbed his face, trying to fight off sleep as he shifted around in his overly small bed, the only light source he had was the beams of pale moonlight that was seeping from his barred window. Heavy eyelids began to close when they suddenly snapped open at the familiar sound of keys jangling and the rattling of the doorknob opening.

“Took you long enough gatita, though you forgot about me.” Miguel spoke as he watched you with once tired eyes that were now filling with a different emotion as he watched you place your hand lamp on your father’s desk before you head over to him, keys in hand. Although the words seem like a joke, his tone was low and anything but humorous. (Kitten)

“Had to make sure my family was asleep.” You attempted to justify yourself as you unlock his door, not even getting a second to put the keys back in your dress pocket before Miguel grabbed you and pulled you into his room, his mouth greeting yours in a hot needy kiss. The keys drop to the wooden floor with a loud clunk as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and your fingers tug at the small curls at the back of his neck, only causing him to let out a groan at the pleasurable pain.

You too have been at it for about a week now, ever since your father informed you that the state sheriff would finally head down to your town to take Miguel of of his hands, he would arrive tomorrow morning, meaning tonight was your last with Miguel. He would be taken back to the state capital to be hung the following week.

“Ima miss these sweet lips darlin’…” He mumbled between peppering kisses down your jawline and towards your collarbone. A whine leaving your swollen lips you felt his large hands undo the buttons that cover your chest, leaving another dark hickey on you , before stopping for a second to admire his work. Seven hickeys, one for each day.

Your hands followed his lead, going under his sleeping shirt, wandering against his toned stomach, before he quickly pulled it off, turning you both around so your back was against the wall.

“Can’t get enough of you...”

“Me either…”

“Don’t forget about me (Y/N).”

“I won’t Miguel.”

Your lips quickly reunited with his as he started to drag the cotton fabric down from around your shoulders when the sound of the door office slamming opened caused you both to jump away from each other, a startled yelp escaped from you as you go to over your exposed breast.

Your eyes quickly darted to see who had opened the door, only to felt a lump build in your throat at the sight of your seething father, red face with anger as his shoulders rise and fell rapidly with each erratic breath he took.

“I thought I told you to stay away from my daughter!” He roared as he started to near the cell, making you quickly exit it, closing the door before standing in front of it so he couldn’t get to Miguel. “And you.” His eyes dropped to meet yours, anger, disappointment, betrayal, emotions you’ve never seen him directly towards you, it only made your throat tighter and your stomach drop. “I expect better from you. Do you know how many trains and banks he’s robbed! How many people he’s killed! I don’t want anyone like that near my daughter-“

“But father, I love him!”

Love. You’ve never once said that about a man in your life, you blurted it out without so much as a second thought. But it felt right.

This only made your father scoff. Not even caring about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You don’t know a thing about love.” He muttered in a low tone that made a shiver run down your back, his eyes narrowing down at you before gripping your forearm as he began to drag you out of his office, despite your best attempts to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter either way. Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and next week he’ll be dead. You’ll never see him again.” He finished as he dragged you fully out of the building and back towards home, not showing one ounce of pity despite your cries making his heart ache.

—

Once he was alone, Miguel ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t even have one last night with you before he’d leave your life forever. A heavy sigh turning into a panic curse when he went to lean against the stall door and to find it not support his body weight as it usually would. Stumbling a bit to regain his balance, it only took him a few seconds to realize that, in your father’s angry rampage, he had forgotten to relock his cell.

—

Taglist: @loser-alert

[under-myown-tale]

I felt I had to make a breakdown of all the AUs and my inner commentary with them because I need to keep track somehow

Undertale: OG, classic universe, if it ain't broke don't fix it

Underswap: the ol' switcheroo, taking this version of paps to the bone zone, overall cute au

Underfell: so much edge, did everyone here just inhale a Hot Topic with a side order of Linkin Park 'cause jeez, you guys need to chill

SwapFell: ah crap, now the cute one has been infested with the edge too, it was only a matter of time, it's just a phase they'll grow out of it

Mafia: pfft, what's not to love?, live for the aesthetic, take me to the speakeasy where I can jive with some suited skeletons

Horror: I'd say it's cannabilism but technically nooo...?, everyone is fucked, as for sans? oh yeah, I'd still tap that (apparently I'm not the only one either)

Anomaly: character ai except h e k n o w s

Ink: Bob Ross ain't got nothing on Sans in this one

Dust: fairy dust?, star dust?, nope, they're... ah, they're not okay...

Error: 01001000, 01100101, 01101100, 01110000

Dream/Nightmare: Mr Sans man bring me a dream~ BA DUM BUH BUM, NOPE NOPE DEATH S A V E M E

I might have missed a few but there were, like, four aus when I was deep in the undertale sauce back in the day. I am but a stranger to these lands now

Nah, in all seriousness I love all of these and the creativity behind them. You guys keep up the good work and I shall continue to indulge like the starved gremlin I am

Man this was dumb

[chand-ki-priyatama]

@btw-its-tamanna

To the girl who is "DESIRED" by all....

To the girl jo meri "TAMANNA" hai....

Wishing you a very happy birthday Sakhi

This was the beautiful day when 16 years back this "APSARA" entered earth from the beautiful footsteps of heaven in order to make this mundane place earth somewhat beautiful with her lovely presence....

Starting off with how our friendship bloomed , it's somewhat true that the most beautiful relations are the ones which are most unexpected.... Our friendship has been a Rollercoaster of emotions , we saw many ups and downs , highs and lows but the thing which matters is that we always were and are by each other's side....

Life

It was always been doomed

I always had thousands of wounds

But finding you was like

Finding a shelter in the rain

Finding happiness in pain

Finding water in desert

And when I was divert

You came for me

And held me in a stride

Thus now I'll be always by your side ~Kaya

You are one of the most enchanting girl I have ever met , your angel like eyes see the good in many devils.... One of the most kindest being I have ever seen....

Sometimes you are "Teri aayi, main marjaavan , Zindadi naam tere kar jaavaan" and sometimes you are "Jo main raat hoon toh tu khwab haiJo main khaali panna, tu alfaaz hai"....

Words can't describe how much you mean to me , sometimes you feel as if you have no one but trust me you'll always have a sister figure in me , a friend in me , a girl who's the Elsa to your Anna , a girl who's Anya to your Becky , a girl who's Kaya to your Tamanna....

When I saw the video of your dance on Sawar loon I felt like "काली-काली ज़ुल्फ़ों के फंदे ना डालो हमें ज़िंदा रहने दो, ऐ हुस्न वालों"....

In your words "ek dum swarg se utri hui kokil kanthi apsara lag rahi ho"....

Sometimes I think are you even real cause you are so freaking perfect....

You feel like a daydream dressed in sunshine....

You feel like someone whom I can love and adore to death....

Although you'll always have a "Desirer" in me but I do hope you find your own desirer who'd desire you in ways you can't even think of , who'd love you till you are sick of it....

You are clearly a ray of sunshine in all of our lives and we all cherish and celebrate your existence....

You are the kind of person who's existence must be celebrated everyday and not on just your birthday cause you deserve every amount of love you get and even more....

I know sometimes you feel alone but isn't it the part of growing up , we lose our way , make new ones and navigate our way through a journey named life....

I hope this chapter 16 of your life opens up infinite possibilities , aspirations , and success in your life....

I really do hope that one day we get to meet and even go on a tour together....

You are one of the greatest friend I know and just know that I always am thankful to God for sending a sweet , beautiful and kind person into my life....

That'll be me and you in a few years....

Now I know you love the song Dil besabar by Iqlipse Nova and I love it too

So it will be a pleasure if you sing this song along side me....

"Naajane Mera Mann Kyun Hai Behka

Mujhse Hai Kehta

Tu Hai Jaha Hai Meri Duniya Bhi Wahi

Dil Yeh Besabar Bada Hai

Tere Peeche Pada Hai

Jaane Na Kya Hua Hai

Teri Deewani Ko"....

And now let's come to the gifts for our special birthday girl aka Apsara aka Tammu....

I couldn't do something very special so I did what I could

I wrote you a poem....

I don't know if you like it or not but this contains all my love for you....

Mind you that for this poem completely and utterly you were my muse....

Next I made you a playlist , it's a short one but I'll keep on adding songs to it...

Last but not the least I love you to the moon and back and I can do anything for you

I hope your special day is as special and wonderful as you are.....

So signing off pishachini

~With love always

-Kaya 💗

[stephensmithuk]

The Empty House

Published in 1903, this was the first Holmes short story for a decade. Doyle had previously released - in a serial format - The Hound of the Baskervilles, which was set before "The Final Problem".

ACD had become Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by this point, honoured in the 1902 Coronation Honours, arguably for a pro-Boer War short work he wrote. That's what he believed in any event.

This is the first story in The Return of Sherlock Holmes and the second that we've covered - we did "The Second Stain" previously because Baring-Gould's chronology puts it quite early.

Park Lane, as I might have mentioned previously, is a highly desirable street and is the equivalent of Park Place on the London Monopoly board.

"Honourable" is the courtesy title used for the younger sons of earls; it's also used by most members of the House of Commons. Insert joke about politicians here.

Carstairs is a village in South Lanarkshire Scotland. It is best known in British railway circles as a major junction and the place where the London to Edinburgh & Glasgow sleeper is split up, a section for each destination.

Expanding bullets were also known as dum-dum bullets after the Indian city of Dum Dum where some of them were made. The hollow point is a more modern version. The nastier injuries that they cause led to their banning from use in warfare in the 1899 Hague Convention, but they remain legal for law enforcement use, it being argued there is less risk of harm to bystanders as the bullet will not pass through.

Baritsu is possibly a typo for Bartitsu, a martial art invented by Edward William Barton-Wright, an engineer who had spent three years living in Japan. Combining elements of boxing, cane fighting, jujitsu and Frence kickboxing, it faded into obscurity during the 20th century before making something of a small comeback in the 21st.

Mecca, then under Ottoman rule, is closed to non-Muslims and the Ahmadiyya movement (seen as heretics). Holmes likely followed some other Westerners by getting in disguised as a Muslim.

The "Khalifa" was Abdallahi ibn Muhammad, a figure who tried to set up an Islamic caliphate in Sudan and the surrounding area at this time (1893). He faced an Anglo-Egyptian invasion in 1896-1899, lost and then engaged in a final stand at the Battle of Umm Diwaykarat in October 1899. To make use of a famous phrase, the other side had Maxim guns and he did not; the battle was massively one-sided, resulting in his death.

The "Jew's harp" is a mouth harp. It's probably from Siberia.

"Journeys end in lovers' meetings" is from Twelfth Night.

A shikari is a big game hunter.

Charasiab was an 1879 battle between the British and Indian Army on one side, with Afghans on the other. The British used Gatling guns for the first time in anger and won, capturing Kabul shortly after.

Despatches refers to the fact that Moran's conduct in the battle was sufficiently brave or high quality to warrant a mention in the official report sent to London and usually published in The London Gazette, the official government journal of record. This still exists and is used to formally announce honours etc. like Arthur Conan Doyle's knighthood. Simply put, it is an official commendation - not a gallantry medal, but one may well follow.

The Scotland Yard Museum, historically known as the Black Museum and now the Crime Museum, is a collection of criminal artefacts used for teaching purposes. Located in the basement of the current New Scotland Yard (the third to use that name) it is not open to the public - only police officers are generally allowed in and need an appointment. The Metropolitan Police has a public museum in Sidcup, but this is also appointment only.

[luna-writes-stuff]

Chapter XXXV

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: Alluding to battle, description of a broken appearance (blood etc.), I was persuaded to let Raewyn live for at least one more chapter, general feels, bittersweet angst and self loathing but also somewhat fluff, shit’s about to get real next chapter. 

———————————————————————

Aragorn wishes he had Raewyn’s ranger skills

The rest of the travel up to Ravenhill was a silent one. All five dwarves had their guard up, scanning every mountain hill and frozen bush they passed. Silent looks were thrown towards Raewyn every so often, but she kept shaking her head, indicating that she had no idea where the orcs had run off to. The whole situation was unsettling to them, but they were set on finally terminating the orc that had caused for so much pain through the years. None were planning on backing off.

Once they arrived upon the top of the hill, the descended from their goats. Before Raewyn could even turn, a hand was offered towards her direction. She didn't have to follow the arm to know who it belonged to. Regardless, she accepted the hand, hopping off of the creature.

Silence was still among the company as they looked towards the ruins of Ravenhill, now surrounded by Azog's devices. Warm clouds of air escaped their mouths as they waded through the snow, the floor slippery to touch, had it not been for their secured shoes.

"They're here," Raewyn mumbled, looking around in suspicion. Subconsciously, the four other dwarves moved closer towards her, each one of them looking into a specific corner.

"I cannot see them," She went on. "But I can feel their eyes."

"Orcs don't lurk in shadows." Thorin uttered lowly as the group made their way to the centre of the ruins. Daring to take one look over her shoulder to face him, she gave him a solemn look.

"Makes you wonder what they have planned."

The wind blowing was the only sound heard after that, and the mere presence of it had become uncomfortable. The five were on edge with each step they took, circling around each other in anticipation. The air was cold to touch, and even through the armour, Raewyn could feel her feet starting to become affected by the weather. And that was when Dwalin decided to speak up.

"We should split up."

"No," The ranger immediately protested, facing the slightly taller dwarf. "Lest you have a death wish."

"So, we sit and wait?" He continued his protesting, his voice more angered than before. But Raewyn ignored the change, keeping her voice steady and her eyes on her surroundings.

"Azog is cunning," She explained. "Like a predator."

"This is dwarven territory," Dwalin argued. "He brought us on our turf. We have the advantage here!"

"No," She cut him down again. "This is your territory, but his battlefield. He won't attack when we remain with each other."

Groaning in defeat, the dwarf shrugged. "Sounds like a terrible battle."

