#--GOD IS BRUTAL || AESTHETIC

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

my horrendous attempt at giving Magneto the Dark Seduction magnetism hair that Polaris had. HE DESERVES IT.

[triglycercule]

this new tiktok trend of drawing these matryoshka dolls in peoples' styles reminds me of the murder time trio NOW STAY WITH ME NOW STAY WITH ME NOW........

[carcosacurations]

snake lord

[just2bubbly]

Olivia and her song vampire was what I needed 4 months ago- masterpiece 💫

[mythvoiced]

-. going absolutely fucking BONKERS on this fine TUESDAY EVENING!!! look at this Classic Patrick

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

Magneto 1991. v. Magneto X-Men Red (2023) edits by me

[rice-fae]

Boycott hoyoverse, please.

I used to be a big genshin impact lore buff, i played, i read, i was on forums, i made fanart, and then i was deeply disrespected by the game itself (this post is about natlan)

I am brazilian and i follow a religion named candomblé. Long story short, its from yoruba people who were sent to brazil as slaves, then went through a big process of spreading out to not just black people, but light-skinned people of lower classes like my family. We believe in the creation by Olorum, the power of Axé, and the Orixás.

Natlan, as of now, has two characters named Iansan and Ororon. These names come from not just the yoruba predecessors of candomblé, but also the religion itself, the Orixá deities Iansã and Olorum.

My religion, my deities. My mother's deities. The statuettes in my house. Their names are recycled cheaply to be used trivially. Never have we of candomblé ever gotten mentioned by AAA games or films that give such attention to detail like Genshin does, and we are disrespected. Our Gods are used like rags for someone's profit to be thrown away, washed out. They do not convey our beauty, our grit, our wonder, they do not convey us but they profit from us.

People love to tell us that it is just a game, but think again: games are not entitled to disrespect us just because of their nature. We are entitled to complain, to scream, because this is cruelty. You brutalize our image, butcher our names, for what?

When I was younger, I used to look at games with religious imagery very curiously. It was always weird to see the faith of the people I know be used for aesthetic reasons or just because it looks cool. The same has now happened to me, but times worse. People will say anything to justify this mockery and throw excuses to keep playing the product of a corporation that won't ever understand what it means to be us.

Boycott, complain, scream, because I will do it too. I regret the time I invested in playing, in reading, in watching, in dedicating myself to something that would never do me justice. It is not expensive to change a character's name, not even talking about the model. I don't plan on re-entering the fandom while it still lies unaware of the gross source material's true colors. Candomblé is not mythology, it's faith. We are alive. We have existed for centuries and will continue to grow, despite the challenges we face.

[flwrkid14]

Letters in Green Ink: Phantom's Footsteps on Gotham's Rooftops

Tim Drake was no stranger to paranoia. It was practically a job requirement in Gotham. But this? This was getting weird.

It started small: the feeling of being watched on rooftops, a shadow a little too close. Harmless, at first. But then the sticky notes began.

Random, anonymous sticky notes. Clues he’d missed. Addresses for gang hideouts. Details on corrupt businessmen.

He found one on his motorcycle seat. Another on the Batcomputer. A bright green note scrawled with:

“Check the docks. Midnight.”

Tim had learned to trust his gut, and his gut was screaming: This is not normal.

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

Meanwhile, in another corner of Gotham:

Danny Fenton was hovering invisibly above a warehouse, nervously biting his lip. He was shaking. Not because he was scared of Gotham’s criminals. Nope. The real danger? Red Robin’s eyes.

Danny: internal screaming 'Why did I think this was a good idea?'

Also Danny: hovering invisibly above Tim, whispering to himself: “Okay, Danny. You’re helping. You’re useful. He doesn’t need to know you’re a stalker. A cool stalker. Like a… guardian angel! Yes. Totally fine. Not creepy at all.”

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

Tim, mid-stakeout, could feel the eyes. Again. He spun around, batarang ready. Nothing. Just empty shadows. The wind.

He scowled. “Alright, whoever you are. You’re getting annoying.”

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

Danny floated a few rooftops away, clutching his chest. “Oh my god, he spoke. And he’s mad. Why is that hot?”

He watched as Red Robin took down three thugs single-handedly. His fighting was brutal, efficient. Danny, invisible and swooning, whispered: “He’s so cool.”

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

The next night: a bust gone sideways. Tim found himself cornered by more goons than expected, already calculating the least-bad injury. Then, out of nowhere, a ghostly chill swept through the alley.

Blowtorch thug? Frozen solid.

Gunman? Knocked out cold.

And there, floating in the moonlight, glowing white hair and intense green eyes: Phantom.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “You. You’re the one who’s been—”

Phantom blinked, stammered, “Uh, gotta go!” and vanished like a startled deer.

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

Back in his lair (aka an abandoned Gotham clocktower because aesthetic™️), Danny spiraled. “He saw me. He saw me! Oh god, why did I freeze that guy? Cool guys don’t freeze goons.”

Jazz’s voice in his head: “Danny, you have to stop.”

Danny: “I CAN’T, JAZZ. HE’S TOO PRETTY.”

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

Tim was in full detective mode. Batman-level scowling. “Phantom. Ghost powers. Clearly interested in my cases. Why?”

He scanned the city. Ran searches. No results.

But the sticky notes kept coming.

“Check the East End warehouse. 10pm.”

“Watch out for the armored guy. He has backup.”

Tim didn’t know what was more frustrating: the lack of information, or the fact that Phantom was always right.

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

Finally, one night, Tim cornered him. Literally. Phantom turned a corner and smacked into Red Robin. Hard.

Tim crossed his arms. “Alright. Talk.”

Danny, blushing so hard his glow flickered. “Uh… hi.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Why are you following me?”

Danny, brain short-circuiting: “I LIKE YOUR… uh, CAPE.”

Tim blinked. “My cape.”

Danny nodded furiously. “It’s… cool. Flowy.”

Tim stared. Silence stretched. Then: “You’re helping me.”

Danny swallowed. “Um. Yeah?”

Tim’s voice softened. “Why?”

Danny, panicking, blurted: “Because I like you!”

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

Silence.

Tim’s brain: Error 404.

Danny: contemplating phasing into the floor.

