#i haven't posted anything in so so so long i'm so sorry

[paradiseprincesss]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 | Jonathan Crane

𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢.

𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 — Hello my angels! I haven't posted in a while & I was on a little writing hiatus due putting my mental health first, but I am slowly coming back to writing! I'm not sure when I will write another fic/have the time to, though! Also sorry in advance for any grammar errors as I barely proofread thiiiiiis!

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 — Your mentor, Doctor Jonathan Crane, coerced you into making a sex tape as a means to keep you silent about what you saw, and for the night, you become a star on camera for him.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 — 2.9k

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 -> 18+ ONLY DUBCON, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), creampie, sex tape, drugging, stockholm syndrome(?), blackmail & coercion

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You stared at him silently from the bed, unsure what to say next. The atmosphere wasn’t tense by any means, but it was heavy. The air – the air was heavy. Jonathan silently stared you down in his suit, standing beside the blinking camera on a tripod. 

This wasn’t your idea. You’d have never agreed if he hadn’t forced you to.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you’d made the decision long before he even mentioned it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Jonathan Crane was your colleague – or rather mentor. You had been offered a position to work under the renowned Doctor at Arkham Asylum at the beginning of your practicum last month, and although most people would shiver at the thought of working with the criminally insane, you jumped at the opportunity. This would most definitely advance your chances of getting a coveted job post-graduation, and you were willing to do whatever it took. 

The last few weeks had been chaotic but thrilling; you’d shadow Crane around Arkham as he treated his patients and wrote down evaluations — whatever he was doing for the day. However, one evening, you went to his office to ask him a question you’d had, only to walk into a scene that caused your jaw to drop. 

Lay slumped over on Jonathan’s office desk was a patient – patient #20373 to be precise – who appeared to be…not breathing. Your eyes darted from the patient to Crane himself, who was now rushing to slam and lock the door to his office behind you. You don’t quite remember everything that happened after that. 

One thing you do remember though – and you doubt you’ll ever forget – is waking up in a cushiony room on a bed, groggy and half awake until Jonathan came into your line of vision. You tried to cry, or sob, or do anything, really, but your mind was going four ways and you couldn’t seem to process what was happening. 

“Did you drug me?” You rasped with watery eyes, your hands reaching to your throat out of instinct. 

“I did what had to be done. What you saw – what you think you saw…” He corrected himself, “I can’t risk anyone finding out about that.” 

“I- Okay, I won’t tell anyone, just please–”

He shushed your panicked voice as he eyed you down the way a predator would do to its prey. “I want to trust you, I do — but I can’t.” 

You watched as he stepped closer to you, and you noticed that even though you wanted to run, your body was seemingly too weak. Too heavy.

“I’m working on a clinical trial,” he informed you. “I’m observing the neurological patterns of patients exposed to their deepest, darkest fears. Unfortunately, like with all clinical trials, there are sometimes…flukes. Accidents. Some patients don’t react properly to the medication in the way we want them to. Dosage errors, genetic factors, allergies…the list goes on. What you think you saw was just that — a medical error.” 

You tried to talk, but for some reason, you couldn’t – you were floored, to say the least. He seemed to take notice of this, and he cooed softly as he came to pet your head gently. “I know,” he feigned sympathy, “you must be so out of it.”

“What did you do to me?” You choked out, failing to swat his hand away from you. “How–?”

“A fast-acting sedative and a small syringe,” he interrupted, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Poor thing, you were out cold before your brain could even register what was happening.”

“You…God, you’re fucking sick.” You let out a choked sob as he smirked at you, clearly amused. 

“I’d like to return to our previous topic of discussion.” His tone shifted back into his usual, clinical one. “Although I'm quite certain you won’t speak a word of what you saw earlier to anyone, I need something from you. Think of it as an eye for an eye — that sort of thing.”

Blackmail, you thought to yourself, he wants blackmail so that he can have something to hang over my head. 

At that very moment, you noticed a camera propped up on a tripod in the corner of the room, causing your mouth to go dry. 

“You– Doctor Crane, you don’t have to do this…” You almost whispered as a tear ran down your cheek at the realization of the type of blackmail he had in mind.

“Jonathan,” he corrected, “I’d like to believe we’re on a first-name basis by now, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, looking at you through his glasses with his steel blue eyes. You’d be lying if you said you never found him even slightly attractive, and sure…maybe you’d fantasized about him once or twice in bed all alone at night, but what you had in mind was different – innocent. It was just that; a fantasy. 

