#this is part of what i like about 'modern urbanism'

[mourning-again-in-america]

eating lamb soup with hand pulled noodles from a shaanxian place, overlooking the river, seeing the elevated and metro trains pass simultaneously <3

[elumish]

I've been reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and it's gotten me thinking about how worldbuilding is multilayered, and about how a failure of one layer of the worldbuilding can negatively impact the book, even if the other layers of the worldbuilding work.

I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, so I'm going to talk about it more broadly instead. In my day job, one of the things I do is planning/plan development, and we talk about plans broadly as strategic, operational, and tactical. I think, in many ways, worldbuilding functions the same way.

Strategic worldbuilding, as I think of it, is how the world as a whole works. It's that vampires exist and broadly how vampires exist and interact with the world, unrelated to the characters or (sometimes) to the organizations that the characters are part of. It's the ongoing war between Earth and Mars; it's the fact that every left-handed person woke up with magic 35 years ago; it's Victorian-era London except every twelfth day it rains frogs. It's the world, in the broadest sense.

Operational worldbuilding is the organizations--the stuff that people as a whole are doing/have made within the context of that strategic-level world. For The Hunger Games, I'd probably put the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and even the existence/structure of the districts as the strategic level and the construct of the Hunger Games as the operational level: the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and the districts are the overall world that they live in, and the Hunger Games are the construct that were created as a response.

Tactical worldbuilding is, in my mind, character building--and, specifically, how the characters (especially but not exclusively the main characters) exist within the context of the world. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has experience in hunting, foraging, wilderness survival, etc. because of the context of the world that she grew up in (post-apocalyptic, district structure, Hunger Games, etc.). This sort of worldbuilding, to me, isn't about the personality part of the characterization but about the context of the character.

Each one of these layers can fail independently, even if the other ones succeed. When I think of an operational worldbuilding failure, I think of Divergent, where they took a post-apocalyptic world and set up an orgnaizational structure that didn't make any sense, where people are prescribed to like 6 jobs that don't in any way cover what's required to run a modern civilization--or even to run the society that they're shown as running. The society that they present can't exist as written in the world that they're presented as existing in--or if they can, I never could figure out how when reading the book (or watching the film).

So operational worldbuilding failures can happen when the organizations or societies that are presented don't seem like they could function in the context that they are presented in or when they just don't make any sense for what they are trying to accomplish. If the story can't reasonably answer why is this organization built this way or why do they do what they do then I see it as an organizational worldbuilding failure.

For tactical worldbuilding failures, I think of stories where characters have skillsets that conveniently match up with what they need to solve the problems of the plot but don't actually match their background or experience. If Katniss had been from an urban area and never set foot in a forest, it wouldn't have worked to have her as she was.

In this way (as in planning), the tactical level should align with the operational level which should align with the strategic level--you should be able to trace from one to the next and understand how things exist in the context of each other.

For that reason, strategic worldbuilding failures are the vaguest to explain, but I think of them like this: if it either 1) is so internally inconsistent that it starts to fall apart or 2) leaves the reader going this doesn't make any sense at all then it's probably failed.

[dieinct]

i was just talking about this after being wrecked by the discovery that the little elf-goblin fellows my parents/family used to tell me warnings and stories about as a little kid are regionally specific, and that you can trace people's geographic origins by what word they use for "little spirit-fellows who live in your house". no matter what you call them (domovoi, kobolde, brownies, so on); for purposes of this post henceforth "little guys"

i think one of the things that i find frustrating about like, idk, modern animist revivalist movements is that very few of them ime spend a lot of time romanticising and spiritualizing human habitation. obviously, we as a culture need to think more about protecting and defending nature/the earth/so on, but like.

if you don't have room in your heart for making up a little guy who lives in the water heater, or who squats under your stove and makes it run 15 degrees off the programmed temperature, and thinking of him with the same kind of respect/affection as you do for the spirits (or whatever) of the wildlife you interact with like.

genuinely: what are you even doing. you are removing a source of richness and fun and whimsy from your life! like, pip @creekfiend made up the concept of "little guys who live in an airport (and are the reason it's so shitty to be in an airport)" and i already like airports like 30% more just knowing it's the little airport inconvenience guys doing that.

more importantly, like. genuinely: interrogate what parts of the world seem ~rich with spiritual meaning~ to you. what parts of the world are "wild"? what does that make the rest of the world - a chore? a burden? who has to carry that burden?

we're never going to like, "return to nature", because that's nothing and the concept of untouched nature is also nothing; we're always going to have some sort of human habitation and interaction and cultivation with nature. if you can't extend grace and whimsy and genuine and sincere meaning to human habitation, including its inconveniences and annoyances, you are making your own lived experience duller!

notably, most of these kinds of little-guy-spirits historically exist in the parts of human habitation that are partially abandoned, partially removed: haylofts, inside the walls, under the house, in the bathhouse, behind the furnace... i've been thinking a lot about urban wildlife lately, and the animals who make space for themselves in and around human habitation. the "natural" and the "wild" persist inside and around the edges of the "tame" and always, always have. if you have a crawlspace, there's a little spirit who lives there and he's the reason the dryer always eats your socks.

LIVE WHIMSICALLY.

[headspace-hotel]

I hate a lot of trends in climate-change-aware nature writing, but this is one I particularly detest: works insisting that we live in a "post-natural" world.

The lostness, bewilderment, aching, and searching in this piece is understood by the author to be an all-consuming and universal dysphoria, when it is actually a highly specific predicament that the author put himself into: He tried to understand the universe exclusively through the point of view of white people.

I mean that Purdy takes the colonizer point of view without realizing that it is a colonizer point of view. He thinks the colonizer point of view is a universal document of the authentic, naive encounter of "humanity" with "nature," instead of burning wreckage left over from the apocalyptic destruction of a rainbow of ideas and cultures.

It feels weird to be talking about this as a white person, but it shouldn't, any more than it should feel weird to say (as a white person) that aliens didn't build the pyramids.

Very little of what he's writing about would exist or make sense without European colonization of the world. Purdy constantly says "we" and "our" in reference to things that are very restricted to a particular cultural point of view, as if totally oblivious to the idea that other cultures and other perspectives even exist. When he searches for historical references to chart "human" relationship with nature, history goes like this: Pre-Christian religion in the British Isles->British monarchy-> George Washington-> Industrial Revolution->Thoreau.

He manages to repeatedly stumble over giant hunks of colonialism embedded in every concept he's thinking about, like boulders obstructing a pathway, and pretends so hard that they don't exist that his points are janky and meandering. For example, his discussion of Helen Macdonald's book H for Hawk, touching upon human identification with the landscape and with non-human "nature," blunders into this:

Those who love (certain parts of) nature are often making a point of preferring it to (certain kinds of) human beings. The problem is not only literary. Macdonald describes an encounter with a retired couple who join her in admiring a valley full of deer, then remark how good it is to see “a real bit of Old England still left, despite all these immigrants coming in.” She does not reply, but is miserable afterward. The meaning of landscapes is always someone’s meaning in particular. Confronted with all of this, Macdonald tries to shake off the complicities of her own identification with the terrain: “I wish that we would not fight for landscapes that remind us of who we think we are. I wish we would fight, instead, for landscapes buzzing and glowing with life in all its variousness.” The alternative that Macdonald wishes for is, of course, not an escape from political-cultural projection onto landscape, but another approach to that same practice — really, the only one a 21st-century cosmopolitan is likely to feel comfortable embracing. 

AND THEN HE JUST SEGUES INTO THE NEXT POINT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. Like don't worry about it :) We will simply project onto landscapes in a non-racist way :) because we aren't racist anymore in the 21st century :)

The next book he discusses is Landmarks by Robert MacFarlane, which is basically about how the vocabulary of landscape in English is sterilized and monoculturized, and contrasts that with Scots Gaelic. This is how Purdy explains the thesis of the book:

 Our sense of what lies outside ourselves has been blunted by “capital, apathy, and urbanization” — enemies likely to draw a range of friends, from cultural Marxists to Little Englanders to those who would like to see a bit more effort, please. But behind this scholarly sketch, Macfarlane’s work is testament to a pretheoretical obsession with unfamiliar ways of encountering places. We disenchanted and distracted (post)moderns describe terrain, he complains, in terms of “large, generic units” such as “field,” “hill,” “valley,” and “wood." (...) Many people who have lived intimately with landscapes have had words for nuances of form, texture, and use. Macfarlane’s purpose in Landmarksis to gather these words as proof of how precisely it is possible to name a place, and so, perforce, to know it.

Why is Gaelic endangered? Because of an effort to extinguish its speakers' culture. This article I found on it talks about the history of the language's decline, and it's strikingly similar to what happened to indigenous people in the Americas and Australia, with children being put in schools where they were beaten with sticks for speaking their native language.

This whole essay is about Purdy's general disappointment with nature writing, his craving for an ineffable Something, some sort of magical, primitive identification with the natural world. In the very first paragraph he claims that the pictures of animals on nursery walls are "totemic" and quotes a guy saying that zoos are an "epitaph" to the relationship between people and animals. It's never very clear what he means, but he uses the term "animism" repeatedly, such as when he says this about MacFarlane's goal in writing Landmarks:

His quarry is an animistic sense that Barry Lopez once identified in “the moment when the thing — the hill, the tarn . . . ceases to be a thing, and becomes something that knows we are there."

Given that ambition, Landmarks, which Macfarlane calls a “counter-desecration phrasebook,” can be disappointingly thin as a lexicon. Too many of the terms are simply dialect or Gaelic for some generic form, such as “slope,” “hilltop,” “stream,” or “tuft of grass.” The effect is less pointing out how many things there are to see than cataloguing how many names there are for the same thing.

