#grace fuller answers

[lottiies]

ALL THAT GRACE, ALL THAT BODY

→ you wash the grime off your boyfriend’s body after he returns from a mission!!

CW: x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, i think that’s it!!

WC: 800+

NOTE: i didn’t really imagine this with any leon in particular ˃ᴗ˂ just a short fic hehe i haven’t really written anything in a while…let there be no typos

MASTERLIST

Kissing and sex can be casual, in some cases. Hook up culture and games like seven minutes in heaven and truth or dare allow for them to be. In the heat of the moment, specks of unique imperfections are completely missed.

There is nothing casual, however, about the act of running your hands through someone’s skin and hair with the intent of cleaning them and nurturing them back to a better state. It’s the exact scene that played behind a particular shower curtain.

A chaste kiss was pressed against the mole on his neck, and another one landed on the healed up scar tissue on his shoulder. Steamy water washed away your gentle touches, leaving a blank canvas for you to adorn with affection over and over again.

For the most part, Leon didn’t speak much during this unless you voiced the thoughts in your head, he was too caught up in enjoying your caresses. The only think he requested was for there to be no talks about his missions and work while in the shower, he wanted to focus on you and not the hell he just returned from. Thankfully, he didn’t return too battered up this time. Just a couple nips and bruises, nothing fractured or broken like other unfortunate times.

His skin was already reddening just a tinge from the temperature, similar to the shade he turned whenever you littered gentle nips against his neck. But he always asked for the water to be turned up high, he was used to it. Before he met you he had felt so lonely and hot water had always been a comfort for him. Plus, colder water just reminded him of when he’d try to sober up after some drinks, terrible terrible times.

“You know the drill! Close your eyes for me.”

His eyelashes fluttered as he followed your instructions. Hands perched themselves on your hips so he wouldn’t lose his balance. You began threading your shampoo lathered palms and fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp.

“Mm…” He purred contentedly, his tense shoulders relaxing. Leon was almost tempted to slump against you, would you hold him until the end of times? He’d like to think the answer is yes. “You should work in one of those uh…what’s the name? Those…head spa places? You’d put others out of business.”

“Yeah? Does it really feel that good?”

“Y’know, you ask me that every time, hell yes. Feels like my brain is turning to mush. Careful sweetheart, I might just topple over you.”

“Pfft.”

You pushed all his hair back. He looked otherworldly. One look at him, and no one would believe that he’s a man keeping the world safe with a mountain’s weight of survivor’s guilt on his shoulders. How could he look so tranquil?

It was no use, you shook the thought away. You’d ask him another time.

“It kinda pisses me off how good-looking you are.” You whisper to him, washing the residue of shampoo off your hands before cupping his face. Once upon a time, his cheeks had been more sunken in. But they had gotten fuller being in a relationship with you.

“When did you become such a flatterer?” He asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. Just a subtle one.

“I dunno, maybe the moment I laid eyes on you.” You tug him more towards the water, washing away the shampoo from his hair as he lowered his head. “I’m pretty hard to please y’know…got really high standards.”

“No way I met all of them.”

“Passed with flying colors. You raised the bar a bit, actually. Think you’ve got me wrapped around your finger for eternity.”

With a washcloth, you cleaned the expanse of his skin, leaving it smelling faintly of rosemary. Your water bill is begging you to hurry your pace, but you went as slow as a snail.

Thank God he could finally open his eyes again, there was nothing he loved more than having his sight on you.

If only you could see yourself from his perspective. He saw everything. The way you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth while you did your best to wash around one of his wounds, you didn’t need to be so gentle with him but you were anyway, and the glimmer in your eyes when you took a brief peek at his face.

“Sorry, baby…” Your murmur was accompanied by a wince when you thought you rubbed too harshly. It felt like a tickle to him though, nothing more, and he reassured you of that.

One minute turned into five, then five into ten, then ten into fifteen. Ten of those minutes were dedicated to cherishing the body that belonged to the recipient of your adoration.

The white noise of running water came to an end with a twist of your wrist. He pulled you close, curling his fingers under your jaw as he leaned in to kiss your lips. It was a small token of appreciation for how tender you always were with him. Droplets from his hair fell onto you, for some reason it felt intimate. “Thanks…I feel as good as new.”

“You should get some shut eye after this, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Been a while.” God, he didn’t even remember. His assignment had been long and frankly he hadn’t had the luxury of resting.

Leon shook his head before scrunching his hair with a smaller towel that hung from the curtain rod, some of the water on his hair went flying.

“Bad dog!” You couldn’t help but giggle.

He shot you an amused huff. “Yeah yeah, my bad.”

Accepting love had been hard, but you were full of it and oh so willing to give it that Leon had grown to depend on you.

Maybe you and him were meant for one another.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Eyes don’t lie

I wanna be railed by this man, there I said it.

Geta had no patience for he wasn’t made by the gods to house such a thing, he wasn’t made to be the emperor of patience. He found the need to wait to be unnecessary when ruling an empire, why should he when could just simply take what he wants, as the gods had put certain things in place there for a reason or other.

The gods has put you in front of him for a reason and he wasn’t about to question it, not when the idea that others would also be eagerly after your hand as he was, and Geta wasn’t very found of this. Not one bit as he was more then willing to have their hands severed so they couldn’t gift you with promises and false hope. The gods have graced him with you and also gave him a challenge should he so be willing to prove you of his worth, of his ability to give you whatever your heart desires.

The gods -as Geta found soon into his shared reign- didn’t offer ‘gifts’ and then to not have him be challenged of them, challenging him whether he was deserving of the gift that was seemingly promised to him. The gods were never ones to give a straight forward answer, it always has to be over complicated and difficult for mortal minds to interpret and come out on the other side with a clear understanding of what it was that they wished.

Geta knew all too well that the moment you entered his life the the would be challenged by people for you and he was anything, but if not relentless in his pursuits of the things that he wanted, and he very much wanted and desired you. He had never knew his heart to feel more fuller then it ever had unless he was beside you, almost as if your presence was all that was required for Geta to feel as though he had everything. The moment moment his reign began he felt something was missing, or someone was missing, and who would’ve thought that would very thing would happen to be you the moment his dark eyes laid upon yours across the room.

Geta didn’t hesitate in standing from his chair in favour to stride towards you, making a awkward hush fall over the room as all eyes were on his back and yet he didn’t care as he proudly stood by your side, the lack of comfort that being emperor gave him didn’t mean much when someone like you made him prefer to stand on his own two feet than lounge like his brother was.

‘An emperor shouldn’t stand when entertainment is involved.’ You uttered under your breath, just as confused and on edge as the rest of the people within the room, all of whom were giving you both silent sideways glances as though they were waiting for something to break out on baited breath. It was clear to everyone that the moment that Geta laid eyes on you, you were off limits and who were they to disobey their emperor? A conduit of the gods when it came to his personal pursuits?

So they didn’t speak a word but their whispers would follow as soon as either of you left the room, that was for certain as nothing left Rome unknown.

Geta chuckled. ‘That maybe true,’ he glances at you from the corner of his eye, taking in just how ethereal you were from up close as you were from afar, ‘though I thought a change of pace was required.’

‘And that chance of pace so happened to be by standing beside me my emperor?’ You ask, not knowing where this sudden confidence in talking to a cruel, sadistic and vile man such as the one whose shoulder occasionally brushes against your own. His warmth seeping into you seamlessly and you couldn’t help but find it within you but to relax, which was so unlike the you a couple of moments ago when he was approaching you; scared that you’ve looked at him wrong but stood your ground to hide it when you knew all to well men like Geta could smell fear from smile away. So what did he exactly smell on you?

Geta shrugs as he offers you a drink, noticing the look of skepticism within your eyes that you quickly pushed aside as you took the drink from his hand, fingers brushing over his own in a moment he felt was all too quick before picking up his own. ‘Does my presence unnerve you?’ He asks with a tint of playfulness.

‘It’s not a sight that many can say they can live to tell the tale about,’ you replied as you took a sip of your drink, ‘the potential of rumours spreading throughout the empire that the emperor might be in search of something more then the riches and power from the throne he sits upon.’

‘Ans what if those rumours appear true?’ Geta then asked. The room has went back to how it was before by now but the both of you could tell that you both were the topic of discussion for many, it wasn’t hard to tell but neither of you seemed to care enough to give them the time of day as you were completely locked on one another.