“I–I don’t know what you want from me,” you stammered, feeling your stomach twist in knots. 

“What do I want from you?” His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Simple. You and I are going to make a little…project. Something personal. Something memorable.” You felt sick as you failed to form a response. “You’re awfully quiet, sweetheart. I thought you’d have more to say, perhaps even put up a fight.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, finding your voice again. “I’ll never—”

“You will,” Jonathan interrupted, his tone sharp and menacing. He smiled softly at you, a juxtaposition to his cruel, mocking tone from mere minutes ago, and he was eerily calm. “Because if you want to keep even a shred of your dignity, your reputation, your job, or your life—”

“Fine,” you panicked as he went on with the list and gave in as your voice dropped to a whisper, “just…just don’t hurt me.”

He smiled faintly. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

He didn’t bother waiting for you to reply before moving the camera and tripod to the edge of the bed, watching you like a hawk to make sure you didn’t even dare to attempt to get up or do anything that would indicate you would try and fight back. 

Once he set everything up, you looked at him with watery eyes, which caused him to feign worry and coo mockingly at you. He towered over you as he stood at the edge of the bed where you sat, and he took your face into his hands, forcing you to look up at him. 

“I want to hear you talking dirty.” His words sent a chill down your spine, and even though you’d tried to break eye contact, he forced you to look at him once more. “I want to feel you put the work in.” 

“Please—”

“I want to watch you entertain.” 

You watched as he turned his attention back to the camera and tripod. He toyed with it momentarily before it made a small beep sound, and a flashing red light started to blink. 

“Is it on?” Your voice noticeably trembled.

“Yeah, it’s on.” His voice was eerily relaxed.

Your hands were shaking – which you hadn’t even realized until now – and you nodded, unable to do much more. He didn’t say anything yet, but he looked at you with a menacing stare, causing your blood to run colder than it already was.

You weren’t even sure you had a pulse at this point.

“Strip,” he suddenly ordered, causing you to grimace. “Fucking strip.” 

Scrambling on the bed with your eyes darting from the camera back to Jonathan, you do as told with trembling hands. Hastily, you attempted to rid yourself of your clothing before you choked on a gasp as you felt Jonathan yank you back by your hair with a harsh grip. 

“Slowly,” he purred, knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping onto your hair, before letting go after what felt like a lifetime. “I want you to savour the moment you gave yourself up to me.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth – that, yes, you’d given yourself to him long before this moment. Not with your body, but with every line you let him blur until you could no longer tell where you ended, and he began. 

You gave yourself up to him unknowingly when you caught him “treating” his patients with his fear toxin on countless other occasions and yet, you didn’t say a word because you were blindsided by how pathetically attracted you were to him. 

This time, you just happened to get caught, and he acted on impulse, forcing you to surrender.

But this wasn’t really surrender. This was inevitability.

Once you were left in just your underwear, you were a shivering, doe-eyed mess. Although, it seemed Jonathan preferred you this way. “You’re such a good girl,” he cooed, hands coming to brush up against your neck gently. “God, you truly are pretty.” 

His words were sickeningly sweet; as if he wasn’t keeping you here, forcing you to film a sex tape as blackmail for yourself. 

But was it force when you’d handed him the reins so long ago, piece by trembling piece?

“You're so soft,” he mumbled, placing a delicate kiss on your cheek as he moved your hair out of the way, exposing your neck, to which he placed another kiss.

“...Jonathan, please.”

Your voice came out soft – quiet – and it had this tremble within it because you were free-falling. One moment he had you quivering in fear, and the next, he was the same soft-spoken, intellectual, kind mentor you had found rather endearing before all…this. Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you, maybe it was even a coping mechanism – but if it helped you believe that you didn’t somehow allow yourself to let him do this to you, then you welcomed that idea. 

Psychology is interesting. Human behaviour is interesting. 

“I know you better than you know yourself,” he whispered against your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you shut your eyes. “Don’t lie to me — you love this. I’ve seen you snooping around my office, I know you’ve looked in my file cabinets…”

He continued speaking softly – not in a menacing way – but rather in a reassuring way, like he knew who you really were underneath this facade you put up. “I know that you know what I do within the walls of Arkham when nobody is looking — well, nobody except for you.”

“You’re so vile,” you whispered, leaning into his touch as you let his hands roam your body in front of the camera, not even attempting to deny it. 

“You’re just as vile for letting me do this to you,” he nipped your neck, causing you to let out a startled moan. “You know whose blood is on my hands, yet you let those same hands touch you.” 

