#this is another draw I made three years ago but I never published it in public again my artistic skills were more vague than those of today

[van-skmugen]

Riku Merman 🧜‍♂️ (Poecilia reticulata)

Can you find the Lucky Emblem?

[drenix004]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 part2

Valeria Garza Headcanons

Part 1 here

Note: I plan to do headcanons of Valeria as chapters of Valeria's fanfic are published! besides, I also want to do the same with 141, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Valeria,Horangi and koning in different situations and contexts, especially if they are shapeshifters or hybrids feel free to ask for a headcanon, one shot or drable, I'll be happy to do it! And they'll be all soft, comforting and light angsty themes! Life is already too cruel and hard to make them suffer here too :)

Sadly there will be no smut or nsfw, I'm really bad at writing that kind of content, sorry. But, there will be slight superficial mentions of that as a reward.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the bar of a night bar in Las Almas, you knew the menu backwards and forwards so you had a certain fame. One day you draw the attention of a certain narco when you kicked an idiot out of the establishment just as the armored van was passing by, not only did you draw attention because of the commotion, but also because not a sound came out of your mouth, not a whimper, curse or insult, nothing. Just a death stare at the man.

━━━━━━━━》❈《 ━━━━━━━

Valeria has always had women at her disposal, it was nothing more than something carnal, just physical. I had never had any other contact than that with people of the same sex.

●Until you came, you opened the forbidden door that The Nameless One kept in the depths of his being; their feelings.

●You reached to the depths of his being without realizing it, you were not a one-night stand. You are more than that to The Nameless.

●Now the consequences had to be paid.

●Valeria didn't let you go when you had already walked through that damn door, oh no.

● That's not how the game was played and Valeria was very clear about it, since you opened her forbidden place you were doomed.

 ● You were hers, as well as the consequences of having fallen in love with her to the point of insanity if possible.

●You calmed her inner demons, but you also teased them if she didn't have you around.

●Same as now.

●His office was a shit after a fit of rage, they hadn't heard from you for more than three days.

● Many bad scenarios had been generated in his head, did the rival cartel kidnap you?

●That couldn't be possible, even among criminals there was a code: never mess with one's family or partner. Something that could be very simple, but that was essential to avoid generating conflicts beyond the territory or the product.

 ●Although you were not Valeria's official partner, by now she had made it clear that she was very interested in you. 

 Valeria was getting tired after searching with no results, so she decides to investigate everything about you. She didn't want to do it because she wanted to respect your privacy, but that had already moved to another level.

●She found out that the name you gave her wasn't your real name, so she couldn't find you that easily... With your real name he was able to access your credit card records, he realized that you did not stay in the same place for more than two days in inns or small hotels.

 . ●Valeria recognized that pattern, you were running away. But what were you running from? It couldn't be her because she never gave you a reason to do it.

The more I researched about you, the more things came to light; you were three years younger than Valeria, you had gardening experience, years ago you had been admitted several times to the emergency room for assault injuries, but they never mentioned a neck injury.

●That fact became interesting to her, Valeria had noticed the scar on your neck that you tried to hide with chokers.

Valeria went to every hotel and inn you were in, looked at the security footage, and then left without saying a word. He had to admit that you were cunning, a challenge he liked.

●Unknowingly, you entered a hunting game, where you are the prey and Valeria was the hunter.

●Valeria followed your steps closely, the chase becoming more and more exciting, the beast within her moving violently every time it got closer and closer.

●But she was aware that she wasn't the only one chasing you, there was a man who was also looking for you; your brother. The man had complaints of domestic violence, and also had an arrest warrant and a restraining order.

●Valeria understood why you were running away, you were afraid that your brother would hurt you again. that's why you ended up in Las Almas.

●Valeria would help you escape your brother's clutches... to end up in his.

● Valeria was no saint, but at least her claws would be more careful and gentler than your brother's. She could not and would not change what she already was, but she could take care of you in his darkness. ●When she knew where you were, she left immediately. Your brother had also found your whereabouts.

●It was a race against the clock, who would get there first? ●Which demon would get to you first?

●You were the ray of light that the darkness wanted out of selfishness, to envelop you completely so that you could not escape, you were its complement… because without light there is no darkness.

Part3?

I had planned to upload this for hallowen, but I couldn't because I had an anxious crisis :) why do I feel this looks more like a one shot than a headcanon? anyway I liked how it turned out, I hope you do too. likes and reblogs are much appreciated!

[mere-christianity]

Mere Christianity Podcast: Part 1

A Christian apologetical book by the British author C. S. Lewis. It was adapted from a series of BBC radio talks made between 1941 and 1944, originally published as three separate volumes: Broadcast Talks (1942), Christian Behaviour (1943), and Beyond Personality (1944). The book consists of four parts: the first presents Lewis's arguments for the existence of God; the second contains his defence of Christian theology, including his notable "Liar, lunatic, or Lord" trilemma; the third has him exploring Christian ethics, among which are cardinal and theological virtues; in the final, he writes on the Christian conception of God.

By Clives Stapleton Lewis, Professor at Cambridge University, England.

Preface

The contents of this book were first given on the air, and then published in three separate parts as The Case for Christianity (1943),  Christian Behaviour (1943), and Beyond Personality (1945). In the printed versions I made a few additions to what I had said at the microphone, but otherwise left the text much as it had been. A "talk" on the radio should, I think, be as like real talk as possible, and should not sound like an essay being read aloud.

In my talks I had therefore used all the contractions and colloquialisms I ordinarily use in conversation. In the printed version I reproduced this, putting don't and we've for do not and we have. And wherever, in the talks, I had made the importance of a word clear by the emphasis of my voice, I printed it in italics.

I am now inclined to think that this was a mistake, an undesirable hybrid between the art of speaking and the art of writing. A talker ought to use variations of voice for emphasis because his medium naturally lends itself to that method: but a writer ought not to use italics for the same purpose. He has his own, different, means of bringing out the key words and ought to use them. In this edition I have expanded the contractions and replaced most of the italics by recasting the sentences in which they occurred: but without altering, I hope, the "popular" or "familiar" tone which I had all along intended. I have also added and deleted where I thought I understood any part of my subject better now than ten years ago or where I knew that the original version had been misunderstood by others.

The reader should be warned that I offer no help to anyone who is hesitating between two Christian "denominations." You will not learn from me whether you ought to become an Anglican, a Methodist, a Presbyterian, or a Roman Catholic.

This omission is intentional (even in the list I have just given the order is alphabetical). There is no mystery about my own position. I am a very ordinary layman of the Church of England, not especially "high," nor especially "low," nor especially anything else. But in this book I am not trying to convert anyone to my own position. Ever since I became a Christian I have thought that the best, perhaps the only, service I could do for my unbelieving neighbours was to explain and defend the belief that has been common to nearly all Christians at all times. I had more than one reason for thinking this. In the first place, the questions which divide Christians from one another often involve points of high Theology or even of ecclesiastical history which ought never to be treated except by real experts.

I should have been out of my depth in such waters: more in need of help myself than able to help others. And secondly, I think we must admit that the discussion of these disputed points has no tendency at all to bring an outsider into the Christian fold. So long as we write and talk about them we are much more likely to deter him from entering any Christian communion than to draw him into our own. Our divisions should never be discussed except in the presence of those who have already come to believe that there is one God and that Jesus Christ is His only Son. Finally, I got the impression that far more, and more talented, authors were already engaged in such controversial matters than in the defence of what Baxter calls "mere" Christianity. That part of the line where I thought I could serve best was also the part that seemed to be thinnest. And to it I naturally went.

So far as I know, these were my only motives, and I should be very glad if people would not draw fanciful inferences from my silence on certain disputed matters.

For example, such silence need not mean that I myself am sitting on the fence. Sometimes I am. There are questions at issue between Christians to which I do not think I have the answer. There are some to which I may never know the answer: if I asked them, even in a better world, I might (for all I know) be answered as a far greater questioner was answered: "What is that to thee? Follow thou Me." But there are other questions as to which I am definitely on one side of the fence, and yet say nothing. For I was not writing to expound something I could call "my religion," but to expound "mere" Christianity, which is what it is and was what it was long before I was born and whether I like it or not.

Some people draw unwarranted conclusions from the fact that I never say more about the Blessed Virgin Mary than is involved in asserting the Virgin Birth of Christ. But surely my reason for not doing so is obvious? To say more would take me at once into highly controversial regions. And there is no controversy between Christians which needs to be so delicately touched as this. The Roman Catholic beliefs on that subject are held not only with the ordinary fervour that attaches to all sincere religious belief, but (very naturally) with the peculiar and, as it were, chivalrous sensibility that a man feels when the honour of his mother or his beloved is at stake.

