#farsi tattoo

[farsi-calligraphy]

A wonderful way to display the names in your family! Perhaps a surprise gift for No Ruz? Click the link above to fill out an order form for your personalized family calligraphy, or email palmstone@gmail.com  Persian / Farsi calligraphy by S J Thomas

[oatbugs]

my research partner and i are huddled in a blanket in paddington waiting for a too-late train i already miss you and you and you

[sewercentipede]

tattoos of persian and arabic calligraphy

۱‌‌‌ ۲ ۳ ۴‌ ۵ ۶ ۷‌ ۸ ۹

[beansprean]

no bats were harmed in the making of this art (it was consensual dkjhsk)

[sticker + prints!]

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Full body of Guillermo, topless and wearing green chinos tucked into brown boots, a stake in each hand, high-kicking a large bat out of the air. Guillermo's hair is overgrown, he has a cuff and fang pierced in his ear, double bar piercings in both nipples so it looks like a cross, an actual silver cross around his neck, multiple gnarled scars on his hands, stomach, chest, and face, and tattoos covering his body. The tattoos include, on his right arm: a saguaro cactus, a stylized Nahua gila monster, an evil eye, a bote joghe, and 'familia' written in cursive. On his left arm: an ankh filled with celtic knots, a circular maze, a sacred heart, some chain, and 'nandor' written in farsi. Both hands have an arrow on the back, a cross lain over his fingers like knuckle dusters, and 'de la cruz' written across each knuckle letter by letter. Also visible is a line of red crosses around his throat, crossed arrows and a star of david over his chest, a thunderbird on his stomach, a calli house on his right side, and a celtic knot on his left side. /end ID

[mxmajor]

Cool things i learned abt the Dora Milaje from the dora milaje training manual

this is canon to the 616 and comics, not the MCU, but it was cool to learn about and definitely impacts my canon compliant AU fic. So it might be useful to others. Its not the full book, not even a chapters worth of info, but if you were considering getting it, do so. It made me look at wakanda forever differently, too.

Joining

they accept women from all 5 tribes (17 in the comics) between the ages of 15-20 to become Dora

They have to bring a gift and be accepted by Bast to begin training

If accepted they are called Kanwata and the process takes 4 years to complete.

Upon initiation they go through an ori ceremony where their heads are shaved and they received their first ritual tattoo. They receive another tattoo each year, an ink with vibranium, until the second and final ori ceremony where they receive the final tattoo after their acceptance from Bast.

Training

They have to learn 7 of 10 languages: Wakandan, Xhosa, Hausa, Arabic, Yoruba, English, Igbo, Mandarin, Swahili, and Korean. They have 9 additional elective languages they can learn, especially to connect to the diaspora and blend in: cantonese, Hebrew, Japanese, French, Farsi, Spanish, Amharic, and Portuguese. They get to conversation and translation in the following years.

In the first year they must learn hand to hand combat in the forms of Ngolo, Laamb, Silat, Muay Thai, Musangwe, and Krav Maga. Once the required mastery has been met they add weapons in the second year. The Dora are considered "living weapons".

In the comic verse, they have a mystical and supernatural combat section. The kanwata training is in 3 pillars: physical, mental, and spiritual/herbal. They study vibranium application and properties as well as herbal practices like identifying plants for food and medicinal purposes.

Essentially, Dora are super smart and well trained so it takes a unique situation for them to be unprepared lol. There is even more that goes into what was listed above.

Structure

The DM have 3 major units: Guard Units, Airborne Units, and Support Staff Units. This includes Domestic, international, and Off world teams in the comics.

Dora can be broken into units, squads, or teams (helpful when trying to name group that they might be on a mission in)

They are all trained in combat and munitions (weapons) but some units are researchers, mechanics, pilots, healers, or apart of a secret division (like the cia) but no one knows who is in that secret division

Kanwata are the trainees, the 3rd and 4th years apprentice with Iya Dora and/or train younger Kanwata.

Ile Dora Milaje is what the group of active, graduated, and fully initiated Dora are called.

Iya Dora is the council that confers with wakandan leadership (Taifa Ngao, the council of elders), determines the graduation passage of kanwata, and governs the active duty, dismissal or removal from Dora ranks. There are Dora that have been re-instated after dismissal.

There are some cool excerpts if you clicked the link below. I am tired of typing lol.

[prairiedeath]

new tattoos ♡♡

the text says “the roots” in persian/farsi

[lale-txt]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog! <33333 (if u wanna, no pressure!)

aww Coony hi!! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

one of my first manga was Fruits Basket and to this day it is still one of my favorites! it has everything to me, the friendships and the romance, the deeply traumatic family bonds, the horrors… don’t get me started because i can and i will yap about it for 3h straight. the 2019 anime is one i find myself rewatching over and over again, it really was such a gift for the shoujo community.

i wanna challenge myself and learn a new language this year! not sure which one yet, though. Japanese would be the obvious choice, but i’m also interested in Farsi? or maybe something entirely different (gave up on Finnish though that was impossible to me lmao)

i also really wanna get my hands tattooed this year but my artist of choice has been on hiatus, so i’m just sitting here patiently twiddling my thumbs until she comes back.