‘Then would it be an overstep in asking what a man as powerful as you, a man who could easily take what he desire, could possibly want by standing next to the likes of me?’ You looked to Geta, only to find that his dark eyes were more then looking back at you in silent desire and lust it sent a fire throughout your body when seeing that he was looking at you with want.

Geta didn’t say anything immediately as he took a drink. He all but making sure that his eyes remained on you as he downed the liquid, a move that shouldn’t make you think anything other then what it was, and yet you couldn’t help but swallow thickly upon seeing the expanse of his neck as he does so. It was a beautiful neck and you found yourself watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, wondering what other sweet nectar he’d let flow down his throat.

Geta finished his drink and sets it aside somewhere, again his eyes never once left yours as though he knew exactly what he was doing to you. ‘That’s a question I hope we could answer,’ his large hand then reached to cup your chin, thumb rubbing at your jaw with a softness that you didn’t think he’d possess, ‘that curious together, my curious dove.’ He adds barely above a whisper as he leans towards you, forehead barely brushing yours before smirking as he takes a step away from you as his hand fell from your chin, finding your reactions amusing and addicting all at once.

‘What do you say?’

What do you say?

[icanseethefuture333]

can you talk more about deity worship? esp with aphrodite !!!

Aphrodite

My experience with Aphrodite as my matron 🌷

As I previously mentioned before in this post, I first began doing witchcraft when I was 17 years old. I had a reading done about which deity wished to work with me and Aphrodite wanted me. I was hesitant because I was a tomboy + alternative in high school so I didn't feel like the Goddess of beauty and love was for me. I questioned her choice in choosing me even though I was seeing signs from her (white doves landed on my windowsill for a year straight). What I didn't realize was that Aphrodite was known more for her beauty and grace, she was also the goddess of war. Over the years Aphrodite has been nurturing, loving, and caring towards me. She has given me the strength and guidance when I needed it the most. Very much so like having a relationship with a mother.

My character development

Working with Aphrodite has given me a "inner glow up". Meaning - I reconstructed my view on what being feminine is, what kind of feminist I am, and acknowledging when I was misogynistic in the past. As well as helping me heal my mother wound and allowing me to be able to see things from her perspective when I was angry with her for her constant mistreatment towards me. I can for sure say thanks to Aphrodite, I am more patient, I am more wise, and I am learning to be soft. In a patriarchal society, being soft, sensitive, or gentle is looked down upon. Living in a society where you have to always be tough or "realistic" is so depressing. It's as if you're not allowed to have dreams, hopes, or desires. Independence is a wonderful thing, but you have to be able to depend on your loved ones at some point, because then you'd be just wearing yourself thin. Since beauty is a popular topic when it comes to Aphrodite, I also noticed a lot of physical changes in my appearance (clear skin, longer hair, fuller lashes, etc) 😳

Spellwork

As for doing spells with Aphrodite, the process is quite simple, I just ask for help and I feel the job gets done. I also give her offerings (she loves apples!!!) when I can and pray to her. From my personal experience, Aphrodite enjoys doing spells that involves quality time. For example, I often include Aphrodite when I do glamour magick or recite my affirmations. For example:

"Thank you, Aphrodite, for blessing me with the most beautiful, glowing clear skin."

I hope that answers your question 🌸🌊💖!

[weclassybouquetfun]

Tonight is the penultimate episode of series two of AMC+'s INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE.

Well, this isn't ominous at all.

Impressed that months later content from the S2 premiere is still being rolled out.

ALL THE SPOILERS FOR Episode 14 / S2E07

It's fine. It's all fine.

If you've read the books (not me) or have seen the movie (me) or just possess the ability to read between the lines, then you knew this day was coming: The death of Claudia de Pointe du Lac de Lioncourt and her companion Madeleine.

Finally, someone chose Claudia.

They actually made a playbill. The nastiest of nasty work.

There is still a lot to be open to interpretation in regards to motivations and the truthiness of various accounts. Maybe we will get answers in the next episode (how much of a willing participant was Lestat in these deliberations? How accurate was Louis' new recollection of begging Lestat to turn Claudia despite Lestat's warnings?) and maybe we won't (at any time have we seen the real Lestat?)

What I do know is that this cast acts their collective bums off.

What I also know?

They will never make me hate you, maître. You've done nothing wrong, ever.

Even though you leveled your coven with one word, I am sure you could not stop them from putting your lover, his sister-daughter and her companion on trial and subsequent execution.

He was helpless to do anything, you just don't understand!!

Armand was able to control everyone's speech and compel them to say "banishment" and just heaves a sigh of relief for the trouble. Meanwhile, Lestat was wan and bleeding from one ear after mind controlling a room of soldiers.

I still stand by you, Armand. I'm just saying...

-I am inclined to believe Lestat's deviations. You can tell what are Sam's words and what aren't by how Santiago responds and also just how true to form they seem from a character standpoint. I could be very wrong, but I can believe Louis threatened to cut Lestat's head off.

This is Louis who threatened his brother with a knife (which turned Lestat's eye to him in the first place). This is a man who lobbed a veiled threat at Grace during their mother's funeral (and you know it's true because that was from Claudia's diary). Louis was furious in that moment so why would he be expected to hold his tongue and not scrap? As he told Lestat, "You start it, you finish it."

Louis castigated Lestat for choking their daughter. I'm not going to remind him what he did to her when she begged him to let her burn Lestat.

So many people last season were raging because their "Brat Prince" was depicted as a domestic abuser and were sure this season would absolve him. But while we get a fuller picture of the fight, Lestat still did what he did. To me it just adds more clarity on why he stayed away for so long.

The biggest question for me this episode was how long did they workshop Lestat's side? Did the coven plunder his mind or did Lestat readily give them information (they knew about the words "come to me", the killing of the priests, the church kiss, Louis' depression and the house being a shambles. We even see on the projection the raccoon that was roaming their house)?

No matter how they found out the Louis/Lestat details, Lestat is not fully a willing participant in my mind. This man was over it from the jump.

Also, he's stubbled and one thing Lestat de Lioncourt is going to do is be well groomed so those theatre nerds have had him locked away until showtime.

They summoned Lestat while he was drinking his chickory coffee and eating beignets. Classless.

Dreamstat in Dubai feels so wrong.

Spoiler filled interview with Delainey, Roxanne and Jacob after episode 14/7.

Interview with Sam.

[monster-slxt]

It was tradition that when a royal heir comes of age, they spend a year in service of The Goddess. The goddess has many different needs, and the tendency for the royal family to have Many offspring means those jobs are readily filled. She can survive without help, or course, as she didn't for centuries before the kingdom, but it is good form to repay her for her help keeping the kingdom prospering.

Your siblings came back from their year telling tales of hard but not unpleasant work. Preparing food and cleaning rooms, keeping watch for thieves outside the treasure room. You figured your year would be spent much the same way. That would not be the case.

The day of your 20th birthday your woken early, stripped and bathed in fine smelling oils and dressed in shear gowns. None of this happened to your siblings. The attendants won't answer your questions as your whisked away without goodbyes to serve your Goddess. You're marched deep into the caves where she lives, deeper and deeper until the ceiling opens up to a grand cavern with a giant blue dragonfly and you kneel before your Goddess.

She is comparable in size to a horse, but much longer. Buzzing overtakes the cavern as she flies over to you, assessing her newest devotee. You are still bowing before her, head down to the ground and back arched- not entirely sure what you're ment to do next.

You don't have to wait long. She lands on top of you, the overwhelming buzzing never stopping. It drowns out every thought as her sharp insecoid legs pinch the sheer gown and rip it to shreds. You can't move. The buzzing is keeping you still. With your head pushed into the ground you can't see her ovipositor extend from her tail, so you don't expect it when she roughly slams it deep into your cunt. When did you get so wet? You've never had something this big inside you, but it slides right in like you were made for her. Your addled mind can only moan at being stuffed so full.

She doesn't fuck you, The Goddess has no need for sex and doesn't care about your pleasure in all of this, but that doesn't stop every nerve in your body from burning with pleasure. The holy ovipositor reaches your cervix, and with a sharp pinch your body yields. Like a mortal could ever keep a goddess at bay.