It is very difficult so to dissent from them that you will not appear to them a cad as well as a heretic. And contrariwise, the opposed Protestant beliefs on this subject call forth feelings which go down to the very roots of all Monotheism whatever. To radical Protestants it seems that the distinction between Creator and creature (however holy) is imperilled: that Polytheism is risen again. Hence it is hard so to dissent from them that you will not appear something worse than a heretic, an idolater, a Pagan. If any topic could be relied upon to wreck a book about "mere" Christianity, if any topic makes utterly unprofitable reading for those who do not yet believe that the Virgin's son is God, surely this is it.

Oddly enough, you cannot even conclude, from my silence on disputed points, either that I think them important or that I think them unimportant. For this is itself one of the disputed points. One of the things Christians are disagreed about is the importance of their disagreements. When two Christians of different denominations start arguing, it is usually not long before one asks whether such-and-such a point "really matters" and the other replies: "Matter? Why, it's absolutely essential."

All this is said simply in order to make clear what kind of book I was trying to write; not in the least to conceal or evade responsibility for my own beliefs. About those, as I said before, there is no secret. To quote Uncle Toby: "They are written in the Common-Prayer Book."

The danger dearly was that I should put forward as common Christianity anything that was peculiar to the Church of England or (worse still) to myself. I tried to guard against this by sending the original script of what is now Book II to four clergymen (Anglican, Methodist, Presbyterian, Roman Catholic) and asking for their criticism. The Methodist thought I had not said enough about Faith, and the Roman Catholic thought I had gone rather too far about the comparative unimportance of theories in explanation of the Atonement. Otherwise all five of us were agreed. I did not have the remaining books similarly "vetted" because in them, though differences might arise among Christians, these would be differences between individuals or schools of thought, not between denominations.

So far as I can judge from reviews and from the numerous letters written to me, the book, however faulty in other respects, did at least succeed in presenting an agreed, or common, or central, or "mere" Christianity. In that way it may possibly be of some help in silencing the view that, if we omit the disputed points, we shall have left only a vague and bloodless H.C.F. The H.C.F. turns out to be something not only positive but pungent; divided from all non-Christian beliefs by a chasm to which the worst divisions inside Christendom are not really comparable at all.

If I have not directly helped the cause of reunion, I have perhaps made it clear why we ought to be reunited. Certainly I have met with little of the fabled odium theologicum from convinced members of communions different from my own. Hostility has come more from borderline people whether within the Church of England or without it: men not exactly obedient to any communion. This I find curiously consoling. It is at her centre, where her truest children dwell, that each communion is really closest to every other in spirit, if not in doctrine. And this suggests that at the centre of each there is something, or a Someone, who against all divergences of belief, all differences of temperament, all memories of mutual persecution, speaks with the same voice.

So much for my omissions on doctrine. In Book III, which deals with morals, I have also passed over some things in silence, but for a different reason. Ever since I served as an infantryman in the first world war I have had a great dislike of people who, themselves in ease and safety, issue exhortations to men in the front line. As a result I have a reluctance to say much about temptations to which I myself am not exposed. No man, I suppose, is tempted to every sin. It so happens that the impulse which makes men gamble has been left out of my make-up; and, no doubt, I pay for this by lacking some good impulse of which it is the excess or perversion. I therefore did not feel myself qualified to give advice about permissable and impermissable gambling: if there is any permissable, for I do not claim to know even that. I have also said nothing about birth-control. I am not a woman nor even a married man, nor am I a priest. I did not think it my place to take a firm line about pains, dangers and expenses from which I am protected; having no pastoral office which obliged me to do so.

Far deeper objections may be felt, and have been expressed,  against my use of the word Christian to mean one who accepts the common doctrines of Christianity. People ask: "Who are you, to lay down who is, and who is not a Christian?" or "May not many a man who cannot believe these doctrines be far more truly a Christian, far closer to the spirit of Christ, than some who do?" Now this objection is in one sense very right, very charitable, very spiritual, very sensitive. It has every amiable quality except that of being useful. We simply cannot, without disaster, use language as these objectors want us to use it. I will try to make this clear by the history of another, and very much less important, word.

The word gentleman originally meant something recognisable; one who had a coat of arms and some landed property. When you called someone "a gentleman" you were not paying him a compliment, but merely stating a fact. If you said he was not "a gentleman" you were not insulting him, but giving information. There was no contradiction in saying that John was a liar and a gentleman; any more than there now is in saying that James is a fool and an M.A. But then there came people who said, so rightly, charitably, spiritually, sensitively, so anything but usefully, "Ah, but surely the important thing about a gentleman is not the coat of arms and the land, but the behaviour? Surely he is the true gentleman who behaves as a gentleman should? Surely in that sense Edward is far more truly a gentleman than John?"

They meant well. To be honourable and courteous and brave is of course a far better thing than to have a coat of arms. But it is not the same thing. Worse still, it is not a thing everyone will agree about. To call a man "a gentleman" in this new, refined sense, becomes, in fact, not a way of giving information about him, but a way of praising him: to deny that he is "a gentleman" becomes simply a way of insulting him. When a word ceases to be a term of description and becomes merely a term of praise, it no longer tells you facts about the object: it only tells you about the speaker's attitude to that object. (A "nice" meal only means a meal the speaker likes.)

A gentleman, once it has been spiritualised and refined out of its old coarse, objective sense, means hardly more than a man whom the speaker likes. As a result, gentleman is now a useless word. We had lots of terms of approval already, so it was not needed for that use; on the other hand if anyone (say, in a historical work) wants to use it in its old sense, he cannot do so without explanations. It has been spoiled for that purpose.

Now if once we allow people to start spiritualising and refining, or as they might say "deepening," the sense of the word Christian, it too will speedily become a useless word. In the first place, Christians themselves will never be able to apply it to anyone. It is not for us to say who, in the deepest sense, is or is not close to the spirit of Christ. We do not see into men's hearts. We cannot judge, and are indeed forbidden to judge.

It would be wicked arrogance for us to say that any man is, or is not, a Christian in this refined sense. And obviously a word which we can never apply is not going to be a very useful word. As for the unbelievers, they will no doubt cheerfully use the word in the refined sense. It will become in their mouths simply a term of praise. In calling anyone a Christian they will mean that they think him a good man. But that way of using the word will be no enrichment of the language, for we already have the word good. Meanwhile, the word Christian will have been spoiled for any really useful purpose it might have served.

We must therefore stick to the original, obvious meaning. The name Christians was first given at Antioch (Acts 11:26) to "the disciples," to those who accepted the teaching of the apostles. There is no question of its being restricted to those who profited by that teaching as much as they should have. There is no question of its being extended to those who in some refined, spiritual, inward fashion were "far closer to the spirit of Christ" than the less satisfactory of the disciples. The point is not a theological, or moral one. It is only a question of using words so that we can all understand what is being said. When a man who accepts the Christian doctrine lives unworthily of it, it is much clearer to say he is a bad Christian than to say he is not a Christian.

I hope no reader will suppose that "mere" Christianity is here put forward as an alternative to the creeds of the existing communions, as if a man could adopt it in preference to Congregationalism or Greek Orthodoxy or anything else. It is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms. If I can bring anyone into that hall I shall have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not in the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meals. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in. For that purpose the worst of the rooms (whichever that may be) is, I think, preferable.

It is true that some people may find they have to wait in the hall for a considerable time, while others feel certain almost at once which door they must knock at. I do not know why there is this difference, but I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless He sees that it is good for him to wait. When you do get into your room you will find that the long wait has done you some kind of good which you would not have had otherwise. But you must regard it as waiting, not as camping. You must keep on praying for light: and, of course, even in the hall, you must begin trying to obey the rules which are common to the whole house. And above all you must be asking which door is the true one; not which pleases you best by its paint and paneling.

In plain language, the question should never be: "Do I like that kind of service?" but "Are these doctrines true: Is holiness here? Does my conscience move me towards this? Is my reluctance to knock at this door due to my pride, or my mere taste, or my personal dislike of this particular door-keeper?"

When you have reached your own room, be kind to those Who have chosen different doors and to those who are still in the hall. If they are wrong they need your prayers all the more; and if they are your enemies, then you are under orders to pray for them. That is one of the rules common to the whole house.

Book 1 The Law of Human Nature

Chapter 1.

