#[and that includes jonathan muses]

[noxturnallyevermore]

I just spent way too long staring at zodiac signs and I still haven't come to any conclusions on what I headcanon everyone's signs to be

Thing is, I know nobody cares about zodiac signs anymore, I just wanted to come up with headcanon birthdays 😭😭😭

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Once you return with the tea, you’re shut out. You’re thankful for the moment of isolation. More and more you enjoy the time when you are alone. When there is no expectation. 

When you were locked up, you always had to be on, always had to be ready. Either a guard was coming to flip your cell or someone else was scoping out what little you. As your mind wands, you can’t help but trace along the scar which marked a fight over your coveted commissary cupcakes.  

You exhale and scroll down the document on filing expenses. You’ll need that for all those transactions at the cafe. An airy sort of disbelief clouds you as you try to focus. How things have changed. Now you can simply go buy a dessert and walk out unscathed. To think you survived like that for so long makes you feel even smaller in this fancy office. 

You have to break that mind set. You have to move on. You can prove everyone right. Not again. Your family, your teachers, your friends. Now, Mr. Laufeyson too. You will not back slide. 

When the door opens, you flinch and glance over. Pine exits first, trailed by your boss. The blond glances over and dips his chin slightly, “it was a pleasure meeting you.” He drawls as he approaches the door. He pauses to peek back at Laufeyson, “about time you got some help. I might actually get my books balanced on time this year.” 

“Very nice seeing you, Jonathan,” Laufeyson shoos him with his long fingers. “Perhaps if you didn’t insist on meandering.” 

Pine snorts, “good luck to you, darling.” He gives a two-fingered salute and lets himself out. You look at the laptop and highlight a paragraph to add to the image of your concentration. 

“Well, you sure do put on quite the front, as your ilk might phrase it,” Laufeyson says as the door clicks shut. He turns and sits on the edge of your desk. 

“Sir, I’m doing my job,” you assure him and look up from the screen. “Is there anything else I should be doing?” 

Your hand rests on the mouse. His eyes scour the desk and he clucks. You wince as suddenly he reaches for you. You form a fist with your other hand as he seizes your wrist. He squints down at the rigid line across the back. 

“This looks like quite the accident,” he muses. 

“Sir,” you tug gently. Your heart pounds behind your ribs. Before, if someone touched you without warning, you’d crack them in the jaw. This isn’t then. This isn’t prison. 

He hums and lets you go, “oh yes, I’m sure you have been through a rather turbulent time. This must all be very dull to you.” 

“It’s calm,” you assure him and rescind your hand, hiding it in your other. 

“And you surprisingly so,” he stands and tuts. You watch him stride around the office. “There is one other meeting today. I expect the same courtesy.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. 

He sniffs and spins on his heel. He marches through his office door and your frown. It’s as if he’s taunting you, even baiting you, into misbehaving. But why? Doesn’t he need help? Is that not why he hired you? 

You go back to your review, switching to the inbox as a new inquiry dings in. As you draft your response, a knock interrupts you typing. You clear your throat and stand up. You open the door and your voice clogs in your throat as you reveal a familiar face. 

“Dina,” you blink at your parole officer. 

“Hiya,” she smiles at you. Her blush-laden cheeks and fake lashes are deceiving, along with her rose-coloured jacket and skirt set. “Look at you, dearie, all proper.” 

She squeezes your shoulder and you hold back a growl. People are so touchy outside. Inside, they know better. 

“What are you...” you crane to see the clock on the wall. “I’m not late.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for you. Well, I am but I’m not,” she waves off your worry. “I’m here to chat with Mr. Laufeyson. I find it helpful to review parole conditions with employers.” 

“Uh, right. Yes. I’ll get him,” you back up and welcome her in. She giggles as she steps inside, her eyes flicking up and down. 

“So good to see you trying, dearie.” 

Her cheerful tone grinds on your nerves. She puts on this octave that tweaks in your ears. A mask over her true self. Before you came back with your letter of offer, she was threatening to put you back into gen-pop. 

You go to Laufeyson’s door and tap gently, “sir, your next meeting.” 

There’s a lull before he appears. You back up as he steps through and he slithers toward the pink balloon of a woman floating around. He extends his hand. “Diana, was it?” 

“Dina,” she faces him and her eyes round. “Oh, my, aren’t you a specimen,” she trills and shakes his hand. 

“Dina, apologies, thank you for coming. Might I offer you a refreshment? Coffee? Tea?” He says. You fight not to roll your eyes as you foresee another trip to the cafe. 

“Oh, no, it’s afternoon, no caffeine for me,” she insists. “But thank you, Mr. Laufeyson, you are a gentleman.” She releases his hand. “And so tall. Look at you.” She fans herself and you cringe as you stand trapped against the wall opposite your desk. 

“Shall we?” He angles as he gestures to his office. 

“Oh, happily,” she bounces forward. You watch without a word. Laufeyson turns to follow, his smile falling into a rather derisive expression as he eyes her ringlets. They are a bit young for someone her age. 

He shuts the door after him as she makes some comment about the decor. You shuffle back to your desk and sit. You’re a bit peeved. He could have warned you it was Dina. No, that would be too considerate. 

You roll your chair to the desk and run your finger over the space bar. It would be far more prudent to have a machine, or at least a kettle in office. Perhaps that could be a project for you. You could draw up an estimate of the cost against the price of the repetitive cafe purchases. The initiative might just break through the ice of Laufeyson’s ego. 

💼

There was a routine in prison. Meal times, bed time, it was all the same; it was everything in between that was unpredictable. Would you be sleeping in your bunk or in solitary? 

The days turned thoroughly dull. You're not mad about it. You like the slowly building sense of security. That peace only punctured by vivid dreams and noisy neighbours. 

It's pay day. Your first. You expect a chunk to be missing due to the advance but you've budgeted it all out. As you do your time; all according to boldly defined borders. 

You get out of work and go straight home. Dina checks in to make sure you're not out without reason and she's sure to do so frequently. She keeps asking about Mr. Laufeyson, likely to determine if you're doing well. You think you are. 

You take the early bus. That way you get there with time to spare. You sit on the bench outside the building to eat your overnight oats. You have an earbud in as you listen to a podcast about an old reality show they always put on in prison. You didn't really like it but it became a pasttime anyhow. 

As you swallow the pasty oats, you ponder whether you should add more cinnamon or sugar. You try not to go overboard with the latter. You push your tongue through the mouthful as soles tap closer. The men in their suits and women in their cleancut dresses sift into the building with pricey briefcases and branded coffee cups. 

"Ahem," the pointed leather toes turn and stop before you. 

You look up and swallow. You hide your mouth as you lick your lips. "Mr. Laufeyson. Good morning," you greet. 

"Waiting on me?" He tilts his head. 

"Um, no. Just eating my breakfast." You stir the oats. 

"Outside?" 

"It's... a nice morning," you shrug. 

"Suppose," he mutters. "Well, if you would like to come inside..." 

"I'll be on time," you assure him. 

He narrows his eyes before he goes. You bite your cheek and eye the half-finished container. You feel guilty. You twist the lid on and wipe the spoon clean with a tissue and tuck it all in your bag. Your hunger evaporates. 

You take your travel mug in with you as you hitch up your bag. You slow before you get to the stairs. You suppose you could stop and make sure to appease him. 

The cafe is mostly empty and you put in the usual order. The woman at the counter smiles. A girl, really. Younger than you. She might be in school. When you were her age, not very long ago, you were already in orange. 

"Would you like to try our new light roast espresso?" She asks. 

"Oh, no, it's not for me," you say as you count out change for the tip jar. 

She nods and thanks you for the tip. 

"You mean you come here every day and it's not for you?" She asks. 

"My boss. He works upstairs." 

"Right," she smiles. "Well..." she moves behind the display and grabs a thin sheet of parchment. She plucks out one of the swirled cupcakes. "Cinnamon bun. Another new creation." She shoves it into a bag and puts it on the counter, "free of charge." 

"Oh, no, I can't--" 

"I won't tell anyone," she smiles. 

"Um, okay, thanks, but... why?" You ask. 

"I don't know. You're here all the time. Kind of a hassle to be running down here all the time when you're not even getting anything out of it." 

"I guess so. It's nice. Thanks." 

"Let me know if you like it. I had to get up early to bake." She says. 

"Sure." 

She makes the cortado and you take it with another thank you. You head up with the end of the paper bag scrunched against your travel mug. You approach the door and realise you are a bit short of hands. You knock on the door with your elbow. 

You wait. You try again. Finally, it opens. 

"At last," Laufeyson sneers. 

"Coffee," you offer him the cortado. 

He makes a noise. Almost as if he's surprised. He takes it and backs off. 

"Mr. Laufeyson," you cross to the desk and put your cup and muffin on the desk, your bag in the chair. "I had something I wanted to suggest." 

"Mm, and that would be?" 

"A coffee machine? Or kettle. I drew up a pricing analysis--" 

"Oh, is that your suggestion? What is it, then? Are your feet getting sore? Not used to hard work?" 

"Um," you shake your head. "No, sir. It would be more cost-efficient--" 

"I've no worry for finances. It is my specialty, darling," he retorts. Your lips part then snap shut. You nod. 

"Understood." 

"Besides, it hardly seems you mind so much. What is that you've stowed away?" He points to the paper bag. You look at it and swipe it up. 

