#so hauntingly tragic

[190thnight]

angel (1999) has the best opening theme of any tv show ever like nothing comes close

[momentomori24]

"So I pretend

that I'll see you again and that I'll save you

from all the things I failed to

now I'm without you

I can't forgive the wrongs I've done you

but now you're gone forever

and I remember

How bright you shined on your own

yet I remain alone..."

Damn.

The lyrics are so achingly Shadow coded. I think we need a full version of this song in Sonadow Generations, y'all.

[jacksonpayneblog]

in another life, i would make you stay

(credits to whoever posted this on facebook, i was a cheapo and stole it off there haha)

[goji-pilled]

god how i love the shaman village

[crehador]

brother crab's winter 2024 parting thoughts: kyuujitsu no warumono-san

asanuma-san...........................

[nightingale-prompts]

(Kutos to the person who started calling this AU the Beholder AU. You are so real and valid.)

Beholder AU - DC X DP prompt

More here

This AU is basically about what Ghosts have a different definition of what is attractive which is reversed from what humans consider beautiful.

The more pale, waxy, and lifeless you appear the more beautiful you are. Of course, every ghost has their own preference. Some prefer more greenish skin others like gray. Some like what humans consider ugly or repulsive.

Its not just looks that they are chamed by. Scarecrow is considered a heartthrob because of his ability to cause fear which to ghosts makes him a good previder, a ghost you see yourself settling down with. Strength is a deciding factor in most old-fashioned courting.

There is an inverse of this. Humans are drawn to ghosts as well. Not every ghost of course because just like some ghosts are drawn to deathly humans there are humans drawn to lively ghosts.

Ghosts that are considered ugly to other ghosts are beautiful to humans.

Danny has the misfortune of not being the hottest of ghosts. In fact undeath has made him appear downright lovely.

His skin turned into a perfect inhumane porcelain. Not a scratch, blemish, or mark. His skin was so clear and smooth you'd confuse him for a marble statue. His skin was only tinted by green-tinted blush that dusted his cheeks and shoulders.

Danny's eyes weren't creepy at all. They had rings of blue and green. If you stared into them you'd see flickering stars. You'd get lost in them rather than being paralyzed in fear. They weren't even bloodshot and no bags under them.

It was a travesty.

His fangs weren't even that big and no sharp nails on long gnarled fingers. Danny looked healthy and youthful with full cheeks and pearly teeth. You could mistake him for a model.

Lets not even mention the hair! It was silver! Soft. No flames. Not even oily and unwashed.

The other ghost found it tragic that every imperfection was erased without even a crooked tooth. How would the poor boy find a partner? Even with his power how could someone overlook the lack of fearsome traits.

Even Clockwork couldn't help but sigh. Even just a few beastly traits would help the boy. But there were none.

The problem on Danny's end was that while humans found him attractive he was a bit too attractive. Some call it uncanny, hauntingly beautiful or photoshopped. Like he walked out of a book or magazine cover. Which made him unapproachable by most people.

[janeyseymour]

You Matter To Me

Summary: Based off of the stunningly and hauntingly beautiful song in the musical Waitress, by Sara Bareilles. After years of hiding, you're going to let yourself free, with the help of Melissa.

If you haven't heard this song, I highly suggest listening to it, and crying like I do.

WC: ~2.9k

Your life hasn’t been good for… as long as you can remember, if you’re being honest. It’s been train wreck after train wreck. But unlike some of those around you (your mother, your sister, your brother), you’ve changed the cycle and changed the game- or at least tried to. You took all of those years of abuse and neglect from your father and became a teacher at Abbott Elementary. Your only goal in life is to make sure those kids are as loved and as cared for as they can possibly be by you. Teachers saved your life all those years ago, so if you can be that person for even just one student, you know you’ve made your mark on this world.

The only thing that’s the same about your life compared to your family’s is that you… you made a choice, a not so great choice, when it came to who you were going to marry.

It started back in high school when you fell for a boy who used to sing and play guitar, serenading you. You, in true teenager fashion (and maybe a little naivety), fell for a boy and his boyish charm. He’s been by your side since. Mason has been by your side since, and while you’ve grown up, he hasn’t.

