#inspiration via my fit today

[justablah56]

ok wait guys just had a vision . imagine with me . the Daniel/cooler Daniel meme . but it's butch outfit (funky button up tucked into pants) and hotter butch outfit (same outfit but the button up is unbuttoned with either a visible sports bra/binder or side boob)

[itsawritblr]

Jenny Watson: "We can do it, so let's do it." Jenny outlines her plan for a female-only, lesbian space.

For my lesbian, bisexual women, and radfem Followers. Via Graham Linehan's Substack.

For many decades, London was considered the global capital for lesbian nightlife. But you’d never know it if you visited the UK today. It’s not for a lack of British lesbian culture: I’m a lesbian, I’m involved in our country’s lesbian social scene, and I can assure you, it’s alive and well. What we lack at the moment are our own dedicated spaces. I think the UK needs once more to have lesbian-run, female-only community spaces. 

I’ve got an idea about how to make one such space a reality. And I believe I'm in a position to make it happen.

Over the past seven years, I've had the privilege of organising a range of lesbian social events in London. Throughout this time, I've made many connections in our community, gained an increasing understanding of our needs, and created social spaces that I hope go some way to meeting them. 

And in those seven years working to coordinate part of the the UK’s lesbian social scene, I’ve come to see how badly we need a dedicated, strictly female-only event space — now more than ever. 

Men have been encroaching on the lesbian community, and the problem is only getting worse. There’s been a sense of inevitability, that this is just something we have to learn to live with.

But I’ve had it.

In June, I skipped London’s official Pride festivities and instead visited an alternative, independent event at the Hampstead Ponds. It was a female-only picnic. Hundreds of women of all ages were gathered, from their teens to their eighties. And the sublime joy that I felt that day led me to a eureka moment:

We need this. We deserve this. This is our right. As lesbians and bisexual women, we have a right to social spaces that are entirely our own.

So, earlier this year, I decided to implement a women-only policy at my events. Although this sparked controversy, we ultimately received recognition from the UK’s largest pub operator that it is legitimate to hold women-only lesbian events - a real victory!

And then it suddenly dawned on me: we need more and not only do we need this, I can do this. I feel I have a good sense of the UK market for lesbian social events. So I crunched some numbers and developed a business proposal. I gauged interest and studied feasibility. And I’m excited to tell you: I believe this can work.

My plan involves establishing a private members’ club and securing a prime physical space in London. By day, this space will operate as a versatile hybrid workspace, becoming a venue hosting various social events in the evenings and weekends. Alongside these, we'll provide online events, and collaborate with service providers for health and wellness advice, fitness guidance, group trips, and more. Revenue will come from the events, partnerships, as well as from membership dues.

To the lesbian and bisexual women reading this: you’re welcome to get in touch with me if you’d like to learn more. There's an opportunity to invest if you’re interested, too. I’ve got a pitch deck I would be happy to show you and a fully fleshed-out, 50-page business plan. And I’m happy to report that there are already investors who have given the thumbs up. 

Following my announcement and inspired by the community's heartwarming response, I decided to introduce an early-bird membership programme. This includes a personalised QR-coded membership card for exclusive updates and access to a members’ discussion space. Joining early also signifies your part in accelerating our community's launch. 

Which brings me to another issue, and it’s a big part of the reason I’m writing this now: online critics. There’s a small but vocal group of people online who’ve been saying some pretty nasty and completely unfounded things about me. This group of people have taken to personal insults, and accusations that I’m a fraudster and a grifter.

I’m not entirely surprised to encounter pushback, but at the same time, the level of vitriol has been eye-opening.

But I try to put it in a bigger context: Lesbians have faced so much abuse, and for so long we’ve had to settle for having social spaces conditionally, on terms set by men. There’s a climate of distrust and fear looming over the lesbian community as a result. So much so that today the idea of even having one single space fully dedicated to lesbian and bisexual women seems so radical, some people’s initial reaction is that there’s got to be a catch.

I completely understand that a good dose of scrutiny, of tempering optimism with some degree of caution, is reasonable. It’s healthy. And it’s entirely welcome.

But personal insults and unfounded accusations are not. I know that emotions are running high, and we as a community are feeling beleaguered right now. But that’s no excuse to target my Irishness in personal attacks, for example. Or to target my business supporters with lies about me.

I'm not here to push or persuade anyone who doesn't feel the spark for this project. However, for those who do, our project investors' safety and security are crucial — capital funds are securely placed in escrow and I've teamed up with a business consultant who's right here supporting us until opening day. We’ve put together a solid business plan.

If anything, the tenor of some of the criticism I’ve faced only hardens my resolve: it just highlights how badly women need a space to unite us, to heal us in this difficult time.

It’s been upsetting to endure the smear campaign that a small online group has thrown at me… but my mind keeps going back to that Edenic afternoon at the Hampstead Ponds, where hundreds of women were gathered in serenity and harmony.

This will heal us. This will unite us. And it will make us all stronger. Lesbian strength comes through unity.

There are various ways you can help, but the most crucial one is spreading the word - our message is the most important part of this project. 

Other than that, as I mentioned earlier, if you are a lesbian/bi woman, there is the option to join as an early-bird member (however, this is not compulsory; you can wait until our opening). Additionally, there's the opportunity for investment or donation. I've prepared a comprehensive 50-page business plan and pitch deck available for those who are interested.

For a deeper understanding of the project, feel free to visit our website or you can email me at contact@lcommunity.co.uk 

Any form of support you can offer is immensely appreciated as we work towards making this a reality.  

We can do this. So let’s do it!

[the-solar-system52]

ok who the FUCK was going to tell me that my favorite musician ever made a demo based off my favorite movie ever AND I DIDNT KNOW ABOUT IT???

so there i was, scrolling on google through some 2010 content, and I see a song on Genius titled "ALL THESE WORLDS ARE YOURS EXCEPT EUROPA ATTEMPT NO LANDING THERE" and out of curiosity i click on it and get jumpscared by NEIL FUCKING CICIEREGA????? AS IN? LEMON DEMON NEIL CICIERGA? AS IN MY NO 1 SPOTIFY WRAPPED ARTIST SINCE 2021?? THAT NEIL CICEREGA???

and I hit play and ITS THE OPENING TO SPIRAL OF ANTS?????

SPIRAL OF ANTS WAS ORIGINALLY BASED OF 2010 THE YEAR WE MAKE CONTACT??? WHAT WHAT WHAT

(here is the youtube video the Genius site leads to: https://youtu.be/QuFv1jAo2CE?si=ceAdnsvOxEgcMBp1)

so ofc i relistened to Spiral of Ants and started digging for any hints towards its 2010 origins. i couldn't find much literal stuff since alien warnings about one of Jupiter's moons and a bunch of ants dying don't really have much in common. there is one lyric that uses the word 'odyssey' that could be referencing 2001: A Space Odyssey but idk.

but! in regards to the themes of Spiral of Ants instead of just the plot then there is plenty in common! SOA has an overarching theme of fusion and collective consciousness, since the story follows a hivemind of ants mindlessly following each other into a spiral and eventually becoming one ant and dying. i always took this song as a metaphor for mass hysteria and/or capitalism since fusion is viewed in a negative light. the ant's lack of individuality prevents them from recognizing the colony is just being led in circles since they are all only focusing on following the ant right in front of them via pheromones, and the fusion is what ultimately leads to their death.

2010 also has the theme of fusion! the scene the demo title quote appears in happens right after the scene where Hal and Dave fuse (technically. the exact time they literally fuse sort of depends on who you ask, but they definitely metaphorically fuse in this scene. cuz yk "Don't be. We'll be together.") the Europa message is basically Halman's first words. and although some out-of-context lyrics from SOA may fit Halman, 2010 overall has a more positive view on fusion. Halman doesn't count as a hivemind since he's only a fusion of two people, and because of that, he still retains all of his intelligence and memories from his past life unfused, if anything he's smarter. Instead, Halman acts as a metaphor for a functioning symbiotic, and possibly romantic, relationship between Hal and Dave. They fused because they actually wanted to be together, and not out of mindless instinct like the ants in SOA did. Fusion is the thing that saves them, instead of the thing that dooms them.

I think it's really interesting to think about how Spiral of Ants could've originally been based of Halman but then evolved into the song we know it today. And what would the song have been like if it stuck with the initial 2010 inspiration? Would it have been more hopeful and positive instead of the story of inevitable death we got in the finished project?

And am I a little pissed off that we could've gotten a Lemon Demon song based of my favorite fictional character ever but instead we got a song about ANTS? Maybe yeah. But this knowledge certainly gives me a new appreciation of the song overall.

Though I do wish this could've been an Ivanushka situation, a demo of Touch Tone Telephone that was released fully with completely different lyrics and story but the same melody. But the demo we have of Europa has no lyrics and is basically just opening of SOA with no major musical differences I can make out. If lyrics were ever written for this earlier Halman-inspired version of SOA, then it's been 10 years since the demo, I don't reckon our chances of getting the full song. But I can dream I suppose.

Also! Here's picture of Neil in Hal cosplay that I found on Pinterest. You're welcome.

Honestly knowing Neil was a space odyssey fan makes me think of what other songs could've had space odyssey influence? Ancient Aliens always gave Dawn of Man vibes to me, but even more vague stuff like Soft Fuzzy Man, Cabinet Man, No Eyed Girl or Aurora Borealis?? Who knows, the possibilities are endless!

Edit: Guys. I found a scrapped instrumental named 'Kubrick and the Beast'. As in. Stanley??? Kubrick??? Neil said this about the song:

"The albums tone ended up going in a different direction" what do you MEAN?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WENT IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION?? WAS SPIRIT PHONE ORIGINALLY INSPIRED BY THE SPACE ODYSSEY SERIES??? OR MAYBE MORE JUST KUBRICK IN GENERAL?? EXPLAIN??

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

Any tips on creating monsters? Especially if these monsters are simply some of the native life forms of an isolated location our heroes find themselves on? I mean sure, I think of whatever creepy and scary idea you can think of and chuck it in... but there would probably be reasons they evolved that way naturally and it isn't to terrorise outsiders.

Also, if I have one of those monsters secreting a toxin, how possible is to to have one of my humans someone be immune to it, or otherwise has minimal effect on them?

Addy: If you're looking to make something fit an ecological niche, start with what already exists and work from there. Not necessarily a cut-and-paste, but take inspiration from it.

For example, there's something to be said about the simple bear. Bears are scary. They're big, they're tough, they're pretty fast, they can climb trees, they're reasonably clever, and they're very hard to kill. The word "bear" basically means "the brown one," as people used to be so scared of bears they wouldn't say their name, in case a bear got summoned.

Also wild boars. Pigs are freakishly big, and wild hogs are worse. Boar spears have a crossguard to keep the hog from just running the spear through its whole body as it runs at you. You also get into jaguars (they're like IRL drop bears in the shape of cats), crocodiles, and all sorts of kinds of things. Even hippos.

You want somewhere to start? Take a large, bulky predator (or omnivore or big herbivore) and give it some weird traits. Adapt it to the demands of your local environment. Give it a niche to fill, with a lot of the basic premise/heavy lifting done for you by nature. How about a giant bat? Or a coyote with mange (likely the origin of the capybara tale)? Or a cannibalistic giant lizard? Then add spooky and scary stuff, go for it. But remember - some of the creatures that we find very normal and commonplace? They were once considered monsters too.

For toxins... it depends on what the toxin is. If it shuts down specific metabolic processes, then your characters could be totally immune, as they have different biology. Or maybe it's like how alliums (garlic, onions, and leeks) are super toxic to most pet and livestock species, but not us. Our blood is just a bit different in a way that makes n-propyl disulfide (the compound that makes alliums toxic) wayyyy less toxic. The toxin could also be intended for birds or reptiles or whatever else, and therefore have a lesser effect on mammals. Or maybe humans are just special.

Also, threat displays are very much a thing. They're big, they're flashy, they're scary. You can have a critter that hisses and growls and blows up a neck pouch for intimidation, and the intended purpose of that is to scare off creatures that would try to steal its food.