"A muffin," you turn to him. "Want it?" 

"Want it? Do I want a sugar-laced mess? No, I do have some standards... despite hiring you." 

Your brows pop up and you blink. You drop the bag on your desk and grit your teeth. You have to make yourself turn away. You pry your fists open and tap the button on the laptop. 

"Something to say?" He prompts coyly. 

"No, sir, I'm only starting up for the day--" 

"Ah, then, you will remember to smile." You don't say anything as you move your bag out of your chair. As you bend to nestle it under your desk, you feel a tickle along the back of your skirt. "Perhaps you might invest in an iron with your first check." 

You snap up and spin, swiping away his hand with a swat. "I didn't give you permission to touch me." 

His green irises flash and he takes a smug sip of coffee, "oh," he shakes out his other hand. "Violence." 

You frown, "no, you... you touched me first." 

"Ah, yes," he holds out his ivory hand to examine, "see, it is already red." 

You shake your head, "you--" 

"I believe that is against your probationary arrangement," he tuts. "Dina did seem rather concerned for your propensity towards anger." 

"I'm not-- I didn't-- you--" 

"Tsk, tsk, and it was going so well." 

You stare at him, temples thumping as he backs away and twists on his heel. He struts into his office with a snicker. You fall into your chair and slump. You should've known it's all too good to be true. 

[missmarveledsblog]

BEFORE HE CHEATS (EDDIE MUNSON X READER)

summary : Y/N hopper is out with the gang celebrating at the hideout when her boyfriend walks in with a blonde on his arm and she goes for where it hurts ... his car while eddie help the woman he secretly loves get over her new ex .

warning: violence against cheating exes and their cars , hopper being a girl dad boss

A rare night out with the older members of the gang , a celebration of the anniversary stopping the end of the world and eddie being cleared as a murderer . the rules we're simple no outsiders that included partners which only effected the rest as jonathan and nancy were still going strong together . the drinks flowing and music blaring everyone was enjoying their night. eddie and steve complaining about dustin and his ego while robin and Y/N well no one knew what they were talking about especially when alcohol was involved, the word vomit was on fast forward with the two, yet eddie munson often felt trapped in a trance at the chief of police daughter. how her laugh was his favourite sound . how when she looked at him , he'd honestly thought his legs would give out yet she belonged to someone else because he was too much of a chicken shit to tell her how he felt. he loved it was just the gang tonight he got to admire her and not feel sick watching her in the arms of some asshole that clearly didn't deserve her. How the moment he met the dude 8 months ago he felt something , a walking red burning flag the guy was. how he would let her down most of time . no if she was his girl , he would make sure everyday that she would know how special she was . But now he was looking from the outside , being the guy she would cry to when he could give her the world if she asked . he may not of had money for fancy date but he would make it special , he would make sure it was something that was worthy of her. he knew she wasn't the type to be impressed by flashy gifts and date . she appreciated everything no matter how small it was , even when the kids pitched in and got her flowers with a cassette she lit up like they gave her a new car . He wished something would give him the chance just for once cut him a break in the shit show he called his life.

like an answered pray the gang eyes all locked on the door as he walked in a skinny little blonde on his arm looking completely terrified of everything around her. " hey we had some car trouble could we use the phone " he called not clocking his girlfriend tense shoulders and heartbroken face or her existence at all . " could be a work friend " robin mused. " baby come on we're missing our engagement party " she cried. " how long you been together " a man asked them . " only four month but when you know well you know " she giggled not sounding like the brightest bunny in the cage  . " we can leave " steve winced . " nope more alcohol " she shook her head her face completely emotionless as she looked over seeing the two heading for the pool table . she watched for half an hour , they played up using the excuse to touch each other in a sickeningly sweet seductive way . she scoffed when the girl complain how harsh the whiskey or how he would beam down at her kissing her like she was all he could matter about . " we could kick his ass " steve mused . " nope hey stevie that bat with the wire still in your car? " she slammed the rest of her drink down . " yeah why " he asked. " no reason , thanks for the keys " she walked by she ignored how her ex turned trying to hide himself and the selfish fuck thought it worked like he actually got away with it . " steve , you told her the bat was in the car and let her take your key " robin mused. " yeah " he nodded til his eyes widened in realization. " oh shit " he ran toward the entrance only for them to heard the smashing already take place . " hey fuck face i think your cars in more trouble , i suggest you hide your friend from the girlfriend out there " eddie yelled back .

when the gang walked out every window on the corvette was gone , she was currently dragging her own keys alongside the exterior of the car, the sound of the scratched up metal filled the car park . She pulled out the butterfly knife from her boot to which she  stabbing them in the in the tire as they watched . " what the fuck you crazy bitch " he yelled. " oh hey baby fancy seeing you here" she waved stabbing the tire while he watched on . " who is she " the blonde on his arm screeched ." his girlfriend of 8 months " eddie rolled his eyes . what he didn't expect was the pissed off grunt of the blonde . "have you got another bat " she stomped toward the car . " no but if you wanna shred the interior here" she held the knife out to the woman . now his side chick was slashing his seats before pulling a gun out of the glove box . " headlights, he's not worth a life sentence " Y/N yelled as the gun rang out the woman threw it to the ground just as the red and blue light came speeding in . " oh hi dad " she smiled . " what's going on " he huffed. " he cheated and he's car mysteriously got destroyed stranger things have happened huh? " she smiled weakly. " sir i did not cheat ... ok i did but it was so her dad would give me a promotion so i could take care of your daughter " her ex rambled . " well you should park your car somewhere safer next time son the boys can give you lift home " hopper crossed his arm. " arrest them they did it " he cried . " you guys see it " he asked the group . " no " they yelled. " hey hop hate to say no cctv busted since last night " roy the owner of the bar smirked. " now off you go insurance can handle it " hopper waved to her ex a anger grimace on his face as the man walked off without a car or a girlfriend . " maybe next time you'll think before you cheat " she called . " it wont be on us " the blonde called . " hey steve give .. " . " abby " she sniffled. " abby a lift home" she smiled sadly to the woman . " sorry i didn't know he was seeing anyone,  i thought i met the guy after so many failed date but he was just after my money  " she said standing  tears falling down her cheeks  . " thanks for the help now go home and plus stevie there's better guy and no shrimp dick  and he's already rich " she winked as the two walked off . " you need a ride home guys won't mind " hopper looked at her. " nah i'm good " she smiled sadly walking over to the gang as robin wrapped her in an embrace. " hey come on little vandal i'll bring you home " eddie smiled softly leading her to his van as her dad ran up behind them . " next time don't leave evidence" he whispered handing over the knife and bat . " night dad " she kissed his cheek . " night sweet heart , me and my girls tomorrow for dad daughter breakfast " he smiled . " make sure el has her eggo's " she chuckled . " hey munson don't pussy out " he yelled out making her stop at the van. " what does he mean " her eye filled in confusion . " that our cue to go " robin yelled .

" well i didn't expect your dad of all people to call me out " he began shuffling his feet while his eyes that usually would follow her anywhere couldn't bare to even look at her . " eddie you ok " he could hear her feet coming closer making his own heart beat thump in his chest . " i'vebeeninlovewithyousincewemet" he said the words jumbled together halting her steps . " wait what " she giggled . " i've been in love with you since we met " he sighed . " why didn't you say anything " her voice fell into a whisper . " because look at you and look at me , your badass and well i'm ...OWW" he jumped back . " your badass too and ugh why didn't you say anything could of saved me 8 month of my life " she huffed getting into the van . " what you mean by that" he chased after her . " meaning that night i met that idiot was because you were again flirting with some ditz and i was sick of it so " she huffed heading hitting the seat , " you liked me " he smiled . " yes i like you but this too soon i mean i just broke up with my boyfriend " . " well then i can wait i've been waiting years already i can wait for you anytime " he smiled like a giddy teen . " fuck it "she leaned forward crashing her lips against his , she spent years watching that mouth move wondering how her lips would feel against them . " ok we need to go home before we do anything we regret , i want you that bad sweetheart i'm not leaving anything to chance but i'm taking you on a date once your ready " he smiled starting the van driving off happy both looked to the smashed up car before breaking into fit of laughter .

she watched his profile , she notice something she barely even cared her ex well was now her ex. the man done nothing but let her down and then throw shitty gifts at her. yet once even with eddie doing whatever it always made her happy . he was always about to make her smile no matter what was going around even when he almost died he tried to make her smile . the more she thought of it the more she realise he really was always there . when her and hopper would have a argument like most dad's and daughters he would open his home for her to sleep over. everytime her dates would  be cancelled he would pick up her disappointment and do something fun with her " Eddie i don't want you to wait , i mean i don't think i can wait for you anymore " her voice now showing she was the nervous one . she meant it , thought she literally just became single  she couldn't leave it another second without eddie being her , truly hers . he didn't say anything only drove which made her more nervous til he pulled into the diner. " well then i'm not waiting " he smiled making her released a breath she was holding . " so this is our first date?" she smiled. " i mean it's already the best one those burgers in there are to die for " he chuckled jumping out of the car before walking around and lifting her out of the van . " you ready " he asked holding her close to him . " who knew  cheating and car vandalising would bring me to one of the best nights of my life " she smiled as he leaned down this time taking charge of the kiss and taking the chance he wished he'd done sooner .