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for...

THE ONESHOT IS FINALLY FINISHED!!!! i really hope you guys like this, it was so much fun to write :) lmk if you want me to post this somewhere else to make it easier to read!

(@ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone asked for a tag so here u go :) if anyone else would like one, or would like to be part of a taglist for any future writings, just lmk!)

tattoo - a thomastair oneshot

———

It was late in the morning. Thomas was lounging on the settee, Alastair’s head settled comfortably in his lap. The sun was casting rays of light through the window at just the perfect angle; reducing Alastair’s eyes from brownish-black to a beautiful shade of burnt umber. Thomas was looking out the window, but occasionally he would look down at his lap to find himself absentmindedly playing with his hair. They hadn’t spoken much for the past while, but had been silently enjoying each other’s presence. Upon waking, Alastair had insisted they take it easy that day because they were ‘both so tired and overworked’, although Thomas had a feeling it was really because he just wanted to spend as much time with him as he could before someone inevitably disturbed their peace.

Unfortunately, he was going to be the one to disturb that peace.

Burying his face in Alastair’s hair, he spoke. “My darling, do you think you could do something for me?”

Alastair turned himself around so that he could face Thomas. He had a smirk and a devilish glint in his eyes. “My dear Tom,” he said, sliding a hand up Thomas’s neck and settling his fingertips along his jaw. “You should know by now that I would do absolutely anything, should you request it of me,” he continued, lifting his face close enough for Thomas to feel his breath on his skin. He momentarily forgot what he was going to ask Alastair to do, instead becoming lost in his gaze. But he was determined that his plan be carried out today, and he was not going to let a very handsome Persian boy -my very handsome Persian boy, he mentally noted- ruin it. “Do we have any writing materials around?”

“I believe so,” Alastair, raising an eyebrow and looking slightly dismayed, replied. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I would like you to write something for me.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling until you get the materials.”

Alastair huffed, though not without affection, and left to retrieve the items. Even though he was only gone a brief moment, Thomas could almost still feel his physical presence. His soft, warm skin. His luscious, black-as-the-night hair. It was ridiculous, he thought, that he had ever dyed it. Blond worked on Math, of course. And it wasn’t that it didn’t work on Alastair; Thomas was fairly sure he would still look perfect if he had vermillion coloured hair. But there was something so striking about his natural colour. Like the feathers of a raven.

A raven? Really, Thomas?

He was woken from his reverie by Alastair promptly dropping the ink and paper on the coffee table. “Now, pray tell me why I was -and quite rudely if I say so myself- disturbed from a lovely relaxed state of mind with my beloved.” Thomas smiled at Alastair’s slight tone of annoyance, and his heart fluttered when he uttered the word ‘beloved’.

“Could you please write ‘I love you’? And then the same again, but in Farsi?” Alastair looked incredibly confused, but Thomas was hoping he would not ask why he was doing this. His plan was to get him to write the phrases and then leave for the city. A new tattoo parlour had opened recently, and ever since his first he had been itching to get another. He would take Alastair’s handwritten words, and have them permanently etched on his skin. He knew how much he loved his rose compass; Thomas hoped to gain the same reaction to the new one.

Alastair, still looking confused, handed Thomas the paper he had written on. Even his handwriting was perfect. Thomas smiled, getting up from the settee. He slid his arms around Alastair’s waist, to which Alastair responded by nestling his head into his shoulder.

“I have to go now, my love. I shall be back in a short while,” said Thomas.

Alastair rolled his eyes and groaned. “Are you serious? You promised, when I asked, that we would be having this day to ourselves. It isn’t often we get to just...exist together,” he replied, looking up expectantly at him. “Also, you are yet to tell me what your intentions are with my handwriting.”

Thomas cursed himself internally. Even though it wasn’t anything big, he hated lying, and especially to Alastair. But he was determined that this remained a surprise. Rather than complicate things further, he decided to tell him exactly that.

“I can’t say exactly what, because it’s a surprise. You will most definitely like it, I promise. I would not be doing it today if I thought it was not important.”

Alastair moved himself so that the pair were now making eye contact. His face was still showing his discontent, but it seemed as if he had accepted that Thomas was not budging on the matter. As he headed to the door, Alastair pulled him back by the forearms to kiss him goodbye. When they pulled back, Thomas noticed that Alastair’s hand rested entirely over the rose compass, and he was running his thumb over the inked skin. He then slid it down, rubbing circles on the area of skin Thomas intended to use for today. It was as if he had already figured it out.

“Be quick, lest I will have you locked out for the night,” Alastair said, before turning around and heading back into the main room, leaving Thomas blushing in the entryway.

/

Still with the paper in his hand, Thomas approached the parlour. He stopped for a moment to look at the few design options displayed in the window. None of them truly appealed to him; not more than what was on his note. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open. He had chosen to wear a long-sleeved shirt; he would be able to simply roll his sleeve up without revealing any of his Marks.

A man around Thomas’s father’s age looked up as he walked in. His hair was grey streaked with some white, held back in a long plait. He had a kind face, and he smiled as he greeted him.