When your mother died, he stuck by you though. He took you in when you were faced with either barely scraping by on your own or moving back in with your father… he saved you from poverty for the rest of your life and from the abuse that your father would without a doubt hurl at you if you were to go back to him. 

He proposed to you with a lousy ring, and because you figured that you were lucky enough to find what you thought was love, you stayed. You married him. And you wish you wouldn’t have.

Because now, what were once warm kisses and sweet songs dedicated to you have morphed into hungry, horny kisses and smashed guitars during fits of rage. And it… it’s turned into an almost perfect side by side of what your mother’s marriage was before she passed away tragically.

You hold what happens at home to yourself- there’s no need to burden those around you with you problems. So, you throw yourself into teaching and making the world a bit brighter in the small ways that you can.

At school, you’re a part of quite the crew: a veteran kindergarten teacher who is as regal as the queen, a quirky man who is all about social justice (and you’re sure if you went to him for help, he would have resources for you in a flash, a custodian who lives life to the fullest, two younger teachers who have finally found each other, a principal that is all play, and then… a fiery redhead known for being tough as nails but turns to butter for you.

You’re quiet, timid- you always have been. That’s just been part of your personality for as long as you can remember. Or maybe the lively and effervescent side of you was beaten out of you by your father. Any normal person would not pick up on the subtle signs of abuse that you show.

But Melissa Schemmenti does. And it breaks her heart to know that you’re hurting, or at least to think that she knows you’re hurting. It’s part of why she puts her ‘tough as nails’ act aside when you’re around- she doesn’t want to startle you. She doesn’t want you to feel as unsafe as you usually do when you aren’t within the confines of the school.

During your preps, Melissa finds her way into your room quite often for an extra cup of coffee and to discuss things that happen at the school. But today, you really aren’t feeling it.

Mason was brutal last night. You’re hurting all over, and you really don’t feel like having to cover up what is happening off school grounds. So, instead of keeping your door open during prep as you usually do, the door is shut. Your lights are off, and you gently hold an ice pack to the bruises on your ribs inflicted on you from the previous night. You have a heating pad on your back for the soreness that you feel from an injury in the past. You settle into your chair, prop your feet up on a student chair, and try to get as comfortable as possible before resting your head against the back of your chair. Your eyes close as you try to adjust to the cool sensation on your front and the hot sensation on your back, hoping to get at least a few minutes of shuteye in before you have to pick your kids up again. Your husband kept you up most of last night- first with his actions, then with the consequences of his actions on your aching body, and finally his incessant snoring.

You feel like you’ve rested your eyes for about thirty seconds before you hear the door to your classroom open. Your body can’t take you moving too quickly at the moment though, so you just come to terms with the fact that whoever is at the door caught you with your feet propped up and eyes closed. At least they can’t see the bag of ice you have under your sweatshirt, or the heating pad that you’re leaning against.

“Hun?” Melissa knocks on your doorframe softly before taking a few steps into the room. “You okay?”

I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes. They’ve seen things you never quite say, but I hear. Come out of hiding, I’m right here beside you. And I’ll stay there as long as you’ll let me.

You open your eyes and turn your head just slightly to look at her, and… she wasn’t quite ready for you to look at her the way you do. As you look at her tiredly, she can see the pain and exhaustion of the things that you refuse to say aloud. She hears the things that you never quite say, but she can hear it clearly in her head. She knows those eyes aren’t just perpetual exhaustion.

“Just tired,” you say softly as you subconsciously pull at your sweatshirt, making sure that she can’t see the slight bulge of the ice pack. “Mason and I were up late last night.”

The redhead lifts a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly. “Just… tired is all.”

The second grade teacher catches the way that you hesitate in your response, and she wants to beg you to just tell her the truth- to come out of hiding. Tell her everything that she thinks is happening is true so that she can help you get away from the situation you’ve found yourself in. Instead, she just holds up the cup of coffee she brought you and steps in a few paces further. Melissa sets the coffee mug on your desk and pulls up a chair next to you before taking your hand softly.

You look at her with a confused look. Why is she holding your hand suddenly? The two of you have flirted innocently, but she knows you have a husband.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m right here beside you,” Melissa tells you with as much heart as she can pour into those few words.