The lines between sex, lies, and the ugly truth blurred in an instant as your hands found his shoulders. With a sharp pull, you placed your lips on his. Before he could react, you tugged him down onto the bed, the weight of him pressing against you like the inevitability of everything you’d already surrendered.

“Show me who you are,” he whispered, getting just enough distance between your lips in his to get the words out, and you didn’t need to be told twice. 

You pressed your lips up against his once more, feeling him intertwine his hands into your hair this time around. Your nails dug into his suit as you desperately tried to tug him out of it, falling deeper into the unholy temptation that was Jonathan Crane. He continued to kiss you as you rid him of his clothes, and in between kisses, you straddled him as his hands found purchase on your hips. 

You pulled back momentarily, glancing at him and noticing his glasses were slightly fogged up, but his eyes were still ever so blue through them. You smiled slightly before you started to unbutton his white, collared shirt that was under his suit jacket, while simultaneously trying to remove his tie fully.

Jonathan had no objections – he wanted to see how dirty you were willing to be. How filthy you would get on film…and that sparked an idea in his head.

Jonathan suddenly slammed you down onto the mattress within seconds, his shirt half undone and his tie hanging off his neck lazily before he was tugging your lace panties down your thighs. This was the moment that he decided even if he was supposedly blackmailing you, he needed to have his face buried in between your legs. 

“Jonathan,” you panted, looking down at him between your legs, his brilliantly blue eyes now much darker. “Wh-what are you doing?” 

He tossed your underwear to the side, offering no response before diving right in, devouring your cunt skillfully as his tongue darted through every single inch of you. You let out a sharp gasp before it turned into a moan. It was almost disgusting how good he was with his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you whined, hips arching upwards so that he could taste all of you, down to the last drop. 

“Delicious.” 

His voice was muffled as he ate you out, savouring the taste of you against his tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing, but it was too late to try and save yourself now – not that you really made any attempt before because here you were; getting eaten out by a man who supposedly drugged you and forced you into getting fucked on camera but hey,  it happens to the best of us... 

He licked your folds, gently nipping on your thighs or pressing kisses to them, before diving back into you as he lapped you up. Soon enough, you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach starting to build up as he sucked your clit gently, causing you to let out a rather loud moan. 

“I’m close,” you warned as your back arched off the mattress again, causing his grip on your thighs to become harsher, keeping you there. “God–”

He hummed in acknowledgement as you felt your release hit you all at once. He continued to eat you out as if you were his final meal until you were a shaking mess, begging him to give you a break as your legs shook.

Before you even had a chance to fully recover, you found yourself in yet another position he manhandled you into, this time face down ass up – and looking right at the camera. You heard his belt unbuckle from behind you before you let out a quiet gasp, feeling him line himself up with your entrance. 

You were plenty wet at this point, so soaked you could certainly feel yourself dripping down your thighs. Jonathan pushed himself into you desperately, filling you up fully with one, quick stroke before his hands gripped your hips. Your eyes screwed shut as he stretched you out around his cock, slamming his hips into your ass as he fucked you into oblivion. 

You babbled and moaned into the mattress as you felt yourself soak his length. He then grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at the camera with wide eyes and an already fucked out expression as he continued to plow you.

“Fuck,” he huffed, “you take cock like a professional. Atta’ girl.” 

The way his cock was angled inside of you was perfection. It was that perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that made it feel so good when he was fucking you – ruining you – and rearranging your insides. You could physically feel every inch of him fill you and stretch you out around his thickness, pounding you until you lost your ability to think about anything other than him filling your holes twenty-four fucking seven.

“Jonathan,” you feverishly said his name before letting out a moan so pornographic, that it even caught Jonathan by surprise – a good surprise though, nonetheless. You continued to beg him to fuck you harder and harder, pleading with him for God knows what. “I need— nnghh – need you to fill me, yes—!’

“You’re a fuckin’ natural at this,” he gruffed, feeling himself edge closer to his release. “Look at you go, you’re such a slut, aren’t you, baby? Show the camera what a good girl you become when you’ve got my cock in you.”

“Mmm,” you drawled out a few more breathy moans before neither of you could go any longer. 

Jonathan cursed under his breath before he filled you up with his come, stuffing you full of it as his thrusts slowed down. Simultaneously, you were clenching down on him as you drenched his cock with his hands still intertwined in your hair lazily. 