“Hello there, young man! What brings you in today?”

“I was hoping to get something done, but it’s not any of those designs. Is that possible?”

The man only smiled even more. “Of course! I know this is a new place, and people might be confused, but as long as you bring a reference picture or something similar I’m more than happy to do something that isn’t on display. May I have a look?” he said, crossing the floor to Thomas. Thomas passed the paper to him. He was a little bit worried about how he would react to the Farsi part; some English mundanes -and regrettably Shadowhunters too- were quite standoffish when it came to any language other than their own.

The man looked back up at Thomas and still smiling motioned for him to sit down. “Whereabouts are we thinking for this, then?”

“Just here,” he said, unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve. “I thought it would look nice beneath this piece.”

The man’s eyes widened briefly. “My god,” he breathed. “This is some impressive work. The industry is only new; that’s a true artist’s doing. Where did you get it done?”

Thomas couldn’t help but blush a bit. He still wasn’t entirely used to compliments, however small they were. “Barcelona. Spent some time there a year or two ago. I didn’t plan on getting it, but I thought the design was quite pretty.”

“Quite pretty would be an understatement, my friend. Speaking of which- terribly rude of me to not introduce myself! My name is Spencer.” Spencer said this with a dramatic flick of the wrist which ended in him clutching his hand to his chest and mocking a bow. Thomas laughed.

“It’s quite alright. I’m Thomas.”

Spencer held his hand out for Thomas to shake. After he prepared everything he needed and got to work, the two fell into conversation. Spencer was quite an interesting and eccentric man as it turned out; he was sure that he and Magnus would make amazing friends.

“So, who’s the lucky lady getting her handwriting permanently etched into this man?” Spencer asked, raising his eyebrows. Thomas froze entirely; he had completely forgotten the possibility of being asked about the tattoo’s origins. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was another Shadowhunter, but he was starkly reminded of why he was thankful to be one in that moment. Being a man who engaged in relationships with other men was illegal for the mundanes. There was no way of knowing what Spencer would think, and he couldn’t risk hinting it to him unless he was certain it was safe. Briefly, Matthew and Magnus flashed through his mind. It was true they enjoyed the presence of women too, but this situation would affect them just as much. And Alastair. Thomas couldn’t bear to think of what would happen to them, were they both mundanes. He would much rather be dead than live in a world where he couldn’t be with him.

“....Or man,” Spencer added. He had stopped tattooing for a moment and was looking at Thomas with a closed expression. He felt himself starting to sweat; he couldn’t think of anything to say, and there was no chance of him lying.

“Hey,” he continued again, lightly punching Thomas’s thigh. “If your feelings lie with men, you don’t have to worry about hiding it in here. I promise. These laws about homosexuality that mundanes have are ridiculous. Everyone should be allowed to love freely.”

Thomas was startled. Not only by Spencer’s apparent support for people like him, but the way he said the word ‘mundanes’. No mundanes knew that Shadowhunters existed; not least that they referred to them that way. “...Mundanes?”

Spencer laughed. “Yes. Mundanes. I can tell you’re a Shadowhunter, Mr. Thomas. I’m a warlock,” he said, turning around to reveal the back of his neck. Surely enough, it was covered in fishlike scales which he clarified covered his entire back. Thomas felt the tension leave his body, and he realised he was actually breathing again.

“Why did you decide to do this then, if you’re a warlock? Surely you’ll be dealing with lots of mundanes.”

Spencer shrugged. “Art is my passion; always has been. Shadowhunters aren’t big on tattoos for obvious reasons, and other Downworlders generally seem indifferent towards them. I figured that I could demonstrate my talent to the mundanes; they seem to be fascinated by these kinds of things.”

Thomas smiled. “I think sometimes that Shadowhunters are fascinated by them too. I remember the first ever moving picture I saw. I was amazed at how they managed to do it. Actually,” he paused a moment, blushing, “I saw it with him. My Alastair. In Paris.”

At that, Spencer grinned. “Alastair. That’s whose writing this is, I’m guessing?”

Although there were no mirrors around, Thomas was sure that he was the colour of a tomato now. “Yes. We weren’t actually, uh, together, so to speak, when we saw the film. But it will forever be one of my favourite memories with him.”

“And in Paris, too. How romantic,” Spencer added, wiggling his eyebrows. “How come you were there together, but not as a couple?” He had started tattooing again.

“I had stopped off before heading home from Spain. He was actually there with...someone else. Another man. But there was no love there. No respect. Alastair was just being used. I felt a bit guilty for having all these feelings towards him despite him not being there for me, and yet it seemed like it was the universe’s way of putting us together. Like we were written in the stars.”

Thomas psychologically kicked himself for his last remark. Written in the stars? By the Angel Thomas. You didn’t need to say it out loud.

Spencer chuckled softly. “Well, Thomas. This Alastair of yours is ever so lucky to have you. How lovely to have someone who thinks not even the world, but the universe, of you.”