"How do we lure him out?" Thorin began to reason, looking at Raewyn, who merely formed her lips in a thin line upon the question.

"You tell me. You fought him at the gates of Khazâd-Dum. I haven't been hunted by him since I was a little girl."

Nodding in understanding, the dwarven king looked around as if the answer lay in front of him. He tried to think back to all the encounters he had held with the giant orc and what his strategies were. But every time he had encountered him, it seemed as if everything went unplanned. As if he was all that truly mattered. And that was when the lightbulb went on.

"He wants us," He concluded, gesturing towards himself, then the Asha. "We lure him out."

Staring at the dwarf in a doubting look, she tried to come up with a good reason to abandon his idea. She did not like the idea, but she could not argue with the fact that he was right.

"Did you not hear her?" Kili protested suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. "Splitting up is a terrible idea."

"I did not hear any of you utter any other ideas." Thorin spoke lowly, giving the company a little while to come up with some solutions. But when none announced their own plan, Raewyn agreed.

"He's right."

Looks of disbelief were thrown towards the woman, originating specifically from the two young princes. Turning her head towards them, she leaned her head to the side, shrugging lightly: "Believe me, I would prefer if we stayed together, but we won't find him if we remain here. Thorin and I can lure him out. It'll keep you safer."

"No." Again, Kili argued, taking two steps forward in determination. "No, it won't, because I'm coming with you."

"And so am I." Fili added, stepping beside his brother.

"Aye," The third dwarf concluded, following the princes in their steps. His axe was rested over his shoulders as he looked at his king. "You cannot expect us to wait while you get all the action."

Sudden noises filled the air, and for once, Raewyn did not have to look around to identify the noise. What took her aback was the fact that these were not the orcs she had seen earlier. These were goblins. They were removed a reasonable distance judging from the volume, but they had seen the company.

"Fili, take your brother. Scout the towers. Raewyn, you will join them." Thorin began, pointing towards the towers in the distance. "Keep low and out of sight. If you see something; report back. Do not engage." Nodding at their uncle, the brothers walked towards the Asha, who still had her eyes on the king.

"Do you understand?" Thorin asked to Raewyn specifically. Observing his expressions for a short moment, she nodded adamantly. She would have preferred for both of them to run in, but the goblins in the distance left no time for arguments.

"And what if you find him?" She questioned.

His eyes seemed to soften for a short moment, completely thrown off his usal rhythm. "I'll let you know."

"We have company!" Dwalin yelled, having walked off a few feet to interrogate the noise. "Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred."

"We'll take care of them. Go." The king spoke, walking up to his friend. When he turned around shortly, he noticed the three younger dwarves had yet to walk off. "Go!"

—

A small moment of peace struck the city of Dale as Gandalf and Bilbo had found themselves surrounded with the elvish army from Mirkwood. Bodies were littered on the floor as some walls were decorated with blood, yet the ambiance had been comforting, in some form of macabre manner. The orcs had ceased their attacks for a moment, if only for this small area.

The Elvish army parted slightly, creating a path through which the king walked. Thranduil looked around expectantly, his sword still in his hands as he began to assess the situation. From behind him, his commander came running up.

"Recall your company." Thranduil ordered him, to which the elf nodded, blowing a horn.

"My lord," Gandalf started, walking up to the pair, Bilbo hot on his tail. "Dispatch this force to Ravenhill! The dwarves are about to be overrun. Thorin must be warned!"

"By all means, warn him!" The king countered, dismissing Gandalf's proposal. "I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. No more!"

A second elf suddenly walked towards the small group that had begun to form, talking directly to his king: "My lord, the Asha has been sighted with the dwarf."

"Good," Thranduil merely stated. "Let her die."

At the words, Gandalf's posture seemed to change, now taking a more threatening one. At the sight, Bilbo hesitantly stepped back, but close enough to intervene - would things go sideways.

"What has Raewyn done that left you so bitter?" The wizard asked, his voice heavy. But the Elvish king did not seem impressed. Thranduil offered him a rather emotionless look, daring to make eye contact with Gandalf, holding his head high.

"That is none of my business."

"I fear it is," Gandalf was quick to retaliate, his voice relatively calm, but his stature now more imposing than ever. Bilbo decided that he would not want to find himself in any situation as the one Thranduil was in at the moment. He made a gentle reminder to not anger the wizard any time soon.

"Raewyn is under my protection." Gandalf went on.

Staring at the pilgrim in amazement, Thranduil squinted his eyes. "Where lays your affiliation with her?"

"I raised her and cared for her since she was a small girl. She is my kin." The wizard answered without hesitation. "What quarrel you have with her, you have with me."

Seemingly thinking about the matter, the elf was quiet for a moment, sheathing his sword to still show he was comfortable, and not yet intimated. And, if he was, he was not likely to show it. "She is to stand trial for the murder of Êlúriel."

A hum escaped Gandalf's throat as he nodded. "So Legolas has told me. But should we not forget it was you and your kin who refused the Ashas shelter after Smaug attacked?"

"And so, the actions of Rugon were justified?" Thranduil's voice had suddenly taken a shrap edge, light venom dripped on his tongue as his features seemed to change into one of agony.

"Nay, but neither are yours." Gandalf still tried to soothe, even as his anger had become much higher than the elf's. "Raewyn knows nothing about her ancestors, save from the fact she might recognize Rugon's name. You cannot punish her for something she did not do, as she does not hold you accountable for refusing her family shelter."

"She does not know about the dragon." The elf bounced back.

"As she did not know about Êlúriel. You merely chose to tell her. Now, whose fault is that?" The wizard continued, halting his sentences halfway to calm himself down.

Taking a short breath, he looked back at the Elven king, trying to remain as civil as he could, not trying to cause another fight in an already large battle. "Raewyn is a strong ally, but an even stronger enemy. Do not misjduge her character."

"My answer stands," Thranduil refused after a short moment, turning around as he began to walk away from the group. "We will retreat from battle."

"Thranduil?" Gandalf wondered, following the elf swiftly. He was stopped after a few steps by Bilbo, who spoke up in courage, looking up at his old friend: "I'll go."

Halting upon the words, the wizard turned around, facing the hobbit with a look of sorrow and ridicule. "Don't be ridiculous! You'll never make it!"

"Why not?" Bilbo asked, watching the Elvish army slowly depart.

"Because, they will see you coming and kill you!"

"No, they won't." The hobbit denied, shaking his head. Gandalf looked at him perculiarly, rolling his lips once as Bilbo continued speaking, "They won't see me."

Gandalf knew, of course he did. He had been there since the beginning of the Third Age, but his thoughts were divided. He trusted Bilbo, and knew him to do the right thing, but fear of his safety and well-being were what held him back.

"It's out of the question! I won't allow it!"

Then, a smile appeared on Bilbo's face. "I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf."

Gandalf said nothing. Again, stuck on his mind, he tried one last attempt to keep his friend from running into the battlefield: "Raewyn will have my head if something happens to you."

"Believe me; she'll have mine too."

—

"For your information, I hate this." Raewyn voiced openly, both hands on her axe. On her left stood Fili, Kili on her right side. The path up to the Ravenhill towers was a heavy one, though not a long one. And with every step they had taken, a nausiating gut feeling kept trying to push Raewyn back.

She knew it to be the nerves. She's had them before. But she was there to end the one thing that caused her so much sorrow. The one person who had taken everything from her. And she was not going to let him take her new family.

"You should've left me and Thorin to run in." She continued, glaring at both of her companions. Fili shrugged and waved his hand, ushering Kili to talk as he began to walk up front.

"You cannot expect us to sit still with the thought that you might not make it off of here!" The dark-haired dwarf objected, slight anger in his tone.

"I did expect you to sit still and not interfere!" Raewyn caterwauled, letting one hand fall from her axe as she pointed in the distance from whence they had come, a frown on her face.

Mimicking her expression subconsciously, Kili shook his head, his voice raising slightly. "How could you think that?!"

In front of them, Fili turned around, holding his finger in front of his mouth to silently tell them to keep their voices down. Raewyn had already told them to watch their tone as they neared the ruins, but in the heat of the moment, she had forgotten her own words.

"Oh, I don't know," She whispered angrily, stopping in her steps as she forced the dwarf to look at her. "Maybe, because I've been a giant asshole ever since we've entered Erebor. Or because I nearly killed your uncle! Oh, and let us not forget I genuinely contemplated killing both of you with the axe you gave me and I haven't been able to think of anything else since that moment!" 

In her anger, directed towards herself, she was unable to see Kili's frustrated muscles ease with every word she spoken. Towards her last words, his face had softened, and his eyebrows had been furrowed together in sympathy, instead of frustration. His arms had dropped to the floor, and  - even though his sword was still in his hands, the grip on it had been a lot less tense than it had been before.

"I have more reasons to let you sit still than to let you run after me!" Raewyn fumed, her volume still low, but with a sharp edge on it.

Staring at her in silence, Kili was vaguely aware of his brother waiting for them in the distance. He hadn't said anything, and Kili had quietly wondered if he could even hear them. But his mind was all over the place, and he couldn't find it in himself to call after Fili.

In his head, he felt somewhat hurt at Raewyn raising her voice at him. Not for asking him to leave her; it was the she had asked him to hate her, even when he knew he couldn't. And thus, he took another step forward.

"I'll always run after you." He confessed through a whisper.

"And I don't understand why!" She continued to yell in a hushed voice, her exaspiration clearer than ever. She tried her best to not shout at him, to not draw attention. But with every sympathetic look he shot her, her anger only grew. "Have I not given you enough reason to run from me?"

"Yes," He answered honestly," He answered honestly, a small, hopeful smile forming on his face. "But you have also given me a good one to stay."

At the words, a light feeling entered her chest as she inhaled sharply, trying to shove the feeling down. Staring at him in contemplation, she raised her head again, her hand clenching around her weapon.

"Can't you just shout at me in anger and walk off while it's still safe?!" She finally shouted, raising her hand in exhaustion. "You take your brother with you and run!"

It was then that Kili's hand met hers. When she looked upon the place of impact, she had realised she had raised the weapon in her hand, not yet threatening, but enough to make Kili intervene. She looked at it in shock, not dropping the weapon, but letting it slip just a little bit.

"I don't care what you say," The dwarf spoke gently, his voice soothing her in ways she wished it didn't. And again, the light feeling returned, as did the grip on her axe, doing her best to physically fight the feeling. "You won't convince me. I am staying."

Then, his head nodded towards his brother, who was waiting for them in the distance, his eyes set on their surroundings. "Both of us are."

He was infuriating. Years, Raewyn had spent hating someone who could have saved her life. One occasion went wrong and she hated him for years. In the short amount of time she had known Kili, she had called his kin names she should never call anyone, openly assaulted his uncle and his brother, tried to sabotage the king multiple times, proceeded to doubt his kin's rights to the mountain, stole his gold, lectured his king, almost killed him while doing so, then threatened to kill him and his brother. And after all of that, he had not held a single grudge. And she hated him for it. He did not look at her in hatred or disdain, no; he looked at her in kindness and compassion. Not once did he speak ill of her, not even as she had nearly fed his uncle to the orcs.

Her mind drew a blank as she looked at him. No longer in aggravation, but in sorrow. Of course, she could not hate him - not really. But it was times like these she truly wished he had just held a little bit more of that dwarven stubbornness. She couldn't even live with herself, yet Kili was the one convincing himself that she didn't deserve to feel that terrible. The idea was foreign to her.

Quickly, her mind flashed back to the threats formed on the bridge of Erebor as she looked down at the axe in her hand. One that Kili now held as well. A heavy lump began to form in her throat, but she swallowed the feeling down, her eyes falling back on the dwarf's, who were still looking at hers with - what could almost be described as - endearment.

"I am not good with words." She finally yielded, her angry tone vanishing, as it was replaced with sudden shakiness.

"I know." Kili smiled in comfort, squeezing her hand once.

"I'm sorry," She apologised, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I am so sorry. For everything."

"I know." The dwarf repeated, doing his best to not wrap her in his arms the second he saw a stray tear fall from her eyes.

"And I don't deserve your forgiveness, nor am I asking for it." She rattle on, shaking her head in dismissal to emphasize her point. But, once more, Kili did not seem to even have the capability of hating someone, least of all Raewyn. And so, he kept to his words, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach with each loathing word she spoke. Every time he was near to screaming, he forced it down, simply speaking those persistant words.

"I know."

Using her free hand to wipe away her tears furiously, she pointed at him in accusation. Her movements were bold, but her face still held guilt and anguish. "Then why won't you hate me being an awful person?"

Eyes broken, shoulders sunken, lips in a pout, dried orc blood covering her face and armour, hair flying all over the place, and yet, she was the most stunning thing Kili had ever seen. Silence passed the two of them, and it was then he finally realised what it was. When he first met her, it had been playful. He hadn't planned in sinking in this deep. But the words were almost crawling up his throat, forcing his heartbeat to speed up as he became highly aware that his hand was still on hers. And none of them had dared to move them yet.

"I'm in love with you." He blurted out, that same hopeful smile still on his face.

A chocked sob escaped Raewyn's throat at the words. More tears spilled as she did her best to replicate his smile. Through her blurry vision, she turned her head to the side slightly, a second, more suppressed sob wracking through her.

"I know." She sniffled.

Rushing forward, Kili dropped his sword, wrapping his arms around the Asha tightly. The hug was nowhere near comfortable, armour clashing everywhere, constricting them from a warm embrace. Be that as it may, Raewyn ultimately dropped her weapon as well, returning the hug just as lovingly, her hands shooting to the back of his neck, keeping him closer.

"Amrâlime," Kili began, his voice muffled in the crook of her neck. "I could never hate you."

After arguing about the fact for such a time, all she could feel now was relief. She wanted him to leave, she still did. But a huge weight also fell off her shoulders when he revealed that - regardless of what she had ever done or said - he wouldn't turn his back on her for it.

