#scythe the corporation

[queen-of-the-idiots]

THINGS THAT I THINK CHEEKY IS VERY GOOD AT AND BETTER THAN V AND L AT:

(AKA, Cheeky is getting bullied on the interwebs, and I’m choosing to take that personally.)

Science and Mathy Things- Cheeky worked as a scientist for The Corporation for YEARS. Science and Math were her main jobs, and jokes about her not getting a simple math equation (FALSE ALLEGATIONS, DISPROVEN LATER) aside, I bet that she’s really good at stuff like that.

Being Clear- Cheeky is BLUNT. She says exactly what she’s thinking, no holds barred. She does what she wants, and has a awesome time doing it. She is one of the ONLY characters to be straightforward about intentions, blind spots, and feelings on issues. Part of this is probably because the others have to hide aspects of themselves in order to stay safe, and she didn’t really have to do that, but MY POINT STANDS!!!

Learning and Evolving- Cheeky is smart. Wicked smart. She picks up on things really quickly, learns from her mistakes with little to no trouble, and finds where she can be the most service. I’m not saying that other characters DON’T do these things, but I am saying that Cheeky doesn’t get enough credit for all that she does. She’s the ONLY light magic user in the world. She doesn’t have a mentor, boss, or anyone who TRULY understands her powers. V and L can only take her so far, a lot of her learning is practical application. And yet, she picks up on concepts very quickly, to the point that MULTIPLE CHARACTERS have commented on it. I could go on, but I won’t.

Emotional Vulnerability/Stability- Nuff said. I’m playing, but seriously, Cheeky adds a human element to V’s dynamic that is needed. V cares for and about people, obviously, but he doesn’t make it a point to tell them that or express that. (Probably due to a fear that they’ll be taken from him stemming from his childhood but WE DON’T HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THAT-) Cheeky, however, has incredible empathy. She’s a protector, a healer, and a good person at heart. It’s even reflected in her magic! She does things that are difficult for her, and she handles it like a champ. Is she probably a little more sensitive rn because of the whole Atrocity situation? Maybe. But still! She also is able to bounce back from difficult situations with relative ease. (Most people would NOT be that chill with finding out that their whole life is a lie and they’ve been under mind control.)

Her Magic- Look, is Cheeky the strongest magic user? No, not by a long shot. Twinkle has more magical prowess than Cheeky, and Twinkle is making it up as she goes! But Cheeky still does have access to a whole other side of magic that the others don’t. And I think that makes her pretty neat. Furthermore! That same magic helped her break free of mind control (which we don’t have record of many people doing) and stay alive!

In Conclusion!

Cheeky is a boss, and I will not stand for this slander of her good name.

[hypodermicfroggy]

Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo I've really been, on a bender and it shows So why don't you blow me A kiss before she goes?

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

So I was playing LobCorp, and while it has been HELL and I'm only on like Day 23, of course I've been populating my employee nuggets with OCs and friends, and since I was feeling inspired, I drew my Svarog and @bethne 's Elane together!

(Pose was originally referenced from a Rodigor art piece by @ notree05 on Twitter by the way!)

[nomaged]

welcome home agent

the smell of metal, the indistinguishable sounds of her peers..no captors? it didn’t matter. did it?

the humming of the machine next to them. if they closed their eyes and let there thoughts and memories melt into one. they could make out the empty hum of their mother. or higher up. the prods and pulls of the scientists connecting wires trying to understand something that cheeky couldn’t even remember anymore. everything was melting and melding together. like their world was being rearranged in a way so distant than what it really was. prodding and pulling at their head in uncomfortable ways

one moment they were locked in a seat and the next they were sat in front of a mirror with their caretaker behind them. humming an empty hum as her hands fumbled in their hair. messy and sloppy so uncoordinated. so unusual to see. yet all to perfect in cheeky’s eyes. it was undeniable proof that their mother was alive. that some part of her was alive. that made mistakes. that didn’t walk and move as if she ran like a motor.

no in small moments like this. cheeky felt comforted. in a silent way. in the empty humming. in the cold air of their home. of the metallic smell that seemed to be radiating off everything and everyone. the clumsiness of their mothers hands.

this was home wasn’t it? what did they know besides this anyway. no one is coming. so for just a moment. let’s be at home.

..welcome home agent 6006

[thegreatcrowdragon]

For Whom The Bell Tolls

(An idea for an abno that just kinda hit me out of nowhere)

“I have given you all that you require, and yet you come to me asking for more. And for that, you shall be greatly punished.”

For Whom The Bell Tolls is a small golden bell attached to a short metal pole. If rang, the employee will gain a relatively large stat boost to one random stat. If used by the same employee twice, that employee will become Marked, with a small bell appearing next to their name. After a few minutes, and if the Marked employee is not killed, the abnormality will breach. For Whom The Bell Tolls breaching form is a large, greyish dragon-like entity, face and body almost completely covered by a ragged black cloak. It will make its way towards the Marked employee, killing anyone who gets in its way. Once it kills the Marked employee (or something else kills them), it will return to its cell.

Weapon: Chime (golden scythe)

"It came, took what it wanted, and left, only attacking when someone got in its way."

Ego: Chime (long ragged black coat)

"While it had many forms, it was always wearing that same raggedy black cloak, obscuring almost all of its body from sight."

Gift: Chime (small bell hairclip)

"The only warning it gave was the loud ringing of its bell, fortelling that someone had taken more than what they deserved."

[tanz0mattic]

josi just casually carrying around a battleaxe thats the weight of a fucking boeing 737-900 like what breed of scythe is she????

[gootube]

had trouble coming up with ego equipment for this fella so it remains unfinished but for funsies i made an abnormality page for julipede!