Finally, Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You… are the most chaotic stalker I’ve ever had.”

Danny, grinning nervously: “So, um. Friends?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “We’ll start with coworkers.”

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

Danny, flying away, fist-pumping in the air: “He didn’t say no!”

Tim, watching him go, muttering: “I need coffee. And maybe an exorcist.”

[papenathys]

My friend made a similar post to this awhile ago but I think my problem with "cannibalism as obsessive love" or "blood drinking as shared eroticism" isn't the simple existence of the tropes so much as the fact that due to popular western culture, this ONE interpretation of vampirism and cannibalism has become the word of God interpretation.

Cannibalism is now allowed to mean nothing else except obsessive love, if one so much as dares to provide a different interpretation, it becomes far too bleak and disgusting to comprehend for a subsection of Western readers. Thinking of books primarily like Tender is the Flesh, Moon of the Crusted Snow, Walking Practice, even certain aspects of Hannibal NBC dare I say.

A slight digression into the NBC show; Hannibal cannibalizes humans not necessarily out of a twisted psychosexual need of intimacy, not always, not like Garrett Jacob Hobbs. More often than not, it's because he thinks they are "worse than pigs", his conversation with Dr. Gideon in the s3 flashbacks making it abundantly clear that to him, taking someone's bodily autonomy from them is okay if you're a "higher species/being". He cannibalizes people who irritate him, who instigate him, who happened to have been there. It's funny, it's petty, it's really darkly humorous, except when it's not, which is to say, when he takes the w***ig* form. I am not the biggest fan of Bryan Fuller's symbolism and his cherry picking from Indigenous cultures, but I am intrigued by how Hannibal is depicted in Will's semiconscious.

His mindset about his dehumanized victims too, is an interesting factor, when you consider how cannibalism has often been equated with the oppressor as a symbol of unsatiated greed in Indigenous horror; on a similar vein, one should see The Vegetarian by Han Kang for a gender aspect in Asian patriarchal society, where the heroine is brutalized for not allowing her body to consume flesh, or be consumed symbolically. Also, refer to the above linked article on Tender is the Flesh, which says, "You can’t call what’s going on here “cannibalism"....(it's) a literal Transition, from Taboo to Permitted", via the couching of it in livestock rearing terminology (or in Lecter's case, "ethical" hunting and fishing). Just as Bazterrica dehumanizes the "bred humans" as "head", Hannibal thinks little of the humans he eats, to him they are low hanging fruit or easy game; they deserved it, and because they could not resist the violence done unto them, unlike Will, who resisted, retaliated and became the perfect victim, they became breakfast. I would say he cannibalized Will without ever eating him. (I will also go into the psychological and erotic grooming aspect of Hannibal with ref to Will and Randall Tier in my essay...that too, is cannibalism).

Besides, as mentioned already, that show appropriates the image of Indigenous w***i** for its artsy aesthetic, when the creature is a monster specific to Indigenous, particularly, Algonquin mythos. Of course Indigenous horror looks at cannibalism in a different light: cannibal appetites and the monster itself is heavily connected to settler colonialism and greed. Not everything is about queer eroticism, Hannigram or Yellowjackets-style.

Note: Eat Your Young by Hozier, for example, definitely isn't about sexy times covered in blood, it's about capitalism and the military-industrial complex. You'll be surprised to know in what context that song is used online though.

Coming back to the topic of vampirism, which interests me much less in its current conceptualization, many readers slam dunked on House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson because the vampiric entity is a) not named, and b) tied to an almost blatant allegory of slavery and indentureship (see also: The Wicked and The Willing by Lianyu Tan). Idk what's more concerning, the fact that some did not "realise" that the vampires were a colonialism motif, or the fact that people regarded the queer relationships in these books to be merely primal, sexy, slightly "toxic" erotic devotion fantasies, rather than the sinister imbalanced powerplay of sexual coercion between racialized servant and white master–in a Victorian Gothic novel, that is one step away from styling itself as a historical antebellum allegory!

I have also seen people calling more nuanced understandings of these books "puritanical". Everybody is horny and nothing should ever be divorced from Freud, ever again. It reminds me of the complete forgoing of understandings of racial dynamics when it comes to watching Interview with The Vampire (particularly the Louis x Armand dynamic of s2, and the antiblackness of *many* IWTV fans) or reading a literary fiction novel about biracial identity and heritage like Woman, Eating by Claire Kohda, which I talked about here.

It's fascinating, if not particularly surprising how people pick and choose for dominant group narratives which taboo topic is sexy now, and which one is altogether too discomforting to be interpreted in a different light. Anyway, I will talk more about this in my essay about the oversimplification of taboo. My point is, these stories are all good, interesting (if flawed) "taboo" or dark fictional narratives. But isn't it boring to apply a single, overdone yet simultaneously undercooked interpretation to all discomforting stories, when sometimes, the canon itself is lending to other readings? Why can't there be more avenues of interpretation and discussion beyond the endless train of "cannibalism blood incest judas iscariot dog motif obsessive love"?

[itstheghostofmypast]

Sick Leave

Mafia AU Choi San x (f) Wife Reader

Summary: Listening to your boss is important. Listening to your colleague is important, and most of all, listening to your WIFE is VITAL.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort- tinge of fluff

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Gore, Torture, strong language.

Word Count: 2.3k

Read Time: 11 min

Rating: PG- 17

Networks: @k-labels

A/N: I was supposed to post something else first, but then I had the URGE to write something like this. I hope ya'll like it! It has the much needed girlboss vibes.

"Did you find it?" The old man, Mr.Byun as he had introduced himself, huffed out a puff of smoke, smirking when the woman tied to the chair infront of him coughed, clenching her eyes shut to decrease the burning.

"The longer you take to give us his location, the longer you'll have to wait here," the lewd man leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the pretty potential toy tied up in front of him, "Trust me, being secretary of the year won't be worth it- I can't control my boys for so long, ya know."

With a soft sigh you opened your eyes and leaned back a bit, eyes flickering from the fat ugly manwhore to the space behind him, trying to gather intel for future plans. Honestly it pissed you off how you had decided to work over time and then had the tough luck of being kidnapped, honestly, could this night get any worse- oh yes, you wore a skirt today. Of all the days to be sick, that bastard had to take a sick leave today, did he ever listen to you? No.