You stared at the red light which was still blinking before Jonathan finally let his grip on your hair go, making you sigh with relief. He was still buried in your warm, wet cunt as you looked over your shoulder, silently admiring the way his blue eyes pierced through you. His hair was slightly dishevelled and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were a bit pink, but you were soon pulled out of your thoughts as he let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“You’re a fuckin’ star, babydoll.” 

But the difference between a pornstar and you? They know what they’ve signed up for. 

You on the other hand? You’re drowning in a role written for you, simply too blind to see who’s holding the pen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

[vivilunacornio]

First of all, Merry Christmas

If you're finding this comment on the 25th… man we need friends lol

Second, if you're going to be annoying, don't bother yourself. Just move on, this is not for you.

Well, a month has passed since the end of Arcane and even though I haven't posted anything, I'm always here following some incredible analyses. And during all this time as a Caitvi shipper (long before the series was announced) I've seen everything in just one month

stan Jinx (sorry if you're a decent stan jinx, the ones I've met have serious problems), anti-caitvi, moral police, "arcane critical", vi hater, caitlyn hater, incel, misogynists, harassers, lesbophobes, people who go to the ship's tags to talk shit

And now I started thinking and finally came to the conclusion that… I don't FUCKING care about your opinion. I'm tired of stressing myself out because of misinterpretations. I'm going to have fun, there are fanarts, fanfics and people who love this ship as much as I do. If you couldn't feel the same way I did watching this couple's story, I'm really sorry, because I loved this experience with all my soul. I'm not going to ruin the affection and how special these two are to me just because you didn't like or didn't understand what the writers did to them

I have my own complaints about some of the choices the writers made with them, but nothing that would ruin my experience

To the couple's lovers, a piece of advice: don't pay attention to these people. They won't change the way they think and your argument doesn't mean anything to them, it will only make them think they are right. It's not worth damaging your mental health

So if you're one of those crazy lovers who just wants to freak out and have fun with hc, theories or just finding details, I'd love to freak out with you. Don't be shy, I promise I'm just a little weird

(english is not my native language, so I apologize if any words seem confusing)

[gnomewithalaptop]

do you have any really devastating hurt/comfort recs?

Hi!! Sorry this took me so long to do -- holiday season has me swamped

your ghost i will gladly bear by @mamawasatesttube - Comic book alternate universe logic leads to Tim and Kon reuniting after living through the other's deaths. UGH obsessed with this fic -- the implications of Elseworlds Kon taking on the Robin mantle after Tim's death vs Canon Tim changing his colors to reflect Kon's after Kon's have me seeing shrimp colors

Scandals Stick Together by @traya-sutton - With his mother dead, his father in a coma, and everybody convinced he's going to run his family company into the ground, Tim has to go to a Luthor gala. Unparalleled mental stress + public emotional breakdowns + no capes AU TimKon -- this one hits like nobody's business man

i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time by @popsunner - I've recced this series before, but this one fic (which works as a standalone btw) legitimately gets me every time. Cassie Sandsmark POV on dealing with Bart and Kon's sudden return from the dead. The only issue? It's been two days since she went to Tim's funeral, and nobody's told them he's dead yet. I read this fic whenever I need to cry for real -- Cassie gets put through the wringer in this series

A Long Fall with a Sudden Stop by @eggmacmuffin - Dick gets fear gassed. Tim has to deal with it. This not only has Tim comforting Dick through a fear gas incident (obvious H/C setup) but also it has a SUPER well-done and interesting take on fear gas that I haven't seen elsewhere

Oil and Watercolor by @dedicatedfollower467 - A Damian-centric platonic soulmate AU where you leave colors on each other's skin the first time you touch. SUCH a good relationship between Dick and Damian -- not technically tagged as H/C but I'm calling it that anyways because it gave me similar vibes

tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you about mine and its sequel you do not have to be good by @luvo27 are some of the most absolutely gut wrenching Cassandra Cain-centric fics I've read probably ever. Dealing with Cass's passive (and sometimes not-so-passive) suicidal thoughts pre and post Steph's death, these two fics focus heavily on her road to recovery, leaning on Steph, Tim, and Babs. Legitimately made me cry multiple times, and I actually held off on making this rec list until the author posted the last chapter so I could include it. Hands down two of my favorites of all time -- though heavy content warning on self harming behaviors and attempted suicide

If anyone wants to add on with your own recs below, or even if you just want to plug your own fics, I'm always on the prowl for new reading material! Just make sure to tag the authors if you know their tumblr username <3

[clovariia]

we can FINALLY post our pieces for the @tohgrimoire zine!!! i wrote a fic about luz and her family visiting her father's grave. it's a tragic but healing time for all of them.

thank you so much to @astrolavas for drawing the devastating spot art and the zine's writing mod @taruchinator for helping with beta reading!!! all the zine contributors and mods were so sweet and encouraging. i'm so grateful that i got to be a part of this project! thank you to everyone for all the support!!!!!! 🦉💕

🔗 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58919038

[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting

[dreildream]

"Awesome, super cool, and like, totally awesome. Like really awesome."