This is Purdy missing the point, perfectly crystallized as though frozen in amber. He is oblivious to the clear subtext of a language showing a culture's connection to its home, and of the violence against that culture. The Gaelic language doesn't make him feel primal and mystical the way he wants it to, therefore it doesn't mean anything to him. MacFarlane doesn't make him feel a magic animistic connection to nature, therefore his book must have failed at its task.

Who gives a shit? Gaelic isn't FOR you.

He discusses another book about a guy that hikes a bunch of Cherokee trails, but I don't know what to say about that one, observing it through the sludge of the reviewer's unwillingness to recognize that historical context exists. He summarizes his disappointment in a confusing way, using the Gaelic language as a symbol for an obscure and inaccessible place where the answer to your personal emotional cravings lives (???) Then he talks about a kind of epistemicide, or extinction of knowing, of nature, but again, totally oblivious to any relationship to colonization.

Every inhabited continent has been denuded of ecosystems and species. Most North American places have shed wolves, elk, moose, brown bears, panthers, bison, and a variety of fish and wild plants, which were all abundant four hundred years ago. 

Wow, I wonder what happened four hundred years ago?

This writing acts like the dominant Eurocentric attitude towards the world is universal, but the author is haunted by this nameless specter of the possibility of a different way of thinking, which he treats as some kind of mystical, primordial state hidden in the past instead of just a different cultural perspective.

Not only does he not recognize that his own cultural perspective of Nature is dysfunctional and unsatisfying because it was created by exploitation and genocide of other cultures and their symbiotic relationships, he acts like other perspectives don't exist. Take his perspective on forests and the mycorrhizal network:

Wohlleben’s emphasis on interdependence and mutual aid is part of a recent tendency to recast nature in an egalitarian fashion — as cooperative, nonindividualist, and, often enough, hybrid and queer, in contrast to the oaks of generals and kings. Nature does answer faithfully to the imaginative imperatives and limitations of its observers, so it was inevitable that after centuries of viewing forests as kingdoms, then as factories (and, along the way, as cathedrals for Romantic sentiment), the 21st century would discover a networked information system under the leaves and humus, what Wohlleben calls, with an impressive lack of embarrassment, a “wood wide web.”

Listen, I don't think this is accurate to how Europeans thought of forests throughout time, let alone "humanity" in general. The emphasis of power and competition in ecosystems emerged after Darwin, in collusion with capitalism and "race science." Trees have been symbols of life, wisdom and selflessness, and regarded as sacred or even sentient, for centuries before that. But on top of that, this is just blatantly pretending that only white people's ideas count as ideas.

It's the same dreck as all the other "literary" writing about climate change: self-pityingly and unproductively mourning "Nature" and a fantasized "wild" state of the Earth, ignoring colonialism, treating human influence of any kind on other life forms as something that either destroys them or makes them soft and "tame."

I'm tired of reading nature writing from people that obviously do not go outside, or if they do, they do it in such a suffocatingly regimented, goal-oriented way that they can't just sit outside and relax.

Maybe I shouldn't be such a hater if I want to do nature writing. But my love of nature is WHY I am a hater.

[physalian]

What No one Tells You about Writing Fantasy, #2!

I did this list about 7 annoyances about fantasy, but I write in this genre for a reason! Fantasy knows no bounds, it can encompass all other genres within it. You can write a fantastical murder mystery, fantasy horror, fantasy romance, political drama, slice-of-life, comedy, whatever you’d like!

Whether it’s urban or high fantasy, supernatural or scientific, here’s seven great benefits of writing in this genre:

1. No modern means of communication

Unless you’re writing a world with phones or phone-adjacent devices. Phones and instant communication seriously inhibits the plausibility of dramatic irony and tension when you have to keep coming up with reasons to keep your characters from calling or texting each other everything they know. It’s exhausting, I tell you, and such a relief when phones aren’t a factor.

With that said, without phones, you have complete freedom to design your own magical channels of supernatural FaceTime, as weird and zany as you want. But without instant connections? Your character who knew too much can’t pass on the intel before they die. Your hero team can’t call for backup in their darkest hour. Otherwise easily preventable tragedies and deadly miscommunications are now very real.

2. The Monster Allegory

Fantasy and sci-fi tend to overlap more than they’re set apart, and in that overlap sits the monster allegory. Everything from werewolves to vampires to witches, reapers, demons, angels, goblins, trolls, wraiths, fairies, mermaids, ghosts, to Eldritch horrors and your classic Hollywood cast of mummies, creatures from the black lagoon, and Frankenstein.

Most of the time, the monsters aren’t just monsters, they represent a monstrous aspect of society the author wants to challenge and caricaturize in a fun and entertaining way. Or, the monsters are the good guys and the humans are the real terrors. Or, you’ve got two kinds of monsters to allegory two human sides. Sometimes they represent metaphorical demons, like vampires often representing addiction and werewolves repressed identities.

What all of this boils down to is the hyperbolic nature of science fantasy that allows you to go over-the-top with your metaphor and allegory in a way that a book grounded in reality just can’t.

3. Magic Systems!

Do you love world building? Do you love filling pages upon pages with your cool and unique set of superpowers you want your characters to have? Do you dream about your fight scenes and dramatic slow-mo shots?

Then Fantasy is for you!

There are zero limits to how you want to define your magic system. You can go classic with the familiar archetypes of elemental magic, wizards, sorcerers, and witches. Or you can step off the beaten path and design a whole new funky system of power sets. Best part? Your readers will have an awesome time imagining themselves with those powers, and debating endlessly about how it works.

4. Real-World Politics, who?

Amazon’s Rings of Power was twice-doomed when they only got the rights to adapt the appendices of The Silmarillion and when they decided to inject current political problems into a timeless story written purposefully to be divorced from those politics. You *can* write about human politics, but in fantasy, you don’t have to. You *can* interpret Lord of the Rings to be an allegory about the World Wars, but no matter how hard you argue, it wasn’t written with that intent.

Which means: Even if your story is set in the reality-adjacent fantasy version of 1543, you are free from the following: Racism, homophobia, sexism, religious bigotry, mental health bigotry, gender norms, anti-feminism, toxic masculinity, and more. “But that’s how it was-”

Nope. This is fantasy. You built this world, you decided to keep in the discrimination. Or… You can fill your fantasy world with a rainbow of gays, POCs in power, women in power, men unafraid to be compassionate and caring, a religion that doesn’t foster hate and division, the list goes on. You. Are. Free.

5. Nothing is too “unrealistic”

Both that you will always have people whining about how X would never happen so write the book you want to read, but also because fantasy is fake. Fairies aren’t real. Mermaids aren’t real. There are no rules for how they must be written and that’s how we have so much variety with so much room for interpretation by so many creators. Twilight made how much money writing about vampires that sparkle like diamonds in sunlight and crack like marble?

This is fantasy, it’s supposed to be unrealistic. Yes, your plot should make sense, but don’t be afraid to get weird. Write at least some of your story dependant on those fantasy elements. Write a story that can’t just be told in the real world minus the spectacle. Don’t be afraid to be sincerely fantastical and weird. People love weird. People love loving weird.

6. You are in complete control

But you do still need to research, unfortunately. Unless this is urban fantasy that depends at least a little on the human world, yours is completely your own to govern like a god tweezing weeds from their garden. You get to design your own geography and weather patterns and seasons. Your own countries and kingdoms and politicians. Your epic pre-canon fantasy war and the stakes that it was fought over. Your species, races, and ethnicities.

It’s a shame that a movie like Avatar (2009) set out to be this wholly unique take on aliens with music completely divorced from earthly bonds, new languages and a visually and culturally distinct alien species… and ended up a largely generic blue Pocahontas in space. It forgot that it was fantasy and didn’t go weird enough. They have horses, monkeys, wolves, rhinos, and deer just re-skinned with some extra limbs and colors. It’s pretty but it’s so, so shallow.

It could have become a cult classic like many a positively *weird* 80s off-beat fantasies, and now it just… exists. It makes a whole lot of money but its impact on the cultural zeitgeist is negligible. I’m the only person I know that can name every major character in the movie, and I’m no Avatar obsessor. They had complete creative control, and this is what they did with it. Don’t be Avatar. Take your creative freedom and run.

7. Even if it has been done before, do it again

You can say this about any genre, particularly romance, but fantasy and sci-fi, by the gatekeep-y nature of their fans, can be a lot less forgiving when it comes to claims of “unoriginality”. No one hates Star Wars more than Star Wars fans. Fans of these genres can get… concerningly attached to their favorite stories (mostly because the people who like them had only their fictional heroes to protect them from very real bullies).

But Game of Thrones exists because the author likes Lord of the Rings and went “yes, but what if it was an R-rated parade of misery?” Dungeons and Dragons exists because people wanted to roleplay in an LotR-esque world. Legolas and Gimli single-handedly defined what a badass elf and dwarf looks like in high fantasy. And people still gobble up media ripping shamelessly, or even good-naturedly, from this one story.

So on my other list, I argued that the sum of your parts is still original, even if the components aren’t. On this list, I implore you this: It’s not stealing or appropriating to write another Legolas if you love Legolas. Everyone loves Legolas. How many generic buff action heroes do we have and love? How many Hallmark romances tread the same predictable path? Who gives a damn if it’s unoriginal? Just make it entertaining and have something fresh to say in the end (or don’t, that’s fine too), and people will read it.