Did he listen to you when you were explaining the coloured filing system? No, that's exactly why you were working late, trying to fix the atomic mess of his files. Did he listen to you when you had urged he wore warmer clothes? No, because his 'big built' was enough to keep him warm. Did he take you seriously when you had seriously advised him about the security risks? No, he had not, because 'My boys will handle it'. At this point, you were sure that once you were out of this mess, you'd rough up not only that bastard but his 'boys' too.

"How long have I been here for?"

Your tone was firm, yet composed enough to tick off the man before you, as you continued to look past him- honestly, ugly things were not your suit, you had always leaned towards prettier, more useful things, lifestyle, people- a more elegant aesthetic as you had tried to explain to him and his boys once all of you had begun to work together- a partnership you had offered when a certain mountain had caught your interest, the night you had barged into your brother's private clinic, demanding the reason behind his absence for a family dinner-, 'One must look elegant during the toughest of times'.

"Aw, doll, if you tell us where to find that bastard I'd be happy to let you go-"

"Your lack of intellectual back up and poor set up seems to be wasting my time, I charge per minute," You cut him off, crossing a leg over the other, "It's disappointing how you assumed to be on the same level as, well, me." You nodded towards the right of the space you were currently in, "You're all sloppy, that door isn't even locked-"

A loud slap echoed across the warehouse, followed by the thump of his chair. He was furious, the stubby man, standing above you stared you down with a kind of hatred you were all too used to, as your eyes flickered to meet his- he looked like a constipated bull. God, you should stop spending time with Wooyoung.

"Listen up bitch," his fingers gripped your hair, your once neatly combed back bun being brutally ruined, oh God, you'd have to take a long bubble bath after this. The thought of him running his greasy fingers through your soft locks irked you, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smirk, the tip of your tongue running over the cut on your freshly bruised lower lip, watching him continue his monologue.

"I don't know how much that bastard pays you or what he has on you but," his grip in your hair tightened, tugging you closer, your nose scrunching at the unpleasant odour- perhaps that was the last nail in the coffin.

A loud slash was heard, followed by the howl of the man who stumbled back, only for you to grip his collar and turn him around, kicking him behind the knee to have him topple over. A Cheshire like grin plastered on your face as you gripped the fowl thing by his hair, ensuring your nails dig into his skin, looking at all of his goons aiming at you.

"Sorry boys, but I don't like playing rough, especially with dirt," You shrugged, twirling the blade between your fingers, eyes flickering to the sound of a gun clock, the tip of your blade pinched the skin of the man who gasped, "You boys really should do your research."

Before anyone could react the doors burst open, and several gunshots echoed in the warehouse, you watched as one of the men ran towards you, only to be pulled back by his coat, you watched as he gasped up in horror at the sight of the man with blood dripping off his face, his extravagantly large fur coat hanging off his shoulders- no, no, this man did not come here in his pyjamas.

The supposed boss man watched in horror as the man they had been doing all of this for was busy abusing the assailant, stomping on his chest with no mercy, his knuckles digging into the fallen man's face before he picked him up by the collar, to get a better aim- he was going to do it. His signature, that's how you know this man had struck, each man in his team had a specific, blood curdling signature, a mark they'd leave behind. That's how you knew that Ateez was here, a general corporation, with the general capitalistic approach during the day, but a darker role during the night.

Kim Hongjoong would slice the corners of the lips, creating a joker like smile. Park Seonghwa was known to shoot right between the eyes. Out of all of them, he was the most merciful. Jeong Yunho, the sniper would shoot into one ear and out the other to kill, but his signature was his bursting bullet, one that he would intentionally shoot into a muscle and the bullet would burst releasing a painful toxin. Kang Yeosang's signature was equally gruesome, the beautiful Prince of a man would disfigure the face of his rivals, unlike the brute Song Mingi, who assumed his signature was unique, but as Jung Wooyoung claimed, 'busting knee caps ain't new, bro'. Which was an iconic statement to pass considering how he too would follow the similar route, but target the knuckles and the youngest, well, he just learnt from his big sister, one clean slice, though his splatter was nothing compared to the shower her slice was famous for, an ability that had their mountain of a man on his knees for her.

The loud crunch had the man recoil, only to wince when she poked his neck with the blade again, her grip on his hair tightening. He was waiting for his chance to overpower this sleazy secretary-

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO STAY IN BED!?"

Appalled at the tone, he glanced up at the woman who was glaring at the man before them, broad shoulders covered by the fur coat evidently slumping as he let go of the man with the punched in face-who was this woman?

"B-but I'm wearing something warm! I promise I took my medicine too before coming, and this coat is-"

"AND ARE YOU WEARING YOUR ANNIVERSARY GIFT?"

Anniversary? Wait, she was his wife?

"I am!" He smiled proudly, flailing it around, the dirt around him turning into a dust cloud, "My wife's so thoughtful! So smart and caring, this is the comfiest thing ever-"

"Too bad we'll have to burn it."

"Eh?"

Laughter broke out in the warehouse, a particular witch like cackle the loudest as Byun took this as an opportunity to escape. Pushing you backwards and turning to you, "YOU BITCH-"

San's eyes widened at the futile attempt of the pathetic man whom he pounced at, grabbing him by the back of his collar, holding him still, as his wife's arm flung in pure reflex, a slice so loud that all of them could feel her boiling anger, so much so that Mr.Choi who was holding the bleeding man forgot to let him go, holding him right infront of his wife- oh they were so going to get an earful afterwards.

What signed the deal was how you had managed to slice his neck, though he was facing you, and let's just say showering in a lowlife's blood is not how you wanted to end your Friday night. All of them stood there in horror, watching as you stood there, blood dripping off your face and onto your stained clothes, oh no- Choi San was a dead man and all of them knew that when they sprung into action once their boy dropped the body, stepping over it to run to his wife, "I am so sorry-"

Your raised hand stopped him in his tracks, only for him to crouch to his knees, beside you, and rubbed your back soothingly when you began to hurl out your dinner. Everyone around you runs around to clean up and prepare to evacuate.

"Here," Jongho, who was now standing beside his sister who was still vomiting, handed his brother in law a packet of wet wipes, knowing very well how she'd now have to go for a fullscreen checkup too, isn't she lucky her brother's a doctor?