Eggs. You suddenly understand. You're here to sire her eggs. You cum harder than you ever have before as the first golf ball sized egg forces its way into your womb. In the back of your mind you think about how jealous your siblings will all be, that your year in service was so much Better than theirs. The first egg slipping through your cervix unleashes a flood. You can't even count as you're stuffed fuller and fuller of soft jelly eggs. Soon enough your stomach is swollen, growing to a size that would make someone overdue with twins look lucky. You've lost track over how many times you've cum.

6 months into your year of service, you can feel the eggs hatching inside you. Something deep inside of you tells you it's not time for them to come out yet. That will happen later. For now, you've practically grown bigger every day. Your Goddess largely ignores you, which is a shame because as swollen as you are with her brood you can't exactly tend to the burning fire between your legs. Your one grace has been a lack of movement from the eggs so far, and with them hatching that's come to an end. You can feel your babies squirming around your womb, buldging out the skin even further. It's going to be a long 6 months.

It's the last day of your year of service. You stopped growing about 9 months in, thank The Goddess, but your children have been getting more and more active as times goes on. You can barely think. You can feel deep in your soul that it's time, and start slowly making your way to the entrance of the cave. Just as you reach a pool of water your instincts tell you you need to give birth in, the kingdom comes to watch. Everyone is here, celebrating the good fortune and luck at being blessed to have the offspring of a Goddess. You don't even notice, so wrapped up in a buzzing only you can hear as you push. Slowly but surely, the first larva makes it way out of you and into the cool water below. Then the second. Again and again for hours you labour. The kingdom grows closer as time passes, some admiring your blessed body, some clearing sweat from your brow and offering a cool drink, someone starts playing music. All you can focus on us pushing.

After what feels like years, you're done. You pass out just as the last grub leaves you. Royal attendants clean you and prepare to bring you back to the castle. You'll be highly celebrated for bring such a blessed gift to your people when your recovered enough to walk

[lightthewaybackhome]

What's your favourite thing about Reformed theology and why?

Asking as someone who doesn't like Reformed theology much who wants to know what its followers like about it.

Thank you for this question. I'm going to do my best to answer it while saying up front that I'm not discussing doctrine. I'm not a good debater. I'm taking your kind question as a subjective question, not one that wishes a doctrinal answer or a compare and contrast with other denominations answer.

For me personally, two things that I love about Reformed theology are this:

A High View of God. Reformed Baptists hold and teach a high view of God, His goodness, transcendence, simplicity, and attributes. The higher my view of God, the greater and more wonderful my salvation is. I also deeply appreciate the focus being on God and not on me and my feelings. This equips me to view myself correctly and not be overwhelmed by my feelings which are many and a bit all over the place.

I love the truth of Christian liberty expounded in our Confession: (I also love our confessionalism because it provides clarity and safety.) The liberty which Christ has purchased for believers under the gospel, consists in their freedom from the guilt of sin, the condemning wrath of God, the severity and curse of the law, and in their being delivered from this present evil world, bondage to Satan, and dominion of sin, from the evil of afflictions, the fear and sting of death, the victory of the grave, and everlasting damnation: as also in their free access to God, and their yielding obedience unto Him, not out of slavish fear, but a child-like love and willing mind. All which were common also to believers under the law for the substance of them; but under the New Testament the liberty of Christians is further enlarged, in their freedom from the yoke of a ceremonial law, to which the Jewish church was subjected, and in greater boldness of access to the throne of grace, and in fuller communications of the free Spirit of God, than believers under the law did ordinarily partake of. (2LBCF 21.1)

I think that might be one of the most beautiful lists ever penned by man.

I'm going to tag @walkingthroughthisworld who can check me if I put anything wrong or unclearly.

These are two of my favorite things about Reformed Theology. I love its boldness and clarity, but mostly I love its high view of the Lord and I love the liberty in Christ that it brings.

[regression-1863]

random short story about a mysterious flapper in the 1920s

Some would describe it as relaxing. It was how She described it, at least. The methodical process of curling Her hair, painting Her nails, dealing with those annoying lashes of hers. Takes forever, God knows, but at the same time She enjoys it. She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down Her favorite blue dress, and Her movements stilled. A little red speck caught Her attention, making Her frown. Lipstick, wine, or otherwise, whichever it was would be impossible to get out.  

She was disappointed to have to change out of Her dress- it was a wedding anniversary present after all- for a red one. Her only saving grace was that at least with this dress, any stains would be easily hidden and less noticeable if they were to occur. She smoothed down Her dress one more time, before making Her way downstairs. At the door was Her Friend Without a Name- that was the only way This would all work after all. Her Friend Without a Name would answer the door, demands a password, and if the person answered right, he’d let them in. If they didn’t... well, they would be rather unlucky. She gave Her friend a nod and a smile, as She made Her way down to the basement.  

It was quiet, to an extent. Small, whispering chit chat here and there, a quiet hum of the radio playing jazz through the room. It was silent, almost inaudible- there was a rule after all. If you couldn’t hear the radio, you were being too loud. Keeping a place like this up wasn’t cheap, having a basement itself wasn’t cheap, but since She and Her Husband could afford it, She insisted on it. Just in case of another war- Basements were good like that, after all. Though, even as that threat subsided, the basement proved rather useful.  

“Good af-ta'noon, Miss,” The Woman with the distinctive accent asked, though She could never quite place it. The woman in front of Her wasn’t a flapper- no, she couldn’t be. she didn’t have the stature of one, a body fuller than the typical stick thin flapper.  

“Afternoon? Why, its nearly night,” She slid a glass over to The Woman Without a Name. 

“Folks here call me Pony,” The Woman- Pony- happily took the glass.  

“Pony?” She hummed, “a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”  

“Well, what about you, Hun?” Pony retorted with a playful lit, “what do they call you?”  

“Well, I can’t very well give you, my name. That defeats the whole point of this being a secret.”  

Pony frowned at that. “Hun ain’t you the owner of this joint?”  

“My husband,” She corrected, holding up Her ring finger. Pony let out a quiet gasp, as she grasped Her hand.  

“Oh wow,” Pony murmured, inspecting the ring, “ain’t that something?” she seemed awestruck by the quality of it, before pausing. “Now... that husband of yours ain’t part of one of one of those...?”  

“No,” She hummed, “he makes and sells all the alcohol here. Big business nowadays, don’t you know?” She let out a quiet sigh. “He’s making more, but he should be back before midnight...” 

“Big business for the sellers but isn’t it just the hardest on folk like me, I’m runnin out of quarters here!” Pony got shushed by The Bartender, and she slumped down a bit. “Now, now, no need ta be so hostile,” she handed the man three dollars, “sheesh, and that's just for one drink. Imagine a whole bottle of the stuff.” 

The Bartender slid over a shot of whiskey, though he hadn’t left yet. He stayed close by, before leaning in. “Say, what's with the fellow in the corner? Been nursing that drink all night,” he motioned to a man, who looked almost underdressed to be here, just a normal person on the streets. Now, that in itself wasn’t too odd, there were plenty of folk like that. He seemed like a working man, however...  

“Pony, watch my drink,” She murmured. She made Her way over to the man and sat down right next to him. His clothes smelled of alcohol, though his breath held no such trace of it. Even this up close, it was more likely someone had spilled alcohol on him- or he spilled it on himself. Whatever the reason was, that didn’t deter her. “What's a fine man like you doing in a place like this?” She asked, pulling out a cigarette, along with Her cigarette holder. God forbit She gets any ash on Her dress or stains Her gloves. It'll just get pricy. ‘Maybe that credit thing could do me some good,’ She thought to herself.  

“Just havin’ a drink,” the man smiled back, taking a sip of his alcohol for what must’ve been the first time. His hair was slicked back, but it was rushed. There was no gel or brush involved, as if it had been done in a bathroom with nothing but water.  

“Is that so?” She frowned, “well, my little friend over there says you haven’t finished a single drink all night-” She motioned to his clothes, “-not from here, anyway.” She took a puff of Her cigarette, “where you from, Hun?”  

“Just ah, just down that street with the...” the man trailed off, as if waiting for Her to finish his sentence.  

“The one with the couple? Miss Montagu?” She offered, and the man snapped his fingers. 

“Yes! Miss and Mister Montagu,” he spoke with a nod of his head. There wasn’t any Montagu's that lived down the block, and while there were couples who had their own speakeasies, those were more... public, we’ll say. A badly kept secret. Meanwhile, this was nothing short of a private event. 