Feral: I’m gonna take a slightly different approach to monster making than filling an evolutionary niche. Classic horror monsters often derive from thematic or symbolic exploration. Vampires are a seductive Other; although they come from older folktales, the vampire of today was born in the early 19th century to explore the racist, xenophobic, and homophobic anxieties of English society.  Werewolves also have much older origins than the common version in modern media but have always blurred the line between a civilized human and a primal beast. 

Looking to the horror King, It fed on fear, taking the shape of the children’s fears - monsters from B-movies like werewolves, a clown, a woman from a creepy portrait, a syphilis-infected homeless man, a zombified Georgie - which the narrative used to explore more abstract fears - leaving childhood and going through puberty, not to mention the overall terrorizing effect of racism, misogyny, and homophobia on the population. The Shining doesn’t even try to pretend it’s not about alcoholism and the effects of substance abuse on a family.

You mention that this story will take place in an isolated setting. Isolation is terrifically thematic. How can you lean into it? What if everyone who dies seems to be totally alone when it happens? And even after they realize they’re in danger, they keep putting themselves in a situation to be alone? Pair that with your monster’s evolution to better survive. Does the monster have some way of peeling one person off from the pack as part of how they hunt - maybe they have some form of vocal mimicry like some birds or a cat that makes the person think they are going towards a crying baby or wounded animal? Does it have exceptional camouflage so no one suspects they are not alone when they’re in a vulnerable position? You mention there being a toxin - instead of killing, can it produce hallucinations or paranoia that would cause a person to split from the group? These could all help the monster hunt whatever its normal prey would be while still tapping into much more abstract fears that you want to explore.

[lonelycowgirls]

Harry and Stella at LOT Wembley

Liked by annetwist, dolly_mallonex and others

stellamallone ready to melt for 2/4 nights in Wembley, still can't quite believe I'm saying that 🫠

View all 13 comments

gemmastyles can't wait to see you! Stay hydrated 🥰

dolly_mallonex on fire baby G!

annetwist our boy is home ❤️

↳stellamallone Manny will always be home ❤️

harrystyles not a lot of melting to be done in all those layers 🙃

↳stellamallone you love it

13 June 2023

Liked by gemmastyles, MummaMallone and others

dolly_mallonex the girlies are OUT for Love on Tour

View all 984 comments

stellamallone I can't believe we're dressed like this for a gig in ENGLAND 🥵

↳dolly_mollonex only because @mayajama said it's time for the summer of lurrrve

↳mayajama killing it chicassss 🤌

↳stellerrrr let me innnnnnn

harryshoes the friends and family box is about to be FULL full tonight 🥹

sideboobrry @dolly_mallonex show us Stella and Harry!!!

carlybaby11 Stella's getting railed tonight

↳frankiejane that's her baby sister y'all 😭😭

↳harrytheone you guys are too much 😅

14 June 2023

Liked by court_xo, tbslamber and others

harryflorals ANNE ACCEPTING FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS FROM FANS DURING WEMBLEY NIGHT TWO via adoreyoualice

View all 1,437 comments

cruel_summerrr she is the cutest!

raven3333 I love how she interacts with fans

sweetchels13 she's so like Harry fr

↳ginacorrin like mother like son 🥹

harrysgirl I love herrr, saw Stella and her sister with Anne and Gemma too

↳ari_love We saw her too! She's so small!

↳rinaaaaa Yeah she's super small and cute 😍

↳kristbsl she must be so proud of her boyf

↳larry4life if only it was real 🙄

14 June 2023

Liked by lilyrose05, stellamallone and others

harry_update Harry looking like a sculpture on stage at Wembley Stadium! June 17 via nikkimariejpg

View all 1,064 comments

adore.starry Stella liking this is so me coded

sweetcreature22 STELLA LIKED

tori_wilks how does he look like thisssss

uma.clarke2 Have you seen the state of his body

freddiejones I can't keep going like this 😩😩😩

lilyrose05 he's fucking shredded 😩

becca_jane Stella's getting this every day... let that sink in

↳tbslamber STOP HSDOSJCNKS

↳mylarry you spelled Louis wrong

↳becca_jane @mylarry be serious 🤣

17 June 2023

Liked by stellamallone, starrylove and others

dolly_mallonex wishing my bb an amazing trip to Italy with her bb @stellamallone

View all 2,345 comments

harrystyles thank you for dropping us off Dolls ❤️

↳dolly_mallonex no bother, I'm always up at half four in the morning... 😉

↳stellamallone Harry singing Holiday by Madonna at the top of his lungs didn't help 🙄

↳harrystyles heyyyy

↳starrylove PUBLIC INTERACTION???

↳tbslamber do you believe in miracles???!!!

annetwist have a fabulous time you two ❤️

19 July 2023

Liked by foreverharry, italrry20 and others

harryflorals HARRY ARRIVING IN ITALY THIS MORNING via italrry23

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sideboobrry this fit

harryshouse_x welcome to the final show 😭

tina.snow.33 how do we never get pap pics of Stella anymore 🤔

↳hannasmith probably because ya'll scarred her back in 2014 🙄🙄

↳kirstyloml I'm glad tbh my heart can't handle

elenavatore Harry waved at us through the window of his car today! I think they're heading to his villa ❤️

19 July 2023

Liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and others

stellamallone thirteen years <3 one guess who Delilah's favourite parent is...

So proud of this smiley man. Love on Tour has been the perfect celebration of your talent, music, kindness and love. Four sold out nights at Wembley fucking Stadium. I'll never get over what you can accomplish. What an achievement.

The love your fans have and show for you inspires me to strive to be the most adoring and supportive partner that you deserve... most of the time 😉

We're now where we're meant to be. Together, eating all the pasta and gelato we can possibly stomach, sipping on Aperol Spritz's in the sunshine - our true natural habitat.

That reminds me, next round's on you, Gorgeous.

View all 52 comments

annetwist The greatest of blessings ❤️

dolly_mallonex We're all so proud of our H!

zayn 🤍

MummaMallone Can't wait for our big family holiday soon. ❤️

↳stellamallone Can't believe it's finally happening!!! 😍

niallhoran Love to you both

harrystyles you make it all worth it, Stell x

harrystyles and Lilah knows where the good cuddles come from

24 July 2023

Liked by izzypope, stellaflorals and others

harryflorals HARRY POSTED AND DELETED A PICTURE OF STELLA IN ITALY ON HIS STORY! via harrystyles

View all 4,376 comments

starryforever Crying real tears 💔

toriiii_x he's in his feels

harryholics guys what if he proposes on this vacation

↳tbslamber omg we could see fiancerry by HS4

↳oliviamac don't 🫠

↳kiwidaddy FINALLY

georgieanne This dress she served 😍

jamiestyles_xo He's in photographer boyfriend mode 💘

carly_d what a beautiful sunset ✨

willowshouse Luckiest bitch in the world confirmed

24 July 2023

Hope you enjoyed this piece of absolute self-indulgence because I want this to be my life 😂

Okay, bye!

Nel xo

[johannestevans]

Crimson Peak: A Love Letter To Gothic Romance

Adoring thoughts on Guillermo Del Toro’s 2015 masterpiece.

On Patreon / / On Medium.

This review and bit of analysis is related to the talk I’ll be giving on Crimson Peak tomorrow, responses to misogyny and marginalisation in and around Gothic fiction, and how much of this social conservatism is mirrored in BookTok and modern retorts to problematic fiction.

All proceeds from the Romancing the Gothic Goths for Breakfast talks go to charity, feeding school children free breakfasts! You can sign up for tickets here.

Edith and Thomas in bed, via Cap-That.

Crimson Peak (2015) frustrated me when it came out, and often frustrates me today — I was desperately excited about it when it was released, loved it the first time I saw it, have loved it every time I’ve watched it since. What frustrated me was not the film itself, but its advertisements and the way it’s filed and tagged on sites even today is that Crimson Peak is not a horror film.

Crimson Peak is a Gothic romance.

Yes, Gothic fiction — Gothic horror — might be classified under traditional horror tags and descriptors, but gothic romance is a different and more complicated kettle of fish.

Gothic fiction is typified by its associations with the most visceral of human emotions — with fear and horror and terror; with disgust and anger and rage; with want and jealousy and envy; with lust and love… and grief.

We see in Gothic fiction what we see in the the Gothic architecture for which the genre is named, inspired by its traditional settings — the darkness that lingers thick and impenetrable amidst the ceiling arches, untouched no matter how many candles are lit; the long shadows cast by figures silhouetted against windows and fireplaces; the endless corridors, the haunted attics, the cold and shadowed cellars, the strange and troubling shapes of the house around us.

What do we find in Gothic romance, then?

In Gothic fiction we find the most macabre and grotesque of happenings, of settings, of events — in Gothic romance, we find those who love and lust for them.

Some of the most famous Gothic romances are Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; Deaphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca; Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (Stephenie Meyer’s favourite book, and an inspiration for Twilight, by all accounts: no more damning comment can be made of it).

When I was describing my affection for the genre to my partner the other day, I also mentioned Bram Stoker’s Dracula — Dracula lacks the female protagonist that these three classics have, but I would argue that the want and lust (and even love) between Dracula, Jonathan, and Mina (in each direction) more than amount to enough to fit the book into the genre.

It’s not as simple as desire or want or even love for another whilst horrific happenings go on around their heads — Gothic romance’s unique allure is in the darkness of people’s romantic desires, their sexual desires. Wanting what they should not want — wanting the pain and the grief and the fear as much as they want the sweetness, the comfort, the pleasure of love.

This stands out most of all in those Gothic works that delve into proto-feminist explorations of female empowerment — in Jane Eyre, in Wuthering Heights, in similar works that largely centre the horror of a young woman (or women) entering into marriage with a man that leads her to doom of one type or other, supernatural or mundane, what is ultimately being explored is the horror of these women’s lack of choices and agency.

If she will be terrorised either way, if she will live in fear, if she will be controlled no matter what she does and whom she’s married, why would she not seek out a controller, seek out a ghost or monster, whom excites her? To whom she is most deeply attracted? A man who she can — and will — terrorise in turn?

I think it’s why poor Jonathan Harker stands alongside these Gothic heroines in my mind, not merely in line with Mina because he’s her husband, but part of the line-up in his own right— he is desirous of Dracula and, like many of these women stumbling, or rushing headlong and passionately into, dangerous matches, he is heedless of every warning as he allows himself to be trapped in the faraway manse of this hypnotising man who will feed on him, and whom at the same time Harker feels a sort of hunger for even as his intentions and his nature become clear.

What is it, then, about Crimson Peak?

Here’s a Gothic romance that stands on its own two feet — like the best of pastiches, it near perfectly echoes the tone and the hypnotising ache of the best and most impactful stories in the genre, creating a story that could well have been penned centuries ago alongside contemporaries like Wuthering Heights.

In Crimson Peak, there are so many references to different staples of the genre — apart from the basic staples of the isolated manse in the middle of the dales, the strange and dark family with the sordid past, the young ingenue, intelligent and driven but at the same time naive, we see small references or direct mirrors to particular tropes or archetypes present in some famous Gothic tales.

Finlay, for example, the Sharpes’ elderly caretaker who seems confused and scatterbrained, is a mirror to the long-winded and sometimes incomprehensible Joseph of Wuthering Heights; Edith compares herself to Mary Shelley, a stalwart creator in the Gothic genre and one of its defining authors.

Like the best of pastiches, it is filled with its love for that which it’s imitating, delving into classic tropes of the genre — the sprawling and crumbling manse on the hill, apart from all the other houses, filled only with ghosts; the once rich and splendid family, now rendered impoverished and preying on others to survive; the aspects of natural horror, insects feasting on one another, the presence of this red in tooth and claw violence and the desperation to survive; the horrors of lonely, isolated children developing inappropriate and disgusting, incestuous intimacies with one another, those intimacies carried on into their adulthood; ghosts that at once horrify those they appear before and yet on some level crave to help them, to save them, or at least undo what has been done.

At the same time, every character but Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain) is desperate to escape the genre they’ve been born into.

Edith (Mia Wasikowsa), naturally, wants for a romance, but she also wants more for herself than her role as a woman in the society she’s in — much like the Brontë sisters did themselves, she wishes to disguise her gender so that her work is not immediately dismissed, exchanging her father’s gift of a pen for the machinised genderlessness of a typed hand, that she might be an author and create things for herself, just as her father built things before he owned them; Thomas (Tom Hiddleston) wants for a romance himself, craves the love and sweetness of a marriage whilst untangling himself from the horror it’s attached to with his sister, but he is also trying to drag himself out of the hole his house is creating with machinery designed to dredge out clay.

