#amplify black voice actors

[bodiedbyteecosplays]

Me and my cousin were rewatching the episode where the hantengu clones were debuted andddd yall know how the English version isn’t out yet and I started thinking of who would voice who the first thing that came to mind was Gabe Kunda as Sekido , AJ Beckles as Aizetsu , Van Barr Jr as Karaku (he also voiced Ryusei Shidou in the English dub of Blue Lock), and Zeno Robinson as Urogi (Yes, I already know he voices Genya in the dub but I can’t unhear Zeno voicing Urogi in my head)

@tsuunytsuun

[sosa2imagines]

lucky-bucky-boy has a really good smutty one shot about being undercover with Bucky

"Undercovers"

Warnings- SMUT! Friends to lovers? -------------------------------------------

The air in the fancy casino, was thick with cologne and desperation. Bucky, ever the picture of charm and sophistication, in a well-tailored black suit, leaned closer to you, his voice a low rumble. “Enjoying the high life, doll face?”

You batted your eyelashes, channelling your inner actor. “Only because you're here, handsome.”

It was all part of the act. You and Bucky, have been working together for about two years. It had been a normal mission so far. Until you two were told, that you had to pose as lovers for the upcoming mission. You both were calm about it.

Flirting with Bucky was the easy part, as you two were close friends. A playful banter was a natural extension of your friendship.

Mr and Mrs. Stan, socialite couple with a penchant for gambling and questionable art collections. In reality, you and Bucky were after a stolen prototype weapon, rumored to be changing hands tonight.

Tonight, it was amplified, a performance for any potential buyers lurking around. You exchanged playful swats, whispered secrets, and Bucky even ‘accidentally’ brushed his hand against yours, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. All for the mission, of course you thought…so did Bucky. Right?

Hours bled into each other, a blur of clinking glasses, fabricated interest in dubious paintings, and a well-timed ‘win’ at the roulette table.

As Bucky went, to get drinks for you and him, some guy came over and started to talk with you. “Hey beautiful, what's your name?” The man asked, trying to flirt with you, Bucky was quick by your side, gripping your arm firmly, glaring at the man. “Leave her alone.” Bucky said through clenched teeth, his tone dripping with warning, the man seemed puzzled by his response.

“What's it to ya? Can't a man flirt with a beautiful woman?” The man retorted. Bucky let out a small murmur of annoyance, as he gripped your arm tighter and glared at the man again. “No, you can't.” Bucky said, he still couldn't believe that he was being this possessive over you, he had no right. Right? He couldn't stop the burning jealousy that was building in him.

“And I don't like someone touching or flirting with my fiancée! Get away, you understand?” Bucky said, and the man seemed to see the warning in his eyes this time, and finally nodded and started to walk away. The air crackled with nervous electricity and something else entirely.

Maybe it was the wine, or the sequined cocktail dress that felt like a second skin (and three sizes too small), but your stomach was doing loop-the-loops.

The possessive nature of Bucky was a major turn on for you. Your panties, were in a twist.

The night was a blur of champagne flutes, caviar canapés, and Bucky's expertly delivered charm. You danced close, your bodies brushing, sending shivers down each other’s spine. The playful flirting, you both usually reserved for sparring sessions, took on a whole new meaning under the chandeliers.

“You know...” Bucky murmured, his breath warm against your ear as you both waltzed, “this whole fiancé thing feels surprisingly believable.”

You scoffed, but blush heated your cheeks. “Maybe a little too believable, ‘Stan’.”

Soon, Valentina Fontaine the target began to approach you and Bucky.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky drawled, the black fabric straining across his broad shoulders. A playful glint danced in his steel-blue eyes. “As ready as I'll ever be, handsome…” you retorted, trying to project confidence.

Valentina was flirting heavily with Bucky, which made you see red. You wonder, if this is, how he felt before? She was ignoring you completely, and you had enough of her touching Bucky, who was highly uncomfortable.

You excused yourself and weaved through the throng, brushing against a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. One ‘accidentally’ spilling on Valentina, as her guards rushed to clean her up, Bucky like a gentleman held her purse, making you roll your eyes, as he swiftly took the key from it.

Finally, your chance arrived. Valentina, took a bathroom break. Bucky, ever the smooth operator, distracted her bodyguards, while you slipped into her private dressing room. Jackpot. A hidden compartment in her vanity revealed a flash drive with incriminating data.

Back in your hotel room, adrenaline buzzed through your veins. Relief warred with a newfound tension. You'd gotten the intel, but the night wasn't over. Here, alone in this opulent cage, the charade started to unravel.

Bucky poured drinks for you and him, his gaze lingering on you. “Good job tonight...” he said, his voice rough.

A teasing smile played on your lips. “Always the charmer, Barnes.” But the compliment hung heavy in the air. You both circled each other, the playful dance taking on a new edge.

“So…any reason, you made the waiter spill champagne on Valentina?” Bucky asks with a mischievous smirk. “Any reason, you were possessive, when the guy was flirting with me?” you teased him back.

“I was looking after my future wife…” “I was looking after my future husband…”

“Well, partner,” you say, with a playful smile, tossing the stolen flash drive to Bucky, who catches it with a wink. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “Indeed. Now, about that fiancé thing…”

He pulled you close, the suit jacket falling away to reveal the familiar worn t-shirt he wore beneath. Laughter escaped your lips as he dipped you a playful bow.

“Care to take it one step further, doll?”

One step closer, and his hand was on your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft path over your lips. “This,” he murmured, his voice husky, “this feels a little too real, doesn't it?”

And it did. The line between mission and something more had blurred. Your breath hitched. “Maybe it should...” you whispered before kissing him.

It started as a release; a surge of emotions bottled up for too long. But the kiss ignited something deeper, a fire fuelled by unspoken feelings and the thrill of the night. Clothes fell away, replaced by a desperate urgency.

As soon as your back was pressed against the bed, Bucky lost all self-control.

A growl emitted from his throat, low and rumbling against your mouth. The kiss was hard, a battle of tongues for dominance. An aggressive kiss, making you moan and Bucky’s cock to twitch mindlessly against your tummy.

Bucky pulls back, looking at you. He gently traces his finger over your face. “Mine…” He leans down and brushes his lips against yours, kissing you deeply.

You deepen the kiss, your hands gently sliding down his butt. He slides his hands down your back, his fingers lightly brushing against your butt, kneading them. His kiss becomes hungry, almost desperate, as if he wants as much of you, as he can get.

“You drive me crazy, doll face...” he murmurs against your skin. He leans back down and deepens his kiss, his touch more insistent, his hands sliding over your body. Bucky kisses along your collarbone, down towards your chest, his lips finding the sensitive skin between your breasts. His breath is warm against you, as he lets one of his hands wander lower, his fingertips lightly brushing between your legs.

His lips find the spot on your neck and you moan softly. His fingers find the spot in your cunt. You gasp and moan, your hands slide along Bucky's sides up to his hair, tangling in them.

“I'm gonna take good care of you, doll.” Bucky murmurs against your neck, as he kisses along your collarbone again, nipping and sucking until he's sure he's left a mark.

His hands took your breasts between his palms, kneading them, worshipping them. He took one of the hardened nipples between his lips, sucking it with a deep moan. “Bu…Bucky” you gasped. He nuzzled his face against your breasts before pulling his mouth away, with an obscene pop.

You moan and gently roll your hips against him, the anticipation almost driving you over the edge. He pauses as his eyes move over you, drinking in the sight of you, his breathing is heavy. “You're so beautiful...” he says, sliding a hand up your thigh to your hip and leaning down to kiss along your stomach, his warm lips moving slowly.

“Bucky…” you moan, your hands tangling in the sheets again. His tongue starts to move slowly, teasingly over you. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to stifle your sounds as he slowly circles his tongue around your clit, teasing your button.

Bucky lets out a low moan against you, as he leans back, hooking his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer, as he lowers his head and his tongue finds your center again, moving slowly.

You let go of the sheets, as your hands grip his hair, your back arching in pleasure, as he drives you closer with his tongue. “Bucky…” you gasp, your eyes closing as he brings you closer to the edge.

He can feel you're close, by the way your body tenses, the way your breathing changes. He moves his tongue faster, wanting to take you over the edge, pushing you closer and closer, until you let out a gasp and a shiver runs through you, as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Your body starts to slowly come down, your eyes opening. Bucky lifts his head, stroking your thighs, pressing little kisses to your abdomen, a smile curving the corners of his mouth.

He slides up, leaning down and kissing you slowly. You can taste yourself on his lips, as he kisses you deeply, gently rolling his hips against yours again.

You hook your legs around his waist, rolling your hips against his. You can feel his arousal and it makes you crave his touch. You pull him closer, deepening the kiss, your hands trailing down his back, your nails scratching him, as he keeps rolling his hips against yours.

He groans softly, the feel of you against him causing his breathing to get heavier. He pulls back from the kiss slightly. “I want you,” he almost whispers, kissing along your jaw.

