#behind the black veil

[cardamomflower]

T-masc Crowley on plastic Balkan chair for my Istanbul!AU

[motley-cunt]

sniffs you

[the-nation-of-today]

Today’s late night activity is [looks at notes] trying to guess which angelus leather paint Andy used on his second bleeders jacket

[fyeahlonnyeagleton]

big day for the me community (got tickets to the bvb/creeper coheadliner at wembley)

[airitout777]

Im Hearing, Season of OverFlow!!!! Access Granted !!! All GODS PROMISES ARE YES AND AMEN !!! Whatz Goody Divine Collective? I Feel There is a Message for Someone in the Collective Tap IN!!! Divine Oracle InnerG Reading For the Collective. 

[abyssalpriest]

On the term: Veil of Ignorance (aka "the best way to go steal things is to walk out of the store like everyone else")

Lev gave me the term, or more so he used it quite a few times in front of me and I may or may not have picked up the same definition as he has in my head, but my definition still gets a job done. You may have seen me use it, and I'll explain the concept here, but it boils down to: The utilising and redirecting of the distance - ignorance - between you and other people's mind in order to "veil" or hide something true, mostly the self.

Lev hides in plain sight, uses the veil of ignorance, which is effectively "They don't know to look for me, they don't have the eyes to feel my energy, they don't have the knowledge to put two (my energy) and two (understanding of who that energy belongs to) together, therefore I can just sit among them and they won't know." The veil is that unknowing, unwillingness to learn, and overall, as I said, distance between his mind and the onlookers'. It's a philosophy behind a lot of his appearances where he just shows up and presumes - rightly - that no one is going to click that it's him. The ignorance is used to veil him like fabric would veil his face, where someone veiled can walk past family without even being recognised because ignorance shields recognition.

The concept extends outside this, it's complicated, but boils down to the fact that there's distance between your mind and others as said. Others don't feel your anxiety at being caught, they don't hear your thoughts, they don't know you're trying to hide something... But trying to hide something draws attention - hence, you use ignorance, not obvious forms of concealing, to be the concealment.

If you want to be open about your spiritual self online but don't want harassment, take advantage of the fact that they're ignorant of the importance of you declaring who you are - and find ways to invoke the ignorance. Your rare spiritual posts on a fandom blog draw attention, ignorance comes when you post about the same topic all the time but slip in those spiritual details you wanted hidden casually, and a little less explicitly than you may want. They just blur into the rest of the posting, no one knows which details are ones you dont want reacted to. And remember, your blog is one of many they follow. If someone's not informed that a post you're making is telling truths about you then they will treat it like one in a hoard of thousands of posts, something they may or may not read given it's just, to them, a post. If you want to be obviously x spiritual species but not have attention drawn, do it, and know you're veiled by the fact that no one knew to look out for you.

... And obviously extrapolate this to things outside of tumblr, e.g. your face as a customer is one of many the server sees in a day, they won't know you're anxious about having just cut your hair from long to short because you realised you're trans masc if you don't highlight your anxiety with it. Move with the crowd, move behind ignorance, they are ignorant to your reality until you let them into it. I'm just talking about posts for... a reason...

The key does boil down to the fact that you have to know that if they have the skills to know, they will know, so stay in ignorance. The idea itself is key in my work, where I don't care to announce to the world my relationship with Lev for example, but you will know if you can sense it. i can't hide it from you, but if you are at the skill level to know who we are you will be at the skill level to know its truths - basically... Ignorant people tend (tend, "ignorance" here is a neutral word, it's a quality we all have) to be aggressive when you tell them something they can't prove themselves, or when the truth is on a topic they just emotionally hate... naturally, thats human and indeed being-nature. But the amount of issues that come up when you walk into a room, like in Lev's case, and say "Im Leviathan, hi." The most insecure (speaking neutrally still, we are all insecure in some respects) people, the people with the least grip on their own ability to dissect truth from fiction, are naturally going to be the most scared and the most reactive. We all are like that in certain topics, because insecurity happens in all the areas we don't know much in, so when it comes to topics like spiritual existence, facts of who you are when you're someone powerful, and so on, the best thing you can do is not give the laypeople a reason to start sniffing out details in things that are going to scare them.