/

Once the tattoo had been finished, and Thomas had spent some time admiring it, he walked home as quickly as he could. He was desperate to show Alastair; it looked absolutely beautiful on his arm. Spencer had done an amazing job of capturing his handwriting; the loopy, elegant letters. Though as he approached the door to their home, he heard Alastair talking to someone.

If Thomas was not mistaken, that someone was a blond-haired, green-eyed ball of energy.

“Hello, Matthew,” Thomas said as he opened the door. He lifted his hand to wave at him and smiled his best ever smile that lit up his eyes. Alastair, who was entering the room, watched with a quizzical look as he held his hand over his wrist. He was constantly telling Thomas how beautiful his smile was, and how it brightened his face and made the colours in his hazel eyes so much more vibrant. How the little crinkles surrounding them, born out of tragedy, were enough to turn him into putty in his hands.

Thomas hoped that this smile would distract Alastair from the fact that he had actually been gone for at least three hours.

“Thomas! My good, dear friend. What on earth could have possibly led you to leave your beloved alone all day?” Matthew exclaimed. Clearly he had been there for quite a while, as Alastair inclined his head in agreement.

“Exactly,” he added. “I rather think I should take off with Matthew now and leave you here as you did to me.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Alright, don’t get too confident Carstairs.”

Thomas laughed. It was nice to have Alastair and Matthew getting along now. They brought out the good in each other, and were a lot more similar than they would want to admit. “Well Math, seeing as you’re here too, you can see it as well,” he said, walking towards the two of them and lifting his hand off his arm.

Matthew’s eyes widened. “By the Angel, Tom. You are so in love, aren’t you?” He had a wistful look on his face as he said this. In truth, Thomas knew that he didn’t need anyone. He was getting over his illness, and that was the main concern for now. But at the same time, it must occasionally get to him. Thomas and Alastair. Anna and Ari. James and Cordelia. Jesse and Lucie. Everyone around him was in love.

For now, Oscar was enough. Math loved Oscar as much as he loved his friends.

Alastair looked stunned. He took Thomas’s arm gently and bent down, as if to get a closer look at the tattoo. His brown skin developed a pinkish hue on his cheeks that grew so bright and so quickly one could’ve sworn it was the top layer of skin burning off. He muttered something under his breath about excusing himself and promptly left the room, accidentally slamming the door in the process.

Matthew’s gaze followed him and turned back to Thomas once he had left. “Well. I think we know what he thinks of it.”

Thomas’s face had also started to become flushed. He stuttered in an attempt to say something in response to Matthew, who simply laughed and held up a hand. “I sense my presence is no longer required here. Otherwise I’ll end up witnessing something I really do not wish to. Not at least,” he added, “when the two men are my friends.”

Thomas smirked. “Oh, so Alastair’s a friend now?”

“I think he has to be. Think of it as...a friend by marriage type of thing.”

“...A friend-in-law?”

“Exactly that!” Matthew exclaimed. Without saying anything else he took himself to the door, doffing an imaginary cap, and left. Thomas went to the door Alastair had slammed a few seconds ago and knocked. He opened the door almost immediately, still bright red and with his hair slightly messier than it had been a moment earlier.

“You. My Tom. Wow,” said Alastair between breaths. He couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, which was amusing Thomas quite a lot.

“You like it, don’t you, darling?” Thomas smiled, relishing in the frustration of Alastair. He wasn’t big on pet names, but Thomas learned pretty quickly that a ‘darling’ every so often would drive him insane.

Instead of giving a verbal response, Alastair pulled Thomas towards him for a kiss. Thomas cupped his face and felt the heat radiating off his skin. Taking one hand, he slid it down Alastair’s spine to hold him at the small of his back. He made a sound, and broke away. “My Tom. My beautiful Tom. You will never know how beautiful you are to me,” he mused, rubbing his thumb across the new ink. Thomas winced a little; it was painful still, but Alastair’s hands were so elegant. He knew exactly how and where to touch him.

“So that’s why you left for so long, then.”

Thomas kissed his neck and along his jaw, stopping at his cheekbone to whisper in Alastair’s ear;

“I can make up for it now though, can’t I?”

[tagedeszorns]

An AU where Fabius is a Hollywood plastic surgeon.

Where this sudden change of heart came from and why - it's better not to ask when luck favours you so much. An interview with Hollywood's most sought-after, exclusive and undoubtedly most reclusive facesculptor! Well, at least initially with his spokesperson? Assistant? No explanation was given and there is nothing on the tasteful, very blank business card. Not even an email address. Or a telephone number. Anyone who has to ask for it hasn't understood how things work around here.

So now this lobby in a building far enough removed from the city to have an undisturbed hill overlooking the Pacific to itself (presumably at the price of the gross national product of a Central American country). A strangely brutalist-beautiful house that looks like a James Bond villain gave Aldo Rossi free rein.

Dr Bile has never before answered an interview request, let alone positively: why now, of all times, and from a magazine that is not exactly Lancet - it is inexplicable!