You slide your hand between your bodies, caressing his hardened cock. “You have me,” you say, leaning up and kissing his jaw before nuzzling along his neck. His breathing becomes heavier, as you find that sensitive spot on his neck and he gently moans your name.

You tilt your head back, as Bucky kisses along your neck again, the anticipation building. He gently presses you down on the bed, his hands pressing against your thighs, his lips trailing kisses up your stomach.

He lifts his head, looking down at you. His eyes are dark with need. He reaches down and gently teases you with his fingers, watching the way your lips part to let out a soft moan, your body shifting slightly at his touch.

Bucky gently withdraws his fingers. He leans down and kisses you, before shifting to settle between your legs. You wrap your legs around him, trying to pull him closer. Bucky kisses you deeply as he pushes into you, your pussy takes all of him in. His thick length stretched your walls.

His breath catching in his throat, at the feel of you wrapped around him. He bottoms out with a groan, before pulling back out again. His hips soon found a suitable pace. You break the kiss, breathing heavily, as he starts to move against you slowly, his forehead pressing against yours again, his arms around you, holding you close.  

Bucky speeds up slightly, making your breathing hitch. He presses a little deeper and your nails slightly dig into his shoulders. “Bucky” you whisper, as he hits deep in your cunt, making all your thoughts scatter.

He leans back, looking into your eyes, his name on your lips, fuelling his need, his pace increasing as he buries his face in your neck. You can feel him getting closer, his breathing heavier, your name escaping his lips in a groan. You're close, too.

“Just let go, doll…” he whispers in your ear, his hips moving faster, his lips against yours. The words push you over the edge and you cry out his name, against his lips, as waves of pleasure wash over you. Bucky shudders, as he follows you over, holding you close to him.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, “I'm... I'm gonna come...” he pants as he nears his climax. He spent himself inside you. Filling you up to the brim. He collapsed on top of you, catching his breath, burying his face in your neck.

You lay there for a while, panting, still wrapped in each other's arms. Bucky nuzzles into your neck, placing small kisses along your skin, making you shiver slightly.

He slowly rolls off of you and lays down beside you, his hand lightly caressing your side. You scoot closer into his side, your head resting on his chest as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer.

You close your eyes, as you feel his hand run idly up and down your back. You both lay there in a comfortable silence for a while. The line between playful banter and genuine affection blurred, leaving you and Bucky tangled in the sheets, the mission a distant afterthought. As dawn painted the sky a fiery orange, Bucky held you close, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Maybe we should practice this fiancé thing more often,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. You chuckled, tracing a finger across his metal arm. “Just between us, Barnes? I wouldn't mind.”

My pervert brain had to write about this.

TAGLIST- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm @winterslove1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes @3xclusivemariii

[gothhabiba]

An Appeal to Our Food and Hospitality Community to Take Action Now for Gaza

Dear Industry Friends, 

We have come together as chefs, farmers, media makers, business owners, beverage professionals, and food workers from across our industry to call for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza and an end to U.S. support for Israel’s war crimes. We must break the silence around the genocide in Gaza. As of today, more than 7,000 Palestinians have been massacred in less than three weeks. Nearly half of them are children. Over 8,000 bombs have been dropped on Gaza, killing a Palestinian every 5 minutes. After hospitals run out of fuel,  the death toll will rise exponentially. Every second we choose to stay silent, without demanding that our government stop arming Israel with billions of our tax dollars, we allow another massacre to take place. 

We can prevent this violence by refusing to allow our government to fund and arm Israel’s decades-long military occupation. History has shown us that peace and safety for all in the region cannot come from the violent subjugation of Palestinians. We grieve the loss of all innocent life. However, violence begets violence, and we know this latest eruption did not occur in a vacuum. For 75 years, Palestinians have been killed, imprisoned, tortured, and robbed of their land and homes. In Gaza, 2.2 million people — more than half of whom are children — have been living under an inhumane siege for almost 17 years, and are cut off from the world, without access to water, food, or basic amenities needed to live a dignified and healthy life. For those living in Gaza, the last decade has been a slow genocide. 

As cultural stewards in this country, we have the power to counter the dehumanization of Palestinians. Israel has long weaponized food, erasing Palestinian people while claiming their cuisine. Here in the U.S., the appropriation of Palestinian foods as “Israeli” has led to more than Israelis profiting off of Palestinian culture; it is an erasure that has had real implications for Palestinians. It allows us to negate their cultural currency, and turn our attention away with more ease when we see Palestinian death. 

We must join our voices with Palestinians pleading for justice and protection right now. The situation is dire, and no amount of media coverage has discouraged Israel from its policy of ethnic cleansing and land theft as the U.S. government continues to protect Israel from global pressure for a ceasefire. We have been called upon by Palestinian civil society to join their struggle for freedom by joining the global movement for divestment and cultural boycott of Israel until it ends its horrific human rights abuses.

We ask our fellow food and beverage community to take a stand against genocide and ethnic cleansing and commit to three actions with us:

Call your congressional representatives to demand an immediate ceasefire and an end to unconditional U.S. funding of Israel. 

Divest from products, events, and trips that promote Israel until it dismantles its apartheid system and military occupation. 

Invest in events and projects that promote justice for Palestinians, whether connecting to a local organization to learn how to support, or amplify Palestinian voices and support them to share their food and culture on their own terms.

We recognize that this may be difficult given the frightening pressure put on us to remain silent. McCarthyist tactics cannot marginalize and divide us – we know we are not alone as the whole world is rising up against injustice and genocide. Thousands of artists worldwide have publicly endorsed BDS and the cultural boycott of Israel, including musicians, DJs, filmmakers and actors, visual artists, Black artists, Latin American artists, and countless others across all fields and continents. This is in spite of efforts made by Israeli government-linked lobby groups to suppress this solidarity. 

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” —Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

We are all in this industry to affirm life and dignity for everyone. As those who care for others, it is our moral imperative to actively contribute to the care that Palestinians need right now as they struggle to survive and get free. Food and beverage colleagues – it’s time for our community to extend our hospitality and join the movement for a Free Palestine.

Add your name – sign the pledge

[draculasfavoritewife]

I'd Give Up My Spot In Heaven (For A Moment In Hell With You)

Summary: Being the Devil's partner is more difficult some nights than others, and no one makes it harder on the both of you than Lucifer himself.

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief depictions of smoking and alcohol use, themes of depression and self-hatred, guilt; discussions of death (but a good ending, never fear). And of course implied smut because this beautiful man has me constantly thinking some very unholy things.

If I had to choose one single TV show that changed my life and has so powerfully influenced my recent adulthood, it would definitely be the Lucifer Netflix series. I could write semesters' worth of essays on just how beautifully crafted the character is and what a stunning actor Tom Ellis is. Someday I really need to write more fic for him because truly, in my opinion Lucifer is one of THE Characters of All Time and I'm so utterly in love with him it makes me look stupid.

*I wrote this with the thought that it takes place sometime during the events of Season 2, definitely before the return of his wings

The flutter of uncharacteristically cold silk sheets brushing across your flesh wakes you with a silent gasp. Frowning, you grope blindly in the darkness, reaching out in vain for your usual heat source but grasping only more folds of empty, luxurious fabric.

You’re alone.

And the bed feels suddenly far too vast and lonesome for one body to occupy. 

After a few heartbeats of mildly distressed thrashing about, you finally open your eyes and sit up, pulling the unmoored sheets up around your bare chest and searching for him in the dark. The penthouse is quiet, full of shadows draping languorously across the furniture and expensive art, hiding the familiar contours of his elegant bedroom from view. 

He’s not there. 

He’s left you alone in his bed, something he really only does when his mind is torturing him too much, so he resorts back to his oldest tried-and-true method of dealing with pain — avoidance. 

Which means he’s in pain out there somewhere. Your beloved fallen angel is afflicted with some hurt that strikes too deep for him to rest tonight.

And you don’t want him to remain like that until morning. 

With a sigh, you rise from the empty bed and shrug into the button-up shirt he tossed onto the night table only several hours before. Though he often offers the whites to you, you always prefer the black ones instead, these garments that seductively wrap your form like soft night shadows, the scent of his cologne heavily amplified without a light to distract your other senses. Your bare feet make hardly any sound on the cool floor as you stumble your way into the main living area, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim. 

There he is. 

He hasn’t gone far, sitting slouched forward at the piano, a nearly empty whiskey tumbler within easy reach and soft smoke curling upward from the lit cigarette held between his long fingers. By the array of still-glowing stumps littering the nearby ashtray, it’s not his first one of the night, either. He only chain-smokes when he’s really worked up, so you approach him cautiously, halting a couple of feet from his left side.

His endless dark eyes are focused impossibly far away, haunted and cold, and they don’t so much as even flicker in your direction as you hover there, uncertain of how to catch his attention. 

“Go back to bed, Darling. I’ll be along eventually.” 

His voice is as smooth and lovely as ever, but the detached undertone running like bitter poison beneath sends a tiny shiver up the back of your neck. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” 

He doesn’t reply, and you would almost wonder if he didn’t hear you at all, save for the agitated clenching and unclenching of his chiseled jaw. Restless fingers tap a dusting of ash from the end of the cigarette, shoving it back between full lips for another irritated drag of smoke into his immortal lungs. 