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[rd0265667]

Mina x Reader: When Death comes knocking

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

A/N: First of three Misamo fics

“Thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.”  Your coworker thanks you profusely through the phone

“No problem, just send the files over, I’ll take a look at it. Quicker we solve this case, the quicker those pensioners get their money back. Alright, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” You reply through the phone, phone wedged between your head and shoulder as you search through your cabinet, searching for sustenance for what you were sure was going to be a long night. Standing at your kitchen island, you yawn as you open the tea bag, a cup of hot water in your hand. As you walk to your table, the low hum of your computer the only sound disturbing an otherwise peaceful night, you hear the doorbell ring. That’s odd, you mused, it was late. Who could be here? Throwing a sweater on as you walked, you stepped to the door, opening it while rubbing your eye. At the door, stood a slender figure, body covered by a long black robe, a scythe in one hand, and a scroll in the other. A scroll with your name on it. “Good Evening, I’m here to collect your soul.” The black clad figure said. “Oh, honey, it’s late, why don’t you come in for a cup of tea? Everything else can wait.” You beckoned her into the room, much to the confusion of the figure at the door. “Please do come in and close the door behind you, if you would, it gets windy at night, and it’s a tad chilly.” You say, walking back to the drawer, taking another tea bag. The figure stood confused, but she nodded, stepping in, closing the door behind her as her scythe shrunk to the size of a hair, picking it and putting it into her ear. “Please, sit. Is there anything else I can get you?” You asked, setting the cup down before her, bundling up the documents on your table and setting them aside. “You’re not afraid?” The figure asked, looking at you in confusion. “What do I call you? Calling you Grim Reaper seems a little lengthy,  Thanatos is, well, it’s not the simplest either.” “Mina.” She said, slowly reaching for the cup, still trying to figure out what you were doing. Was this some kind of trick, to stall her long enough for you to make a worthless attempt at running, or some attempted drugging of a non-corporeal form that just amounted to a sad waste of drugs. Mina had seen it all, collecting souls for so long, some people did think themselves able to elude death. “Well, Hollywood likes to vilify you, that you are the personification of death, and that you want to drag souls to the afterlife, kicking and screaming. But you’re just doing your job. Ferrying us into the next plane, soothing us along the ride.” You say, leaning back on the couch, sipping your tea. Mina was stunned, to say the least. She had seen every reaction to her arrival. Fear, Anger, Desperation, Bargaining, Denial, Delusion, Acceptance even. But no one really understood her. “That’s a new one.” Mina commented, a light chuckle. “Perhaps. I see a lot in the world, so I have a rather unique view on the world, if I could say so myself.” You say, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. “Besides, I can’t imagine it’s easy for you. Sure, taking the souls of the bad people, probably pretty satisfying. But the souls of the innocent, those undeserving of death. Watching them cry and beg for their lives. It can’t be easy.” You asked, Mina’s gaze softening as moments from her infinite life flashed before her. “It isn’t all bad. It’s not always a good experience, seeing good people go, but I consider it an honour, to ferry their souls to the afterlife, to find peace.”

“Do you have a favourite story? You’ve reaped the souls of every person who has ever passed, I’m sure some have stood out to you.” You asked, seeing Mina look confused. “You’re an interesting one.” Mina with a small smile, though you could see the confusion hidden within “There was this lady, most who knew her called her Kam, and she had a wife, Jimin. They were good people. Jimin was the daughter of a successful businessman. When they inherited the business, they used their financial freedom to help those in need. They funded orphanages, organised several non-profits. They were good people. Her wife passed away several years ago. I took her on a quiet evening, when the two had gone camping. After the initial shock wore off, all Jimin wanted was 5 minutes. She woke Kam up, speaking her last words to her. A reassurance of love, last pleas to take care of herself. Before Jimin left, she had set Kam down, making her think it was a dream. So, years later, when I came to collect Kam’s soul, she seemed unsurprised. She spoke of that night. She asked if it really was a dream, or did Jimin really speak to her before she died. It was a heartwarming sight. To know that two people could love each other so much, that they feared the other being lonely more than they feared death.” “Love must be a foreign thing for you, huh? I mean no offence by that of course, just that, I assume being the Grim Reaper doesn’t leave much time for love.” You say softly. Mina shoots you back a small smile. It was nice to be understood. “Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time, we probably need to get going soon?” You warily ask, feeling your heart thumping against your chest, fighting to escape. “We have some time. Can I ask you some questions?” Mina asked with a smile. “Of course. Before that though, do you mind if we go somewhere else? Outside maybe? I heard the stars are showing tonight, it’s supposed to be beautiful.” You say with a smile, moving from your seat, refilling Mina’s cup before walking out to the small patch of grass in front of your home. Mina looked on in confusion, but mostly amusement. The path she was set on was a lonely one. This was fun. “Come!” You pull Mina out from her thoughts, seeing you lying on the ground, excitedly patting the ground next to you. “That’s a whole lot of mud.” Mina said, looking down at the mud in apprehension. “So to escape death, all I have to do is hide in a puddle of mud? Come on, Miss Supernatural being, have a little fun!” You said, chuckling as you slammed your hand down onto the mud, causing it to splatter onto Mina. “Did you just splash mud on the Grim Reaper?” Mina asked, and anyone just listening to this conversation would have nailed you for dead, but you saw her gummy smile, and the playful glint in her eyes. Mina’s fingers plucked the hair from her ear, blowing on it as it grew into her scythe, then using the end of her scythe, began hurling mud at you with a chuckle. “Hey! No fair!” You shout out in the middle of your laughing fit as you tried to block the mud with your hands. “I yield! I yield!” You shout out, panting, chuckling as Mina put her hands up, the scythe shrinking back. Taking a hose to the side of your yard, you cleaned yourself up a little, face and hair primarily, before going back to lay down with Mina. “The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” You whisper with a smile on your face. “They are.” Mina replies with a smile, though her eyes fell short of the stars, instead falling onto your side profile, which gazed in wonder at the stars.