[mothhball]

I – BIVIUM

bivium – a meeting-place of two roads

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary You need this internship. You're hungry for a challenge, desperate to prove yourself. Against your mentor's wishes, you applied to Arkham Asylum, aware of the risks and difficulties. But when you meet the enigmatic Dr. Crane for the internship interview, you get the feeling that this could work out nicely, after all.

warnings none aside from brief mentions and descriptions of anxiety and some bad language! enjoy a chill first chapter <3 for more general warnings for the rest of the story, please check out the masterlist

notes first multichapter thing! i'm just as scared as you guys lol this is set in the Nolanverse, but before Batman Begins, and it's gonna be a semi-slowburn (sorry haha)

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 3.9k

As expected, the rest of your week turns out to be torturous. Whenever a second of calm rears its head, you make sure to squash it immediately by thinking of the worst things that could possibly happen during the interview. Your life, your achievements, your very personality get mercilessly torn apart by your viciously overthinking brain, and you could almost scream with joy by the time Friday comes around. Finally, the wait would be over. But unfortunately, that thought is a double-edged sword. Because yes, you’ll get to prove yourself. But God, you’ll have to prove yourself. Luckily for you, your urge to get somewhere in life prevails against the wish to not be perceived at all.

It's almost comical how horrendous the weather is on your way to Arkham Asylum. It’s like someone ordered the deluxe experience, making sure to include intense rain, thunder and an additional helping of lightning that turns your car into a rolling Faraday cage, which keeps the electricity outside and your anxiety inside.

Navigating the Narrows is a challenge in itself, and a few times you have to curse under your breath and turn down the car radio in an attempt to “see better”. Then finally, the road signs start to pop up, leading you along your way like desperately needed little breadcrumbs. People usually don’t make their way into this part of Gotham without a good reason. Your good reason of the day is to market yourself as a great potential employee.

A sigh of relief escapes your dry throat when you finally turn off your motor in the Arkham parking lot. It’s not that busy, and you’re not surprised. The rumors about the institution's understaffing must’ve been an understatement. Your hand is already shaking as you reach for a water bottle. Christ, your nerves are bad today. The environment doesn’t help either. The few barren trees on the property reach up their blackened limbs like bony fingers trying to rip the clouds from the sky, and even the sparse patches of grass look almost completely desaturated. Above all, Arkham Asylum looms ahead, exuding the same energy as an ancient beast banned into the form of bricks and cement rather than a proper construction.

The building doesn't seem to be in the right place, you think to yourself. As if an architecture student misplaced their model on another's desk. A desk where the model of a haunted house was supposed to be placed instead. But once you swallow the sip of water and check yourself in the car’s rearview mirror, you decide to approach anyway. The only offering you previously sent in advance was your CV. Hopefully, it’s good enough to not let you get eaten alive by this monstrosity of an asylum. Is it just you, or does the sound of your shoes crunching on the gravel sound like chewing already?

Unfortunately, the rain doesn’t give you much of an opportunity to stall the pace of your steps, forcing you to hurry through the main entrance in favor of staying relatively dry.

The large windows of the entry hall of Arkham Asylum were meant for sunlight, you muse silently. Meant for days with better weather than Gotham could ever provide. But the construction is confined to the dirty, foggy streets of the Narrows; doomed to eternal gloom and ominous scenery.

You look and feel a little lost as you look around the room, secretly disappointed that Dr. Crane didn't make the effort to pick you up here. But you're not a victim of learned helplessness, so you decide to walk over to the reception to make yourself known.

"Excuse me?"

The receptionist looks up from the book she's reading, flipping a page as she looks at you from top to bottom and right back up to the top. You can't help but wonder how many people have withered beneath her critical eye before you came along. Maybe she has a pile of skeletons already stashed away in one of her drawers.

"You're here for the interview, right?" She concludes by herself, looking over at a list of names on her desk. The list of your competitors, no doubt. You nod, suddenly very aware of what's at stake here. You have to ace this if you don't want to be confined to a summer of endless boredom and excruciating staff meetings at Potomac.

"You're early. That's great," the receptionist drones on, sounding not too enthusiastic despite what she’s saying. "Head through this door right here. You'll get a visitor's badge after the security check. After that, head up to the third floor. The rest is pretty self-explanatory. Dr. Crane will be waiting in his office."

You manage to mutter a ‘thanks’, but she’s already immersed in her book again, obviously done with the conversation. To avoid lingering for an awkward moment too long, you immediately head through the doors and further into the building to get through the security check.

Unsurprisingly, the security protocol is pretty strict, and while your bag is being searched by one guard, you're waved through a metal detector by another. It's like a miniature TSA, and once you explain the reason for your visit, you're allowed to put your shoes and jacket back on. Getting handed the little visitor’s badge on a lanyard feels like a rite of passage, and once you hang it around your neck, you feel even more weighed down than before.

One hellish elevator ride full of janky movements and devious mechanical noises later, the antique means of transport spits you out on the third floor of Arkham Asylum. It’s eerily quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you can hear every step of your freshly shined shoes on the linoleum floors echoing down the hallway. Up here, the absence of sunlight through the large windows is even more obvious, and the smell of petrichor and a faint hint of disinfectant add to the already dreary atmosphere. Would you really be able to last the summer in a place like this? Maybe you should’ve stuck to Potomac after all. At least that place had a well-kept garden full of rose bushes and swanky outdoor furniture sets.

The moment you regret that thought is also the moment that you realize you’re completely lost.

Every turn, every door and every hallway look the same, and the more you try to make sense of it, the more disoriented you feel. It’s like trying to run in a dream. Everything is complicated; feels slow. Fear creeps into your bones. What time is it? How long have you been wandering around? You’re going to be late for the interview. Fuck. The interview. Your internship. Your future. Dr. Crane will be disappointed. He’ll see right through you. See how scared you are. Of a fucking floor in a fucking building. You’re going to –

“Lost, are we?”

The rapidly spinning carousel of your mind immediately comes to a screeching halt due to a voice behind you, and it’s a miracle that you don’t flinch. You turn stiffly, feeling like a doll whose head has been turned by the hand of a child. Definitely the opposite of the first impression you had planned on making. Your eyes meet his, clashing with blue so icy that your fingers feel cold. The photos you saw in the newspapers failed to convey just how striking the director of Arkham Asylum truly is.

Swallowing your nerves, you force yourself to straighten up and smile, letting go of the strap of your bag that you were clutching onto like a lifeline. Confident posture, confident body language. In the eyes of any other employer, you’d look like a dream. But Dr. Jonathan Crane’s face doesn’t move a single muscle.

“Ah, yes. I suppose I am,” you admit, removing your visitor’s badge from around your neck and holding it out to him. Dr. Crane takes it, pointedly making sure that his fingers don’t touch yours. There’s a glint of recognition in his gaze when he reads your name that a security guard haphazardly wrote onto the back.

“I was on my way to your office for the internship interview, but this place is like a maze... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” Crane answers with a tiny, sardonic smile. “I was just on my way as well. And you were already heading in the right direction anyway.”

He hands you back your badge, and you return it to its rightful place around your neck. Crane gestures towards a door with its number next to it on a neat little sign. He taps it, drawing your attention to a little red stripe in the bottom left corner.

“Allow me to let you in on a little trick regarding the navigation at Arkham,” he starts, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “No matter where you are on this floor, if you follow the red stripes, you’ll end up at my office eventually. The markers alternate in direction, so it’s easy to follow once you get used to it.”

“Like a little red thread,” you muse, looking around. Now that he mentioned it, the red stripes are almost glaringly obvious. You can’t help but feel a little special, because he shared such important information with you. Even though your competitors most likely got the same treatment. “So, everything else looks identical on purpose?”

“Precisely,” Dr. Crane responds with a nod. “Sometimes, we have some… difficult patients. The need to be free is part of the human nature for most. But that doesn’t mean we should make it easy for them to escape.”

“That makes sense,” you nod back at him, resisting the urge to fidget now that his attention is back on you and no longer on the navigational system of this behemoth of a building. But the psychiatrist just motions for you to follow him, not allowing the silence to grow into something palpable that would waste his time.

“Walk with me. You know the way now.”

And so, the two of you are off, walking side by side at the pace that Crane sets for the both of you. You hurry to match his strides, making sure not to seem too eager now that you know how to find his office. To your dismay, the interview starts right this second.

“How much experience do you have?”

“I did 3 months at Potomac – “ you answer, promptly getting cut off when the director scoffs under his breath.

“So, basically none.”

Ouch. But he’s not wrong. You did learn how to navigate the rich and entitled, and you know how to keep a killer file structure now, but that’s almost it. In hindsight, Dr. Rabin underutilized you so much it should’ve been a criminal offense. You swallow your ego and agree with him, figuring it might be what he wants to hear.

“That's... pretty much what I told Professor Campbell as well.”

Dr. Crane’s brows furrow. He makes no effort to conceal his contempt for your mild-mannered mentor, sounding noticeably incredulous as he responds.

“Campbell? She's overseeing your thesis?”

You mirror his expression, but in your case, it’s due to genuine confusion.

“Yeah... I thought I wrote it in the application? Did you read it?”