He did hear.

So you choose to wait, settling on the end of the piano bench beside him, though not quite close enough to touch. 

Smoke jets from his nostrils, its acrid scent burning the back of your throat. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Just up for an impromptu nightcap, Sweetheart.” He immediately contradicts his casual claim by abruptly tossing back the rest of his whiskey and rising for a refill. You watch his silhouette as he looms over his private bar to replenish his drink.

Even when all of the details are hidden, he’s still utterly captivating, the sleek planes of his toned body sharply outlined by the faint light bleeding from the windows. 

“You don’t drink like that for a nightcap.” You absently brush your fingertips across a simple chord on the piano keys. “You can talk to me, about whatever’s on your mind. You know that.” 

“Did I ASK you to play the part of my therapist?” his dark shape snarls, another billow of nicotine smoke accentuating his sudden anger. 

You turn so you’re facing him, though you still can’t make out his face.

He feels safer that way, hidden in the dark. 

The Devil may be an excellent actor, but those damned beautiful eyes have always given him away to you, and he has the nasty suspicion they’re a bit too glossy at the moment for his comfort. 

You sigh softly. “Don’t think of it that way, then. I’m not here to analyze and dissect you. But you haven’t been sleeping well lately.” You hold up your hands to stall the protest you know is coming. “And I know you probably don’t need it the same way I do. But you hold everything in, and you bury it so deep, Lucifer. There will only ever be more and more piling on top if you don’t let it out sometime.” 

He huffs, a harsh burst of scornful laughter. Drawing closer again, he towers over you, tall and forbidding, eyes briefly flashing crimson through the shadows cast across his face.

“And just how do you suggest I go about that, hmm? I don’t exactly have my trust in others positively reinforced that often.” 

You’re very well aware of his profound trust issues, but that one hurts. “That's not fair, Lucifer. When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? When have I ever done anything except stand by you?” 

“You haven’t! But that’s the lovely part about you humans, isn’t it? I can watch and listen and taste and think I’ve figured out exactly how you work, and then every single time, something extraordinary happens and I realize I’ve predicted wrong again! There’s no rhyme or reason to you!” He tears away from you, pacing and agitated. “And bloody Hell, I’m TIRED of finally letting down my walls for you people only to be trampled upon again and again.” 

No knife blade could cut quite so deep and sharp, and for a moment, you’re left completely speechless at the implication that you would ever betray him. But you heard the way his voice broke at the peak of his rant, the shuddering sound of his ragged breaths, so for the moment you swallow your own hurt and focus on his.

He needs you right now, whether he recognizes it or not. 

“Okay. You're right. We have been — we still are — so very unfair to you, Love. I know that. I’m sorry you’re still seen as the villain; I’m so sorry for all of it. And I know your own family only continues to betray your trust as well. I am —” you clear your throat, your own voice wavering slightly now. “— I am sorry you never had anyone truly on your side, Lucifer. I can’t imagine what that’s like.” 

His frenzied pacing stops; he approaches you again, footsteps suddenly tentative. “Why do they all do it?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard his voice so soft, so uncertain.

“Why, after all of the chances I give them, does everyone still think it’s such a grand time to undermine and manipulate me whenever they get the chance?” 

You stand, and ever so slowly bring your hands up to cradle his handsome, angular face. “They all have their own reasons, my Darling. Please….” 

You’re not quite sure what you’re pleading him for, but the utter despair overflowing from those fathomless eyes twists your heart even harder than his outburst from before. 

“It isn’t you,” you whisper fiercely, recognizing the all-too-familiar desolation of his intense self-hatred surfacing. “Luce, Angel, it’s never been you. I promise.” 

“Why can’t I make anyone happy?” he asks in a broken whisper. He’s letting you closer; you can feel his smoky breath ruffling your sleep-tossed hair, and the heat rising from his bare torso in front of you.

Your hands hesitantly drift from his face, caressing the smooth expanse of his chest before trailing around to his back. He flinches, a minuscule twitch as your fingertips gently find their way to catch in the wide, roughened furrows there — the enormous crescent scars that are all that remain of his beautiful wings. 

You order your thoughts, taking a breath to let your own inner tumult dissipate, and inhale the scent of him, that blend of too-expensive cologne edged with just enough of the whiskey and smoke to be enthralling and not overpowering. It reminds you once more, in this moment, of just how deeply you love this tortured angel, your King without a crown, and how you chose to do so even knowing there would be nights like this, times when he tried to push you away. 

He deserves to have someone on his side no matter what, even when he’s difficult. 

“You make me happy.” 

His mouth opens, no doubt to argue that, but you press on before he can speak. “Do you remember the night you finally took the chance and showed me your devil face?” 

He nods, reluctant and suspicious. 

“Do you remember what I did?” 

His eyes narrow and he tilts his head to one side, thinking. “I remember…what you didn’t do. You didn’t scream. Or try to run away, or just sit there staring at me like you were going to explode. You were…startled, of course, but you…accepted it?” 

“I did. I do. Do you know why?” 

He shakes his head mutely, those eyes wide and glimmering with interest now as he stares back into yours, searching for the answer. 

“Because it’s you. Devil, angel, man, monster, whatever you want to call yourself — none of that matters to me, because all of it is just names, decorations over the Lucifer I fell in love with. And that…being…cares — so deeply — about people, even though he claims he doesn’t. He sacrifices so much for others, even as he calls himself selfish. And —” you gently shush him so you can finish before he tries to deflect, “— the way others treat him does hurt him, though he puts up a good act. I know that’s why he tries to push away the people who love him. I understand.” 

A barely perceptible shudder runs through his skin, and he looks away from you for a moment. He’s still not always used to anyone but Dr. Martin being able to read him that well, but he’s relieved that you can. Anyone else in this close of a relationship with him would have probably thrown in the towel long before now. 

After a moment, powerful arms pull you in tight to his body, solidly encircling your form. His breathing slows; the comforting sensation of his agile hands stroking your back brings a smile to your lips. 

“Now, what else is wrong?” you whisper. 

A long sigh rocks you against his chest. “I saw their faces in my dreams again. Relived their pain…. I’m left wondering again if there wasn’t anything I could have done to — well. I suppose I’m saying I still feel responsible.” 

You let your eyes flutter shut against him, soothingly massaging his scars and feeling the tense muscles in his back let go one by one.

“Who, Luce?” 

He swallows hard above your head, allowing himself a moment to compose his voice before speaking their names aloud. “Delilah. Jana. Father Frank.” 

People who once meant something to him, people who died violent deaths that he wishes he could have protected somehow.

Or had maybe never met in the first place.

His fingertips dig into your skin through his shirt, and you know exactly where his tormented mind is going, the fear that everyone he cares about will end up hurt or dead eventually. 

He can’t have that happen to you. 

“They all made their own choices, Love. Delilah and Jana were attached to their lifestyles and knew it might catch up with them or go wrong someday. Father Frank loved so fiercely he would have chosen the same fate for himself a hundred times over. I know it’s…difficult, for you — for any of your family — to comprehend, but we 'insignificant humans' do have things in this life we are willing to take risks for. Even die for.” You huff a quiet laugh, burying yourself even further in the warmth of his skin. 

“What would you die for?” 

The honest, blunt question takes you by surprise. There’s none of his usual banter or teasing preceding it. When you pull back to meet his eyes, you see the look of earnest interest on his face, his dark brows drawn together with the force of his desire to understand. 

It’s not a difficult answer. 

“You, Lucifer. What we have. That’s what I would die for.” 

His gaze feels like it’s piercing all the way into the most vulnerable parts of your soul, searching for any sign of why you would do so. 

Then his focus suddenly flits away again; for a heartbeat, pain settles into the lines of his face before it clears as quickly as it appeared. 

“I was thinking about Uriel, too.” 

It feels like there’s suddenly no air in your lungs. He hasn’t really brought up what happened with his younger brother to you except in passing. You know how much that whole situation wrecked him, but though you ached to let him know he could talk to you about it, you also knew it hurt far too much, so you merely supported him silently through his despair-fueled run of alcohol, drugs, and raging parties, hoping that one day he would realize he could trust you with the full weight of it. 

Perhaps he finally has. 

“I was thinking about him, and how I — I killed my brother, Darling. I took the Blade of Azrael and plunged it right into him without a second thought. What kind of —” he takes a choppy breath, swallows again; when he continues, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“What kind of monster does that make me, Love?” 

You ponder your reply as your fingers travel up to his face once more, feeling the well-loved scratch of his perpetually perfect five-o-clock shadow as you caress his jaw.

He leans ever so slightly into your touch as he waits for your next words, somewhat reassured by the intimate contact that they won’t be damning. 

“Uriel would have killed the detective. And he would have killed your mother.” Your own voice is firm, certain in your assessment. “You looked out for your own. You gave him so many chances to back off, and he didn’t. In a way, even Uriel made his own choice in the end.” You gaze back up into his eyes, noting how vulnerable he looks here in this moment through the shining veil of tears that even now refuse to fall.