You hum quietly as you reach forward just slightly to grab the cup of liquid gold. In doing so, the icepack crinkles under your shirt. Your eyes widen just slightly as you go to adjust it quickly.

“Y/N,” she whispers. And in that moment, you know she knows. Fuck.

“I- I bumped into my counter on the way out the door this morning,” you try to excuse weakly. It doesn’t do you much good, because the green eyes that you’ve looked into so often see right through your lie.

It’s odd to see a few tears prick at the corner of Melissa’s eyes, and it’s an even worse feeling to know that you’re the one who caused them. “Mel, I- Don’t cry. I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” the usually tough teacher’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “I wish you would just… come out of hiding. Tell me what I think I already know. I’ll- I’ll be right here beside you through it all, and I’ll stay there as long as you’ll let me.”

Because you matter to me, simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody. You matter to me. I promise you do, you, you matter too. I promise you do, you see? You matter to me.

You bite the bottom of your lip before nodding, just barely. “But I’ll be fine. I’ve always been fine.��

“You are not fine right now,” Melissa counters.

“I’m used to not being fine,” you mumble. “But I will be… just keep having to hold out hope, and I’ll get there.”

“What if you aren’t?”

“As long as my kids here are safe and okay for as long as I’m here, I will be,” is all you can tell her.

“Do you not understand that you matter to me?” your colleague asks you quietly. “That you matter to all of us here? It’s simple and plain as that. I promise you- the way that those kids matter to you is the way that you matter to us, and we need you to be okay.”

“I will be,” is all you can offer. “Now, if you’ll leave me be…” you request softly, as much as you don’t want her to go away. But you know that if you don’t ask her to exit the room, everything will finally come tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it. And with Melissa and her connections, who knows what could happen to Mason. For as much shit as he’s put you through, he’s still your husband. He still saved you from hell all those years ago. You… you still love him. Through good times and bad, right?

The redhead doesn’t want to leave you alone right now- afraid that if she does, something horrible will happen to you- something more horrible than what is now confirmed to her. But you asked her to leave you be for your prep, so she nods silently. You feel a gentle hand squeeze your own again before the warmth of it fades away. You close your eyes again and try to relax into your chair, but a pair of lips just barely brush against your temple, and a soft voice tells you that she will always be there for you whenever you’re ready.

The rest of the day passes by as you simply give into your body’s desire to teach from your chair. You pack your things and quietly make your way out of the building without running into any of your coworkers, by some miracle.

As you pull up to your house, your bright and beautiful and non-assuming home, you breathe out a sigh. The outside looks like a happy couple lives there- decorated with beautiful landscaping and flowers. You allow yourself to reminisce about how life used to be when you were a happy and healthy couple, and for a few minutes you pretend that you are still that happy woman, dreaming about a different life from the rest of your family. But as you open up the front door and see the shattered plates, the smashed guitar, and the angry fist shaped hole in the wall, reality crashes down on you.

With a few pained grunts and groans, you’re able to clean up the wreck that lies in your kitchen- that seems to be where most of your troubles find you these days. And it sucks, because the kitchen used to be your favorite room in the house. Cooking and baking used to be the one thing that would take you from the hellish place on Earth you found yourself in and transport you to a world where everything was okay- even just for a few minutes. You’ve come to hate being in the kitchen.

You settle on the couch with a slice of leftover pizza and a beer, although you then realize that the television remote is not where you usually leave it. So, as you munch on your dinner, an ice pack pressed delicately to your ribs, you allow your mind to wander. 

It’s addictive the minute you let yourself think, the things that I say just might matter to someone. All of this time I’ve been keeping my mind on the running away, and for the first time I think I’d consider the stay.

Your thoughts take you to what had taken place during your prep today. Melissa knows. You know Melissa knows. And she’s still telling you she’ll stand by you. She practically begged you to verbally confirm what she knows, and then to come out of hiding and tell her everything. She promised you that she would be there for you for as long as you would let her. And… and you believe her. You believe that if you told her about your life away from the school and outside of being Miss Y/N, the things that you would tell her would matter to her. And that… that thought becomes addicting.