And when people say “Oh, you mean like Legolas”, take it as a compliment, not an insult. Yes, exactly like Legolas. Here’s my new elf because I adore this other book, now watch him go on a new adventure that I wrote for him.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #4: Ghost Selkie

Disclaimer: references and facts about Selkies are based on Selkie folklore, true facts about seals, and stuff I just made up because it works well with the story

~~~~

Okay so Urban Fantasy inspired au where turns out there is some Selkie blood mixed up somewhere in the Fenton bloodline. As such Jazz and Danny exhibit a few Selkie-like traits but nothing too serious: a playful nature, a certain grace and agility, attraction to shiny things (stars and microscopes), a decent singing voice, being strong swimmers, and seeing in the dark better than the average person. After The Accident™️ and being more involved with the super natural world some of those aspects get a bit stronger for Danny but he just chalks it up to being a Halfa. That is until Skulker catches him on an off-day and manages to capture him by snagging the back of his jumpsuit. Phantom, in a moment of panic and desperation, decides to try and rip off his bodysuit to escape. The suit comes of alright but out tumbles Danny Fenton rather than a de-clothed Phantom. Skulker, in a moment of shock, drops the suit and Danny catches cradling it to his chest while every fiber of his being screams “MY COAT. MY PELT. MINE, DONT STEAL IT.” Skulked realizes what’s happened before Danny does and nopes out of there bc “ This is not what I meant when a said I would have your pelt whelp!” Danny is left sitting there feeling stunned. A quick round of experimentation leads him to figure out that he is now able to take off the suit in Phantom form, but it will de-transform him into Danny. Furthermore, the regular "going ghost" transition still works both with and without him physically holding the suit.

A quick consultation with Clockwork and Frostbite reveals the Fenton Selkie heritage and he goes back to report to Jazz and his friends. Due to Jazz’s instance the siblings get a crash course in Selkies through a community of Selkies and Part-Selkies in the Infinite Realms as well as having a younger ghost show them where to find the modern underground Selkie-Community. Which leads to them getting emotionally adopted by their (dead and alive) Selkie mentors. They learn about eating habits, behavior, culture and customs (including the in and outs of courtship and mating), and camflouge/blending into society.

Jazz learns to tap into her vocal magic/manipulation. Her voice has a deeply calming effect on others and they feel more compelled to listen to her. This comes in handy with some of her more rowdy patients at her internships and stuff. She’s also to taps into the physical aspects of her Selkie blood and gains enhanced dexterity, agility, balance and reflexes. She’s also working towards improving her strength and stamina. Needless to say her aim has definitely improved. Nothing too wild but as she gains more liminality, those aspects become stronger so she’s definitely a cut above the average human though not as crazy as Danny.

Danny on the other hand gets the ability to “shed his pelt” by being able to physically take of his suit and de-transform as well as how to disguise the suit as a jacket or something (maybe a romper or a cardigan?) so that he he can keep it on him for quick, more discreet transformations if he wants to. His ghostly form takes on more Selkie traits like fangs for a powerful bite and more muscle mass and fat in certain areas to improve his endurance and cold resistance. He also learns to manipulate his ectoplasm to be able to shapeshift into the seal version of a Selkie. He is able to practice and manipulate his Ghostly Wail and hone it into a Siren Song and Sonic Singing too.

So basically both the Fenton siblings get cool Selkie power-ups (and unbeknownst to the two, admittedly already quite attractive siblings, their looks take on an otherworldly allure too). As well as a new community eager to take them in and provide them with support. That's why when Danny decides he wants to get away from Amity for college (the ghosts have agreed to a truce as long as Danny pops in for a spar and some shenanigans every now and then. He acquiesces because playing and roughhousing is a part of building social relations for both ghosts and selkies) some of their Selkie contacts help him apply for the Wayne Scholarship at Gotham University and get him set up in Gotham.

Let’s switch gears for a moment here. Gotham has always been a weird place full of weirdos, magic, and cursed energy. Basically, overall chaotic, edgy, and somewhat rancid vibes. It also is entwined with the supernatural. Lady Gotham, the spirit of the city, has allowed many a supernatural community to remain well hidden in her realm including but not limited to fae, witches, gargoyles, vampires, and of course, selkies. There is a huge underground supernatural community in Gotham, part of which is the Selkie community. Most of the Selkies moved out of the harbor and onto land due to pollution. The luckier ones who managed to gain some quick wealth settled in the Upper East Side or Coventry while others ended up in Burnley, the Bowery, and Crime Alley. However, family is very important to Selkies, so there is little resentment between the areas. They try to help out each other and the other members of the supernatural community in Gotham whenever possible. The overall magical community is spread out over Gotham with a few hot spots like Old Gotham, Robinson Park, Crime Alley and the Bowery, and Chinatown.

Now enter: Jason Todd (or a different member of the batfam of your choosing but you’re on your own to figure out how that’ll change the story). Jason grew up around a large portion of Gotham’s supernatural community. There were plenty of fae, selkies, sirens, vamps, and various other magical beings within Crime Alley. He discovered the community early on when he found out that the abuela who used to feed him tamales was in fact a Bruja (witch). Her name was Señora Mariana Soliña and she swore him to secrecy and taught him some basic knowledge on how to recognize and avoid being screwed over by the supernatural.

When his mother died Señora Soliña revealed her surprisingly large amount of wealth to him. She chose to live in Crime Alley to be closer to magical friends and people who would seek out her services as a witch doctor (her cover bc the best lies have a hint of truth). She offered him a hot meal and some spare cash when she could but they weren’t able to run into each other as often as they liked. After getting adopted and becoming Robin Jason made periodic visits to her before his death.

Jason’s resurrection didn’t happen in a Lazarus pit but when he crawled out of his grave. It was due to the magical energy(read also high ecto-concentration) in Gotham he had been exposed to that he became a Revenant. He was able to develop a core through the latent energy and become a spirit/reanimated corpse that sought to avenge both his death and countless others at the hands of The Joker. His dip in the Pits (polluted ectoplasm) brought him out of his catatonic state but triggered his obsession and left him with Pit Rage. Yada yada yada, trains with the League of Assassins, yada yada yada, trains with All-Caste and gets the ability to wield the magical All-Blades, yada yada yada, returns to Gotham for revenge becomes a crime lord, etc., etc., you know the drill.

Fast forward to when he’s made up with the BatFam and is now an antihero. His pit rage has gotten more controllable as the natural ectoplasm and magic in Gotham is slowly filtering out the polluted ectoplasm in his system but it’s still a long process. The supernatural community, however, is happy to have him there. You see Red Hood is actually quite a popular vigilante within the supernatural community. Among his many monikers, they were the ones who gave him the nickname “Avenger of the Unavenged”, and nod to his nature as a Revenant, as well as the aura of the All-Blades (which are meant to defeat absolute evil) that most magical beings recognize.

Jason is fully aware of the presence of the supernatural community in Gotham, as well as members of it who live within his haunt. Once things reach a new “normal” for him he tracks down Señora Soliña only somewhat surprised to see her alive and kicking. He asks for her guidance in the supernatural past the basic knowledge she gave him as a kid. Señora Soliña recognizes his magical aura and status as a Revenant and agrees. (Note: Jason is aware that he has some magic in him, but he attributes it to the All-Blades. He is not fully aware of his status as a Revenant. Señora Soliña assumes he knows and thus does not inform him.) She teaches him and helps him start getting integrated into Gotham’s supernatural community. She offers to “adopt” him as her grandson "Jason “Pedro” Todd Soliña" so that he can take on a civilian identity and attend college. He agrees, eager to resume his education and take on a semi-"normal" life.

And thus we've reached the part of our story where two worlds collide. Jason and Danny first meet peripherally during orientation at Gotham U. They don't really have a direct interaction, just learning each other's names during the icebreakers and some eye contact during the tour. Danny is dorming and Jason commutes so the don't see each other much past running into each other on campus or in the dining hall. That is until they spot each other at an underground, supernatural beings-only, cafe called Xenia a few blocks away Robinson Park.

The two realize the other must have a supernatural connection and start up a conversation. The conversation is illuminating as they learn they're both fairly new to the supernatural community and mostly ghostly. Danny reveals himself as a halfa and of selkie descent and Jason uses his cover to introduce himself as the grandson of a bruja with magic, a brujo-in-training if you will. Upon being asked what a halfa is Danny realizes Jason doesn't know a ton about ghost culture and gives him a quick crash course leading them both to figure out that a) Jason is a Revenant and b) Danny could probably help the Pit Rage by giving him some ecto-supplements. Due to this newfound information Jason conveniently forgets that his new friend mentioned having Selkie blood.

The two meet up more after that, intentionally this time so that Danny can continue teaching Jason about ghost culture and just to hang out. (Note: Danny isn't teaching Jason about selkie culture as he assumes the grandson of a bruja would know that stuff already. Jason has been taught a bit about selkies but they haven't thoroughly covered the topic of courtship yet). As they hang out and develop a friendship with each other the seeds of romance are planted.

One day after they wrapped up lunch at Xenia, Danny left the cafe, accidentally leaving his pelt/jacket on his chair as he's still getting used to having to keep track of it. Jason not realizing the significance of his actions picks it up and takes it with him. Later that day Danny freaks out realizing he left it behind when he runs into Jason. Jason was actually looking for him to return the jacket. So he's like "Hey man you left this at the cafe so I took it and now you can have it back" assuming the redness on Danny's face is just embarrassment. Danny, while mortified, is also extremely flustered. Selkies typically only let close family and lovers have access to their pelts because it implies a deep and intimate bond built on trust that they'll give it back. For Jason, who should know about such Selkie customs, to not only take his pelt but then also return it so easily is some very straightforward flirting. But hey, Jason is good friend... and easy on the eyes too. He wouldn't mind if there was something more there. So Danny decides that he wouldn't mind courting/being courted by Jason.