Edith and Thomas both reach for tools of the industrial age, reach with grasping hands for modernity, as if these can save them from the classic ghost story they’re trapped in.

And yet there are further depths to this gift — in giving Edith the gift of this pen, Carter (Jim Beaver) is giving her a sort of phallic symbol. He is a patriarch giving his daughter a metaphorical extension of masculinity and masculine power — in essence, he is saying to her: “Edith, you are not just my daughter, not just a woman as in the eyes of the patriarchal society around us, but you are my firstborn. Uncaring of the gendered nature of your position, and the ways in which this dispossesses you, I am giving you an appropriate tool for your trade.”

And what does Edith do? Immediately reject his pen, because his approval and his extension of this power to her is not enough — she exchanges the tool for the typewriter because she craves the anonymity it will give her, and its modernity.

Appropriate, that Carter Cushing should take such a dim view of Sharpe’s prototype and dismiss it as little more than a child’s toy, whilst talking about his own hard work leading to the empire he later built — talking about hardening his hands before he built larger structures, before he owned property himself.

This is the same opportunity he is attempting to offer Edith in giving her that pen: for her to have a tool to build with before she owns his empire, and yet she rejects it. In turning down this offer of power from Carter Cushing, representative of his allotting her more personhood than one might expect to be offered to a woman in this period, her head is then turned by Thomas Sharpe’s proposal.

She is, in a way, taken back to the past when she returns with him to England — social mores are not so flexible in England as they are for a woman like Edith in America, and even if they were, she is isolated from anybody but Thomas and Lucille (and the ghosts in their home), so she is robbed entirely of opportunities for self-empowerment or agency.

In Allerdale, it is Lucille that carries all the power, Lucille that holds the a ring of metaphorical phalluses on her belt, taken from all her victims — Lucille holds the keys to the house, and denies them immediately to Edith, who by all rights should now be lady of the house as Thomas’ new wife.

She holds power in her hands, wielding these keys, and of course, Edith takes the one that had belonged to Enola Schiotti to unlock her trunk — the same ghost who unlocks another door for her, no key needed, to give her some power within that home on the sly.

It’s appropriate that Edith finally wields her father’s pen when Lucille pushes her to sign the contract that will sign her life away — a concern Carter no doubt always had about Edith marrying any man, even were Thomas not so suspicious a character — and uses it as a weapon to attack Lucille and defend herself, to allow herself to reach once again for freedom.

There are so many layered meanings and ideas within the text, and it’s so richly written and developed compared to many contemporary films I might think of — it’s miserable to think of, but Crimson Peak really is one of those films where you feel that every part of the story has its place, where the whole thing has been wholly considered, carefully mixed and edited, where every scene, every line, every movement of the camera is for a reason, and adds to the greater narrative, elevates that narrative.

In the beginning, for example, we hear Edith say that her mother died of cholera, and that it was a closed casket, that her father begged her not to look — when Carter himself is on the block in the morgue, she is compelled to look although she doesn’t wish to, and seeing him dead there, she cannot conceive of the reality of the situation. She never sees her mother dead, but she understands she is dead, and then sees her as a ghost — never able to fully digest the death of her father, she denies it even as she touches his cold hand, and she is never haunted by him.

Edith mentions that she sees Thomas Sharpe as a parasite with a title before meeting him, and she is entirely right to think of him as such, because that is precisely what he is — there is a continuous and constant theme of living things feeding off one another. Lucille compares Edith to a butterfly, the two of them sitting side by side, one brightly yellow and the other dark and pale: Lucille tells Edith, distant and dreamy, that the moths she’s so familiar with eat butterflies (like her).

Edith and Lucille, via cap-that. “It’s a savage world of things dying or eating each other, right beneath our feet.”

Even the house itself at Allerdale is being consumed by the mountain below, being devoured by the red and bloody clay that had once given the family within it their fortune — having been fed upon by this family over generations, it now feeds on them in turn, both in the absorption of Allerdale House, and incidentally in the drowned victims of those the Sharpe siblings feed into the cellar vats.

Edith as a protagonist notes details — she’s keen and clever, investigates, considers; she notes that Alan keeps Arthur Conan Doyle on his shelves; she speaks on the specificities of Thomas Sharpe’s wardrobe and how its dated appearance reveals that his fortune is waning or has entirely waned; she follows clues, she researches, she deduces. Like her father, she reaches for information, arms herself with it.

We see her horrified again and again by the ghosts that plague her, and at the same time, she works so hard to understand them — she works hard at every opportunity to comprehend the incomprehensible, to know the unknown, to understand everything that cannot be understood.

There are so many other wonderful elements to the film — it’s beautifully shot, of course, and has some of my favourite costuming that I could name in any period piece. Every dress, every suit, is perfectly tailored, effortlessly lit, every piece moves and flows, every piece of jewellery or accessory is set to fit the period, the setting, each individual character.

Even the ghosts, with their smoky essence, with the unnatural shift and angularity to their movements embroiled in a constant and preternatural fog, seem so real, have such a texture to them that makes them so easy not only to visualise, but to imagine you can feel, that you can reach out and touch — or not touch, even as you reach.

And like any good Gothic piece, but especially a Gothic romance, Crimson Peak is a film that exudes sex.

Every glance between Edith and Thomas is full to the brim with want and lust and desire — Thomas’ gaze lingers on Edith’s face and her body, on her hands, on the movement of her skirts and the shift of her waist; Edith follows after Thomas where he moves, leans toward him like a candle flame drawn to a draught, and you can see her hold her breath whenever he draws closer.

Whenever there is a distance between the two of them it feels fraught with electric tension: when that distance is slowly closed, bit by bit, and yet repeatedly denied and interrupted — by Alan, by Carter, by Lucille, by everyone around them — it seems that it should crackle and pop, flash and burst into flames.

Lucille’s desperate control of Thomas is in part dependent on their sexual dynamic, on the older Lucille having groomed him into a partnership when she was only 14 and Thomas even younger at 12 — and Thomas’ soft murmurings, almost to himself, with Edith, are so revealing of his vulnerability.

“You’re so different,” he whispers in one scene, and quickly brushes off Edith’s bafflement at the comment; he is frightened to lay hands on Edith, even to be alone with her at times, for fear of Lucille’s wrath, and when finally permitted the opportunity to fall into bed with her, he’s desperate in his desire for her.

His most sympathetic moment is no doubt where he says to Alan through carefully gritted teeth that Alan is a doctor, that Alan knows where to direct Thomas’ blade, that he might finally do violence upon someone — what Lucille has always wanted from him — and yet still save himself from having committed a murder.

Lucille damns everyone she touches, kills everyone she can — her mother; Carter Cushing; the dog; each of her brother’s wives; Thomas Sharpe himself.

And yet she’s not unsympathetic.

We see Lucille’s desperation — under her cold demeanour is an agonisingly lonely woman, isolated and abused for the whole of her life, robbed of any real and obvious power of her own, and forced to wield power only through her brother’s name, her brother’s movements, her brother’s actual, legal power, which as a woman she cannot wield.

Lucille and Thomas were locked alone in their attic and denied access to anywhere else in the house, apparently denied any other companionship or loving contact — their mother was also an abuse victim, and became isolated after what their father did to her, but she just carried on the cycle in abusing her own children. Is it any wonder she should grapple so desperately for purchase in a world literally slipping out from under her, the sliding stone and brick stained red with crimson clay?

Is it any wonder that she should mix blood in with it, when she has nothing in the world, as far as she sees it, but her brother?

As cold and brutal and violent as Lucille is, she acts on instinct to protect herself and who she holds most dear — even in killing Thomas himself, it’s a desperate action in the hopes of keeping him bound up with her, terrified of his rejecting her when he has been the one constant she has ever been able to rely on.

God, what a film.

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Prologue: Annunciation

Prequels: Heaven - Hell - Purgatory

Summary: Burdened by a centuries-long curse, you must follow the path fate has set for you and defeat evil that roams the Earth. You've left everything your heart desires behind to follow this path, and unfortunately, it still isn't enough. Fate has other plans for you, and for your love, Eddie Munson.

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (Told in 2nd Person POV - you/your)

Warnings/Themes: Violence, Death/Suicide, Torture, Body Horror, Blood, Established Relationship, Romance, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References

Note: Welcome to As Above, So Below, my take on Kas!Eddie fic and a story inspired by Van Helsing (2004). This story has 3 prequels linked above that I highly recommend you read as this story will reference them.

This story is going to be EXTREMELY HEAVY to write, so I will not be putting out a posting schedule. Chapters will get posted as they are completed, however long that takes.

Please keep in mind, although this is an OC fic, our Knight will not be named or have physical descriptions noted. She is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side. She was raised Roman Catholic, but her beliefs are very loose and you will see why if you read. You are free to imagine her as you wish. But her cultural identity will be referenced in this story, at least at the beginning and the end.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“Do not be afraid […] for you have found favor with God […] With God, nothing will be impossible.” — Luke 1:28-37

March 25th, 1986

In your short time on this earth, you had certainly seen a lot. Mysteries of the universe were made known to you, you'd encountered heroes and villains alike—monsters, even—and been to many places, far and wide.

But you could honestly say that you had never set foot in a lair before today.

And, truly, lair was the only word you could use to describe this place.

Vaulted ceilings, marble floors, velvet curtains. There was an elaborate organ set up on a platform and an ominous set of stairs that descended deeper into the ground at the far end of the room.

Eddie would say this looked like something out of a C-list horror movie or a James Bond film.

You were already deep enough as it was; you'd navigated through an abandoned old mansion and the Los Angeles County sewer system just to get here. To anyone else, it would have seemed as though it took some divine intervention to find this place at all, but the divine is what you knew best.

Archbishop Jinette had given you minimal information to stop the evil that was at play. A ritual to bring forth a River of Life that would flood the San Gabriel Valley and kill millions. More importantly, to Jinette at least, it would create a rift in the fabric of reality that would cause a surge of Heavenly Power to flow freely throughout the Earth.

The Church never cared about the details, didn't care if a sacrifice or two came about, as long as their power remained safe. So the Who's and How's and Why's were left up to you. Thankfully your adversary had been careless with the clues he left behind.

You couldn't tell if it was a coincidence or not. Easter was a few days away so a River of Life made sense but surely a ritual that mirrored the ten plagues of Egypt would be more fitting a little closer to Passover.

"Doctor," you called out, your voice echoed through the cavernous room. You gripped your weapon—a nightstick taken off the body of the police officer that had been swarmed by locusts—and ventured forwards. "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to help."

"You are not here to help," a stiff, croaking, disembodied voice reached your ears, filtered through some sort of unseen sound system. "You're here to stop me."

"Stop you from killing anymore innocent people," you explained.

"One remains," the voice replied. "Nine shall die. Nine eternities in doom."

"It will be a lot more than that if you don't stop whatever it is you have planned." You tried to reason with him, but you were met with silence. "Doctor! Doctor Phibes!"

Music suddenly blasted through the sound system and the room went dark, the only source of light came from whatever lay at the bottom of the stairs.

You knew the doctor wasn't done talking, he was just luring you deeper into his web to tip the playing field in his favor. You both knew there was no time to waste, so you walked into the trap willingly, with swift feet and a brave, but possibly foolish, heart.

Below the cavernous lair was an even bigger cavern still; a half-finished room with the same marble floors that suddenly gave way to rock formations and stalagmites and an underground river that offered a steady roar of rushing water. You didn't know where to rest your eyes, there were too many carefully crafted horrors laid out before you.

An altar with a body carefully placed atop it, a series of nine half-melted wax busts, a four-piece jazz band comprised of mechanical figures, a sterile area with a surgical table, and a ragged man who was elbow deep in another person's chest cavity.

A heavy hand clamped on your shoulder and you jumped to find the elusive Doctor Anton Phibes behind you. He was an imposing man who towered above you, his face sallow, waxy, and sagging. His red-rimmed eyes were bright with lively mischief, although his aura was heavy with the infernal stench of death.