All of this time, you’ve been thinking about the day where you would finally be able to get away from your husband- the second bank account that you secretly open is finally starting to look like something that you could fall back onto as you begin your new life. You’ve been thinking about just faking your death and running away to another place far, far away from here to get away from Mason. Of course, in doing that, you would have to leave Abbott and the city that has captured your heart from the time that you could walk, but it would be worth it to get away- at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

But now, you’re considering the stay for the first time. Not staying with your husband of course- but staying in Philadelphia. You’re imagining a life where you could maybe… just maybe, still be able to make it here in this city. You have a support system behind you apparently. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you that the Abbott crew would have your back, but after being alone in this world for so long, after being told time and time again that he is the only person who could love someone like you, it takes you by surprise.

Because you matter to me, simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody. You matter to me. I promise you do, you, you matter too. I promise you do, you see? You matter to me.

You’re not quite sure when you picked up your phone, as your finger hovers over your redheaded coworkers number. Before you lose your nerve, you call her.

She picks up after just one ring, and she sounds concerned. “Y/N?”

You weren’t really expecting her to pick up, but she did. And you have no idea what to say. You know what you want to say, but you still can’t quite get those words out. So you settle for a, “You matter to me too.”

Her low voice whispers out a, “Are you okay?”

Your shoulders shrug, as if she could see you through the phone call. You don’t answer her question. Instead you say, “It’s simple, and plain, and not much to ask from somebody, but you matter to me too. I promise. You matter to me.”

“Hun,” Melissa breathes quietly. “Hun, you aren’t making sense. Are you okay?”

You just repeat the sentiment again, letting her know how much you care for her. You let her know that your heart loves Abbott.

“Y/N,” the second grade teacher stops your rambling. “Y/N, I need you to tell me what’s happening right now. Do I- Do I need to come over there? Call the police? Are you okay?”

“I-” The dam breaks, and you begin to hiccup sobs out in earnest.

“Hun,” Melissa’s voice is soft, warm. “I- Can you tell me where you are?”

“My house,” you choke out. “I- I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry.”

“Stay where you are,” the redhead tells you. “I’m on my way over.”

Before you can protest, telling her that you don’t want her to see the dark and dismal space that you inhabit, she hangs up.

After threatening your boss, Melissa is given your address, and she speeds her way to your house. She doesn’t even have to knock on the door before you open it and fling yourself at her. Your body tries to tell you how much you shouldn’t be doing this- your heart racing, your ribs on fire. But as you hold onto her, and the tears pour down your face and hit her leather jacket, you can’t find it in you to hold back anymore.

After years of hiding and being afraid of your own shadow, not knowing if it was yours or someone else’s, you’re about to come out of hiding. You’re about to attempt to claw your way out of this hellhole that you call a life. Hopefully, everything will change with the help of Melissa.

Part 2

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie

[fandomfloozy]

Ok say less

Are we still talking about aot? Can I talk about aot?

[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[boymanmaletheshequel]

One facet of Hellenistic and Roman, /Greco Roman paganism that I’ve always found extremely interesting to me, is how inherently human and relatable it’s gods, and their correlating counterparts are, especially when compared to deities in other ancient religions. They are divine, of course, this is made clear enough, but they all have aspects and traits to them that are inherently human. Rage, lust, joy, love, conflict. They represent, if nothing else, key elements of humanity and the human condition, which is something that no other ancient religion I’ve studied quite compares to in the same way. And not only that, but their relationship to people and humans as gods is clearly very symbiotic. They rely on their subjects for their fulfillment, interact with them directly on a regular basis, and often times even respect and revere them as not necessarily always equals, but as at the very least, creatures worthy of their consideration and respect, sometimes even falling in love with, and baring children with them. This is something that doesn’t really happen in any other ancient religion I’ve seen, sure, there are aspects of it in them, but not nearly are they portrayed as objectively or centrally as they are in Hellenism and Roman paganism. Each god represents some aspect of humanity in ways that are inherently non-Devine, Aphrodite is a lover, sometimes desperate to a vulnerable degree you wouldn’t expect a god to be. Dionysus is regularly consumed by madness as a result of his addiction and mental illness, and falls into spirals of depravity that are hauntingly ungodly. Artemis hunts even though she doesn’t need to, she respects her body as a goddess woman just as much as any human woman would, and fights back just as violently as well. Apollo finds much of his joy and happiness through the humans he falls in love with, and faces much of his suffering and sadness through them as well. Persephone fucking dies. maybe not literally in the sense of human, medical death, but absolutely metaphorically, and the grief her mother Demeter experiences is so inherently human, and so shockingly, gut wrenchingly tragic, that it is pretty obvious that this is what her story is meant to represent: a divine allegory for death and grief, an element that so many religions completely separate from their deities. Even Zeus, the primary deity, is a father figure who’s connection and relativity to fatherhood as seen in human men is almost identical. and if it weren’t for the pre-established lore and status of him as a an extremely powerful deity, there are moments in his Mythos where you might even forget that he’s a god, an all powerful, all divine, objectively non human god to begin with. I think it’s what makes Hellenism so emotional and so drawing to me, and to many other pagans, it’s a relationship that is mutual, and relatable, which is an element that is lacking in so many religions, even the major ones like Christianity and Islam. Yes, there are still elements of this in those religions, but it always feels like the stories constantly hammer in the fact that they are divine, so divine, so utterly unrelatable, so inherently disconnected from their subjects and their plights as a superior enitity, that there’s a limit to how connected one can feel to them. In hellenismos, this limit doesn’t seem to exist, and that’s something that makes it so much more personal and fascinating to me than any other religion I’ve studied. The gods are us, and we are the gods. At the end of the day, I think that’s what all religions should be about, and ultimately, are about, wether we realize it or not.