Jason on the other hand has in fact caught feelings for his friend but hasn't realized he already initiated courting by doing this. He plans to do it the ghostly way engaging in some bonding through sparing and roughhousing and building up their feelings before asking him out. Unfortunately for him, there is a lot of overlap between Selkie courting and ghostly courting so Danny believes that Jason has been courting him for some time now. There are also some things that are specific to Selkie courting Jason unknowingly does, such as buying Danny a bracelet (shiny rocks as a courting gift), beating up a couple of guys trying to mug Danny (defending/showing off for your mate), and introducing Danny to his family/agreeing to meet Jazz (family is very important to Selkies).

That's why when they go out to dinner, and Jason embarrassedly corrects a waitress who thought they were on a date by saying "Oh we're just friends", Danny is understandably upset. He was under the impression that their courtship was getting rather serious since Jason had met Jazz and Danny had met Jason's family. When he asks Jason why he told the waitress they weren't dating he replies "Umm because we're not?" in an uncertain tone. Danny feeling hurt and upset takes his glass of water splashes it onto Jason's face and storms out of the restaurant. Jason is left there soaking, confused, and wondering what he did wrong.

That night Jason goes to visit Señora Soliña to see if he messed up some ghostly custom for Danny to get so upset. When he arrives one of the first things she asks him is how it's going with Danny. When he recounts what happened at dinner and explains his confusion, the bruja takes a deep sigh before smacking him upside the head. Jason is like “wtf abuela?!” And she just shakes her head at him and calls him an idiot. She then reminds him that Danny is part Selkie and explains all the ways Jason has been courting him during the past few months. Jason, realizing he screwed up grabs one of his leather jackets and goes off to track down Danny.

Danny has returned to his dorm to cry and eat ice cream in his pjs from the comfort of his own room. He’s about to watch some comfort tv when there is a pounding at his door. He gets to find a disheveled looking Jason standing at his door. Danny frowns and questions what he’s doing here. Jason’s like “Look I know you’re upset and understandably so but please let me in and I can explain”. Danny’s care for Jason wins out over his anger as he resigns himself to letting the other in. The first thing Jason does is apologize for hurting Danny, saying it was never his intention to do so. He then goes on to explain how he hadn't realized that he had been courting Danny in Selkie customs. Danny is understanding but still upset and voices his feelings to Jason. Jason allows the other to get his anger out and then continues to say that he was actually trying to court Danny through ghostly bonding, and he would still like to date him if he’s open to it. Jason then takes off the leather jacket that he brought with him and offers it to Danny, saying that he doesn’t have his own pelt to offer, but this is the next best thing. This gesture nearly brings Danny to tears and he throws himself to hug Jason, accepting the jacket. The pull back and look into each other's eyes before sharing a kiss and spending the rest of the night cuddling before Jason has to leave.

From then on Jason ramps up the courting to 12, determined not to mess it up again. He reasearches selkie and ghost courting customs in depth to properly woo Danny and personalizes dates to their personalities. Danny is happy to be lavished with the attention and returns the favor. The two of them also make an effort to make sure the have clear communication to avoid having misunderstandings again. A few months later Jason decides to re-introduce Danny to the batfam as his partner and brings Danny along to Wayne Family Dinner with a ring around his finger. It’s a promise ring not engagement ring, but what Bruce doesn’t know will surely give him a heart attack and Danny is happy to go along with it. Danny and Jason become the longest and most stable relationship in the batfam. Tim and Damian even come to them for advice when they try to romance their own partners.

The story kind of just finishes off with the two of them being happy with each other and leaves an open ending to add in small scenes that happened during a time skip or after the story (e.g gushing to siblings, an actual proposal, identity reaveals, batboys seeking advice, them engaging in pda, interaction with other supernatural beings, gossip surrounding their relationship, ect.)

[Edit: additional oc info now found here]

[misswynters]

Urban Ties

Aemond Targaryen x reader (modern au)

[WARNING: dark romance, obsession, yandere behavior, kissing, possessive, misspellings?

[synopsis: You are an artist and he is a sailor. He found a new adventure within you, becoming utterly obsessed and devoted to you.

[note l it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

Part of the Dragonblood: Southside Series

song inspiration: The Hills by The Weeknd

The bustling city of Chicago was a world away from the serene coastal towns often romanticized in stories. Its skyline was a jagged silhouette against the horizon, and the waves of Lake Michigan crashed against the shore with relentless force. Amidst the city's chaos, your life as an artist thrived. Your small studio, tucked away in a corner of Wicker Park, was a sanctuary of creativity, filled with canvases depicting the urban landscape's raw beauty.

You first met Aemond Targaryen at a gallery opening downtown. The event was a significant one for you, as you were showcasing your latest series of paintings. The gallery buzzed with conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the murmured appreciation of art enthusiasts.

He stood out even in the eclectic crowd, his tall, lean frame and striking silver hair catching the light. His intense blue eye seemed to pierce through the air, while his eyepatch added a layer of mystery and danger. He was a sailor, or so he claimed, drawn to the city's shores by the call of adventure and the need to escape his past.

You were talking to a potential buyer when you felt his gaze on you. It was a sensation like no other, as if someone had reached into your very soul and grasped it tightly. You turned, and your eyes locked with his. The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. He made his way towards you with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

"Your work is mesmerizing," he said, his voice deep and smooth, sending shivers down your spine. "It captures the chaos and beauty of this city perfectly."

"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your composure. There was something about him that intrigued you, a magnetic pull that you couldn't ignore.

As the weeks went by, Aemond became a fixture in your life. He would visit your studio, watching you paint with an intensity that made you both nervous and excited. His presence was overwhelming, like the pressure of a storm building on the horizon. He was always there, his eyes following your every move, his touch lingering a little too long.

On a gloomy day, as you were finishing a painting, he stood close behind you, his breath warm against your neck. "I can't stop thinking about you," he confessed, his voice a mix of desire and obsession.

"You're all I see, all I want."

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you. You knew there was a darkness to him, a possessiveness that bordered on dangerous, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt toward him.

"You don't even know me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You began to think how in the hell he got into your studio, then you remembered that you always left the door open.

"I know enough," he replied pulling you out of your thoughts as his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I know that you're mine."

Aemond's obsession grew with each passing day. He would call you multiple times, wanting to know where you were, who you were with, and what you were doing. His jealousy was fierce, and his temper even fiercer. Yet, there was a part of you that found his possessiveness intoxicating.

You knew it was wrong, but the intensity of his desire made you feel wanted in a way you had never experienced before. His touch was both gentle and commanding, his kisses both tender and demanding.

The next evening, after a particularly grueling day, you found yourself alone with him in your studio. The city lights filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. Aemond stood close, his gaze fixed on you as he spoke in a low, commanding tone.

"I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else," he said, his voice a growl.

"You belong to me."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his hand cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as if he were trying to claim you as his own. You responded with equal fervor, your body arching into him, craving his touch.

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive hunger. Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. There was an intensity to his touch, a darkness that both thrilled and terrified you.

"You're mine," he whispered against your skin, his voice a growl. "No one else can have you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of his obsession settling over you like a heavy cloak. You knew this was more than just desire; it was a need, a compulsion that drove him to the edge. As the night wore on, you found yourself lost in his embrace, the world outside your studio fading away.

Aemond's touch was everywhere, his lips, his hands, his body pressing against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

In the quiet moments between the waves of passion, you saw glimpses of the man beneath the obsession. There was a vulnerability to him, a depth of emotion that drew you in even further. You realized that, despite the darkness, there was a connection between you that couldn't be denied.

As dawn broke over the city, you lay tangled in Aemond's arms, your bodies entwined in a sensual embrace. The intensity of the night lingered in the air, a promise of more to come. You knew that being with Aemond was like riding a storm-dangerous and unpredictable—but you were willing to take the risk.

For better or worse, you were his, and he was yours. And in the heart of the city, amidst the chaos and noise, you found a love that was as dark and consuming as the urban tides.

Days turned into weeks, and the intensity of your relationship with Aemond only grew. His obsession with you became more apparent. He would show up at your studio unannounced, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of the dark edge to his affection.

"You've been painting a lot of male figures lately," he remarked one afternoon, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

"They're just studies," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Nothing more."

"I don't like it," he said bluntly. "I don't like other men looking at you, even in your art."

You felt a pang of frustration. "Aemond, you can't control what I paint."

He moved closer, his gaze unwavering.

"I can, and I will. You belong to me, and I won't share you with anyone."

His words were a declaration, a vow that sent a shiver down your spine. You knew his possessiveness was unhealthy, but the intensity of his love made you feel alive in a way nothing else could.

The tipping point came one night when you decided to attend an art show alone. Aemond had been away on a trip, and you needed the space to clear your mind. The event was a chance to network and showcase your work, but it was also a temporary escape from his overwhelming presence.