“Have you ever thought about how the stars we see right now, the ones that shine so bright and illuminate the night sky, really aren’t there anymore?” You said with a forlorn smile. Mina hums in agreement, though her focus laid more in the stars she found in your eyes. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it. The thought that even after you die, as long as you shone during your lifetime, you’d leave behind something for people to remind you of, no matter how big or small the star. A reminder that they were here, and they mattered.” “That’s a unique way to think about it. That’s the first I’ve heard of it at least. Most astronomers beg for their life, or try to square up with the scythe wielding hooded figure. They’re smart, but their fight-or-flight response needed work.” Mina joked, a smile on her face as you began to chuckle in tandem.

“It is a hopeful way of seeing the stars though. Most of the people I talk to, usually are more concerned with what happens after their light fades.” Mina said with a sigh

“That’s just the thing though, I don’t think the stars care about whether anyone depends on their light, or what happens after they die. They just burn as bright as they can while they’re here, and after they’re gone, their light stays with us, a reminder, a declaration. I was here, and my legacy will far outlive me. It’s a nice thought. That things don’t end when we think they do.” “You talk of endings like you’re not afraid of them. It’s admirable.” Mina said, her tone a mix of admiration and sadness. It would be a shame once she brought you to the end. “You understand that I invited the Grim Reaper into my house and offered her tea?�� You joked, Mina giggling in response. “Touche.” “Okay, I’m not, not afraid, but I just…mortality is a tough thing to really grasp. I can understand that death comes for everyone, but I still don’t want it to come for me.” You lament, a drop in your cheery facade that took Mina by surprise.“I’m glad it’s with you though. Thank you.” You whisper, Mina shooting you back a comforting smile. Just then, rain began pouring down, pelting both you and Mina. “Let’s head inside shall we?” Mina said, extending her hand with a theatrical bow, a move that shocked even her. She wasn’t one for, well, one for any of this. It confused her, but at the moment, all she really cared about was your hand looped around her arm, walking into the house like an old couple. In the house, you took a towel, wiping yourself down, then changing into a new clean set of clothes. Emerging from the toilet, you saw Mina standing at the door, teacup in hand, staring out the window, clearly deep in thought. A little part of you knew, it was time. With a final gulp, Mina set the cup down onto the cup, draping her hood over her head, scythe in hand. “Thank you for the Tea.” Mina said, walking to the door. With a deep breath, you followed behind her, only to be stopped. “For our next meeting, I’d like Chamomile, if you’d please.”

[romanceyourdemons]

one of the funniest things word of honor did was it had two guys who call themselves hei wuchang and bai wuchang and they’re besties, and they always wear this beautiful super detailed cosplay as the black and white guards of impermanence, they fight with scythes, everything. complete commitment to the bit. and then their boss calls himself wuchang gui and his outfit and weapons are 1. not even a little bit on theme and 2. fucking stupid. which means that either the other two were already a themed package deal when they became meng hui’s subordinates and he did the annoying corporate manager thing where he was like well i want to get in on this too, and does it poorly. or he was already calling himself wuchang gui and told his two new employees to maybe go along with the concept so it’s clear they belong to him, and the two of them were like alright sure. and proceeded to commit to the bit like no bit has ever been committed to before

[scytheaudio]

Hey Scythe, I just listened to session 1 of villains and a thought popped in my head. If Cheeky worked in the same place that the atrocity was in, does that mean she had at the very least vague idea who he was when she saw him? Wanna know because i have an idea for a drawing, but I want to be sure my thoughts were right or not Lol

Allo!

Theyre actually at different facilities. The corporation have many of them. The one Cheeky was in self destructed but Atroc destroyed the one he were in. Corporation has then dotted all over the place

[turneradora]

Here is a new press article concerning "Rivals", with the new pic of Aidan as Declan O'Hara !

Thanks to Emma Jones for the written version 🙏🥰 ❤️🌹

EXCLUSIVE The secrets of autumn's biggest bonkbuster Rivals: Why Emily Atack ended up giggling through the sex scenes... and Jilly Cooper's inspiration for the real-life Rupert Campbell-Black

By Sarah Oliver For Weekend Magazine

Published: 06:52 EDT, 4 October 2024 | Updated: 06:54 EDT, 4 October 2024

Hard as it may be to imagine anyone eclipsing the sex appeal of Ross Poldark by being darker, sexier and even better with horses, someone has. Yes, ladies of Great Britain, Rupert Campbell-Black has landed straight from the pages of Jilly Cooper’s 1988 bonkbuster Rivals on your screens here in 2024, and you are all in trouble. A lot of trouble.

Rupert gives the best riding britches and bronzed biceps since Aidan Turner was seen scything topless. He’s hot hot hot, joining the Mile High Club on Concorde and serving up a scorcher playing naked tennis in the sun. Even dressed as Santa come Christmas, he’s the gift that keeps on giving.

So hat tip here to Alex Hassell, whose swarthy looks and CV as a serious Royal Shakespeare Company actor (he was garlanded for his Henry V) don’t immediately suggest him to play a blond-haired, blue-eyed, tabloid headline-hogging love rat. ‘I was slightly concerned at first,’ says Jilly, ‘because my Rupert in the book is blond and blue-eyed, and Alex is very dark-eyed and olive-skinned. But he’s such a good actor.’

From the moment he strides out of the loo having had supersonic sex (he makes Mach 1 at the same time as the plane) with the Daily Scorpion journalist ghosting his memoirs, Alex Hassell owns RCB, as Jilly fans call him. ‘I always believe in laying one’s ghost,’ he sighs as he swaggers back down the aisle, and the millions of women who grew up fancying the rotter know they’re in safe hands.

It wasn’t all plain sailing for Alex though. ‘Some days I’d be quite intimidated because the scene would describe Rupert walking into a room and everybody stops and looks at him and swoons,’ he says. ‘I was nervous about that, but everyone was told to act as if I was Harry Styles, and then my day turned into a wonderful day.’ So what does he think of Rupert? ‘While he is in many ways a s***, he’s not a bad man.’

