#something something soul and body

[cosmicaces]

chicken

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

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[alpacacare-archive]

he dont bite

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hi hello tonight i’m thinking about reformed!geto again …….. he is mostly brooding and silent. bitter, obviously, a little snarky but he’s still compliant; doesn’t cause too much trouble, keeps the name-calling to a minimum. still won’t look you in the eye and still can’t train with the students without playing far too rough, but you think he’s making progress.

with the way he follows at your heel, it’s hard not to think of him as some kind of guard dog — one you’ve been tasked to keep at bay. he doesn’t stray too far from your side, even on the rare occasion he’s allowed to be without your surveillance. if he hates being bound to you, he’s awfully good at hiding it.

but dogs will be dogs. the moment a non-sorcerer tries to touch you, the moment they get close with unwanted advances or misguided hatred — he bites. you don’t have time to stop it, and for what feels like an eternity you’re convinced he killed them. but geto clicks his tongue, and lands a kick against their skull, and you recognize the twitch of a living thing. a gift to you; an act of tremendous restraint in your name, if only out of respect for the way you begged the higher ups to take him back. it doesn’t change the scent of iron, the freezing look in his eyes, the snap of his muzzled jaw. but a part of you is happy, to feel the pulse of an almost faded heartbeat. proud.

it’s progress, after all. an attack dog on a leash.

[cubbihue]

Hey uh. Am I misinterpreting something or have you been implying that the entire changeling situation sucks for more reasons than “bad things happen if the changeling gets caught”. Like am I misinterpreting something or are you saying it’s directly terrible, at least the process, for the godkid???

Fifth Consequence of becoming a Fairy: Alterations of the Soul.

The child's body undergoes Physical Changes to become a fairy, but they also undergo a metaphysical change as well. The soul must be adjusted, shaped, broken and remade. These changes allows the child to accept magic into their body, and handle any disruptions in time or perception.

Their soul is transformed into their proper Fairy's Crown, and the child would have officially become a True Pixie! Yippiiiie!!

Thankfully, this part of the process is painless! Or, well, more like Timmy fell unconscious during it. Though Timmy says he sometimes feels strange moments of loss. Like an essential part of himself has been ripped away from where it should be.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[respectthepetty]

My favorite part of My Stand-In so far with only one episode is the way the show obscures Joe's face and focuses on Ming's.

The makeup artist states that Joe's body looks exactly likes Tong's, but Joe's face is what makes him not-Tong, so we don't see Joe's face. He is also a body-double so his entire job is about his body, not his face.

We get to see Ming's face because Joe is so focused on Ming's beauty even though we know Ming can and will be ugly, and as a model, Ming's job is his face. "Does that face ring a bell?"

But we rarely see Joe's face, even when Ming is looking at Joe.

Ming is a face. Joe is a body.

Because it's Joe's body that matters, not his face.

So it's interesting that Ming saw Tong's back as he walked away from Ming at dinner

And immediately thought of Joe.

Because it already shows a slight shift that it's not so much Joe that reminds Ming of Tong (like it was originally), but that Tong reminded Ming of Joe.

Once Ming envisioned Joe's face, he shook the thought from his head as if he was bothered by the image, but it wasn't because Joe wasn't Tong, but, once again, that he even thought of Joe, which is why the conversation where Joe stated that he thought Ming didn't remember him was ironic since Ming is slightly annoyed that he remembers Joe's face.

Because it could have been Joe at the dinner with Ming the entire time the way the dinner scene was filmed.

Or it could have been Tong who Ming was kissing based on how it was filmed.

But the shot made sure we were aware that Ming knew it was Joe even if he had been drinking.

When Joe was asked about his preferences, the shot immediately cut to Ming's face.

But when Ming called Joe, we saw Joe's face as he emerged from a room first

Then, the focus was on his back.

So when Ming walked into that elevator and not only looked directly at new Jo

But also stood next to new Jo, nothing registered to him.

Ming didn't react until he saw new Jo's back.

Which should show how the vicious cycle continues: Joe's body was a replacement for Tong, and new Jo's body will be a replacement for old Joe. BUT we didn't see Ming's face when he was waiting for the elevator.

New Jo knew he was coming up, and so did we, so there was no need to block out Ming's face, especially when the story keeps telling us Ming is his face.

But the story is already telling us that Joe wasn't just a body to Ming.

And Ming wasn't just a face to Joe.

They actually saw the entire person, and Ming was the first to see Joe as Joe even if he wanted Tong.

Which is why the poster is even more pleasing now since we see Joe's full face not his back while we see Ming's full back, but only half of his face.

Ming is more than his face. Joe is more than his body.

At least for each other.

[kingroan]

not to ramble about iwtv but i think a lot of people who balk at the unsavory parts of gothic fiction are people who have either 1) never truly had to face an onslaught of the macabre in their own life 2) have not actually sat with the discomfort of the darker parts of existence or simply not learned or had to learn how to process truly twisted emotions within themselves. and i bring this up in relation to iwtv because i see a lot of people pointing out 'problematic' parts of the book or bemoaning which ships are more or less toxic. and it's like it's a cow farm there's gonna be cows on the cow farm.

yeah anne rice wrote some weird shit and some of it is definitely unnecessary, most of those elements were corrected in the show. but a lot of it is just gothic fiction. you don't get to have sexy vampires, romanticism and tortured yearning without the inappropriate attachments, the true face of grief and the blurred lines between violence and eroticism which has evoked great interest in humans for centuries.

[fudgelling-away]

[gourdyshome]

patrick falling in love with you and then self-destructing as he always does by going and fucking other girls. maybe even ones you know. sleeping around, showing off his newest piece of ass every weekend. grinning like a bobcat in pictures, his eyes dull and devoid of joy. he misses you, god does he miss you. your laugh and your hair and the way you smell and yeah he misses the sex but mostly he misses the way you'd hold him when you fell asleep afterwards. like you never wanted to let go. and then he had to go and wrench your hands off of him, like he always does.

[chuuyafucks]

THIS IS JUST INSANE HONESTLY

[qualityrain]

shes my collar (i’m the one that put it there)

[essektheylyss]

out of context critical role spoiler

[gomacave]

5p yuuram bloood twww

[usercelestial]

tommy: laughs at the silly thing buck did

antis: why can't tommy be nice to his boyfriend 😡

eddie: laughs at the silly thing buck did

antis: THATS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, HE'S SO ENDEARED

[sumirerin]

No es la locura, 🎶 It's not madness,

En realidad es el amor! 🎶 in reality it is love!

Also thank u tumblr for decimating the quality 💀