"You should've run." She mumbled, a last, fruitless attempt to get him to safety.

"Not from you," He discarded, slowly parting from their hold. One of his hands gently came to rest on her cheek, which she leaned into subconsciously. Kili couldn't suppress the smile on his face upon the notion, rubbing the skin softly with his thumb.

"Not ever."

— Amrâlime: Dearest/beloved, in Khuzdul (Dwarvish)

—

Taglist: @errruvande@writingawaymylife@justnerdystuffs@spidergirla5@fallenangeloflight@bianavacker-is-bi-as-hellhell@lxdymormontnt@deathofafangirl01@the-cranck-hobbit@chaoticpaintsplatter@zaddyluvr@bxtchopolis @derangedcupcake @radbarbariancupcake@gay-destiel

[erisluna35ocblog]

Characterization Across AUs: Blair Crawford

THE jerk with a heart of gold.

She's pragmatic. She won't hesitate to use anyone around her to reach her goals... except Blake.

It takes a long time for her to open up.

Much later, Shizuke and Natalia make it to her "people I give a shit about" list. But those two always start off in the "people I could use" list.

She's kind of an introvert, but with a stupid amount of self confidence to socialize.

While she's an all around flirt, she doesn't care or feel in anyway attracted to anyone she's ever hit on. Shizuke's the one exception, but only in stories that give them enough focus to get to that point.

She's a demisexual-demiromantic. If she doesn't have a slowburn going on with Shizuke, then she's not getting any romance at all.

Heck, she'd hit on a guy if it gives her an advantage. But she stays cautiously out of reach, giving suggestions but never letting them close the last inch.

Scheming, cunning, opportunistic and potentially ruthless depending on the setting... But deep down, she's more moral than she'd like to admit. She usually has a noble goal, her methods just aren't always clean. Yet, as she always thinks of the easy way, she doesn't compromise when it comes to the people she gives a shit about. She thinks it holds her back.

The sort of emotionally constipated dum dum who thinks vulnerability is a weakness.

Always the colder, more goal-oriented twin. Some might even call her heartless compared to the quiet Blake. Ironically, she's actually the more moral twin as Blake is secretly more ruthless than her despite his shy demeanor.

In charge of the fanservice. She's a beautiful redhead with a nice figure and ain't afraid to use it. She tends to dress well, unlike her twin.

Strong witch association. Whether it be as a witch's literal familiar via contract or as a black cat... There's a reason I named her Blair.

She tends to owe one of Keagan's evil auntie. Whichever one of them is available in the story.

There's an arc where she clashes with Blake cause one of them switched sides. By the end of it, both twins are on team good.

Fiona will disagree with Blair taking the leader position at first, even though Blair is the most qualified for it. Something about clashing priorities.

Whenever she's tagteaming with Shizuke, her role is often to lure the enemies into the right position for Shizuke to finish them off. Sometimes, they switch things up by having Blair as the tactician making sure nothing gets in the way of Shizuke the close combat specialist.

She prefers wielding long weapons, like staves or spears... or scythes.

Shizuke's first step to her heart always involves him breaking down over whatever tragedy happening to his friends. It's the first time Blair felt sympathy towards him, makes him more than just someone to use. She appreciates his loyalty to his friends. Kaji and Fuyu's sacrifices for Shizuke to score this redhead are never appreciated.

Losing her parents at an early age builds her independent nature.

The beginning of her arch focuses on her death or near-death.

She'll feel disillusioned and used by her other blood relatives once she meets them. They all want something from her, as foretold. Family of oracles and all that. This is why she is so attached to Blake.

She's all about family loyalty. Her fixation on her dead parents made her blind to her found family. She'll see them someday.

She's a cheapskate who'll take free stuff any chance she gets.

She'll somehow bond with Zephyr over the many things they have in common (mischief, love of free stuff, death hanging over their heads, naggy older brothers, idiot family who they're preventing from sacrificing their lives for them...).

She just can't seem to get on the good side of Shizuke's paternal grandparents. But the maternal grandmother is rather fond of her. Heh, she's the most important one anyway, being the one closest to Shizuke.

[caltropspress]

FIELD NOTES STRAIGHT FROM THE GLUMS OF NEW JERUZALEM: Fatboi Sharif + noface's Preaching In Havana

[I played the Preaching In Havana cassette on a Panasonic Portable AM/FM Stereo Boombox Model #RX-F9 (manufacturing date circa 1988) at nine predetermined locations around the state of New Jersey—1-2 songs per site location—over several weeks in February and March 2023. Each song was played a minimum of three times (“Notice parables of three in every other inference”). The boombox was battery-powered and preferably set atop a natural surface. No GPS was used to navigate to the sites; a superannuated Rand McNally folding map was utilized. Disorientation was embraced.]

Here is a clad doom.

—Clark Coolidge, “After Morandi” (c. 1984)

Oblivion: walking the edge of insanity sideways…

—Orko the Psykotik Alien, NMS, “Invisible Oblivion” (2003)

All the world had gone unreal, mere foolish play—a shoddy carnival, a magic show; and remembering those who had died…those real severed heads, mouths working in the dirt, those real bodies stretched and torn apart on the rack…

—John Gardner, Freddy’s Book (1980)

[SITE REF. → Holy, Holy, Holy Altar; Mt. Holly, NJ. The Jersey Devil was supposedly chained to the altar within the stone vault. Holy, Holy, Holy is inscribed across the lintel. Track played: “Static Vision.”]

I ask at the altar [paraphrasing Gardner]: WHO IS THIS SAURIAN BEING WITH THE GOATISH SMELL, THIS IDIOT GOD? On “Static Vision,” Fatboi Sharif bemoans the “info drain”—a residual from the age of the Info Kill. Company Flow told us we MUST GET IN SYNC, and Bigg Justoleum led the way as the horns blowed. Behold, in a dark universe Sharif is chasing shadows.

Sharif speaks lowly of the “blood-sucking corporations,” clued into Marx’s diagnoses. “Kapital,” Killah Karl spews, “is dead labour, that, vampire-like, only lives by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks.” Succulent, right, you sucker MCs? We’re frightened into the factories as the “news footage funnel[s] fear.” It’s “death [we] watch”—our own. Our work is “converted into necessaries,” Marxy Marx and the Funky Bunch writes, “by the consumption of which the muscles, nerves, bones, and brains of existing labourers are reproduced.” Yum yum, you Dray and Skoob dum-dums. This is your feast of grotesqueries.

[NB:  I will be formatting Fatboi Sharif’s lyrics in a manner suitable to Clark Coolidge’s poetic lines in his 1967 chapbook entitled, confusingly, Clark Coolidge.]

KVU at the engineering deck, the control panel, the console—King Vision Ultra[-magnetizing], if you will—with ineffable efx. Super-scientifikal behind the boards, knob-turning and ear-worming like the Scientist that is/was Hopeton Overton Brown, almighty creator who Rids the World of the Evil Curse of the Vampires (1981). Geng PTP with transformer coils cloying at your cortex, fair listener. His dub-infused engineering fits noface’s krunk-skronk productions and Sharif’s vertiginous vocals into deep-space and crypt-encasement, equally [EQ]. Cryptic, ’cause Sharif’s Sick Wid’ It meanings are entombed:

He’s hanging loose; forget the Smith & Wesson at the Smithsonian—they found a noose! What U See (Is What U Get) now in the xzibit. So raid the tombs of your own mind. Clark Coolidge, too: “Scratch of lines, on a vast hill or prone tomb. / Nothing buckles from them, no sneezed move” (from “After Morandi”).

I ain’t scared no more, Sharif shouts, dry-throated. He gargles holy water and spits. I can’t believe you, he hollers, as dubious as Du Bois staring down the Talented Tenth. Preaching In Havana is Fatboi Sharif penning editorials for The Crisis. Like Eric B. in ’88, he’s never scared. He seeks your AttenCHUN! Larger-than-life, like Bone Crusher on “Never Scared” in 2003: Now the plasma is oozing out of your cerebellum. Snort the bone dust or arrange the remains ritualistically. 

↴

In Charles Chestnutt’s 1899 story “The Gray Wolf’s Ha’nt,” narrator John and his wife are warned by old man Julius about clearing a tract of swampland for agricultural use. “Uncle Julius” regales them with a murder account from slave days about a “conjuh man” who could make “monst’us powe’ful goopher” and used a “mixtry” to exact revenge for his son’s death. Through craft and cunning, the conjure man transforms the murderer into a gray wolf and cons him into killing his wife (similarly duped and transformed into a black cat). By crafty design, Julius’s tale keeps folks off that desirable tract of land with fears of what haunts it. But John is undeterred. He finds no evidence of a wolf’s dwelling there, and if a wolf “had once made his den there, his bones had long since crumbled into dust and gone to fertilize the rank vegetation.” Instead, John discovers a “bee-tree” with an “ample cavity in its trunk” and “stores of honey within.” Julius’s haint warning, it turns out, is nothing more than a ruse to maintain “his monopoly” over the honey stash. “Poison honeycomb, / Sticky situation,” Sharif says on “John Hinckley.” 

[SITE REF. → Sybil’s Cave; Hoboken, NJ. An early 19th century natural spring excavated from the rock wall along the Hudson River; the cave was frequented by tavern-goers. Mary Rogers’ body was discovered in the shallow waters near the site, strangled and sexually abused, and the cave was eventually filled in. Track played: “The Hybrid.”]

I replied my brains in a hybrid of pain, Sharif raps on “The Hybrid,” his syntax clunking and skulking in ways that shouldn’t make sense but do. Let me explaaaaaiiiiin, he begs. Threats loom as “grenades surround ledge” and “PTSD particles” spread. (Cough into your elbow, won’t you?!) Don’t push; we’re close to the edge. Living on shaky grounds; let’s see if Sharif—like Rakim—knows the ledge. I’ve no doubt he does, but he still squeals like a teenybopper on the airport concourse:

“The eight-year-old with a pipe bomb by its privates” sounds like textbook projection. [Rapidly consults the DSM-5.] But let’s bring it back to A HYBRID OF PAIN. It’s Sharif’s term-in-ol-og-y, like Pharoahe Monch on “Bring It On”; he flows awkwardly and incisions are made into the [maggot] brain. Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on—but also bring the pain like Meth. Sharif came to bring the pain hardcore from the [maggot] brain. We go inside his astral plane.

Brrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinng! Fatboi Sharif awakens like Bigger Thomas with fantasies of furnaces dancing in his head. [...alarm clock clanged…spring creaked…voice sang…surly grunt sounded…tinny ring of metal…] TURN IT UP! BRING THE NOISE! A certifiable consonantal ruckus—the brawling br-, the stinging /n/, the queasy -ng. KVU’s Pain of Mind (2018) comes to mind, undeniably.

[SITE REF. → Gates of Hell; Clifton, NJ. The “Gates of Hell” are a network of sewage tunnels and underground passageways behind the old Erie-Lackawanna railroad tracks. Devil worshipers frequent the location. Track played: “Sunday School Explosions.”]

Sharif combines elements: “Science with cosmic plague and Hooked On Phonics” (it worked for me!). He steals a complete set from the flea market and magnetizes the cassettes and places slips of Scotch tape over the top slots—write-protection begone and be-damned. He can feel his “pulse risen” at the “silent treatment” he receives from the ferric formulation spirits he summons—a kiss of haunting hiss. He translates “postcards in Arabic” at the “NA meeting” prior to filming a reproduction of the Jets and the Sharks dance-fight as “Cronenberg’s last scene.” What results is a “war world ouija [that] got West Side Story.” Thus, Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Bernstein get flayed and slayed on “Sunday School Explosives.”

I’m still haunted by Fatboi Sharif’s echoey Oh, I’m buggin’? from Gandhi Loves Children’s “I’m Buggin.” It comes to me in my sleep, like the Sandman (“Enter Sandman near banquet,” Sharif raps on “John Hinckley,” and we’re off to Never Neverland Ranch with all the Culkins in Jacko’s bed). Not a hypnagogic vapor wave—but the dissonant hatred of Nicholas Sandmann silently smirking at the ceremonial drum of an Omaha elder as Black Hebrew Israelites shout gay-bashy slogans in the background. “Cronenberg’s last scene” will be as body-horrific as all his previous ones. Sharif feasts on a naked lunch of flesh sandwiches while typing Burroughs-like cut-ups onto a scarab beetle typewriter. He snorts lines of minced and mortared-and-pestled Black Meat—the guts and entrails of Scolopendra gigantea. “Oh, I’m buggin’?” has become an earworm, and Fatboi Sharif is every poor child pulling up to the ER with a cockroach lodged in its ear canal. Ruptured tympanic membranes at every entrance, each exit. To borrow a neologism from k-the-i?, Fatboi Sharif breeds electrobugs.

[SITE REF. → Shell Pile ghost town; Port Norris, NJ. Named for its mountains of oyster shells, a WPA guidebook from 1939 described Shell Pile as “a community of about 1,000 Negroes living in wooden barracks erected on stilts over the salt marshes.” A pathogen known as MSX devastated the local oyster industry in the mid-50s, and the community never recovered. The shell piles remain. Track(s) played: “John Hinckley” and “Sugarcane Plantation.”]

In 1990, Tragedy Khadafi (née Intelligent Hoodlum) proposed we arrest the president (NB: Your mother’s buggin’—her mind slanted, he rapped). In 1992, Paris became a Bush Killa, delivering a bullet from the barrel of a Black guerrilla. In 1998, Non Phixion dropped “I Shot Reagan” and Sabac dragged First Lady Nancy into the crosshairs: “His wife’s the hostage, / Her body parts up in a grab-bag.” On “John Hinckley,” Sharif’s ode to POTUS-pistol whippings, he speaks of the “covenant grab-bag.” It’s a covenant signed by Tragedy, Paris, Non Phixion, and now Sharif himself (among many other signees—Chuck D comes to mind as he invokes the Honey Drippers’ nix-Nixon anthem and its foundational drum break on 1987’s “Rebel Without A Pause”: Impeach the president—pulling out my raygun). 