Everyone has heard people quarrelling. Sometimes it sounds funny and sometimes it sounds merely unpleasant; but however it sounds, I believe we can learn something very important from listening to the kind of things they say. They say things like this: "How'd you like it if anyone did the same to you?", "That's my seat, I was there first", "Leave him alone, he isn't doing you any harm",  "Why should you shove in first?", "Give me a bit of your orange, I gave you a bit of mine", "Come on, you promised." People say things like that every day, educated people as well as uneducated, and children as well as grown-ups. Now what interests me about all these remarks is that the man who makes them is not merely saying that the other man's behaviour does not happen to please him. He is appealing to some kind of standard of behaviour which he expects the other man to know about. And the other man very seldom replies: "To hell with your standard." Nearly always he tries to make out that what he has been doing does not really go against the standard, or that if it does there is some special excuse. He pretends there is some special reason in this particular case why the person who took the seat first should not keep it, or that things were quite different when he was given the bit of orange, or that something has turned up which lets him off keeping his promise. It looks, in fact, very much as if both parties had in mind some kind of Law or Rule of fair play or decent behaviour or morality or whatever you like to call it, about which they really agreed. And they have. If they had not, they might, of course, fight like animals, but they could not quarrel in the human sense of the word. Quarrelling means trying to show that the other man is in the wrong. And there would be no sense in trying to do that unless you and he had some sort of agreement as to what Right and Wrong are; just as there would be no sense in saying that a footballer had committed a foul unless there was some agreement about the rules of football.

Now this Law or Rule about Right and Wrong used to be called the Law of Nature. Nowadays, when we talk of the "laws of nature" we usually mean things like gravitation, or heredity, or the laws of chemistry. But when the older thinkers called the Law of Right and Wrong "the Law of Nature," they really meant the Law of Human Nature. The idea was that, just as all bodies are governed by the law of gravitation and organisms by biological laws, so the creature called man also had his law, with this great difference, that a body could not choose whether it obeyed the law of gravitation or not, but a man could choose either to obey the Law of Human Nature or to disobey it.

We may put this in another way. Each man is at every moment subjected to several different sets of law but there is only one of these which he is free to disobey. As a body, he is subjected to gravitation and cannot disobey it; if you leave him unsupported in mid-air, he has no more choice about falling than a stone has. As an organism, he is subjected to various biological laws which he cannot disobey any more than an animal can. That is, he cannot disobey those laws which he shares with other things; but the law which is peculiar to his human nature, the law he does not share with animals or vegetables or inorganic things, is the one he can disobey if he chooses.

This law was called the Law of Nature because people thought that every one knew it by nature and did not need to be taught it. They did not mean, of course, that you might not find an odd individual here and there who did not know it, just as you find a few people who are colour-blind or have no ear for a tune. But taking the race as a whole, they thought that the human idea of decent behaviour was obvious to every one. And I believe they were right. If they were not, then all the things we said about the war were nonsense. What was the sense in saying the enemy were in the wrong unless Right is a real thing which the Nazis at bottom knew as well as we did and ought to have practised? If they had had no notion of what we mean by right, then, though we might still have had to fight them, we could no more have blamed them for that than for the colour of their hair.

I know that some people say the idea of a Law of Nature or decent behaviour known to all men is unsound, because different civilisations and different ages have had quite different moralities.

But this is not true. There have been differences between their moralities, but these have never amounted to anything like a total difference. If anyone will take the trouble to compare the moral teaching of, say, the ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, Hindus, Chinese, Greeks and Romans, what will really strike him will be how very like they are to each other and to our own. Some of the evidence for this I have put together in the appendix of another book called The Abolition of Man; but for our present purpose I need only ask the reader to think what a totally different morality would mean. Think of a country where people were admired for running away in battle, or where a man felt proud of double-crossing all the people who had been kindest to him. You might just as well try to imagine a country where two and two made five. Men have differed as regards what people you ought to be unselfish to, whether it was only your own family, or your fellow countrymen, or everyone. But they have always agreed that you ought not to put yourself first. Selfishness has never been admired. Men have differed as to whether you should have one wife or four. But they have always agreed that you must not simply have any woman you liked.

But the most remarkable thing is this. Whenever you find a man who says he does not believe in a real Right and Wrong, you will find the same man going back on this a moment later. He may break his promise to you, but if you try breaking one to him he will be complaining "It's not fair" before you can say Jack Robinson. A nation may say treaties do not matter, but then, next minute, they spoil their case by saying that the particular treaty they want to break was an unfair one. But if treaties do not matter, and if there is no such thing as Right and Wrong,  in other words, if there is no Law of Nature, what is the difference between a fair treaty and an unfair one? Have they not let the cat out of the bag and shown that, whatever they say, they really know the Law of Nature just like anyone else?

It seems, then, we are forced to believe in a real Right and Wrong. People may be sometimes mistaken about them, just as people sometimes get their sums wrong; but they are not a matter of mere taste and opinion any more than the multiplication table. Now if we are agreed about that, I go on to my next point, which is this. None of us are really keeping the Law of Nature. If there are any exceptions among you, I apologise to them. They had much better read some other work, for nothing I am going to say concerns them. And now, turning to the ordinary human beings who are left:

I hope you will not misunderstand what I am going to say. I am not preaching, and Heaven knows I do not pretend to be better than anyone else. I am only trying to call attention to a fact; the fact that this year, or this month, or, more likely, this very day, we have failed to practise ourselves the kind of behaviour we expect from other people. There may be all sorts of excuses for us. That time you were so unfair to the children was when you were very tired. That slightly shady business about the money, the one you have almost forgotten, came when you were very hard up. And what you promised to do for old So-and-so and have never done, well, you never would have promised if you had known how frightfully busy you were going to be. And as for your behaviour to your wife (or husband) or sister (or brother) if I knew how irritating they could be, I would not wonder at it, and who the dickens am I, anyway? I am just the same. That is to say, I do not succeed in keeping the Law of Nature very well, and the moment anyone tells me I am not keeping it, there starts up in my mind a string of excuses as long as your arm. The question at the moment is not whether they are good excuses. The point is that they are one more proof of how deeply, whether we like it or not, we believe in the Law of Nature. If we do not believe in decent behaviour, why should we be so anxious to make excuses for not having behaved decently? The truth is, we believe in decency so much, we feel the Rule or Law pressing on us so, that we cannot bear to face the fact that we are breaking it, and consequently we try to shift the responsibility. For you notice that it is only for our bad behaviour that we find all these explanations. It is only our bad temper that we put down to being tired or worried or hungry; we put our good temper down to ourselves.

These, then, are the two points I wanted to make. First, that human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it. Secondly, that they do not in fact behave in that way. They know the Law of Nature; they break it. These two facts are the foundation of all clear thinking about ourselves and the universe we live in.

To be continued in episode 2, based on the works of CS Lewis.

[raven-cincaide-words]

Raven Cincaide Beta Review 

Requested by: Jack-the-rapper  Work title: “Captured”  Chapter(s) reviewed: Chapter 1 Published fic (link): Yes link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55423462/chapters/140628064 Fic rating: M Mature  Pairing: Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne  Type of review: Medium Fandom & Fandom Familiarity: Batman. I have seen some Batman movies a few years ago but have never worked or written for the fandom. Thus I lack fandom specific knowledge. Please keep that in mind when reading the review. 

First Impressions First impression is that this is a dark fic which is something I look forward to reading. It’s got decent language and Bruce is not written in a way which creates no apparent hate or distaste towards him. However the fic loses me a lot in the beginning, because of long complicated sentences and a lot of repetitions while the action or the ‘happenings’ come towards the end of the chapter. In other words, once you get through the slow beginning, the end of the chapter is gripping and interesting, prompting the reader to continue reading the story. 

Opening Scene  The first sentence is supposed to capture your reader. Which it does, however the following sentences and paragraphs create confusions instead of clarity for the reader. More precisely, the reader understands that Batman is dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness- so why focus on it? Is something happening to him? Is there going to be a high impact scene next? Are we getting why he is like that? Some of this information comes much later, which runs the risk of the reader getting impatient and leaving the story. 

Another comment is language in the opening scene. More precisely the sentences are long (not varied) and at times overly complicated, misleading or unclear. For example “Through narrowed slits, he discerned the swaying silhouettes of a space that seemed to dissolve into darkness at its edges, as he gradually emerged from the depths of unconsciousness.”  What does ‘swaying silhouettes of a space’ actually mean? Are there shadows playing in the corner of his vision, is he seeing things, or is this another way you’re trying to convey that he is dizzy and disoriented?