The evening was going well until you felt a familiar gaze burning into your back. You turned to see Aemond standing in the doorway, his expression a storm of emotions. He crossed the room in long strides, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"I needed some space," you replied, trying to keep your voice calm. "It's just an art show."

"It's never 'just' anything with you," he said, his hand gripping your arm. "You think you can hide from me? You think you can escape?"

His words were a mixture of accusation and desperation, his grip on your arm tightening. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a tense standoff.

"I'm not trying to escape," you said, your voice shaking. "I just needed some time alone."

"You don't get to decide that," he said, pulling you closer. "You're mine, and you'll always be mine."

That night, back at your apartment, the tension between you reached a boiling point. The argument was fierce, emotions running high as you both tried to assert control over a relationship that had become a battleground.

"I can't live like this," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I can't be with someone who tries to control every aspect of my life."

Aemond's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior.

"I don't want to lose you," he said quietly. "I can't lose you."

"Then you need to trust me," you replied, your voice trembling. "You need to let me have my own life, my own space."

He looked at you for a long moment, the intensity of his gaze softening. "I don't know if I can do that," he admitted.

"Then we'll never work," you said, feeling a pang of sorrow. "Love isn't about possession, Aemond. It's about trust and respect."

For a moment, it seemed like he might relent, like he might understand. But then his expression hardened again, and you knew that the darkness within him was too strong to overcome.

Despite the arguments and the possessiveness, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward Aemond. There was a part of you that craved his intensity, his dark, obsessive love. It was a dangerous dance, but one that you couldn’t seem to step away from.

One night, as you lay in his arms, you felt a sense of acceptance wash over you. This was your life now, for better or worse. Aemond’s love was fierce and consuming, and you knew that it would never change.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked softly, your head resting on his chest.

He was silent for a moment, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I think about you,” he said finally. “You’re my future.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and desire. You knew that being with Aemond was like riding a storm—dangerous and unpredictable—but you were willing to take the risk.

For better or worse, you were his, and he was yours. And in the heart of the city, amidst the chaos and noise, you found a love that was as dark and consuming as the urban tides.

[a/n: I didn’t want to make every fic of mine with smut so here is one that is more on the less detailed sensual and intimate side

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @spn-obession @beebeechaos @lastofherkind00 @diannnnsss @thebenjiblackwoodexpress @maryldrsstuff

banner: @cafekitsune

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any games that involve urban fantasy with less focus on fighting than something like Dresden or Shadowrun?

THEME: Urban Fantasy (Minimal Fighting)

Hello there! What I've got here is quite a mix, I wasn't sure how much violence you wanted (or didn't want) so I have a little bit of romance, a little bit of nostalgia, and a little bit of horror!

City of Mist, by Son of Oak Games.

City of Mist is a role-playing game of film-noir investigation and super-powered action. It is set in a modern metropolis rife with crime, conspiracies, and mysteries. The protagonists are Rifts, ordinary people who became the living embodiment of a legend, their Mythos. While your Rifts may seek to strike a balance between the mysterious nature of their Mythos and their mortal aspirations, the powers within them always threaten to tear their lives apart. They have unwittingly become a part of a secret world of clashing stories, and soon other legends will come looking for them with demands.

City of Mist is a combination of PbtA and FATE, giving your characters descriptive tags to use for both their benefit and their detriment as they go about solving mysteries in a supernaturally-saturated city. The primary theme of the game is mystery, and thus more than anything your characters will be primed for investigation. That’s not to say that there isn’t violence - but violence and fighting can be de-emphasized if the group is more interested in the mystery side of things.

Character Creation involves a combination of mundane and supernatural themes, as your character is endeavouring to strike a balance with the parts of themselves that they recognize (student, parent, office worker, ex-partner) and the parts of themselves that are hard to understand (mythical beast, deity, folktale, urban legend). What’s important to define is your daily routine, your personality, and what kind of supernatural powers you have.

This game isn’t explicitly anti-violent, but it absolutely provides you with ways to solve problems that aren’t violent, so I think City of Mist is worth checking out.

Scary Monsters & Nice Sprites, by Pammu.

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites is a narrative RPG about spending your night in one of the only clubs in your city that’s safe for creatures of the night like yourself. All you want to do is have some fun just like the humans do. Play a supernatural creature of choice, put some sick EDM on the speakers and get your game on!

This game works best for an even number of players, up to 6, and is GM-less. It combines urban monsters with flirting, dark clubs and hookups. Each of your characters will look for a partner by doing things that will appeal to the other players. If they like what you do, they’ll reward you with tokens, which you can spend to improve the atmosphere of the club. Fill another player’s intimacy meter, you’ve won them over, and the two of you decide how the night ends for both of your characters.

If you want a game about flirting and the magic of a nightclub, this is your game.

The Far Roofs, by Jenna Katerin Moran.

The Far Roofs is an original role playing system and bundled campaign using pens or pencils, paper, six-sided dice, ten-sided dice, playing cards, and a bag of letter tiles. It's complete in one volume: with this one book and the equipment above, you'll have everything you need to play. 

As the story progresses, your characters will gain access to over 150 unique, narrative-focused powers developed and refined over the course of a decade for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG before being simplified and adapted for use herein.

The Far Roofs is still being Kickstarted, but Moran’s work on Chuubo’s Wish-Granting Engine produced a game that emphasizes wonder and emotional experience. The Far Roofs looks to deliver along the same lines, and the examples of play point towards investigation, social interaction, and magic powers. Jenna Moran is also known for her unique and evocative storytelling in her work, so I think it’s definitely worth checking out.

Lighthearted, by Kurt & Kate Potts.

Welcome to the magical 80s dream world of Lighthearted. You are a Prep, Jock, Geek, Rebel, or Outcast, like those kids in The Breakfast Club, except you are just about to start magic community college. Through play, we'll explore how you grow out of your high school cliques all while dealing with magical mishaps, college parties, vampires, and worse—finals!

Lighthearted is a complete tabletop roleplaying game that uses the language of film and television to reimagine the coming of age stories popular in 80s teen movies like Weird Science and Sixteen Candles, but with a modern fantasy spin. It's set in an alternate 1980s with fantasy elements weaved into the most outlandish bits of 80’s pop culture. There are fantasy religions mixed in with mall culture, dark magic cold wars, and magical glamours instead of plastic surgery.

This is a game of magic and coming-of-age, as you play first-year students at a magical community college. You’re off to the big city, and the big world - will you survive your first college party? Your first vampire?

The whole game feels like the neon lights of a vibrant night-life combined with the nostalgia of an 80’s film. Your magic is attached to how you feel, so as your emotions change, so will your effectiveness at certain actions. If you want a game that’s as light as its name, and you are seeking out rosy-tinted nostalgia, this might be your game.

Changeling: the Lost, by Onyx Path.

Once upon a time, they took you from your home. They promised you a place at their side, and meaning in your life, and they surrounded you with beautiful things. But the beautiful things were oh so sharp, and they laughed when you bled.

Day by day, they changed you. But day by day, your will grew stronger. On the last day, you smashed your way through the beautiful things and ran, not noticing as you bled or feeling as you cried.

You fought with courage and cleverness and took yourself home. Now the beauty and the horror are yours, to have and to hold and to live.

Welcome to once upon right fucking now.

So I’m familiar only with the 1st edition of Changeling, but as far as I understand, the setting and core premise of the game is the same in the 2nd edition. Changeling: the Lost is a game of fairy trauma. Your characters are survivors of a fae horrorscape, a place both wondrous and terrifying all at once. This game is solidly in the horror genre, but it contains within it a taste of the magical, and it’s also the reason I got into roleplaying in the first place.

As in many Chronicles of Darkness games, fighting is an option in here, but it’s not a wise option. Getting into fights pulls at your characters’ ability to understand the difference between our world and the world of Fae, it’s very easy to sustain supernatural damage that is hard to heal, and, well, sometimes it’s hard to tell who your real enemies are in the first place.

I’d say that Changeling is more of a political game than anything else. Your characters will have to dance through the highly literal wording of faerie pledges, and untangle difficult relationships between Courts that are both safe havens and potential beds of sedition. This is a violent game, but much of the violence possible in Changeling isn’t physical - it's emotional.

This Night On The Rooftops, by C.M. Ruebsaat.

This is a game about gazing out over the smokestacks after dark, with the wind in your hair and a friend at your side and a thousand lights of progress on the streets below. 

This Night on the Rooftops is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about friendship, growing up, and revolution. You will play members of a gang of children in The City, a fantastic world of industry and dying magic, where witches labour alongside factory-workers to make ends meet.

This game looks slightly less modern, but it takes the fantasy aspect of witchcraft and places it inside an industrial city. The game uses a modified version of the No Dice No Masters rule set, which is excellent for stories that have an ebb and flow to them, managed through the use of token expenditure. This game is also GM-less, giving everyone at the table the same amount of control over what happens next.

Since the characters are a gang of teenage witches looking to make ends meet, this game doesn’t strike me as one that prioritizes fighting or violence. The city looks big enough to grind up the characters if they’re not careful, so they’ll likely have to find solutions to problems that don’t get them (or their dependants) in trouble. If the game is like other No Dice No Masters games that I’m familiar with, the group will also have a big say over which elements of the city are the most intriguing to them.