The Bartender came back with two extra drinks, one a startling pink, and the other clear. She slid the clear one over to the man. “A Gin Ricky. Pretty nifty, hm? Figured you weren’t enjoying your own drink so a had him come up with something special.” The cop- as She was certain that's what he was- paused. “Detectives like you are a dime a dozen... unqualified, understaffed, you aint no Lizzy.” She tapped the rim of the man's glass with Her cigarette, getting some of the ash in it. “Go on. Take a sip. Though if you really don’t want to, I have a lovely overcoat that would suit you perfectly,” She hummed.  

The man picked up the drink, before chugging half of it at once, knowing he’d been caught. “Good,” She hummed, “enjoy yourself, remember to speak easy here, don’t wanna be causing no fuss.”  

“Ever figure out what he wanted?” The Bartender asked Her as he leaned against his shovel.  

“I think he was on-ta something. No use risking it,” She stomped Her cigarette to the ground. “His little police friends will likely find him in... three days' time, yeah?” She asked, waving Her hand around. “By then he’ll be a pile of bloated sludge.”  

The cold chill air of the night struck Her bones, and She shivered. “Cement shoes might-a been better...” The Bartender murmured, but She shook Her head. 

“No, I don't think so... it’ll be in the news as soon as they find ‘im. Let them ponder a bit, hm?”  

“They can still use test; they’ll know it was arsenic.”  

“It wasn’t,” She hummed, “it's the government’s alcohol, a poisonous thing didn’t you know? Tried to use it to deter people from drinking but...” She glanced back at the dirt, “that's never stopped anyone. They're more likely to try to cover it up than anything. They'll be too busy doing that then trying to find who buried him.”  

She sighed. “it's a shame though... that type-of alcohol gets you down fast, hm?” She flicked Her cigarette at the ground and stomped it out. “let's get a move on, don’t want the patrol officers asking what we’re doing here.” 

[extraordinaryhistories]

#27 - 'I Can't Even Lift My Head' (non-album track, 2001)

When the Lord casts down His fury on Judgement Day, where will you be? When the time comes for every man to stare straight into the eyes of God and reckon with a lifetime of pain, regret, transgression and lies, will you be brave enough to speak your case? Will you be bold and confident, knowing that your heart is true? Will you be tremulous, hoping that the best of your intentions will be able to cure the worst of your deeds? Or will the Lord find you hidden, lain prostrate on the cold, dead earth, weeping, unable to face the true gravity of your sin? We would all like to think we embody grace, truth and tenderness; but in that final hour, will we bet our eternities on it? Sufjan can only speak for himself. But in ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, he arrives on his firm, tragic answer.

Or, alternatively –

‘The Upper Peninsula’ at home:

Musical archaeologists will get quite the kick out of this one. We have discussed how the period between A Sun Came and Michigan – Enjoy Your Rabbit notwithstanding – operated as a sort of creative sandbox for Sufjan. It was probably the single most important time of his entire career. The wild experiments of A Sun Came are still here, but they are fewer in number, largely replaced by embryonic songs in the style he would soon become famous for. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, however, is different. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is not a song in the style he would soon become famous for – it is a song he would soon become famous for, more or less. Look at the relaxed tempo; look at the boomy, lightly-played drums; look at those intertwining helices of banjo and electric guitar; feel the feeling it inspires in you, that strangest mix of quivering intensity and panoramic wideness. This is ‘The Upper Peninsula’ in a different coat of paint.

It is likely that Sufjan slightly rewrote and updated this very song for the Michigan classic – many elements, like the drum part, are practically identical. Aiding this comparison is the fact that Sufjan’s vocal delivery on ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is indistinguishable to how it would soon be on Michigan, which is one of the few elements of Sufjan’s style that had not hitherto fallen into place. Pre-millennial Sufjan has a distinctly thin, strained affection to his voice, likely inspired by Elliott Smith and other classic folkies like Nick Drake who he was enamoured with. You can hear it most obviously on his earliest material, like ‘Julia’ or ‘Rake’. It took years for Sufjan to adopt the fuller sound that would lend his greatest songs their unrivalled intimacy, and for my money, 2001’s ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ – released on an Asthmatic Kitty compilation that featured three other Sufjan songs – this is its first true instance. In hushed, buttery, closely mic-ed tones, Sufjan steps into the confessional booth and crumbles right in front of you.

Because not all of this song is 1:1 to ‘The Upper Peninsula’. Call it modesty or call it maturity, but as Sufjan aged, his subjects counterintuitively decreased in scope. ‘The Upper Peninsula’ is a very small-scale song that speaks of American ennui by way of one protagonist, one town, one story. ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ tells one story too, in a way, but this one is staggeringly existential. It is just as American as ‘The Upper Peninsula’ insofar as the devastating Christian guilt on display here is the cornerstone of Western morality. In the country of capitalism and Jimmy Swaggart, every person sees themselves a sinner by nature. Guilt keeps people working; guilt keeps people spending; guilt keeps people praying. Guilt is American. No less so than the man who sees his wife at the K-Mart.

In ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’, Sufjan experiences a guilt nearly heavy enough to crush the song’s tender arrangement. He imagines himself coming quite literally face-to-face with God – clearly invoking a Revelations-like rapture – and suddenly feeling the entire weight of his sin in one great impact. ‘Oh, I can't even lift my head / To say a word / To say a word to you’, he repeats in refrain, trembling. Though few in number, the verses in this song carry a multiplicity of meanings. Here, Sufjan both acknowledges that he is not worthy of sharing the same space-time as God and  implies that the extent of his sin is so great that it cannot be fully expressed in words. Wanting to explain his life’s choices away in the end times, Sufjan finds that he cannot give voice to them, and instead communicates something more true with a different type of language – he bows his head and resigns in shame. ‘I can't even recognize / What I did wrong’, similarly, is many things at once: genuine inability to qualify his sin, self-soothing by denying the existence of that sin (I cannot consider my mistakes lest I erode my perception of self) and an instinctual apology to his creator for all those bad things he observes in himself, plus the many more that he doesn’t.

The most crucial line in this song – the one that makes it the most explicitly Christian and the most inexplicably Sufjan – is ‘If I had seen the Father / What would his face do / What would his face to do me?’ This points to something very fundamental about this particular faith. Christianity derives some of its strange power from the notion that shame cannot be separated from punishment. An intrinsic sense of rightness and wrongness must be at least fortified (or, less charitably, replaced) by empirical consequence. In other words, it is not enough to believe that sinning is wrong – we must also believe that sinning will send away from God and into Hell. Does this not seem to disentangle divinity from sensory experience and let immediate sensations – the kind that make up, well, everything we experience on Earth – be reclaimed by the Devil? I dunno; take it up with the theologians, not me. It’s there in ‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ either way, wherein God appears on Judgement Day and Sufjan is quite literally faced with his condemnation. Asking ‘what would his face do to me?’ is a very understandable question from any sinner in the Apocalypse. How will He punish me? And perhaps worse, how will the disappointment on His face make me feel?

‘I Can’t Even Lift My Head’ is best read as yet another important stage in Sufjan’s artistic maturity. Smooth and considered though it may be, it is ultimately a reasonably sophisticated, very listenable trial run for a better composition. But at least there is a universality to this subject matter that isn’t as present in ‘The Upper Peninsula’. Not everyone can understand how it feels to struggle in America; everyone can absolutely understand what it means to feel guilt. Self-hating sinners, this one is for you.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 29

Cw:mentions of injuries, some harassment, mentions of murder

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @aemondx @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Gif by @netrunners

Aegon’s recovery is odd.

He lives, his broken bones heal faster than they should, and the burns are suddenly not as horrible as they were.

He must recover his strength, however, at the moment he is unable to even sit up in his bed without assistance.

But at least he was not in the shit state he was last night. He had been so hopped up on milk of the poppy that Aegon was very sure he had died last night.

He had seen his lovely wife help the chambermaid kill him, but Orwyle dismissed it as poppy dreams, like the one of the dancing bears carrying off his mother.

The Chambermaid, sister to the one that looked like Bee that he had taken by force when he was drunk, had acted alone.

Mother shares his suspicions about Aemma, after all, they did kill her mother ---unintentional on his part, very intentional on his mother’s or so he heard her tell Alys.

And he did kill her grandmama, so there was that too.