Plot /Pacing/ Scenes/ Gaps If I understood the chapter correctly it can be summarized as follows; Bruce woke up hanging from the ceiling by the ropes, he was beaten, bruised and struggled with consciousness. He remembered being captured and repeatedly beaten, felt his injuries, tried to escape but fainted again.

The overall pacing of the chapter is slow: there is a lot of detail about being dizzy, feeling bad and falling in and out of consciousness that draws out the word count without adding to the plot and the overall theme and scenes. The repetitions do not appear to be a rhetorical tool (not like threes) and are not necessarily a creepy-feeling-inducing ploy. Their purpose is therefore a little unclear to me. 

There aren’t any glaring gaps, though the shift from flashbacks to present could be made clearer to the reader. 

For example a template that could used is instead of just writing ‘flashback’: *Bruce remembered something/ he thought of something*– *insert memory* then- “a wave of pain washed over him bringing him back to the present,” then again something happened making him remember, then again back to the present. 

Sorta like a ball being passed back and forth. This could make it flow better and make it clearer instead of repeating ‘flashbacks’ while adding more overall details. This could possibly help with the pacing and flow of the chapter. 

Characters & Character interaction Another possible gap falls under character description and concerns his appearance. How is Bruce dressed? Is he in his Batman getup? In his office suit and what condition is it in? Or is he in his boxers?Or something else entirely?  What does he feel of his attire and how do the clothes behave/feel on his beaten body?  A lot of this section is not covered/unclear so therefore I cannot give a deeper review here. 

Genre:(Romance/Angst etc) Not applicable or requested Dialogue Not applicable or requested Settings and landscape  The overall settings and landscape could be made more clearer. Perhaps by keeping it in their own paragraphs. For example how does he know it’s a warehouse, has he been there before? What gives it away? AND how does he know that it is abandoned? The overall description of it is rather vague and things like water(?) dripping off the pipe falls in between Bruce’s thoughts/breaths rather than be its own paragraph which makes it easy to overlook or confuse. 

Visuals and logic  Visuals refers to whether the description of an action makes sense, which is something that this story could improve on. There are several instances which are described in a fashion that don’t make sense or in the very least are difficult to visually comprehend. 

For example “As his senses gradually sharpened again, Bruce became acutely aware of the sensation of burning pain radiating from his wrists and shoulder” And later confirming that he does not know how much time has passed which may present a logical issue. A quick google search suggests that hanging by yourself on the bar is generally not something you’d handle for long (https://www.quora.com/What-happens-if-you-hang-by-your-arms-too-long), and the world record for a dead hang is 1h 20 min and 41 seconds. Considering Bruce is generally portrayed as being ��buff’ or heavy in weight alt. If he is held up for a long time, then his shoulders would dislocate. If they aren’t dislocated, that should give him the indication of how long he’s been up or vise-versa. Also the pain itself (probably even numbness)would be in the entire arms, not just the wrists and shoulders. 

Then another inconsistency with time: “Time was a hazy concept, and without any external cues, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since then.” yet this “His mind raced, trying to piece together when he had last eaten or drunk anything. Flashes of memory teased the edges of his consciousness, but nothing concrete emerged. Perhaps it had been that morning before the kidnapping, but he couldn't be sure” suggests that he has some understanding of how much time passed since he last ate/drank and thus was kidnapped. 

Another example “With each passing moment, it became increasingly clear to Bruce that his chances of breaking free from his restraints were slim at best.” Then “In his struggle to comprehend his surroundings, Bruce sharpened his senses, scanning the room for any indication of his captors or a potential means of escape.”  The question I get as the reader is; why is he studying the architecture of the room and the structure of it if he can’t even get out of his ropes? What difference does it make if the wall is paper or cardboard-thin and easy for him to punch through if he hasn’t gotten out of his ropes? 

Writing style/tone/Voice The general impression of the writing style is that it is very poetic and is written by someone who knows the language well. However it lacks variety and sometimes misses words. Predominantly the sentences are long, stretching several lines and held together with commas. In combination with flowery “Shakesprean” language, it is difficult to read in parts. Note that long sentences can be a disadvantage when it comes to building tension; generally speaking the shorter the sentences the faster you read them and the quicker you build the tension in the reader. Also short and simple sentences can be used to show confusion, disorientation and fear (part of the ‘show not tell’ approach). 

For example “Bruce's eyelids fluttered open with a groan, the dim light piercing his consciousness like needles, prompting him to reflexively close them again.” while I understand what you mean, my first thought is: How can eyelids groan? The descriptive word ‘groan’ is not connected to any other body part or thing besides eyelids (compare with “Door opened with screech”). I understand that you mean that he groaned as he opened his eyes, but the way it is written can give a more comical interpretation rather than seriousness of the situation you’re going for. 

Another point to consider is voices/perspective and how it perceives others actions. This goes hand in hand with logic and character interaction. Including too much can confuse the reader but also make your story foundation less stable. Even as an ominous reader/writer you have to consider what and how you formulate something.  For example “He noted the absence of tools or implements scattered about the room, a deliberate omission by his captors to thwart any attempts at self-liberation.“ 

As far as I remember Bruce can’t read minds and the assailants haven’t left a note saying they ‘didn’t leave any tools so he could not escape’.  An alternative would be something like: “He noted the absence of tools or implements scattered about the room, undoubtedly, a deliberate omission by his captors to prevent any unwanted self-liberation attempts.“  By including something like undoubtedly and re-writing the sentence slightly not only do you improve clarity but also leave yourself open in case Bruce misses something. 

Repetitions  There are primarily two different types of repetitions in this work that do not help driving the story forward. The first is the sentence repetitions where the same thing is described in different ways yet without adding to the story or driving it forward. 

 For example; “With each blink, the world seemed to swim and sway, a disorienting kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that refused to coalesce into coherence. Yet amidst the chaos, faint outlines began to emerge from the haze, like distant shapes emerging from thick fog. Though his sight remained muddled and uncertain [...]”

The first sentence, ending with swim and sway is plenty to let the reader know his sight is uncertain, even the first line that ends with’ coherence’ is plenty. The rest  such as the description of the outlines of shapes and the sentence after that ‘his sight remained muddled and uncertain’ all describe the same thing as you did with “With each blink, the world seemed to swim and sway” so technically, everything after your first sentence is a repetition that makes your story less clear. 

Another example;  “Fortunately, he found no signs of danger; the room was empty, and he was alone.” 

Again the room was empty or that he was alone would be plenty for the reader. Both become buttery butter so to speak. 

Final example:  “Bruce's jaw tightened,” and the next sentence “but Bruce gritted his teeth,”  both are different formulations of essentially the same thing. 

Second type of repetition is theme repetition without action or events taking place. For example  

Sentence 1 paragraph 1: “Bruce's eyelids fluttered open with a groan, the dim light piercing his consciousness like needles, prompting him to reflexively close them again.” Some form of struggling to keep eyes open or retain consciousness is present all the way down to

Sentence 2, paragraph 6: “ He blinked away the haze clouding his vision to make sense of the situation.“ 

The issue with keeping these repetitions is that it describes the same thing in different ways, does not add to the story while carrying the risk of losing readers. More precisely it is only on paragraph six the reader starts getting more than just ‘Bruce feels dizzy and falls in and out of consciousness’. A lot of readers, including myself, would not have the patience to wait an A4 page for something more to happen. People are generally impatient like that, unfortunately.

Overview & Overall impressions  My overall impression is that I like the idea and the concept, I like the approach and some of the story telling techniques. But the work could benefit from improving clarity.  My two points of advice would be; “Show not tell” to avoid the repetitions and “read aloud” to hear the repetitions, feel if there the same theme is coming back again (eg. if you get the impression “didn’t I just read/hear that?”) and see where you lose the red thread. Also do not be afraid to vary long and short sentences, and do not be afraid to use ‘simple’ language. Not only does it make the work more accessible but it also shows a great understanding of the language. Think quality (and whether it makes sense) over quantity.

Overall, given that it's your first fanfiction, I would say fantastic job! Please take my feedback into consideration and with a bit of practice you’ll be an amazing writer in no time! 

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All fics and beta work are unique works by © raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[blujaishah]

hi! How’s it going?

