#heathen shame

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Thranduil Can’t Get Drunk

No seriously, neither Thranduil, nor those of his line (oropher, legolas, etc) can get drunk. At least not off of the liquor commonly served.

The only way they can get more than slightly tipsy is with a highly specialized alcohol that they invented that takes 10 years to make.

It’s a result of how much they drink.

The thing is, they’re happy and functional drunks, so unlike others, who start behaving badly or incoherently after to many drinks, they don’t feel the need to stop drinking just because of a personality shift, so they drink almost all the time.

At this point legolas can drink non-stop while on guard duty and still be able to perform just as well as when he was sober.

So yeah, Thranduil might act drunk after too many drinks, but he isn’t at all and only does it to get away from people he doesn’t like.

Legolas has a habit of challenging anyone outside of his realm to a drinking competition bc they either don’t know (Elladan and elrohir) or don’t believe that he physically cannot get drunk unless it’s his own special brew (glorfindel).

They always regret it.

The fellowship: *at the wedding reception to Arwen and Aragorn*

The fellowship, minus Aragorn bc he knows better, plus faramir, eomir and eowyn: *enters drinking competition*

Arwen: *taking bets bc she absolutely will take advantage of the situation to make extra money*

The twins: *egging on the competition bc they remember their own bet that they lost and now want everyone else to suffer*

Aragorn: *tired dad sigh*

Gandalf: *inside cackles*

The results:

The hobbits: *merry is out for the count, with pippin giggling up a storm unable to stand straight, sam is giving a lecture on gardening, and Frodo is cackling insanely*

Gimli: *slurring words* -and that’s how my father helped win the battle-

Faramir: *hyperactive squirrel for 30 minutes before immediately crashing where he stands*

Eowyn: *challenging everyone to a fight*

Eomir: *thinks he can beat legolas now since he’s witnessed this competition before after helms deep* *is wrong*

Legolas: *on his third barrel with no difference between now and when he was sober, being cheered on by a crowd*

Arwen: *cackling like a money grubbing gremlin on crack*

Aragorn: *tired dad sign 2.0*

Elrond: *so happy that at least his children were smart enough not to challeng legolas in a drinking competition this time*

[dittobooty]

Feels so good to see most of everyone okay and relaxing after that hell they've been through. I'm so happy 💕

[wistfulcynic]

Harsh-Sounding and Potentially Unpopular Opinion Incoming. (lots of them, actually, brace yourselves.)

here it is: On the whole, people do not consider or relate to the experiences of others unless they are forced to. 

Now i am not saying that this makes any of us terrible people. Just that there is a natural inclination to assume that your way of doing things or of thinking about them is The Way and unless it is actively brought to your attention that this isn’t true, you just hang out in your own little solipsism forever. 

i think about this a LOT whenever i see discourse about, let’s say, just to choose a topic at random, racism in fandom. i think about it every time i see a white person say “bUt noT eVEryTHiNg iS aBouT RaCe.” Because they’re right. Not everything is about race. For them. 

It’s that “for them” that trips us up every time. 

(disclaimer: i am a white person raised in the USA. When i say white people/Black people/POC i’m talking about Americans.)

We white folks love to say that we don’t think about race. For us, that’s a kind of virtue signalling. “I’m so enlightened I don’t even think about race!” Give me plaudits now for i am a Good Person. But what we fail to understand is that Not Thinking About Race is only possible for us because white supremacy makes it so. Not Thinking About Race is a privilege we have because our race doesn’t inform every aspect of our lives. It doesn’t prevent us from getting jobs or educations, it doesn’t lead to us being followed around in stores or accused of crimes or shot just for existing in public. This isn’t virtue, it’s obliviousness. We don’t think about race because we don’t have to, because being white doesn’t affect our day-to-day lives and, ahem, on the whole people do not consider or relate to the experiences of others unless they are forced to. 

POC are forced to. (i’m basing this on what i’ve learned from POC talking about their experiences, please call me out if i get anything wrong). POC have to think about race all the time because it’s constantly shoved in their faces, by the lack of diverse representation in media, by the constant stream of news stories about Black people being killed for no reason at all, by their own daily experiences of microaggressions and injustices and downright tragedies. POC think about race because they don’t have the privilege of Not Thinking About It. 

All of this, when brought into the fandom environment, leads to a fundamental failure of communication and understanding. When a POC says “this thing is racist” and a white person immediately replies “but i wasn't even thinking about race!” both those things are true. Both those things are true but they are not. both. equally. valid. 