"Thanks man," San mumbled, not taking his eyes off you for a second, he had been feeling guilty all night, and now he just felt worse than before, not only did his sick leave have you kidnapped, he had noticed the cut on your lip and the bruise on your soft cheek the moment he had arrived, but his brute ways had put you in more danger- his pretty, precious doll who loved cleanliness a bit too much, ironic how this was your choice of work.

His eyes softened when you stopped, gasping for air as you tilted your head up, flinching when you felt the cold, damp cotton of the wipe on your cheek, this better have been a disinfectant too. He gave you a gentle smile when you met his tender gaze, though his fingers were busy cleaning up your face and neck, "I'm sorry..." he whispered before slamming you into his chest, causing you to gasp at the force.

"S-stop it! You idiot! You'll get blood all over the coat!" You struggled against him, feeling his arms around you tightened, his hair tickling your face when he shook his head, burying his face in your neck, causing you to sigh. "You're sick... your immunity is already low. You didn't need to come with them tonight... I would've been fine, Sannie."

The man silently stood up, not before pulling you up in the process, only to toss you over his shoulder, ignoring your screech, and how you were hitting his back with your fists,"Let's go home." He declared ensuring to step on the face of the man who had led a poor husband who was on sick leave to come save his wife, who was technically his world- and world bank, the financer of Ateez, the person who, all of them could blindly rely on, especially Hongjoong, considering his management system was not the best before she had arrived.

The crunch caused her to slap his back, barking at him to let her go, only for him to playfully slap her bottom, giggling when he felt his wive scream, "I'LL BLOODY KILL YOU!"

Would you really, though? No, you'd just have him take you to the tub, let you enjoy a good soak, and knowing him, he'd dive into the tub like it was personal pool, either way you knew the rest would handle everything else, you trusted them with your life, you trusted him with your life. Especially when he gently let you down and sat you in the back seat, smiling at you like the goof he was behind closed doors, "I'd kiss you but I don't want you to get sick."

"I think we're way past that precaution, Mr.Choi."

He giggled at your response, pushing you further onto the seat as he closed the door behind him, the driver who was already on the other side of the partition began to drive as soon as he heard the door close, knowing not to disturb them.

.

Bonus:

Yeosang looked at the bodies and shook his head, "Eleven men to kidnap a single woman?" He mumbled before kicking a body, then glancing at Wooyoung, who was on his phone, "What are you doing?"

Wooyoung glanced up at him and snorted, "Maybe if you checked the group chat, you would've known."

Jongho snatched his phone and shoved it in his pocket, "Stop placing stupid bets, she's your boss, no?"

A static voice rang in their ear piece, "Oh please, you're not the one driving a hazardous couple," Yunho narrated, "I'm just saying, she's gonna be on sick leave for a day or two at this rate."

Mingi, who was staring at Byun's disfigured face, mumbled to himself, "Knowing how riled up San was, I wouldn't be surprised if she takes a maternity leave."

"Good God, shut up all of you!" An exasperated voice rang in their ears, "I am in no mood of this shit, hurry up, clean up so we can head back to the base, it's bad enough San's sick, we don't need her getting sick aswell!" Hongjoong who tossed an empty gun aside yelled as he walked out of the warehouse, followed by a collected Seonghwa who just shrugged, "Don't worry guys, he's just afraid our World Bank and perfectionist filer will be on sick leave for a while."

The gang collective laughed at their leader, who just groaned in response about to retort when they heard,

"San's asleep, and I heard all of you, expect to see a massive cut in this month's salary. Mrs.Choi out."

Oh, they really should have known better, Mrs.Choi wasn't the nicest when it came to the health of her precious Mr.Choi.

[burdigel]

So one of the most lore-indepth wildcards of Wild Life would be the superpowers that relates past seasons of the Life Series and acknowledges other series (eg. Hermitcraft and Evo) and their personal lore to attribute to each participant's power.

Starting alphabetically,

Bdubs power is essentially all related to time and his ability to manipulate the day cycle expentially. With the clock being his main motif across all Life Series, the ability to slow and speed time according to his will is easily solvable but with the inclusion of the Hermitcraft and Empires crossover event, his ability to speed time according to his sleep schedule becomes another layer deep. Besides the clock being a main symbol for Bdubs, the concept of sleep is another that has essentially been from the beginning of Hermitcraft. Always carrying a bed and sleeping whenever. The Empires crossover Bdubs was framed as a god of sorts of the Sun. Always bright and always there when the Sun remained as its brightest.

Bigb can summon creaking. He creaking. He is like a king or dimplomant to the players who invade their home and they view him as their kin so he has the responsibility and power to summon them.

Ethoslab based of Kakashi from Naruto is by definition a ninja. An escapee or fugitive at best. So with his ability to jump higher boosted by wind charges can be explained by his connection to the shonen series and the inclusion of the mace could be chalked up to typically stories of protagonists gaining resources or inventory to defeat the "Big Bad" or achieve some sort of goal that is to win the Life Series.

GeminiTay or GeminiSlay named by others intimidated by her, has slayed each participant brutally in the Life Series and on Hermitcraft rewarding her the reputation from her immense PvP skills. So with her power of astral projection, it acts retribution for the slayed to talk and apologise or instigate to those dead for her or others benefit.

GoodTimeWithScar is nortorious for being not PG friendly so the inclusion of one of his powers been the ability to ride people, it's self explanatory. Yet as Scar is commonly associated with and as a vex, his other powers of extreme knockback and thorns can be explained by the hostile and aggressivness of the mob.

Grian as essentially the grandmaster or orchestrator of the Life Series would have access to all the powers and mimic but not fully copy the others' powers. Yet because of his power chained by an omnipresent force, he's unable to fully copy the powers but imitate them for only short periods of time.

ImpulseSV and his teleportation powers could derive from his cyber-theme aesthetic for his Hermitcraft Season X base. With most series of fictions based around cyberpunk civilisations, technologies like teleporation and other advanced transportational devices are commonly utilsed. Resulting in Impulse's power of teleportation and the ability to swap the position of another with himself.

Martyn power is boosted hearing cause he's a Listener.