You expected him to speak, but he simply tilted his head forward and urged you towards the altar. Not a question or suggestion, but an order.

You quickly weighed the possibility that if you killed him, struck him down, the ritual would simply end. Of course, then came the equally possible outcome that it would only hasten it.

Phibes pushed you the last bit of distance until you fell against the altar table itself and came face to face with the body resting there. You knew a dead body when you saw one, and generally you disagreed when people said they looked as if they were sleeping....this one however...she was peaceful in her eternal rest.

Face was full and serene, plump lips painted a succulent violet, with long, kohl-laden lashes that kissed her blush-dusted cheeks. Her skin was glowing and her long black hair had been fluffed and haloed around her. Her hands were folded below her chest and a lovely bejeweled ring glinted in the light of the candles that flickered from beside her on the altar.

The woman was preserved perfectly. Unnaturally.

"She's beautiful," you muttered.

"My wife," Phibes' voice croaked from beside you. You glanced over your shoulder to find that he had held a cord that ran from a porthole in the side of his neck to a phonograph-like speaker beside him. "My Rose. Taken from me far too soon, stolen from me."

"My God, please help my son," came an echoed mutter from the sterile area across the room. The surgeon had his bloodied hands folded in prayer as they rested on his patient's chest.

"Murdered!" Phibes voice grew louder and wrathful. "Don't cry upon God, Dr. Vesalius. He is on my side."

"And how do you know He's on your side," you questioned and Phibes' eyes cut back to you.

"He led me here," he explained. "Showed me the way in the quest for vengeance. Showed me the key to resurrection for my beloved and eternal life for us both. I plan to move Heaven and Earth to achieve it."

"Who are you to resurrect her?" you asked. "To bring about devastation for your wife? Is that His plan? The death of millions for the life of one?"

"He told me of you too, little Knight," he ignored your question. "It's how I knew to expect your arrival. He told me that you would appear to stop me."

"You're not only here to enact God's plan but to prophesize as well?"

"He said you would be the last step in bringing me back to my beloved Rose."

"So I must die too?"" You shrugged. "I'm the ninth?"

"No," he croaked. "Vesalius. Or rather, his wretched son. You must complete the ritual."

"I could kill you instead."

"Oh, but virtuous little Knight, I'm already dead." He released the cord and lifted his hands to his face. He peeled the waxy flesh and the tufts of hair on his head to reveal a twisted and burnt husk beneath. He was skeletal, barely a visage left; his nasal cavity shook with each labored breath and his exposed jaw clenched every so often.

Phibes inserted the cord into the porthole once again.

"I lost everything," he explained. "I lost my life, my purpose. And just when I thought it was enough, I lost my love too. I asked myself over and over: what was God's plan in taking it all away from me, in the blink of an eye? All at once? When I decided I would do anything—sacrifice anything—just to bring her back, He showed me the path and I took it. Wouldn't you? If you'd lost your love, what wouldn't you do, give, to get them back?"

A bitterness settled deep in your gut.

What did he know? What didn't he know? What was God's plan?

You'd asked yourself this many times over the course of your life, had become desensitized to the constant lack of an answer. Fate was an answer you couldn't stomach anymore.

So you had tried to run from it, only to collide with it instead. Fate cruelly led you to Eddie, and then away from him again...to protect him from the pain that was your damned life.

Yes, you would have done anything for him, even let him go. Love, for you, had to wait so that Fate wouldn't have been tempted to take him away.

Like it had for Phibes and Rose.

As you turned and stared down at Rose again...you felt for them...you truly did.

"Do you know resurrection takes more than just...some fancy ritual?" you asked Phibes. You could hear his feet shuffling closer to you. "It's unpredictable. The soul...the soul needs to be put back together, and by the time they ascend...or descend..."

"Rose was an angel," Phibes interjected and insisted. "My angel. My muse."

"...sometimes it's too late. How long has it been?"

"4 years."

"The ancient Egyptians had it right," you explained. "The Ka, the Ba...the Ahk...to put her back together after this long...would be impossible. Moving Heaven and Earth? More like breaking the walls between them. We could complete this ritual and resurrect her, but even still I don't think she would be whole ever again. She'd never really be your wife."

"And when would I have had to..."

"24 hours...48, maybe?" you offered.

Phibes' eyes slowly shut and he let out a painful hissing noise you could only attribute to a wail, or whatever equivalent his body could produce.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, hoping to provide some sort of balm on his wounded spirit. "But she's in Heaven...waiting for you."

You moved out of the way as Phibes collapsed on the altar and spoke in garbled tones to Rose's body, the cord pulled out of the porthole. Whatever confession in his mind was just for them.

You immediately ran across the cavern to Dr. Vesalius and his son. The surgeon sobbed his thanks to you as you began to work on the younger man. You didn't get the opportunity to heal others often—you were used more as an instrument of destruction than one of renewal—though the capability was always there. You dug deep into the celestial light within you and slowly his wounds knit back together.

Once Lem regained consciousness, Vesalius tugged at the restraints. Another spark of your power severed the chains and set the boy free and before long, father and son scampered up the steps and out of this pit of despair.

Vesalius had grabbed your hand before they had, though.

"Thank you," he said. "You're a hero."

No...you were nothing of the sort.

You walked back to the altar to check on Phibes, only to find his form still as it lay next to his wife.

"Doctor?" you shook him. "Doctor?"

You pushed him onto his side and a knife clattered to the marble floor; you balked at the needle in his arm and a slash in his wrist that lazily dripped...dripped...dripped...

Tubes ran out from the needle and embalming fluid rapidly replaced blood. It hadn't been that long for you to heal Lem had it? Had this always been Phibes' plan if the ritual failed? He was sure that you would be the one...the last step in reuniting him and Rose.

You touched his chest and closed your eyes.

Eight were dead but the first born son lived. The ritual was unsuccessful. The secrets of what really happened would stay buried deep below the city.

You could feel it...the ambient energy stirring around Phibes...slowly leaking from every pore of this mortal prison as his body died and he began his ascent. Anton and his beloved Rose would spend eternity together.

He was a good man, a loving man, led astray...and God was willing to forgive him and let him into Heaven.

You looked around the room again and felt sick.

For all the money that the Catholic Church had, the best they could afford when they sent their attack dog—you—to save the world for the umpteenth time was a crappy roadside motel off the 101.

You were used to uncomfortable plane and train rides, questionable motels and cots shoved into the corners of storage rooms in monasteries and missions when space could be spared.

This was your life though.

You had run from the safety of your Nonna's home when you turned 18 and then again from your little apartment in Hawkins a little over a year ago after Fate finally caught up to you. The next closest thing to...a base of operations, if you could call it that, was a tiny, unkempt bungalow house in a small suburb in Chicago that you barely set foot in because evil reared its ugly head a little too much.

Home was not a luxury you could afford, and even if it was...for you, it wouldn't have been a place, it would have been a person.

So you took comfort after a trying assignment in crappy gas station food and lumpy beds because it reminded you of the home you wish you didn't have to leave behind.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you exclaimed as you kicked the door to your room open and found an unexpected visitor sitting crosslegged on the bed you hadn't claimed for yourself. He held a stack of palm branches in his hand, a small pile of folded crosses placed neatly beside him.

"Watch the way you talk," he began. "Let nothing foul or dirty come out of your mouth."

"Is it not a little...weird for you to quote the Bible?" you asked.

"I didn't write it," he replied simply.

"Well your boss did." You fell onto the unoccupied bed and sighed. You didn't know if it was just the adrenaline finally wearing off after a successful end to your task—if you could call it successful—or something else. Something within you felt like you were...trapped under water.

"He did not either," he dismissed and went back to folding crosses. "You're planning to visit the cemetery." It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before Easter, if Jinette doesn't have another errand for me to run." You fished a bottle of YooHoo from your bag of snacks and offered one to him. His lips quirked and in a blink, all of the palms were folded into neat crosses and he was on his feet.

"Good." He stared at you blankly, expectantly, and it made you feel claustrophobic.

His presence was greater than what was apparent to the naked eye, and in times like these where he was about to spring something on you, your soul could sense the swell of his being. It never got easier.

"I know this isn't a social call or a job well done for preventing the destruction of the Earth for the hundredth time," you begin and cover your face with your hands. "I'm tired, so if you could please just—"

"You say that a lot," he noted.

"What?"

"That you're tired."

"It happens when you're a human," you retort.

"Then you will do well to listen to me now," he says gravely. You peek through your fingers to look at him. "Something is coming. Something bigger than you've ever encountered before."

"Shit, really?" you asked. "When will I have to go?"

"You won't," he stated with an air of finality. "Or else, you will die."

Your hands fell from your face as your ears started to ring and your pulse pounded in your head.

You'd heard many warnings in the past, throughout your life, from him. Pain, suffering, duty. This was the first time he had ever warned you of your death.

Why now? After all of the other missions you'd been given, after facing Hell on Earth dozens of times...

You always knew it was a possibility...but a guarantee?

"W-when...why...when?"

"Soon."

That was helpful. You couldn't even prepare. It would be sprung on you. The next time you were called into action maybe? Or the time after that?

"So I just...I tell...tell Jinette o-or whatever Bishop that I can—” you stammered and he cut you off.

"This is not something that they will ask you to do," he explained. "This is something you will feel compelled to do. Strongly compelled. But you must heed my warning, young one. For you will perish and damnation will surely await you."

"I don't understand," you squeezed your eyes shut. "Isn't...isn't it already awaiting me? What makes this any different?"

"Because it will hurt. It will destroy you." What would...the task? Or the damnation? There was a rustle of wings and a roar of fire in your ears. "Do not be afraid."

They were words you had never heard from his mouth, but you knew he had said them before.

When you opened your eyes, he was gone, and you were left in the motel room alone.

"Gabriel?" You called for him, like you used to when you were a child and nightmares of monsters and demons plagued you. When you used to look for comfort when your father was off on a quest so similar to your own and your mother had no way to sooth you on her own. "Gabriel!"

March 27th, 1986

You knew from the moment you woke up that morning, something was off. As though you were operating on a different frequency than usual. You felt simultaneously sluggish and as though lightning surged just beneath your skin.

It didn't happen often, if ever really, which is what caused some alarm.

Perhaps when you were much younger and your abilities began to manifest. The holy light within you couldn't be contained by such a young body. It had led to massacres and miracles alike.

You remembered seeing Empire Strikes Back for the first time and feeling a kinship with Luke. "Luminous beings are we, not this cruel matter," a phrase you muttered to yourself often, taking comfort in the Light, when your future could only possibly be shrouded in Darkness.

It had taken years to control it, and you were well past grown now, but somehow you couldn't just shake the feeling that plagued you today. It was as though your fight or flight response was primed and ready, despite no danger in sight.

If Archbishop Jinette was any sort of reliable figure in your life, you would have confided in him. Looked to him for guidance. For help. Instead, you'd sat in his office with him for the past hour as he debriefed and lectured you—reamed you—for your handling of Phibes and the ritual.

"It was, quite frankly, irresponsible," he said for the tenth time. His cassock swished around him as he paced before you. "The number of innocent lives that could have been lost."

You rolled your eyes, fully of the belief that he wouldn't have given a shit about any other lives lost at all. You used to give Jinette—give all of your handlers—the benefit of the doubt, used to believe that they cared about innocents. Maybe they had once, but now it was twisted by the power their positions afforded them.

Once they donned a pectoral cross, guilt no longer affected them. It was only a tool used to bend others to their will.

"How can we rely on you to your duty fully if you take the time to negotiate?" He asked. "If you try to reason with agents of evil?"

"Phibes was not evil. He mentioned that God led him to this path," you interjected, and Jinette stopped in his tracks. "That He led Phibes to the ritual in order to reunite him with his wife."

"They would be reunited in Heaven," Jinette dismissed with a hiss. He turned his judgmental, wet eyes to you and glared pointedly. You knew exactly the warning he was trying to convey and you straightened your shoulders.

"It must have been the devil in disguise. Trickery. You, more than anyone, should know how easy it is to fall for temptation." The burn of his stare became righteous, but it was not what caused you to turn your eyes downward.

Was temptation really so bad if it brought you peace? If it made you feel more whole than you'd ever felt in your life? A year with Eddie and you felt sure in your skin, safe, loved. Was that bad? Did that make you evil?