This is a good opportunity to explain why I haven't been posting art dont read any of it if u dont want to it's more for me

Aside from normal academic stuff it's mostly because my school's literary magazine is allowing submissions and I really want to get my art in it (you're a published artist/author if you get in it)

Thing is last year I didn't get my art in it (I made a self portrait titled 'hearts' that I stupidly never took a picture of because I never got it back) but they had too many art submissions and not enough literary submissions so most of the art got cut from the magazine

So I think you can tell that I was pissy bc I really need to get my art in this thing

So now I have been focusing a lot on my submission because I'm writing something with it, it's gonna look like a children's picture book with multiple drawings and a story

I might post it here if it doesn't end up being too personal but prob not

It's taking me a while because one i want it to look good and two i want it to look painted and that isn't my normal style and three because I am not a writer

Another reason as to why I'm not posting is because I'm looking for jobs because ur girl does not have money and that's something I wanna prioritize

And the last reason is less fun and something that I genuinely need to type out and admit in writing is that my parents are absolute batshit crazy and I want nothing more than to complete my high school credits and leave my home town

My sister didn't mind leaving like I want to in fact she wanted to get as far away from us (specifically my dad) as possible but she has no problem having me with her and husband because they've somewhat settled down

She's traveled the world and she's pretty cool, she's at a very prestigious university, she went to Thailand in high school, she's been to Jordan, Lebanon, and a couple years ago she went to Palestine for a year and became a high school teacher there she's awesome

It would be amazing to go to college where she is (i'm in a position financially and academically where going out of state for college is very possible ESPECIALLY where she is) and also to get to know her husband more would be great cause we barely got to know each other when he was here

My brother on the other hand didn't want to leave our mom but really needed to get out of the house because of our dad so now he's in this really awkward position where he lives in an apartment literally a 15 minutes walk from our house and by extension his very comfortable bedroom, and also he comes home every night to see our mom

It absolutely sucks and I very much want to leave my home even though I say what my parents want me to say I'll do after high school when I'm around them

My dad is demented and I have no problem admitting that he's never abused me physically but he has verbally quite a few times and hinted at physical abuse and it gets to me a lot

mostly it's about academics which he is quite literally insane for thinking I don't do well academically

There's a lot of stuff with him that's god awful and i wont get into it because that's what I do in a therapeutic environment which I cant get without being gaslit by my family so yeah

I can't draw anything except what I have to with all this it's a lot to be thinking about because I'm still just a kid and idk i can't handle it maturely so I have to write about it on tumblr lmao

[firstsprinces]

Thank you @anincompletelist for not only tagging me but for also creating this tag game! It's a brilliant and fun way to share an introduction to ourselves and our works that mean so much to us. I can't wait to fully dive and immerse myself into the worlds you've created and shared, and what others will be sharing because of this as well!

I also can’t wait to do this properly in 2024 when I’ll finally have some of these fics published!

I’ve chosen to share three of my WIPs that I’ve briefly shared since creating this account at the end of September this year. All three snippets of these haven’t been shared in either a WIP Wednesday or a Six/Seven Sentence Sunday yet, so they’re all a little treat for you all as you have very, very, very, patiently been waiting for me to light a fire under myself to get these published!

Unfortunately, this means I don't have links to these to share yet, but once I do this post will be updated!

At Another Place in Time (You Were Infinitely Mine) [WIP]

His eyes glance up to the ceiling above the bed first, and a sharp pang begins to flicker in his chest at the sight as the memories of staring upwards for hours rush back to him. He can see himself as a child pointing and drawing invisible lines to make connections between a galaxy he had created himself. This had been the one part of the cabin that Alex had thought had been his safe space. He can see the younger version of himself gradually becoming a teenager who still believed there had been magic just above his head. Now, if the sun creeps through the window at just the right angle, all Alex can see are the remnants of those damn glow-in-the-dark stars that had betrayed him all those years ago. This had been the one part of the cabin that Alex had thought had been his safe space, but then the two most important wishes he’s ever made in his life hadn’t been fulfilled and had seemingly been thrown back in his face in the ugliest ways. The stars may have fallen or had been torn off the ceiling in an angered teen-aged rage because of their deceit, but the glue remains and gives those once plastic shapes of promise a permanent haunting of everything Alex has ever yearned for. As the piercing pain continues to take over the rhythmic beats of his heart, Alex’s jaw clenches because even after all the time and devastation these stars have caused for him, he can’t help but want to stand underneath all of those and trace his fingers over the sticky smudge from the star he had claimed to be his favorite. That star had also been the one he lost first and the moment he had realized it had been missing from his self-made constellation, he had placed all the blame of the pieces of his life that have fallen apart onto it. Its neon glow had been a disguise in the form of an entrancing invitation to the blackhole of despair it truly is.

The WIP I'm Promising to Start Posting in January (It has a title, but I'm keeping it a secret)

Months after his father’s funeral, his mother had told him the opposite. It had actually been Henry who’d given his father the enlightenment to embrace all new discoveries and to always keep chasing them because they’re remarkably never-ending. Always live as though the world keeps creating things to stumble upon on purpose. Accidents may happen along the way, but those are also little surprises that will lead to something far grander. As a child Henry had been more animated and curious than his two siblings, but he’d also been overly cautious and kept to himself when necessary. It had been his father who would tell Henry that he shouldn’t be afraid of unknown things, so why would his mother tell him otherwise? What would Henry have given someone with more life experiences than he had? Their relationship had always been different than his ones with Phillip and Beatrice. Though Arthur always made sure to give each of his children their own moments just between the two of them, Catherine had let the secret out to Henry that his favorite discovery had been witnessing Henry experience the world around him. After the confession, Henry made the promise to his father after his passing that he’d take his father on every new adventure with him to make sure he’d never miss out, and in those adventures, he’d find out who he truly is and embrace himself as the wonderment his father believes he is. He places the last and only photograph he has of him and his father back down on his desk, his pointer finger skimming his greyed blurry face that doesn’t resemble the fact his father’s memory will never become dull or unclear.

Start Again with Steady Hands [the Stable Boy! Alex AU WIP]

This time Alex doesn’t turn on the lamp in front of the window because he’s sure Henry won’t be sneaking out from the palace tonight to come and see him. He won’t be opening the cottage door and see either bravery or vulnerability in his eyes. Neither of them will be reaching with hands that don’t have to recoil and reject the one thing that’s the most certain to them. A touch from Henry may burn him, but the invisible branding on his skin from his fingertips is electric – an igniter that reminds Alex that he’s alive. It’s the first night alone where Alex notices how cold the bedroom is and knows for certain that being surrounded by warmth is just an extension of being in Henry’s presence. The light may not be calling out to Henry tonight, but Alex is still looking out the window into the dark and wondering if Henry’s staring out one of the palace’s windows back at him. He wants to know if the tension he’s feeling is because Henry’s back to forcing himself to push away the pull Alex has on him. He’s calling with his heart in hopes Henry’s can hear it and that there will be a response that’s not going to say that this is the end.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little insight into the works that I'm in the process of that I'm also really proud of!

I can't wait to go through this tag and read everyone else's!

Tagging: @priincebutt

[pjwarriorcats]

The Evolution of Warriors Fan Projects

Warriors fans have created all kinds of projects as tribute to the series, but the most well-known and perhaps the most impressive of projects are the animations. Warriors has always had a very prolific community on YouTube, creating shorts, animation, music videos, edits, and more. Unlike many other large fandoms on the internet, Warriors has no film component; there were never any movies made about the books, so all video content on the series was completely handmade, using either original artwork or other fan arts edited together.

The trends of animation and fanmade video content created by the Warriors fandom have changed drastically over time, and I wanted to go digging for some of these old videos and compare them to the content that is being made now. The evolution of animations from the community is incredible, and with so many of the original videos still available to be viewed on YouTube, a timeline can be tracked of the trends of Warriors fan animations. The best way to see the growth of the fandom is to experience it firsthand, through the projects produced over the 20s since it began.

The first Warriors book was published in 2003, and Warriors fan videos began to appear in the early 2000s. Videos began to pop up under all different channels. Creators such as Alli Kat, Wyeth Cat, DuckFeatherz, Flightfootwarrior, DarkKokiri, tribbleofdoom, bluekyokitty, moonlightnebula, and more quickly began to make a name for themselves creating AMVs (or Animated Music Videos). The early days of Warriors fan animations were also full of meme videos, such as the ever-famous (or infamous) Firestar Doesn't Like Waffles.

[Alt Text: A frame from "Firestar Doesn't Like Waffles," showing Graystripe holding a waffle out to an annoyed Firestar: Video Link]

Meme creators made names for themselves in the community at the time, too. Creators like Mama Tad made a place for themselves in the animation community creating almost exclusively meme and comedy animations, creating gems such as Cloudpaw Joins ThunderClan.