“John Hinckley popped that president,” Sharif raps, and he did it with a naked raygun (...throb throb…throb throb…)—a Röhm RG-14. Sharif rap-renders the scene into a 60-second assassination, and he can sympathize with Hinckley—both film buffs, fans of Taxi Driver (1976). Jodie Foster—the child-actor playing child-prostitute—turned into a child-bride in Hinckley’s obsessive mind. Hinckley’s single “We Got That Chemistry” is streaming on all DSPs—I’m searching the liner notes for the Sharif feature; a collab for the ages. 

For his assassination plot, Fatboi Sharif readies “gun fire sun visor” with “spinning Budweiser breath.” He’s funky cold medina, cold lampin’, and “coldstone hypnotic.” He opens the “seventh seal,” chopping and playing chess with Myka 9 and Max von Sydow in a seaside “fog of chronic.” This is Sharif’s “daily operation”—peep him on the cover of Gang Starr’s Daily Operation (1992). He’s there—amongst the messy mahogany table covered with money stacks, Elijah Muhammad’s Message to the Black Man in America paperback, typewriter, and skull. He’s there—top-right, hiding behind the mounted boar’s head. He wears it like a mask. The illest brother when he gets his mic check.

He’s ready and willing to go underground—deep cavities and cavernous tunnelways:

After he goes for the headshot (like John Wilkes Booth with his derringer, like those old Rhymesayers cassette tapes…), Sharif’s weapon is a “soul glowing hidden in the briefcase.” The execution is the pulpiest fiction emanating an aura of Diaspora Problems.

In David Gordon Green’s 2000 film George Washington, the character George—young, strange, and Black—“had to be very careful never to get his head wet…”:

See, his fontanel was very, very, very, very soft. Like a baby’s head. And when he soaks it or itches it, it irritates his brain. He don’t like it, ’cause if somebody hit him in his head, he’d probably die.

As George and his group of mangy misfits fool around in a bathroom, another character, Buddy, pushes George and bangs his head against the wall. In retaliation, George pushes Buddy who slips and loses consciousness. When he comes to, blood begins to dribble from a crack in his skull and he ends up slumped in a urine-splashed stall—dead. “Everything’s blue in this world—all fuzzy,” Trent Reznor groans on Nine Inch Nails’ “The Downward Spiral,” “Spilling out of my head,” and from such a tiny little hole.

The character Nasia speaks with a Malick-inspired voiceover. Considering the unsettling tone and disquieting details of the film’s narration, Nasia’s name may as well be “Nausea.” Nas: I’m out for dead presidents to represent me. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, JFK, Ronald Reagan, et al. In Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984), Nausicaä collects spore samples (like Ced-Gee collected Melvin Bliss records and transformed “Synthetic Substitution” into “Ego Trippin’”) and is eventually revived by Ohmu tentacles. Miyazaki’s ravaged world—his crushed-killed-destroyed eco-stressed landscape—is like Bliss sings: “Synthetic substitution has taken over this land, / There’s no one to blame but man.” Those monstrous Ohmu are roly-polies [Armadillidium vulgare] navigating digable planets. Oh, I’m buggin’?

In Blood and Guts in High School (1978), Kathy Acker’s “mysterious Mr Linker” rhetorically asks: “Where does culture come from? I will tell you. It comes from disease. All the great artists, Goethe, Schiller, and Jean-Paul Sartre—you must read Nausea in the French, in English it is nothing—have said this. They are aware how evil they are. They are aware this life is truly evil; due to this awareness, they are able to go beyond.” [Acker also depicts her protagonist Janey getting assaulted by a man whose “hands ran huge insects down (her) back.” Oh…I’m…buggin’?]

↴

Earlier in George Washington, Buddy paces a stage in some dilapidated auditorium (all the film's settings are ruinous—real Sharif video shoot environs) with a T-Rex mask on as he recites passages from the Book of Job:

All kinds of pests, like, all over its legs. Oh, that I were as in the months of old, as in the days when God watched over me: When His lamp shone over my head...and by His light I walked through darkness: When I was in my prime: When the friendship of God was upon my tent: When the Almighty was with me: When my children were around me: When my steps were washed with milk...and the rock poured out for me streams of oil.

[SITE REF. → Venusian alien contact location; West Main Street; High Bridge, NJ. Howard Menger purported to bear witness to cosmic lifeforms on his property. Track(s) played: “1999 Hacker Worldwide” and “Parasite.”]

Let transmission commence. Fatboi Sharif bends and adjusts the rabbit ears antenna on “1999 Hacker Worldwide.” Through the snow and noise (talkin’ about static vision, folx) emerges a “televised child slave, / Live at 11” (later, on “Sugarcane Plantation,” it’s the “news at 12” when he’ll “crucify white Jesus” on a live-feed). The commercial break previews what’s coming up next: “Tonight we loot the church.” Yes, loot the church and the monastery, because you know now that the Dalai Lama leaves your boo-boo achin’ like Bambaataa and requests you suck his tongue. Gimme the loot, gimme the loot! Sharif’s a bad, bad boy, in the pitchdown death-voice of Kid Hood on ATCQ’s “Scenario (Remix)”—his opening salvo is a son’s cry as he was murdered just days after recording his verse shirtless in the booth [cut to footage of Sharif performing shirtless]. “He didn’t say hello or nothin’,” Q-Tip told The Source for Hood’s obituary, “he just started rhymin’.” Gimme the loot, gimme the loot! Anthony Iles sees “the suspension of the normal ordering” and “new and unforeseen relations” between objects and behaviors when we loot. “[W]hen looters use a mannequin leg to break a shop window to impose some asset relocation from below we are talking about media as impure means.” Sharif’s got the impurest means and the impurest thoughts.

The carnivalesque catastrophe of Fatboi Sharif’s mind unravels. You know the “economy collapsing” and “fi…nan…cial by…pass…ing”—all that hocus-pocus. [I’m shaping your brain like pot…ter…y, Monch says, his motor temporarily running low on power but only to deconstruct the temporality.] Sharif has access; he’s got the “skeleton key” as he danses macabre, as he speaks “open sesame,” pulling from Antoine Galland’s orientalist Ali Baba and his Forty Thieves (or his Sporty Thievz, but the tomb raiders and grave robbers ain’t getting nada from us). Open Sesame Street to hip-hop. See MC Lyte rock the stoop in her purple sweatsuit. Sharif riding side-saddle on Snuffleupagus with the subwoofer pumping KMD’s “Humrush,” Bert philosophizing Buddhist emptiness (śūnyatā). (Oh, an empty place…a perfect place to practice the exciting art of humming.) Meanwhile, Sharif is on an expedition to “Woodstock 2030.” The brown acid warning still reverberates across space and time and he’s finger-crossed that there’s a few tabs left (the “final acid trip” he growls about on “5G Celsius Cell Tower”).

“1999 Hacker Worldwide” plays like Y2K paranoia—a glitch-hop ode to the millennium bug (Oh, I’m buggin’?). Kool Keith emerged as Black Elvis in 1999 and proceeded to get Lost in Space. The soundbombing of Common and Sadat X on “One-Nine-Nine-Nine” [...inch nails through each one of my eyelids, c. ’99] penetrated RealAudio players, and the Hi-Teknological production set the doom mood. On “Parasite,” Sharif “ride[s] a push on a Greyhound / Searching for a way out” with Dirt McGirt inflections. Behold a Pale Snuffleupagus.

[SITE REF. → VHS Walkway; Fort Lee, NJ. The original motion picture industry in America was located in Fort Lee, and in that spirit, a patio and walkway made up of VHS tapes surrounds a private residence. Track played: “Paging Dr. noface.”]

Fatboi Sharif has an ongoing appointment with his octagonecologyst, but Dr. Octagon isn’t answering his calls. Instead, he pages Dr. noface. And noface’s sonix are aptly described in Gardner’s Freddy’s Book: “Outside someone was again banging metal against metal. The sound was too irregular to be the work of a hammer, and the sound was sometimes loud, sometimes lighter, a mere clink.” noface takes the folk of “If I Had A Hammer” and filters it through his failed state fuzz. Peep him on the PTP cassette cover, his void-face hidden behind a Baphomet mask. He flexes his equilibrium—a sabbatic goat prematurely goated. He’s Black Phillip from Robert Eggers’ The Witch (2015), pacing his pen and passing you a ballpoint pen to sign your deal with the Devil. He doesn’t blink—redaction bars for pupils. “It was true that the Devil could sometimes read one’s mind,” Gardner writes, “that once he’d gotten into you there seemed to be no shaking him; but at least one could in some measure limit the monster’s conversation.” Sharif’s conversation with the listener knows no limits, though. For noface’s Baphomet cosplaying, Gardner’s Devil masquerades as a mule:

“What kind of fool are you, trying to block out the voice of the Devil with your fingers?” the mule scoffed. “Plug your ears with pebbles if it pleases you, and sing at the top of your voice to drown me out. I’ll still be heard!”

noface will still be heard as he activates the widening gyre (peace, Yeats) that is Preaching In Havana.

Furthermore, the album is a set of interlocking spirals—a helix, a hex. Spin yourself silly on a spiral staircase to Hell—ride a helicoid to the void. Listen as you’re yeah-boyee’d by the endless [eternal and infernal] echo of Flavor Flav—voices whirlpooling the River Styx. Eyes pierced by an unwound spiral notebook containing handwritten transcriptions of Malleus Maleficarum. noface’s productions aren’t beats; they’re dungeon bludgeonings. His loops are spirals, deranged and ceaselessly spinning out of control. A loop begins linear but soon goes labyrinthine. In Dante’s Inferno, his circles of suffering—circles and circles, oodles and oodles and oodles of o’s—from embryo to man and back again, form a downward spiral. Reznor razor-wire torture. “Slow it behoveth our descent to be,” the Italian in the Black medallion (no gold) writes. According to him, we have to acclimate “to the sad blast”—but I prefer to get dizzy from the disorientation. 

In an interview with Fatboi Sharif for The Next Movement podcast, co-host E. Fortson precisely sketches Preaching In Havana’s lineage to Divine Styler’s Spiral Walls Containing Autumns of Light (1992). On Preaching In Havana, she tells Sharif, it feels as if we’re granted access to his mind: “We’re hearing your internal thoughts, and we can witness how you’re processing them.” On Styler’s “Heaven Don’t Want Me and Hell’s Afraid I’ll Take Over,” the message blares like a Network nervous breakdown: “NEWS, NEWS, AND NEWS! MORE BLUESY NEWS!!!” Sharif adopts the mantle of the mad prophet of the airwaves.

Fatboi Sharif holds not a conch to his ear but a nautilus—a mollusk with musical musculature. What Bob James calls the “atmospheric orchestration” of “Nautilus” (1974) unravels as an infinite scroll for sample use—hordes of hip-hop producers synthesizing and submerging the oceanic depths Bob James chose to navigate. They abide by the spells Sharif proposes on “Sugarcane Plantation”: a “PCP posted, / Psychedelic relic, / Road atlas.” Their stems create helices of recorded sound—much like noface. Preaching In Havana devolves into a Wichita Vortex Sutra in an Allen Ginsberg mode, only to reveal the Beat poet’s affiliation with NAMBLA and how he squeezed my uncle’s thigh once at a book signing hoping for lemon juice to run down his leg.

Oh, the places you’ll go! Suessian spirals lead us to the Final Whorl Front. We link galaxy arms across the universe—needle our way through the Realm of the Nebulae. We crack the human genome with DNAlysis and hogtie James Watson in the process. Evocations of the inventor’s spring, of horrific histories like the lynch mob’s corkscrew used on Luther Holbert in 1904 in Doddsville, Mississippi to bore holes into his body and extract, in the words of the Vicksburg Evening Post, “quivering flesh.” On “Sugarcane Plantation,” Sharif is howling—he “yell[s] terrorist threats, / The coldest spirit, / In pig Latin” (emphasis on pig). His anti-rhymes coordinate with Lune TNS’s “Plantation Rhymes.” Pliny the Elder described comets as “knot[s] of fire” with an appearance that was “twisted like a spiral.” We’re fired up. Sharif’s got incendiary comments for daze, and each hits like a Molotov.

Sharif paints with a Tesla coil—streamer arcs and brush discharges. Voltage flashing from his cranium. As Kool Keith says, he’s “Eveready, like a battery—charged, / [He’s] worth the alkaline.” Ultramagnetic, indeed. Play Preaching In Havana backwards. Watch Fatboi Sharif perform: a human Fraser spiral illusion—hypnotic, fuck up your optics like ELUCID fucks up electronics. Misalignments and distortions. Ha, Sharif is sicker than your average. Can’t you see? Sometimes his words just hypnotize you. Or, as Archimedes wrote in On Spirals circa 225 BC:

I say that the area added by the spiral in the third revolution will be double of that added in the second, that in the fourth three times, that in the fifth four times, and generally the areas added in the later revolutions will be multiples of that added in the second revolution according to the successive numbers, while the area bounded by the spiral in the first revolution is a sixth part of that added in the second revolution.

Right? Right. (Oh, you buggin’?)

↴

Like the dark and droney ambience of Bobby Krlic’s Haxan Cloak moniker, noface fashions his own Excavation Musick, digging deep only to resurface, bedraggled and cloak tattered. Krlic (also noted for his role as an Ari Aster collaborator) described his first album as “a person’s decline towards death.” His follow-up was described as a “journey [to] a different plane.”