“Skimmed it. I don't have much time for the menial details. Doesn’t matter. You’ve made it here regardless, haven't you? Maybe it was for the best that I skipped some parts,” he shrugs, not caring for the little frown that threatens to pull at your lips. Luckily, you manage to reign in your expression. Don’t let him get to you. This is just hazing.

“In any case, Dr. Rabin was more than happy with my work,” you counter, keeping your tone pleasant.

“Sure. What a wonderful letter of recommendation it was,” he says, sounding amused in a mocking kind of way. “But come on, we both know what kind of establishment Potomac is. That's why you're here, isn't it? To have a challenge. To actually make an impact.”

This makes you stop in your tracks in the middle of the hallway, forcing Crane to pause along with you. As much as you’re trying to hide that small feeling of triumph, it’s easy to tell from the glint in your eyes that you see this as a little personal victory.

“So, you did read my motivational letter,” you conclude, raising an eyebrow.

You swear the corners of his lips twitch upwards for a split second. Whether that’s in amusement or disgust at your audacity, you’re not quite sure. From what you know about Crane (which is, admittedly, not much), you decide on the latter. But to your surprise, he quips back in that rumbly baritone, making a point to clasp his hands behind his back.

“Might've been one of the sections I skimmed more closely,” he shrugs, briefly looking away from you to notice a stack of files that a passing nurse is carrying. Nosy. Or just used to being involved in everyone’s business. Letting out a sigh, he continues, dragging his eyes back to meet yours.

“Truthfully, I believe those motivational statements are the most important part. Not grades, not recommendations. They look nice on paper, yes. But at the end of the day, I've had interns here with a perfect GPA, glowing reviews from paper-pushing professors like your dear Ms. Campbell, and you know what? Those precious show horses barely lasted a month. Because Arkham chewed them up and spat them out like the gum under those dreadful desks in the Gotham U lecture halls.”

The comparison is fitting, and you cringe a little when you remember the last time you accidentally touched one of those forgotten, dried-up clumps of a stranger’s saliva and polymers.

“Well, I might not be a show horse, but I’m certain that I could jump any hurdle you put in front of me.”

“Delightfully ambitious. But I make sure to stack those hurdles high.” His expression tells you that he’s in no way joking around, and you swallow dryly as the two of you reach his office, and he lets you go in first.

The office is cold and impersonal. No plants, no decorations. No family photos on his desk or frames on the walls aside from his degrees. Rows of filing cabinets are filling out the room, as well as a large bookshelf that’s seemingly overflowing with literature. Some of the books have been handled and read so often that the spines are cracked and withered, almost making you empathize with them.

The faint smell of coffee, cologne and chemicals hangs in the air, and the curtains are drawn, making the office seem even darker and isolated than it already is. Crane seems to exude the spirit of the asylum as well, living and breathing the ominous gloom. The doctor steps past you, pushing several empty cups to the side, but not bothering with the stack of folders that’s also cluttering the space. Busy. Or counting on someone else to sort his mess and his thoughts.

"Sit,” he says, pointing at the empty chair in front of his desk.

You know it’s not an offer. It’s a command. And you immediately comply, eager to please the man who holds the cards regarding your future. Setting your bag down next to your feet, you mentally anticipate his next words.

"Go on, then. Tell me about yourself."

You straighten up in your seat, already prepared for this question, so you rattle off the main facts. Your name, age, and main areas of interest when it comes to psychology. Hell, you even mention the high school you went to, even though it's been ages. As soon as you mention Potomac, Dr. Crane holds up a hand to stop you.

"Thank you. That's enough, I suppose. No need to tell me how you wasted your time there."

He flips through a file, letting you stew in the awkward silence for a solid minute before he sees it fit to show mercy.

"Could I ask you some personal questions? We’re looking for a specific type of person, after all," he says, looking up from the document. "So, I'm afraid that the shallow chit-chat won't suffice."

“Of course,” you nod, making sure your smile stays relaxed and pleasant.

Crane picks a pen out of a pencil holder on his desk, clicking it twice before he puts it to the paper that you now recognize as your CV and application letter. The psychiatrist clears his throat and rattles off some more of the standard questions. How well do you work under pressure? Which meds do you currently take? How frequently do you consume alcohol and other recreational drugs?

You manage to elegantly fight your way through your answers, sprinkling in a few white lies here and there. There’s no way you’d tell a potential employer about your preference for tequila or how many times you’ve cried after a long day of work and uni. Your secrets are yours. So, you tell him that you work excellently under pressure and only drink very occasionally. What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over. Or whatever. His second to last question, however, makes you pause a little.

“What is your current living situation and relationship status?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Dr. Crane feels the need to clarify.

“Our interns usually have a rather tight schedule, and since the work with humans has the tendency to be a little unpredictable, it’s good to know how long the drive here usually is. In case it’s an emergency and we’ll have to wait for you. As for my inquiry about a potential partner, it’s useful to know how much time personal matters would take up in your life.”

You shift in your seat, chewing on the inside of your lip for a second before you mentally reprimand yourself for such a nervous gesture.

“I’m currently living with my boyfriend. We’re renting an apartment in Haysville.”

“Haysville…,” Crane thinks out loud, visualizing a map of Gotham in his head. “That’s quite a drive, though. Isn’t it?”

“The drive won’t be a problem,” you assure him, silently hoping and praying that this tiny detail didn’t just ruin your chances completely. “I have a car. And… if I leave home early enough, I can avoid traffic.”

You’re met with silence as Dr. Crane takes a moment to write something down on your printed-out CV. You absolutely despise that you can’t decipher his handwriting from where you’re sitting. You despise that you don’t know what he’s thinking. And you despise yourself for living in Haysville of all places, instead of in the damn parking lot of the asylum, so you’d always be available. In that world, there’d be no argument against you. In that world, you wouldn’t overthink the barely five seconds of silence that settled between Crane and yourself.

Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet yours once more.

“I must admit, everything so far sounds quite promising. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m quite optimistic that you’ll hear back from us.” He doesn’t smile, and there’s no warmth in his voice, but his words are like liquid gold dripping right into your ears. “In the event that you're accepted for one of the three internship spots, you’ll receive an envelope. That’ll be quite thick since it will contain your contract as well as an NDA and some additional paperwork.”

Your face lights up like a Christmas tree, and your mouth opens and closes a few times before you find the words to speak.

“That… would be absolutely incredible.”

“Now, now,” he lifts his hand, already stopping you before you’re too far gone over the moon. “This isn’t a ‘yes’ quite yet. I’ll hand my opinion over to the rest of the staff, and they’ll decide whether to give you a spot. They’re the ones with whom you’ll be primarily working, after all.”

He seems to think about his own words for a beat, considering what your role would be at Arkham Asylum. But you don’t really care. Even just a positive statement from him could be crucial.

“Regardless,” you say, unable to keep your smile from growing. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Dr. Crane. I can only assume how busy you must be on a daily basis.”

This seems to snap him out of his own thoughts, and he nods stiffly, clearing his throat as he fixes his tie.

“Incredibly busy, yes. So, I won’t keep either of us any longer.”

He gets up from his seat before you do, guiding you to the door but staying behind in his office. Whatever he thought about just a moment ago, it seems to have shifted his mood ever so slightly.

“You’ll find your way back to the elevator by yourself, right?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow, which causes you to nod quickly.

“Yes. Just… the whole thing in reverse.”

He nods in response, not stepping out into the hallway with you.

“Good. Enjoy the rest of your day. And… expect mail from us. Maybe I’ll see you around in the future.”

You barely have time to say goodbye before he closes the door to his office, leaving you standing by yourself. Strange. But it matches his reputation, you suppose.

The way back to the elevator seems much more logical this time, and you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself for remembering how to navigate the hallways now. Even the diabolical rattling as you descend back to the ground floor can’t wipe the smile off your face.

Dr. Crane’s words gave you hope and a surge of confidence, and as you hand your visitor’s badge back to security and leave the asylum, you feel accomplished. Satisfied with how the interview went. Back in your car, you check your rearview mirror once more, making sure you didn’t have anything on your face the entire time before the motor hums to life, and you back out of your parking spot.

The drive back to your apartment would almost be peaceful if it wasn’t for the last bits of excess adrenaline that are still rushing through your veins. Your hands shake a little every time you turn the steering wheel or reach for the dials of the radio, and once you’re finally safe and sound with in your own home, you sink down to your knees and let out a sigh that comes from the deepest depths of your soul. Relief. But not entirely. The next few days would be a test of patience and endurance. But you’re good at playing the waiting game.

Each day, you throw a longing glance at the mailbox in the shabby lobby of your apartment building, only to get disappointed once more. Days turn into a week, and you’ve almost given up hope when, one day, your boyfriend comes home with a stack of mail under his arm. The Arkham logo is peeking through behind a few bills and ads, and you recognize it instantly. This is it.

Like a vulture, you snatch the letter from your boyfriend’s hands, earning a disgruntled noise in response that you couldn’t care less about if you tried. The envelope rips under your impatient hands, and you immediately skim through the letter, searching for the magical words without realizing how thin it is.

Dear Miss…

                      … we hope this letter finds you well…. 

… thank you for applying…

… unfortunately…

      … large number of applicants…

                                                                        … must hereby reject…

… best wishes…

                                                            … better luck next time…

The silence in your living room is deafening, and you can hear your pulse in your ears. The floor feels like it's going to crumble beneath your feet.

Better luck next time.

@ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24

@detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411

@ashdrinksoatmilk @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

@hanawrites404 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @nocturnest @biblicallyaccuratebee @red-riding-wood

@luvlloyd @ribbonystar @smxkyqvxrtz @bloodandglitter207 @seaamonster

@rosiemarieyn @sagepixieswrld

[bluecatwriter]

Jonathan: Do I have to read it, oh my dear one?

Me: (cries)

Jonathan: "I will keep my mouth as it were in a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight. I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me. My heart was hot within me; and while I was thus musing the fire kindled."

Me: (cries harder) Do you have to remind me!

OKAY BUT THE INCLUSION OF THIS LINE HAS ME GOING FERAL

(Theological ramble incoming. You have been warned.)

Jonathan is reading from the Book of Common Prayer, but the scripture is Psalm 39. (I originally thought that this was a quote from Jeremiah 20:9, which uses similar language to show the prophet's frustration with burning up inside if he refuses his call to prophesy, but this is even better.)

The psalmist here is a great example of how people's responses to God in the Bible do not fit neatly into the "unquestioning obedience and reverence" framework any more than Jonathan's actions do. The narrator of this psalm speaks despairingly about the vanity of life, begs God to stop heaping hardship on him ("Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand"), and while he expresses near the middle that his ultimate hope is in God ("And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee"), he also flat-out asks God to leave him alone (the last line of the psalm in King James Version says "O spare me, that I may recover strength/before I go hence, and be no more," though I love the more modern translations such as the New Revised Standard version, which reads, "Turn your gaze away from me, that I may smile again/before I depart and am no more").

It's a gut-wrenching psalm that doesn't flinch from the realities of life: things feel meaningless, hardships are heaped on those who are faithful, humans are fragile, riches cannot safeguard against death— and the right to rage and weep before God is a given. It ends not with the line of hope from the middle but with a challenge to God, and the main conflict of the psalm is not resolved or neatly tied up. Like all the Wisdom literature in the Bible, it invites the readers to sit in the tension and the confusion and the pain, rather than hastening on to a "correct answer" or even a sense of resolution.

I assume this is why it's included in the Book of Common Prayer's burial service: death cannot be tied up with a bow, or smoothed over with platitudes. This psalm expresses solidarity with people from every generation who have tried to make sense of their hardships and pain and the devastating reality of mortality.

Anyway, inclusion of this line in this scene was absolutely stunning. I suspect that many of Bram Stoker's original readers would have familiarity with the burial service since it would be read at every funeral, so adding in the words was wonderful to enhance the experience for the modern non-Anglican reader. This passage helped drive home how thematically resonant these words are with what's happening in the story in the moment. Very cool.

[twopoint99]

Possible spoilers if you haven’t already listened or read the book. Also, spoilers for The Horror of Dracula, 1958 and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992.

One of my favorite things about @re-dracula is seeing the reactions of people whose main exposure to the story is through the many film adaptations. The differences in how the characters relate to one another are way too many to list from film to film. Even aside from the bizarre choices (Lucy as Mina’s sister-in-law - the Horror of Dracula, 1958, or Mina as the reincarnation of Dracula’s lost love - Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992) the most important difference between those adaptations and re - dracula is that these are fully rounded characters who clearly care about one another.

Jonathan adores Mina, Mina loves him, and loves Lucy. The suitor squad and Van Helsing genuinely cherish Lucy and it causes everyone palpable pain when they see her slipping away. When the group finally gets together in one place, they all acknowledge and respect the various strengths they each bring, and they hold one another up as needed.

None of the characters seem cast aside, as often happens in film adaptations. Even the 1992 film, which includes all three suitors, doesn’t manage to make them all seem like full personalities. They appear more as aspects of an individual, or as tropes. Lucy herself in the ‘92 movie is the complete opposite of her characterization in the novel. Her behavior in the film is anachronistic at best, and offensive at the least. It is a perfect illustration of the stupid and misogynistic attitude in horror that “wanton” women are punished.

Not only that, but it also completely changes the story and the dreadful implications of it. Lucy isn’t targeted because she’s “done something wrong” (quotes because I don’t believe expressing/exploring one’s sexuality is wrong, no matter what my favorite genre keeps telling me), she is targeted because she is convenient. Dracula wasn’t musing in between leaving his castle and reaching England that by golly, he couldn’t wait to terrorize Lucy Westenra! He saw an opportunity, like any other predator, and he took it.

Of course, we’ve seen that he is very willing to play with his food once he feels in control. He was very pleased to be able to torment Jonathan, yet another character who is often treated poorly in adaptations - in the 1958 version he’s so smug and patronizing toward what appears to be a terrified woman, that I was actively hoping for his death.

In contrast, the novel/Dracula Daily/re-dracula show us a sweet, earnest man, one who is gentle and loving. He, like Lucy, is a convenient victim, and like Lucy, is innocent.

The true horror is that terrible things can happen to anyone, and no amount of wealth, education, or simple good-heartedness, will act as a shield. There are no preventatives, and no one “deserves” the terrible things that happen. The real strength of the story isn’t in deciding which characters(usually women) are worthy of saving, an overly simplistic approach that many film adaptations take, some more subtly than others. The story resonates because in spite of the randomness of the horror, the people involved decide to do something about it.

These people are not always perfect or even heroic. Dr. Seward (who I really enjoy, and who is also often portrayed badly in adaptation) is not a safe person for his patients to be around. He is ableist, arrogant, patronizing, and definitely not handling his own mental health well. He is also loving, practical, loyal, and in many ways exceptionally tender-hearted. All of the cast is achingly good in their portrayals, but Johnny Sims’ interpretation of Seward has been revelatory. The man is flawed, but gosh darnit, he’s absolutely human. His pain is visceral, his awkwardness is utterly relatable, and his attempts to make things make sense is so hard to hear, because we want the awful things to be a puzzle with a logical solution, but we also know that there is no motivation for what is happening, it is all chance.

Mina herself questions why they need worry about Dracula, once he is gone from England. By this time she’s had a horrific experience with the count and understandably wants to be done with the whole thing. Earlier, however, she begins her work of compiling all the information available about Dracula, because she understands that something may need to be done, for the good of all.

She is afraid of losing her husband, she is afraid of what other horrors may wait, but she also is able to put that aside to continue to pursue stopping Dracula, so that there won’t be another victim, and so that Dracula himself might be saved from the horrific reality he’s experienced for so long.

I have been telling people ad nauseum that re-dracula is hands down the best adaptation of the novel I’ve ever encountered. It is because it is treated as a story about people, real people, with real connections to those around them, real flaws and strengths, who grow to share a bond. They swear to stop Dracula, not out of vengeance, as Jonathan can be forgiven for wanting, but out of love for those they have lost and those they may save.

[everglow-synth]

I've got this burning like my veins are filled with nothing but gasoline

An urban sci-fi/fantasy world based on the Synthwave aesthetic, D&D, and many different movies, TV shows and video games. Main characters include: Matthew Blake - Bartender turned vigilante superhero Polybius - An amnesiac android trying to keep himself alive Pockets - Friendly arcade owner and robot skeleton Jonathan Whitman - Cult detective with an elder god deep within Verox - A dragon that gifted the world of Polycus with magic

18+ Only!

Crossover, OC and AU friendly!

NSFW friendly!

Will RP with fandoms I'm not familiar with!

Multiple sideblogs, listed below the cut!

And with a spark it's gonna be the biggest fire they've ever seen

Carrd + Rules and About | Spotify Playlist

Doom Slayer / @slayers-testament A strange, time/space scattered warrior fighting against (most of) demonkind. Compatible with Hellzbin or Helltaker muses! (I keep a leash on him, I swear.)

Multifandom Multimuse / @the-devils-toybox A place for me to drop my silly little obsessions without having to make them all new blogs. Crossover and AU friendly!

Miles "Tails" Prower / @powered-by-prower An older, more mature take on the fox, mixing headcanon, game lore, comic lore and Sonic X lore to make something new. Features Gemerl as a secondary muse, and E-102γ/Gamma as a tertiary muse!

Andros, The Last Golden Lynel / @golden-lynel The last Golden Lynel left in Hyrule after the Great Upheaval, Andras commands Ganondorf's minions with an iron fist. He is a beast on the battlefield with a deep, unending hatred of the Master Sword and its handler.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV Musings - LDPDL & Nosferatu 2024 (Pt10b: Bloody Appetites)

IMO the IWTV/TVC fandom underestimates how dang BLOODY vampire sex can be. In Anne Rice's books, drinking blood is the most intensely intimate & erotic act vampires can perform. But there's a real disparity between TVC/IWTV show-onlies, and fans expecting more gothic horror themes & tropes in the show and/or fics--inc. the inherently erotic nature of a vampire's bite both in AND out of sexual acts. And watching Nosferatu 2024 only confirmed for me that AMC's IWTV & its fandom really sanitizes vampire biology.

(I've already discussed my thoughts on Claudeleine's convo about blood.)

Bloody Bodily Fluids

Anne Rice's vampires are like ticks, bloated with blood--they cry, spit, sweat blood, and if AR's vamps could've had sex in the books, yes their nightly emissions would be bloody too. But AMC dances around it, and the show-only fans have no idea cuz the show's too PG about gay sex.

Like, people laugh at Lestat earning his red wings by drinking period blood in Memnoch (as if that's something a vampire wouldn't do--let alone the wildest thing Lestat has done, which, chile....)