You had let your pain get the best of you in the moment, but after a few days of clarity...Phibes had been right...

What you wouldn't give right now to be back there? To be anywhere but here?

It was regret.

There was a sharp knock at the office door and Jinette sighed and looked at the clock.

"It is time for Mass," he announced. "Think on your sins and the Lord may offer his forgiveness."

After he vacated the office, you forced yourself to your feet, trudged through the rectory, and into the cathedral where you slid into one of the last pews. You would hardly consider yourself a devout attendee—certainly not as you disassociated through the psalms and readings—but you knew if you missed Mass after your supposed sins, there would be Hell to pay.

"...Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass from this world. He loved his own in this world and he loved them til the end..."

You'd heard this Mass before, the Mass of the Lord's Supper. Not your typical Sunday service, so you couldn’t recite it verbatim, but familiar enough. Your Nonna dragged you to as many masses as she could, in every language offered at the local parish, hoping to spare you of this fate in a way she couldn't spare her son or her husband.

Over the years, her hand shrunk in yours. What was once a healthy, strong hand that guided you became small and weak, shriveled and brittle. Until one day, there was no hand left to hold at all.

"...I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do."

You spotted a group of women further up the aisle. Novitiates, probably. You could sense a tenuous peace about them. One could tell she was being watched and she turned to look at you. She was young, maybe around your age, and her eyes were wide and curious.

You tried to smile at her, encourage her—it was all you could do not to scream, actually—but she rolled her eyes a little and turned back around.

The sound of rustling bodies washed through the Cathedral like a wave as everyone got to their feet—

"Pray my Sisters and Brothers that my sacrifice and yours should be acceptable to God, The Father, Almighty."

—and as you rose, your stomach dropped.

Your body burned.

It felt like a thousand cuts were made along your skin. You gasped for breath but could find no air. Your bones cracked and crunched beneath an invisible weight, and the pressure felt as though your sides would split and your insides spill out through phantom wounds.

You fell to your knees and grasped the back of the pew in front of you. You tried to make a noise, to call for help, but nothing could overcome the rumble of the congregants.

"Lord have Mercy. Christ have Mercy."

The polished wood splintered under your grip before the world went dark.

When your eyes opened, you were met with a muted haze. A dark sky, with clouds that shifted in tandem with the howling wind, sizzled with infernal lightning over and over.

You laid on cold, damp ground. You could feel it seep through your clothes and leech into your skin, deeper and deeper, until it settled uneasily in your bones. An acrimonious rigor that would have overtaken you had you allowed it.

Something deep within your subconscious wanted you to.

You needed to gain control quickly.

Your fingers dug into the thick, unforgiving clay of the earth beneath you, and you pushed yourself upright, only to be met with a chilling sight that made your heart stop in your chest.

His was body was aligned with yours, the soles of his feet just inches away from brushing against you. His skin was pale and smeared with gore, and his ripped clothes belied the true extent of his injuries. He choked on his blood with fit of coughs, too wet for a death rattle. He was practically drowning in his own life's essence.

Eddie Munson lay dying in front of you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Your mind raced. Was this a vision? A prophecy? The gift of sight had never been one you could tap into before. Why now?

Was this a warning? If you didn't stay on the path He had in store for you, didn't listen to those He tasked to guide you, would this be your future?

You could hear a voice—an ominous, venomous voice—at the very corners of your mind, speaking to Eddie.

They left you behind. Left you to this fate. Left you to me.

What did that mean? You didn't leave Eddie. Not really. A part of you would always be with him.

You struggled and scrambled to get to his side. Your hands were unsure of where to touch him, how you could let him know you would be there without bringing him more pain.

He looked up at you with unseeing eyes.

"Eddie, please, please," you begged. "I'm here, I'm here with you."

His eyes wrenched shut and he cried out, mouth opening in a feral, heartbreaking howl.

To do with you what I please.

You knew it wasn't the Devil's voice. He wouldn't taunt and tease this way. It had to be some other malevolent creature who tried to get an innocent soul in its' clutches.

You closed your eyes and concentrated, tried to pour as much of your light into Eddie as you could, but despite his body being torn open the way that it was, he simply would not receive the help you could give.

You knew you couldn't leave him.

But Eddie was already gone.

And do to you, I shall...

When you came to, mass was over.

The closing hymn, heavy with organ song, rang throughout the cathedral as the procession made its way back up the aisle. You watched as Jinette glared at your prone form, laying on the pew, as he passed, but a light voice offered a distraction.

"Slowly, there you go, wake up," it said. A small, strong hand shook your shoulder then carefully tapped your face. "Sister Margaret went to call an ambulance."

"No," you groaned. "No ambulance. I'm fine." You immediately tried to push yourself upright, but the hands held you down to the pew.

"Don't get up, I don't know if you hit your head."

"I don't think so," you muttered. The pain that had wracked your body was nothing but a memory, a tell tale static that surrounded you, much the same way it would if your foot fell asleep.

You finally got your wits about you and found that your savior was the young woman you spotted earlier. Hell, if she didn't already think you were some creep off the street who'd wandered into the cathedral before...

"You're a part of the Order, right?" she asked disarmingly and pointed down to the small medallion that must have escaped from the confines of your shirt when you collapsed. Your hand immediately went to it and tucked it back into its hiding place; it was a reminder...a shackle. "A Knight of the Holy Order. Mother Superior said to steer clear of you if we ever crossed paths with you. She didn't say much else.

"I never thought I'd see one...just...pass out during mass."

"We're normal people," you sighed. "Not...Gods."

"Saints?"

"Sinners," you clarified and she laughed lightly.

"Yeah, me too" she agreed then frowned again. "Do you feel well enough to sit up?”

"I'm fine, just...tired," you explained and pushed her away from you. "I need to get back..."

"Back home?" she asked eagerly.

"Back to my motel." You got to your feet as the organ music stopped and the last few stragglers left. "Thank you for staying with me..."

"Oh...uh...Mary...Victoria..." she provided her name and you must have made a face. "I'm still working on it. I know I have time. But Victoria was my grandmother's name...so..."

"Well, I think it's a lovely name then," you offered a tight smile and your own name, then shuffled past her to make your escape. "See you around Mary Victoria."

March 30th, 1986

In the days following Holy Thursday, something was still off.

You had woken up the following morning with a sore jaw and a hoarse voice. Sometime later that day, you'd started crying blood. Only for an hour, but there was no controlling it. You were overwhelmed with emotion.

Hopelessness was the most prominent of them all.

You hadn't blacked out again, but something lingered beneath the surface. Given Gabriel's warning, you figured it would be best to lay low.

You knew it was a futile attempt to try and summon Gabriel again; he appeared when he felt like it or when it would best serve God.

The only time you’d ever desperately called for him, as fire almost consumed you and damp earth threatened to bury you alive, it had fallen on indifferent ears. It was then that you realized stories about Guardian Angels were just that: stories.

So instead, you went about your day as you typically would. Unless you were summoned somewhere by the clergy, they generally left you to your own devices. Especially on Holy Days like today.

Your plans for Easter Sunday specifically consisted of visiting the local cemeteries—

You would miss mass at the Cathedral today. Running your hands along the marble headstones and brass nameplates of those long-since-passed-and-forgotten and offering them a thought or two brought you more peace than any prayer or blessing would.

—and getting absolutely hammered.

You weren't a big drinker, really, since you typically were expected to have your wits about you. But it was a Holiday and you were far from home and alone. You made a blind choice at the liquor store on your way back from the cemetery, and it would numb you either to the point of blacking out, or make you give into your temptations to call Eddie.

You'd been thinking about him more lately.

Well...that was a lie, you always thought about him. Thought about calling, about visiting. You knew you couldn't trust yourself, so you did what you could to keep him safe. You skipped the letter M in the phonebook on the off chance he had finally made it out of Hawkins to follow his dream. Made it a point not to drive through Indiana if you could help it.

Maybe you didn't want to help it anymore. Maybe you should...maybe not visit...just call him.

Someone had left behind an honest-to-God glass in your motel room, and after a thorough cleaning, you poured yourself a helping of the nondescript amber liquid. It burned on the way down. Maybe it was a warning about the bad decisions that lay ahead of you.

You'd been tempted to call for his birthday last year, for Christmas...you sent a card. No return address, no name. Just a heart. You hoped he knew it was you because he always said your hearts looked like butts.

Another glass and you stood in front of the nightstand. You stared, transfixed, at the dingy rotary phone as you sipped your drink, savoring the burn this time. As if it had a mind of its own, your hand moved to grab the handset, but it just hovered for a moment.

How would Eddie answer? What would you say? What if it wasn't Eddie at all, what if it was Wayne? What if Wayne told you...that Eddie was spending Easter at a girlfriend's house? What would you do? What could you do? You practically forced him to say that he would wait for you...could you really blame him if he didn't?

Next to the phone was the remote for the television.

You hadn't really left him much hope after all.

You grabbed the remote and mindlessly aimed it behind you to turn the small set on. As it came to life and started bleating a commercial for some local restaurant, you momentarily prayed that it wasn't one of those Biblical epics, like The Greatest Story Ever Told.

Instead, the commercial ended and, as you poured yourself one more glass, the sterile voice of a newscaster reached your ears.

"...currently 68 degrees at the Los Angeles Civic Center. Lovely weather for Easter Sunday. For our top story, we bring you live to our own Robert Gilroy in Roane County, Indiana. Rob?"

You turned in shock and stared, dumbfounded, as the screen flashed to show a severe man in a brown suit. He frowned at the camera while a convoy of cars inched by behind him. You couldn't help but notice plumes of black smoke in the distance and you hoped that it was just a defect with the cheap motel tv.

"Thank you Laura. It's been less than 48 hours since a 7.4 Magnitude Earthquake rocked the quaint town of Hawkins, 80 miles outside of Indianapolis in an event that seismologists are calling a natural disaster of near unprecedented scale."

A wash of colorful stripes rolled across the screen before it showed b-roll of people running and crying, of a team of firefighters desperately trying to extinguish the burning Hawkins Public Library building, that was half rubble anyway, a man in camo bandaging a little girl's leg.

"The death toll now stands at 22, but with hundreds more filling Roane County hospitals and many more still missing, officials expect those numbers to rise."

You immediately dropped your glass and turned back to the phone, fumbling with the rotary dial to input a number you knew by heart.

"Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up." You listened as the ringing went on and on and on. You hung up and dialed again, and you desperately hoped you just got the number wrong. You screamed as it didn't even ring, but blared a taunting busy signal. "No! No! Who are you talking to? Pick up!"

"This is only the latest tragedy to befall this once safe town. Most recently, a string of high school students were killed in a series of ritualistic murders which have been linked to a local Satanic cult known as Hellfire."

Your blood ran cold at the word Hellfire and you refused to look at the television.

There was more b-roll, some chitter chatter saying how the Hellfire boys were always up to no good. How some upstanding students were killed, taken too soon.

Your breathing got heavy, enough that you started becoming lightheaded. The alcohol didn't help at all.

You tried to savor the last few minutes of ignorance as you wrenched your eyes shut, because if you didn't see it. It wasn't real.

"Eddie Munson, the leader of this cult and prime suspect in the murders..."

But you knew. You knew that this was the moment. You knew that this was what Gabriel meant. If you went to Hawkins, if you had to fight for Eddie, you would do it in a heartbeat and you wouldn't stop until you died.

"...has been missing since the earthquake..."

Those seconds that the reporter needed to take his dramatic breath were an eternity, one you would savor. Because it was easier to pretend that the only thing you had to do was just stop yourself from going to Hawkins, stop yourself from being selfish and wrathful, to punish those who would accuse the sweet, dumb, foolish, clumsy, trustworthy innocent love of your life.

It was just easier if you still lived in a world where you didn't have to hear what you knew was coming next.

"...and is presumed dead."

People often mistook the power of heaven to be one of peace, of hope, of new beginnings. And it could be. It usually was. But they forgot that the beginning of one thing was also the end of something else.

Divine retribution, a burning smiting wrath, the like of which had leveled Sodom and Gomorrah, flowed freely with your grief. It was illogical and irrational and inexplicable to any mortal, including you.

You remembered screaming.