The 1922 silent film Hӓxan, directed by Benjamin Christensen [“hӓxan”:  Swedish for witch], plays like watching Fatboi Sharif perform live on mute. Christensen’s goal was to “throw light on the psychological causes of…witch trials by demonstrating their connections with certain abnormalities of the human psyche, abnormalities which have existed throughout history and still exist in our midst.” Such abnormalities exist—gloriously—on Preaching In Havana.

One of Hӓxan’s intertitles details “the terrible confessions” that can be “forced from [a victim] in less than a minute” by using the thumbscrew [tumskruv]. (The thumbscrew, naturally, being yet another spiral.) The brevity of the songs on Preaching In Havana have the same excruciating effect.

[SITE REF. → Bergwald Nazi Bund Camp; Federal Hill; Bloomingdale, NJ. The ruins of a Nazi Youth camp that was shut down by the FBI in 1941. The remnants of a stone cistern, storage silo, cabinets, and iron grates are still visible. Track played: “Nazi Needle Marks.”]

Outspoken about his adoration for Gonjasufi, Sharif channels his die-verse-ified voice often. We could compare his timbral offerings to Gonjasufi’s delivery on “Venom” from 2012’s MU.ZZ.LE. It’s not “singing” we hear, per se—it’s [sin]ging, it’s [singe]ing—transgressive, burning; a vicious and venomous flow. Sharif’s baritone [bury-tone] is throat-scourged. Liken it to the outro on Busta Rhymes’ When Disaster Strikes… (1997) where Busta screams and talks, stalks and fiends—“rap” as emceeing; “rap” as talking. Give me that ol’ “Preparation for the Final World[/Whorl] Front” religion. 

On “Nazi Needle Marks,” Sharif raps in “nauseous nasal chalk-line intervals,” to use his own phrase. The French Revolution comes for the Queen in b-boy style: “Exorcism Antoinette headspin.” The guillotine uprocks and downrocks until Marie’s dome rolls off the platform and into the crowd. Regan projectile vomits the greenest sticky-icky as she goes full Rock Steady on the 180-degree rotation. “Death of a salesman,” Sharif mutters with anti-consumerist ire. In Sharif’s looney-tune universe, Arthur Miller dicks down Marilyn Monroe before penning the final pages of his play—post-coital when he sends Willy Loman’s Studebaker speeding into a suicide machine. As for Marilyn, maybe it’s the “poison dart slumped her.”

Sharif says a prayer at the altar of the Beastie Boys’ prank-calling “Cooky Puss” (1983):

These pussy crumbs are making me itch! Sharif and the ill-communicating saboteurs are capable of making our skin crawl, not unlike El-P pontificating about how he “could suck a cookie out a pussy, no question” on Co Flow’s “Definitive.” Sick fux.  Before long, Sharif is back inhaling John Brown’s vaporizer and riding a white steed. He’s gonna “burn [the] village in search of [his] masterrrrr.” Torches, pitchforks, and hedge-shears in his holster. Fighting fire with fire to the point of self-immolation is a necessity for survival. Kathy Acker shows us what we’re up against:

One of the landlords burned down his building so he could collect the insurance money. Two families and one pimp were sleeping in this building when it burned down. The landlord sold the charred lot for lots of money to McDonald’s, a multinational fast food concern. This is how poor people become transformed into hamburger meat.

Or, as Sharif would versify it:

Ridin’ filthy-mangy-grimy-raunchy-dirty out of Rahway, bumping the Dead Kennedys’ “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” in the lemon. Screaming, lung-top, with Jello Biafra: We ain’t trying to be police. “The Nazi showed his needle marks” like the NJ state trooper showed his “Blood Honor” neck tats on his driver’s license photo ID.

[SITE REF. → Ong’s Hat village; Pemberton Township, NJ. Deep in the Pine Barrens, a group known as the Moorish Science Ashram established an Institute of Chaos Studies in Ong’s Hat and opened a portal to another dimension. Track played: “5G Celsius Cell Tower.”]

On “5G Celsius Cell Tower,” the cell tower sprouts polystyrene branches and the drones surveil the 5G conspiracists—they wouldn’t dare. Sharif says things have become “ice storm hazardous,” with the soul-lift of Godfather Don—we’re talking about a hellofasong. Fever-inducing frequencies are emitted, so Sharif raps like he’s caught an ague—he’s “breaking atoms.” The cover of Main Source’s Breaking Atoms (1991), which includes a spiral-in-the-making comprised of protons, neutrons, electrons [read it in the tone of Prince Po’s insight, foresight, more sight from OK’s “Releasing Hypnotical Gases”—yes, hypnotical], flashes across our mind’s eye.

“Jacob’s ladder staggered on” as a symbol of numbskull persistence. Sharif trudges through the stagger grass [a man from the meadows], swaggering like Stagolee, and he’s stopping for an intermission to stream one of his fave films: Jacob’s Ladder (1990). His physical form atomizes as he hallucinates the rungs of Jacob’s ladder twist and deform and become a helix. (William Blake’s 1805 watercolor shows a spiraling ascent.) Sharif cannonballs instead into the Boogiemonsters’ “Old Man Jacob’s Well” (1994)—a well where souls dwell. “I got the cravings again of the wicked,” and child abductions are the only answer. Demented, sick, and vile. Climb Jacob’s jaundiced ladder from well-to-cell tower.

The temperature’s rising on the “5G Celsius Cell Tower,” and we’ve got our culprit for coronaviruses, microchip implants, and mind control. But what you’ve really got to be concerned with—many people are saying—is that havoc-causing Havana syndrome. Fatboi Sharif is here to get idiopathic for you idiots. He’s hunkered down at the U.S. embassy in Cuba while the C.I.A. (Criminals In Action) claims Fidel Castro’s corpse is responsible. Someone somewhere under some top-secret security clearance is whispering about Sharif, and his ears ring out with tinnitus intensity. Ours, too.

↴

By now you know Fatboi Sharif is an atrocity exhibitionist who’d have the PMRC’s panties in a bunch, an MC whose processional route is the Stations of the Crass. Just as Chuck D’s voice from “Bring the Noise” (Once again, back, it’s the incredible…) reverberates through time, Fatboi Sharif’s tone pongs within the popcorn walls of our mind [substitute diabolical for incredible, though]. His white noise machine is a gnash teeth-grinder, perfection for fist-fucking fascists ’til they see shuriken stars between their eyes. I’m reminded of the caustic words of upfromsumdirt—his poem “Orisha Obsidious”:

this embryo of dark / black space spiral / virile midnight swirling / this onyx wet and non-unctuous vaginal and oleaginous this / this magnetic venom rancid with non-white wonder / rancid with non-white vocabulary self-servile, reverse-transcendent - pagan and perversely reported with discarded veins throbbing in black omniscience / chews its own adventure

In the “Static Vision” video, Sharif wears a fencing mask like a soiled diaper, a MU.ZZ.LE on loan from Gonjasufi. Olaudah Equiano was familiar:

I had seen a black woman slave…and the poor creature was cruelly loaded with various kinds of iron machines; she had one particularly on her head, which locked her mouth so fast that she could scarcely speak, and could not eat or drink….I afterwards learned [it] was called the iron muzzle.

The muzzle Equiano describes is depicted on Gonjasufi’s album cover, albeit shaded and spectrummed. He and Sharif both rupture the iron muzzle with punctuated flashes of resistance, hence the cleaving periods [MU.ZZ.LE]—they’ve got the makings of an ellipsis.

[SITE REF. → Mary’s Tower; Flemington, NJ. A dilapidated edifice in a wooded area off a county road. “Mary” committed suicide in a third story bedroom and her red-eyed specter haunts the tower. Track(s) played: “Smells Like Autopsy” and “Fentanyl Firing Squad.”]

I’m gonna allow Kathy Acker to set the scene for “Fentanyl Firing Squad”:

We had heard that this rock band called THE CONTORTIONS was gonna play in a redneck town in New Jersey and the white head singer thought he was James Brown. The rest of the band would be too drunk to stop the rednecks from beating up Brown.

James Brown was crawling baby-style across the floor. The rednecks were jerking their cocks off in a corner. James Brown crawled up to the redneck's boot. The redneck, confused, jumped James. Everyone in the club started hitting each other. I heard cops' sirens. I ran.

Acker writes Blood and Guts in High School in blood and guts—smeared and splattered. (L7 tossed tampon tricks and theatrics. Find yourself hungry for stink.) Picture “pig” painted in blood on Sharon Tate’s white front door by the Manson Family—the recording location of NIN’s The Downward Spiral [“spiral,” motherfucker, spiral!]. Reznor seethes on “Piggy”: “Black and blue and broken bones, / You left me here, I’m all alone.” Tally two hog heads for the haram tableau:

Sharif surely strikes a vital nerve, proving he’s been the nastiest one since birth [auto/matic…]. He can “purple haze testify” to that—and with the Fuzz Face pedal helping him power through what nixed Hendrix: a puke puddle; axed down by Vesperax. “Smells Like Autopsy,” hmm? Not like Teen Spirit scrrrawled by Kathleen Hanna on Kurdt’s wall. noface detours through The Caretaker’s haunted ballroom. That must be the ghost of electricity howling in the bones of his [no]face.

↴

Poet Phillip B. Williams introduces a Black hauntology, one of creaky floorboards and box fans that whisper in their manufacturing of wind. Williams calls each haunting “a loop of existence.” In “Haunting, Blackness, and Algorithmic Thought,” an essay that appears in a 2021 issue of e-flux journal, Ezekiel Dixon-Román reminds us of Derrida’s insight that “in every being there is a haunting.” Dixon-Román sees possibility in this. He conceives an “operation of Black techno-conjuring [as] a technological force that has the potential to reroute and alter the logic of the system.” With Fatboi Sharif’s steady output of discursive, deviant deviations, you can’t tell me he isn’t the prime mover of such potentialities. It’s not all so gravitationally heavy, though, seeing as how Sharif floats and flits about with the wreckless abandon of Slimer.

ANEC[/ANTI]DOTE 1:

I wanted to completely unhinge the language and then see if I could put it, if that would make an energy that would then hook up in some other way, like a magnet, like resistance—poles pushing and coming together…. There wasn’t any system of structures. The space between words became very important. How close together they were…. [Y]ou know what loop-players are? You make a loop of tape and there are these tape machines that have one play-back head and a single drive-wheel and you can put a loop on it and it has a rheostat knob so you can change the speed. I was doing these experiments…. I put a couple of words, or even one word at first, one each on two loops and put them both on, and I’d vary the times. And I swear that I could see…in fact, I wish that someone would scientifically follow this up, it was interesting. Let’s say that you had “of       this”,—you had “of” on one tape and “this” on another, and you would change the times until they came closer together in time and farther away, and I swear that you could join and become a phrase, and one millisecond on either side of that they don’t, they’re disembodied, and I got fascinated with that. I had this thing, I made a tape out of it, where they went in and out of phrase with each other for a half hour period so you could follow this, and I thought, well, hey, that’s interesting…. You really began to feel there was a magnetic force in language.

—Clark Coolidge interview with FRICTION magazine, Number 7 (1984)

[sample pack from Clark Coolidge, 1967]

ANEC[/ANTI]DOTE 2:

For Joy Division’s “She’s Lost Control” (1979), drummer Stephen Morris sprayed an aerosol can of tape head cleaner into a microphone to produce a drum sound (that’s a KVU move if I’ve ever seen one). Morris nearly passed out from the fumes. Fatboi Sharif has timewarped and is in that recording booth as a willing huffer of chlorofluorocarbons. What he produces as a result is a babbling brook of jabberwocky jargons:

Sharif clearly audited classes at Clark Coolidge’s School of Disembodied Poetics—body-the-track training, if you will. His method isn’t just sheer madness. He takes rumors of “bad blood’ and infusions of syphilis to the face. He spins plastic bendy straws into gold but not before sucking a spiral of backwashed spit from his cauldron. Wu-Tang is for the children, but Sharif is here to scare the children with his fury and fairy tales. Just accept it. After all, “our brains been programmed for so loooong!”

Images:

Le Sabbat des sorcières, Hans Baldung Grien, c. 1508-10 (detail) | Holy, Holy, Holy Altar (screenshot, via YouTube) | The Scientist Rids the World of the Evil Curse of the Vampires, 1981 (album cover) | Gates of Hell (screenshot, via YouTube) | Hooked on Phonics cassette set | Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 1984 (screenshot) | George Washington, dir. David Gordon Green, 2000 (screenshot) | Venusian alien contact location (screenshot, via YouTube) | Apple Lisa Workshop not accepting Y2K date | "The Sabbatic Goat" from Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie, Éliphas Lévi (1856) | Drawing by Nikola Tesla showing stages in his evolution of the high frequency resonant transformer used in his Tesla coil (1899) | Haxän, dir. Benjamin Christensen, 1922 (screenshot) | Carvel "Cookie Puss" TV commercial (1985) | Jacob's Dream, William Blake (c. 1805) | "Slave with Iron Muzzle," illustration from Souvenirs d'un aveugle, Jacques Etienne Victor Arago (1839) | Mary's Tower (screenshot, via YouTube) | Haxän, dir. Benjamin Christensen, 1922 (screenshot) | Le Sabbat des sorcières, Hans Baldung Grien, c. 1508-10 (detail)

[breezypunk]

For the Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ:

Can i have 3,7,19 for Maggie please? 🖤

Thank you! <3

Questions here

-

3. What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

I'd say it is Maggie's lack of self-control. After her adopted parent's were murdered, and she joined up with Maelstrom for revenge against the other gangs who committed said murder, the feeling of power she had after the successful takedown was almost overwhelming. It took her a long time to get over this feeling, and it caused a pathway of destruction. She wasn't able to stop killing after this. Any Tyger, any Animal she came across, it was a almost as if her urges and self control completely flew out the window, because she knew she could do it and get away with it. So yes she was aware of it, but she wasn't aware of how serious it was until she met Patricia, who is pretty terrible, but was more scared that Maggie would find herself in a situation she couldn't get out of if she didn't stop this warpath, it seemed to have completely taken over her thoughts. Once Patricia came into the picture, she was able to have a little more self control over her urges, and found a way to use this for good, by doing merc-work on the side for Brick, who in my HC became a fixer, specifically for Maelstromer's looking for work. Eventually the need to kill for revenge dwindled. She thanks Pat a lot for helping her see the problem, had she not met her, she'd probably be in a lot more trouble. But than again, this was at a time when her parent's were just killed and she just joined up with Maelstrom, she was finally able to be her true self and let herself get a little carried away. She's pretty soft now, LOL.