Diviners, oracles, (other) gods, professionals, people with keen clear senses, and other people with authority on matters you're veiling will be able to dig through your concealments, but they're less likely to start trouble if not through self-security and confidence in their ability to dissect the world, then certainly when they see and feel and know what you're hiding is a truth they can't fight... So the veil of ignorance not working so much on them is fine at the end of the day if you're strong enough to not have to veil completely, but you can always employ multiple types of concealment.

At the end of the day, it's just a low-energy - therefore very efficient - way of veiling and making yourself invisible. You want distance from yourself and others? You dont want everyone to see you face? Take advantage of the fact that no one is close to you and able to see you until you do the work to let them in, and work with that ignorance and make it work for you.

Why bother planning a heist to steal a cheeseburger at gunpoint from the clerk when you could just take it from the table of someone who went to the bathroom? Bad example obviously, that's nasty lmfao but stealing is the part in our society where we understand - even if we would never ever steal or agree with stealing - that "acting natural" is key to high odds of getting away with it, and the veil of ignorance is similar to that. Similar, but not quite the same, the difference being that the veil of ignorance being employed is not about changing your behaviour, its about being aware of whats around you and the ways in which people will presume you're not doing something they give a shit about paying attention to. It's being uninteresting so that people are uninterested in you. It's less like acting natural with the cheeseburger, and more like coming to a place where roads are being worked on and not acting natural IE wearing a high-vis vest you never would wear otherwise so you can take the traffic cones on to your truck and steal them. Where is the ignorance in others with regards to you? Play there, write there, be there. Put your work everywhere, dance in the day and night, but when the clouds pass over the moon thats when you pull out the moves you dont want anyone to see. You, to the audience, are just dancing, and the obscured movements under cloud cover are presumed to be... just dancing.

Do what you want, but don't drag others into it, and you'll find that the distance between you and others shows you that you werent as involved in their lives and brains as you thought. They're not scanning your posts for every instance you showed your secret kins or whatever, and the people that are doing that are going to look like they see something no one else does.

There's a variety of things used in it - a variety of different types of "ignorance". For me, people thinking I'm crazy and "just" psychotic is reworked into the veil. That's ignorance about who i am and what i can do, and means I can just straight up post "crazy"-seeming things about what i do and am and have people laugh me off. Problem solved. My demon and angel kin years? If I were still in them, I could find myself in the centre of huge arguments about how calling myself a demon or angel means i think im an authority and a this and a that when Im just minding my own business, but if they just think Im crazy? Sucks to be them, they'll never know, they're lost to this part of life because they refuse to find it. Likewise to accusations of insanity, accusations of being a novice when you actually have more skill, being incorrect and unable to see the truth, and so on can be reworked into the veil of ignorance. People's misinformed, malformed, negatively-intended, insulting, ignorant ways of viewing you are gaps between you and them and they are ways in which people will misunderstand you and stop caring about you. Make them do it on purpose.

And im not going to post here at the end about how this shouldn't be used for bad things, or you should take criticism instead of saying its ignorance, because honestly... That misreading of my post is the ignorance in question. I say one thing, you see what you want to see, thanks for the perfect example if you were going to say it. People will always have distance between their mind's projected idea of me and the real me, which means the real me can swim away under the surface while you argue with a projected reflection you think is the fish under the water.

[cardamomflower]

I sketched Aziraphale as a belly dancer for my Istanbul AU!

[byberbunk2069]

Tweaked the look. She now has a cyberdeck setup similar to So Mi's (they both agreed the studded strap looked cute)

Also unless there is a canon explanation for why the cables for the deck connect to the suit I have come up with my own: the netrun suit draws in bodyheat and uses it to power the larger deck.

Veil's can be plugged in to her jacket for the same purpose

[motley-cunt]

play connect the dots with me real quick it’s fun

[zemnarihah]

i didn't get many pics or videos but i rlly need u all to know that this is what he looked like for the majority of the show

[the-nation-of-today]

Knives and Pens

---

Bleeders Tour

May 15th, 2024

New York, NY

[kettle-black]

Please please please please do not miss the "Fuck Trump" hidden in the "Fuck Drake".

It's plural. Fuck em.

Kendrick Lamar performing in front of his back-up dancers dressed in the American Flag colors of red, white and blue after Samuel L. Jackson, dressed as Uncle Sam says rap is "too ghetto" for the Superbowl. That is all.

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you��re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[dollerinna]

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention—eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

[cardamomflower]

Aziraphale having Turkish coffee