I've seen polls ask whether or not all a vampire's bodily fluids are bloody, and what kinds of blood they drink, and the results are always fascinating (x x x x x x x x x x x)

And let's not forget the TikTok meme

I've read 1000+ IWTV/TVC fics, but can barely list on 2 hands the fics that made a point to emphasize bloody bodily fluids (sweat/saliva/ejaculate/etc)

There's even tags for Blood Kink and Blood as Lube in Rated M-E fics, as if BLOOD is a warning the VAMPIRE fandom needs, and is not something natural to The Nature of being a bloodsucking vampire having sex (which tends to involve a copious exchange of bodily fluids)

And it's not just sex this show/fandom's oddly squeamish about. AMC!IWTV frustratingly censored/obfuscated/ignored/outright effed up important parts of AR's vamp biology. Setting aside the ridiculous amount of alcohol & cigarettes & whatnot we see them with, I've said before how I don't like Louis' bodily death in 1x2, cuz AMC ignored how AR's vamps expel ALL their bodily fluids & waste--poop & pee included. It's a literal MESS, and the scene made no frikkin sense; they just skipped right over it; Lou pukes a bit and he's fine??? As if.

Cuz for AR, the birth of a vampire resembles the birth of a child. Ask anyone who's given birth before: if you didn't handle your business beforehand, you'll piss & crap the delivery bed with all that pushing; it's NOT always clean & pristine like they show on tv. 😅

But wtvr. It just really bothers me how vampires are physically humanized/sanitized way too much in this show/fandom.

Blood is Life: "You Made Your Maker"

In Nos2024, appetite & love & psycho-sexual obsession & hate & life & death are all rolled into one; where Ellen's never been happier holding hands with Death--Orllen literally f**k e/o to death. Their marriage bed is a slaughter--the sheets are SOAKED in a puddle.

Sure, we can assume that's all Ellen's blood Orlok cried & puked up as he died--he's shriveled & empty without her blood. BUT! It also looks like Ellen had a fatal hemorrhage--like childbirth/miscarriage/stillbirth. Even the way Ellen cradles Orlok reminds me of a mother cradling a child--esp. with how much Orlok kept nursing from her boobs (& Thomas' pecs), like a breastfeeding child.

Instead of blood-drinking & bodily fluid swapping being a cyclical exchange that creates new "life" for the undead (Ellen becoming a vamp), Orllen both die--the mother and the child together; breaking the vampiric cycle.

With Loustat, the vampiric cycle plays out fully, with Lestat as the "father or further of a new order of beings," and Louis as Lestat's completely reborn vampire child/fledgling (also in Nosferatu 1979, with Jonathan Harker/Thomas Hutter--the 1992 Dracula has vamp Mina Harker, too; and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen goes the distance & keeps Mina a vamp).

And during sex, which is a bloody friggin mess where Louis' laying in a puddle of blood, covered in oozing love bites & bloody ejaculates, Lestat emerging from Louis' body would look like the blood-covered child LOUIS birthed. And that reminds me of a Loustat fic by @vulcanvampyr that uses kinda similar imagery:

another year (or: this, here, a reason) (6427 words) by vulcanvampyr

"You made your Maker;" with Louis drawing Lestat's blood, as Lestat creates pleasure in Louis' stomach/core/womb/etc--the place where Les' blood sits in Lou's body (his arterial Lou drinks, & his bloody ejaculate when Les climaxes). The vampiric cycle keeps cycling, where through sex & blood Loustat makes e/o again & again.

Love Bites - Little Death, Little Drink

Speaking of oozing love bites, that brings me to my final point. There's the Actual Death vampires experience when they're Turned, and then there's the Little Death (petite mort), the swooning fit of a sexual climax paralleled with the Little Drink of a vampire bite.

Blood is Life--and from the POV of Lestat/Orlock/Dracula, it's the blood of Louis/Ellen/Mina that is life. The best crack, the finest wine, the tastiest meat. Louis can deny himself all he wants--LESTAT clearly doesn't. Horndog AMC!Loustat isn't Bed Death book!film!Loustat; AR No Homo'd as much as possible cuz of censorship. Even in AR's drafts Loustat never used the Little Drink on e/o, which is WILD. book!Les STARVED for Lou's blood for 200 years.

Clearly, AMC!Loustat feeds off e/o, esp. during sex. They're bloody. BUT! Other than Loustat's Little Drink in 1x1, and Loumand's in 1x5, we only see vamps bite e/o during fights (the 1x5 fight & 1x6 hate sex). 😔 It was a cute nod to have Loustat banging on blood red sheets in 1x6, but IMO Lou shoulda been covered in love bites. 😩

As Louis' depression worsened, & he disassociated & distanced himself even more, you think Lestat WOULDN'T bite him to get that connection back? 🤨 Even Claudia bit Lou to get his attention in 1x7.

So I prefer how Nos24 portrayed vampiric sex. Orlok BITES, right over the heart. Sloppy & slovenly, slobbering like an animal (a wolf), he is Appetite--raw hunger, thirst, etc. Blood is a drug for him, esp. Ellen's blood, which turns him on to the point of distraction and the obliteration of all reason--he doesn't even care that the sun's coming and is about to roast him alive. He just keeps drinking Ellen's blood. Her BLOOD is his greatest weakness, not even the sun.

Even Ellen's scent (lilacs) has Orloc reeling like a dope fiend strung out on that black tar heroin.

I've always had doubts about Loumand's blood-drinking scene in 1x5, but IF Louis really was drinking Armand's blood (and not just faking it), they were literally banging in front of Daniel's salad. 🍆

TL;DR: MORE BLOOD, PLEASE 🙏

So yeah, for vampires, Blood IS their whole Life. And I'm just sad that we've lost so much of that in AMC's sanitized vampire fandom--the most we see of blood is when vamps are being violent & killing; rarely when when they're being loving, and it's a real shame, IMO.

[jonny-be-gewd]

Hey guys, if you're also on Instagram you can check out my account there, its jonny_be_gewd. It also used to be an Aidan Gillen fan account, just like my Tumblr, but I have converted it to Jonathan.

I'm trying to get more activity on my Insta. Ever since they changed the search option to only include top posts and not recent posts my Instagram account died. Which is why I stopped posting on it. But I'm making an effort to post on it now, especially now that Jonathan is my muse. I just can't get enough of this man, I don’t recall ever feeling this obsessed with Aidan Gillen. There is just something magical about Jon. He's like a bright light in the darkest dark. At least he was for me. I was suffering from pretty bad depression for the last few years and I dunno man, but he makes me feel alive again. That's crazy I know, he's a celebrity who doesn't know I exist. But does it really matter so long as his effect on me has been an absolute positive one?

I'm getting off topic. Anyway, this is my Instagram. Give me a follow if you're on Instagram too!

jonny_be_good Instagram HERE

Also jonny_be_gewd on TikTok

[cinematicendevaourz]

From the "Creed" series to "Sinners", it appears that Warner Bros. knows how to treat Coogler and his muse Michael B. Jordan better than other big companies, like say Disney, that stifle Coogler from dropping captivating original work such as "Sinners". Initially I walked out of the film due to the first scene being one of sharecropping and a church, but then I found myself returning after the rave reviews and I was not disappointed. The film is an excellent study on the U.S. black struggle and what happens when something built FBA gets co-opted by other groups that promise unity but only do so at the expense of leaving FBA's in the guillotine. Though I did not like the transitions between scenes, effects wise I did enjoy the John Woo meets Tom Sevini bleedouts and Jayme Lawson holding a shotgun running off vampires is an image I wont be soon to forget. I am glad I did not allow U.S. history to get in the way of my viewing of "Sinners". I can say that B. Jordan is the best actor I have ever seen play split roles on one screen, and I saw a vet like DeNiro attempt to do the same this same year in "Alto Knights". I'm a 2000's kid - Mike Myers and Heath Ledger cannot hold a candle to B. Jordan's work as The Twins in "Sinners". B. Jordan deserves his praise and I give credit to Coogler for his script including rich FBA history as well as Euro-American history. There are a myriad of mannerisms and colliqual conversations and terminology that could only land with an FBA audience and with that, I believe Coogler delivered. The Anti-Christendom / Anti-Jesuit stance that Coogler takes throughout his script is also very powerful and courageous. But, if the controversial rumors are true that Jonathan Majors was removed from this film, that forced B. Jordan to take up double-duty, then that, as well as the decision to not recast Chadwick Boseman in "Black Panther" has not gotten Coogler out of the dog house for me. B. Jordan was irreplacable. Lawson irreplacable. Hell, Ludwig Goransson with the metal asesthetics for all those vamped out scenes, irreplacable. But I believe that a more seasoned director could have handled Coogler's script better than himself.

At least Coogler doesn't suffer from James Cameron or Ridley Scott's embarassingly long runtimes whenever they are allowed too much creative control, but in a film that showcases the enduring and hardworking nature engrained in FBA culture, Coogler has been found to not be able to carry the weight of a couple crowns while his star muse in B. Jordan has shown he can excel at that task and maybe carry a couple more.

V.V. 27th/Apr.2k255

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Kid! Clark and Odd Duck?

"What in the Sam hell?"

Jonathan looked the way your grandfather was looking and chuckled, "Martha must have called before she finished her book."