-

7. What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

I truly love talking about Maggie's big change since I made her last year. I made her to be this kind, sweet, caring and loving person who was all sunshine and rainbows, more of a corpo background, and I even paired her with Evelyn for a little bit. But I realized that's not who I really wanted Maggie to be. BIG Maelstrom fan here, and I decided I wanted to explore that lifepath a little more with Maggie, because being a Maelstrom enjoyer, I never really dabbled there before. So instead of completely wiping her old self off the table and pretending it never existed, I decided to make it a HC where her life did a 180 after the death of her adopted parents, and she was finally free of the person pretended to be growing up, to a person she knew she was all her life but could never be free. She breaks up with Evelyn, joins up with Maelstrom, avenges her parents, goes through a killing spree phase, meets Patricia, falls in love, Dum Dum becomes her bestie and they all live happily ever after! Haha.

A choice I'm very happy I made. Don't get me wrong, Maggie is still nice, she grew even after becoming a part of Maelstrom, she still has a soft side, it's just harder to get out of her.

-

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

I love how all the questions go hand in hand xD

When she first joined Maelstrom, it was bad. She had no self control over her need to kill every Tyger Claw & Animal, who were the gangs involved in her adopted parent's murders. Enraged was an understatement, ever seen someone cry when their angry? Well this was Maggie tenfold. Even Dum Dum was worried, and even a little frightened. She had so much to learn, finally being unshackled from a life she didn't like, in order to please her parents. She knew they wanted the best for her, she grew up wanting to please them so much that she hid all of this rage, it was all pent up inside of her, when she was finally able to release it, she went wild.

Now that some time has passed, she's better and can handle her rage and anger in a way that won't scare off even the toughest of Maelstromer's. She does get the side-eye from Pat every once in a while though. xD

[ao3feed-stevebucky]

Torch

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/LR3ndkZ

by atomic_android_apocalypse

“You firefighters are all the same. Big goddamn heroes. Adrenaline junkies more interested in measuring dicks and flirting with the bystanders than actually figuring out what caused the fires.” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like a you problem more than a me problem, pal.” “I’m not your pal.” “You got that right, at least.” The flush in the blond’s cheeks had turned a dangerous color. “Just stay the hell away from me,” he glanced up at the locker. “Barnes.” Bucky glanced at the name embroidered on the blond’s jacket. “Right back ‘atcha, Rogers.”

-or- The Stucky Firefighter!AU that literally nobody asked for, but which has lived in my brain rent-free for the last year.

Words: 2833, Chapters: 1/20, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: M/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Jim Morita, Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, Abraham Erskine, Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, Gilmore Hodge

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Firefighters, Awesome Howling Commandos, Protective Howling Commandos (Marvel), Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Near Death Experiences, Chronic Illness, Enemies to Lovers, Grumpy Bucky Barnes, Grumpy Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Feels, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, POV Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/LR3ndkZ

[femmeidiot]

Lyrics to Gut You, courtesy of all of Happy Life By Roland Faunte

Sometimes I picture this happy life

Burning in the depth of time where

Sadness is a myth to me

Is that something you can give to me

I picture this silent room

Humming with that silent tune

That my body sings when I get close to you

So hear me now it might be ending soon

I picture that morning kiss

The death of pain and loneliness

You give me strength when you hold my hand

I'm that headless heart that broken man

And as I'm walking around the void

And I hear that easy voice that

Tells you when there's nothing left for you

My darling I could die right next to you

Singing la da da da na na na

La da na na na na na

La da da dum

And I can do

What you ask

Before you ask it, let me have it

Give me nothing, but let me know you

And I will be there, just let me show you

Give me heartache

If that means a reason that I would continue

Please, I need them

Because you mattered

When nothing mattered

If I need something let me have her

I can be there, I can be there

All my secrets, come and see them

And I can help you, as you heal me

I can feel you baby please be near me

Come and find me, in the shadows

Light a candle or just hold my hand because

You mattered, when nothing mattered

If I need something let me have her

Holy dancer, come and find me

In the darkness where I've been hiding

Oh, you are my answer, my one and only

Holy woman oh my holy dancer

Give me that hometown, by the train tracks

Slowly dancing with my silent face, I know

I had that, how I once had that

Now that I'm broken baby can't I go back

Be my refuge, beneath the covers

You are my best friend as you're my lover

Oh, I just found it, I think I found it 'cause

Your beauty blinds me and I'm surrounded

La da da da da da da

La da da da na na na

La da da dum

Now you can picture this broken boy

With dreams of things, he can't enjoy

Speaking words he won't fulfill

And promising that it can happen but with all the years

I have on my name, living in a Grecian cave where

Nothing of a concrete world

Allows me now to love a girl

So is it better if I just bow my head

My dreams are getting over-fed

My fantasies are gaining speed

In the politics of make-believe

See ours is a distant shore

I am sailing there but through a storm

A fallen soul moving slow and sweet

I'll meet you there, eventually

Or maybe it's fine

You see a lot of people die

And never find this, so

also sad, damn. Also didn’t realize you could put this much content in an ask again so that’s neat.

Send song lyrics that gut you like a fish.

[rurifangirl]

Wake up besties new Hoe just dropped <333

Name: Vincent

Age: 25

Occupation: Private investigator

Pronouns: They/It/he

Gender & sexuality: Demi boy, demiromantic asexual.

Species: Siren

Likes: Mocha, pigeons, reading, swimming.

Dislikes: Garlic, incoherent people,storms,corn.

Personality: Secretive and quiet, Vincent isn't exactly the kind of person to have lengthy conversations. On the top of that, they might seem aggressive or unapproachable at first glance, though he usually has much patience, especially due to it's carrier. In private he tends to be less harsh and caring.

Height: 1.90 m (human form) 2.54 m (siren form)

Birthday: 22 November

Weapons/Abilities:

As an human, other than their singing voice he doesn't have any other ability. However, it has received a firearm training, so they are able to use them.

As a siren, they're far more agile and fast, granting him a great advantage.

Speaking of his singing voice; It allows them to allure and manipulate people's minds in order to get information it wants. They only use It in life or death situations,or in any other severe case. He has a full mastery over it.

Other lil stuff/rambles about him under the cut <3

He has a bachelor degree in criminal science, and has specialisized a few months before it's appereance in the story.

They are relatevely close with his family; though they know live pretty far, they visit them during holidays and calls them regulalry.

Okay so so this makes sense to italians but i seriously don't know how to translate 'libri gialli' so without further a do Imma say that Vincent has read detective/crime related books since they were pretty young. He currently has a few with them, in case they want to feel the good old nostalgia.

Speaking of childood; It had many problems with socialization. No matter if they were on land or into the sea, nothing seemed to change. Growing older, he did make a few acquaintances and even friends, but overtime they couldn't manage all of them.

It never really cared how people saw him on land, and if anything, he would calmly state his species. A few weird looks? Who cares, they'll forget about It in a few days anyways.

Yes he did watch who framed roger rabbit as a kid now the crops shall be healed <3 (in the unholy case you didn't watch It i recommend It tbh)

They sleep with a cat plushie It named Mrs Puffs.

It occasionally smokes. It's moreso during high stress situations, but It could happen.

Ironically so, he has actually worked in hot topic as a part time job. They needed some money for the summer and It was the most viable option.

The reason as to why we see them in the first place Is because he got paid by the agency, in order to make sure the raventhorns are working fairly. (+ considering the fact that Moor had been in contact with Neptune and and It having caused quite a lot of conflict)

As a result though he basically becomes their adopted w/o consent father figure and has to deal with their shenanigans on a daily basis. <3 Found family am I right

(the one he looks after the most are both moor and bone, which are objectevly the most naive ones.)

His desk Is,,, messy as a compliment. Though the important pieces of information are neatly placed, everything else Is just all around the place and It doesn't to seem bothered by It. However when the others do it-

By no surpise he might not show up for a few days controlling them; it still gets payment from working on other cases, so it's not something to underastimate.

His fave flower Is the blue hydrangea.

Tags: @a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @spooping-around-liyue @spoops-screams @edensrose @nsk96 @dopesaladlady @audre-falrose @flowergarden1 @infraaa @eden-dum @anonymousgeekhere

[marvelrarepairbingo]

This summer is about to spring into action with our very first Marvel Rare Pair Bingo 2022. The month of July has been a busy one for our participants and as we share the list of all the great works for July, we want to encourage anyone who would still like to join in on the fun to check us out at https://marvelrarepairbingo2022.tumblr.com/ or head on over to our discord. It’s a no pressure event and we are open to a lot of wiggle room for creativity, so please check us out if you get a chance as so far everyone seems to be having a lot of fun.  Now, for those who are already part of the bingo and have been sharing their works we wanted to do a round up for July to showcase the great submissions we’ve received under the cut :)

Title: And It’s A Long Way Down

Card #: MRP-001 Square Filled: N2: Ice Cream Cones & Lollipops Pairing: Bobby Drake/Christian Frost Rating: Explicit Warnings: Day at the Beach, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Blow jobs, established relationship Summary: Bobby loves ice cream. Christian realizes he loves watching Bobby eat ice cream until it causes a problem. Word Count: 4796 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40115829

Title: Dum Inter Homines Sumus

Card #: MRP002 Square FIlled: B1 Formidable Pairing: Emma Frost / Mesmero Rating: M Warnings: Sadness, Nudity Summary: Emma Frost attends a high end charity ball, befriends Mesmero, meets several old friends, and helps some people out. Mesmero then tempts her with an offer she can hardly refuse. Word Count: 4807 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40059642

Title: Permit Me To Teach You How To Wage War

Card #: MRP003 Square Filled: B2: There is No Escape Pairing: Justin Hammer and Loki friendship Rating: Teen Warnings: Prison, crossover Summary: Following the disappearance of Loki and the death of Odin, two gods emerge from another universe to take their places. And Justin Hammer makes a new friend in prison. Word Count: unfinished Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40130454/chapters/100506642

Title: I'll Get You Back

Author: GODESTof3WORLDS Card #: MRP-004 Square Filled: I1- Isolation/Loneliness Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes (Winteriron) Rating: Gen Warnings: Amnesia, Hurt No Comfort, Tears Summary: I finally find the love of my life and he doesn’t even remember me. Maybe it’s my payment for all my sins. To love but never get loved back. It’s a sick joke. Word Count: 879 Link: here

Title: Sleep? Never Met Her

Author:  Writerpete Card #: MRP-016 Square: N4 -Cuddling and Movie Night Pairing: Steve Rogers & Peter Parker Rating: Teen Warnings: None really! Summary: Peter Parker, a college student, a photographer for the Daily Bugle, and secretly the vigilante of New York City called Spider-Man. Those three titles have demanding requirements of studying, underappreciated work and saving lives. So who needs sleep anyways when you have important work to do? Word Count: 2783 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40289934

Title: bubble burst

Card: MRP-023 Square Filled: G4 – a blessing is bestowed Pairing: Loki / Stephen Strange Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No warnings apply Summary: The sound of a baby’s laugh stirs Loki awake. Word Count: 1705 words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40438194

Title: 9 to 5

Author: thisislegit Card #: MRP-0027 Square Filled: O5 Sex Shop AU Pairing: Logan/Kurt Wagner Rating: M Warnings: Romance, Meet Cute, Alternate Universe-Sex Shop Summary: Logan wouldn't pretend he didn't recognize his regulars when they entered. Some people shopped here long enough that they were comfortable around his never changing and never judging demeanor. Their small talk met with grunts of acknowledgment, and their questions answered with a point to an aisle or a promise of things shipping in next month. The latter of which not being given lightly since Logan didn't order cheap shit that broke easy. It was bad business not to stock his joint with decent to high quality merchandise, and he hated bad business. Bad business was why there was a no return policy for his shop. It'd be plain unsanitary otherwise. Bad business was also why thinking too hard about customers who came off as unique was dangerous. Yet, in his defense, ignoring a tall, blue man who looked like he just stepped out of a church sermon in his sweater vest and khakis was a new one for Logan. Word Count: 4097 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/marvelrarepairbingo22/works/40655649

Title: Two Halves of the Same Whole (by Chaoticgardenbread)

Card #:MRP-029 Square Filled: N5 Soulmates Pairing: Logan/Pietro Maximoff Rating: Explicit Warnings: No warnings apply Summary: Soulmates. The foreign concept crashes into Logan with almost startling clarity. Definitely something, or rather, someone, much more trouble than they’re worth. Then again, Logan usually feels the same about most things. Especially if he sits on the other end of the equation. (You feel what your soulmate feels and you’ll share your dreams when you’re both asleep) Word Count: 2900 words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40649730

Title: Up In the Air

Author: ScottxLogan Card #: MRP-131 Square Filled: I-2 “You saved me.” Pairing:James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark Rating: M Warnings: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mile High Club, Sexual Content,  Foot Massage, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bonding, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Protective Bucky Barnes, Hurt Tony Stark, Mild Hurt/Comfort Summary: When a threat is made against Tony's life, he is forced to leave New York and retreat to a private island with Bucky at his side serving as his bodyguard. Although the two have come a long way with one another during the time Bucky has been protecting Tony, it seems that the flight to their destination brings them closer in ways that neither had anticipated moving forward. A quiet conversation leads to awakenings between them as Tony finds himself tempted to explore new heights with Bucky. Could this be the real thing happening between them? Word Count: 12343 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40435989