‘This is for them’ she had whispered as she put the pillow on his face, it had been so lifelike and so real. Like Ellyn’s little snores and that scared little gasp before she died in his dream.

Aegon heard a great many things while he was asleep.

Cole felt guilty for killing Rhaenyra, Cole fucked Rhaenyra and had believed himself to be Aemma’s father when she was born and, worse, Cole fucked his mother.

His first words this morning had been mother fucker.

He won’t geld him; fucking is perfectly natural. Besides, it sounded like something mother regretted and that sounded like punishment enough.

But Westeros does have a new insult.

A shame he is still too weak to leave bed yet and must wait until he has regained his mobility through horrid exercises Orwyle and his grey rats had been talking about with Alys.

“Where do you think our dear Prince Regent is this morning?” Alys asked Cole as she flirted with him while Aegon feigned to have dozed off. "Her grace has sent servants to collect him and has yet to find him.

He used to get flustered like a man maiden before this, now he acts like she might kill him.

Should he tell him about that dream where he saw her covered in bloody seven-pointed stars after she made mother kill sweet little Ellyn?

Perhaps not, they might use it as an excuse to keep him here longer.

At the moment he is being cared for by Alys and if he is good, she has promised to let him feast from her teat.

Mother’s milk heals all, the witch had said when they used to fuck.

“We are sworn to protect their secrets, my lady.” He answered and Aegon snorted.

He was with Aemma, no doubt fucking her thinking they’d gotten rid of him.

Aegon cannot wait to see him gone.

Did anyone beside mother give a shit about him here?

“Yes, you protect them so well, Lord Commander.” The witch said loving how uncomfortable she makes him. “Doesn’t the little queen sound just like her mother when she’s in the throes of passion, Ser Criston?”

Criston colors, angry, ashamed or both, and turns away making it impossible for the bedbound king to hear more of this mummery.

They also see he has awoken from his short nap giving Cole the excuse to run.

This was very entertaining and so far the only entertainment he has had in his sickroom.

Oh well.

But his visitors are a sight for sore eyes though.

Aemma’s pretty face looks a little fuller than when he last saw her, the nightgown is a little snug now, and Aegon is relieved to know he won’t be needing his brother to seed her anymore.

He will put Criston’s advice to the test, he will be a good and loyal husband to her and love the little bastard as much as if it were his.

And she will forget Aemond, Aenys will wed Daenaera or if it is an Aelicent she will wed Rhaenyra’s welp named after him and she will be his heir.

“Ah, I see motherhood agrees with you, dear wife!” he greets them all with good cheer despite Aemma looking at him like he has grown a second head.

He was only being nice to her, complimenting her in a way that wouldn’t make her glower at him or have mother chastise him for being crude.

It wasn’t like he told her he likes how he likes her pert breasts now that they have grown a little.

“I suppose it does, or it will until the morning sickness kicks in.” she said and somehow her talking like that was as surprising as Aegon awaking better than before.

Aemma refuses to retreat again, she’s lost time grieving and now that her first attempt has proven a failure, she must try again.

But she needs to plan, to ensure the time is right and make sure this piece of shit laughing about everything dies.

Aemma will be damned if she lets them steal her life away again.

Her mother and grandmother cannot be avenged if she is a shell of herself.

“Please tell me you had nothing to do with it.” Aemond whispers the moment they are kicked out of the king’s chambers and he pulls her into the linen closet at the end of the hall.

Aemond corners her against the wall, and instead of being afraid he will rat her out, the queen is excited as he cuts off any chance she has or leaving the little room.

Danger can be so addicting and after being numb for so long anything that reignites that spark in her soul is as welcome as Aegon’s death.

“I heard the commotion, I simply believed I was free of him.” She lies and he rolls his eye knowing she is lying.

Aemond knows her so well, she could never lie to him. She was a fucking idiot for believing she could. Aemma should’ve known better.

“Fine, I put the pillow over his face until he stopped thrashing, and the maid took the blame when your mother heard we killed him.

I do not care that it is sin and a crime and everything in between because gods-damnit it felt good to know I was finally free of him.” she cannot stop once she gets started and by the end of it, the queen sees the shock written in his face.

“How easy it was to forget you had the blood of the dragon just as I did these past weeks.” He says in response, his voice low and holding that hint of amusement, as if he finally had confirmation she was as much as a Targaryen as he was.

This fucker, he had assumed she didn’t have what it took to be a dragon queen!

If she wasn’t so in love with him, she’d knee him in his jewels.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, forgetting she had just confessed to regicide.

“You are not the pathetic little princess I feared you’d become.” He answers with a smirk as he pinned her to the cupboards behind her. “Don’t leave me like that again, kingslayer.”

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 57 SANSA V (pages 733-739)

Sansa prays before joining the women in Maegor's Holdfast, while outside the city, the fighting has begun.

-

Joffrey drew his sword. The pommel was a ruby cut in the shape of a heart, set between a lion's jaws. Three fullers were deeply incised in the blade. "My new sword, Hearteater."

he doesn't deserve that sword, give it to meee- hang on... Isn't his new sword... well who owns Widow's Wail then? The Valyrian sword made from half of Ice?

brb, wiki... Ahhhh, too early for Widow's Wail. That comes later, I got my timeline twirled. ... he still doesn't deserve that sword and they should give it to meeeeeee. should have called it Lionheart, for the punception. It has a lion with a heart in it's mouth, Lionheart is the nickname of one of the King Richards, and Joffrey is a dick. It all lines up. (If that last part confused you, 'Dick' is the nickname for 'Richard.') It all lines up!

"They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown." That made him frown. (...) He wheeled his horse about and spurred towards the gate.

!!!!!!! YASSSSs, oh, burn. Subtle, and (more importantly) she got away with it~ Recklessly is right. But I suppose with the weight of the impending army looming over them, now was the time for slights and needling, cause he's too busy imagining how awesome he is(n't) going to be. ... as long as he doesn't remember it later, after he major fails...

No, but it probably does help that Joffrey's being sent to 'man 'command' a particular part of the war effort where he won't be in as much danger without it being obvious he's being kept in the safety box, so his ego isn't as much on the line.

It's interesting how the line changed between show and book, iirc Sansa pulled the "and he's only a pretender" in the show, not just saying Joffrey's young and inexperienced (an absolute baby, whiny child n00b) but actively/backhandedly mocking his legitimacy. Provoking him to go fight in the thick of it (and perish). Which would have been far more dangerous to say, if they'd left show Joffrey as unhinged as book Joffrey.

Sansa knew most of the hymns, and followed along on those she did not as best she could. She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle and those without, she sang with all the city. She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sung for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunk king Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today and for the children and wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound.

Anyone still making arguments that Sansa remains classist, selfish, uncaring and unsympathetic for the duration of the story, and can't understand any of the horrors of war because she was being coddled and had a flush ride through the whole war/story, can take their arguments, and shove them so far up their own ass, they puke them back out.

Sorry, that was rude of me.

I just am having feels right now, (!!!! one of which is fear! holy shit that lighting! oohhhhh Storm is here. That thunder was so loud! even through my headphones!) about how Sansa is just 'one of the masses' right now, just one of thousands who's trapped and scared and praying for help from gods who might not answer.

Still snubbed Joffrey though, nice.

... Shae continues to have zero fucks to give about Lollys' trauma or mental state. But neither does her fam.

Beaten silver mirrors backed every wall sconce, so the torches burned twice as bright; -

I would be interested to know what kind of torches, exactly. For the mirrors to be effective for any length of time they'd need to be carefully positioned so they don't get coated in smoke and ash, and the kind of torches my mind goes to when people say torches in a psuedo medieval European setting is a stick with soaked rag, which, fun fact, doesn't actually last very long. like half an hour iirc.

Would love to see these sconces (I'm a sucker for a good wall sconce), I've seen some really nice candelabra in C-Dramas, candle and oil lamp based, and they have reflective panels shaped like leaves. I need, just so many of them.

... "Ilyn Payne holding Ice" *represses urge to hiss like an umbraged cat*

My feelings on Cersei in this scene are a little complex, on the one hand, I do appreciate that she's not hiding truths from Sansa, regardless of whether Sansa is taking them on or not, on the other hand I know she's 99.99% doing it to instill fear in Sansa, likely as a way to assuage her own fear by giving her the illusion of control over something in a situation where she has none.

Ohhh, good thing this chapter was short, the lights keep flickering. Stupid storm.