Rivals is a riot and a romp, faithful to the book but with some sinuous updating to make what was the ultimate 80s tale of wealth, power and corporate backstabbing more nuanced. It is shagtastically good fun and if you’re old enough to have properly enjoyed the 80s, you’ll be drowning in nostalgia for those brash, optimistic champagne-fuelled years.

There are chaps in pinstripes and scarlet braces; women in power suits with root perms and earrings the size of a bin lid. Desk toys have an un-ironic place on boardroom tables and chintz runs amok in the English country house. Everyone is somewhere between slightly tight and completely plastered a lot of the time and can get up to mischief without being found out by their phone. The soundtrack alone will make you cry with longing.

‘We do it lovingly, but as the series goes on we address feminism, racism, sexuality, homophobia and snobbery,’ says showrunner Dominic Treadwell-Collins, who sees Jilly Cooper as a social commentator on a par with Austen or Dickens. ‘Rivals is a raucous party that gets darker. We keep our moments of joy, but the party gets a bit more warped.’

That’s not to say this new Disney+ eight-parter is any less fruity than the book. ‘If you had that copy you borrowed from your friend and it fell open at various pages – we’ve done all those bits,’ he acknowledges.

That classic Cooper sauce is still in there too. ‘How long do you spend on a cock?’ one guest asks Lady Monica Baddingham at a pheasant shoot. ‘Well, generally speaking, I can finish one off in 15 minutes or less, but my hands aren’t as quick as they used to be,’ she replies.

Or when TV technicians prep Rupert for his interview with TV journalist Declan O’Hara (played by Aidan Turner, yes, he of the topless scything). ‘The make-up artist is going to touch you up,’ they tell him. ‘I’d love her to,’ says RCB, ‘but I’m just about to appear on national television.’

There’s lashings of this since we are back in the (imagined) county of Rutshire, deep in the (real) Cotswolds, the setting for Jilly Cooper’s multi-million-selling Rutshire Chronicles series of novels. Riders, the first book, introduced Rupert as he chased Olympic showjumping gold. In Rivals, the second, Rutshire’s commercial TV station Corinium is up for franchise renewal and RCB is again at the heart of the action. ‘In bedroom and boardroom,’ promises Jilly, ‘the fight to capture the Cotswold Crown is on.’

Lord Tony Baddingham is Corinium’s boss. He’s on Concorde too, locking horns with Rupert, now a rising star in the Thatcher government, two of the ‘rivals’ of the title. He is played, with just the right amount of aristo-executive villainy, by David Tennant, persuaded to take the role by his wife, Georgia, also an actor and a huge Jilly Cooper fan.

‘I had my research fellow, who I live with, who could tell me anything I needed to know,’ laughs David, adding his casting caused a frisson at the school gate. ‘It’s a certain generation of women who go a bit giddy at the thought this has become a TV show. I just hope we can meet everybody’s fantasies…’

Well, if those fantasies include seeing Aidan Turner’s bare bottom you can tick that one off the list though he is, unusually for Rutshire, bedding his own wife at the time, rather than someone else’s. Declan O’Hara is Lord Baddingham’s star hire, married to fiery Maud, a man-hungry former actress.

Maud is played by Victoria Smurfit who really, really wanted the role and went full ‘Rutshire’ to get it. ‘I made this big decision where I thought, “Go big or go home.” It was December: freezing cold, ice on the ground, snow coming down through London. And when I arrived at the audition space, I had my coat on, and I walked in to meet the team who were in hats and gloves because it was even cold in the studio. I said, “Hello, I am Maud. You’re all dressed for London in December and – I threw my coat off and had this flimsy dress on underneath – I’m dressed for summer in the Cotswolds, darling!” Going home was quite chilly, I’m not going to lie, but it was worth it.’

In Rivals she specialises in making an entrance: do enjoy the scene with the camel.

As for Aidan Turner, with an absolute whopper of a moustache, Day-Glo yellow socks and a battered old Mini Cooper, he’s more workaholic dad than sex god. ‘That car, it’s got four gears but only three work,’ he groans. ‘The floor has holes in it. I think we maxed at 42mph. It was like driving a go-kart.’

Like all the actors, he knows his Mini isn’t the only bit of Rivals that could have looked clapped out in 2024, if not for the clever screenwriting. ‘I think we’re saying, “These are examples of the problematic behaviour that was acceptable at the time,”’ he reflects. ‘Some of it still does exist, but a lot has changed. It’s interesting to watch a show like ours and think, “We’re still doing that, maybe we should have left it in the 80s.”’

That said, ‘people having sex’, as David Tennant gleefully points out, ‘is timeless’ and all the characters are still aboard a classic Jilly Cooper sexual carousel. Baddingham is having an affair with his brilliant American TV producer Cameron Cook (now a black character), and Rupert is fending off Maud while falling in love with the eldest O’Hara daughter Taggie (played by Sex Education’s Bella Maclean), who’s only 20.

Electronics mogul Freddie Jones (Danny Dyer) and his wife Valerie are the nouveau riche trying to crampon their way up to social acceptance, but Freddie has feelings for novelist Lizzie, whose husband is Corinium’s ghastly news anchor James Vereker. Then there’s disgraced deputy PM Paul Stratton, newly married to his mistress Sarah (Emily Atack), who we first meet playing naked tennis with Rupert.

It’s a legendary Rivals scene (inspired by the tennis court at Jilly’s own house in the Cotswolds) where the tennis ball isn’t the only thing bouncing over the net. ‘The tennis scene was probably one of my favourites,’ says Emily. ‘It was a beautiful sunny day and I’d been exercising, I’d been – I wouldn’t say dieting, I love wine and pasta too much – but I’d been doing my sit-ups and my squats, and I was ready to do this naked scene!’