"Ya think?"

Clark, without breaking a sweat, had a hold of the back of your overalls in one hand and his soda pop in the other and was quite simply just dragging you along behind him as you sat on the ground. Book in your hands, intently reading.

"Lord give me strength."

"I think he gave it to the boy."

____________

"What?"

Bruce held up a picture off your bookcase, smiling a little. Clark was dragging you by the hood across a college campus. Looking annoyed but resigned. And you still had a drink in one hand and a book in the other.

"Finals week I think?" you muse wincing when yawning made your head hurt.

"Who took the picture?" he asked, amused.

"Jimmy I think. Clark dragged me out of a lot of places."

"Like that?"

"When we were kids he dragged me by my overalls mostly."

"Overalls?"

"They have nice pockets for rocks. And snacks."

"Valid," Bruce snorted putting the picture down. He'd never paid much attention to the pictures on the shelf. Lots of them had Clark in them. Some had his parents. Some had your Grandparents. The ones with your mother were there but- clearly obligatory. There so she couldn't complain. Or ask.

Little glimpses.

Lois kissing your cheek on one side and Clark kissing the other while they forced you to participate in a little birthday party- presumably by bribing you with your favorite cake AND a defined stop time where you could leave.

Pictures people had snapped in candid moment. Posed pictures in weird places, including one that defied explanation where you're hanging off a tree branch by your feet and looking curiously zen despite being 6 ft off the ground. One day he'd have to ask. Someone would probably have an answer.

But right now you'd decided his sweater was the best thing on earth and you were drowning in it. And he'd rather spend a little more time letting you sleep on him.

[gluku-pikron]

Stealing this monthly wrap-up from my beloved spouse.

What I Read in February 2025:

Voices of the Fallen Heroes - Yukio Mishima

Superbloom - Nicholas Carr

Wise Children - Angela Carter

We Do Not Part - Han Kang

Gliff- Ali Smith

Mickey7 - Edward Ashton

Bride - Ali Hazelwood

London Triptych - Jonathan Kemp

Hello Stranger - Manuel Betancourt

The Time Machine - H.G. Wells

The War of the World - H.G. Wells

The Invisible Man - H.G. Wells

State of Paradise - Laura van den Berg

Two-Step Devil - Jamie Quatro

Mornings Without Mii - Mayumi Inaba

Journey to the Centre of the Earth - Jules Verne

Lots of opinions under the cut. TW for brief mentions of incest and trafficking.

Cover collage hastily compiled with https://sudwald.github.io/bookcollage/

Voices of the Fallen Heroes - Yukio Mishima: Later-career short works by Mishima. Mishima's at his best, in my humble opinion, when he's writing about horrible murder-suicides and unresolved desire. This is a man who understands the grotesque erotic undercurrent of repression (both individual and societal) and whose best work reflects that. Unfortunately, these were…mostly not that, and mostly bland. Several of these felt like Mishima attempting to write things in the vein of Edogawa Ranpo and not really understanding what makes Ranpo fun. I suspect we're reaching the last of what remains untranslated in Mishima's oeuvre, and we're getting into the least-interesting and least-polished pieces. Oh well.

Superbloom - Nicholas Carr: None of these "social media panic" books ever have anything new to say, and yet my dumb ass keeps reading them and hoping they will.

Wise Children - Angela Carter: High-spirited magical realism. Essentially like if the two neighbor ladies in Coraline were identical twin sisters and committed considerably more incest in their septuagenarian years. Everyone in this book has fantastic names. The Wikipedia page for this novel reads like someone's book report. Probably would not read this again.

We Do Not Part - Han Kang: A snowblind fever dream of a novel. Overall Han Kang ranking in order of enjoyment would be Greek Lessons, Human Acts, We Do Not Part, The White Book, and finally The Vegetarian.

Gliff - Ali Smith: Apparently there is a companion novel to this coming out sometime later this year. I enjoyed this one, but I am reserving judgment until then.

Mickey7 - Edward Ashton: Read this in preparation for Bong Joon-Ho's new film. Unfortunately, Ashton writes like a marginally less annoying Andrew Weir. Praying Bong Joon-Ho can do something smarter and more graceful than this clunky li'l thing. One extra star for being bold enough to include the only selfcest threesome I've ever read outside of fandom.

Bride - Ali Hazelwood: Every once in a while, I'll think to myself, "I know I disliked this sort of thing when I tried it years ago, but maybe I'll enjoy it now." It's happened for sweet potatoes and lavender-scented soaps, so I picked up a random popular romantasy to see if it extended to literary genres as well. It did not. My disdain for this is not the fact that it's written by someone who seems to exclusively rewrite the same Reylo fics she churned out years ago, it's the fact that the main character's name is "Misery," played apparently completely straight, and that it does absolutely nothing fun with its werewolf vs. vampire arranged marriage premise. Who knows, though, maybe I'll try another romantasy in five years and love it. Receives the dubious honor of "most hated of the month."

London Triptych - Jonathan Kemp: A reread from 2020. Not nearly as enamored with it as I was when I first read it, but still enjoyed.

Hello Stranger: Musings on Modern Intimacies - Manuel Betancourt: Some fun, spritely, insightful essays in here and some that my eyes glazed over while reading. Still, I'd like to give this one a closer rereading, especially the beginning few pieces.

Three Novels by H.G. Wells, Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne - They were fine.

State of Paradise - Laura van den Berg: Trying to do too much at once. Somehow both sweaty and frigid. Too flighty to commit to any of its conceits.

Two-Step Devil - Jamie Quatro: I have a soft spot for religious fanaticism and pathetic old men, so. Deals with some pretty rough topics, including child trafficking. Sometimes seems a little afraid of its own heaviness. Deliciously experimental. Read in one sitting on a delayed flight to San Diego. Favorite of the month.

Mornings Without Mii - Mayumi Inaba: A brief, messy little memoir about a woman and her cat, with lots of questionable animal welfare issues. I think maybe the publishers were trying to cash in on the current "cozy Japanese lit" trend, but… oof.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Damage Control 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Summary: you're sent to work intel on a mission with two very combative men.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit in the airport. One piece of luggage. Simple. Easy. You travel light but not alone. Your company has yet to arrive.

Fellow travelers rush back and forth while others wait in queue for the coffee kiosk behind you or meander in hopes of an empty seat. The dark brew isn’t very good. It’s burnt and hollow. You push the cup away and mourn the five dollars for eight ounces of tripe.

You recognise the man, not only because you’ve seen his photo, but because he stands out despite his attempt at insignificance. Tall, blond, lithe but not too slender. He approaches and you stand. He looks around, right over your head. You likely don’t look how he would expect.

“Pine,” you call to him. His blue eyes narrow at you and he redirects. He rolls his bag with him and approaches with his hand extended, “Pine like the tree. Tall as one.”

He tilts his head curiously, “you’re Magenta?”

“I didn’t choose it,” you say.

“Angela?”

“Can’t leave the wee one,” you explain as you hike yourself back up on the tall chair. You bring the cup close again and turn it as you scowl at the brew. “Don’t recommend the coffee. Don’t know about the tea.”

“Hm,” he sits across from you. “Pity. Was hoping for a good cuppa before we head over the pond.”

You look at him and your cheek twitches. You put your hand to it to still it. His blue eyes twinkle.

“You like to hike? With a name like Pine, it’d be ironic, wouldn’t it?” You suggest.

A line forms above his brow, “suppose that would be. I enjoy a run now and then, prefer the coast.”

“I hear they’ve got bears over there. Never saw one. Only rats in New York,” you remark. “I lost a slice of pizza to one. Grimy git.”

“Hm, yes, a city one would hate to be lost in,” he muses.

“You’ve been?”

“A time or two. Not my favourite place.”

“I went to Canada a couple times. I saw a moose. Actually, saw a few. Meese? Have you seen their geese? They’re bloody vicious.” Your cheek keeps twitching. You give up. Nerves.

“Ah, I’ve flown over, not been,” he says. “You nervous of flying?”

“Little. It’s only the take-off that gets me. Went parachuting once and the instructor tricked me. Said the strap on my chute broke. Threw a dummy cord out. Right mad one. Should’ve known better than do a jump for twenty quid.” You chuckle and shake your head. “Haven’t been right since.”

“Sounds especially cruel,” he comments.

“I’ve known crueler,” you grin.

“Mm, yes, as have I,” his brows lift slightly. “So, what do you know about this Hansen character?”

“I know we should keep the chatter to a minimum about him. Not here,” you glance around, catching site of the man who’s not so subtle in his staring.

“You’ve done this before?” He asks.

“I work alone more often. First for having company,” you say quietly. “Your sister, she’s going to be so happy to see you."

He hesitates but smiles anyway, "oh, she will. It's been some time, hasn't it?"

You keep your eyes on him. He doesn't flinch. You're both overtly aware of the man who's oh so convieniently moved closer to grab sugar and napkins.

You lift your arm and check your watch, "look at that, boarding soon."

"Ah, yes, darling, wouldn't want to miss it," he stands and comes around to pull out your chair. You step down and reach for your bag. He has it first. "Allow new."

You take your coffee and dump it in a bin. He rolls both bags with him as you walk in stride.

"Grab my arm. Be natural," he girds.

You obey, putting your hands on his as he clings to your suitcase. You walk with him, a dulcet expression to hide your paranoia. You get to the gate and show your passes.