The POC spots the racism in the thing because they a) think about race by necessity and as a matter of course and b) have direct experiences of racism on which to draw. Whereas white people all too often spend their whole lives surrounded by other white people without any diverse viewpoints or experiences to force them to consider how others might see things. This leads to a whole lot of well-meaning white people who do and say racist things, not out of active racist intent but just by living as a privileged person in a racist society full of racist institutions and never actually thinking about whether their experiences of that society and those institutions are universal or not, or considering how it might feel to be deliberately oppressed, excluded, and unserved by that same society and those institutions. 

Again, this doesn’t mean that we are inherently bad people. It does mean that we are humans with human flaws that we need to be aware of in order to behave in ways that don’t cause harm to others. This is not easy. When you are raised to think in certain ways and do certain things and you know that there’s no malicious intent in any of it, it is harsh and jarring to hear someone tell you that those things are racist. It’s natural to want to defend yourself. It’s not, unfortunately, natural to think “actually maybe they have a point. Maybe they know something i don't. Maybe it’s something i need to understand if i’m going to have a fully informed opinion on this topic.” 

It’s not natural to think that but it is essential. We need to learn how to listen without defensiveness and how to decouple our actions from our beliefs about our character. It’s possible to do and say racist things without being a bad person, so long as when we are told that those things are racist we stop doing and saying them. Believe people when they tell you that what you’re doing harms them, and then don’t fucking do it anymore.

You think POC talk too much about racism? You want them to stop? This is how that gets done. It’s the only way that gets done. Arguing with them, trying to invalidate or silence them—that just takes your racism from “unintentional” to “actively fucking harmful.” That’s where it stops being an unintended consequence of your privilege and starts being a choice.

Listen to POC. Listen to them and do better and then maybe they won’t have so much racism to talk about. Then maybe we can all go back to enjoying our gay pirates in peace. 

Then. But not before.

[abostongirlinkentucky]

Me thinks The Heathen™️ is mad.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Mikosaru. Fushimi sings the isabella's lullaby for their baby

I'm assuming this is the one from The Promised Neverland, right? It's more of a humming lullaby without lyrics, which I could see fitting Fushimi since he probably doesn't know any actual ones (it's not like his mom sang him any lullabies after all). Say either Omegaverse or one of those convenient Strain-created babies, and suddenly Fushimi has to take care of a baby while having no idea how one does that. Having Mikoto as his partner doesn't really help either, since Mikoto's not like a bad parent but he's not the type to take hands-on initiative either. Even so say the kid attaches themselves to Mikoto instantly, anytime the child cries Mikoto just needs to pick the kid up and they will immediately stop and fall asleep. More than once Fushimi's walked in on Mikoto and the baby fast asleep together on the couch and he just rolls his eyes all so that part he inherited from Mikoto huh.

Unfortunately for Fushimi it's practically the opposite with him, it's like the kid can sense how unfit Fushimi is as a parent and he has trouble calming the kid and getting them to sleep. He's clearly frustrated by this and Mikoto tells him to relax and not worry about it, kids are hard to deal with right. Fushimi grumbles 'not for you' and Mikoto shrugs, like maybe if you weren't so tense the kid could relax too. One day Fushimi's watching the kid by himself and the baby starts to cry, Fushimi checks the child's diaper and makes sure they're not hungry and still the child won't stop crying. He's starting to get frustrated, like why can't he just get this kid to sleep the way Mikoto can. He pulls out his PDA and tries to look up 'ways to get a baby to sleep,' which is when he sees the suggestion about singing a lullaby. Of course he doesn't know any lullabies and he clicks his tongue, like how stupid is it that he can't even sing a simple lullaby. The baby starts to cry harder and Fushimi finally just starts humming a small tune, just making it up on his own. As he sings the baby slowly starts to calm, eventually falling asleep in his arms. Fushimi gives a sigh of relief and then almost jumps as Mikoto appears behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder like see, not so hard.

[sandiegokpop]

Tell 'em like it IS baby. Enough of this shxt, we need to normalize idols setting boundaries & not being criticized for it. They don't owe you anything.

[kvoorheesyt]

Scar Mapping for reference? Aka an excuse to draw shirtless Hero, lmao. I regret nothing.

[littlekingbergara]

Orange and lavender!!

i love being gay and doing crimes <3 also my brother and sister gave me a hit of a weed pen and laughed at me when i coughed because ive never smoked anything in my life unlike those heathens 😔 im very fun drunk though!! i love being drunk with people!! :)

what color am i?

[akhmatowa]

the way things are going they need to ban straight people from public transportation as well

[zibah-ho]

i need whoever keeps posting about star man and his perhaps homoerotic pal wing man to stop it bc that shits contagious I thought I’d got that out my system don’t do this to me

[willfool]

OH MY FUCKING GOD…

[seaofolives]

About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Alea jacta est,” which means—

[frankiegirl]

really gotta smoke before I start posting lmfaooooo I’m an embarrassment can we blame this on senility

[little-diable]

"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character. 