“Don’t blame yourself for your brother’s death anymore, Lucifer.” 

“But I’d never taken a life before.” His lips press together into a hard line, their sweeping curves disappearing momentarily into grief. “And to have my first be him?” 

“I know.” You push yourself into him again, trailing soft kisses across his collarbone. “And I’ll never know what you’re going through. But I’m here. I’m always here. And we can talk all about it whenever you need. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” 

You can’t quite tell if he’s crying or not as he fiercely folds you into his grasp, as close as the two of you can possibly hold each other. But you stay like that for a very long time, swaying gently back and forth, no sound audible save for the breaths and beating hearts of the Devil and his human lover. 

Eventually, he is the one to pull away, retreating back to the bar and picking up his drink from where he set it down before. His cigarette has long since gone out, but he makes no move to light another. You can tell by the loose set of his shoulders that his self-inflicted torture is easing for now, and as it passes, your own body wearily reminds you of how late — or early? — it is, and that it would much rather be in bed. 

“Go back to bed, Darling.” There’s real warmth in Lucifer’s voice now as he repeats his words from before.

“I’ll be along eventually.” 

So you do, still wearing his shirt, and drift in and out of lonely dreams until the mattress finally dips beside you, heralding his along-waited arrival. 

“Still awake?” He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “My scintillating company has ruined you for ever sleeping alone again, hasn’t it?” 

“Maybe.” You roll onto your back to smile up into his face. “The bed’s so cold without you.” 

He smirks, runs a teasing finger down from your lips right up to where you left the top couple buttons of the shirt strategically undone. “Well. I was a bit of an ass to you earlier, Love, and I do want to make it up to you. So.” He leans in close, that familiar look of utterly seductive, wicked mischief crossing his face.

“Tell me, what is it you want from me right now? What is that sinful, naughty little desire of yours that’s just waiting so patiently on the tip of your tongue? Go on, Sweetheart, don’t be shy.” 

“Lucifer!” You glare up into his expectant, dancing eyes as you struggle to resist his persuasion. “I’m not going to say it out loud.” 

“Oh, so it’s REALLY awful then!” He sounds shamelessly delighted as he traps you in place so you can’t possibly elude the inevitable revelation of what’s on your mind. “And how should I punish my favorite little sinner, for thinking such deliciously dirty things?” 

Unable to hold on to your resolve any longer, you pull him down over you so that you can feverishly unload your demented fantasies into his waiting ear. 

“Well, well, well.” A low chuckle vibrates deep in his chest as he kisses you, scorchingly slow. “How DO you manage to go about your day-to-day life as a seemingly normal human when your innermost thoughts are so sordid, Darling? Tell me, is it terribly difficult keeping your wicked side under wraps during daylight hours?” 

You sigh in pleasure as his mouth moves to your throat and his talented fingers start to smoothly undo the buttons of the shirt. “Only when you’re around.” 

“Is that so?” He rests his forehead against yours, a hand sweeping under the curve of your back and lifting your body up to meet his. “They do call me the tempter, I suppose. Ah, Darling, you can bet I’m going to do my very damndest to break that flawless self-restraint of yours in public one of these days. Whatever do you think people would say if that were to happen?” 

“Just shut up and punish me already,” you murmur, shivering as your skin is exposed to the chill air once more. “You’ve tortured me for long enough.” 

“Really.” He grins devilishly, sharp eyes glowing like hot embers in the dim.

“I do believe I haven’t even started.” 

[peristylee]

TONGUE TIED

Angel Devil x GN!reader

IN SUMMARY: When Angel Devil wasn't being forced to partake in exterminating devils, he often found himself lounging around on the couch of his own apartment, either sleeping or perhaps watching a movie. His options in cassette tapes were very limited, so he usually rewatches the same films, with the exception of one.

CONTENT INCLUDES: SFW, second person POV, angst to fluff, mentions of death + blood, might be ooc

WORD COUNT: 1777 (On average: about 5.9 to 8.9 minutes of reading time)

The warmth of skin-to-skin contact, the feeling of intertwining hands together, that intimate touch between two individuals; it was Angel’s dream. The dream of being able to hold someone and familiarize himself with them only by blind touch. 

It was a foolish dream; a dream that he had abandoned a long time ago.

The blood of his familiars had splattered on his hands the moment they brushed fingers, seeping into his skin. Despite his palms appearing clean, the deep crimson stain lingered, etched into his soul, a permanent mark of his existence.

How he yearned for the sweet release of oblivion, so he can forget those memories that seem to torment him with every blink. Perhaps in death he could go to heaven and be a real angel.

But what a naive thought. He’s well aware that the wings on his back will never allow him to fly up to the heavens. Under God’s judgment, they would instead burn when faced with the sun, and he will be casted down to hell once more.

For he was a devil, tainted and damned.

.

.

.

Those were the thoughts that surged through his mind as his eyes remained fixated on the television screen in front of him. The soft glow illuminated his delicate features, casting a gentle light on his face.

The tender music playing in the background seemed to echo the emotions of the characters on screen, their words and actions stirring something deep within him, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

The screen's glow reflected in his pupils as he watched, his eyebrows furrowing as the actors shared another kiss.

Normally, he never bothered with romantic films, figuring that he would never understand human relationships, but after rewatching the same horror films over and over again, he eventually caved.

Although, he began to wonder if that unfamiliar feeling in his chest was annoyance or perhaps envy.

Reluctantly, he stood up, the ache in his heart growing as he turned off the TV. The scene of the two actors faded, replaced by a blank, black screen. His reflection stared back at him, a stark contrast to the lively emotions he had just witnessed.

Touch, kissing, cuddling, love; it was all such a foreign concept to him.

The silence of the room seemed to amplify the emptiness he felt inside, a poignant reminder of the loneliness that clung to him like his own shadow. The weight of his past actions and the unattainable dreams he harbored pressed down on him, leaving him feeling more isolated than ever.

As he made his way back to the empty couch, too lazy to go to his bedroom, the haunting memories of the lives he had taken flickered through his mind, blending with the scenes of love and tenderness he had just witnessed. It was a cruel juxtaposition, one that left him questioning if he would ever find peace.

Lost in thought, the world outside seemed distant up until a series of knocks echoed throughout the quiet apartment. The sound reverberated off the bare walls, pulling him back into the present.

"Angel!" a slightly muffled voice called from the other side of the door, the urgency barely contained in their tone. "Come on out! It's time to patrol!" The knocking resumed, this time with a desperate edge, “Aki is going to get pissed with both of us if you don’t hurry up! We’re already late-!”

Angel didn’t move though, only turning his head slightly, his gaze drifting to the small slivers of sunlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains. The noise outside felt distant, muffled by the weight of his own thoughts.

The knocks on his door soon moved to relentless spamming on his doorbell with high-pitched ‘dings’, making him sigh and shove his head into the couch cushion, a poor attempt to drown out the insistent noise. He let out a sigh through his nose, the realization taunting him as he knew that his peace from work was now gone. Time for another day of depriving labor…

He was nearly halfway off the couch when the door to his apartment flung open, startling him. He jerked upright, eyes blinking in surprise.

Peeking around the corner was your head, a pair of keys jingling as you moved. "Ah! There you are," you said, your eyes scanning his angelic appearance. 

Even though you were his work partner and saw him regularly, his gentle features and those soft, pearly white wings always captivated you. If you didn’t know he was a devil, you might have mistaken him for a real angel, meticulously crafted and sent down from heaven itself.

"There… I am..." Angel sighed, the disappointment in his voice palpable as he rose to his feet. He stretched, his wings spreading wide and his back producing a satisfying ‘pop.’ It was a rare sight to see his wings fully extended, their pristine feathers catching the light, creating a brief, almost ethereal glow in the dim room before settling in their original position on his back.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a mix of exasperation and fondness in your expression. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing these,” you murmured, lightly, stepping further into the room, your eyes darting to the keys clutched in your hand.

You held the keys in front of him, your gaze wandering around his cluttered living space to avoid eye contact. It landed on the coffee table next the couch, where a half-opened cassette tape was conspicuously placed amongst the mess. The cover was adorned with an overly dramatic image of a couple in an embrace, the title printed in bold letters. 

“The Princess Bride…” you muttered, glancing back at Angel, “I didn’t know you were into romance- “

“I’m not,” he interrupted, his gaze narrowing slightly. His tone was defensive, as if the topic was more uncomfortable than you realized.

The atmosphere grew awkward in an instant. You felt beads of sweat forming on your temple as you watched Angel snatch the keys from your hand and toss them behind him carelessly, showing little regard for where they landed.

“Is that so…” you mumbled. The room suddenly felt colder.

Despite his celestial appearance, his suit was in disarray. He hadn’t bothered to change out of it last night, and now it hung on him, wrinkled and loose. His hair was a tousled mess, clear evidence of his restless sleep. He ran a hand through it, but the effort was half-hearted at best, and the wild strands remained stubbornly in place.