[msphagime]

On this season on "reviving this blog for another fandom" we have: Thramsay, feat. my AUs that I just can't get myself to write. This time it's my Witch/Vampire AU...

Click for better quality ✨✨

[bizarrelittlemew]

tagged by @saltpepperbeard @summerlinenss @edsbacktattoo @xoxoemynn @jaskierx a while back to share my fav fics i've written!

my favorite thing i've ever written has to be Five Birthdays and a Funeral (6 chapters, 57.8k words, E), so i'll start there.

this fic focuses on Stede navigating depression and anxiety while finding himself and figuring out his feelings for Ed, and its thesis statement is very important to me - that the whole "you have to love yourself before you can love others/before you can be loved" thing is a lie, and that you don't have to be a perfectly "healed" human being before you can love and be loved in return.

i put a lot of personal stuff into it, which was both scary and cathartic, and the response has been incredible and extremely validating. seeing how this stuff resonates 🥹 made me feel less alone (and i always love it when people shout at me about ketchup lmao) 💗 and along with the heavier stuff, it has strong romcom vibes, some of my fav Ed/Stede banter i've written, and lots of smut which i have on authority (from lovely readers) is very hot 😌

next, i'm pretty proud of A Series of Cases of Penetrating Stab Wounds of the Abdomen - a short fic (1.9k words, T) written entirely as a scientific paper in the (fictional) Republic of Pirates Medical Journal! it was extremely fun to find a way to make a narrative work in this format (and i especially love the footnote referencing Roach inventing ye olde toppe surgery) 🤸

i have a soft spot for In the sack (2 chapters, 8.3k words, E), which has a mix of innkeeper domestic fluff/smut, character study relating to Stede and clothes, exploration of why both Ed and Stede might find freedom and empowerment on either side of dom/sub play, and Stede getting to wear the onesie of subification 😌

lastly, this is my least-read fic (which is to be expected for fics with crew member POVs, though it actually has a lot of Ed and Stede being obnoxiously in love), but one of my favs is Bathtub beginnings (4.1k words, M). i just love the 60s New York vibes and think it came out really well ✌️

if you see this and want to talk about your fav fics you've written, consider yourself tagged 💗

[hephaestuscrew]

Thoughts on the patterns of who speaks the episode title phrases in Wolf 359

This analysis is based on the data I gathered in this spreadsheet and summarised with graphs in this post. Basically I've been looking at which character first says the episode title phrase (i.e. the exact words which form the name of that particular episode) in every episode of Wolf 359. Go and look at the spreadsheet if you want more context.

I think we can view the episode title phrases as often expressing the key problem or question of that episode. (I might talk about this in relation to individual examples another time.) Through this lens, the consideration of who speaks the title phrase is about which character gets to frame the key issue of the episode for the listener. This doesn't necessarily mean we are meant to share that character's view of the issue, but it's why I think there is some potentially significant analysis to be done on this topic. (See below the cut...)

The proportion of title phrases said by Eiffel reduces with each season. 69.2% of the Season 1 title phrases are (first) spoken by Eiffel, compared to 46.6% in Season 2, 22.2% in Season 3, and 20% in Season 4.

This is perhaps unsurprising. Eiffel is very much the main perspective character and the primary narrative voice at the start of the series. And, as someone with unusual speech patterns, he is excellent at coining a good memorable title phrase. However, while I'd argue that he never stops being the main protagonist, over the course of the series, the narrative focus broadens away from a singular emphasis on Eiffel's perspective. This perspective shift is reflected in episode titles being spoken by a greater range of characters.

I think the decreasing proportion of Eiffel title phrases also reflects the podcast's shift towards a generally more dramatic rather than comedic tone. While Eiffel is capable of being serious at times, I'd argue that his mode of speech is particularly well suited to generating amusing unusual turns of phrase that work well within a more comedic context (e.g. Succulent Rat-Killing Tar, What's Up Doc?, Bach to the Future). As the stakes become higher and the tone becomes less humorous, characters other than Eiffel, who are more often inclined to take things very seriously, are more likely to speak the title phrases.