[thegracelessfaceless]

Where have you been???? Missed seeing you here <3

I was just getting ready to make this post!

Where have I been? I'm not sure I can answer this question with any sense of coherency. Mostly I've been working, also went through a breakup with IRL SO and have been cleaning up the wreckage from that.

But Sal's been coming around more frequently, coming out of hibernation if you will, and he's picked up a job at my work with me on a dementia unit. You know he's always enjoyed talking to the elderly.

So while I tweak my draft that I'm cooking up, enjoy this moment from work!

Sal: * rushes into Grace's office, and shuts door behind him* There's a polka band out there.

Grace, smirking: So I hear

Sal, collapsing in patient chair at desk: A whole polka band. An accodion... Saxophone...

Grace: Tuba...

Sal, exasperatedly: With the best acoustics in the building.

*Moment of despair as polka music comes in muffled through the wall*

Sal: Mr. Fuller is going off.

Grace: I'll bet. Shits loud! Way too loud for some of these people. That's why my door was closed

*Door opens, Larry steps in and closes it against the din*

Larry: There's a polka band out there

[frostbounddevotion]

@ofxcrimsonxedge

ofxcrimsonxedge asked: ❝ not one person is more important to me than you. ❞ [ From Sukuna :3 ]

        Eight concubines float around the room. All beautiful in their own right. Apple round cheeks, thin noses, and narrow eyes greet Sukuna. Bright rose petal lips drawn over their natural pouty mouths smeared themselves along Sukuna’s neck and body. Heavy rice powder painted all of their faces and necks. Silk robes adorned their curvy figures while they served their honored guest hand and foot. Ebony hair of various lengths, the longest being ending at the ankles, were as black the stains used for their teeth. 

         A banquet was served half an hour ago. It filled their bellies with fish and pheasant, accompanied by pickled vegetables, polished rice, hearty soups and rice cakes. All participants washed down their meals with sake through the night, and Sukuna, as per usual, hedonistically overindulged. 

        Two women sat on either side of Sukuna’s lap. One stroked his chest, the other caressed his arm.  Despite the sexual attention, Sukuna looked over a woman’s shoulder to meet eyes with Uraume. With mildly slurred words, he says: ❝ not one person is more important to me than you. ❞

       Uraume closed their eyes. An sturdy, regal strength radiated through their posture. They offered Sukuna a masterful, deep, bow and gentle smile. Uraume, now glowing with pride, responds, “Thank you, Master Sukuna. The sentiment is mutual.”

         The concubines giggle in unison. Some visibly rolled their eyes. Others discretely scrunch their nose in disgust.

------

        That evening Uraume walks through the halls to prepare Sukuna’s evening bath. They overhear the concubines in their room and something catches their interest. Uraume’s zori halts by the door and they decide to take a listen.         “-Important? How?” One asks. This voice was bright and soaring.

        “Uraume IS his assistant,” answers a graceful one.         A rich, feminine voice decides to chime in. “Still. Who wants to look at that ugly thing? That haircut. Eww.”

        “Right? Is Uraume a man or a woman? They lack breasts and their jawline is too strong for a woman. And as a man-” adds the bright female.         A fuller, more sultry voice insults Uraume. “Man?!?” One laughs, “Uraume is tiny! Their arms are too slender! Their voice is too soft.  He/she/it would make a sorry excuse for a man. Did Sukuna cut its dick off or something?”           Uraume pushes open the door with all their strength. Hot pink eyes glow with deep seeded rage. Rational thought falls by the wayside, allowing their emotions to take complete control.           “Ugly?” Uraume retorts. “I lack breasts, my jawline is too strong, my body is too small…” Their voice grows darker with every word, with each syllable becoming more sinister. “And you speak of my genitalia as though I owe you an explanation.” Their breath becomes chilly enough to be visible in the room. They hand cups in front of their lips.  “Disgusting cum rags you all are, and disgusting cums rags you shall ever be.” 

            They blow an icy mist that engulfs all four walls. Blood curdling, piercing screams echo down the halls. Desperation lay thick within the confines of their room. Uraume’s ice freezes the sheer terror onto the women’s faces. A wall of jagged ice pillars pierce through their bodies. Wet cracking and snapping brings a sadistic smile to Uraume’s lips. Profound depraved pleasure rises to the surface when warm blood intermittently splatters on Uraume. The lives Uraume stole was ridiculed by the chilling, lifeless sculptures Uraume left behind. If ice was the canvas, blood was the ink, and Uraume was ready to bask in its euphoric color.  

[teecupangel]

Ello \(⁠*⁠꒪⁠ヮ⁠꒪⁠*⁠)\ 💙

[uhh idk if i'm using tumblr correctly-]

I wanted to ask,

If Desmond and his main ancestors or generally any Assassin's creed character [+anyone you want to add], were part marine creatures , what would it be?

[Since i am not tht creative and not really an expert and deeply hands on in Assassin's creed franchise]

I'm just interested in your and anyone's opinions really-

Plus since it's May and I just found out about the mermay challenge aaand I am currently havin the biggest art block ever [help me], maybe I could take somethin out of this idea and draw it :D

[cuz I could feel myself slowly becomin restless- srsly help me--]

[and i don't even know if you had answered this qns before. [sht, srry if you did alr]]

I haven’t exactly been asked about what marine creature would Desmond and the others would partly be before but I had been asked about a merman!Desmond before and my mind got away with me in this one

From there, there’s the selkie AU from @twitcherpated that brought to life this little Ibn-La'Ahad Selkie AU

Now, as for my thoughts on which marine creature they could partly be:

Desmond:

A part of me wants to say angel fish because he’s our angel (awwww) and also because angel fishes have bright colors. But, I know this might be a bit ‘wtf?’ but, how about an anglerfish? (and no, this is not an "I can be your angle..." joke) I know they have a bad rap for being, well, not really pretty, but if it’s a human top-fishy bottom deal, look at this photo of an angler fish and focus on the bottom half.

It’s a distinct look, for sure, which worked well with how ‘special’ Desmond is to the eyes of the Isus and the way its fin glows is a nice-ish callback to how the Reader glows in AC Valhalla. You can even make the latern-like antenna be part of his bottom part as some kind of tail.

If the angler fish is not to your liking, how about the Mariana Hadal Snailfish? They’re known to be strong enough to withstand lots of ‘abuse’ and they have wing-like fins as well (they don’t glide/fly though as they’re in the deepest part of the Mariana Trench).

Honestly, for me, marine animals that glow are a good match for Desmond. (Glowing marine animals in the deeper parts would also work well for the Isus and making Desmond be one of them would show his ‘deep’ connection with them)

Altaïr:

Altaïr’s probably the easiest to think about for me. Since his name doesn’t just mean eagle but ‘soaring/flying eagle’, it’s gotta be the flying fish (even if they just glide).

If you want him to have fuller wings though and don’t mind basing it on extinct animals, the Thoracopteridae is usually described like this.

Ezio:

Okay, let’s get this out of the way. Ezio would be one of the prettiest ones out there, like a beautifully patterned goby or, if you really want to make him fabulous, a betta fish and, honestly, any of those fishes would work. I am a sucker for koi though, especially a white and red patterned koi that would remind us of his mentor robes in Brotherhood.

Alternate suggestion would be a Leafy Seadragon because, goddamn, just imagine Ezio swimming like he’s sashaying with that kind of bottom. It’s definitely eyecatching.

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

Ratonhnhaké:ton would make an awesome orca. It’s one of the best predators in the ocean and their closeness with their fellow orcas will be a good show of how much Ratonhnhaké:ton treasure his people. An apex predator that deserves respect is definitely a good combination to a part-marine Ratonhnhaké:ton.

My alternate suggestion would be a Lionfish though. Mainly because it’s beautiful and metal af. They move with grace but a certain deadliness to them that reminds me of Ratonhnhaké:ton.

[creativefya]

THE CREATIVE URGE : Mental Health & Creativity

CREATIVES JOHN COLTRANE & ALEXANDER BOYCE

JOHN COLTRANE. John Coltrane is a famous jazz musician noted to be a genius. His works are transcendental and mind blowing to those that dare to explore and are considered to be critics of fine art. John passed away at the early age of 40 due to cancer, but his known alcoholism and heroin addiction affected not only his health, but his personal spiritual beliefs, endeavors and relationships. Some or perhaps most people feel that the psychotropic drug use was what enhanced his creative expression, but he definitely displayed mental health issues including impulsive neurotic behaviors and practicing nonstop. His character type is coined to be an obsessive creative.