[mizimuse]

How they flirts(and failed miserably)||Slytherin boys+Pansy edition

Draco Malfoy

Thinks he’s the next Casanova but ends up sounding like a confused goblin

“So, uh, do you like... um, Quidditch? Because I’m really good at, uh, flying. My dad says I’m practically the best!” Can we get a round of applause for the confidence?

Compliments are his specialty, but they always have a catch.

“You look almost decent today. Did you borrow that robe from someone who actually has style?” Thanks for the backhanded compliment, Draco!

When trying to impress you, he ends up revealing his biggest weakness: pumpkin juice.

“Did you know I can drink two gallons of pumpkin juice in one sitting? Impressive, right?!” You’re definitely setting the bar high for romance!

Ends every conversation with an exit so dramatic it could win an Oscar.

“Fine! I didn’t want to discuss feelings anyway!” And he slams the door like he’s in a soap opera.

Mattheo Riddle

Wears a leather jacket and tries to act cool but just looks like he’s auditioning for a rock band.

“Your beauty is like a rare potion... uh, that I can’t quite brew, so I’ll just stare at you awkwardly” So smooth, Mattheo.

Serenades you with his guitar, but it sounds like a banshee wailing.

“Close your eyes and pretend it’s beautiful! I’m going for the ‘hauntingly tragic’ vibe”

Gets lost in his own metaphors, and you’re just there, confused.

“You’re like a unicorn in a world of goblins—magical but also, like, why are you here?”

Acts all tough but is secretly a marshmallow.

“If you ever need someone to cry with during a rom-com, I’m your guy... but only after I finish this pint of ice cream”

Theodore Nott

Sweet and shy, but when he tries to flirt, you can’t tell if he’s asking for directions.

“Hey, I just wanted to say, uh, your eyes are, um, really shiny? Like, super shiny-Not like my shoes, which are just... well, shoes.”

Blushes harder than a tomato, and you can practically see the steam rising.

“I was totally not staring at you! Just, um, observing the ceiling.It’s very... ceiling-like.”

His flirting attempts are like a train wreck; you can’t look away.

“Would you want to... um, go to Hagrid’s hut? It’s, uh, cozy and stuff.Maybe with, like, butterbeer?”

Tries to show off his magical skills but ends up summoning his own sock instead.

“Look! I can do magic! Uh, wait, that’s my sock. Let’s pretend that was planned”

Blaise Zabini

Struts around like he’s in a muggle music video, but his pick-up lines are straight out of a 90s rom-com.

“You must be a Quidditch player because you just scored in my heart! Or maybe that’s just the butterbeer talking?”

His flirty banter is so cringe, you wonder if he’s doing it for a laugh.

“If you were a potion, you’d be Amortentia... because you smell like my grandma’s old perfume, which is kind of nostalgic mama”

Thinks he’s mysterious, but really he’s just a goofball in a cloak.