Title: Against All Odds

Card #: MRP-131 Square FIlled: G-1 “Too Bad You’re Not Single.” Pairing: Tony Stark/Scott Summers Rating: E Warnings: Heavy Angst, Hellfire Gala (X-Men), Implied/Referenced Cheating, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Forbidden Love, Past Drug Addiction, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism Summary: Some addictions are harder to get over than others, but when Tony Stark discovers the truth about mutant resurrections in Krakoa starting with the reemergence of Scott Summers, he can’t help, but give in to a curiosity by going to the Hellfire Gala even knowing that it will no doubt take him under. Reunited at the party Tony and Scott are forced to face what still remains between them. Word Count: 6713 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40362063

Title: FireStorm (Chapter 6)

Author: ScottxLogan Card #: MRP-131 Square Filled: O-1 You’re a terrible liar.” Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark Rating: E Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mistaken Identity, From Sex to Love, Misunderstandings, Murder Mystery, Canon Divergence Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Firefighters, Light Angst, Swearing, Arson Summary: Poker night finally winds down and in the aftermath both Bucky and Tony are left to face the consequences of their actions. Will their risky gamble bring them closer together or tear them further apart once a winner is named? Once the results are in everything changes for both men in ways that neither can turn back from. Word Count: Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38737926/chapters/100931856

Title: FireStorm (Chapter 7)

Author: ScottxLogan Card #: MRP-131 Square Filled: N-4 Heartbreaking Confession Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark Rating: E Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mistaken Identity, From Sex to Love, Misunderstandings, Murder Mystery, Canon Divergence Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Firefighters, Light Angst, Swearing, Arson Summary: Tony and Bucky's quiet aftermath together is filled with tenderness and confessions that lead Tony down a road that he fears he may never be able to turn back from. After his night with Bucky, Tony's past comes back to haunt him as he puts the wheels in motion on a plan that may change everything forever. Word Count: 7347 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38737926/chapters/101772033

Title: Home Again (Chapter 17)

Card #: MRP131 Square FIlled: O5 Hold My Hand Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark Rating: M Warnings: Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence-Avengers:Endgame (Movie), Bucky Barnes Needs a Hugh, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe-Canon Diverence, References to Depression, Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Tony Stark Needs a Huh, Pre-Relationship, Angst with a happy ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst and Romance, Blood Loss, Adult Content, Explicit Language, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Injury, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Protective Happy Hogan, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Dreams and Nightmares, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension Summary: Tony and Morgan's reunion is filled with questions as they bond with one another. When a surprise guest arrives in the lab, will it mean the end of the new beginning for Tony and Bucky together? Word Count: 11693 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38259688/chapters/101887530

[aspoonofsugar]

Jaune: Zero to Hero

Pyrrha: It's not about why; it's about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Knowledge, Creation and Destruction all lead up to Aura. This is just another way to say that they lead up to individuality, which is something Grimms lack:

Pyrrha: They are creatures of Grimm, the manifestation of anonymity.

Individuality is conveyed through Choice. This is why Choice is the most important and final gift. It is symbolic of self-actualization, which is what our characters are pursuing in their coming of age story.

Jaune’s personal arc comments the group’s collective journey and marks each stage very clearly.

In which way does it happen? And what do these stages mean for Jaune’s growth as an individual?

THE IGNORANT WARRIOR

Pyrrha: Jaune, do you... know what Aura is?

Jaune: Psch! Of course I do! Do you know what Aura is?

Jaune is introduced as inexperienced and ignorant. He lacks combat experience and knows nothing about key concepts like Aura, Landing Strategy or Semblances.

His journey starts because Pyrrha shares her knowledge with him:

She awakens his aura, his very soul and later on trains him, so she helps his body get stronger:

In other words, Pyrrha is the one who puts Jaune on the right path to become a true “hero” and a “warrior”.

This is Jaune’s objective since the beginning, but he initially pursues it in the wrong way:

Jaune: I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!

He is fixated on an idea of hero which is outdated and has its root in toxic masculinity:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I've wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why symbolically Jaune wants to be like his male ancestors. He wants to grow into “a real man”:

Cardin: Let's see how much of a man you really are...

And this is conveyed also through his Weapon:

Jaune: It's a hand-me-down. My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the war.

Jaune did not forge his own Weapon, but he inherited it. Crocea Mors initially represents the legacy he wants to live up to. However, this legacy, instead of driving him, slows him down because he can’t grow until he remains in his ancestors’ shadow. Jaune needs to develop his own individuality instead.

In order to do so, he needs to grow not only as a figther, but as a person too.

As a matter of fact, Jaune’s ignorance is not only limited to the world he has stepped into, but also to the people around him:

Jaune: That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out.

Pyrrha: You'd be surprised.

He is so self-focused that he does not notice others’ feelings and hurts them unintentionally.

However, Pyrrha teaches him once again:

Pyrrha:Tell her exactly what you said. No ridiculous schemes, no pick-up lines. Just... be honest.

 It is thanks to her that Jaune manages to become a better man:

He is even able to call Neptune out the way Pyrrha did with him:

Jaune: Then just go talk to her. No pickup lines, no suave moves, just be yourself. I've heard that's the way to go.

And as a result, even Jaune’s relationship with Weiss gets better:

Weiss: You said you were embarrassed at first. What made you come talk to me?

Neptune: You're looking at him.  You got some good friends looking out for ya.

Because the girl realizes Jaune is not only after her money or her romantic attention:

Weiss: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name.

But wants to genuinely be a good friend to her.

In short, Jaune starts the story as immature both as a fighter and as a person to the point that he is considered unfit and annoying by other characters:

Glynda: I don't care what his transcripts say. That Jaune fellow is not ready for this level of combat.

However, thanks to Pyrrha, he is given the chance to mature.

Not only that, but while other characters see a weakness and a nuisance in Jaune’s ignorance and inexperience, Pyrrha sees it as a possibility:

Weiss: Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?

Jaune: Not in the slightest, snow angel.

Weiss: This is Pyrrha.

It is specifically because Jaune is new to Pyrrha’s world that he is free from bias:

Pyrrha:  That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me.

This is why Pyrrha feels she can forge a genuine bond with Jaune. What is more, the girl has faith in his potential:

Pyrrha: It's all right. I used my Aura to unlock yours, but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.

She sees in him what others do not and helps him develop both as a man and as a warrior.

This is well highlighted by the metal motif the two characters share.

As @hamliet explains here Rwby has several characters linked to the seven metals of alchemy.

The goal of alchemy is to create gold thanks to a process of refiniment that purifies the metal and has it go through several transformations. 

The seven metals are nothing, but a scale that goes from the heaviest and most raw metal (lead) to the most purified (gold) passing through the others (tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver).

For a story, it simply means that a character goes through a process of change that leads to self-actualization.

In Rwby this idea is conveyed through specific characters embodying a metal (Ironwood, Penny, Mercury) or even thanks to metal motifs commenting a specific part of a character arc.

For example, Yang is associated with gold:

I am the golden one Who burns just like the sun

But Adam takes her arm away and has her regress in the scale of metals to iron. This regression is not simply physical, but psychological as well:

However, Yang re-affirms herself and moves forward. The first step of this process is to symbolically make her new arm “gold” again:

When it comes to Jaune, I think that he may be the character associated with lead aka the “prima materia” that needs to be molded into gold. Even if this is not true, metal is at least definately still a motif in his arc, as it is in Pyrrha’s. This is why both characters wear metal armors, differently from others.

Pyrrha is already close to her self-actualization and she reaches it in the climax of the Vale arc, where she completes her (tragic) arc and dies a Maiden.

This is why her armor is gold, while Jaune’s is white and gray. Pyrrha is at the top of the metal scale and close to the end of her journey, while Jaune is respectively at the very bottom and at the very beginning.

He is the embodyment of the prima materia that has potential for greatness, but only if he is rightly guided and if he himself works hard.

Pyrrha takes over herself the duty to help Jaune mold himself.

This is underlined also by Pyrrha’s semblance:

Pyrrha: Well, Ruby has her speed, you have your glyphs. My Semblance is polarity.

Pyrrha can control and bend metals and she shows her power for the first time when she helps Jaune against the Ursa, so that he can overcome his self-issues.

So, Jaune starts the story as the lead and is going through a path of self-refinement which will lead him to become gold, so more similar to Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha offers him the basic knowledge to start this journey, but unluckily leaves him too soon and now Jaune has to move forward on his own.

THE CREATIVE AVENGER

Pyrrha: I want you to know that I'm just happy to be a part of your life. I'll always be here for you, Jaune.

Even after Pyrrha’s death, this stays true:

Blacksmith: That was some fine metal you brought me. Accents the white nicely. Where'd you get it from?

Pyrrha has become a part of Jaune.

This is a recurring motif in Rwby:

Penny: I won’t be gone, I’ll be part of you.

It is the idea that grieving is a process that leads to acceptance, but also to integration with a lost one. It is a way to have the deceased keep on living through the survivors.

In Jaune and Pyrrha’s case, this is conveyed through Pyrrha’s metal being used to enrich Jaune’s Weapon.

As stated by Ruby:

Ruby: Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

Weapons are symbolic of the self, just like Semblances.

What is more, Weapons and Semblances are also a declination of the dychotomy of body and soul, presented by the series.

Weapons are wielded by bodies, while Semblances are a materialization of the soul.

In other words, Pyrrha’s gold becoming a part of Jaune’s Weapon is symbolic of Jaune’s first step in a painful process that will lead him to overcome his partner’s death and to inherit Pyrrha’s legacy.

Jaune must keep on learning from Pyrrha and become more like her. As noted by @hamliet​, this is symbolized also by Jaune’s design aquiring more golden details as he goes on in his journey:

Jaune: Guess I was going to grow out of it eventually.

Ren: A sign of progress.

Jaune: Progress.

That said, grieving is not easy and Jaune must struggle with much pain and negative feelings.

This is why the changes he makes to Crocea Mors are finalized to increase its attack power:

It is because Jaune feels anger over Pyrrha’s death and wants revenge.

In the Battle of Haven he gives in to his fury and tries to kill Cinder. He is trying to superficially imitate Pyrrha’s sacrifice:

Jaune: If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter.

However, he is not doing it out of bravery or necessity, but out of recklessness and self-hate. This is why his actions lead to this:

Once again, Jaune risks to lose another loved one:

Jaune: No, no, no, no, not again! Weiss, c'mon, please!!

However, this time he is able to save Weiss thanks to his Semblance:

Jaune: My Semblance?

Nora: How else do you think you're healing her, dummy?

Jaune gives up on using his Weapon to fight and chooses to use his Semblance to cure. He chooses soul over body and Creation over Destruction.

At the same time, Jaune’s activation of his Semblance is meaningful on two levels:

Jaune: No. I don't think I'm healing her. Our Aura heals our bodies. It feels... it feels more like I'm using my Aura to amplify hers!

Nora: Wait, aren't you worried about running out?

Jaune: Pyrrha once told me I've got a lot of it. I still believe her.

First of all, Jaune’s Semblance is rooted in the idea that people heal themselves. His power is not to cure others, but to amplify others’ auras, so that they can become stronger and can heal. It is about bringing out the best in others. It is a power fit for a leader, but also an ability symbolic of Jaune’s own process of healing. He can heal himself through helping others to heal.

Secondly, Jaune’s Semblance is in itself a nod to Pyrrha. Pyrrha used her own aura to awake his and Aura Amp is simply an evolution of this idea. It is not about activating others’ auras, but it is a power that lets Jaune share his. It also makes good use of something Pyrrha noticed immediately aka Jaune’s huge quantity of aura.

In other words, Jaune ends up acting like Pyrrha in the Battle of Haven, but not because he fights Cinder, but because he shares his gift with others, just like Pyrrha did with hers.

Pyrrha is a part of Jaune both in body (Crocea Mors) and soul (Aura Amp), but Jaune must still truly understand what this means.

He makes progress in Lost:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

This is the essence of Pyrrha’s sacrifice. Jaune comes to understand it and chooses to make a similar choice together with his team:

Jaune: I think... I think she knew she wasn't going to win. That she might not come out alive. But... she also knew she was the only one that could try.

Ren: So she did.

Nora: Maybe we should too.

Jaune: Yeah, we should.

In this way, it will be as if Pyrrha were fighting together with them:

Nora: Pyrrha may not be by our side anymore, but we can fight like she is.

Jaune: And in a way... she will be.

Jaune tries to overcome his anger and his sadness for Pyrrha’s death in order to keep fighting like she did.

So, once again he chooses this:

Ruby: I wanted to protect my friends.

Maria: Precisely! It is the desire to preserve life which fuels the light inside you. And to make no mistake, it is light. Preservation is an extension of creation, or, at the very least, an enemy of destruction. The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

He chooses to protect life and this is the essence of Creation.

Once he confirms this choice, he is free to explore Creation’s potential and he does so in the land of Creation itself, Atlas.

He strengthens his shield instead of his sword:

And he trains his Semblance:

Oscar: Nice, your recovery is getting faster.

This all leads him to become stronger psychologically:

Ren: Him on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

That said, Jaune starts meeting limits to his new found strength rooted in Creation:

Jaune: Ah, sorry. No matter how much I boost you, they won’t go away.

Jaune: Did... I stop the virus?

Penny: No. It’s still there.

Jaune’s way to move forward is to heal himself through healing others. Still, what to do when this is not possible?

THE DESTRUCTIVE HEALER

Penny: No… there’s not enough time to heal me…

Penny: But there is something you can do…

What happens in Atlas is an inversion of Haven.

Penny pushes Jaune’s Semblance away and touches Crocea Mors.

Jaune is asked to give up on healing her and to speed up her death instead. He is asked to choose his Weapon (body) over his Semblance (soul) and Destruction over Creation.

This marks the characters entering the Destruction phase:

Leaving Creation (Penny) behind.