So it really is Love All, even among Rutshire’s lusty teenagers, for whom ‘I’ve got some Malibu upstairs’ is still a winning pick-up line. And this only takes us to the mid-point of the series: there are four further episodes and a lot more bed-hopping and dastardly boardroom behaviour to come.

It’s hard to overstate the scale, complexity and gleaming polish of the show, with its ensemble cast and Cotswold locations crammed with pale gold mansions, buttercups, bluebells and red phone boxes. (You might recognise 16th-century Chavenage House near Tetbury, which becomes the O’Haras’ home, The Priory, because that too was in Poldark.) There are sweaty horses, bounding hounds and huntsmen in their pinks.

Dinner parties start with pheasant and finish with pavlova, and guests disco dance until it’s time for a Survivors Breakfast. Picnics are enjoyed out the back of a Land Rover – green, what else – and Rupert Campbell-Black is secretly so lonely he shares his bath with his favourite black Labrador, Beaver.

The original book was 720 pages long and they’ve done it proud. Some days, according to Alex Hassell, there were 42 main characters on set at the same time, making it, he thinks, the biggest film unit in Europe.

Vintage Ungaro and Laura Ashley were sourced for the women, 80s-style suits handmade for the men. A safe had to be brought in to stash the 80s watches which are now worth an eye-watering amount. Someone’s mum knitted a bunch of pre-divorce Diana jumpers, Nafessa Williams, who plays Cameron Cook, modelled her ponytail on Sade’s and Danny Dyer drew on his own experience of snobbery as he, a working-class untrained actor, fought to break into theatre.

Emily Atack took to watching reruns of Top Of The Pops in which her own mother, the actress and singer Kate Robbins, appeared, by way of research. Everyone is wearing Wayfarers. Cadbury’s Fruit And Nut still comes in paper and gold foil while Wham!, Roxy Music, ABC and The Communards are on the radio. You can virtually smell the Elnett extra strong hold hairspray, the Drakkar Noir aftershave and the garlic chicken vol au vents warming through in an Aga somewhere.

Like the rest of the cast, Nafessa Williams knew what she was getting into with her sex scenes (Cameron has relationships with first Lord Baddingham and then Rupert). ‘I mean, we all knew what we were coming to do, so there were no surprises. I think it’s a matter of making sure you’re comfortable with each other and you’re listening and asking questions: is it OK to do this? Is it not OK to do that? It is a dance, so you essentially have to practise that dance before going on the dance floor.’

Plus, because Rivals is a bonkbuster – a label which has both supporters and critics among the cast – there was safety in numbers, as Emily Atack explains. ‘When we were doing all these scenes, we flocked to each other to talk about it, and support each other and really big each other up and we laughed about it. They were such a huge part of our bonding as a cast and as friends. It really interested me to see what nudity does to human beings – we were all like giggling teenagers, hugging each other, high-fiving each other, going, “Oh my God! Yes! You did it!”’

That said, they were all rigorously policed by not one but two intimacy co-ordinators, something which would not have happened had Rivals been turned into telly closer to the time the book came out. The intimacy team placed a partially deflated fitness ball between some of the actors so they could rock and create rhythm while having a physical barrier. Others were encouraged to use a tap-in tap-out psychological technique, clapping their hands before a take to signal to themselves they were in character, and then clapping at the call of ‘Cut’ to signal they’re themselves again. ‘We’ve been equal opportunities with sex,’ says Dominic Treadwell-Collins. ‘You will see an awful lot of willies.’

It was the only way to film the lovely, unbridled sort of sex synonymous with Jilly Cooper and the author, now a venerable 87 years old, is characteristically relaxed and happy about the outcome. ‘I trusted Dominic like mad,’ she says, ‘I knew it would be all right!’

A superstar writer since the 60s, made a DBE for services to literature and charity in this year’s New Year Honours, she wasn’t at all bothered when one of the actors, Lara Peake who plays Corinium PA Daysee, failed to recognise her at a read-through. ‘She came over and said, “Oh, you’re the lovely Daysee,”’ Lara recalls. ‘I said, “Yeah, I’m so excited. Who are you playing?” She was like, “No, darling, I’m Jilly…”’

‘Rivals is my favourite novel,’ confirms the author ahead of the series dropping later this month, ‘because I love the characters so much. Even the most ruthless display moments of vulnerability and the shyest show courage and integrity as true love blossoms.’

But can you believe it, RCB almost wasn’t in the book. ‘Originally, I intended to leave out Rupert, my hellraising hero, because in Riders he was cruel both to women and his horses,’ says Jilly. ‘But I missed his glamour and humour.’ She belatedly wrote him back in as a lead, reinforcing his place as one of the most lustworthy men in British fiction.

She says she loves the ‘ruthless glamour’ Alex Hassell brings to her creation, while admiring the greater vulnerability and tenderness the Rivals writers’ room has imagined for RCB today.

His casting has been the subject of heated debate everywhere from Mumsnet to The Tack Room, the online chat area of Horse & Hound. The actor almost withdrew from the first audition because he couldn’t see himself making everyone swoon but, by golly!, to borrow a Jilly Cooperism, he does. So much so he was sad when the shoot was over. ‘No one was looking at me like I’m the most sexy man on the planet any more,’ he says. ‘It was tough.’

Anyway, if you’d like to watch him make your screen melt, are old enough to remember the 80s, or young enough to think it must have been cool to be there, then clear eight hours in your diary because you won’t be able to stop watching Rivals.

But start early or you’ll be late to bed, and that would never do, not in Jilly Cooper’s world.

All episodes of Rivals are exclusively on Disney+ from 18 October.