“You should really take better care of yourself,” you said, your voice steady despite the tension.

Angel shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “What’s the point?” he muttered flatly, “It’s not like it changes anything.”

You frowned at his blunt response. “Don’t move.”

“Huh?” he responded, caught off guard as you stepped closer. Without waiting for his reaction, your hands deftly moved to the messy tie around his neck. With focused determination, you worked to straighten and retie it, your fingers moving with precision.

Angel stiffened at the proximity, his wings ruffling slightly, reacting to the unexpected closeness. He could feel the warmth from your fingers on his collarbone through the thin fabric of his shirt, sending shivers through his spine.

What you were doing was bold, maybe even reckless. He was a devil capable of causing harm with a mere touch—what were you thinking?

As you finished and stepped back, satisfied with your work, you offered a sheepish smile. “Devil hunters have a reputation to uphold, so… try to at least maintain it,” you said. “Well, that’s what Miss Makima says anyways.”

Angel stood there, stunned into silence. He glanced down at his now neatly tied tie, a small frown of confusion on his face. It was such a simple act, yet it felt surprisingly intimate. He had never considered how something as mundane as adjusting a tie could stir such strange emotions.

“Uh… thanks,” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. He avoided meeting your eyes, his lips twitched slightly, not into a smile, but just twitched, as if in amusement.

"Well, Aki’s going to lose it if we don’t get moving," you said, trying to inject some urgency into your voice. "He’s already on edge, and we don’t need to make things worse." By this point, you were already standing next the entrance again, leaving Angel standing.

“…okay…” he would’ve said more; he would’ve asked more, such as ‘why would you do that??’ But his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, just barely allowing him to get one word out.

You waited patiently near the door, your gaze softening as you watched him. Despite his apathy, there was something undeniably graceful about the way he moved, a lingering elegance that even his exhaustion couldn’t entirely hide.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The patrol was uneventful, the streets quieter than usual. As you and Angel walked side by side, the weight of the earlier tension seemed to lift, replaced by a comfortable silence. The night air was cool, and the city lights cast a soft glow on the pavement.

After hours of patrolling, you both returned to the office, the day's work finally behind you. As you gathered your things to leave, Angel stood by the door, his tie once again just barely hanging around his neck.

"Hey..." Angel called out to you quietly, just barely audible for your ears to hear.

You paused what you were doing, turning your head to face him with a small hum of acknowledgment. His voice had been so soft, so uncharacteristically hesitant, that it made your heart ache just a little.

"Can you..." the angelic devil wasn't sure what to say at this point, his wings slightly wrapped around him as he stared at his feet. "...Can you do that thing again?"

You stared for a moment, the gears in your head turning as you tried to understand what he wanted. Fortunately, you figured it out quickly, glancing at his wrinkled tie. The sight of him, so vulnerable and unsure, stirred a deep empathy within you.

"But work is over," you responded, turning your whole body to face him. Your voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.

Angel shrugged, still staring at his feet. His wings wrapped tighter around him, a protective gesture, as if he were shielding himself from some unseen threat. The vulnerability in his posture was striking, a stark contrast to the usually aloof and indifferent demeanor he wore like armor.

.

.

.

"Alright, come here."

AN: ANGEL DEVIL! MY LOVE!

[fireball-me]

Hey! What’s your banner thing from? The skeleton guy?

Glad you asked!

This is from the game The Under Presents, a VR online game about exploring with and learning from other people all without voice chat or any direct communication. Its whole thing is a sort of surreal form of modern theater/performance art. For a brief period, sometimes some "Actors" would come online and interact with the players (The skeleton here is an actor, and the black silhouette is a player.)

One time, before it was known that actors were appearing, I and some others were approached by a silent actor skeleton (who may or may not have been Amelia Earhart) who walked with us through different worlds. At the end of the "performance," when they had to leave, they hugged the player beside me.

I had been recording the whole encounter, but my headset died soon after mid-recording. Wanting to preserve the feelings of dreamlike wonder and warmth from that encounter, I did what I could to try to recover the footage. The result was a colorful, corrupted sequence of events, with the beauty of the moment of the hug preserved and amplified in strange and surreal color.

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

“While disinformation, fake news, and propaganda have been around since the beginning of time, today, new technologies are helping it proliferate online, often drowning out responsible voices. Nowhere is this truer than in Ukraine.

Bot technology, which was developed in the earliest years of the internet, has more recently been put to nefarious uses. Unscrupulous actors are using social media algorithms to raise the popularity of particular kinds of inflammatory content and to spread propaganda.

For more than a decade, former Soviet bloc countries have played an important and disturbing role in developing bot and troll farms. Russian and pro-Russian Ukrainians, many working for the Russian Federal Security Service, have launched well-functioning bot factories, creating chaos, distractions, anger, and fear via numerous disinformation streams that now pose an integral challenge everywhere, in countries as different as Venezuela, Colombia, the United States, and the U.K. - not just in Ukraine.

This is how it works. We are spending more and more time online, reading posts, watching videos, and consuming more information than ever. We share them with our friends and tweet about them. Many people rely on social media for all their news. In this way we have created entirely new information ecosystems outside the traditional systems that include fact-checking procedures.

Bots pretend to be a person online. They take advantage of our already established social media networks and spread like wildfire on them, on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and instant messaging apps. The messages they push out are simple, precise, unambiguous, and convey a single thought. They are calibrated to produce the strongest emotions possible and elicit fear and confusion, creating havoc and causing considerable psychic damage to each of us, our loved ones, and people all over our country.

After Zelenskyy became president, it didn’t take long for him to understand how dangerous these bot farms are and the peril they posed to Ukraine: “These are the challenges of today, and we must be prepared for them,” Zelenskyy said in an interview with Interfax-Ukraine in February 2020. “In Ukraine, this is now a real business, a very serious business. Bot farms are a problem, whatever they are: for white or black, there is no difference. Because those who stand up for good, such as Ukraine’s independence, in social media today may be against it tomorrow. Therefore, we must fight against such things. For the independence of the country, the independence of the individual, human rights must be fought in any way.”

At that moment, Zelenskyy was speaking more broadly, meaning that not only Ukrainians but the whole world must learn to distinguish the line where freedom of speech ends and disinformation begins. To me, it seemed a very crucial point, because if we cannot decide on what is allowed on social media now, we will be unable to deal with even greater challenges in the future.

Bot farms were used to supplement and reinforce the methods used on the oligarch-owned television networks. They helped amplify the message of pro-Russian puppets brought to power by Moscow in different countries, influencing their politics and media. For Russia, the internet has been an important source of contemporary propaganda, and its use of the internet is analogous to the methods the Nazi propagandist Joseph Goebels developed in the 1930s on the radio and in newspapers. As he once said, “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.” Nonsense remains nonsense in the singular. But when someone sends hundreds and thousands of nonsensical posts and commentaries to people’s phones and computer screens, people begin to believe what they see.

Here is but one outrageous example in Ukrainian media: to undermine government land reform policies, an endless number of absurd stories appeared about Chinese people digging up and shipping out the famously fertile Ukrainian soil. The usual chauvinistic and racist Russian-style propaganda outlets promulgated and published these stories. Their purpose was to create doubt about these needed land reform measures – such as lifting the moratorium on the sale of Ukraine’s agricultural land and investing in irrigation systems – which would help rid the agricultural sector of fraud and abuse and boost Ukraine’s economy. In the same vein, other stories trumpeted that Zelenskyy was a pro-Russian president or controlled by oligarchs – anything that could undermine people’s trust in him. By repeating such garbage over and over again, some were seeking political dividends. This fake news contributed to an oppressive political atmosphere and increased Ukrainians’ disenchantment with their institutions.”

Iuliia Mendel, The Fight of Our Lives: My Time with Zelenskyy, Ukraine’s Battle for Democracy, and What It Means for the World

[jechristine]

Agree with mari0rt on considering the actions of Z in context. She was criticized by prominent black voices saying that the role of Marie should have gone to a middle-aged dark skinned black woman even though Z herself requested the project made for her and JDW came on board later. She's frequently criticized for being given priority in the industry over dark skinned black women and that would be more amplified if she worked as a lead in a project of a black director. So her only recourse would be to be just a supporting actor in that kind of project (which she was in Space Jam 2 when Ryan Coogler asked her to voice Lola Bunny at a late stage because they needed more star power to sell the movie). Also let's remember that she was supposed to work with Nia DaCosta in A White Lie and despite securing distribution rights, the movie fell apart at the last minute and that's when she decided to do Euphoria. Then the movie Passing was made dealing with a very similar subject matter during a similar time period, making AWL even more unlikely

We sometimes forget that Z has worked on just a few projects and based on her recent statements we should expect her output to slow down. It's hard to get $50M in financing for a movie starring a Black woman like Amy Pascal was able to get for Challengers. I just listened to a podcast interview with Halle Berry in which she talks extensively about the dearth of offers even after she won the Best Actress Oscar and she was still considered one of the most beautiful women in the world. Even when Z works with white creatives, she has fought to hire black creatives in the projects, be it dark skinned actors as her family in KC Undercover, the hair and makeup team in Euphoria and Challengers, Darnell getting an assistant producer credit in Challengers, Law getting a costume design credit in Malcolm & Marie, bringing her own black glam team for the very white companies Lancôme, Bulgari, Hilfiger, Valentino and LV, etc

Thank you for this context, Anon.