Remembered the pain of the bones in your fingers splintering as you dug them into your skull. Your nails cut deep into the flesh of your scalp as you peeled the hair and flesh, as you opened the top of yourself to release the pressure that had suddenly and violently built up in your core.

Glass disintegrated into sand, furniture turned to ash, even the frame of the building began to buckle.

But there was a voice that called your name. A soft, sobbing voice that pulled you back from the edge of whatever precipice you subconsciously teetered on.

"It’ll be ok. I’m here."

You could practically feel arms slither around you, the phantom weight of them pressed into your skin. Dextrous fingers wove together with yours, soothed them, healed them. They caressed your wounds and the broken flesh stitched itself back together.

A cool breath grazed your ear and the screams that ripped from you began to subside. It shushed you and said unascertainable words of comfort as your fury subsided into woe.

"Close your eyes. It'll all go away if you don't look."

"But you're gone," you wept. The tears rolled down your cheeks and over your lips. You sniffled and licked at them; blood, again. "Why?"

There was no answer. You were about to open your eyes, eager to see and not just to feel, but the fingers glided over your face again. Over your cheeks to wipe the blood from them, over your lips to play with the softness of them, then over your eyelids.

Places he liked to kiss...places you wished you could feel lips instead...wished you could know that he was there.

"I'll never really leave. Even if you can't see me. I’m here.”

Every fiber of your being wanted to go, would have walked to Hawkins, run til your feet bled, to find his body. To clear his name. To say goodbye.

To die a most miserable death. Like Phibes and his Rose.

You would leave this world, happily, if it meant you could be by his side. But there was no guarantee. You could toil for a lifetime and hope to join him, and still be denied access to Heaven.

“I’ll be waiting for you. As long as it takes. I’ll be here.”

You heard the lovely whisper of your name, over and over as you sunk to your knees and you curled in on yourself. Every second it faded into the depths of your mind, and you couldn't help but crack your eyes open.

Lightning struck, the firefighters would explain to you later, on a clear day. The building went ablaze and was destroyed, but all the rooms were empty except for yours. The paramedics said it was a miracle you weren't injured. They touched you lightly, almost reverently.

"Hallelujah."

You were alone again.

It was a disquieting procession.

The creatures moved in a way that seemed unnatural, unfamiliar to them. Their feet shuffled across the barren waste and they dragged a hulking beast behind them. It was a large and ominous and twitching thing, and although the formality of this event it felt like a funeral, you knew that you were witnessing a birth instead.

The wings conjured images of Beelzebub...but Asmodeus felt like a more fitting comparison given how familiar you were with the inner workings of its mind.

Thinking of him as Beast or It was wrong. It felt sinewy and astringent. A bite you were reluctant to take.

You bore witness for three days.

It took two to break him, but images would haunt your mind and your heart for eternity. You tried to protect him, tried to undo what was done. You offered him comfort and a place to hide when he desperately needed a break he would never get.

How he had survived it, you would never know? But he was always stronger than you; if not in body, then in spirit. You never lasted long before you were forced to pull him back in. If you had remained, given him a longer rest, you knew you would have broken before he did.

He finally begged for mercy. He finally relinquished his soul.

You would stay beside him. No matter what they did to him. No matter what he did to himself.

They dragged him to their pit to put him back together again, and you forced yourself to watch, to listen, and to pray that every addition and alteration would stick. That he wouldn't have gone through the torture only to perish so close to the end of it.

You wondered where prayers went when they were made in Hell. Did they reach God's ears? Were they intercepted by Lucifer and his court? Or did they just...float in the void of oblivion?

He muttered words, you'd even heard your name escape his lips several times before they filled his mouth with too many teeth to speak.

By the end of the third day, he rose again.

And you sobbed in relief because somehow the sight of him complete, the sight of him rising and blinking and roaring brought you more comfort and warmth and joy than you had ever felt in your cursed existence.

It didn't matter how grim of vision he was. There was a beauty in that too. The beauty existed...simply because he still did.

Whatever they did to him, he was alive, and he would always be your Eddie. And that meant you had a chance to save him.

“When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces.” — Jodi Picoult, The Pact

Special thanks to @big-ope-vibes and @pastel-pillows who can read even though she says she does not. And @fracturedarkness who I am determined to destroy/delight with this story.

Next Chapter: Illumination

[ghoultrifle]

mushy may day five !!!!

prompt: animals

character: zephyr (they/them)

word count: 850

summary: Zeph has some much needed quiet time in the barn

cws: brief mention of bees

notes: it's a farm ghoul au fic !!! heavily inspired by my musings with @everybodyshusband but hopefully it's a specific enough fic that it doesn't encroach on his ideas too much <3

below the cut or on ao3 :))

The air is fresh, summer weaving its way into the days bit by bit; a patch of blue sky here and a ray of sunshine there. Zephyr makes their way to the barn. Over the pebble path, taking great care with where their walking stick lands, they take slow but confident steps towards the wooden structure. It stands tall, a modest size for a domestic farm. All produce is kept locally and used within the confines of the Ministry. The siblings flock to the small requests form located outside of Omega’s room when shearing season comes around; he makes the cosiest jumpers and the fluffiest socks, custom fit to the lucky few whose requests are granted.

While their aim is to arrive at the barn, the journey there is just as fascinating to the air ghoul. They pass by the lavender, only recently beginning to sprout. The bees surround it, ready to fill their pollen baskets and feed their hive. To Zeph, it’s an uncoordinated colony, bustling around each other as every bee fights for themselves. But they know that their communication is deep and has life-sustaining meaning, even if the ghoul can’t distinguish the movements or tones themselves.

As they continue along the path, their eyes are diverted to the small wooded area east of the barn. They count one, two, three, eight squirrels all on their own equally significant journeys. Hopping from branch to branch and scurrying up trees, Zephyr giggles as the animals continue to roam. They’re not sure why they laugh, perhaps it’s more of a humbling chuckle, to know ghouls, humans, and animals are all living in complete harmony- at least within the Ministry’s grounds.

The last few mildly treacherous placements of their walking stick before landing on the hard clay soil signifies to Zeph that they’ve reached the barn. “Good Morning!” They shout, extending the vowels as one would to a child, and the livestock may as well be their children as far as the air ghoul is concerned.

Undoing the rusty latch and opening the creaky door, they sigh warmly as their eyes meet the animals inside. The lambs are sweet as ever, staring up at the air ghoul with soft, glassy eyes, inviting them in to play. They understand Zephyr, and know not to be too rough with them. Whether they arrive via wheelchair or walking aid, the lambs are always happy to see them and will happily nose about curiously at whatever the ghoul has brought with them. Today they’d be in luck; tucked away in the inner pocket of Zephyr’s cross-body bag is a small container of special pellets for the lambs. No tricks hidden within the treats, no dewormers or antibiotics, just homemade pellets full of their favourite flavours.

“Aww, you’re excited today!” They coo, pretending for just a moment that the extra attention is due to their presence rather than the food they can smell. “Yeah I bet,” they continue, holding a one-way conversation with the sheep. “I know it’s been a tough week, but summer’s approaching now and look! I bought treats for you!” They beam, shaking the box gently to catch the waning attention of their audience.

There’s a quaint bench to one side of the barn, a project by Mountain and Dewdrop, who spend much of their time there together. The wood has a natural look to it, the seat’s not particularly level or ‘square’ but very telling of a story, holding the rich history of the Ministry and its extension of kindness towards nature. The tree was naturally felled during a storm and once Mountain got word of the mighty tree’s demise, he knew it would sit, memorialised, in the barn. Now Zephyr rests with the oak to help further the circle of life and nature itself.

“Hey, hey! Form an orderly queue please, there’s more than enough to go around my lovelies,” they joke, chuckling at their own humour despite the tough crowd before him, seemingly more interested in nibbling at their rubber ferrule on the stick. They gently move their foot to act as a barrier to protect their walking aid, “Oi you cheeky git, the food’s up here,” they say lightheartedly.

As they’re sharing the treats between the young lambs, Zeph uses their stick to part the crowd and invite one of the smaller offspring to the front, “You, fine lamb, you could do with a little extra,” they say, smiling, scooping a much larger handful out and offering their palm. It’s met by a rough tongue lapping the food, licking their hand clean and then some. “Thought you’d like that,” they grin, wiping their hand dry on their work trousers. “You gotta fight for what you want, buddy, no one’s going to do it for you,” they pause. “Except me, of course, I’ve got you.” With a wink to the lamb, the gathering begins to disperse as they realise Zephyr has run out of food.

The day goes on and Zeph is quite content to just sit and embrace the atmosphere, drawing pictures in the hay like spotting clouds in the sky, observing the sacred creatures before them. The animals understand them quite unlike anyone else.

[rosetintedgunman]

(Warning in the above video for shouting, loud volume, and badly drawn guns)

So back in 2022, there was a popular post that had people imagine what a Muppets version of something they enjoyed would be like. At the time, I had decided that a Muppets version of Who Killed Markiplier would be fantastic, but I didn't really have the skills to properly share stuff. I've been using the old sketchbook as a temporary replacement, found the sketch, and I got inspired. So I present to you:

Who Killed Markiplier, Muppets Edition.

I have a photo of what I envision the cast to look like (both the 2020 original and the version made today), along with notes for my choices, under the read-more. I decided against using well-known Muppet characters since I wanted the fun of creating looks.

-

Damien, Celine, and Benjamin are all traditional hand-rod Muppets. The twins are lavender, while Benajmin would be dark blue with a turquoise nose. Both Damien's cane and Benajmin's tray would be attached to the hand via magnets so they can be held only when needed.

Chef is a live-hand, sack-body monster, heavily inspired by Big Mean Carl. In homage to this, Little Buddy has been swapped out with a bunny (the reference being this video ). Not only does it suit the idea of him being intimidating and a dangerous red herring, it also allows Chef to carry the ladle and Little Buddy, among other things. Chef would have white fur that darkens to black along the edges (except on the paws), along with red eyes. Little Buddy is pure white, with a matching uniform and a little red neck tie.

George would be a dark green, full-body Muppet to allow a proper running scene. He's inspired by the Muppets with snouts (sorta like F.raggle Rock). Between the hair and the hat, you can't see his eyes.

Finally, the Colonel is a live-hand orange Muppet. With holding the gun and being a general nuisance, I thought having access to hands would make scenes with Abe or the Viewer more entertaining. Not only that, since the glasses make up the shape of his eyes, his eyebrows are on the top of the rim and can be raised and lowered to switch between intimidating and goofy.

That leaves three human cast: Abe, Mark, and the District Attorney. Mark had said that Abe is essentially the main character, so it stood to reason to keep him the same. The Viewer stays human because it's fourth-wall breaking and allows us to stay at Abe's height throughout. Finally, I feel it would be really fitting of Mark to be like "I'm in a production with Muppets :D" and then die barely five minutes in.

[daecheonsa]

»━━› OHJANG ENTERTAINMENT TO UNVEAL NEW BOY GROUP VIA DOCUMENTARY SERIES. September 3rd, 2024. Written by Jang Hyeko.

Once considered the paragon of the genre, in recent years Ohjang Entertainment has been left in the dust by once-rival companies like Pantheon Entertainment and Valentine Records. Since the disbandment of their only active group Bouquet in 2021, who had infamously struggled to carve out a place for themselves in the new generation of idols, Ohjang have neglected to produce any more acts, and most have been passively waiting for the news of a quiet buy-out.

Last year, however, the label showcased six male trainees in a YouTube video, simply entitled “WARRIOR (LIVE PERFORMANCE VIDEO).” With no information left in the description beyond the caption ‘god saved the damned,’ netizens set out to identify the six boys in the video, but nobody could be sure that they would ever debut together, or if the performance was just a one-off showcase of Ohjang’s trainees. As the months ticked by with no further word from the label, many moved on or simply forgot about the video, and the moderate interest in a potential new Ohjang boy group slowly fizzled out.

And so it was to the surprise of many when, today, the label announced on their official X account that they’d be revealing the previously seen “WARRIOR team” through a three-part docuseries, to be uploaded on the label’s official YouTube channel. Entitled ‘GOD SAVE THE DAMNED,’ the series will act as precursor to the as-of-yet unnamed group’s debut; documenting the formation of the group, as well as the ‘training process that prepared them for the stage and the harsh realities of the industry.’