[queen-of-the-idiots]

So, I don’t know if she has a nickname, but I stay endlessly fascinated by the listener we have for the Atrocity. Not Cheeky, the OTHER girl, who was dating the Atrocity and then betrayed him. Like, maybe this is me being problematic (I accept that as truth), but I wonder about her so much, ESPECIALLY after learning about the mind control thing. Because, from what I’ve gathered, she did have some fond feelings towards The Atrocity. She’s hurt and upset when she sees him hurting in “Taken by your Ex Vampire Lover”, and she definitely lived with him for a little while, so, what’s up with that?? I also wonder if she was under the Corporation’s mind control stuff, and the betrayal wasn’t entirely willingly? Idk, maybe I’m thinking too much about a character who only shows in two(2) videos, but I just think there’s a lot of questions about her I want answers to. Feel free to tell me your thoughts, if you have any.

[nfumbewalk]

Santa Muerte Tips

An altar for Santa, years ago.

One - Always set La Blanca's statue furthest to the right on a white cloth. La Roja goes next, then your other colors. La Negra prefers last.

Always have a glass of fresh water for her.

Greet her when you pass her by.

Try to honor her twice daily - morning and night.

Simple offerings work. Candles of all kinds, tequila, red wine, cigarettes or cigars smoked and blown on her, Copal resin incense, anointing oil, food, flowers, chocolate. She appreciates money, handmade items, owl statues, written prayers and requests, among many things.

Don't ever attempt to lie to her.

Lose that envy.

Make prayer on your terms. If you don't like prayer (I don't) tell her. There will be arrangements made for you, so no worries.

Also, use whatever prayers you resonate with. If you like Catholic prayer, use it. Pagan prayer, use it. If you do not like prayer, that's okay. Death understands.

Try focusing on one color of Santa Muerte at a time. I suggest the traditional white, red, and black. Start with White Santa if you have illness - such as physical pain or mental illness. See her for ultimate heavenly protection. If you have self-love or relationship problems, go to the Roja Santa. If you have a typical life with the good and bad, trials, joy - but need balance and structure, see the Black Santa. Suggestions, nothing more.

Do not just go to her for trabajos (works). She's not a magical genie.

Keep in mind that her miracles vary in size. When you may want a big change, she may bring you several smaller ones you're more apt to handle.

The size of the offering doesn't matter; it is the intent.

Remember that some other beings and entities do not like Santa Muerte and vice versa. You'll feel a clash oft times. For instance, some Palo nkisi only can tolerate Santa's La Negra and Dorada aspect. True? I experienced it. Some ask if Santa is jealous of other beings. Only if she's not honored or not honored FIRST.

The more candles the better - load up her shrine with as many flames as safe and as possible! Many sizes, many types, even LED! White, black, red, pink, orange, blue, purple, green, brown, Siete Colares, òracion candles, image candles, hexing candles, velas preparadas hechizos, you freaking name it - all to her altar for light and magical purposes.

Did Santa not grant your trabajo? Likely, at some point you stopped your fervency and lust for result. Its not her. You have to have the exact same passion everyday or her power wanes. No joke. She's a saint, she is non-corporeal and only feels when we feel - so you have to engage her with human emotion. Otherwise, your prayer is just another "rando human cry" to her, that she may consider granting when she gets tired of the incessant whining. For serious. Why do you all think some ppl fear her? Think about it! No accident or misconception here. Sorry white lighters. Santa is absolutely EVIL too. Why? She's there for everyone. Not just good regular folks but ALL types of criminals - not just drug traffickers. We are talking human trafficking, murder...you name it, Santa covers it. I've read of Santa Muerte getting *human* sacrifices for protection of these gang members in Mexico and South America. Don't fucking tell me Santa Muerte is "love and light" because she isn't!!! And no, I didn't read of these things online or in newspapers like "News of the World" tabloid garbage. I've seen it in local Tucson papers years back along with some Texas papers. This is because of Santa's growing popularity, especially in Southern border states. I used to live in Tucson, many years ago. Anyway - I digress.

Santa isn't to be treated like a lovey dovey cutie pie that happens to have a flesh ripping scythe... No, no...so don't baby talk her. I know some ppl do. Yes, she's an abuela but she can knock you on your ass so watch it little niñas. 😉 Careful, she has a temper.

No matter what your prayers say, try NOT to beg Santa for help. You may feel better not begging. But don't pay attention to me if you are Catholic or that's your background since that's all you know. I found that begging placed me down too many pegs. As a magician, you are taught that you have your own Will and it is highest. Old Crowley said: "Do what thou wilt." You don't need to beg another being because a magician has their own power. You have your own power, embrace it!

I keep hearing ppl say that they want to "give in to Santa" to be rid of some illness, be it mental, physical or - they want to give up everything to get a certain love relationship, etc. I say: Pls - DON'T give up anything!!!! Why not? Because the liklihood of Santa granting your prayers is about 30% in reality. Low numbers, yes. In reality, Santa doesn't fully answer everyone's prayers. Her fervent followers just see meaning in workaday things that SEEM like her answering their prayers. When Santa does answer a prayer, she is involved somehow. A situation ends up with something directly related to her. It happens to me. For instance: I was WILLING for trabajos. I was reaching below a cupboard to get my Santa Muerte Dorada (gold) statue to put her on my Santa altar. I was touching her statue when all of a sudden, I got a message from a client who wanted to pay me to do an offering to Santa Muerte for them. I did the offering. Then - more trabajos kept flowing in. Any prayers? No. Begging? No. Was she involved? Directly, yes.

Does Santa Muerte heal the sick? If its her prerogative, yes. But when I was on my death bed with pneumonia, she refused to heal me (but she came to me in a near death experience) saying that the actual human life is trifles and she cared about the living because the actual life "force" (Qi transformed to HTDE, my hypothesis) is the most powerful energy in the universe. She said death energy and HTDE is good for death workers to use but has no particular use for her! She sees just our force, or Qi as useful then. Some emotions like love, she appreciates and gives us lovey abuela feelings back. If Roja, she will lust, but not cheaply. La Negra is very serious. Her love becomes like vines. She'll choke you, be careful. Totally serious, you will not breathe right.