It is not particularly inviting yet. Two women who could not be more different and yet look equally unreal without flaunting the artificiality of too much plastic surgery stand with the noncommittal vigilance of born bodyguards at the doorway to the deeper interior of the building. One is downright bizarrely tall, her platinum blonde hair in an expensive cut that shows off her facial features, which are not one hundred percent even in just the right way, to their best advantage. She radiates a deadly elegance that makes it clear that even though she wears strangely blocky high heels that almost turn her feet into hooves (they must be shoes!), in a critical situation she would strike with the ruthlessness of a pouncing snake. Like her colleague, she wears a tailored dark suit in the price range called for by the tailors of the Vatican. No logo on the clothes. Of course there isn't. The winged double helix is only present as an isolated pattern in the dark carpet and on the wall. The other woman is clearly smaller, but more compact. Her muscular composure is punctuated by a couple of almost ceremonial-looking, tremendously precise scars that do not disfigure her face but rather indicate her businesslike nature. Something that her pixie cut and broad, sinewy hands emphasise.

"Ah, good afternoon! Welcome to the Consortium!" Perfectly articulated, flawless. Yet a very slight echo of the rounded consonants of Farsi or Pashtu.

The man stepping out of the doorway is not the doctor. Of course he isn't. But our journalist has done his homework. So this is him. His .. Press officer? Assistant? Marketing manager? It was impossible to figure out. But he is what stands between Dr Bile and the world.

His smile is practised and smooth, his olive-dark features regular. As he reaches out, the sleeve of the Desmond Merrion suit slides up just the right distance to expose the beginnings of the fine lines of a calligraphic tattoo. As if he actually deals with visitors every day, he ushers him to the passageway between the two women. A corridor with old copperplate engravings showing the most prominent buildings of various medical faculties. Tastefully dimmed spotlights create a withdrawn atmosphere. Further back, a few more doors can be seen and at the very end, a double door upholstered in leather. "My name is Saqqara Ur-Damak Thresh and today I am here to answer all your questions."

Of course, this is a lie. But perhaps it is possible to draw enough substance from his answers to get closer to the Doctor's mystery.

His office. Not the doctor's study, of course. And "office" is only a very marginal term. There is an empty desk and a very utilitarian seating area. And bookshelves on the walls. On all the walls. Filled with volumes of all sizes and ages, obviously not just placed for decorative purposes.

Not what you would expect. But actually, you can expect nothing and everything here.

The only wall not filled with literature is a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the conifer-forested hills and driveway. Just before Mr Thresh makes an inviting hand gesture towards the couch, a black Maybach with tinted windows pulls up. Stops in front of the entrance. On the door a gold logo. An eye in a circle of arrows. Ah, of course the clientele here is also special.

On the low table between the two couches is a silver tea set. Mr Thresh pours, quite the good host. Everything here is at once completely ceremonial and absolutely authentic.

"I hope your journey was pleasant. Of course, as always, time is short. But rest assured - for the next hour, my attention is entirely yours!"

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

Okay. So. I am absolutely obsessed with the premises of this AU! I haven't barely scratched the surface (I mean, Saqqara, Savona, Igori and a hint of Abaddon is nothing!) and it's already an entire page of text.

So - if anybody is interested, I will write more about this AU. There are a lot of people who have to make an appearance - especially of course the Doctor himself!

[stormesandshowersparttwo]

i cant speak arabic, just read it, do you have NDA tattooed on your pec? what?

it's actually in Farsi! "Neda" means "voice" but it's also a feminine name.

[siennadraws]

amazing art I commissioned from @forystr !!! (thank you so much again!)

General

Name: Keshet Naomi Abreu Langford

Alternate Forms: Keshet bat Mordecai v’Rivka

Nickname: Naomi

Titles: Miss, Reporter

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: 2nd of October

Age: 31

Clothing Style: Retro

Apartment Style: Cozy

Theme song: Good Luck, Kid, by JOSEPH

Physical Characteristics

Hair Color: Dark Brown (Painted Dark Green)

Hair Length: Short, Curly

Eye Color: Hazel

Eye Shape: Almond shaped

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Height: 1,63m / 5’4

Build: Lean

Right/Left-handed: Right-handed

Scent: Woody and Aquatic, Fresh

Most Prominent Facial Feature: Constellations of beauty marks on her cheeks

Most Prominent Body Feature: Wide shoulders

Tattoos: Sleeves of branches with almond blossoms on both arms

Piercings: Both Ears: Lobe, Helix; Right Ear: Conch; Left Ear: Tragus

Personality

Personality type: 9w8, ESFP

Temperament: Sanguine

Charming | Intimidating

Impulsive | Cautious

Sarcastic | Genuine

Friendly | Stoic

Easygoing | Stubborn

Heart | Mind

Optimist | Pessimist

Team Player | Independent

By the Book | Bend the Rules

Skills

Main Skill: Deduction

Second Skill: People

Known languages: English, Portuguese, Hebrew, Spanish, Ladino, Arabic, Yiddish, Latin, French (currently learning Greek and Farsi)

Intelligence type: Interpersonal

Hobbies: Music, reading, learning languages

Misc

Favourite colour: Green

Favourite animal: Toads

Favourite flower: Bellflower

Most treasured possession: Her father's old guitar and jacket, and her jade bracelet

[farsi-calligraphy]

Ancient Persian Achaemenid Empire winged lion with sword and Persian calligraphy, family names and "My country, Iran" -- "Vatanam, Iran." Original Persian Farsi calligraphy by S. Joon Thomas. Order your unique hand-created calligraphy design by following the menu links above.