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open. 

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words. 

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him. 

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking. 

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar. 

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer. 

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more. 

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation. 

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on. 

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make. 

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together. 

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only. 

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts. 

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle. 

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him. 

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake. 

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin. 

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother. 

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).” 

……

Translation of the Latin prayer: 

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

[amaramizuki666]

Dp x DC crossover

So imagine danny and jazz move to Gotham wither it be willingly or on the run. And danny becomes good freinds with Jason. And one day while with danny, jason invited danny to dinner at his family's place.

So jason brought danny to the manor and danny is like "bitch if your fam rich why you live in 1 bedroom apartment in the worst part of town, make it make since". Anway jason and danny sit at the table with the other batkids. The other batkids look at danny kinda funny, jason forgot to mention he was bringing a freind lol.

So then Bruce entered and sat in his chair. He looked at his children took a bite of his stake then his head snapped back up and looked at his kids again. His eyes honed in on danny.

"Who are you?" Bruce asked looking at danny

Danny looked at Jason uncomfortable

Jason looked at Bruce and let out a exaggerated gasp "bruce have you brought so many kids home you forgot about one of your kids!? And my favorite brother no less"

Bruce raised a brow and Damian yelled "what he isnt one of us!" Pointing at danny

"La gasp, demon brat you forgot about him too, even after everything you both have been together, dick talk some since into these heathens!!" Jason cried his hand over his heart.

"Um sorry I uh dont know who this kid is either" dick says fidgeting

"FOR SHAME, SHAME ON THIS FAMILY!!!" Jason yelled dramatically

Everyone was looking at him and Danny, "kid look can you tell us your name" bruce asked looking at the halfa

And danny being the little shit he is goes "you dont remeber my name?! Your jokeing right dad???!!" His eyes wide crocodile tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Everyone In the room is silenced looking at Danny in confusion and guilt.

"It's ok lil bro I'm always here for you" jason says placing a hand on his shoulder "let's go to place for ice cream ok" Jason says to danny gently, Danny sniffles and nods. Jason then leads them out of the manor.

The rest of the batfam is left thinking what the hell, did they really forget about one of their family members, bruce is like "I'm a horrible father, I forgot one of my babies!!??"

Bonus if to commit to the bit danny goes out on potroal with jason and they meet up with the bats and batman is like "who are you" and jason and danny are like "what the hell dad, you forgot Danny's vigilante persona too, you really are a sucky dad" and like leave.

[cyberwhumper]

Imran had already known, going in, that the conditions of the breeding facility where he now found himself standing would be less than ideal when compared to his old employer. He knew the smaller budget would reflect on the conditions the animals were kept, how the entire process was executed, and what the odds of the transaction working out were. Yet he is still shocked when the cages are small, cramped, filthy. His heart aches for each and every single one of the biopets kept within, but he knows he realistically can't possibly save them all.

Just one. Just the one. That would be enough.

With every step further into the facility, the mental image of Horus degrades in his mind. Guilt gnaws at the forefront of his conscience, and it comes crashing down heavily once he sees with his own eyes what had become of the once powerful animal he had met all those years ago.

Tied to the center of the tiny room, the creature barely had any slack to move. Its body is covered in a litany of sores and bruises, and the emaciated skin clings to bone like a tight-fitting suit. As soon as its gaze meets the handler's, a shrill noise leaves its mouth. Terror, it seems, was all that remained. The knot in Imran's stomach feels so tight it's nauseating.

He hopes to appease the animal despite the handler's amused comments over the pointlessness of the effort. Horus doesn't look at him. Doesn't even seem to recognize him. It pulls away from Imran as best as it can, tail pinned between its exhausted legs, tears streaming down its face, body shaking so hard it makes the chains holding it in place clink. Talking to it has no effect. Even touching it, an act that would have always promptly elicited a bite response, does nothing.

Imran barely remembers the rest of the transaction.

At some point money had exchanged hands, the biopet was sedated, and he now found himself clutching the battered creature tight to his body as if it could possibly flee. The walk back to his vehicle feels shameful.

What have I done? No. I couldn't possibly have known this would happen. But it only happened because of me, didn't it?

The device on the back of its skull has been removed. Vandermeer leaves no loose ends. Imran doesn't want to think of what the withdrawals must have been like for the animal to go through. Death would have been a kinder choice than this.

The disgraced doctor swallows his guilt, and gently lays the biopet on the backseat. The drive would be long, but the worst, he hoped, was already over.

I'm so sorry, Horus. I promise I'll take care of you this time.

[OC INDEX]

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