He lets go of the bags and turns to yawn into his elbow. As he does, he scans the area. You join the queue for the ramp and he leans in.

"He's been rerouted by security," Pine intones.

You nod and stay facing forward. Another twitch.

"You're good," he praises.

You give a soft smile. It's a true compliment. You're not a field agent. This isn't your typical assignment but you owe Angela the favour.

“Eh, sometimes they turn out to just be creeps,” you snort. “Never know with people.”

“No, you never do,” he agrees.

“They say it's cold. November and such,” you sway as the airport attendants mill around near the doors waiting to call for boarding. “Thanksgiving soon, or whathaveyou. Pity we never got in on the fun.”

He laughs again, “never much thought of it.”

“I wouldn't mind turkey. You can get fish at any chippy, but what about nice bird.”

“Oh, I don't recommend picking up birds at a chippy,” he hurls back.

You guffaw, “clever.”

“I like to think so.”

“Mm, yes, most agents I've met tend to have that idea about themselves,” you stretch your arms behind you and scope out the line. You let out a breath. “You seem the football type, eh?”

He seems stricken by the question, “might be.”

“Eh, don't you worry, I won't judge. Not out loud.”

“Right. I'll admit, not many of Angela's friends are so chatty,” he says.

“They wouldn't be but we've ten hours ahead of us. May as well jump right in,” you say.

“May as well,” he agrees. “If you must know, I root for Chelsea.”

“Ach,” you decry. “Well, perhaps we should find a more amiable topic.”

“I see. Spoken like a true Arsenal fan.”

“I'm warning you,” you retort. “I'm much nicer about the weather. Lovely day, isn't it?”

He laughs, “oh, fine day for flying.”

[isolaradiale]

Fireworks erupted overtop the city's centre where the giant hole usually could be found. Except now it was filled with a huge stadium! When had that happened!? As was often tradition in Spirale, plenty early risers would have their beauty sleep disturbed by the blaring of an announcement over the electronic devices in their possession.

"That's right, Jonathan! This is an exciting year for the Spirale Games! Well it's the first year, but that's what makes it so exciting!" Anything with a screen would have displayed video of Ofiuco's android body sitting at a sportscasting desk. But there was no one else present so who was she talking to? "We have a number of exciting events for teams to sign up for and we can't wait to see you out there!"

Of course the implication was that if they didn't see them out there then those who didn't participate wouldn't be reaping any of the rewards!

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

Welcome to our April / May event, the Spiral Games! As you can imagine we've taken inspiration from major sporting events, but this is closer to a celebration of many different skills and only some of the events are based on athleticism! You can find a full list of the events here so that this post isn't too cluttered!

So how is everything going to work?

Characters can participate in some events alone, but we encourage everyone to form teams of up to four characters! All of the team members don't need to participate in every thread if you don't want to but the option is there if you'd like! Teams will have no bearing on rewards (but it will make them easier) so there also isn't a limit of how many teams a character can be in to prevent a scenario where some characters are let out just because some people made teams early on.

If you would like to, you can give your team a name and even design a logo!

On the event list page you can see a list of events and the rewards you can earn from participating! Rewards can only be claimed by the team members who participate, so if you choose to do a one person drabble then only you get those rewards!

You can participate in as many events as you want, but the amount of Stars one character can earn from the event is capped at 500 Stars. This does not include the regular amount you get for event participation.

There will also be an unlock reward for this event, however there is a stipulation to this. In order to claim the unlock you must write at least 300 words with at least one character on your account that your muse has yet to interact with. So long as the thread is event related it will count, which is where teams could certainly help!

As always please feel free to send any questions you may have to the masterlist!

The event ends at 11:59:59PM EST on May 17th!

[stingslikeabee]

plotted starter . @il-mostrc

Americans were deeply interested in the intimate affairs of others, Melissa mused while scrolling through a website full of candid shots and gossip of the worst quality, replacing what the tabloids did for a part of the UK and the ancient social columns of printed newspaper. The fact that certain cable channels were dedicated only to the latest rumor about a famous individual and that so many social media accounts had gone viral was proof of how profitable that seemed to be for those working behind the scenes.

The countess' digits moved over the tablet, zooming in on the relevant picture and re-examining it from a different angle. In her opinion, it was a beautiful thing - the evidence of a truly passionate embrace between lovers who had decided not to wait to make it to the bedroom, instead holding each other near the dining table. Unfortunately, not all curtains had been dutifully drawn - the one overlooked window had been turned into an opportunity by a paparazzi to take the picture that now graced the website along many others of different targets.

Hannibal's face was not visible as Melissa's in that angle - but his other characteristic features left little to be imagined, including the scene (his home was, after all, famous among the local society for the dinner parties he was celebrated for hosting). Humming softly, the countess left the gadget aside once she was satisfied with the visual inspection, producing instead a piece of paper from the nearby purse, neatly folded into four little squares.

"Alessandro tracked this man down - the 'J. Weiss' credited for the pictures seems to be this man, a certain Jonathan Crispin Weiss," the brunette absent-mindedly played with the paper, her focus however remaining solely on Hannibal. The Forteguerri butler was a trusted employee - and a longtime servant of Melissa, even before the deceased count. He was discreet and efficient, and his connections with the local Italian community in Baltimore had not needed long to flourish and yield results.

Now, almost a year after Melissa's arrival, the butler had barely met any obstacles while investigating the identity of the man who had started to publish pictures of his employer and her paramour without authorization. They were not a secret - not after the last seasonal events, at least; but it didn't mean that either of them enjoyed being featured online like that.

Or more accurately - the countess could not care less about what people thought of her, or whatever business she conducted behind closed doors (those surrounding Melissa either enjoyed the freedom she provided or were hypnotized by the allure of her past; perhaps both). But the woman had always been very keen to protect Hannibal's professional standing and place in society - dragging him along was never something that sit well with the countess, and to have now paparazzi after them was a nuisance.

"He is a freelancer... I wonder if one of your friends hired him," the woman said without any judgement in her voice, merely curious. Some of Hannibal's acquaintances had been known to approach Melissa in public with rather pointed questions and obvious interest. Perhaps his private nature (including the way he carried his own relationships) had helped transform the foreigner newcomer into some sort of evil witch, enchanting the desired bachelor and luring him into danger.

The countess smiled pleasantly - if only these people knew the truth; as the doctor himself had said once, she was hardly the lioness in the room.

"He has turned into a considerable annoyance, wouldn't you agree? The fact he has not asked for money or tried to blackmail either of us suggests that he cannot be silenced through financial means," the piece of paper was then handed to Hannibal, almost like a quiet offering. it had the full name of that photographer, as well as his address and license plate number. Alessandro was nothing if not perfectly capable when assisting outside his housekeeping duties.

"Tell me, carissimo. Is this one of them?" Melissa's eyes glinted while watching the psychiatrist at her side, watching him with a mix of curiosity, dedication and hunger, "One of the loathsome 'rude' you have mentioned before?"

[outwiththecrow]

♟ ─ mun is 18+. due to the content that may or may not be present on this blog, i ask that minors don't attempt to rp with me. ♟ ─ fine w/ long rps. dms are fine, mostly for planning. if i follow you it's because i'd like to write with you at some point. ^_^ ♟ ─ basic dni. may post suggestive content (will be tagged). ♟ ─ may post/rp dark content. will tag appropriate tws when they come up.

♟ ─ anon asks are on. i don't answer anon hate. ♟ ─ will respond to (ooc) asks made by minors, but i don't have intentions of interacting farther than that. ♟ ─ joke/shitpost asks are fine. if it gets excessive, i won't answer them. ♟ ─ might not answer every ask. just because i'm an adult with my own time. it's not personal.

♟ ─ read my muse doc here. ♟ ─ canon divergent. my crane is essentially a mishmash of various different jonathan sources that i like, including (but not limited to) fear state, year one, codotverse, etc. + my own headcanons about him. ♟ ─ everything in roleplay/character is entirely within the realm of fiction. if he's mean to you, it's not a direct attack. he's just Like That. ♟ ─ multiship, though mun does have a mild preference for scriddler.

#ᛝ ‧ I PICTURE MY ANGEL .ㅤ─ㅤ( VISAGE . ) muse media/inspo/etc. #ᛝ ‧ NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF .ㅤ─ㅤ( IC . ) in character posts. #ᛝ ‧ A SERIES OF MEDICAL INQUIRIES .ㅤ─ㅤ( ASKS . ) responses to asks. #�� ‧ WHERE WE MAKE THE MEDICINE .ㅤ─ㅤ( OOC . ) ooc posts. #ᛝ ‧ NOW WE HAVE SYMPTOMS .ㅤ─ㅤ( SCARECROW . ) ic / ooc posts as/about scarecrow, the persona. #ᛝ ‧ HIS FACE WAS TWISTED INTO A FROWN LIKE A DEVIL .ㅤ─ㅤ( JON . ) ic / ooc posts as/about jonathan crane. #ᛝ ‧ I DESIRE VIOLENTLY;; AND I WAIT .ㅤ─ㅤ( RP . ) thread rp responses. #ᛝ ‧ MY KIND OF REBIRTH .ㅤ─ㅤ( PROMPTS . ) plotting/starter calls ++ inbox/rp memes

READ THE CARRD.