[warningsine]

Iranian-American director Ana Lily Amirpour once said she conceived the idea for her debut film, the vampire thriller “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night,” while skateboarding down West Coast streets one night. As her black chador whipped behind her like the wings of a bat, Amirpour had a vision of heroine: A young Iranian girl who skateboarded around the streets of the fictional Bad Town, her chador rippling behind her like a cape.

Through combining traditional and modern elements of Iranian culture, as well as including both Western and Eastern influences, Amirpour creates a masterpiece that transcends all previously drawn boundaries. “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night” is a melting pot of influences, seen in the pairing of chador and fangs, seen in the Iranian tattoos on a crass pimp and, most importantly, seen in the soundtrack itself.

Contrasting the stark, noir aspect of the entirely black and white movie, the soundtrack of “A Girl” is an eclectic mash-up of Iranian songs, both old and new. Novel Iranian bands like Radio Tehran and Kiosk stand next to classic singers like Dariush; it’s a playlist that not only beautifully melds past and present, but also shapes the fictional world of “Bad Town.”

Much like its lack of color, “A Girl” lacks excessive dialogue, choosing instead to let its characters speak through the music that fills the negative space.

The main character, The Girl (played by Sheila Vand), is a pointed collection of contradictions: She is mostly silent, entrapped in shadows, yet the music that accompanies her pays homage to vibrant ‘80s synthpop. At the beginning of the film, The Girl dances alone in her room while Farah’s “Dancing Girls” plays; the song contains both Farsi and English lyrics, yet the techno wave of its background melody, along with the lone disco ball The Girl sways back and forth under, is reminiscent of American bands like a-ha and Blondie. Farah’s lyrics — “she’s just a normal girl / dancing to her favorite song” — create a sense of intimacy and vulnerability at odds with the fantastical vampire nightmare.

Even though the scene contains no dialogue, it speaks volumes about The Girl. Its contrasting components divulge a multi-dimensional character who moves past the flat trope of the stereotypical horror movie monster. Instead, we get a vampire who puts on makeup surrounded by muted fairy lights and saves abused prostitutes, then brutally murders an insolent pimp.

The soundtrack is not just a voice for the characters, but a shape for the movie as a whole. The largely instrumental band Ferderale makes several appearances throughout the film. The American-based ensemble is heavily influenced by soundtracks from the ‘60s & ‘70s era of Italian “Spaghetti Western” genres and, through this, allows “A Girl” to transcend cultural boundaries. Songs like “Sarcophagus” and “Black Sunday” feature dramatic orchestral declarations, bringing to mind the theatrical standoffs of iconic Old Westerns, while the underpinnings of folk melodies speak to conventional Iranian films. A spectral woman’s voice is often intermittently added as a glossy layer over the entire compilation; its echoing European opera sound traces the barren desert setting in fine lines of elegance.

Ferderale’s “Sisyphus” narrates a relatively simple, but quintessential, scene within the film: An unnamed character in drag dances with a balloon to music in a courtyard. The fringe on her button-down shirt and ostentatious silver buckle of her belt is at odds with the hijab on her head. It’s a strange juxtaposition replicated in the song as it weaves together musical elements from a variety of different eras.

The band allows the fictional Bad Town to exist within multiple spheres, blurring the lines between distinct movie genres and distinct cultures. It’s a quiet gesture, this remix of convention to include input from other cultures, but a powerful one. With “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night,” Amirpour constructs a story without limitations; instead, it masterfully traverses the rift between Eastern and Western ideals and finds a way to mend the disconnect.

What it means to me as an Iranian woman, more than just as a good horror movie, more than even a movie empowering Iranian women, is that it celebrates the power of opportunity. It’s doubtful Amirpour would have been able to create a movie of this magnitude if her family had remained in Iran, instead of taking the chance to immigrate to Europe and, later, to California.

Even though Iran’s culture is based predominantly around the arts — seen in the timeless impact of poets like Hafiz and Saadi — its current political climate has an iron grip around the advancement of artistic expression; it places tight restrictions over any creative production, not allowing for deviation from the established norm.

Many of the artists featured on this soundtrack, though Iranian-based, produce and perform their music outside of Iran; the radical socio-political commentary found in the lyrics of songs from bands like Kiosk or Radio Tehran is explicitly forbidden in Iran. Instead of remaining silent, they chose to immigrate to Europe, Canada and (mainly) the U.S, becoming the voice of a majority of Iran’s younger generation and permitting Iranian culture to continue to progress.

In light of President Donald Trump’s recent ban on travel on seven Muslim-majority countries (Iran being one of them), pieces of art like “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night” and its soundtrack need attention: The future of Iran lies within the ideas of its youth. When young Iranian citizens emigrate to search for new prospects, they are not fleeing from the historic culture of their homeland. Rather, their innovative ideas push the culture to evolve in order to accommodate new perspectives, redefining what it means to be Iranian.