There's also just the fact that as we get more characters involved in the action on the Hephaestus, the opportunity to speak the title phrase is spread between more characters.

Although Eiffel is by far and away the most common speaker of title phrases in Season 1, in the first three episodes of the whole show, we get all the characters of that season represented in the title phrases. Minkowski speaks the title phrase in the second episode and Hera does in the third episode - but probably quoting a phrase from Hilbert. This gives us a good early indication that, while Eiffel may be the focal point particularly in this season, this is going to be an ensemble show and all of these characters are going to be significant.

Hilbert's only title phrase is in Ep12 Deep Breaths, in the first stage of his mutiny, arguably the only point in the show where he appears to clearly have the upper hand while acting alone.

After the SI-5 are introduced at the beginning of Season 3, we get five Kepler or Jacobi title phrases in a row, which solidifies the SI-5's presence in the show. It also highlights the fact that the SI-5 have taken over the Hephaestus and are now (at least ostensibly) the ones determining the aims of the Hephaestus mission.

In addition, these patterns might be seen to reflect the shift in the show towards a more conflict-focused tone (related but not identical to the movement away from comedy). While Wolf 359 has always been a show full of conflict, the balance of this conflict shifts with the arrival of the SI-5. For the first time, our protagonists are facing a unified team of antagonists. The potential for violence feels higher, as do the stakes. This might explain why, while we only had one antagonist-spoken title phrase across Seasons 1 and 2 (Hilbert in Ep12 - Lovelace doesn't get a title phrase while she's serving as an antagonist), 44.4% of our Season 3 title phrases are first spoken by antagonists.

The only title phrase spoken by Maxwell is spoken by her in a recording that we hear after her death. This isn't even the only posthumous title phrase spoken from the past in Season 4 - we've got one from Commander Zhang of the Tiamat as well. It's an interesting kind of legacy, an interesting way to emphasize the questions characters leave behind after death, recalling similar themes to those explored in Ep46 Boléro.

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[peridots-pixiwolf]

sketches from @mipexch 's whiteboard a couple days ago!!

also feat. a very small reference to @onlineviolence :]

[snowthornes]

➸ Avriel | @uroboros-if

✦ Moment of Creation 🍂

In the all-encompassing cradle of the universe, Avriel came into existence within the embrace of light. They first felt pain. The universe wracked every thread of their existence with the agony of every being, all at once — then soothed the fractures left behind with the love of all that ever was and ever will be. Upon his first time laying eyes on another being, he attempted to replicate her smile. The first... emotion he ever felt in the waking world was curiosity.

✦ Pieces of a Soul ���

➸ Avriel stands at 5'9. He sits with his knees curled against his chest whenever he can get away with it, making him appear to be smaller than he actually is. 🍂

➸ He can be quite contradictory in the sense that while he approaches the world with an unrelenting — sometimes reckless — optimism, he’s always very surprised whenever someone seems to enjoy or even want his company. Years of subtle, minor, rejections have trailed him since his creation, as if the waking world was determined to wear him down little by little. As a result, he has a severely low view of himself when it comes to his worth as a friend or as company.

Despite that, he persists with dogged optimism and continues to seek out the company of other beings. He keeps trying, keeps hoping, but he never really… expects to actually get anything back. 🍂

➸ Rarely holds grudges. He could be called forgiving at best, and overly passive at worst. 🍂

➸ Not one to hide his emotions, he often speaks without thinking. Fortunately, for what he lacks in tact, he makes up for in intuition. He’s quick to sense the emotions of others, including discomfort or distress, and will immediately back off and apologize if he feels he was the cause. He’ll attempt to make amends, but whether he's successful or not is a different matter. 🍂

➸ Avriel loves to dance! He started learning when he was young and picked up different styles by observing other mortals and deities, though Rafaele was also a very willing (and delighted) teacher. Would be all for dipping his dance partner in a dance! In fact, it's at the top of his bucket list! 🍂

➸ Has a sword he often uses in his dances. Avriel picked up sword dancing when he was young. Years of diligently honing his skills in the art have made him skilled in the dance of the sword, able to move his body and blade with the lightness of a swallow. 🍂

➸ Like most beings, Avriel has his personal preferences. He particularly likes eating meat. His favorite flower is the Krio firosafa. Delicate and enduring, they are often overlooked because they are always there, as if there would never come a day when the streets would truly lay bare of them — Avriel thinks there is much worth treasuring in that. 🍂

➸ Extremely affectionate. He makes it incredibly obvious when he's happy to see someone, whether platonic or romantic, and will perk up with sparkling eyes upon seeing them approach. Loves pestering friends once they've gotten close enough — a befriended (or romanced!) Ciocana may find that a happy and secure Avriel can be even more of a menace than they are. Although he would settle down somewhat when with a more reticient friend, content to accompany them in quieter activities. As long as he's given a sense of security and acceptance, Avriel is happy to follow their lead.