Partners: The Urban Fantasy File, by Tin Star Games.

Some murders are just elf defence…

Vampires are real, magic is real, elves are real - and murder is still very very real. This expansion takes you and your Partner down the moonlit streets of urban fantasy, where the dead sometimes get back up again but crime is still a mystery needing two heads to solve.

The base game for this, Partners, is a two-player mystery-solving game about a pair of detectives, a straight-shooter and a wildcard. You’ll need the base rules to play, but this supplement brings in dead elves, suspicious vampires, and other common characters in any urban fantasy genre. It can work as a one-shot, or as a series of episodes. If you want a game that's primarily about solving a mystery more than anything else, this is is for you.

Solacebound, by Sascha Moore.

Young monsters played at the boundary between the worlds. They slipped and stranded in a human city. Isolated and unwelcome, they search for each others help and a way back.

Solacebound is a GM-less Game for 3-5 people to play over a few hours. Search a sprawling, oppressive city for your friends, find out who is willing to give you a roof, bash back against authorities, cook together and console each other. Will you find a way back home before all passages close?

You are teenage monsters trying to find their way through an urban environment, in a place that is hostile to them. You survive by hiding out, finding each-other, and do things together to make sure you keep each-other healthy. Cards from a deck act as resources, but also as an oracle to help you describe the fallout of any given action, and the emotions that are attached to it. This is a game about metaphors, about what it is like to live in a place that fears you, so I definitely recommend making sure the entire table knows what this is about before starting a game.

You Might Also Want to Check Out

Subway Runners, by Gem Room Games.

[yoga-onion]

[Image above: Kyoto Sanzenin Temple, statue of Mahāsthāmaprāpta]

What is the 23 nights temple? [Part 1]

Thank you for your continued support of the ‘A Message from 23 Nights Temple’ blog. We have received quite a few questions from our readers about the ‘23 Nights Temple’, so we would like to answer them here in two parts.

23 nights is one of the folk rituals on the night of a specific moon phase, such as the 13th, 15th, 17th or 19th night, to wait for the moon to rise, make offerings, eat and drink together. Hundreds of years ago, halls where these events used to be held were scattered all over Japan, but unfortunately most of them have now been demolished and replaced by parking lots and modern ossuaries, especially in urban areas. The moon-waiting rituals of the Mid-Autumn Moon, 15 Nights (Full Moon), are still practised today. Although most modern Japanese are agnostics, some ritual events incorporating Buddhism and Shintoism remain.

The moon phase on the 23rd night is the ‘waning moon’, the half moon after the full moon, when the left half of the moon appears to be shining. The moon on the 23rd night is characterized by appearing late, around midnight, and in some mountainous areas surrounded by mountains, it can appear as late as 1 a.m.

In moon-waiting, the object of worship was determined by the time of the lunar phase at which the event was held. The object of worship on the 23rd night was Mahāsthāmaprāpta (bodhisattva mahāsattva), who was also said to be the incarnation of the moon. The light of wisdom possessed by Mahāsthāmaprāpta was thought to illuminate everything, freeing people from suffering and giving them strength.

In Shinto, Tsukuyomi-no-mikoto (Ref) is another name for Mahāsthāmaprāpta. He is also known as the god of agriculture and fishery, due to his characteristic control over the moon calendar.

The widespread ritual of waiting for the moon on the night of the 23rd lunar phase can be attributed to the worship of Mahastamaprapta, the savior of all things.

In “ A Message from 23 Nights Temple,” one of those shrines is featured. However, 2 years ago, the shrine, built over 1,000 years ago, was removed and converted into a commercial ossuary (August 2022), and the monk who left many of his messages died at the same time, but we continue to present the Zen words he left behind.

And personally, I am posting this not quite as a religion, but with the hope that as many people as possible will remember the philosophy of the prehistoric people, who lived with a sense of the cosmos, worshipping nature and enjoying the beauty of flowers, birds, wind and moon.

『二十三夜堂』とは何ですか？[その1]

日頃から『二十三夜堂からのメッセージ』ブログをご愛読いただきありがとうございます。読者のみなさんから『二十三夜堂』についてご質問が多々ありましたので、ここでお答えしようと思います。

二十三夜とは、十三夜、十五夜、十七夜、十九夜などの一つで、特定の月齢の夜に、人々が集まって月の出を待ち、供物を捧げ、飲食を共にする民俗儀式のこと。数百年前までは、こうした行事が行われるお堂が日本各地に点在していたが、残念ながら現在ではそのほとんどが取り壊され、特に都市部では駐車場や近代的な納骨堂に取って代わられている。中秋の名月、十五夜（満月）の月待ちの儀式は、今日でも行われている。現代の日本人の多くは無宗教だが、仏教や神道を取り入れた儀式行事も残っている。

二十三夜の月齢は、左側半分が輝いて見える「下弦の月」、満月の後の半月のこと。二十三夜の月は深夜0時ごろに現れるのが特徴で、山に囲まれた地域では深夜1時ごろに現れることもある。

月待ちでは、行事を行う月年齢の時期によって崇拝の対象が決まっていた。二十三夜で礼拝したのは、月の化身ともいわれた「勢至菩薩 (せいしぼさつ、梵: ﾏﾊｰｽﾀｰﾏﾌﾟﾗｰﾌﾟﾀ) 」である。勢至菩薩が持つ智慧の光は全てを照らし、人々を苦しみから解放して力を与えると考えられていた。その名は文字通り「大いなる力の到来」を意味する。

神道における「月読命（つくよみのみこと: 参照）」は、勢至菩薩の別名。暦を支配するという特徴から、農耕や漁業の神としても知られている。

二十三夜の月待ちが人々の間に広まった理由は、万物を救済する勢至菩薩を崇拝の対象にしていたからだといわれている。

『二十三夜堂からのメッセージ』では、それらの一つを取り上げています。しかし、2年前、1000年以上前に建てられた祠は取り払われ、商業的納骨堂へと改装され(2022年8月)、またメッセージの数々を残した僧侶も同時期に亡くなっていますが、彼の残した禅語を継続してご紹介しています。

そして個人的には、宗教というよりは、自然を崇拝し、花鳥風月を愛で、宇宙を感じて生きていた先史時代の人々の哲学を、一人でも多くの人に思い出してもらいたいという思いで投稿しています。

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers. 

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

���I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office. 

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair,  resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge,  running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear. 

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way. 

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

[disniq]

Hi so uhhhh, not actually making any sort of relevant point about anything but I saw you guesstimating Jason's kill count and I have to justify the fact that I went panel by panel to hand count his kills SOMEHOW so like have the data please!!

Skipping dear Filipe's moldering corpse due to uncertainty, we start with Lost Days

Human Trafficking Truck Driver Ian, Egon, Steel Beam mercenary crew estimated at least five strong, three more of his teachers, eleven nameless russian mobsters, a cousin and a running buddy of a russian mobster: 23 people

Under the Red Hood

Eight heads in a duffel bag, four thugs with Freeze (Freezy boy does not die), Two confirmed on panel delivery man kills (Five-ten more suspected but we won't count em), Ten goons in the doorway when he swings the minigun on them as he and Onyx retreat, five more goons, Rocket launcher blast kills "most" of a security team with at least three members left alive so we'll call that three kills (far more deaths are implied), shoots a guy holding a lit molotov catching him on fire, then kills Captain Nazi (yay), forces Black Mask to kill six of his men, forces Some Guy to fight Black Mask to the death for him, and finally dear old Black Mask's PA is thrown through a window (his cycling class will miss him dearly): 42 people

(So, yeah, your ballpark of about a hundred give or take sounds about right, he's only got ~65 on panel, confirmed notches on his knife by the end of UtRH, and the implications seem to imply between 20 and 75 kills off screen)

That Time He Kidnapped Mia

Short and sweet, he only ices a pack of "brain donors": 5 people

Brothers in Blood

Two human traffickers, three more drug runner goons, two more goons later on: 7 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part one

Starting the running with two cops, lightning bug assassin, six mobstery big wigs, a guy, Flamingo: 11 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part two

Littleman Beaver's brother and his brother's fourteen goons, fifteen of his fellow inmates, then the grand poisoning of eighty-two people (well he poisoned more but we only get eighty-two confirmed as dead): 112 people

This is not even slightly a complete list, so consider this final number a lowball of:

Two Hundred people even!

as Jason's body count... at least pre-new52, don't ask me what's going on over there in modern canon, idk

Hope this was entertaining/useful to you in some way!

Best wishes -redhoodinternaldialectical

This is an amazing reference, thank you so much for sharing!!

I can fill most of the later stuff, because there's tragically little of it.

Nu52's attempt at giving Jason a concrete kill count was laughably low;

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #21

Rebirth was mostly non-lethal, with the notable exception of the gang Jason uses to establish his new edgy loner lifestyle after the famous rhato 25 beatdown from Bruce.

RHATOs (2016) #26

I count 11 of them, and I think it's safe to say they're all dead.

But then he teams up with Batwoman, and then Bunker, and then becomes a teacher at Lex Luthor's school for potential supervillains so it sort of tapers off again.

And then... there's the piece of shit dad he killed in Cheer in 2021.

Batman: Urban Legends (2021) #1

As far as I'm aware, that's the last time he killed in main continuity.

When will my son return from the war

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Backburner 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is easy going until he’s not. 

Characters: Sam Wilson, this reader is known as Dizzie.

Author’s Note:Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You sit in the passenger seat, legs locked, spine rigid, head straight. Sam drives without a care, singing along the Motown tune buzzing from the speakers. You stare at the traffic in dread, wincing each time he reaches to shift gears. 

As you get past the urban core, a sudden realisation dawns on you like a sheet of ice cocooning your body. You blink and take in the unfamiliar street. This isn’t the way to your place. You’ve been too stunned to even offer your address, or maybe you just assumed Sam knew it. 

“Diz, you’re not usually this quiet,” he turns down the music then moves his hand to the back of your seat, steering with one hand. “Whatsa matter, baby?” 

“Sam... sir,” you cross your legs. He quickly reacts and slaps his hand onto your knee. “I don’t live down here.” 

“I know, baby, I do,” he snickers and pulls your leg back down. “You roll up that skirt for me and let me have a peek.” He shifts and kneads along your thigh, “it’s been a long day.” 

“Sam,” you whimper, “please, this isn’t... you’re my boss.” 

“That’s right, Dizzie, that means you do what I say,” he tickles along the bottom of your skirt. 

You squeak and catch his hand before it can go higher, “I’m scared.” 

He chortles again. “Why’s that? Don’t tell me a girl like you’s a virgin. I just can’t believe that. Not wearing what you were on Friday.” 

“Sir!” 

“You keep calling me sir and I’ll just have to pull over,” he threatens. “Mmm, you make all those little noise when you’re on a man?” 

“Huh?” You gulp. 

“You know, when you’re thinking, you squeak and all that. You gonna do that on my dick?” 

You flinch and shove his hand off your lap. You look around desperately as the car keeps moving. What do you do? 

“If you were gonna run, you woulda done it back at the office so let’s stop play, honey bun,” he swerves the wheel to drive up a long drive. 

You press yourself to your seat and peer up at the large modern facade. It’s a nice house. That’s such a stupid thing to thin about in that moment but it’s easier than reality. You well cling to that cracked shield of denial until it’s in splinters. 