Early Warriors had a certain charm that can be attributed to three main factors: they were created by amateur artists and animators, many of whom were still children (as the source material of Warriors intended for its audience), they were created in the internet culture of the 2000s, and they were created by fans who all shared enough love for this series to dedicate so much of their time to a fan project. The quality of these videos (the video quality itself) is a product of a young fan using any resources they can find to create something. Even in the early days of the Fandom, the animations stood out as one of the most loved aspects.

Another prominent period in the timeline of Warriors animations was trying to create exactly what we did not have: a Warriors movie. These days, this trend has died off significantly (though there is still one major project in the works currently: WCAnimated. More on this later.), but several years ago, numerous animators attempted it. The most famous is the SSS Warrior Cats Fan Animation series, utilizing an iconic anime-adjacent style and lasting an impressive eight videos and over an hour of animation, but it was far from the only one. Tribbleofdoom had an Into the Wild series that lasted at least 48 episodes, though many of these have been taken down and are no longer available to view. Aluriya, one of the animators who worked on SSS Warrior Cats, made about an episode and a half of Bluestar's Prophecy. Nifty-Senpai animated a few episodes of OotS: The Fourth Apprentice, giving the project numerous attempts throughout the years. Fluffy Lovey animated several episodes of Fire and Ice. There was a period of time where it seemed almost all of the prominent animators were trying to create the Warriors “film” that we still don’t have.

[Alt text: A drawing of the main cast from the SSS Warrior Cats fan series, with the logo in the top left: Channel link]

Some animators also created their own animated Warriors universes, following the worldbuilding of the books and animating their own original characters. Urnam7’s series Dimstar's Past was one such project. Icerift Fyera created another, called AuroraClan.

These projects all have a similar feel to them. They are passion projects of an individual person, often a younger person, or a very small team, following a few different artistic trends (heavily cartoon and simplistic, a more anime-like style, the style of 2000/2010s sparkle cats, and adjacent similar styles). They were loved at the time, they are nostalgic for many now, and most of them fit fairly neatly into the box of “old warriors videos aesthetic.”

The Warriors fandom these days has moved away from projects like these a little bit. AMVs, while still a common occurrence, are not so much the go-to form of content creation any longer. Individual projects, in fact, are less commonly seen. Instead, the fandom has turned more towards collaborative projects, containing a large number of animators rather than small, contained teams or individual animators working on their own. MAPs (Multi-Animator Projects) have been a form of animation projects produced here for years, but the community has continued since then to hone the craft of a collaborative project like these; MAPs are now one of the most beloved and most utilized formats currently in use. Early MAPs (such as This Love, This Hate, Alone Without You, Little Talks, and more) often had no script, no set designs, and no real direction. Each part became its own mini animation, standalone except for their arrangement to the same song.

This, largely, has also changed in recent years. Many MAPs now attempt to tell a coherent story throughout. It is generally less common to find an unscripted MAP, or a MAP that does not have set designs to use for its main characters.

The result of this? The most professional-looking and cohesive projects the Warriors fandom has seen to date. Many of these newer MAPs are genuine cinematic marvels, especially knowing the context of their creation: they were all made on volunteered time, with volunteered effort, by a community of largely amateur and hobbyist artists and animators.

There are far too many of these MAPs to talk about them all, but here are a few that I found most impressive, and that made some of the biggest waves in the community:

StarClan's Chosen hosted by Nifty-Senpai,

Amen - Crookedstar's Promise MAP hosted by Alex Harrier,

Ready As I'll Ever Be - Breezepelt MAP hosted by eighthsun,

Everything Moves - Sol MAP hosted by Nifty-Senpai,

UNRAVEL - 2-Week Needletail MAP and Lullaby for a Princess hosted by colacatinthehat,

The Five Giants hosted by Whiskermoon,

Better Days hosted by Tennelle Flowers,

and many, many more.

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the StarClan's Chosen MAP, featuring a semi-transparent StarClan cat greeting a silhouetted cat: Artist credit; MAP link]

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the Ready As I'll Ever Be MAP, featuring bust shots of Breezepelt and Ivypool with the MAP name overlayed on top: MAP link]

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the Everything Moves Sol MAP, featuring Sol in front of an eclipse drawn in a painterly style: Artist credit; MAP link]

As a community, the Warriors fandom has grown and learned an enormous amount. It is not uncommon to see animations that are a similar caliber of quality to a professional. Ideas and advice are shared between users, and many creators such as Nifty-Senpai and Gekkozilla have allowed others to use their designs for free as inspiration or directly in fan projects. The collaborative nature of the Warriors Fandom now is a remarkable achievement, and has yielded so many incredible projects, animations, and stories that to tally them all up would be an impossible task.

[hangingoffence]

so many questions i have, but i wanna ask about the oc in that unknown soldier piece ur published! who is he? any strong ideas of his character/plot or is he more of a vague oc for drawing purposes? also, any oc uve made for entirely self-indulgent reasons? not for a story or specific idea just 'it would be so cool'/'theyre just like me' kind of motivations

<333 MWUAH MWUAH

His name is Patrick and he exists in the same bubble as Michael and Ronnie.

They all do have backstories but they don't really have like a coherent plotline or a story with a message. They all represent different things. They all have a long long history of being different characters and changing and growing as i grew. There are different iterations of them and these "newest" ones mostly represent my own struggles with adulthood and also they represent my want for male friendships bc ive never really had that.

Patrick form all the three might be the one that I myself relate to the most and the one i project myself most to. He's my fav even if I like almost never draw him <333

Patrick is very quiet and non confrontational. He goes with the flow and doesn't really stick out. He doesn't voice out his thoughts that much and usually gets along with anyone. He's like that one kid in school that you see all the time but don't really know anything about.

He lives with his mother and his step-father. When he was about 12 years old his father died in a car accident, which left his mother depressed and vulnerable. (there's this scene that im debating over where a few weeks after his father's death, Patrick's walking home and see what he thinks is his father at their house's window. He runs in and sees a figure for a second before it disappears. this is just me consuming paranormal content thought lol) His baseball cap was originally his fathers.

When his step-father came into their lives, it was more of Patrick's mother needing a person her age to lean onto and that man taking an advantage of that situation. From the start Patrick and his step-father did not get along. Or more like his step-father did not like him. He became very verbally and physically abusive towards Patrick.

During his teenage years he started drinking which slowly it developed into alcoholism. He also got addicted to painkillers because of his constant headaches. After he turned 18 he immediately left his childhood home and moved to his own apartment in another city. His addictions got even worse when he lived on his own. Though he was able to hold a job, he still found himself being drunk rather than sober.

The main shtick is his struggle with addiction and more directly alcoholism(theres a direct link to finnish alcohol culture in him bc of my background but i wont get into it now). And i like to explore it from Ronnie's perspective. In their 20s they reconnected after having a falling out in high school and Ronnie witnessed first hand the brutal grip that the addiction had on his friend. And knowing that he truly can't do anything unless Patrick himself wants to get better (bc thats the way with addicts they will never recover if they don't want it themselves. you cant force them to quit bc they will go back). Eventually he lost his job and needed to get help from the goverment to survive and to pay his bills and have food. Ronnie at first helped him out finacially but then he realized it's just enabling Patrick's addiction bc all that money he got was spent on alcohol, so he stopped that. But still gave him emotional support but refused to help him out financially.

Through years and years of struggle and after many stern talks with Ronnie, Patrick started to realise his own illness. He saw how bad his health was and how alcohol had fucked him up in every level, he started a recovery journey.

After he got out of the chains he returned back to his hometown and to see his mom. But he was greeted by his childhood home turned into a dumpster. His step-father had left his mother years ago and she was left to take care of herself alone. She had started hoarding due to the stress and depression and had developed early signs of alzheimers. Patrick took her to a hospital and got her some treatment. He struggled with his own guilt of leaving her and letting her get to that stage.

Also he's like the one oc that fears every time i look at them bc they know they will go through some shit

[destinyimage]

Christian Witchcraft: The Spirit Warring Against You in These Last Days

What is witchcraft? For most of my life, when I heard the word witchcraft, I thought of medicine men in the heart of Africa who cast spells on people.

I had heard about covens of witches in the United States and other parts of the world who would chant and curse churches, Christian marriages, or political figures they didn’t agree with, but I had never met a witch. I acknowledged the existence of witchcraft in theory, but I had no firm idea of what that meant, and I never believed anyone I knew was involved in witchcraft, especially other Christians. Christians operating in witchcraft? No way!