So Lizzie or LDShadowLady's inflicts blindless or a shadow upon the surrounding people in her radius and resulting her in temporary invisibility and blindess to others around her. But from her endless descent into the void in Secret Life, arises Lizzie with trails of the void clinging to grasp the light of the overworld. Causing the void remnants to spread to others and infect them with blindness in all for the hope to spread towards the light from the cold world of the End.

With the ability to fly, PearlescentMoon carries aesthetics relating to Greek mythology in both her powers and external design choices. As one of the Postmasters of Hermitcraft, Pearl is essentially the builder and additional redstone help of the trio for the postoffice and other aesthetic designs. Hermes the herald or messenger of the Olympus gods delievers messages to other celestial dieties and mortals similar to Pearl's jobs as a Postmaster. Other than the similar professions, both Pearl and Hermes wear a petasos which is essentially a wide-brimmed hat that is commoly adorned for shade and for Hermes, additional wings to the sides of the hat. Symbolising their shared ability to fly quickly and efficiently for a purpose.

As RentheDog is commonly interpreted as a dog-hybrid of sorts by the Hermitcraft and Life Series community, his ability to splice and copy the DNA of others to match their appearance could be an aftermath or positive side-effect from his hybrid mutation.

Similar to Ren, Scott has the capability to transform into any mob in sight and similar to Limited Life where he was depicted as a siren as part of the Mean Gills. His ability to shape-shift into any mob regardless if it's passive or aggressive could be similar to his mutliple origins from New Life SMP and Origin SMP and the reflect the changing nature of his powers.

So Joel with essentially triple jump could be hinting his slimely origins of his Shrek skin in the swamp. Where the swamp generally spawns slimes at a higher rate than other slime chunks and slime blocks harvested from the slimes can be used as jump boosts. Resulting in the triple jump.

After just breaking the Canary Curse two seasons ago, SolidarityGaming or Jimmy has the power to turn fully invisible until someone or something damages him. Ever since his debut to the Watchers back in Evo, Jimmy has been under constant surveillance by the Watchers as an object of their amusement. Always failing to reach even the finale and fumbling to keep alive. Yet when he broke the curse and relayed it too another, he was discarded. Seen invisible to the Watchers as he had become an object of boredom by reaching his resolution. So that's where his invisibility comes from.

Tango with his cowardly approach to things, has constantly ran away from situations but with this power, it supercharges his speed allowing him to become part of the fight and conflict instead of running away. And with his ability to frost-walk on ice, it could recall his Season 9's skin back when he was the Dungeon Master in Decked Out II and became an icy persona.

ZombieCleo and resurect dead people as she's a reanimated zombie.

----

part 32

im tired

[risuola]

▶ BRUTALLY HONEST — when Satoru asked you for a rather unusual favor.

contents: silly Satoru, college+roommates!au, suggestive, humorous (??), male anatomy in brief detail, reader discretion is advised — wc. 934

a/n: ok, this part is... a little more into 18+ territory but still keeping it light and friendly between the trio. a crack if you will, let's all appreciate the stupid boy Satoru.

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“Question!”

The moment Satoru stepped into the room, you could tell from the look on his face — the typical mischief twisting his features into a caricature of innocence — that there’s something going on his mind that you may or may not want to know.

“Yes?” You encouraged carefully, flipping your eyes back onto the stack of papers in your hands. Notes, that you wished would transfer their contents onto your brain before you fail tomorrow’s test.

“I have the most random question– a favor, actually and you have to bear with me.”

“Hit me.” You were ready for–

“How many dicks you saw in your life?” –well, not that. “Real life, real dudes, that is. Not porn.”

You blinked.

Once, twice. The air seemed a little thicker than just a moment before and you shouldn’t be surprised. Satoru is unpredictable, he’s vibrant, he’s straight to the point most of the time, but that took you a moment.

“Can you repeat the question?”

“Dicks. Penises, cocks–“

“Yeah, okay, I got that.” You cut him quickly, abandoning the idea of studying and now paying him your entire attention. “You have to give me some context, Toru.”

“I’m curious if you girls have a preference? Speaking about aesthetics. Do you, like, judge the look of a dick?”

“Has anyone made you insecure about the look of your dick or what is it about?” You asked, confused, though confusion would be an understatement to describe the state of your mind now.

“I don’t know, no one said anything but, uh–“ Satoru began, shrugging nonchalantly, but there was a subtle uneasiness hidden underneath his lighthearted tone that you could spot with no mistake. “Every time I am with someone, they look at it as if they saw a ghost and most often it gets me down before the party begins, so it made me wonder.”

You put down the notes, abandoning the hopes and dreams about a good grade tomorrow and your fingers found their way to the bridge of your nose, pinching it — a typical gesture when you tried to collect your thoughts.

“I highly doubt any part of you could not be appealing, Toru. Even your feet are pretty—”

“Irrelevant. So, I’m asking do you have enough picture storage in your head to compare or do girls even pay attention to the looks of a dick?”

“Well, yeah, I guess? I mean, I received a fair share of unwanted dick picks, I’d say I know how a cock look like… But I don’t know, I think the judgement happens automatically,” you said, exhaling. “I think I saw once a very unimpressive dick. The rest was rather similar, I suppose—”

“What do you mean by unimpressive?”

“God, that’s embarrassing. It was my first partner, you probably don’t even know him, but the guy had at max two inches, which is fine as long as you can work with it, but he lasted less than ten seconds and on top of that he was hairy like a gorilla what probably took an entire inch off his length.”

“Wait, you had a hairy gorilla boyfriend and we don’t know about it?”

“It wasn’t my boyfriend, we didn’t even end up having sex. It doesn’t matter, okay?”

“We’ll get back to this, but now, dicks.” Satoru got closer and kneeled on the bed. “So, the favor. Can you be honest? Like, brutally, 100% honest?”

“Honest about wha— Wait, you want me to judge your dick?”

“Yeah?” He looked at you with the pleading expression in his blue eyes, his voice got whiny for a moment and you really wished to flick his forehead right now. “Please? No other girl will be as honest as you and Suguru is not really the respectable source of knowledge about the issue.”

“Christ, okay.”

You agreed.