He jabs the button to flip the engine and the car quiets. He taps the button on his seat belt and it repels over his shoulder. He gets out as you remain strapped in the passengers’ side. 

He rounds the hood as you stay where you are. He opens the door and stares down at you. You can’t look at him. That will make it real. You don’t understand how he can do this. 

“Sam,” you say to the windshield, “you’re a nice guy. A good boss... why?” 

“Diz, I’m getting real tired of talking,” he huffs as his fingers tap above you on the car roof. “I just want you to think about something. When I tell HR you slipped your panties into my bag, do you think they’ll give you warning or fire you?” 

You hug yourself and peel your eyes away from the scenery. You pout up at him, “It was an accident.” 

“Was it? And now you’ve followed me home. When they check your phone tracking, oh, baby, they would put two and two together, wouldn’t they?” 

“But I wouldn’t-- why would I?” 

“It’s not about the truth, Diz.” He bends down to eye level, gripping the door as he does. “You don’t get this far in business being honest. You just gotta make people believe in you. You believe me, don’t you Diz?” 

Your lip quivers and his dark eyes fall onto the tremble. He pokes his tongue out and hums. You seal your mouth and swallow. Tears prick hotly as the heat flows through your body. 

“I’ve always been nice to you, Diz, even when everyone said you were stupid, huh?” He reaches to caress your cheek. “Because I know you’re not stupid.” He smirks, “you’re smart enough to get your ass up and walk into that house. Right now. Aren’t you?” 

You stare at him as the timber in his voice sinks like iron. You’ve never heard him like this. He’s never looked at you like that. 

You reach for the buckle and press down. The belt recoils and you focus on your body. Your insides are jittering. You turn your legs out and grasp onto the door as you stand. He stays close, crowding you. He puts his hand on your hip and guides you, closing the door with a snap. 

He turns you to walk towards the house. Your legs are jelly. You trip and he catches you before you can fall. You squeal as he spins you and scoops you up in his arms. Your skirt flips up and the air grazes your ass. You wriggle in his hold as he doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you,” he purrs as his dark eyes blaze ahead. “You’re always taking care of me, let me take care of you.” He looks down as you try to pull your skirt down your thighs. He bites his lip and growls, “bet you taste sweet like those smoothies, huh?” 

[clown-friend-gt]

I had an idea for a g/t story but i'm probably not going to take the time to write it out any time soon. In the meantime, enjoy this list of concepts i have rattling around in my brain

Takes place in a world where humans, tinies, and giants all exist and are all familiar with one another

It's technically an urban fantasy, with things like modern technology and societies existing alongside magic and medieval cosmology (don't worry too much about what that entails, it never really comes into play besides brief references)

There are more humans than there are giants, and more tinies than there are humans

Since everything in this world is "human sized," humans are the functional majority

Mixed societies exist, but are in their early stages, so non-integrated communities are still just as common

Growing/shrinking spells exist, but are only permanent on non-living things (organic materials that are no longer "alive" still work, though)

Finally, the actual focus of the story: a human streamer/youtuber (from a non-integrated community) making content focused around spending a day as a giant/tiny

Video titles include "I SPENT A DAY LIVING AS A GIANT (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!!!)" and "24-HOUR BORROWER CHALLENGE?????"

In the latter scenario, there is an actual borrower living in their apartment, who has to try and hide from the human while the human is going around trying (and usually failing) to do borrower things

(Borrowers are a known phenomenon in this world, but humans and borrowers rarely encounter each other

Borrowers are often seen as "backwards" and "savage" by humans and the "more evolved" tinies who live in integrated societies)

The human streamer inevitably finds out about the borrower when they explore the walls of their apartment and find the borrower's home in there

The borrower is worried that the human will react badly when they find out about them, and is especially scared about what they'll do when they go back to their normal size

But the human also has a secret: they aren't a normal human under a temporary shrinking spell, they are a size-shifter

(size-shifters also exist but are extremely rare, and their abilities are poorly understood, leading them to be viewed as dangerous and out of control

it is possible for size-shifters to control their abilities, but it takes a lot of time and practice)

Since the size-shifter is used to be A. small and B. misunderstood, they allow the borrower to stick around as their roommate

and then they fall in love

Also since the streamer had a lot of uncontrolled shifts before they learned to control their abilities, they're mostly playing up their reactions to being giant/tiny for the "first time" for the camera

That's all for now. I've got more ideas for this story, so let me know if you want a part 2. And maybe I'll find the time/motivation to write this story out for real at some point. I want to use the clickbait-y video titles as the titles for two different stories, so look out for those sometime in the future.

[drconstellation]

Come Back When You Can Make A Whale

This is going to contain some speculation for S3, so you know what to do! Or not do!

SITIS: What did God say? JOB: Um... I'm not sure. I didn't understand much. Things too wonderful for me. Ostriches came into it. SITIS: Ostriches? JOB: And whales. God's very proud of the whale. Went into some detail about... how great whales are. SITIS: But did They explain? JOB: [shakes head] I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Whales, huh?

If you aren't well read, this could be quite the misdirection. It should be reasonably obvious, given who is doing the talking - Job - what he is actually referring to, then we can join a couple of dots to make some speculative leaps.

You still with me?

No? Then let us start with how do you make a whale?

By giving it another name.

Leviathan.

Chapter 41 of the Book of Job is all about the Leviathan, a great sinuous sea serpent with impenetrable scales and breath like fire. It sleeps beneath the sea until the end of days. Over time it came to be associated with any sea monster, then anything large, and what is the largest animal ever known to have lived? The whale.

The top of the matchbox is also worth a look. We have a skull and crossbones, which is classic Memento mori symbolism, fitting in with the resurrection theme of the Second Coming - but look at the way the address of the pub is spelt! Now, this not the same way it is spelt on the record single Maggie gives to Aziraphale; Goatgate is spelt as one word, not two. A little bit of searching reveals the meaning behind this fictional address that backs up and reinforces the quote on the side of the matchbox.

Strong's Concordance for 66 gives us "wild, savage, fierce." Goatgate is an interesting one, because it turns out to be a relatively modern term from the urban dictionary, and I'm just going to refer to the polite version of it here - it's another word for "mouth." So 66 Goatgate is a "fierce and savage mouth." Yes, that does sound about right - in more ways than one, once you know who it is. (If you want to look up the impolite version, go ahead - I'm sure you will still find the connotations very amusing.)

Our metaphorical Leviathan is Crowley. He gave the game away at the end of S1 during the appearance-swap.

This also means Aziraphale is his counterpart, Behemoth. Why - well, I made a bit of joke in my post here that he was playing at being a "river horse" while he wallowed in the bath of holy water during his part of the appearance-swap scene. Modern day scholars think the description of Behemoth in the Bible may be that of a hippopotamus in real life history. If that is so, I'd still be betting this is what the "dark horse" comment from Nina in S2E1 is foreshadowing.

Maybe none of this new to you if you've been hanging around the the fandom for a while. That's fine, I'm just trying to establish the scene. And the next bit we need to talk about is this one, where Job gets a lecture from God.

During this sequence, we hear lines that come from Job 38 and 39.

GOD: Job, if you have questions for me, I have questions for you. Do you know how I created the earth? Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth, Job? Were you there when all the morning stars sang together and all the Angels shouted for joy?

These lines are paraphrasing some of the beginning of Job 38.

Then we have:

GOD: Do you know the rules of the heavens? Did you set the constellations in the sky? Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you? Did you give wings to peacocks, Job, or teach the ostrich to run?

These lines are again, paraphrasing Job, half from 38 and half from 39.

So then, we need to ask, why highlight these lines in particular?

Job 38 is mainly about setting the boundaries of the universe around us. The Earth might seem impossibly huge to a human, but it started with a single stone at its foundation. Earth and the other planets obey certain laws as they move around the Sun. The patterns of the stars in the sky take so long to change that it seems like they are set and inconstant. Even the chaotic form of lightning respects its Creator and returns to its point of origin.

From the last part of Chapter 38 to the end of 39 God challenges Job with a list of animals. The theme here is about freedom and wildness. Whether it is a noble lion, a loathsome crow, a nimble mountain goat, the head-strong wild ox or the willing war horse, they all flourish upon the Earth under the sight of the Almighty. Even the mightiest and most fierce beasts of all, Behemoth and Leviathan, have a place, although only God has the means to control those two.

None of this needs a human to be involved. We are so often the center of our own universe, and try so hard to control every aspect of the world around us that we lose sight of the bigger picture. Shit happens. Some things are out of our control. That doesn't mean its your fault and you're wicked and damned to go to Hell because of it. And that was the point God was trying to make to Job. The world is a far bigger, wilder and chaotic than you can imagine, but its also incredibly beautiful, and it runs itself within the rules and limits that seem to be set by invisible forces you can't see.

So back to the script from the show.

The first set of questions from God could apply to both of the duo. They were both around when Earth was created and were more than likely there when the "morning stars" (the highest angels, such as Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael and angel!Beelzebub) sang together.

The second set of questions are the ones that seem to have got the most attention so far, with ops cross-matching them to things Crowley does in S2.

Do you know the rules of the heavens?

Did you set the constellations in the sky?

Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?

Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...

(I make a suggestion this has something to do with Michael, but also see comments below)

...or teach the ostrich to run?