It's uncertain what the ettiquette is in Galaio in regards to skinship, but if Avriel were a being in the modern world he would be the type to affectionately link arms with his friends or drape himself over their shoulders. 🍂

➸ Becomes quiet and subdued when upset. It is rare that something affects him to this extent, but when it does, he shuts down like a flower withered in winter. There is an off-putting silence in his expression, in his downcast eyes. It is best not to leave him alone when in this state. 🍂

➸ Is very active, and prefers to take the longer, more creative route rather than simply using the streets. He often climbs, leaps, and bounds his way around Lucidio in an effort to add some fun to his hectic yet rather repetitive schedule. It works, most times! He appears to be drawn to high places, and can often be seen crouching on a pillar or making himself at home on a roof. 🍂

➸ Is actually quite content with his current life. While he’d probably definitely fall over from shock and joy if he got even a single offering from a mortal, his lack of power or recognition isn't something that weighs on his mind, not anymore. He’s long come to terms with his status and makes the best of it — though the mockery occasionally thrown at him still affects him.

Although it would be nice if the world wouldn’t look upon him so harshly, Avriel’s dearest wish is to have meaningful relationships with other beings — bonds where he can safely go to them and know that they want him there. If he were able to have such relationships one day… well. Who could ask for anything more? 🍂

➸ His fathers are his anchors. Avriel is a being who thrives off love and attention; his fathers have always given him the steadfast, unwavering love and acceptance that the world so often withheld from him. Even now, he actively seeks out them out when the endless streams of errands in Lucidio start to make him feel a bit too lonely, a bit too isolated. He adores their frequent visits very much, and is always noticeably livelier than usual for a few days afterwards. Avriel loves them dearly. 🍂

✦ Height Chart

✦ Afterword from Distant Lands

You’ve reached the end of this monstrously long post. Congratulations! You survived 😌✨ I really appreciate the time you’ve taken to see this little person that I made, so. Thank you. Thank you very much. Ahead is an afterword elaborating a little more on the background of Avriel’s relationship with the others. I tried to make it short, but… it appears I’m not very good at this short and sweet thing. 🫡

When I started forming Avriel, I wanted to make it clear that he had imperfections of his own. He has qualities that will make him clash with the other characters of Uroboros — at the beginning, anyway. 

(In case you missed the link at the top of the post, Avriel is my MC for Uroboros by @uroboros-if !)

Due to his passive tendencies and his subconscious wish to preserve the “peace” that he has carved out for himself, Avriel will initially be extremely wary of Alessi and everything they stand for. The fall of the reign of the gods? He really doesn’t like the sound of that. But passive he may be, Avriel carries a heart that stubbornly longs to love the world and all its beings. The things Alessi will show him may just break Avriel out of the passive shell he's unknowingly created 🫡 I’m looking forward to seeing how they will clash and develop together in the future.

Avriel will have to look past the lens of his hero worship for Luciel in order to truly understand the person they are — imperfections and all. Though come what may, you can rest assured that Avriel will always be Luciel’s number one supporter! But to close that distance between them, Avriel will have to do his part and understand that putting the other person on a pedestal will only do more harm than good to a relationship.

His relationship with Luciel is inspired by the ‘looking’ scene with them. I imagine Avriel halting in place and staring Very Starry-eyed at Luciel during the times he meets them as the text from the Looking scene skitters through his head at the speed of light, a scenario I find extremely funny and will hold onto till the day I die. The MC talks about Luciel’s eyes and kindness a lot, and I took that fact and ran with it.

Salvatore… Avriel's relationship with him is quite complex. I’ll wait to see how future chapters develop before I write more about their relationship. However, I will say that I pounced on these paragraphs from the game to use as a foundation:

He opens and closes his mouth, tasting the words on his tongue before deciding. "Please, let's speak another time! I wish to hear more from you." You see a glimpse of his younger self—Salvatore from a bygone era, when things seemed less complicated, less troubling. You think time has robbed him a part of his spirit. He has become busy. So very busy.