@marie08rt

[aziraphales-library]

hi hello! I adore the blog, thanks for all the work that you all do !! May you recommend any good multi chapter fics that have a really great plot/storyline? Something not explicit or nsfw. thank you dearly!

Hey! You can check our #plotty and #long fic tags for more recommendations like this. Here are more to add...

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years.

Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

in the study with the lead pipe by paradoxicalpockets (T)

The year is 1845, and Aziraphale, a rare books dealer, would like to retire early. His plans are scuttled when a mysterious letter is dropped on his stoop - a threat of blackmail from one Lord Gabriel, a wealthy American living out in the English countryside. An already tense dinner with 5 other blackmail victims (one of which is the famous actor Anthony J. Crowley) takes a turn for the worse when their host reveals that they are locked in the mansion, the blackmail materials are in the mailbox outside, and the police are set to arrive in 24 hours.

The only way to truly protect your secrets is to send them to the grave. Aziraphale and Crowley must find the front door key and escape...or die trying.

World Enough And Time by Stephquiem (T)

For Aziraphale, there were always two Crowleys: the First Crowley, the one he met in the Garden, the one he's spent 6000 years meeting across human history. And there is the Second Crowley, the one who comes to him across time, again and again, propelled, it would seem, by some unknown tragedy. Both, his hereditary enemy. His dearest friend.

For Crowley, there is a Before, and there is an After. Before, he spent 6000 years as Hell's agent on Earth, seeing Aziraphale occasionally, working together where they could get away with it. After... After, he's drawn back over and over, like he's attached by a tether that just won't let him go.

Not that he wants it to let him go. The alternative...

Binary Star by TriffidsandCuckoos (T)

After abandoning the Earth in the wake of a more environmental apocalypse, humanity has taken to the stars. Crowley stayed behind to restore the Earth; Aziraphale followed the humans into space. After almost two centuries, the latest prophet arrives in Aziraphale’s archive, determined to rectify this.

So Much Discounted by WanderingAlice (T)

After asking Aziraphale a strange question, Crowley disappears. Can Aziraphale work out what happened to him? And more importantly, can he save him before it's too late?

---

“No.” Aziraphale sat up, throwing his senses wide, searching, seeking, all the way to the edges of the world. “Crowley!” His frantic cry, amplified by his angelic power, rippled through the minds of every being with even the slightest occult sensitivity. Miles away, Anathema sat up in bed, and reached in panic for her lover when she felt the new absence in the world. Down the street from Jasmine Cottage, Adam Young tumbled from his covers, reaching out himself with what remained of his power. What he found was so terrible he fled from it, running to climb into bed with his parents like he hadn’t since he’d been very small.

“No,” the angel said again, his voice small and lost amid the stacks of lonely books. “No.” He pushed himself up with trembling hands, climbed to his feet, and didn’t stop running until he stood outside the door to Crowley’s Mayfair flat.

stalwart sun, wily moon by dustnhalos (M)

Anthony J. Crowley is a world-class art thief with a complicated past who, until now, had been pretty content with going through life as part of a prolific black market art trafficking ring. He enjoyed the thrill and danger of the hunt, especially if it meant he got to travel the world, play with state-of-the-art technology, and make enough money to afford anything he could ever want.

That is, until a simple logistical hiccup leads him straight into the path of one Aziraphale Fell, former Head Conservator of the British Museum turned antique repair shop owner.

Suddenly, there's a space in Crowley's life that only Aziraphale seems to fill, but his clandestine life of crime paired with Aziraphale's industry connections and indomitable penchant for good seems like a relationship doomed to fail.

Little do they both know, the strands of friendship, morality, and deception in their shared circles of the London art world are interwoven in even more complex ways than either of them could have expected...

- Mod D

[rosetintedgunman]

LIAM JACKSON

One thing I've always been transparent about is this: the Wilford that's on this blog wasn't supposed to exist in his timeline. William was supposed to die.

For the sake of good manners, I'm putting everything under a read-more.

-

Everything would play out as intended, until William and Abe first confront one another. It's tense, but Abe shoots first. He was aiming for the shoulder to try and disarm William. Knowing the soldier would be able to kill him instantly, he pulled the trigger too fast... and hit William in the neck instead.

William died almost instantly.

Celine wasn't supposed to be there. She was never meant to interrupt the confrontation and distract from the intended scenario. Her arrival meant that others were killed or gravely injured, while the one who was supposed to die survived.

But in this timeline...? William dies. There's another argument, but the Manor's influence has subsided.... And everyone else walks out the front door and into the safety of the external grounds. Alive. Safe. Traumatised, but they survived.

There's no Attorney stuck in the mirror. No Dark. No one driven mad from ten hours of mourning and watching death undo itself. Nothing. Just the missing corpse of the actor, and a dead soldier.

William's body is left alone while the others wait outside for the authorities. A brief investigation is undertaken to confirm what was said was true. But before the body can be taken away, it too vanishes.

The Actor sneaks out stage right in the stolen corpse.

As for William? Well... He was stuck alone in the Void. There's no looping hellscape here. No need for it. Instead, he's stuck in the same space as Mark's corpse. He can leave whenever he wants! Gosh, if only he had the magical skills to do that. But he doesn't! And he has to wait. For months. Until he absorbs enough of the Manor's energy to amplify his own abilities, ultimately claim and reshape the corpse, and push himself back into the world of the living.

His trust is gone. He paid that price to get out (I'll explain that properly for Dante another time). He's a soldier, completing his tasks on his own, getting revenge on those that wronged him - starting with setting the Manor on fire.

This... Is Liam.

He looks a little worse for wear. The bullet went into the side of his neck and out the other side. Though the entry and exit wounds are covered over now, the damage is done. The nerves related to the brachial plexus were damaged, essentially leaving his left arm paralysed and permanently drooped. However, he CAN move it, however wonky the movements might be, and this is solely through using his powers to manipulate his limb to bypass the use of the nerves. He won't tell anyone this unless he learns how to trust another again and let hkmself be vulnerable. Because of this, the only presence of a red glow is in the area from the left side of his neck to his left hand.

He also has no pupils visible. There's no reason for this. They're unharmed, but lacking them makes it harder to read his expression. If they do appear, they're simply black dots. His skin is pale grey, the eyes are essentially dark grey, and the pupils would be black, so there wouldn't be too much overlap there.

His scarf was taken off during the initial examination of the body and was removed from the site. His glasses, however, were dropped by mistake when he was burning the Manor.

The jacket is ripped. Some parts, like the left collar, were torn to try and lessen his pain when he first woke back up. The ends were pulled off when it got snagged. All medals have been ripped off, but he still wears the dog tags.

Liam spent a long time in the Void alone, and then longer after that on his own. Because of this, he doesn't talk a whole lot. If he does, it's to the point. His voice sounds a little hoarse from lack of use.

That's all I can think of for now, and I'm very tired. I'll leave you with this second sketch I quickly finished when I got home a little earlier.

Finally: why "Liam"?

Simply put, it's an alternate way to shorten the name "William", and it's one that no one used in life. People who knew him would be less likely to join the dots if they heard the name "Liam" in passing.

[kynmal21]

Multimedia Journal #3

I chose to follow @violadavis on Instagram because she plays one of the main characters in The Help. She is not only an amazing actress but also an EGOT which means she’s been awarded an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and a Tony award. There are only 19 people who have accomplished this which puts her among some of the greats in the show industry. Her Instagram is a mixture of a personal page and a blog that she uses to bring awareness and highlight other’s accomplishments. Not only does she choose to make a platform for others but her Instagram is littered with motivational posts and words of encouragement. She serves as a community leader and an inspiration to other people. Instagram is a platform where users can post photos and reels to connect with their online and real-life community. Some users may be on one side of the world while others are down the street from another, but it lets people meet and share interests with each other. Not to mention, it is a great form of expression for all kinds of people and allows creativity to be cultivated in each post. As far as relating to our class and the different materials we’ve reviewed, I think that I find similarities to the SPARC Digital Mural Lab at UCLA. Judy Baca created this as an outlet for students to create art using digital software to promote activism within the community. They create permanent public murals and digital works that have an overall message to get across meanwhile showcasing the creativity and skills of the students involved. They have to collaborate with each other and problem-solve as they conduct research to complete each project. Similarly, Instagram can be used publicly to reach the interests of users across the globe. SPARC aims to garner the interests of people who support a cause or those who may not know about an issue and possibly gain an understanding. That's truly the purpose overall of social media, to inspire and spread issues. When it comes to racial and ethnic communities, Instagram can also serve as a safe space for many. Viola Davis is a prominent member of the African American community, inspiring many aspiring actors and fans as well. She also uses her platform to share and amplify black voices and accomplishments. Within SPARC, there is a large Latino presence and community considering Judy Baca is the creator who herself is Chicana. These online spaces help a community grow and strengthen one another.

images 1-4: @violadavis on Instagram

Images 5&6:

[therumpus]

The Mini Interview with Tajja Isen

By Allison Armijo

Tajja Isen and I were in the same eleventh grade English class. Just a few years apart. And in different countries–her, in Canada, me, in the US. But like many with an upbringing not dissimilar to the suburban worlds created by Raymond Carver, we both were aspiring writers who wanted to write like the ‘tiny white people,’ as Isen dubs them, that lived–and sometimes continue to live–in our heads. 