You said okay, but for some reason it still shocked you when Satoru, instead of talking like he usually does, pulled his sweats down. Looking away was your first reaction. You felt like you shouldn’t be looking, but he literally just asked you to judge, so you slowly allowed your eyes to run down his body, leaving his handsome face and landing finally on the now free manhood, and oh boy, there was a lot to analyze.

The word pretty usually wouldn’t be your first choice when talking about penises. They were usually very similar, more often than not unimpressive and overall uninteresting, but Gojo… He was just that. Pretty. Incredibly long, and girthy too, covered in light skin with the baby pink head. He looked heavy, mouthwatering, like a dessert of sorts. The set of veins spread from below his stomach and wrapped around the shaft. He was mostly clean shaven, with just the tiniest happy trail of white hairs that against his light body was just barely visible.

“And?” He reminded you why you are even taking in the view. “Brutally honest, please.”

“You know what… I really, really hate giving a head, but that dick I’d suck for hours. It actually makes me salivate, you’re fucking pretty Satoru. I don’t get your concern,” you told him, finally looking away and getting your thoughts together, forcing them together. Why was it so hot all of the sudden? “If they look oddly, that’s probably because you’re fucking huge. Christ–”

“It makes you wanna give me a head?” He grinned, obviously catching onto the words you said when you weren’t thinking clearly.

“Hold your horses and pull those pants up. You have nothing to worry about, you’re gorgeous from head to toe, you idiot.”

taglist: @kibananya, @r0ckst4rjk, @rixo-19, @soraya-daydreams, @hyun0200, @ilykii, @roscpctals99, @mushkasstuff, @siimp4youu, @juicedcherry, @themoreeviltwin, @stevenknightmarc, @ms5m1th

[margaretkart]

Greek myth retellings: The cracks are finally showing

So, here we are, years into the trend of "feminist" Greek myth retellings, and the shine is finally wearing off.

Hypocrisy in the Name of Feminism

Many of these retellings claim to be empowering, but is it really empowering to flatten every female character into the same tragic, trauma-filled archetype? Trauma becomes the only defining trait. And while trauma is real and valid, it's often used in these books for shock value, not to explore depth or growth. Meanwhile, all men (gods or mortals) are reduced to villains, as if that's the only way to make a woman "strong." It’s lazy writing hiding behind a moral statement.

Cultural erasure as progressiveness

A lot of these stories don’t feel like they’re written to honor Greek culture, they feel like they’re using it. Ancient Greece becomes a vague backdrop for a modern Western agenda. Gods and customs are rewritten with no respect for how they actually worked in Greek myth or history.

Exploited system

What’s especially frustrating is how these overrated retellings are constantly pushed by publishers, book clubs, social media, and influencers. Meanwhile, actual thoughtful or culturally grounded myth-inspired works get buried.

Quantity over quality

Writers often rely on assault, death, and betrayal to generate emotion instead of building complex characters. Women are traumatized. Men are evil. Repeat. And when people call it out, the defense is always: "Well, ancient Greece was brutal!" Sure, it was, but life wasn't black and white and myths weren’t only brutal. They were poetic, symbolic, layered. There was tragedy, comedy, redemption, catharsis. That all gets lost.

Exploiting Greek culture for clout

Here’s the harsh truth: Greek myths are trending because they sell. But instead of uplifting Greek voices or engaging with the myths respectfully, publishers just push the same formulaic trauma story with a different goddess slapped on the cover. It’s aesthetic colonization with a pastel palette.

[ocea1cperl]

Honey, Honey - GC (George Clarke) pt2, real life

George Clarke never even knew Lando Norris had a sister. well. that was until he was called to do karting alongside Quadrant. George Clarke x norris!oc Lando Norris x sister!oc| !!Warnings! Explicit language, Lando being a pest, Lando practically degrading himself, lmk if I missed any!!! | Personal warning! I'm from Aus, so if this isn't how British people say certain things that's why!! (I'm just going off what i've seen online, aka, ChrisMD videos, Sidemen, Arthur Hill... ect...)

────────────୨ৎ──────────── When Solane Norris got back from a brutal brand trip in New York City—with a bunch of influencer mates, half of whom were clearly just there to cosy up to her because of her brother—she was almost offended to see the man himself waiting for her at Heathrow.

When Lando had texted saying he’d pick her up, she didn’t actually think he meant it. Classic Lando, doing the most when he needed a favour.

She knew exactly what he was doing, too—playing the good brother card so she’d film some content for him. Whether it was for his YouTube or Quadrant (which, let’s be honest, had grown way past just being an Esports team), she wasn’t sure.

Solane let out a quiet groan, not loud enough to attract any attention, as she dragged her two bulky suitcases across the pedestrian crossing. She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

He didn’t say a word—just popped the boot. Didn’t even offer to lift a single bag.

With a deadpan look, she slid into the passenger seat of his flashy Lamborghini Urus. Which was weird, considering he lived in Monaco now. Either it was new, rented, or—god forbid—he had it shipped over. She really hoped it wasn’t that last one.

“Did you close the back properly?” Lando asked.

“Yes, click and everything,” she muttered.

Lando nodded and pulled out of the parking spot, merging smoothly into traffic.

The car was quiet for a solid five minutes as they headed back to Solane’s flat—just the hum of the engine and the occasional blinker ticking.

“Can you film the Quadrant karting video, please?” Lando mumbled, so softly Solane almost missed it.

“Whyyyyy?” she groaned, sinking lower into the seat like it might help her disappear.

“Becauseeee,” he whined back, glancing at her with a cheeky grin.

“Please, it’ll be fun, promise.”

“Nothing’s fun when Max Fewtrell is there,” she shot back without missing a beat.

“That’s not true—he’s heaps of fun!” Lando argued.

“Stop defending your boyfriend. He’s a moody little bitch.”

“First of all, he is NOT my boyfriend. And second, you just don’t like him 'cause he likes me better than you. And clearly, the man’s got taste.”

“You’re right about one thing—I don’t like him because he prefers you. Everything else you just said is absolute nonsense.” “Everything I say is true,” Lando scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk.

“That’s very debatable,” Solane shot back.

“But seriously, I need someone to record. On camcorder. Gotta get those aesthetic shots—and as much as it pains me to say this, you’ve actually got decent photography skills.”