With its multifaceted soundtrack, “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night” represents the endlessly creative potential of the Iranian youth.

It’s an ingenuity that I saw whenever I strolled the streets in Iran: Young artists with revolutionary ideas on the brink of looking to make a life for themselves, many of them exploring the option of moving to America.  And even though the ethnocentrism in the continuing view of America as “the land of opportunity” is a problem in itself, it does not draw away from the fact that, for many bright students, closed borders means closed opportunities as well. 

[sewercentipede]

source

[therelentless]

★ ⸻ GENERAL

name: Nandor { Xsayarsa } of Al Quolanudar

title(s): Shah of Al Quolanudar, Nandor the Relentless, Immortal warrior, Co-Leader of the vampire council

gender: male

age: 45 (761)

birthday: july 24th

place of birth: Al Quolanudar (somewhere in southern Iran)

spoken & understood language(s): Farsi, Turkish, English, some Spanish.

sexual preference: pansexual

occupation(s): once the leader of a country, a warrior, now a reality tv personality.

★ ⸻ APPEARANCE

eye color: dark brown.

hair color: dark brown.

height: 6'3".

major scars: several, on his back, chest, shoulders, thighs, and smalls ones too.

★ ⸻ FAVORITE

color: red.

song: macarena (the original version)

food: virgin blood ; )

drink: more virgin blood ; )

★ ⸻ HAVE THEY…

passed university: no, he didn't go to university, but he did have the best teachers that were around in the 13th century.

had sex: yes

had sex in public: yes

gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant: yes

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: yes

gotten tattoos: no

gotten piercings: yes

stayed up for more than 24 hours: yes

★ ⸻ ARE THEY…

a virgin: no

a cuddler: sometimes. sometimes he prefers to be on his own. it has always been like this tbh

a kisser: yes

scared easily: yes, but no. it depends on the situation.

jealous easily: no.

trustworthy: no

dominant: yes

submissive: YES (more than he's dominant tbh)

in love: verse dependent

single: verse dependent

★ ⸻ RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: no

thought of suicide: yes

attempted suicide: yes

have/had a job: no

have any fears: yes

★ ⸻ FAMILY

sibling(s): 4 brothers, 9 sisters (but i keep increasing the number)

parent(s): gone & dead

children: 107

significant other: verse dependent

pet(s): a bird name matthew u.u (actually no. i can't give him pets, his interests change weekly. he would end up with a zoo).

tagged by;; @fcllederage

tagging;; @gui1lermodelacruz + @mortange + @viagothedandy + @draconisa + @ubcs + you!

[passengerseatprophet]

General

Full name → Golpari Afshar

Nicknames & Aliases → Fog (nickname; callsign in CoD AU), Pari (mostly by English-speaking friends, only tolerated if used by her sisters), Persian terms of endearment such as Khoshgelam, Eshgham (by her mother and sisters; several cousins)

Age → 38

Birthday → June 29

Nationality → Iranian; British (ethnicity: Persian; Azeri/Turkish roots from her father's side)

Gender → AFAB, nonbinary

Sexuality → Omni/Fluid (no preference)

Preferred pronouns → she/they

Religion / Beliefs → Ex-Muslim

Languages → Polyglot - Farsi (native), Arabic (fluent), Azeri (native), Kurdish (fluent), Turkish (semi), Hebrew (written language only), English (fluent), Latin (proficient), German (conversational) Luri; Gilaki (basics), BSL, ASL (basic only), Roman languages through several crash courses (basics)

Accent → Broken British (very formal and controlled way of speaking, just short of appearing forced, hardly any discernible accent most of the time); Persian (comes through only on certain occasions; heavy tongue, dentalised “d”, “t” and “th”, no nasal plosion on words such as “didn’t”, “hadn’t”; emphasised "r" sounds; much more discernible after retirement)

Occupation & Profession → Professor (subject depending on AU); Museum Curator; Forensic Operations guard (crazy scientist au); SAS Sergeant / Lieutenant as of the sequel of continuum / CIA consultant; undercover and stealth missions, intelligence recovery, translation (CoD AU)

Dominant Hand → Right

Appearance

Hair → Black waves, thick and slightly coarse to the touch, fall just beneath the shoulderblades if worn down; kept in a loose ponytail or braid, used to be covered by a hijab

Eyes → deep amber, hooded and slightly downturned; sad and sleepy, framed by thick lashes

Skin → cool undertones, sickly pale due to lack of sunlight (imprisonment; as of part one of the continuum verse) smooth, light keratosis pilaris on the back of her upper arms

Facial features → tired, elegant; aquiline nose; high cheekbones; downturned, scowling lips, rather small with prominent cupid's bow, soft; gently curved eyebrows, tightened into a frown

Height → 5"11 / 180 cm

Weight → 176 lbs / 80 kg (I have zero idea if this is accurate lol)