Isen is a voice actor, writer, and the former editor-in-chief of Catapult magazine. Her work approaches this boundary between the physical and the linguistic–our actions and our words–with curiosity, that which makes space for the seemingly contradictory state of living and growing in a world with language and its debt, or the space between our values and actions. 

Isen’s 2022 debut collection, Some of My Best Friends: Essays on Lip Service (Atria, 2024), looks at how the language of social justice activism has evolved over time: change without guarantee of progress, revision without redress (also known as ‘lip service’). Each essay combines research with cultural criticism and personal experience, asking questions about where the boundaries between the personal and political lie, and how the language used to navigate those spaces disproportionately affects people of color. By interrogating her own experiences within various American and Canadian institutions, Isen explores what happens when language becomes transactional, and how lip service diffuses this very necessary tension. 

With the upcoming release of the paperback edition of Some of My Best Friends, I was delighted to chat with Isen over email about what it means to have a changing relationship to language, the importance of surprise (and self-love) in the writing process, and much more. 

***

The Rumpus: The book opens with two epigraphs, one by W.E.B. Du Bois and another by Lana Del Rey, the first of which comes from The Souls of Black Folk, and the second from Instagram. Both approach the tokened: “I’m not racist, some of my best friends are Black,” in a different way. Do you think W.E.B. Du Bois would be a fan of the modes of activism through social media?

Tajja Issen: The book is extremely interested in how the language of social justice has changed over time, for better and worse. With these epigraphs, I wanted to highlight the opposite idea: How little things have changed. When I was reading The Souls of Black Folk, I was both disturbed and amused at how contemporary that particular moment of tokenization felt. [...] But I also don’t want to make sweeping generalizations about social media activism being bad or simplistic, especially now—I’m thinking of the way Palestinians have used it to document the ongoing genocide and asked us to bear witness and amplify the calls for a ceasefire, or the power of social platforms as tools of organizing in protest of those abuses. If somebody sat Du Bois down to explain that capacity to him, I bet he would be a fan.

Rumpus: How do you see language as a structure of resistance to bridge confession and storytelling? Were you resistant to any particular forms of framing or storytelling?

Isen: That’s a great question. Related to my hesitance to get personal in the book, I was resistant to a framing that writers of color often get cornered into, whether by their own impulses or, more commonly, by market pressures: to describe their identities as though racialized pain is the axis on which they spin. This is a story the publishing industry is very comfortable with and one that I wasn’t interested in telling. (Drama ensued!) But, to your question, that’s the whole point of language as a structure of resistance—to disrupt the comfortable, anesthetic modes of narrative and argument.

Rumpus: You mention in “Tiny White People” how when you were younger, you imitated popular white authors that “find ways to talk about race without really talking about it.” How do you see your own relationship to language developing over time?

Isen: When it comes to my approach to writing, I try to stay in a permanent state of surprise. Surprise is the goal and the dream state. With that essay in particular, the version of it I wrote for the book is very different from the version that was originally published in Electric Literature in 2017. By the time I sat down to update that essay for the book, I realized none of the original version was reusable. My thinking had changed too much. My politics had changed too much. “I need to feel seen” is the type of soundbite that’s super accessible and conforms to the mainstream version of racial discourse that is easy to market. It was more important to me to remain faithful to these confrontations with my own mind, however personally jarring or corporately inconvenient (lol), than to rehash what a predominantly white readership is already comfortable hearing.

Rumpus: What forms does revision take in your work? Do you see it as more of an emotional or technical endeavor?

Isen: I love the idea of a writer who can distinguish between the emotional and technical aspects of revision, but I’ve got to admit I’m just not that writer. A piece, a page, a book transforms many times before I stop evaluating it. If I had to boil my revision process down, I’m always subjecting the work to two questions. The other day, I described it to my husband as akin to knocking on a wall to find a stud: First knock—Is it true? Second knock—Is it interesting? I keep knocking, keep asking those two questions, until the quality of sound that echoes back to me meets my standards. 

Rumpus: I love the way you physically map tactics of white femininity: innocent and deviant on the Y axis, tough and wounded along the X axis. You give various examples of the ways white femininity often evades racial consciousness out of a lack of obligation to acknowledge it. How, if at all, do you see aesthetics as an inherently political approach to conflict and compromise in predominantly white spaces?

Isen: I love that you frame aesthetics as “inherently political,” which they are, and which I think is easy for a lot of people to forget. We see the aesthetic-political split play out pretty literally in which artists get asked what questions—who gets asked about representation and identity versus who gets asked about craft choices. I’m far from the first to point this out. It was important to me, in that essay in particular, to stake out that territory and to remind the reader that aesthetics, especially in work by white (female) artists, can be a convenient way to make politics seem invisible. 

Rumpus: In your last essay, “Dead or Canadian,” you mention Lee Edelman’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” I loved what you said about the song “[getting] its rocks off knowing that [you] overheard its pleasure.” This returns to ideas of spectacle and voyeurism in tokenized forms of representation that you explore throughout, but also introduces the idea of self-love in the personal address. Thinking about the relationship between language and the self, do you see self-love as a product of fluency–i.e., recognizing the ins and outs of lip service across fields and disciplines–or a rejection of it? 

Isen: That’s an interesting distinction and not one I’d considered before. I guess, for me, I come into clearer focus for myself when I can name and isolate the forces that shape, constitute, and frustrate me. And that’s also what I hope the book gives to its readers: the aha moment where it names a dynamic or pattern that they’ve registered—this kind of insidious, comic creep of meaningless language—but haven’t necessarily found the words for. Articulating something long-felt but unexpressed is, I think, the best thing that writing can do. I like the notion that it might be a form of love, both for oneself and for others. 

***

Allison Armijo is a creative writing student in Boston, MA.

[joriullrich]

Dwayne Johnson, a professional wrestler, actor, and social media influencer has made an impact on many people's lives. I chose to follow the influencer on the platform Instagram. Dwayne Johnson is famously known as "The Rock". He comes from a diverse background and has a mixed heritage. His father was of African Canadian/Black Nova Scotian and his mother is Samoan. He is a believer on making a difference in people's lives and he shows that greatly throughout his social media. In an interview with country artist Chris Janson, The Rock had stated that when he was younger, he had no money, and he was living in a motel just trying to get by.

Dwayne Johnson (@therock) • Instagram photos and video

Copilot (Bing)

.com) 

Dwyane Johnson made a surprise video for a school in Staten Island, NY. The students at this school voted for this year's musical to be “Moana” which happens to have Dwayne Johnson as one of the main characters known as “Maui” in the movie. The student population consisted of young kids with multiple disabilities such as Autism and developmental delays, and students from low-income housing. On his Instagram, The Rock stated “The musical is something they always look forward to. It always includes inclusivity of all students including non-vocal communicators, those with physical impairments and social emotional delays.” Dwayne Johnson does a great job using his platform to make a difference in other people’s lives and influencing people to do better in this world. He shares his experiences with us through his social media platform, Instagram which has 397M followers.  

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A post shared by Dwayne Johnson (@therock)

Looking back to week 13 we discussed Judy Baca in reading analysis #11. Judy Baca had some wonderful artwork and the things that stood out the most from her were her murals. Baca’s murals allowed her to have a voice in her community, and she can use digital technology to raise community engagement. She could engage in online activism by using digital platforms to raise awareness about social and political issues. Her artwork allowed her to speak in the present and address issues to make this world a more inclusive place. She often collaborates with residents, community organizations, and youth groups in the creation of her murals.

Through these collaborations, she aims to amplify the voices of marginalized communities and provide them with a platform for self-expression and social change. Baca had stated that women and people of ethnic backgrounds do not have much space to make something monumental so she figured it would be hard to make a difference since she is a Latina. Baca proved herself wrong as she painted “The Great Wall” in Los Angeles which is a huge mural over 2,700 feet long which explains the history through the decades.

Great Wall of Los Angeles (1974-present) - Judy Baca

Dwayne Johnson and Juda Baca have very similar intents, just different ways of going about it. We can see that they clearly want to make a difference in the world and make better people of it. Dwayne Johnson influenced young school children so much that they wanted their play to be "Moana" and decided to make a difference in their lives by sending all of those students with special needs a video of him talking to them. Judy Baca took the route of artwork rather than social media to express herself. Judy Baca made a difference throughout the whole community by using her voice and painting murals which spoke to many other individuals as well.