“I’m like a dragon; I can breathe fire! But don’t worry, I only use it on enemies... and the occasional snack”

Gets distracted mid-flirt, and you’re left wondering what just happened.

“So, you’re like really pretty, but have you seen my new broomstick? It’s, like, super fast! Like me... when I’m late to class”

Tom Riddle

Tries to act like he’s from a gothic novel, but really, he’s just a dramatic puppy.

Compliments from him are rare and sound like he’s reciting an ancient curse.“Your hair... it’s... um, not terrible. I suppose it suits you.”

When you trip or drop your books, he doesn’t rush to help; he just raises an eyebrow, and you can practically feel the frostbite.

“You should really work on your coordination. It’s quite pathetic, really.”

Thinks he’s being suave but is really just awkwardly intense.

You’d think he has a heart of ice, but there are moments when he catches you looking at him, and a flicker of something soft flashes in his eyes.

“What are you staring at? It’s not like I’m the best thing here. There are better things—like this book I’m reading.”

His idea of romance? Bringing you a cursed object and telling you, “It’s dangerous. Just like me. But I thought you’d appreciate the thrill.”

“I’m not trying to be charming. This is just who I am. But... you can keep the cursed object if you want. No strings attached.”

Pansy Parkinson

Flirts by roasting you harder than a marshmallow over a campfire.

“Oh, you think you’re cute? Sweetie, even my house-elf has more charm than you”

Compliments sound like they’re laced with sarcasm and glitter.

“You look fabulous today.Did you finally figure out how to dress, or did you just lose a bet?”

Has a way of turning every flirtation into a playful fight.

“I dare you to ask me out. Or are you too scared? I won’t bite... unless it’s dinner”

Always has a backup plan and can pivot her flirtation to pure chaos.

“If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine! I’ll just set you up with Draco. Good luck with that; he’s secretly a ferret”

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Out of Place (Seriel Killer! loki)

Summary: you're haunted by the narrative of Loki.

WC: 729

Warnings: serial killer au, angst

Read on Ao3

--

The dark alley stretched out ahead of you, blackened with darkness. You shouldn't have come here, but your gut told you there was something to find. Something important. Something deadly.

As the wind howled through the empty streets, you clutched your flashlight tighter, its dim beam barely cutting through the inky blackness. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. Footsteps echoed from behind.Spinning on your heel, you aimed your light towards the source of the noise, heart racing.

Loki.

He leaned casually against the brick wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. There was something hauntingly beautiful about him. And dangerous.

“You were never supposed to be here,” he said, his voice velvet-smooth, but carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your grip steady. You knew who he was—knew what he was. The papers called him many things, but you knew the truth. Loki Laufeyson, the serial killer whose name was whispered in fear across the city.

“What are you doing here?” you shot back, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Loki pushed off the wall, his movements slow, deliberate, almost predatory as he walked toward you. “I could ask you the same, darling,” he purred. “But I think we both know the answer.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay rooted in place. “I’m here because of you. People are dying, and I’m going to stop you.. Loki, you have to stop this madness.”

Loki chuckled, low and dark, his emerald eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, sweet thing. You really think you can stop me?” He was closer now, too close. The cold air between you seemed to shrink until his presence was overwhelming.

You took a step back, but he matched it instantly, almost as though you were waltzing with him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said, though your voice betrayed you with a slight quiver.

Loki tilted his head, studying you with those piercing eyes. “No,” he mused softly. “You’re not afraid. That’s what makes you interesting.”

He reached out, and before you could react, his fingers brushed your cheek. The touch was feather-light, almost tender, but it sent a chill racing down your spine.

“I’ve seen fear,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve seen people cower, scream, beg. But you? You’re different.” His gaze darkened, and the amusement faded from his face. “You were never supposed to be in this game.”

You jerked your head away from his touch, glaring at him. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Yes,” he said softly. “And that’s what makes this so fascinating. Tell me, what made you come looking for me?”

You knew you should run. You knew you should scream, fight, anything to get away from him. But something about Loki made you hesitate. It was like he was two people at once—the charming, dangerous predator, and something else. Something… broken.