It wasn’t until 2021, when I faced the most severe spiritual warfare of my life, that I began to understand the inner workings and power of witchcraft. Is there witchcraft in Africa and other parts of the world that involves spells, magic, sorcery, and other forms of divination? Absolutely! However, many Christians practice witchcraft every day and have no idea that they’ve partnered with the devil in broad daylight. This “acceptable” form of witchcraft and the demonic agenda fanning its flame is far more subtle and powerful than occult practices. When we deny its existence, politely give evil a pass, or wrongly label this form of spiritual warfare, its authority grows. We have no idea how to defend ourselves, nor even the recognition that we’re partnered with it.

A Hard Lesson

Witchcraft draws more power when it is hidden. It runs like a generator, converting one form of spiritual energy into another. There are three clues that reveal the presence of witchcraft: manipulation, intimidation, and domination. The overarching goal of witchcraft is to dominate someone else, to command influence, or exercise control over their behavior.

A few years ago, the national spotlight shined on our ministry with blinding intensity. Millions of people around the world were watching from the social media sidelines, and thousands of partners were financially supporting the call of God on our lives.

Suddenly, God adjusted our course, and I made a decision that led to a public trial in the media and a witch hunt in the church. We lost tens of thousands of dollars in monthly support overnight and received death threats as the rumor mill published stories full of lies and disinformation in print and on social media. I was public enemy number one in the body of Christ and became the punching bag of a failed political campaign, enduring gossip, slander, hatred, and humiliation at the hands of the same people who had championed and supported us weeks before.

I regrouped with the few friends I had left, prayed through the storm, invited the counsel of godly leaders, and followed the voice of the Holy Spirit into the unknown. Several months later, I accepted an invitation to speak at a national gathering of prophets, where I shared about the persecution we had endured. Several of the prophets approached me on the stage after I told our story and asked if they could pray for me. They said, “Jeremiah you are under the power of demonic witchcraft, and we need to break it off you.”

Their words caught me off guard, but I trusted the leading of the Holy Spirit. As they prayed, my body involuntarily responded to their declarations as the spirit of witchcraft loosed its hold upon my life. I shook, wept, and was visibly moved by their authoritative prayer. It was as if a thousand pounds had lifted off my chest. I could finally breathe again and think clearly. One of the prophets saw my mantle rejuvenate and decreed that God would give me a double portion for all the devil had stolen from me.

My life has not been the same since that day. I honestly thought I was just in a difficult season, and that somehow, I would get through it. I had no idea that the curses of angry Christians and the national media carried such weight. I had been buried underneath the power of witchcraft, and its deadly threats—intimidation, manipulation, and domination—had worn away my vitality and clarity. I was harassed and hounded by a mob of people who wanted me to shut up, quit the ministry, and never prophesy again. I was manipulated by Christian leaders and friends who wanted to commandeer my decisions and control my next steps.

Ultimately, the demonic agenda of this evil spirit wanted to call the shots and take me out completely. The truth is, it almost did! I am alive today, strengthened, encouraged, renewed, and full of vision and hope for the future because several prophets discerned that I was under a severe witchcraft attack, and they moved to break its paralyzing grip off my life. These prophets are a shining example of the warrior bride in the last days.

Prophetic Word

In a recent dream, I saw banners hanging in churches, hotels, and stadiums that read, “Deliverance is the children’s bread.” God said to me, “Where the casting out of devils has been shut down by the spirit of religion, I am now releasing a generation of revivalists who are going to resurrect My kingdom with power and authority that will make deliverance normal, not abnormal.”

The Layers of Witchcraft

In 1 Samuel 15:23, we uncover the root of witchcraft. Samuel tells King Saul, “Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft.” In many versions of the Bible, the word is translated “divination.” Like a three-headed mythological monster, there are several different power centers in this evil spirit. Witchcraft provides the muscle and the horsepower. Divination is the revelatory arm that undergirds occultic practices like fortune telling. The final element is sorcery, which among other things, uses physical objects to control people.

Witchcraft is the result of rebellion. Wherever you uncover rebellion, look for witchcraft, because they are demonic twins. We live in a rebellious society that has deliberately rejected the righteous government of God in the Person of Jesus Christ. The result is cultural collapse and pervasive witchcraft. If you deliver a person from a spirit of rebellion, the spirit of witchcraft is lurking in the corner, trying to evade detection.

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Activation

A Christian who is assaulted by witchcraft will often have a variety of symptoms. Consider the following questions and rule out preexisting health conditions, chronic stress, or environmental factors. If you’ve been checked out by your doctor and you’re still experiencing these symptoms, it might be a witchcraft attack.

Are you disoriented or confused, perhaps even clumsy?

Have you lost your motivation?

Are you emotionally drained?

Do you feel like you perpetually have the flu?

Is your chest heavy and tight?

Do you have unexplainable changes in your blood pressure or heart rate?

Do you have nightmares or insomnia?

Are you forgetful?

Witchcraft in Families

Parents, do not allow your children to manipulate you. Your permissiveness will lead to their rebellion. Prodigal behavior is bound up in the heart of every child. “Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he grows older he will not abandon it” (Proverbs 22:6 NASB). Teaching your children to honor you prepares the soil of their hearts to receive the gospel. When we teach children healthy boundaries and discipline them appropriately, we keep them from the danger of the evil one and encourage them to die to themselves. This is an invitation into a submitted and supernatural life—a holy adventure!

Manipulation goes both ways. Parental possessiveness is a devastating form of control with far-reaching consequences. You are not your child’s god. Don’t make them into your image! Like stunted plants that don’t produce fruit, they will fail to grow into maturity as God intended. These Peter Pan Christians are stuck in their childhood and perpetually in need of parental approval and applause. Some time ago, I met a man in his thirties who was an itinerant preacher. He said to me, “Since I left home at the age of eighteen, no matter where I am in the world, I phone my mother every night.” I didn’t need to hear any more of the story. He was manipulated, trained in dependence, and forever tied to her apron strings. He was finally able to adjust his behavior without offending his mother, and without feeling guilty about it.

Another way parents manipulate their children is by exploiting their affection. “If you love mommy, you’ll clean up your room.” This is sinful and controlling language that enslaves children in false love. It subtly teaches them they were created for your will and pleasure instead of for God’s will and pleasure. The orphan spirit will prey on them, and they will learn obedience motivated by duty instead of obedience motivated by love. These little people-pleasers will appear well-behaved, but rebellion is deeply rooted in their hearts and will come out sideways years later.

Another form of witchcraft that roosts in families is temperamental love that comes and goes depending on how a child behaves. If love must be earned, it is conditional and contractual. This creates instability and insecurity and sets a child up to play a part in a performance that never ends. When the curtain finally goes down, these children are susceptible to a host of mental illnesses because they don’t know who they are or whose they are. The Father’s love pursues us, and is not earned, but freely given. “We love, because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19 NASB). Every child, even when they misbehave, should feel secure in their parents’ love. These deep roots of security will lead to good fruit.

Witchcraft in the Church

There are countless places for witchcraft to hide in our churches. The offering plate is a common one. Many pastors manipulate their congregations into giving, instead of addressing heart issues like greed, covetousness, and stinginess with solid biblical teaching. A church leader stands up at a conference and says, “There are five people here tonight who are going to give $500 each to this ministry.” One person after another stands up, until four individuals have pledged to give $500 each. Now everybody in the room is wondering, “Am I the fifth?” Eventually some poor guy stands up. Motivated by what? Righteousness? No. Guilt. God never motivates His people with guilt, but He will provoke them to jealousy if money is their first love.

In some extreme situations, fear tactics and open threats are used to control people’s behavior. In one situation, a pastor told his biggest donor, “If you leave this church your business will stop growing.” That businessman didn’t prosper for ten years because his pastor’s threats had cursed him. Proverbs 18:21 (NASB) says, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” While our words don’t create ex nihilo—out of nothing—like God’s words do, they are potent. If the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. So are the word curses of an unrighteous person. Gossip, slander, accusation, and curses are all forms of demonic prayer.

A demand for unquestioning loyalty is another form of witchcraft attack. “I’m your pastor, you have to obey me. If you don’t obey me, you’re disobeying God.” While it can be this overt, this type of manipulation is often more subtle and calculated. Consider the group of elders who told emerging leaders in their church that until a young leader’s character was tested by the death of a parent, they wouldn’t be qualified to participate in church leadership, which basically meant, “sit down and submit until we’re dead, too.” Tragically, many people who have grown up in demon daycares like this continue to mindlessly follow the person in front of them because that’s what the enemy taught them to do.