Coltrane did quit heroin cold turkey, and later said he had heard the voice of God during his brutal withdrawal. “I experienced, by the grace of God, a spiritual awakening which was to lead me to a richer, fuller, more productive life,” Coltrane said in the liner notes of A Love Supreme. He went on to create even his album Giant Steps and more of America's finest art form.

Coltrane expressed his virtue of creativity in a letter that “Innovators always seek to revitalize, extend and reconstruct the status quo in their given fields… Quite often they are the rejects, outcasts, sub-citizens, etc. of the very societies to which they bring so much sustenance. Often they are people who endure great personal tragedy in their lives. Whatever the case, whether accepted or rejected, rich or poor, they are forever guided by that great and eternal constant — the creative urge.” Coltrane has gained followers after his death and is declared a saint. The Saint John Coltrane Global Spiritual Community holds A Love Supreme Meditation each month.

ALEXANDER BOYCE. Another current visual artist, by the name Alexander Boyce of Harlem, just woke up one day and decided to paint. A musician, and former leader of a band, Boyce now creates art and fashion accessories for people who love art and want to make a statement. His IG profile reveals a Puff N Paint art therapy event. Boyce answered my DM and told me that weed is in fact legal in NY and that in those art therapy sessions they smoke weed, and paint self portraits, and then examine how they see themselves based on the work. The psychotropic drug enhances the activity and artistic creative experience. It is most common to see Sip N Paint but due to legal allowances other drugs can and will receive welcome with creative/artistic experiences that prove to be therapeutic.

Boyce’s purpose is to unfold the feelings of self hate and inferiority imagery has inflicted on black people. His mission is feel good art that makes people happy, on everything and everywhere. Boyce found interest in art as a high school student and now gives his influence to Basquiat, Picasso, and Big Daddy Kane. Not sure what mental health change occurred but Boyce, literally woke up with the urge to paint, so he picked up his son’s little paint set and started painting. Notable changes occurred in his mind. His vision experienced a transformation as well, he went from seeing lines and shapes to seeing light and shade. Before that day, Boyce spent a lot of time composing jingles and music for reality t.v. Now his mind had a hunger for painting, and he spent most of his time doing so. He became fascinated with faces, and would stare at people in passing, realizing the beauty in each difference. This wild awakening was unlike anything Boyce had ever experienced and it led him to become more aware of others and himself. For Boyce painting is like music, it is about feelings.

CREATIVITY & EMOTION. There are many mental health benefits to being creative or participating in creative activities. Participation can include just enjoying fine art events. After experiencing trauma, artistic and creative activities can help us to relieve stress, release anger, lessen shame and deal with depression. According to the Collins dictionary a creative is defined as a person who has the ability to invent and develop original ideas, especially in the arts. Urge is defined as a strong wish or desire to do or have something. Emotions play a pivotal point in the development or advancement of our day to day activities. Those emotions, negative or positive impact the creative urge to explore. The main personality type associated with creativity is openness to experience.

Emotional traits of our personality have creative impact. Having an extroverted personality will enhance these experiences but all personality types will benefit from creativity in the arts. Emotional traits can also impact the type of domains creatives choose to partake. The domains of music and visual arts are linked to people high in neuroticism. Musicians, especially jazz performers tend to have a lot of ambiguity, which makes a lot of sense because jazz is based on a lot of improvisation. (Prof Rodriguez) Their traits, along with visual artists; are less likely to be emotionally stable (Fiest, 1998).

Arts therapy is finding a creative outlet for our trauma in a safe space for emotional expression. The long-standing view in psychology is that positive emotions are conducive to creativity because they broaden the mind.(Harvard Business Review 2015) Emotions can be traits or states of being. The creative process is fueled by our emotions.(Prof Rodriguez) Creative process flows of motivation, domain, idea generation, roadblocks, and product.

The creative urge can inspire creatives to find solutions in frustrating situations. Having the creative urge to do something and create something novel provides motivational intensity to produce art. Motivational intensity is playing an instrument like John Coltrane, or painting like Alexander Boyce. Both artists used their emotions to express. The art they provide is therapeutic for the artist and those that experience it. Coltrane about his music said "the emotional reaction is all that matters." They are two creatives that light the fire of their own creative urges.

CREATIVITY & MENTAL ILLNESS. Creativity is beneficial but has been linked to mental illness. Through time Plato and Aristotle described the creative genius as mad. Freud thought creativity was driven by repressed desires. In our time, humanists deem creativity as a pinnacle of healthy human psychology. During the romantic era, people believed that “madness” could free the imagination from constraints of conformity. As a result it was actually pretty popular for intellectuals and creatives to show signs of mental illness. (Prof Rodriguez)

Studies suggest that there is some elevated risk for mood disorders and highly creative people. One serious mental mood disorder is Schizophrenia, in which people interpret reality abnormally. People high in this trait do not progress well as creatives, but studies show that perhaps inheriting part, but not all of this genotype may be beneficial to creativity. This personality type called Schizotypy, are often described as odd or eccentric and usually have few, if any, close relationships. Negative effects of this type have a diminished ability to produce, but positive schizotypy adds something unique or weird to their behavior that make them stand out as creative. People high in schizotypy tend to score higher on creative tests, vs people clinically diagnosed with schizophrenia that score low. (Prof Rodriguez)

New evidence points out that only normal range differences in mood and perception may have some benefit to creativity, but not full blown mental illness. It is always best to keep a healthy body and mind for the creative urge. Coltrane is called a genius and his name is more recognizable not only to the arts community but the psychology community as well. Coltrane practiced nonstop but his openness to experience led him to be an icon. His creative urge was so strong it feels like you're baptized with the holy ghost when you get hit with his sound. The artist Alexander Boyce just woke up one day and something changed in his mind, he became obsessed with painting all of a sudden. He literally woke up with an urge. The creative urge.

CREATIVITY & SUBSTANCE USE. Substance use has an effect on mental capacity and creativity. Research has found that some use can actually enhance our creativity and openness to experience. Over 80% of the population uses some type of psychotropic drug. Caffeine being the most widely consumed psychotropic drug in the world with 85% of adults consuming at least one caffeinated drink daily. (Zebelina & Sylvia 2020 ) Other common drugs used by creatives and the general population include alcohol, marijuana, and hallucinogens. The substances can decenter the artist while offering new and unique perspectives that facilitate creativity but their ill effects must be balanced in the exchange.(Prof Rodriguez)

There is a greater prevalence of alcoholism among creatives. Full blown alcoholism will not result in creativity, but usage can be related to trauma and self expression. Experimental studies have found that low doses of alcohol enhance idea generation and insight. Positive beliefs about alcohol and creativity make it normal to find alcohol within the creative community. Musicians are mostly performing at events that serve alcohol, and it is more popular to attend a Sip N Paint event where you drink alcohol, listen to music and paint. Marijuana use is related to openness to experience, the main personality exhibited by creatives, but negative effects can occur on long term users.

The process of creating music, art, or literature, could be so cognitively demanding that artists may seek to dissociate from reality as a way to release stress, not as a tool for their art.(Neurology Live) The psychotropic substances shift their typical frame of mind towards a creative product. Alcohol, and drugs are used by creatives like musicians and painters to alter their state of consciousness. Ways to counter using drugs and decenter from the cultural norm include meditating, or exercise as a way to alter the state of consciousness and develop the creative process.

Holistically, alcoholism and drugs can be detrimental to your health, and it is always best to avoid anything that can lead to addiction and inhibit the creative process. Overall healthy individuals have the highest capacity for creativity.(Prof Rodriguez) Musician John Coltrane quit his addiction to heroin, and found his creative process to be liberating through meditations, prayers, and awakenings. Artist Alexander Boyce uses a psychotropic drug to enhance his creative experience. Both creatives have found substance not in the usage of drugs but through their own creative urge.