“Well, I bloody hope so, considering that’s what I went to uni for.”

“I forget you even went to uni half the time.”

“Clearly. You almost missed my graduation.”

“I did go!”

“Barely.”

“You were an hour late, Lando.”

“Yeah, well, that graduation cost me media day for whatever race was on that weekend. Got a fat fine for it too.”

“Oh, boohoo.”

“Mate, it was like twenty grand, just to watch you cross a stage and get handed a tiny piece of paper in a glass frame.”

“I’ve had to watch you step onto a podium and collect useless trophies for years.”

“They’re not useless! They come with bonuses.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fair enough then. Keep getting podiums.”

“Oh, such inspiring words. I would love to get back-to-back podiums if I wasn’t so average.”

“You did last year—and you’re not average, Lan. You’re actually a bloody good driver.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my sister.”

“Maybe. But it’s still true.”

“Anyway, we’re getting side-tracked... again,” Lando huffed, trying to steer the convo back.

“Please, please, pleaaaase record for me,” he begged, dragging the words out.

“Alright, calm down, Sabrina Carpenter,” Solane teased.

“Shut up,” Lando grumbled — and, like fate was messing with him, 15 Minutes by Sabrina Carpenter started playing through the speakers.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” he started, but was cut off by Solane absolutely losing it next to him, laughing so hard she nearly doubled over.

Lando just rolled his eyes and reached for the volume knob, turning it down until the music was barely a whisper.

“Anyway,” he muttered, trying not to smile, “can you please, pretty please, with a cherry on top—and free paddock passes to any race you wanna go to this year—record the Quadrant video for me?” He flashed her a wide, desperate grin that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

Solane raised a brow. “Are you actually gonna follow through on that? Any race?”

“Yes! When have I ever lied to you and broken a promise?”

“...Like half of our childhood,” she deadpanned.

“We were kids! That doesn’t count!”

“You still break promises now,” she muttered, looking out the window. “But fine. As long as I get tickets to whatever races I want.”

“That’s all it took?”

“Yeah.”

“The bar is in hell.”

“Trust me, I know,” Solane sighed.

[charseraph]

what do your tags mean?

#pink aesthetic — Definition.

#destinations — Surreal scenes and backdrops, both visual and written, implied and explicitly described, varying degrees of abstract.

#ambiguous in a 🌅 kind of way — Glowing and dark forms, presences, and structures.

#fashion — Objects worn by humanity. Clothing, accessories, tattoos, vehicles, weapons, book sleeves, and certain architecture. Graphics that could be used as textile or inspiration for an avant-garde fashion line.

#shoes that can and will kill you: viewer or wearer — Novel shoes or forms that could inspire shoe design. Killing is defined both as injury and awe.

#returnful — Heartache and longing.

#speakerbreaker — Cybersigilism, aggrogoth, anothergraphic.org type text distortion. Frequent chrome and glassy material.

#proctor godlike — Posts that embody the attitude or appearance of or about proctor gods, benevolent but ominous overseers/representatives/indicators of some aspect of reality.

#bad endinglike — Posts that capture an aspect of Bad Ending, my horror sci fi setting. Military aircraft, skinned animals, dark buildings, strange technology, fuzzy and sharp graphs and censors, black and white.

#sundownlike — Posts that capture an aspect of Sundown, my setting in the distant future where most stars have died and all organic sophonts have gone extinct. Dark expanses, white circles, faint stars, thin lines, black sand.

#boalike — Posts that reflects one of four ideas of my setting BOA: machines that could be sentient, how humans would interact with sentient machines, how they would be depicted in art, and the complexity and colors of a theoretical BOA diagram.

#crownlike — What crown fashion, technology, architecture, and sentiments look like. Snowy deserts, pale and black brutalism, fashion, and electronics, blotchy calligraphic asemic, puffer material, solid primary color shapes.

#boxkitelike — Same for boxkites. Graphics like dewy spider webs. Clashing colors. Blobs and radial symmetry.

#towerlike — Same for towers. Dense rectangular repetitive monochrome graphics and jaxlike forms.

#trumpetlike — Same for trumpets. Smooth red and unfocused organic noise.

#wardlike — Same for wards. Inhospitable brutalism, foggy grasslands, and concrete tubes.

#unnamed supercomputer — What a Humans of New York style compendium of random seedlets (sophont AI) in my optimistic sci-fi setting would look like.

#lovecore — Posts that exhibit or inspire love.

#I look like this — Personal aesthetic.

@speakerbroke Aesthetic blog that compiles the best of speakerbreaker, ambiguous, I look like this, and the like.

[arabella0001]

Don't forget the archangel of death! Reader × Sasuke fic!! Thanks!!

cn: obsession, suggestive, fluff

fandom: naruto

pairing: sasuke uchiha x archangel reader 𓌹*♰*𓌺

┈─┈─┈─

Archangels of death are not necessarily evil, as their duties often bring about good—such as the destruction of sinners.

Dwelling in the Third Heaven, you do not interact directly with sinners except at their final stage, when they are at their weakest.

Each of the archangels was given, from the moment of their creation, the register of all humankind.

Your mother, Lady 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍, was the second oldest female archangel and the second female angel ever created—one of the oldest and most powerful beings in the entire universe, along with your father.

Together, they blessed you with immense power and mastery over death magic, which you channel through your gleaming white scythe. You possess superhuman strength, speed, endurance, heightened senses, and great wings as white as bone that let you soar or shield against any attack with ease.

Upon this world, you’ve taken a human form—one that appears young, vibrant, and striking, as if in your mid-twenties.

Your angular jawline, prominent cheekbones, and small nose give you an exotic, almost unearthly beauty—especially when paired with your large, mesmerizing eyes, a swirling blend of blue, grey, and green.

Ironically, your chosen clothing contradicts your grim purpose—white, ethereal, gothic robes.

You began your work as the angel of death, guiding souls to either Heaven or Hell.

But you made a choice. A small obsession sparked once your consciousness connected to Earth.

The Uchiha Clan.

You’ve watched the Uchiha Clan for centuries—immortal, eternal, ever-present. An old spirit, lingering.

But your obsession was far from innocent. Their eyes fascinated you deeply—their evolution, the meaning behind each stage, the ways they were earned.