For Jaune, this means that his own self image that he has worked so much to build and to make his own:

And that has been enriched in Anima thanks to Pyrrha...is shattered:

At the same time, he is once again put in a similar spot as Pyrrha:

They both become unwilling agents of Penny’s death because of Cinder (and Emerald and Mercury in the first case):

Pyrrha: Ruby, I... I'm so sorry.

Ruby: Me too. But it wasn't your fault.

Jaune: She's right. Whoever was on that microphone... they're the ones that did this. And we have to make sure they don't take anyone else.

So Jaune’s journey to integrate with Pyrrha, to understand her and her struggle continues.

What now?

It is too soon to say because we have yet to properly start our journey through Destruction and what it is about.

That said, there are two things that are worth highlighting. The first is a motif Rwby is following, while the second is a general theme found in many stories.

1) As @hamliet​ has stated in many metas and as I have written here, Rwby is an alchemical story. Alchemical stories are usually marked by three important deaths. Each death is symbolically linked to a color. They are usually black, white and red. However, sometimes there can be yellow instead of the white or the red. This is the case here, where a resonant death is the yellow death aka Penny’s.

It is a death that happens while the characters are surrounded by yellow:

And it happens through a weapon called “Yellow Death” (Crocea Mors’s meaning). So, it is really not subtle. Penny’s death is meant to mark an important passage for our protagonists, just like Pyrrha’s one (the black death).

2) It is common in stories that deal with healers to explore the concept of death as well.

The basic idea is that a healer is a person meant to cure. That said, they will meet people impossible to cure and that will die on their watch. This is an unescapable truth a true healer must live with.

Let’s highlight this theme is found in works very different for genre and culture.

Let’s have two examples.

Scrubs aka an American comedy about doctors deals with this theme multiple times. In many episodes the characters must simply accept they can’t save a life, but must still not lose hope and keep on living themselves.

Yosano from the manga BSD says so:

Her backstory explores the link bewteen life and death further since it is shown that a power that cures fatal wounds can be used to cheapen life itself:

It is too soon to say if Rwby will explore a similar theme, but the fact that Jaune, (the healer) is the one that has to speed up Penny’s death might be a very powerful and poignant choice. This is true especially because Rwby does not refuse Destruction (and so does not refuse death), but presents it as a principle equal to Creation (so as a part of life).

THE CHOOSING HERO

Jaune’s arc is about living Pyrrha’s death over and over again with different scenarios and outcomes. This happens so that in the end he can finally overcome it.

So far, it has happened three times and each time has been in the climax of an important battle.

The Battle of Beacon has him witness powerlessly to Pyrrha’s death (lack of knowledge and passivity).

The Battle of Haven has him saving Weiss (creation).

The Battle of Atlas has him killing Penny (destruction).

What is more, every time Jaune becomes more proactive and conscious of what he is doing.

In Beacon he has no idea of what is happening. He works with little information and things happen to him without him being able to do anything.

In Haven his actions lead to Weiss being in danger, but he manages to save her. That said, he does not do it consciously. He unlocks his Semblance because of emotional stress. It is an unconscious choice and not a conscious one.

In Atlas he makes a specific conscious choice, but it is a choice that is forced on him because of external circumstances. It is also a choice that is meant to challenge and temporally break him.

In other words, he is slowly and painfully approaching Choice aka self-actualization. Right now, he has to face the consequences of Penny’s death, but this will probably lead him to finally enter the Choice stage and to complete his arc by becoming a “hero” aka gold (probably).

At the same time, this final choice will also be about healing and overcoming grief. It will be the final integration with Pyrrha and him being able to honor her legacy.

After all, we have been told from the beginning what Pyrrha’s fate would have been. We’ve just failed to notice:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.

June and Pyrrha’s bond is eternal and she is meant to be the key character in Jaune’s arc. It is only through confronting and finally overcoming her loss that Jaune can finally self actualize and become the person Pyrrha has always known he could be. Pyrrha will symbolically be with him in this struggle. Her memory will protect and inspire him. 

[novamirmirsblog]

I am not a woman, I'm a God (17+)

If I can't have love I want power pt 2

If I can't have love masterlist

Word Count: 1640

Genre: dark I guess?

Request: no

Warnings: none? (atm anyways)

A/N: I'm not too happy with this chapter so it's subject to change BUT the next couple chapters should pick things up a little :3 OH and the next chapter might contain smut (Idk yet - I'll try to edit this when I've written the next chapter)

1737 - The middle

The revenge was sweet and drawn out. The redhead and her long-time friend had made sure of that. They let you finish the duke off but not before they had their fun. The two women were gorgeous, both with red hair that would make any woman jealous. The green-eyed woman had hair like a wildfire and the blue-eyed woman had hair the colour of a deep red sunset. Liking women was wrong but you weren’t sure these two counted as women – they certainly weren’t human. Wanda, the one with sunset hair, tortured your husband mentally, angry whisps the same colour as Natasha’s hair crawled in through his ears and buried themselves deep within his brain. While this was happening, Natasha was peeling layer after layer of skin off him with her razor-sharp nails. You weren’t sure if you could even call them nails – not when they looked so much more like claws. While Wanda was exploiting your husband’s deepest darkest fears, Natasha was calmly explaining to you which tools to use where so you could cause the most pain. Apparently pain and torture was an aphrodisiac for them because the two demons decided to show you what you had been missing out on due to your husband’s lack of skill.

That was almost 200 years ago. Wanda and Natasha had given you great gifts, allowing you to have a much longer life, giving you cat-like reflexes and godlike powers. Perhaps your favourite was the enhancements they gave to your voice. People were suddenly compelled to do whatever you suggested they do and the rush it gave you was unexplainable. These gifts were not free however and yet the price was one you willingly paid repeatedly. Especially because it meant spending extra time with your two favourite demons. You were there to cause chaos and have fun which was ironic considering Wanda was a chaos demon and Natasha was a succubus but perhaps that’s why you did what you did. Perhaps it was because you were made by them and therefore must serve them in every way imaginable.

~~~~~

You had watched your siblings grow from afar and made sure every single villager who ever even looked at them wrong suffered. When you were with Wanda and Natasha, it felt as if everything just fit into place. It was strange and you felt as if you shouldn’t miss them – they killed and tortured your husband in front of you, gave you gifts that meant you couldn’t live a normal life and coerced you into sex that you weren’t sure you wanted; yet you still wanted them.

Your story was told countless times and the more times it was told, the deeper the truth was twisted into a legend, a tale mothers told their children to keep them away from the forests late at night. You were turned into a martyr, a victim of the horrible cruelties the evil creatures of the world could bestow onto innocent girls.

You were anything but.

If the storytellers could see you now, they would burn all mentions of your story. You were a problem child, a bad example and you had two of the most powerful demons wrapped around your little finger.

A few years ago, you had mentioned to Natasha and Wanda one evening that you were bored. That’s how you found yourself currently being shot at.

“Natty I’m bored.” You whined, throwing yourself dramatically over the bed. History was going through a dry spell; people weren’t doing anything interesting and there weren’t enough opportunities for you to wreak havoc.

“Natty” Wanda mocked “Our princess is bored.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Natasha moved to hover over you, Wanda placed your head in her lap. Natasha’s tail flicked with a cat-like manner before it slithered between your legs.

You grabbed her tail and she let out a moan “Not now Natasha. I’m serious. If I knew living forever was going to be this boring, then I wouldn’t have done it.” That wasn’t quite true, you enjoyed being theirs to use but you were getting restless.

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning up to kiss Wanda instead. You waited a few moments for the two demons to stop their make-out session, but it didn’t look to be ending any time soon. You rolled out from underneath Natasha and untangled Wanda’s fingers from where she was massaging your scalp.

“Awe come back baby.” Wanda broke the kiss and made grabby arms at you. For a supposed demon, she sure was soft. “I promise we’ll make things more fun.”

Natasha rolled her eyes again “You’ve gone soft Wands.” Although Natasha huffed and puffed about how ‘soft’ Wanda had gotten, she seemed to have a slightly less hardened heart when she looked at you.

You were no longer bored but you were being shot at and while it couldn’t kill you, it sure did sting. Perhaps going after Dick Turpin’s loot was a bad idea but what can you say? You wanted to live a little. All you had wanted was a pretty horse you had seen him steal but nooo – he had to keep them all for himself. You had managed to escape Mr Turpin himself but one of his lackeys just wouldn’t give up. Rather than continuing to run, you decided you may as well get a quick meal.

“Hello darling.” Your voice echoed from all around, you watched as the man trying to kill you frantically whipped his head around.

“Who are you? Come out now!”

You let out a low, predatory chuckle.

“I’m the poor little martyr in all your stories.”

“No. You can’t be- that’s impossible! You should be dead!” You watched as the man continued to spin around and around in circles, watching him trip before revealing yourself.

“I am ancient. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen kings and queens and holy men enter the world and I have seen them leave; and yet I am nowhere near as old or as powerful as the women who made me the person I am today. While I watched preestablished civilisations crumble, they were reminiscing the time they created them, all while burning them to the ground. Some call me the end but they are mistaken. They are the end. I am your warning. I am the only kindness they will show you. Trivial things such as death do not concern me.” As you finished your speech, Natasha and Wanda’s comforting aura surrounded you, the dark mist embracing you before forming the two women.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun now could we dove?” Natasha’s voice rumbled out against your neck, biting it lightly.

“You have to share.” Wanda cooed, lifting your chin up to face her as she captured your lips with hers.

The idiot who you were about to kill and feed on decided now was a good time to make their escape. Luckily, Wanda had other plans as her red magic bought the squirming meal back to you.

“Go away. I want to eat. It’s been so long.” You pouted, making your way back to your meal. It was a little annoying that to continue living in your young body that you had to drain the soul from another person, but it was worth it.

“But if we leave then who’s going to do all the heavy lifting?”

“And who will dig the hole in your garden?”

“Or put the body in the hole?”

“Or-”

“Okay! I get it. Fine. But just hush, okay? I like to eat in peace.” You grabbed the man and kissed him hard, feeling his soul merge with yours before it was consumed by the darkness.

“I don’t know why you always have to kiss them to feed” Natasha bit out, moving away from you with Wanda, voicing her unhappiness at you kissing someone else when only she should be kissing you- her and maybe Wanda.

“Well, it wasn’t me who made her feed that way.” Wanda whispered back

“Are you suggesting this is my fault?” Natasha’s voice got low and dangerous, and you felt the forest drop about 10 degrees.

“Well that’s how you feed isn’t it?” Wanda’s eyes glowed and a wind picked up.

You pulled away from your meal, the faint glow of his soul swirling around your mouth and eyes. “Want to share?” The forest rose back to its original temperature and climate as Natasha kissed you, absorbing small remnants of the soul. Wanda wrapped one arm around your waist while the other snaked up to your neck, her teeth lightly biting and sucking along your shoulders.

“I think you forget dove” Natasha broke the kiss to growl at you

“We’re in charge here. If we wanted to share, then we would share.” Wanda finished off for her.

It dawned on you that perhaps this was about more than just the meal. They were jealous.

“Are you two jealous?” You laughed, not at the situation but at their reactions. Wanda bit you harder and Natasha just glared at you.

“Of course not. Why would we be jealous of some silly insignificant dum-”

“Baby…” You reached up and placed one hand lightly on Wanda’s horn and the other on Natasha’s cheek, effectively stopping Natasha’s rant about how unjealous they are. Wanda moved from where she was standing behind you to stand next to Natasha. “You both know that if I could live off Demon energy then I would, but I can’t.”

Natasha and Wanda shared a look, having a silent conversation in the space of seconds before turning their attention back to you. “That’s not necessarily true love.” Wanda said.

“It will be painful but…well demons aren’t born. They’re made.” Natasha explained.

“And if you wanted to…”

You didn’t even hesitate before giving your answer. “Yes.”

Taglist:

@lucydiibi

[sephiwhore]

Want One Of These??

Did you cheat death and wake up in a landfill with a new buddy in your head? Do you plan to cosplay your V, or maybe V’s love interest? Do you just think bullets and round things are cool?

Well, I’ve got you covered! For $15 USD plus shipping, you too can have V’s bullet necklace (Johnny, unfortunately, not included), lovingly crafted by Misty Me! The outer ring and bullet are cast in epoxy resin, painted, and sealed with clear nail polish cause it’s what I had on hand (ba-dum-tsh). The string is...well, string, stiffened and sealed with a water-based glue.

I’ve done my best to make these as sturdy as possible (so they CAN be worn as a real necklace!), but I haven’t tested just how durable they are, so try not to get into any shootouts while wearing one. They should be water resistant as well, but prolonged contact with water might affect the stiffness of the string, making the bullet sag, and nobody wants a saggy bullet.

The chain is made of hypoallergenic stainless steel but please note, most parts are sealed with a clear nail polish. If you’re allergic to nail polish, please let me know.

As said, the price is $15 USD, plus shipping. I am in Canada so if you live outside Canada, shipping should be about $10 USD. I’ll be taking payment through Paypal. I should be able to ship anywhere, assuming international shipping in your country has not been affected by the pandemic.

At the time of making this post, I have a few necklaces made already, and each additional one takes about 2 days to make. I’ll be shipping them out in groups, probably 2-5 depending on how many orders I get.

If you’re interested in buying a necklace, please send me a DM and I’ll add you to the list and let you know if there will be a wait! Payment is not due until I have your necklace finished and packaged to be shipped.

If you would like yours customized, let me know and I’ll see what I can do! Maybe painted in different colors, or your V’s name (or perhaps a certain tattoo?) painted on the bullet! Unfortunately, I can’t offer different chain colors.

If you have any questions, please feel free to reply to this post or DM me!

And if you could reblog this post (or even share it outside tumblr!), even if you don’t plan to buy one yourself, that would be much appreciated!