CREATIVITY & HEALING. Both Coltrane and Boyce experienced an awakening and call to the creative urge. The use of psychotropic drugs is common among creatives and can have some mild benefits on the creative process. The many benefits of creative/artistic expression such as playing an instrument like Coltrane or painting like Boyce, help relieve mental health issues. Using art as a therapy can help creatives cope with trauma and serve as creative outlets for others to do the same. As quoted by John Coltrane," I want to be the force for good”, both creatives John and Boyce are using their creative force for good. Both artists relate being rejects, outcasts, sub-citizens, and their artforms serve as advocacy for change. Drug use adds to the stereotypes that artists, creatives or most users face, yet we don’t see much research about the everyday and common use of caffeine which may help with achieving convergent thinking tasks like solving problems. (Zebelina & Slylvia 2002) It's very common to toast or partake in “spirits” or wine at social fine art events. The Puff N Paint event seems like a bold move but the marijuana is used to enhance the arts therapeutic experience. The effects of psychotropic drugs on creativity are still being explored, but as laws change so may stereotypes and the common use for enhancement in the creative process. The virtue and the value of creativity has allowed both artists to improvise and act in innovative & novel ways. Creativity provides healing. People who engage in cultural or fine arts activities have a lower risk of developing chronic pain, dementia and depression.

Creativity provides a better mental and physical outcome no matter the ability. Genuine findings point to the short and long term benefits of creativity.  The creative intensity of Coltrane and Boyce could be a troubled psyche but their push towards creative expression was an urge to heal.  Using art to thrive beyond survival is healing as, Coltrane says, “they are forever guided by that great and eternal constant — the creative urge”.

By: Andria Jones - Psych 365 - Professor Rodriguez   UNCG SPRING 23 -  Psychology of Art, Creativity, & Genius

References 

Chasing John Coltrane’s God Dream From A Love Supreme To “UltraLight Beam” - Okayplayer

Coltrane Church

Creative urge definition and meaning | Collins English Dictionary

Drugs and Creativity: Fact or Fiction?

Meet Alexander Boyce - CanvasRebel Magazine

The Emotions That Make Us More Creative

The Mental Health Benefits of Creativity

[antivanruffles]

53 r/j

53. “Who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?!”

You said "R/J" but I know you specifically meant Rei and Jamie, it's okay. So canon, non-canon future Tequila Sunset RPG ficlet.

____________________________

Rei tried several times to ignore the incessant tapping noise. She kept tossing and turning, pretending it didn't exist, only it did exist and it wasn't stopping anytime soon. After about ten minutes of the unending annoyance she was ready to get up, despite the fact it was fuck-it-all in the morning, and investigate this strange occurrence like some white lady in a horror movie.  

That was when the noise finally stopped, only to be replaced by the notifications on her phone. Growling under her breath she grabbed her phone to see who it was she would need to flambe later on. Once it was a decent hour, of course. 

There was no surprise in the name flashing across her screen. 

Hey

Was the first message.

Answer your window

Was the second message, followed by several clock emojis, an ice cream cone, and a bunch of others she didn't pay much mind to. 

"I'm going to murder him," she mumbled to herself and threw back her blankets, trying not to shiver at the cool night air. 

With her phone clutched tightly in one hand, Rei crept out to the living room of her apartment.  All seemed well in order, the front door was bolted, and nothing looked to be out of place. Except for maybe the face of a certain obnoxious blonde peering through the gaps in her drapes.

"What in the hell?" she asked by way of greeting as she unbolted the window and threw it open.

"What?" was the mumbled reply as Jamie crawled through the open window, entirely without grace and obviously not caring. He straightened up, adjusting his clothes and looked at Rei expectantly.

"Didn't you get my text?" 

"The incomprehensible string of emojis?"

"Before that." He gestured toward her phone, the rings on his fingers glinting in the soft moonlight. He'd switched nail polish colors since yesterday, no longer a deep purple but a flashy red and she couldn't help but think that was entirely on purpose. 

Rei rolled her eyes when it didn't appear he was going to just tell her what the stupid texts said. She opened his chat and found a long stream of consciousness waiting for her. It looked like he had been bored, and decided that Rei should be the recipient of his boredom and ADHD. Then her eyes lighted upon the thing that had apparently brought him to her apartment in the middle of the night. 

Ice cream. 

Some random thought that triggered a desire for ice cream and company and a promise (or threat depending on who you asked) to come to her place and take her out for ice cream.

"Jamie," she said slowly and looked up. "Who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?”

"Listen what's the point in having all this magic juju shit without using it? And everyone knows the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It just so happens that the straight line between your place and mine is diagonally... by rooftop." He grinned widely at her, and it pissed her off how charming it was. 

"That doesn't change the fact it's 4am."

"Hey, what's better? 4am house calls for ice cream, or 4am benders at some random club?" 

She knew he was joking, goading in that acerbic way he always did, so she ignored the question. It did draw her attention to how much healthier he looked as of late; his frame a little fuller, eyes bright and clear like a summer sky. He carried himself differently too, not quite as drawn in on himself. Which, looking back, had been so at odds with his immense personality. 

"Anyway," he drawled to distract from the long silence. She knew he was aware of the fact she had been giving him a once over, and she was pleasantly surprised when he didn't comment on it. "Ice cream." 

"Is that pre-approved on your training diet?" she teased.

"Do you think I give a shit?" he replied in the same teasing tone. 

"You aren't leaving until I agree to go for ice cream, are you?"

"Nope." 

Rei made a grumbling noise in the back of her throat, then turned to her bedroom to find something warm. "Where do you even get ice cream at 4am?"

"The bodegas." His incredulous voice followed her from the living room. "We're going all out for sundaes. What, did you think I was going to take you to McDonald's for soft serve?"

"I don't know because it's 4am! You never make sense during reasonable hours let alone unreasonable ones." 

Finally dressed Rei returned to the living room to find Jamie flopped on her couch like he lived there. He looked up the second she appeared and Rei knew what he saw first. The sweatshirt had been his, it had his high school's logo on the front, all faded and worn until it was barely recognizable. It had come into her possession during her extended stay at his apartment. It had been warm and soft and she just hadn't ever gotten around to returning it. 

Again she was pleasantly surprised when he chose not to comment on the fact she still had it, or that she chose to wear it now. 

"Time to go!" Jamie jumped up and clapped his hands, then strode across to the window. "Ladies first."

"The window, really?" She arched an eyebrow.  

"It's quicker, now come on. If we wait any longer it'll be ice cream for breakfast and that's just weird."

"That's weird?" Rei stopped with one foot out the window, wondering why in the hell she was agreeing to any of this. 

"Look there's a window for ice cream, and 5am to 9am is not it." 

"That makes no sense."

"Doesn't have to make sense, it's just how it is." 

Rei rolled her eyes and continued out onto the fire escape. Jamie was close behind, shutting the window behind them and ushering her along while chatting incessantly about nothing, but she had long since grown accustomed to that. For better or worse. 

The air was cold, but her sweater was warm, and Jamie's voice was oddly soothing. And despite the sheer ridiculousness of this whole adventure they were on, Rei couldn't help but think it almost... maybe... felt like a date.

[night-dark-woods]

failure, ghost, mask for whoever you wanna do these for :3c

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

I don't think I have a good answer for this one YET. At some point Fuller is going to fuck up BADLY and have a delightful and terrible crisis of faith for the first time in her entire bastardous second life bc the pure wonderful logic of Scientific Inquiry is going to be insufficient to the problem she's made for herself. Whatever it is Hapax will be there bc they are horribly disasterously codependent once they start getting along <3

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

my vexo Titan's past haunts it in pretty much every way possible. It's an early prototype, I thiiink probably before Clovis figured out he had to make the exo bodies sleep/breathe/feel pain in order to not have them tear themselves apart, and before the alkahest was fine-tuned, so there's too much untainted radiolaria in there. It thinks of itself as a security frame more than anything else, when it thinks of itself at all, and doesn't have a great handle on itself as an individual bc it remembers being Vex too well- not a part of a hivemind, but a single point in a pattern of probability like how we approximate electrons. Existing as a single mind in a single body is... frustrating and alien, despite its Ghosts best efforts to simulate that belonging thru constant neural interfacing.

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

Hapax absolutely wears a mask when working in the Reef, but since that's what she does Immediately upon resurrection, it's so ingrained I don't think she even really realizes it until Fuller starts to pry it off of her. Her flat affect and lack of social graces make her extremely off-putting to most, and so she's learned enough to make interactions run smoothly but it certainly doesn't come naturally. Fuller is the first one to see her un-filtered and not only not be freaked out, but prefer her that way.