Body Build → agile and graceful, long limbs; lean, tight muscle underneath soft curves; strong core; good posture; broad shoulders but carries weight around her hips; dancer’s build with an overall sculpted but flat-laying musculature eased up by a good healthy layer of fat; grabbable hips and head-crushing thighs, proportionately full chest

Scars → abrasion scar on one arm, from falling on rubble when she was five; dependant on au: Assortment of old and new battle wounds – (Old) a web of silvery cuts around her hands and wrists from handling thin, hidden blades; entry and exit wound of a bullet on her left shoulder; scar from a broken elbow on her right arm; several shallow stab wounds to her thighs – (New) small diagonal knick right underneath the left eye; stab wound on her collarbone from a karambit buried underneath the bone

Birthmarks & Tattoos → Several moles and birthmarks on face and body, no tattoos

Piercings → three lobes on each side, helix and conch on the right, botched industrial on the left

Glasses → no

Face Claim → Alba Flores/Golshifteh Farahani/undecided

Fashion

Aesthetics (if any) → n/a

Clothing → sleek, silky fabrics; muted colour made interesting by texture, turtleneck and dress pants, dark leather boots and suede coats, blazers and soft blouses, wide-legged trousers, sturdy heels

Home (decor, furniture, etc) → n/a

Preferred Colour Palette → blues and greys, prefers deep tones and muted neutrals, light oranges and warm brown

Makeup & Grooming → tba

Personality

Traits → Level-headed, stoic, intelligent, loyal, confident, protective, gentle, avoidant, reserved, callous, apathetic, disdainful, quiet, resilient, ambitious, calm, dutiful, empathetic, melancholic, observant, patient, formal, iconoclastic, stern

Alignment → True Neutral

Temperament → Melancholic

Expressiveness → low albeit not necessarily hard to read; much more expressive towards people they like

Moods → balanced, albeit able to swiftly change; usually neutral

Anger, in a nutshell → Moderate: brooding, silent, controlled; Intense: Seething, biting, icy

Background

Place of Birth → Abhar (grew up just outside of the city), Zanjan Province, Iran

Place of Residence → United Kingdom; no primary place of residence, moves around a lot due to work

Education → Year 13, A-Levels; considered studying linguistics and philology at university but ultimately dropped the idea in favour of joining the army (CoD AU); tba

Financial Status → middle class, stable

Criminal Record → shoplifting from ages 12 to 16 (dropped prior to graduation), arson charge at 15 (dropped, lack of evidence)

Prison time → two years (pow, CoD AU)

Relationships

Birth order → Eldest of four

Parents → Jeiran Afshar (mother, 63) & Parviz Afshar (father, 69)

Siblings → Nazanin Afshar (sister, 31), Tahere Afshar (sister, 29), Mahzad Afshar (sister, 26)

Significant Others → Alrich “Chev” James Ritter (34), ex-boyfriend of six years, tried to rekindle relationship after ending things with someone else, which did not work out; Kameshwari Rajaura (42)

Children → None

Pets → None, used to have a Bengal cat (Sharzad) and an Egyptian Mau (Irsa), both of which now live with Tahere (second youngest sister)

Friends → Has kept sparse contact to some of her Iranian friends from her childhood

Enemies → (many…) none significant enough for Golpari to mention

Marital Status → Single

Health

Physical Impairments → stab wound to the collarbone that is not yet healed and impairs her range of motion, occasional back pain

Fitness → athletic and in good shape, puts effort into her physical health; while the physical exertion of the battlefield s missing after retirement, she still adheres to a similar, if not the same, workout routine

Mental Impairments → Anxiety and depression (mild to moderate cases), depicts traits of Autism Spectrum Disorder, dissociation (all undiagnosed); severe apathy (coping mechanism/trauma response); PTSD and CPTSD, insomnia (diagnosed)

Medication → self medicates on occasion with various substances

Addiction → none

Preferences

Dom/sub/switch → Switch leaning Dom

Their types → Roughed up, slightly (very) mean, sad and tired eyes, gentle giants, metaphorical guard dogs, anyone with confidence and intuition, strong facial features

Turn ons → toned arms, reasonable cockiness, unique noses (especially previously broken ones), unapologetic laughs, deep but soft voices, shoulder and collarbone kisses, tattoos, thigh riding

Turn offs → disrespect, aggression, humiliation and degradation, undiscussed humiliation and degradation, fragile egos, inflicting pain for the sake of hurting someone

Kinks → Body worship, corruption, probably spit, marking, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, praise (giving)

Vices

Alcohol → frequently; but only in company

Nicotine → social smoker, keeps a stash for stressful days though; develops a regular habit in her fourties

Drugs → occasionally, especially after being rescued from Russian custody; experimented with amphetamines to combat insomnia related issues, used to take ketamine and prescription strength muscle relaxants, slight dependency on pain medication for several months on end, still smokes marihuana

Violence → no (controlled demeanour to the point it’s actually scary)

Self-destructive → hardly (yes)

Other

Theme Song → The Way That You Were by Sleep Token, Catch me If You Can by Walking on Cars, Foreigner's God by Hozier

Western Zodiac → Cancer

Animal → Siberian Crane

Season → Winter

Author’s Note → /