The docuseries will be released in three episodes, the first of which set to go live later in the month.

COMMENTS.

tachikawaz said: SHOGO DEBUT WE WON!!!!!!!!!

amfhdf said: is this engagement bait? it’s seriously gonna be called ‘god saved the damned’??????

- minjidefender replied: at least they have realistic expectations for this group

jstagrlwholovesHERO said: war flashbacks to spending eight hours scouring the internet to find the link to kijung’s lost mixtapes only to be rewarded with some of the most ass music i’ve ever heard in my life

- kijungggggggggg replied: says a fan of the poet who brought you such awe-inspiring lyrics as "yaaaaaaho... yaho!"

- jstagrlwholovesHERO replied: talk about ikumi again and i'll seriously [ ... the rest of this comment has been hidden due to reports of graphic and extreme threats of violence. show comment? ]

musicluvr1993 said: isn’t this the group that na younghwa’s son is part of???? LMAO

- minjidefender replied: the whole lineup was picked by a crazy person... i'm seated for sasung and shogo though

- ssassungss replied: did anyone ever find out who the other boy was?

- minjidefender replied: guess we’re about to!

ohjangno1hater said: god save them indeed

harinsflatass said: love them for putting the youtube logo on there like it's some collaboration and not just them uploading videos to their youtube channel like anyone is free to do

whereissongtaejun said: why did i just assume ohjang had gone bankrupt or something… have they even done anything since bouquet?

- elizanator replied: nope last we heard they were looking to be bought over. this whole group was probably made in a fit of rage after valentine got liz lol

- whereissongtaejun replied: who tf is liz .

cairoislowtone said: YONGHYUNG I’M GONNA GET YOU OUT OF THERE

- minjidefender replied: girl i love you but your fav is in the only group with a messier lineup than this one... worry about cairo!

- cairoslowtone replied: all i do is worry about cairo hence why i'd like to see at least one nextup boy not be set up to fail

- minjidefender replied: i fear yonghyung was never gonna be the one to break that curse... his setup started ON the show

[osovarro]

STATEMENT FROM THE ARTIST:

To anyone who may see this,

I don’t have a large following, I’m not a popular artist, nor do I have a large overall influence online. Despite this, I still exist online and I exist as an artist in this world. Although I have been trying to spread awareness through reposting videos/resources via other social media, it felt wrong to not make my own personal statement.

As of now, I don’t really have a career as an artist. I’ve yet to build one, but I have a lot of big dreams I hope to accomplish some day. And even with nothing to lose & everything the gain, it was still important to me to declare the following:

If you’re a person in the world today, you should know that Palestine and it’s people have been suffering from some of the most inhumane treatment I have witnessed in my lifetime. I’ve witnessed countess men women and children be brutally attacked without access or food, water & resources. It’s wrong, it’s genocide & it’s happening thanks in large part to the United States & it’s government. Listen to those who advise you to speak up, spread awareness, bear witness & never stop advocating for justice to prevail.

That is why, as long as I am an artist, I will stand with Palestine. I will not makes excuses for their torture on behalf of any country or company. If any and all money I ever stand to make as an artist is blood money, I’d rather have no money. I hope that anyone who ever comes across my art knows exactly where I stand.

If there’s anything I can do to “effectively” use my platform on this here internet is draw Sonic the Hedgehog, so be it. It’s fitting, my love for this character is what made me want to be an artist in the first place. What use would being an artist be if it wasn’t to spread a message I believe in? So here, I was inspiring by the cover of Archie Comics Sonic the Hedgehog Issue #236.

From the River to the Sea, Palestine will be Free.

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

CALL YOUR REPS

BOYCOTT DISNEY

BOYCOTT STARBUCKS

BOYCOTT MCDONALDS

DONATE & EDUCATE YOURSELF

DEMAND CEASEFIRE

-Oso Varro, 2023

[cutestkilla]

Fic Rec Wednesday

Hey hey! So while I actually am hard at work on CO content for the Picture Book Project (several illustrations of the gang in third year for @captain-aralias’ amazing take on Simon Snow and the Third Gate), I have nothing that’s really ready for main in terms of sharing. Thanks to everyone who continues to tag me over these past weeks (I tag you all back under the cut for today, or Sunday or to share your own fic recs)! I do love to see what you all are working on even when I have nothing shareable.

I thought I might do a little fic rec post today instead, dedicated to one-shots that were posted in the mad rush of December that I love and think are a little underappreciated. There’s such a flood of amazing content during COC that it’s hard to keep up, and then once we move on to January, there’s still new amazing content coming out. As a result there are some real gems that folks may have missed out on. And so, here is a short (no doubt incomplete because I myself am still catching up) list of my fave hidden gems from December 2022.

And We Still Do by @facewithoutheart (T, 8K)

This is the fic that inspired me to write this post, actually, because I was discussing it with @facewithoutheart earlier and saying I can’t believe more folks haven’t read it. Anyway, it’s so great! The story includes a bunch of AU meet-cutes/meet-uglys framed by post-SFC Simon and Baz being fluffy and cute, with a bonus ACTUAL first time they met via the crucible. Each AU is a great little one-shot in itself and to quote the comment I left on AO3, “I loved them all, I would read a full fic of literally ANY of these”. (That is not actually a direct quote because I appear to have misspelled the word “would” somehow, but I digress.) You get post-canon fluff, a Boy Band AU, a Royalty AU, a couple of really neat canon-divergence AUs, and a combo Coffee Shop/Sci Fi AU all rolled into one, with amazing results. I think it’s brilliant like everything that comes from Christina’s mind and everyone should check it out.

Baby It’s Cold by @larkral (T, 2.6K)

This is a post-canon story told through a series of vignettes with Simon helping Baz accept something (something cold, maybe?) about himself in a really cute and creative way. It’s just really sweet, the prose is lovely as one knows to expect from this author, it gave me the warm fuzzies in a major way and guess what else? IT COMES WITH 3D LEGO ART. It’s short and sweet so you have no excuse not to check this one out folks.

Nice Spread by @messofthejess (T, 1.2K)

Post-canon Brobelove! The age old mystery of whether tea actually can be served on Niamh’s thighs is solved! And just generally this is packed with excellent banter, excellent novelty mugs and excellent tea puns. Very fun!

Another Way We Match by @thewholelemon (M, 1.7K)

Gotta include some spice, amirite? This one is post-canon and packed with great dialogue and banter that pays homage to some of my favourite fanworks (This Will All Go Down in Flames by @facewithoutheart, Monsterfucker, Baby by @sillyunicorn and Property of Tyrannus by @starwarned and @seducing-a-vampire, to be specific) in the funnest way. Simon and Baz are doing sexy roleplay! Only all of Simon’s suggestions are causing Baz eye-rolling injuries. Really hilarious, sexy and also with the perfect amount of domestic fluff mixed in. I love me a sex scene full of funny dialogue and awkward moments, and this sure fits the bill.

I could go on and on with this list, only I’m supposed to be working instead of writing this post, so I’ll stop here for now. Hope you all check these out!

Tags: @alleycat0306 @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @basiltonbutliketheherb @blackberrysummerblog @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @confused-bi-queer @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @forabeatofadrum @frjsti @hushed-chorus @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @johnwgrey @larkral  @martsonmars @nightimedreamersworld @onepintobean @palimpsessed @shrekgogurt @stitchyqueer @takitalks @tea-brigade @technetiumai @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @whatevertheweather @you-remind-me-of-the-babe                             

[latentspaceofficial]

research tangent! scp x wh13

so this is something a little bit different than what i normally talk about. i'm putting on a different cap today. ok little nerd moment thats been living rent free in my head for days. ive got an antistatic bag on my desk thats been sitting here for a while and i noticed something familiar

that sure as hell looks like the scp foundation logo

which got me really thinking. so its very obvious to me that the scp logo takes inspiration from this iso or ansi symbol. but whats even more odd was looking at the timeline of the scp wikis birth. im a zillenial (god i hate that word) so my childhood was watching markiplier play scp:cb, scrolling the old wiki, fucking with cleverbot. fun stuff like that. i was still a drooling idiot. when sci-fi renamed to syfy. but i remember the switchover and not being allowed to watch eureka because there were some "goddamns" in there. but i was allowed to watch warehouse 13, in spite of steve's existence. i was way too into the steampunk and lore of warehouse 13 when it was relevant. so much so i had a fucking farnsworth ringtone on my lg shit phone and i thought it was the coolest thing. i'm also still gay as hell for h.g. wells and her fit.

but anyway anyway. the premise of warehouse 13 was finding dangerous "artifacts" that imbued special status affects on people and to neutralize them with "neutralizer grid polyethylene static bags" as they say. their motto being "snag it. bag it. and tag it." or something to that effect.

what im getting at is that warehouse 13 has a similar premise to the scp foundation, but more mainstream comedy and less psychological horror. there's a tangential link between wh13 with scp via anti static bags and the symbol. so i looked into this a bit. through cursory searches, i didn't find anyone really talking about this other than a similar premise. so i looked at timelines. in july 2008 the scp foundation wiki (idk which one) was started, while wh13 piloted on july 2009. with a year delta, it seems clear "who stole from who". but wait. writing, pitching, and filming takes quite a while. is a year really enough time? i can't find any trademarks registered by universal nor any evidence of a canadian filming license. so this is where i stopped typing on my phone and started researching. the waters are a bit muddy, so bear with me. wh13 was co-written by a handful of people and rewritten as well. but the original plot was announced by sci-fi here in october of 2007

according to wikipedia (the free encyclopedia), inspirations for warehouse 13 include the x-files, raiders of the lost ark, something called moonlighting, and this show from the late 80s and early 90s called "friday the 13th: the series". i'd never heard of it, but it shares the vaguest premise with both wh13 and scp to keep bad artifacts away from harming people.

well what about the scp wiki? when did it form? well it's complicated. (i'm sorry for my poor cropping, it will happen again)

the scp wiki itself states that the original scp came from 4chan and that a lot of original organization happened on 4chan. indeed 4chan is the source of famous scps such as 173

posted on june 2007 is the original lore post about 173 and can be seen as the beginning of scps. which pre-dates the announcement of wh13. i don't know about you, but how fast you could go from trolling 4chan to a pilot script? at this point "some government authority retrieving dangerous magic embued items" was not a previously done idea and was indeed original. the x-files kinda did this before with balancing larger plot arcs with mini plot supernatural occurrences, not all aliens. but nothing about being an authoritative group that comes in and cleans up super natural mishaps. nah, mulder and skully just stayed in the basement or took an occasional road trip to see a whistleblower. i honestly love scp far more than wh13, but i'm going to be the devil's advocate and not give the new era spin on an old idea to the scp wiki just yet. 173 is an scp, but the idea of scps is not fully laid out yet. the thread was also deleted days later and thus only lived in the minds of active forum users of the time as fan derivatives were made. so there was a period of time where the fandom had started to form, but no official wiki existed. the semi official scp wiki formed in january 2008. later than the announcement of wh13 but before the pilot of the show ever aired in july 2009. so it's always possible the writers were 4channers and yoinked the idea. again, it's so fascinating how close in time and narrative the scp wiki and wh13 are. i personally doubt the writers were on 4chan at the time, but neither the wiki nor the show writers exist in a vacuum. i think it all warrants scrutiny and there's no smoking gun saying who inspired who, or if it's absolute coincidence. that is unless some ogs from the scp wiki or the writers of wh13 are able to speak on it. i'm curious what other people think.

[nerdyvocals]

hi

What are your thoughts on Cynthia's dress and where she got it from?

SO GLAD YOU ASKED

I'd had some initial thoughts based on my first impression of the dress when I watched the episode, which I expanded on with further research of 1950s fashion plus my own knowledge of storytelling via costumes and color theory. Please note before I get into this theory that it is just that: a theory, based on the analysis of a garment and the knowledge I have acquired via my specific education and discipline.

That said, I do know for a fact that at least some part of my line of thought was correct. A few days ago, I stumbled across an Instagram page, (pinkladiescostumes), which is run by Sam Hawkins, the costumer who designed episodes 4-10. Hawkins has made several posts with clearer images of certain costumes, original concept designs, the inspiration behind the looks, and detailed descriptions of the reasonings/ideas behind them and what they're meant to convey. Highly recommend you give the page a follow if you use insta and are interested in costumes!