[jakesealblackhangar]

Jake Seal Black Hangar Explains The Role of Film Studios in Shaping Cinematic Trends

In filmmaking, where creativity intertwines with technology, the role of film studios stands as a cornerstone in shaping the ever-evolving landscape of cinematic trends. Among these studios, Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios emerges as a beacon of innovation, offering a glimpse into the intricate web of processes that influence the direction of cinema.

The Genesis of Cinematic Vision

At the heart of every cinematic endeavor lies a vision waiting to be brought to life. Film studios serve as the incubators of these visions, providing the resources, expertise, and infrastructure necessary to transform ideas into tangible realities. With its state-of-the-art facilities and seasoned professionals, Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios exemplifies this role by nurturing the creative sparks that ignite groundbreaking projects.

Fostering Collaboration and Creativity

Collaboration lies at the crux of cinematic excellence, where diverse talents converge to weave narratives that resonate with audiences worldwide. Film studios like Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios play a pivotal role in fostering this collaborative spirit, serving as hubs where directors, writers, actors, and technicians come together to breathe life into cinematic masterpieces. Through seamless coordination and a shared dedication to excellence, these studios cultivate an environment where creativity thrives, laying the groundwork for cinematic trends to take shape.

Investing in Innovation

Innovation serves as the lifeblood of the film industry, driving progress and pushing boundaries to new frontiers. Film studios recognize the importance of investing in cutting-edge technologies and groundbreaking techniques to stay ahead of the curve. Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios, with its commitment to innovation, serves as a crucible for experimentation, where emerging technologies and avant-garde methodologies converge to redefine the cinematic experience. From pioneering visual effects to groundbreaking storytelling techniques, these innovations not only shape current trends but also pave the way for the future of cinema.

Cultural Reflections and Societal Impact

Cinema serves as a mirror reflecting the intricacies of society, capturing the zeitgeist of its time and offering poignant insights into the human experience. Film studios play a vital role in shaping these cultural reflections, steering narratives that resonate with audiences on a profound level. Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios, with its diverse portfolio of projects spanning various genres and themes, contributes to this cultural tapestry by amplifying voices and perspectives that might otherwise go unheard. Through storytelling that transcends borders and bridges divides these studios influence not only cinematic trends but also societal discourse, leaving an indelible mark on the collective consciousness.

Navigating Market Dynamics

In an ever-changing landscape shaped by technological advancements and shifting consumer preferences, film studios must navigate the intricacies of market dynamics to remain relevant and competitive. Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios, with its keen understanding of industry trends and consumer behavior, adeptly navigates these waters, anticipating shifts in the cinematic landscape and adapting its strategies accordingly. Whether through strategic partnerships, targeted marketing campaigns, or innovative distribution models, these studios stay ahead of the curve, influencing not only what audiences see but also how they consume content.

A Catalyst for Change

As agents of transformation, film studios wield immense power to shape the trajectory of cinema and influence cultural discourse. Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios, with its unwavering commitment to excellence and innovation, stands at the forefront of this cinematic revolution, pushing boundaries, challenging conventions, and redefining what is possible on the silver screen. Through collaboration, creativity, and a steadfast dedication to artistic integrity, these studios continue to shape the cinematic landscape, inspiring generations of filmmakers to come.

In essence, the role of film studios like Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios extends far beyond mere production houses; they serve as guardians of cinematic artistry, stewards of cultural heritage, and architects of the future. As we embark on this cinematic journey, let us remember the profound influence these studios wield in shaping the stories we tell and the world we inhabit.

[themovieblogonline]

It's Time to Celebrate Black Excellence at the AAFCA Awards!

What's up, film fanatics? Feeling like Hollywood sleepin' on the stories and talent of Black folks in the industry? Well, fret no more, because the African American Film Critics Association (AAFCA) is here to shine a light on the best of the best! Every year, the AAFCA throws a star-studded party, the AAFCA Awards, to honor the achievements of Black storytellers and films that deserve all the shine. This year, the 15th Annual AAFCA Awards went down in Beverly Hills, and let me tell you, it was a night to remember! Roy Wood Jr. Keeps the Laughs Coming Our man Roy Wood Jr. came back to host the show for the second year in a row, and let's just say, the jokes were flying faster than popcorn at a superhero movie marathon. From hilarious commentary to spot-on celebrity impersonations, Roy had the audience roaring with laughter all night long. Big Names and Even Bigger Wins The night wasn't just about the laughs, though. It was also about recognizing the incredible talent in the Black filmmaking community. Big names like Misty Copeland, George C. Wolfe, and Jeffrey Wright received honorary awards for their contributions to the industry. But the real stars of the show were the winners themselves. From Colman Domingo taking home the award for Best Actor in Rustin to Ava DuVernay winning Best Director for Origin, the night was filled with powerful moments of recognition and celebration. More Than Trophies: A Celebration of Black Culture The AAFCA Awards are more than just handing out trophies. They're a platform to amplify Black voices and stories that often get overlooked by mainstream Hollywood. These films explore the Black experience in all its richness and complexity, from joy and laughter to struggle and resilience. By recognizing these stories, the AAFCA Awards remind us of the incredible depth and diversity of Black culture. But the AAFCA Awards aren't just about celebrating the past; they're about inspiring the future. Seeing actors like Danielle Brooks and Sterling K. Brown win awards shows young Black talent that their dreams are within reach. Up-and-coming filmmakers like Cord Jefferson (who took home the award for Emerging Filmmaker for his flick American Fiction) get a major boost from the recognition. The AAFCA Awards become a beacon of hope, showing the world the immense potential of Black storytellers. So, next time you're scrolling through Netflix or catching a movie at the theater, keep an eye out for films and creators recognized by the AAFCA. You might just discover your next favorite story, a story that celebrates Black voices, Black experiences, and Black excellence! Want to learn more about the AAFCA and its mission? Check out their website at https://aafca.com/. P.S. Shoutout to AAFCA: https://aafca.com/ for the info and the amazing photos! Check out their website for the full list of winners and more.

[digitaloshop]

SAMSUNG QN85QN85CAFXZA 85" 4K Neo QLED Smart TV with Dolby Atmos with an Additional 2 Year Coverage by Epic Protect (2023)

Samsung QN85QN85CAFXZA Smart TV - Neo QLED - Quantum Matrix - Mini LEDs - 4K Resolution - 4K AI Upscaling - Neo Quantum HDR - HLG - HDR10 Plus - One Billion Color - Film Mode - Neural Quantum Processor - 100 Percent Color Volume with Quantum Dot - Supreme UHD Dimming - Motion Xcelerator Turbo Plus - Wide Viewing Angle - Real Depth Enhancer - Optimized Eye Comfort Mode - FreeSync Premium Pro - ALLM - VRR - Super Ultra Wide Game View and Game Bar - Mini Map Zoom - Neo Slim Design - Hexagon Plate Stand - Bezel-Less - Flat Look - Tizen OS - Universal Guide - Ambient Mode Plus - Multiple Voice Assistants - Samsung TV Plus - Multi View - SolarCell Remote - SmartThings Compatible - Samsung Health - Music Wall - Telemedicine - ConnecTime - Gaming Hub - 4x HDMI - 2x USB 2.0 - LAN - Wi-Fi - Bluetooth - RF - RS-232C - IP Control - Optical - eARC/CEC - 4K/120Hz - Dolby Atmos - Object Tracking Sound - Q-Symphony - Active Voice Amplifier - 60 Watt 2.2.2 Channel Sound - Multiroom Link - Adaptive Sound Plus - V-Chip - Filmmaker Mode - 4K UHD Connected - Box Includes SolarCell Remote, Power Cable, User Manual - VESA Size 600 x 400 - (74.50"W x 12.90"D x 45.10"H) - (Titan Black) with a 2 Year Coverage by Epic Protect in Addition to the Included Full Manufacturer Coverage. Intended for Residential Use Only QUANTUM MATRIX W/ MINI LEDS: See every freckle on your favorite actor’s face thanks to the huge grid of Samsung’s ultra-precise Quantum Mini LEDs that take control of the individual zones of light in your picture for sensational color and contrast NEURAL QUANTUM PROCESSOR W/ 4K UPSCALING: Whether streaming an HD movie, watching sports or looking at home videos, experience it transformed into sharp 4K resolution with our high-performance, AI-powered processor upgrading content scene by scene NEO QUANTUM HDR: Discover variety in every frame - with Neo Quantum HDR’s dynamic contrast and brilliant colors, all in 4K resolution; Contrast is adjusted to best fit each scene, helping showcase more accurate colors DOLBY ATMOS & OBJECT TRACKING SOUND: Hear the audio move with the story with Dolby Atmos and Object Tracking Sound; When cars are speeding across the screen, 3D sound moves right along with them thanks to Object Tracking Sound 2 Year Extended Epic Protect Coverage in Addition to the Included Full Manufacturer Coverage. Intended for Residential Use Only Read the full article