I suppose I felt a faint sense of regret from that last paragraph. The regret of standing before a person once so very close to you, and now so changed. For the better, most people would say, but Avriel secretly wishes that Salvatore could have stayed as happy and carefree as in the past. Though Avriel doesn’t really know that. He’s not one for introspection. He just feels very complicated whenever he meets Salvatore, though he still does his best to regale the deity with comedic retellings of his errands in Lucidio. Just to make Salvatore laugh.

As for Ciocana, I’ll also wait to see how future chapters develop before further shaping his relationship with Avriel. I feel that Ciocana has a lot of hidden depth that we have yet to see. But going off of initial impressions alone, I can say that Avriel definitely had a very good first impression of the other deity. It was an instant squish, if you will. Avriel’s boundless energy syncs quite well with Ciocana’s mischief, and if given enough time to develop, I feel their dynamic has the potential to become the “ride or die (enthusiastic)” kind. 🫡✨

Aaand, that’s all. Thank you for reading this far (again). If you've somehow managed to read this far, then 💐🥺💍hand in marriage pls. Avriel was a joy to create, and I’m really looking forward to seeing how he develops in the future. The world within Uroboros is so wonderfully crafted, its characters so vividly alive; Avriel would not have existed without it. I’m very grateful to the author for sharing their world with us. Thank you. Have a very good day, and may you all have as much fun writing and creating your characters as I did!

➸ Picrew:

[rolandkaros]

election thoughts

calling trump voters 'dumb' is ignorant. some of these people are dumb but a lot of them are just selfish.

blaming third-party voters is ignoring the issue re: over half the country was willing to vote for trump anyway. likewise, pointing out that trump won the popular vote and that third-party votes wouldn't have made a difference is ignoring the voting system. conversations about third-party voters in general are not fruitful. some people are just going to vote third-party and expecting them to suddenly not do so is naïve. there is no scenario where third-party voters should have been the 'tie-breaker' to begin with.

a lot of people (americans and non-americans) don't understand how the electoral college system works and in general i'd advise you to do some research before you share your take. americans you should know this anyway and don't use the excuse of "i wasn't taught" if you have tumblr then you have the internet so look it up and start reading. i don't expect non-americans to know a foreign country's voting system but if you want to share an opinion please take a bit of time to learn about it before you do. i'm tired of seeing the same dialogues by people who clearly just don't understand the actual structure of the voting system.

pointing fingers at different demographics you think are to blame is useless. if you're going to find a group to blame, then blame the majority, i.e. white men and white women. otherwise your blame is completely unhelpful and misplaced.

saying she only lost because she's a woman or a poc (or both) is also misguided. its not entirely wrong but once again you are misunderstanding some fundamentals of how extremist politicians find success, and likewise are ignoring some obvious issues re: the democratic party and their campaign strategies.

equating education to intelligence to voting preferences in general is ignorant. you are forgetting how many factors go into someone actually receiving formal education. you are forgetting how many factors go into someone's state of residence. i was going to explain this further but i think no one cares so i'm not going to bother because the explanation got too long. also, see point 1. there are plenty of very smart people who vote for trump anyway.

talking about abandoning the south or red states is pointless and if i hear or see anybody suggest such measure i am automatically assuming you are a foul person. equating democratic states to morally or inherently good and republican states to morally or inherently bad is such an unbelievably superficial and foolhardy judgement and goes against all principles of unity and community that we should be fostering at a time like this.

americans ignorant to the effect that us politics has on the world need to wake up.

i don't blame non-americans for their resentment against the sphere of influence of us politics but i wish they would be less dismissive of the genuine effects this election will also have within america.

acting as though anybody doesn't have the right to be scared about the implications of this result is shortsighted at best. my concern goes beyond my own afflictions – how can you say that concern is misplaced?

i have more but i think that's it for now bc its kind of exhausting to talk about. and i guess what's done is done. idk. i'm not hopeless at all. but i'm fearing more and more than the hope i insist on having is childish. but the alternative is complete self-destruction and i have no intention of going down that road again. so childish hope it is.

[emilyblame]

it's getting hard to keep track of everything i keep locked behind my back

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → DR. DIANA WESKER

"This is how a girl becomes holy: first she becomes empty." — Brynne Rebele-Henry, Prelude

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