Misconceptions: Santa Muerte is jealous all the time. Nope. She is in certain situations, yes. If you put an unknown deity on her altar is one. If you dishonor her rank (She's FIRST in the household, sorry to ruffle feathers here), she'll be hell on wheels. Don't think Santa Muerte has preferences? Do a skin sacrifice and dedicate yourself to her. Then you get to know the real abuela. About black magic, like hexes or curses: Whether you believe in karma or not, if the curse wasn't just in Santa Muerte's eyes, you will face her retribution. She bears the time piece (hour glass) - its only a matter of time - keep in mind - that she bears the scythe, so its only a matter of time before she reaps you. And no, I have no belief in paganism. I'm a monotheist, I'm not a believer in the Wiccan Threefold Law either.

Santa Muerte is inexorably drawn to human drama because she's so concerned with our emotions, when real. She despises "followers" with false pretense and faux emotions. Cry real tears but from a crocodile! Santa Muerte can see the difference and she will punish - usually accidents, bad luck, relationship troubles, life imbalance, financial problems, and spiritual haunting.

Santa Muerte plays favorites. She prefers the lower and working class ppl in the world. It does NOT matter if her jewelry is real gold or silver. Its hers. It doesn't matter if your home is shabby. She's there. It doesn't matter if you can't afford a statue, use a photo on your phone, a book, a magazine, whatever! Pray or intone your feelings to her. Play her songs, draw her, write for her! Dedicate your space to her. Now, Santa Muerte doesn't get jealous of her other aspects - in case anyone has wondered that. Yes, as I said above, Santa Muerte will get jealous of other beings if she's not honored first and separately on her OWN altar. Pls just do not mix Santa Muerte with other beings, Saint or not. I don't have a silly reason. She doesn't like it. The ONLY beings I had no issues with were Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and these were candles - that's it!! Don't get me started about a "pagan" version of Santa Muerte - her um...ancient avatar...lol!! 😂 Mictecacihuatl is not Santa Muerte. You can choose to honor her as a pagan goddess of death but don't equate her with dear Santa because of pure association alone. The symbolism isn't the same. Mictecacihuatl had no scythe. Santa Muerte isn't associated with serpents and had no husband. Things don't add up. Just read carefully and research. And with Santa Muerte never assume anything!!!

Pls like & repost!

Salve, Santísima Muerte. ¡Mi señora de las tinieblas! Mi huesuda dama, gobernante de la muerte y vigilante de las almas!

M.M. 💖💀💖

[highmidvoiddemon]

The Warriors of Death

You suffered a long and slow battle. Strength drained out of you, as your body was further claimed by the illness. Your world grew smaller: limited range of motion, the decrease of an appetite, loss of energy. It progressed until all you knew was the world that could be seen from your bed. 

There was nothing you could do. You tried every treatment. Trusted every doctor when they suggested a new test that was thought to provide more answers. You put up a good fight. You did all you could. 

You only felt acceptance in that moment. You settle into your bed. Laying down, falling deeper into the pillows, with the blankets pulled up tight. Ready to close your eyes one last time, willing to drift away, when a figure appeared in your vision. 

A rippling black cloak was floating above your bed. Face hidden behind the veil of darkness. One skeleton hand was sticking out of the cloak holding a scythe aimed at your head. 

You had no strength to try and fight. It was the fateful moment and the Grim Reaper was there to collect another soul. You accepted the end. Closing your eyes, waiting for the final swing. 

You did not drift off. You were not released from the mortal plane. You felt the blankets against your skin. A breeze from the open window rushed across your face. The clock in the corner continued to tick. The moments went by. All the while the figure remained before you. Waiting for your final breath. 

Slowly with the last of your energy you opened your eyes, willing them to just end everything. 

They stood with their scythe at their side. Not pointed at you like you had originally thought. They watched over you, choosing to protect someone who will soon join their world. 

They reached out a skeleton hand towards you. It was a ghostly limb becoming corporal just near the fingers in order to make contact. 

You stare at the figure. The cloak of shadows existing between the worlds of life and death. Phrasing between realities. Armed and trained to destroy should the need arrive. Yet you did not feel like you were in danger.  

The hand remained outstretched. A kind invitation to the journey beyond. A guide offering protection. A spirit offering friendship. 

You reach your hand out. Accepting all that is offered. The glow of the bone fingers spread to you. It was a homemade  blanket. It was a perfect cup of hot chocolate. It was the night light shining in your childhood room. The warmth and security, promising that you would be safe. 

Carefully they pulled you out of your own body. Guiding you to stand up. A soft blue glow surrounded you. No longer physical, finding a place to belong in another world. 

On the bed remained your body. Appearing to be peacefully sleeping. Comfortable in every way. Lifeless and still, cold and final. That life was over. One life ended though your story was far from over. 

The reaper tightened their grip on your hand. The added pressure working as a tether. They were giving themself as an anchor, ensuring that you were not to be lost. 

“I am going to lead you through the barrier into the worlds of death.” Their voice was a steady force. Strong and gentle. A warm embrace, and a guiding hand. “You are to hold onto me while we travel, I will work to protect you.” 

“Why do I need protection?” The day had already been a lot. You died. You were proven wrong about what lay beyond. Expecting and accepting the inevitable nothingness only to find out about the continued existence. And now the implication of dangers lying in waiting that you weren't prepared for. 

They squeezed your hand. A couple of pulses to reassure. Even if battles awaited you over the barrier they were going to protect you. 

“There are people that the universe has judged for eternal torment. Those souls fight the newly dead in hopes that they would be able to be free and make it to the paradise that was approved for you.” 