The last Uchiha soul you claimed was Itachi. Itachi Uchiha.

You always admired his unpredictable choices—his complex morality. The fact that you were the only one who truly knew the full truth about him thrilled you.

But he had to die. Even angels of death cannot excuse such brutality, no matter the reason.

And so only one remained.

Sasuke Uchiha.

You’re forbidden to focus on one soul above all others. But your thoughts always return to him.

It’s such a shame.

The way his childhood twisted into something far darker than any young mind should endure.

He intrigued you. Too much—for an angel’s mind. You blame your obsession with his bloodline for that.

So you stopped observing from afar. And God alone knows that you—unsolicited—interacted with him. Just once. Not long before Itachi’s end.

𓆩♱𓆪

Sasuke Uchiha.

A raven-haired man with a heart-shaped face—the most aesthetically perfect facial structure you’ve ever seen. Even science would confirm the harmony of his beauty.

You were instantly captivated by his onyx, hypnotic gaze.

And he… was captivated too.

He was hidden deep within Orochimaru’s sinister lair, obsessively training. The only thing keeping his fractured mind from collapse.

Orochimaru’s near-sadistic experiments—the serpent who derailed Sasuke’s path, using his body as currency—had begun to take a toll on his sanity.

So when he finally collapsed from exhaustion, landing face-up toward the heavens, his burning eyes found yours.

Something was wrong.

Your undetectable presence made no sense—he couldn’t sense an ounce of chakra from you.

You hadn’t moved yet, but your overwhelming presence kept even him—Sasuke—frozen in place. And your appearance didn’t help. He felt like he was dreaming.

Your unreadable face softened into a gentle expression. You smiled genuinely at him.

“Some days are rougher than others, right?”

Sasuke blinked. Once. Then again.

You’re real.

He stood up in a swift, defensive motion, stepping back warily. His voice cold, detached.

“Who are you?”

You chuckled. Sasuke didn’t want to admit it, but he had never heard a voice like yours—so soft, so disarming.

“Just someone passing through,” you said, then continued before he could respond. “I like to think I can sense when someone needs help.”

Is she a lunatic? Alluring and insane? Figures.

He didn’t answer that, mirroring your energy.

“How did you find this place?”

You began walking slowly, every step quiet and measured to show you meant no harm.

“I like wandering where people rarely go.”

Sasuke’s irritation began to rise.

“It’s protected—sealed perfectly with chakra.”

You blinked at him, then revealed your intent.

“Is your soul at peace, when your mind is driven by poison and obsession?”

Your footsteps were steady as you approached him.

He’s even more beautiful up close.

Your fingers traced the edge of his cheek ever so softly.

Sasuke didn’t move. Something about your energy made his knees weak. It immobilized him. All he could do was stare into your piercing eyes and your unforgettable face.

You stepped back slightly, folding your hands behind your back and pacing thoughtfully around him.

Sasuke watched you from the corner of his eye, still feeling the ghost of your touch. He hated being touched. But yours was so light, it sent a shiver down his spine.

“The curse you carry will soon erode your logic,” you said. “But the guidance I offer comes with no price.” You paused, locking eyes with him. “Except for one thing.”

“What makes you think I’d ever need your help?” Sasuke scoffed, arms crossed. “What do you want? Everyone wants something.”

“I want you to show me the power of your eyes.”

He turned sharply, annoyed. “What?”

But you stepped into his space again, holding that same warm, enigmatic smile.

“To manipulate reality and escape death… such power shouldn’t exist. And yet it does. But it’s not your most terrifying gift. I want to see your divine eyes—the ones that see the truth of creation—turned on me.”

Sasuke’s eyes widened.

You’re definitely insane.

“Genjutsu?” he asked dryly, clearly irritated. “Why the hell would anyone ask for that?”

“Not anyone. Not a person.”

Sasuke’s thoughts blanked. He said nothing. Just stared at you.

Then paced, trying to shake you from his mind.

But you were already carved into it.

He was sure he’d never forget you. And he wasn’t stupid—he knew he wasn’t escaping this encounter any time soon.

“Why would you want to help me? With what?” he muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t need it.”

You looked strangely human in that moment, leaning back against the stone behind you, grounded.

“You’re interesting.”

That threw him off. His heart gave a strange flicker. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even know why he was sizing you up.

“I don’t want to harm you. And if you think I’m trying to use you, you’re mistaken. I won’t interfere with your destiny.”

Destiny? Yeah. He’s definitely losing it soon.

And then it was Sasuke who surprised you.

He stepped forward, cornering you into the stone, his shadow falling over your body entirely.

“What. Do. You. Want. From. Me.”

“Choose the path that hurts more,” you said quietly. “Use your pain. Let it fuel your soul and break the curse of hatred in your bloodline.”

Sasuke stared at your face, trying to absorb what you were saying.

Before he could speak, you cupped his pale cheek with your right hand. Your touch sent a warm, electric shock through his whole body, weakening him.

His hand lifted to yours—gently, more tender than you expected.

Your eyes locked, drowning in each other.

His Sharingan glowed visibly in his tear-shaped eyes, a tomoe spinning gently around his pupil. His eyes shifted once.

You felt your energy briefly ripple—but you remained still. Playing along with his genjutsu, pretending you couldn’t move.

His stoic mask cracked, studying you this close. He hoped he wouldn’t see you again—because he doubted he could resist you a second time. His gaze flicked to your lips.

Then you smiled.

His eyes widened.

You placed your hand over his, still resting on your arm—your grip tightening slightly.

“Again,” you whispered, your eyes lowering slowly to his lips and back.

Sasuke felt like his primal, survival instincts were being forcibly silenced. He didn’t understand what was happening.

You said you weren’t a person. Then what were you? And what did you want with his eyes?

“W–why?” he asked, shocked by how hoarse and quiet his voice was.

“Because they’re beautiful.”

They’re what?

He frowned, annoyed. Then withdrew his hand.

His red pinwheel spun again. He felt goosebumps rise across his body.

“Who are you?”

A ripple between realms began to form around you both—but you shattered it with ease, like it was nothing. Just teasing him.

He didn’t respond.

Your smile widened.

Ah… his ancient bloodline energy feels good to you.

How interesting.