The first three of those questions are fairly straight forward, and I doubt many would dispute what they are referring to. But the reference to the peacock and the ostrich are more subtle and curious, and I would like to take a moment to look at the actual verse - because it is only one verse that is providing both questions - that is being paraphrased here.

Job 39:13 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?

Did you realize that the King James Version of the Bible is the only one that mentions peacocks in this particular verse? All the other versions mentions the first sentence of that verse in relation to the wings of ostriches: "The wings of the ostrich wave proudly." The ostrich is considered a cruel and witless bird in the Bible, pleased with the way it looks, and seemingly careless about its young.

Why does that sound familiar...

Shax thinks this ostrich feather-clad angel in disguise isn't too smart either.

So using the peacock line is a curious choice in the script. Other than the "eyes" in the tail of the peacock having a connection to Michael's many watchful eyes on the world, it's still not clear how Crowley helped them upwards. Unless both lines are supposed to refer to Gabriel, and how the vain peacock was helped to both fly and run to a distant location in the stars.

Edit: Since I first wrote this, @beebopboom pointed me to some more peacock lore, and this helped me delve a bit deeper into them. Peacocks were associated with wealth and royalty, but they were also associated with immortality in early Christian beliefs. There was a belief that the flesh of the peacock did not decay after its death. The bright colours in its tail came from its eating venomous snakes, which reminded people of Christ becoming sin for humanity's sake (think of Crowley downing the laudanum to save Elspeth from Hell in the crypt in 1827, its a similar action.) The "eyes" on the males tail also represented the all-seeing eye of God. So we have a connection with both royalty and resurrection here.

(Oh - just as an interesting connection here - a number of the newer versions of the Bible not only don't mention the peacock in this verse, they compare the ostrich to the stork! The meaning is meant to be that the stork cares more for their young than the ostrich, but if you read the words at face value, you could take a double meaning away...)

Let us return to questions, answers, and whales.

Questions. Always questions. It's like the proverbial toddler who's always asking a never-ending string of "but, why?" for funsies and you just want them to shut up for a moment and think about the last thing you said first. They, too, are a bit like Job. They are the center of their own universe at that age, having not had much experience of the world. They have no grasp of how far it extends beyond them, and how little even we as adults know.

If at this point you're going "oh, no, no, no, no, op, please don't tell me the point of this meta is it's all ineffable," relax. I'm not.

The point was to set you up for some nice, juicy, awesomely sweet S3 speculation.

Because I believe Crowley will finally get to ask his questions of God.

(oh lordy, I made the mistake of taking a break to have a shower before trying to finish this off, because I was having trouble seeing how to finish this in a tidy way, and that caused me to have "shower thoughts" and now the nice sweet simple speculation has turned into a slightly bat-shit crazy kind-of one, although still on the same track as what I was originally thinking. Here goes...)

We have this three card spread from waaay back at the beginning of S1. We all think its something to do with the three babies.

What if its not?

Because we need something like this to happen again - Aziraphale and Crowley either side of a third protagonist. What if it's the King of Kings, Love personified, Jesus, in the middle? (Or Adam again, I wouldn't discount that option either...)

If you would look at the GIF and the screenshot together again and go, well that makes, sense, white for the angel on the right, and green for the demon on the left, I would jump up and shout at you - NO!

Look at the cards again! In the Tarot, that's the Ace of Swords on the right - it belongs to Aziraphale. It's a very powerful card, about new beginnings and change.* Lets call the one of the left Knight of Wands, which also represents the element of Fire. Knights are all about movement and journeys. Who owns the Bentley? And look what Gabriel has instinctively done with his hands - he has held his screen-left hand out to Aziraphale, the Sword, the angel who wears green, and his right hand out to Crowley, the Knight of Fire. The yin and yang qualities are actually swapped. That was what I was trying to tell you in this post. They aren't as obvious as they seem at first glance.

And love is the answer, it turns out. Did you see my comment the other day on another post? In Strong's Concordance 25 = to love.

Anyway, we should get a third parallel scene somewhat like this, and like when Aziraphale and Crowley took Adam out of time to talk to him in S1.

Only this time the three of them (with who ever is in the middle) should be having a talk with God about what is or isn't supposed to happen.

JOB: I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Crowley could be a literal serpent (though I would be very surprised if he did manifest that way) but it should be a metaphorical Leviathan that stands before the Almighty to ask his questions and get his answers. And it will be that he has earned the right to be there, because he finally understands the lessons of Job.

@makewayforbigcrossducks I hope this answers one of your questions

*The Ace of Swords speaks of new beginnings, but it is a two-edged sword that can cut both ways. It is strength in adversity, victory out of struggle, good out of evil, a change in the old order on the way.

[angelsaxis]

I swear I'm not trying to reignite old discourse but the people who insist that "queer is a slur" is exclusively an online T3RF psyop that popped up in the twenty tens are focusing on an extremely narrow demographic of experiences to make their claim that the idea that queer could be a slur is recent and invalid. Like using Google trends isn't evidence because Google trends do not take into account all the people who don't use the internet and who aren't connected to T3RFs in any way--like regular degular homophobes and transphobes in rural parts of America and people in other countries w no internet connection as well. Just because you as a white middle class american were able to study queer theory in college in the 90s and were able to march w the word queer in an urban place beforehand does not mean that the word queer wasn't ever being used in a violent manner in the rural south or in someone's home or in the Caribbean (as one of my friends put it) or even in the city at the exact same time--before, and after, and in modern times right now. And it's exclusively older white queer people who genuinely frame their experiences with that word as enough evidence to dismiss a whole host of other experiences. Like okay you studied it in the nineties and you rolled your eyes in the 2010s online. What does that mean to the people who aren't in either of those spaces at all. What about the homophobes in other countries or other regions of America absolutely hurling it around as a slur. Your experience is not universal. Two things can be true at the same time. Like be serious.

[emperyans]

Can I request a soulmate!AU with a Clark Kent x reader? Where your soul mates name is on your wrist?

I.

Clark Kent.

It shows up sometime around your twelfth birthday. There’s no warning before it happens- you’re absentmindedly eating breakfast one day when you glance at your wrist and all of sudden it’s there, in neat, slanted writing.

You’re at a loss for how to react at first- hell, this is the name of your soulmate. A few minutes are spent staring in awe at the words on your wrist, before the shock falls away and you’re left feeling a little giddy- you finally know their name.

Every advice column ever written about the matter says not to obsess over it, but your pre-teen self can’t help but fixate on the markings whenever they come into your line of sight.

II.

Clark is not a very widespread first name, you discover. It always ranks around the four-hundred mark in popularity polls, both in North America and the UK.

Despite that, you run into a lot of them. Enough for you to begin to suspect that fate is playing a cruel game- really, how many Clarks can one person meet over the course of their lifetime?

To your dismay, you end up hating every single one of them. Thankfully, none of their last names even resemble Kent.

III.

Clark means scholar.

You wonder if he’s the academic type.

A lot of questioning is done on your part when you’re bored and have nothing better to do. Even more so when you're feeling lonely. Is he tall? What’s his favourite colour? Does he enjoy whole-wheat bread?

When you were a teenager, you had decided he was quite possibly going to be the most perfect person on earth. Your best friend at the time had laughed, telling you that no one was perfect.

You’re older, now. And while you no longer think Clark Kent, whoever he is, would be perfect, you still can’t stop yourself from picturing what he might be like after you have a bad day.

IV.

The first time you encounter it, you’re taking the subway home.

The newspaper is discarded on a scratched up subway seat. The headline is something about Lex Luthor - it always is in Metropolis- but that is not what catches your attention.

It’s under the headline, smudged to ruin by the previous reader's fingers. And yet still discernible enough to make your heart beat faster.

By Clark Kent.

V.

Finding out how to contact the newspaper is easy enough. You cant figure out how to reach him, though, and you wonder what the point of modern technology is if you knew someone’s full name yet still had no way of reaching them.

When you call them, the receptionist tells you that Mr. Kent is out. Leave a message.

You give her a reasonably vague excuse to have him contact you, double checking that she has your name written down correctly. There’s a hint in her voice that tells you she suspects what is going on, but she doesn’t comment on it. You’re infinitely thankful.

VI.

By the time you leave work, there’s a missed call and a voicemail left on your phone. You wait until you get home to listen to it, and it’s a smart idea, because you didn’t know you could get this unreasonably anxious just by hearing someone say your name.

“This is Clark. Uh, Clark Kent. I hope- did I say your name right? Never mind- I was hoping we could meet up?”

He’s stumbling over his words and you can’t help but laugh- at least you’re not the only one completely overcome by nerves.

The voicemail ends with an address and a time to meet up (“ That is, if it’s okay with you-“ ) tomorrow.

You send a text confirming that you’ll be there.

VII.

You’re at the designated meeting place- one of Metropolis’ many parks. How they manage to put them in a city with such high density is beyond you- still, you weren’t here to question their urban planning prowess.

You swear you can feel him before you see him.

The first thing you notice is how tall he is. Very, very tall. He’s dressed in a dark grey suit- carrying a briefcase, clearly having just gotten done with work. It’s not what you imagined- yet somehow, it’s better than anything you’ve ever dreamt up.

He has glasses, you note. They have the effect of making him look impossibly endearing.

You’re not aware you’re gaping at him until he says your name.

“Nice to meet you, Clark.” It’s hard to keep the grin off your face. “You’re saying it right, by the way.” You stick your hand out for a handshake, making sure to angle it so the words on your wrist are visible.

He takes it, a smile playing at his lips. Warmth envelops your hand immediately. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”