“What is it you want from me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki’s smirk vanished, replaced by something unreadable. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want you to understand,” he said, his voice low.

You stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

He turned his back to you, looking out into the dark alley. “I wasn’t always this way,” he murmured. “But when you’re cast aside, when you realize you’re nothing but a pawn in someone else’s game… you either break, or you take control.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You didn’t want to feel pity for him, but there was something tragic about the way he spoke.

Loki turned back to face you, his mask of arrogance slipping back into place. “But now, here you are. And I must decide what to do with you.”

Your breath hitched as his eyes locked onto yours, an intensity burning behind them.

“Will you run, little one?” he asked, a dark smile playing on his lips. “Or will you stay and see how this game ends?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because, deep down, you weren’t sure if you wanted to run.

And Loki could see it.

His smile grew wider. “Oh, I knew it. You were never supposed to be here, but now… now you’re exactly where you belong.”

-

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky MARVEL PERM: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @late-to-the-party-81 @capsthot @kenzieam @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

LOKI: @nicoline1998enilocin @libbymouse

[tashiberrie]

✮ HEARTWORM ✮  tashi duncan x fem!reader 

⋆💌⋆ TAGS - written with fem reader in mind, toxic relationship, reader is a lit student, angst, stanford era, no mention of tashi’s injury

wc- 763

masterlist

You two had met during a tennis tournament in 2004. After a long and intense match between the two of you, Tashi Duncan had come out on top.

You were drawn to each other instantly, like two moths to a flame, each recognising the shadows in the other's eyes.

From the start, your relationship was a tempest. You were addicted to the intensity of your connection, the way you could read each other's minds with a glance, and the way your souls seemed to intertwine in a dance of passion and pain. Your love was all-consuming, burning brightly but always on the verge of destruction.

Tashi was volatile, her moods swinging wildly from euphoric highs to devastating lows. She played furiously, the swings of her racket reflecting the chaos within her. You found inspiration in her unpredictability, your writing becoming darker, more profound, as you delved into the depths of your tumultuous love.

But your passion often turned into rage. Fights erupted over trivial matters, your words cutting deep, leaving scars that never fully healed.

You would argue until dawn, your voices echoing through the dorm room, throwing accusations and regrets like daggers. But in the quiet moments after the storm, you would cling to each other desperately, unable to let go despite the pain. You were addicted to the drama, the heartbreak, and the brief moments of bliss that followed your reconciliations.

You tried to leave once, packing your bags and walking out the door, determined to escape the cycle of hurt. But you couldn't stay away. You found yourself drawn back to Tashi, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your love. She was your muse, your torment, your everything. And so, you returned, your heart heavy with the knowledge that your love was both your salvation and your destruction.

Tashi, too, tried to move on. She sought solace in her tennis, pouring her pain onto the court, hoping to exorcise the demons that haunted her. But every swing of her racket reminded her of you, of the way you looked at her as if she were the only person in the world. She was lost without you, adrift in a sea of loneliness and longing. And so, she called you, her voice trembling with desperation, begging you to come back.

You reunions were always bittersweet, filled with tears and whispered apologies. You would cling to each other, promising to change, to be better, but the cycle would inevitably repeat. Your love was a battlefield, each skirmish leaving you more battered and bruised, but neither of you could surrender. You were trapped in a toxic dance, unable to break free yet unable to truly be together.

As the years passed, the toll of your relationship began to show. Your once bright eyes grew dull with fatigue, and Tashi's vibrant spirit became shadowed with sorrow. You were like two stars on a collision course, destined to burn out in a blaze of tragic beauty. But even as you destroyed each other, you couldn't imagine life apart. Your love was a prison, but it was also the only thing that made you feel alive.

One night, Tashi and you found yourselves back at the tennis court where your had first met. The atmosphere was hauntingly familiar, the rackets’ mournful wail echoing the ache in your hearts. You played in silence, your souls intertwined, lost in your own thoughts.

Tashi broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had never met?"

You looked at her, your eyes filled with a mixture of love and pain. "Every day," you admitted. "But then I remember that even if it's killing me, I can't imagine my life without you."

Tears welled in Tashi's eyes, and she squeezed the handle of her racket tighter. "I don't know how to let you go," she confessed, her voice breaking.