“I don’t know how to fight.” The last decade of your life has been spent in and out of the hospital. You had been fighting for so long. You were so tired. Death was supposed to be the end. You didn’t have it in you to keep fighting. 

“You have fought enough.”  They looked with respect and approval into your soul Before them stood a warrior in your own right. “You fought so well. Let me fight for you and you could make it to your paradise.” 

You expected the Grim Reaper to come. A figure in a sweeping black cloak, armed with a scythe that would be swung to bring about your final breath. Before you was someone that matched everything in terms of physical appearance, but altered so much in personality. 

They were not going to kill you. You were already dead. You were not in any danger, for they would ensure you were protected. 

“Okay.” You squeeze their hand. Finding courage through them.

They took a step forward. Pulling you through the walls. 

On the other side you found yourself in a corrupted distortion of the world. 

Everything was cracked and sharpened. The trees grew upside down with blood dripping from the roots. Growls and roars rang out in the distance. The air itself was thick with smoke, a pungent toxin that would fill any soul trapped within the realm. 

Two rivers flowed from opposite mountains. One a sickly green turning and churning to craft the perfect poison, one of flame with the fires growing and roiling, ready to eat anyway at anything that came near. 

“You must stay on to me.” They stepped onto a bridge. A thin platform held up by nothing. A single path of safety surrounded by the dangers that were designed to erase people from existence entirely. 

They walked in front of you, holding your hand, searching for the creature foolish enough to make the first move. The souls wishing to escape torment, the ones transformed to reflect their true nature, the ones cursed beyond belief, waiting around the bend, seeking the slightest chance at freedom. 

You took a couple of steps forward. Looking at them with a silent question. Wondering if it always took this long for the creatures to appear. Searching down below for any sign of the undead life. 

They swung their scythe, slicing into the creature that was almost at your foot. The festering slimy rat exploded into blue light. A soul returned and the signal of your presence had been set out. 

Bat flew down. With wings so sharp they could slice through anything, and teeth sticking out in every direction, they reached out to grab onto you with their talons. 

The Grim Reaper spun their scythe around. A tornado of precision that worked to hit every creature in the flock. Every last bat exploded into the blue light. The glow worked as an acid to further danger the approaching creatures.

The creatures moved with a symphony of discomfort: of nails on a chalkboard, a ticking of a clock, and people chewing too loud. Each creature was dead several times over.  Skin was ripped off their bodies. Pieces of themselves were missing, and blood was pouring out of any open hole. They were made out of mold and fungus as well as bone and trash. Every nightmare pushed together, sharpened, and destroyed again only for them to be sent off on the remaining world. 

The Grim Reaper swung their scythe. Cutting through the next wave. Blue light spread across the sky. 

They were fighting the battle on all sides. A single creature made it through the defense. A ball of spikes rolled against your ankle. A single puncture cutting through to your soul. You were being eaten away, turned into nothingness itself. 

You were so cold, simply ceasing to be. Panic swelled within you. You accepted your death. It was inevitable and came for all. This was not supposed to happen. Death was supposed to be the end, and now your protection was letting you be eaten into nothingness. 

“Help.” You shook your leg trying to get the creature off of you. 

The creature dug in deeper. Rolling for another spike to make contact and dig into your soul. The coldness expanded. Part of you was disappearing. Soon you would simply cease to be. “Please, help me.” 

The Grim Reaper swung their scythe in your direction, puncturing the creature in the blue explosion. 

They pulled you further behind them. Spinning the scythe as they moved across the platform. In a graceful display they kept you safe continuously spinning themself as they stepped backwards and fought off the creatures. 

You hid your face into their cloak. Avoiding the flashes of lights, seeking extra protection from possible attacks. 

The spinning came to a stop. The scythe was back by their side. They remained holding your hand. “You can open your eyes now.” 

Before you stood a golden door. Bright and shiny. Wonderfully engraved to show you moments of your life. 

“You made it through, please open the door.” The reaper gently commanded. 

You reach out a hand to grab a hold of the door knob. It was warm to the touch. Welcoming and inviting you to pass through. 

You opened the door. The most beautiful world was waiting for you. Bright colors that you had never seen before. The softest and the cutest animals were running by. Flowers with beautiful patterns. It was a picture out of your dreams. 

You stepped through the door. Closing your eyes you absorbed the light into your skin. The air was clear. Everything felt just as it was meant to be. 

The reaper let go off your hand. They were floating above the ground. The cloaked entity, a warrior of death and shadows with one more mission recorded as a success. 

The reaper closed the door, causing it to disappear in a flash of light. 

“What comes next?” Your plans ended with your death. 

“You can do anything and nothing.” 

“Can I train to be like you?” That was a clear purpose. For so long you have been fighting for yourself to merely survive. Now you had the opportunity to fight for someone else. 

The reaper did not say anything. Thinking of a response that would work to not anger and crush the recently deceased. “Give it a century before you join, enjoy your paradise.” 

They placed a hand on your shoulder. One last moment of support before you were left alone free to explore all that laid beyond.

[themotherofrevelation]

How can a wounded feminine heal her relationship with the masculine in general

Heal the father wound; heal your relationship with God the Father/Brahmā. Heal male-inflicted wounds, and retrieve your frozen selves. Trauma fragments consciousness. Health is wholeness; health is the realization of oneness.

Womban is the creator of man/sculptor in the sky; man is womban’s creation. As womban, you are man’s graceway to corporeal and eternal life. Man is your buttress-sanctuary. Your throat (cervix) is the heart of your power. Your internal voice is your shepherdess; your external voice is Kali Maa’s scythe of radical truth. Engage gentlemen with crystalline intent and firm boundaries. High standards repel low-quality men.

[tanz0mattic]

there's two scenarios that could happen when a mentor leaves

they could become a chunk of anxiety and mess (scythe chanel)

or they could become a sadistic killing machine (josi gluck)

@sp1derbitez