Now let's get into it. As before, this is a long post, so analysis is under the cut.

First things first, what are we working with here?

(Images from @ pinkladiescostumes on instagram)

It's got a floor-length hem, with a tulle overskirt. It looks to me like the tulle is tiered (I think I'm counting eleven tiers??? God, making a three-tiered skirt in a class last semester nearly gave me a mental breakdown, I think eleven tiers of TULLE would have actually killed me), but the rest of the skirt layers are not. Spaghetti straps, with a detachable tulle shawl. And what looks like a nice lacy, flowery detailing on the bodice. Light, girly, and flowy. (Also fun fact from the costume page: This was an actual vintage dress that was altered to fit Ari! The shawl was added on for Cynthia, though.)

I know I've previously called this look a monstrosity, but that was mainly in jest. This dress is GORGEOUS, it's just not very Cynthia.

Of course, that is, in fact, the point. But I will circle back to that. I want to talk about why I think this is a new dress. Let's talk a bit about school dance history and fashion trends.

It was around the 1930s that school dances as we know them today began to arise. The debutante balls held by colleges began to gain a casual cousin in high schools by the names of soph hops and proms. By the 50's, tea-length dresses came into fashion, similar to what Jane is wearing. Speghetti straps and strapless were making their appearances as well, usually paired with shawls (even useless little ones like what Cynthia is wearing!). The rise of rock and roll and other such music that inspired fast, swinging dances meant that fuller skirts with lots of movement were a go-to. I was doing digging and found a few articles with some interesting pictures.

(Image from Elle article "Prom Dresses Through the Years: An Evolution" by Mary Grace Garis and Charlotte Chilton)

(Image from The Vintage Inn article "Prom in the 19040s and 1950s")

(Image from VintageDancer article, "1950s History of Prom, Party, Evening and Formal Dresses")

(Image from r/VintageFasion post by u/bonesbugsnferns, "took my great grandmothers 1954 prom dress out to see glenn miller orchestra with my boy:))

Do any of these look familiar?

Each of these dresses are from the very early 1950s; at most from '55. Why is that significant? Well, in 1954, when season one takes place, you probably wouldn't find these dresses second-hand.

Now, admittedly, this is where my theory becomes less physical-evidence based and is pulling more from my own lived experiences, but bear with me and hear me out.

Coming off of The Great Depression and World War II, people were hesitant to get rid of things, especially clothes, and especially women. A dress for a dance might only be worn once, but it would be saved in a chest or an attic for a future generation (see above, the reddit user who wore her grandmother's prom dress from 1954) rather than be taken to a charity shop.

Of course, the Fall Ball wasn't a prom, but I raise you this: my grandmother still has every school dress she ever wore, whether it be prom, homecoming, or a winter formal; as do most of my aunts, cousins, and female friends. I still have my eighth-grade Who's Who semi-formal dress in my closet at my mother's house, and my prom dress is still in its original bag (class of 2020! I did not get my prom).

I grew up very poor, and most of my dance dresses came from thrift stores. Rule of thumb: anything you find that's gonna be in budget is gonna be at least five years out of fashion.

So, this leads me to believe that Cynthia splurged and bought a new dress. It fits in with her story arch as well.

At this point in time, Cynthia's having a rough go of it. They've been pushed out of her comfort zone in the drama club, she bailed on the play quite literally at the last possible second, and they're having feelings for a girl that she's not ready to, and cannot safely, confront. Being queer in high school, especially when you are or believe yourself to be the only one in your friend group who is, is a very isolating experience. And remember your LGBT history kids: being gay was a criminal offense, even in California, for most of the 20th century (in fact, California wouldn't see a significant attempt to lessen the laws until the 1960s).

So keep in mind here: Cynthia's hesitation to act on their feelings (or rather, the total refusal to acknowledge them) isn't (just) coming from something as simple as a fear of rejection or social isolation: if she is found out, she is risking a criminal record, imprisonment, forced conversion, or death.

And how does that fear manifest? By trying to look as much like a girl as possible. And if that means buying a brand-new dress she'd only wear once? Then so be it.

And this dress is the antithesis of anything we see Cynthia wear in the entire series. Their wardrobe is full of dark colors and loose fits, sharp lines and relaxed appearances. Even her more feminine school clothes contain traces of these more masculine elements. So what is this dress trying to say?

Anyone here familiar with color theory?

A brief explanation: our brains associate colors with certain things, and a designer will utilize these associations when trying to elicit a certain thought or feeling about something. (An example of this going badly that I feel most are familiar with, see: A Children's Hospital.)

(Image from Colors Explained article, "Meaning of the Color Yellow: Symbolism, Common Uses, & More")

This graphic I found explains what yellow is associated with pretty well. Every color has its positive and negative connotations, and what is being done with Cynthia's dress is very clever.

As I stated previously, they are trying very hard to put up a front of being perfectly fine. She is not ready to confront her feelings for Lydia, let alone the fact that she's queer, and both of these things are burdens she has to carry alone. So she throws herself into a date with the one boy she can guarantee is interested in her. She dons a flowery, lacy, yellow dress, looking as much like the "pretty peppies" as she can make herself appear. And she tries so hard to seem happy with him; be the enthusiastic, bubbly, smiley girlfriend.

Lydia, of course, sees right through this. "You can't pull that off."

And we see the mask slip. Yellow means other things as well; caution, sickness, cowardice, betrayal.

Caution: this carefully crafted straight girl persona.

Sickness: anyone can see how uncomfortable, how ill they look in their own skin.

Cowardice: running, running, running; from the play, from Lydia, from the Pink Ladies, from what she's realizing about herself.

Betrayal: Lashing out at Lydia when she tries to make amends. Dragging Shy Guy into the kitchen, just to hurt her. Pushing him to do more, blaming him when he can't make her feel normal, turning her cruelty on him, damaging a life-long friendship in the process.

And in the end, a new dress didn't matter. It doesn't make her 'normal', doesn't make these terrifying notions go away. It was only a warning sign for what was to come.

If you stuck around this long, props to you! This went on longer than I intended, but y'know, I got a lot to say. I've got a few more costume analysis requests burning a hole in my ask box, plus my list of fic plans (which has gotten... longer), but I'm going to have to take a brief hiatus. On top of my summer stock work getting more intense in a few days, I also need to prepare a research proposal in association with my degree track so that I can graduate on time, and I have to start working on the first draft soon, so if I put myself on hiatus from what I want to be writing, I'm hoping I can force myself to get what I have to write done faster. Part of said research is going to involve looking into 1950s fashion, so I'm counting this as a knowledge refresher.

That said, I'm leaving my ask box open to more requests, questions, or anything else, and I'll get to them as I can. Bye for now!

[fourseasonsfigs]

Chulian on Lake

For today's fig post we have this amazing set - that lights up!

This complex and beautiful set features Zhang Zhehan's lotus spirit Qing Lian (aka Xiao-Zhe) from his advertisement for Jade Dynasty: New Fantasy, together with Gong Jun's Dong Fang Yuechu from the upcoming drama Fox Spirit Matchmaker: Yue Hong.

First, just a few pictures of our ethereal lotus fairy:

And a few pictures of our stunning Daoist priest:

That last one in particular is the inspiration for this fig here.

This set arrived in an enormous, fairly heavy box. I had to ship this air mail because of the electronics involved in it.

I was a little worried about how big and delicate this set was, but it arrived in perfect shape. Full credit to the fig maker and the factory for cushioning it so well.

Here's all the pieces. I still think it's incredible all the fragile flowers and stems make it through.

You can see here the little tiny holes (up at the top by the edges) where you can insert the lotus leaves and flowers. They went in quite easily and were very stable.

Here's a close up of the electronics. The set came with both batteries and a USB cord. The button there turns on the lake light.

Here's the lake by itself, before the figs go in. As you can see, Yuechu stands in the boat via peg legs. Very seaworthy of him! Qing Lian just lays down however you like inside the lotus.

Before we put the figs into their respective conveyances, here's a closeup of them. Qing Lian is all curled up and sleepy eyed, and Yuechu is casting a magical fireball of some sorts.

I could only really get two angles of the figs before they went into the lake, since neither of them stand by themselves.

This was a very difficult set to get good pictures of. One, because I lack any real photography skills, and my phone kept hyperfocusing on certain parts and blurring out the rest. But, as we go around the fig, you do end up seeing the whole thing. So please bear with me!

Beautiful, isn't it? I love how detailed these figures are - their hair is amazing.

Here's a top-down view. Yuechu fits in the boat beautifully - the pegs went right in, and he's pretty secure in there. No glue needed. Xiao Zhe is resting peacefully and easily in his lotus.

We'll do a couple closeups here. He's quite tiny all curled up like that!

Huh. Is Yuechu conjuring up Qing Lian? It looks like we have a lotus in the middle of that magic. I'm not sure!

Our lotus lake at midnight! It does in fact light up like a dream. I just went ahead and plugged the USB cord in the wall, so it's a little less beautiful than it would be cordless with the batteries. Still, it's very lovely.

The fig maker included a double-sided postcard, a matching keychain with the art, the batteries, and the USB cord (that I had already plugged in).

I really appreciate how she included both. This is her first set, and I hope she makes more!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 513

Scene Count: 36

Rating: Luminous!

[link to the Master Post Index]

[thelensofyashunews]

LEON BRIDGES ANNOUNCES SELF-TITLED ALBUM, "LEON" OUT OCTOBER 4

Today, GRAMMY® Award-winning Texas recording artist, songwriter, and performer Leon Bridges announces his fourth full-length LP, Leon, releasing on October 4, 2024, via Columbia Records.

Pre-order/Pre-save is available now HERE.

The highly anticipated release notably marks Leon’s first album in three years and is heralded with today’s unveiling of his new single, “Peaceful Place.”

Filmed in Leon’s own peaceful place, the outskirts of Mexico City, the official video gives a candid look at the recording of the album, showcasing Leon’s explorations as he finds inspiration in the culture with his newfound state of mind that no one can take away.

Says Leon in a personal letter to fans announcing Leon, “Leon has been a long-time coming. I started writing pieces of it as far back as Gold-Diggers Sound. They didn't fit what I was trying to do with that album and I tried moving on. But I couldn’t shake them because they're part of me. And, if I'm honest, also because I think this is some of my most excellent work yet.

In many ways, Leon has been in the works since my childhood. This record is about simpler days. It's about time spent in my beloved Fort Worth and the experiences that made me the man I am today. It's soulful music in the truest sense - it's imbued with my soul.

I'm excited to share these stories about my home, about nostalgia, about my upbringing, about where I'm from, with all of you. I hope this music brings you back to your roots and your journey.”

Recorded and produced by Ian Fitchuk (Kacey Musgraves, Maggie Rogers) at El Desierto on the outskirts of Mexico City with co-production from Daniel Tashian (Kacey Musgraves) in Nashville, Leon features 13 handcrafted tracks spotlighting Leon’s signature storytelling and organic genre alchemy. Leon unfolds as his most poignant, powerful, and personal body of work to date as the man himself takes you through the streets he knows best, the things he holds dearest, and the memories of the people and place that shaped him. This record is unmistakably Leon.

Leon follows his third studio album Gold-Diggers Sound, which was released back in 2021 to unanimous acclaim and serves as Leon’s third album (out of three) to receive a GRAMMY® nomination for R&B Album of the Year. It bowed in the Top 20 of the Billboard 200 and incited the applause of Pitchfork, Clash [9-out-of-10], NME [4-out-of-5], and Rolling Stone [4-out-of-5], among others. Just this year has seen Leon collaborate with Gunna on “clear my rain,” release “Chrome Cowgirl” for the Twister movie soundtrack and join Kacey Musgraves on “Superbloom,” a duet for the extended edition of her Deeper Well album.

Leon Official Tracklist:

1. When A Man Cries

2. That’s What I Love

3. Laredo

4. Panther City

5. Ain’t Got Nothing On You

6. Simplify

7. Teddy’s Tune

8. Never Satisfied

9. Peaceful Place

10. Can’t Have It All

11. Ivy

12. Ghetto Honeybee

13. God Loves Everyone