You walked over to her and pulled her into your arms, holding her as if you could keep the world at bay. "Maybe we don't have to," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe this is just who we are."

As you held each other, rain started to fall, a fitting soundtrack to your story. You were two souls entwined in a love that was as beautiful as it was destructive, unable to break free yet unable to truly be whole together. And so, you remained, locked in a tragic embrace, bound by a love that would forever be your greatest joy and your deepest sorrow.

[redjademilktea]

Okay one of the few times that whole "PhD student in history" thing is going to be relevant to anything I post here but last night's C3 episode has me feeling some sort of wayyyyy.

Specifically the part where they found those incredibly ancient elven ruins within the cave they were exploring. After barely escaping near-death, and Laudna fresh from deliberately channeling the darkness within her, they stumble across these ruins. Deep within a dark cave where they sought refuge from the harsh storms that plague the unforgiving Ruidian surface. Geodes full of sharp and jagged crystal jut out from the walls of cold, ancient rock. A river coming from some unknown source pouring into a rushing waterfall, leading away further into the depths. Matt did a phenomenal job painting the scene.

There, in those ruins - in that tomb, that crypt - they run across a hauntingly serene sight. Bones from the presumable inhabitants are crushed into the walls, unmoving. Frozen. Sharing the same space in a wonderful, striking, tragic, serendipitous juxtaposition is an enchanted garden. There, in the derelict remains of this once-vibrant space, the vestiges of that past life hold strong. A small bastion of life and healing amidst the monument of death and destruction.

It's within this space of dizzying contrast - air thick with the practically tangible weight of past tragedies - that Laudna finds a doll. A simple doll, devoid of features beyond the bare minimum that helps identify it. A toy, a companion? A relic of some child from so long ago. Laudna likes dolls. She decides - after asking permission - to keep it.

Now within her possession is a ghost. Not a literal ghost, mind you, considering those are in fact a very literal thing in the world Laudna lives in, but a ghost all the same. Through that doll, a child from untold centuries before is reaching, grasping at Laudna. This child, whose entire life, history, and experienced are lost to time - trapped in the past - has managed to pierce that temporal barrier and make themselves known to her.

In addition to this framing of a ghost, the doll can represent another type of haunting. That of a reencounter. Through this doll, this mundane object that often is filed away under the folder of insignificance, Laudna is confronted with the complicated web of violence, trauma, and grief that wraps around both her and the space around her. Laudna loves children. She has a childlike innocence that constantly bubbles at the surface. Yet beneath that is 30 years of unfathomable pain and loneliness.

Laudna, much like the ruins, is at times also frozen. Both physically in her unaging visage and mentally in the way she seems to revert in response to intense trauma.

So, within the confines of this long-forgotten space, the woman who just hours before channelled 30 years of darkness, anger, and hurt into a spell that served to strengthen her tormentor, picked up a doll. A doll that in so many ways symbolizes the innocence and joy that Laudna embodies, surrounded by tragedy.

It was such a beautifully haunting scene.

**If folks are interested, I am referencing the wonderful works of Avery Gordon in her book Ghostly Matters (1997) and Crystal Baik in her book Reencounters: On the Korean War and Diasporic Memory Critique (2019)**

[w0rld0fbeauty]

i dont want to be a "clean girl" i want to look so hauntingly etheral that you become so infatuated you want to kill me as we spiral into insanity leading to our tragically early demise.

[xxgothchatonxx]

Something that's been fascinating to see recently is people either remembering or realizing for the first time just how, well, "Anne Rice" Anne Rice's writing was. It's a lot darker than the mainstream perception (the Twilight-fication and TVD-fication of vampires definitely influenced that perception, too)

I was certainly shocked when I first read 'Interview' because I kept hearing about how beautiful and soulful her writing was. And, yeah she did write very elegant, hauntingly beautiful prose... but within that prose is the most depraved, WTF-did-I-just-read things. THAT was maybe-unintentionally left out of the recommendation! And it kept getting more, well, Ricean as the chronicles progressed! So, yes, her vampires are very soulful and tragic and all that. But make no mistake - they're also incredibly fucked up. And she intended it that way, too.

So, I guess my recommendation for anyone wanting to read Rice's works is... well, give it a shot, but just keep that in mind.