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[katarina-writes-about-jesus]

My background as a published author.

I used to be - or I guess I still am - a lesfic author. When I was five I announced to my family that I was going to be an author and soon after 20 I first self published and then was picked up by a publisher. The following years I published about a book every year. Every year until I got pregnant. I had, have, projects but I wanted to just revel in the miracle inside me. My baby was born almost two years ago and I haven't written a book since. It's more than just writer's block, I got more and more disillusioned with the LGBTQ+ community and I realised that my books are fluff. Romantic angst with plenty of sex scenes. And I didn't want to write it anymore, I didn't want to read it anymore. I'm really good at writing erotic smut but Jesus was calling me and I don't think He gave me the will to write to just write the stories I was writing. I'm made to worship him and draw closer to him and maybe spread his word a teeny, tiny bit.

Just before starting this blog I wrote an email to my publisher saying that I thought I would have managed to finish a book this summer but haven't. I haven't slept. I have taken care of my toddler, I haven't managed, and haven't had time... When in truth I realise now. I didn't want to. I have two half finished novels. I was so excited about both of them and now they mean nothing to me.

Being signed with a publisher used to be worth so much and I never thought I would choose to step away from that. We haven't renewed my contract so legally I'm fine. But I fought so hard for a publisher to sign me and twenty-six-year-old Katarina would call me crazy. Isn't this what I wanted? Sure. But that part of my life is over.

I started getting really worried that my literature would cause people to sin. My books had plenty of sexually explicit scenes. I'm not fully convinced that God is against masturbation but I'm also not sure he isn't. And what if I lead people to sin? The idea makes me sick.

I also realise that it wasn't writer's block because the moment I started with my current work in process, the words are flowing freely. I'm not ready to share what I'm writing about yet, but soon enough I will. It's not under my lesfic author name but under this name.

Another aspect I'm amazed about is the blogging aspect. To be a successful author you have to be on social media. I started a WordPress blog under that name and started blogging. And it was so incredibly difficult because I have nothing to say. I didn't want to blog about my life because who cares. I didn't want to blog about books or writing which is what I was supposed to say. On average I made maybe three to four blog posts per year and sometimes even less. I just didnt know what to talk about.

What surprises me is that this is maybe my sixth long post since I started this blog in August! In my draft folder I have 12 more posts waiting for me to write and post.

I feel that for the first time since I became an author I am genuine. I am me. I can write about Jesus. I can write about my experience as a Christian. I can write about the Bible. Before this I always felt like I was lying or untrue to my actual values. Turns out I was in the wrong place.

To end this post I also want to tell you that I have a WordPress blog now too, but it's the same posts as here.https://katarinawritesaboutjesus.wordpress.com/

Thanks for reading!

[van-skmugen]

Adventures ~ Fairytale

(Children's stories style)

[fatehbaz]

A small shed had been added to my grandmother’s house years ago. Some boards were laid across the joists at the top, and between these boards and the roof was a very small garret [...] … There was no admission for either light or air. My uncle Phillip, who was a carpenter, had very skillfully made a concealed trap-door [...] … To this hole I was conveyed as soon as I entered the house. The air was stifling; the darkness total. A bed had been spread on the floor … The rats and mice ran over my bed; but I was weary, and I slept such sleep as the wretched may, when a tempest has passed over them …

This was how Harriet Jacobs described her loophole of retreat in her autobiography published in 1861. Drawing on Jacobs, Simone Leigh has invited us to transform the loophole of retreat into a symbol of fortitude, resilience, and agency for black women. Reflecting on these powerful words and invitation, I would like to reflect on historical practices of hiding and retreating to protect black people’s lives, to gather strength, to survive, to invent ways of making kin and families, and to preserve love in a loveless world [...].

When I was fourteen years old, I organized a series of walks with a group of friends that lasted two to three weeks through the mountains of my home on the island La Réunion, a French colony since the eighteenth century and then, since 1946, a French overseas territory. I wanted to discover a world which bears the Malagasy names of the maroons who rejected the names with which slave owners had marked them as objects of commerce. They gave themselves names that expressed refusal and dreams of freedom: Tsimendef (from Tsi Mandevi, which means “not a slave”), Mafate (from Mahafaty, which means “one who kills”), Dimitile (from the Malagasy word for “the watchman”), Tsilaos (from Tsy ilaozana, which means “a space that one does not abandon”), or Anchaing and Heva. [...]

Despite centuries of imposed silence about the struggles against slavery and slavery itself, by carving their names on the island, maroons kept their presence alive, their mark stronger than colonial denial. [...] Carving spaces of freedom in a world organized around black unfreedom; a world that proclaimed that there was no alternative to the enslavement of black women and men and that this was as natural as day and night.

Marooning, whether it was for hours, for some days, or for decades, tore apart this naturalization and affirmed that there was an alternative. Looking down from the mountains, maroons made their presence felt; their very existence threatened the colonial order. Colonial power waged a long war against them with hunters cutting their ears to prove they had been killed or bringing them back for public punishment: torture, dismemberment, branded in the face, hung, burned alive. Yet, they never surrendered from their retreat. [...]

---

I also learned that creating spaces of freedom depended on patience and a kind of true but rare courage [...]. Their stories enlighten another temporality than the Western [...] one of progress, defeat, victory, and triumph over matter, all processes understood as enforcing submission, crushing all obstacles, laying to waste. In the spaces and places where white supremacy requires the performance of daily rituals of humiliation, of masterly control over the body and all kinds of matter, the practice of claiming a loophole of retreat means creating one’s own forms of freedom, endurance, perseverance, fortitude, as well as cunning; it means learning to play stupid, [...] to gather information in order to distract those in power.

When I think of a loophole of retreat, I think of the enslaved domestic who had to stand silent behind her owner [...]. She pretended not to see but saw, she pretended not to listen while collecting facts. I think of the intellectual history of slave revolts as told by the historian Julius S. Scott in The Common Wind: Afro-American Currents in the Age of the Haitian Revolution (2019), which tells the story of the intercontinental and Caribbean trans-island networks that tied enslaved communities and ensured the rapid transmission of mutinies and insurrections. [...]

Today climate change is being discussed in terms of crisis and as making necessary a cleaning of the planet, but by whom and for whom will the planet be cleaned? Clean air, clean water, and clean space have always been distributed along segregated lines. The colonial/racial spatial division prefigured the world in which we live: to the rich go the whitened green parks, clean water, spaces of leisure, birds and flowers, and the poor and the black and brown are left with dirty water, polluted air, polluted soil. [...]

[H]ow do we develop a politics of visibility and invisibility both for fighting in the open and for building spaces of retreat away from the constant racial-sexist gaze of State surveillance and control?

---

All text above by: Françoise Vergès. “Politics of Marooning and Radical Disobedience.” e-flux journal #105. December 2019. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[whosscruffylooking]

Promotion (Aaron Hotchner x Reader)

oh geez...this is my first time ever publishing my writing, especially a reader insert. a little cheat sheet: any time the writing is in bold and is italicized, it’s the readers inner monologue (aka my thought process while writing 🤪)

Warnings: None. Angst? Maybe? And then some fluff at the end.

Words: 1.4k

“Although Freud said happiness is composed of love and work, reality often forces us to choose love or work.” -Letty Cottin Pogrebin

Perhaps it was the speed at which his heel was tapping against the floor of his office, the pale color of his knuckles as his grip tightened around his pen, or the way he anxiously kept running his hands through his hair.

God, I'd love to run my hands through his hair. Now is not the time.

For the past twenty minutes, you've found yourself captivated by your boss's troubled appearance. Aaron Hotchner is notorious for being stoic and virtually unreadable. He once stared down the barrel of George Foyet's gun and boasted that he wasn't afraid of him. But here he was, visibly distraught, and all you want to is run to his aid. That's all you've wanted to do for the past three years that you've been a profiler with the BAU.

In all fairness, Aaron was a very closed-off man. He rarely brought his work home with him and never brought his home life to work. Somehow though, you've managed to break that barrier. Even if only slightly. You'd been there for him in his darkest hours, refusing to let him push you away because you knew that if you'd allowed that, he'd suppress himself to death.

Much to your surprise, he didn't put up much of a fight. Instead, he opened himself and his home up to you. He let himself be vulnerable, and he let you help him explore the dark inner workings of his mind. You did so without trepidation, and slowly, you found yourself falling in love with him. You knew the feelings weren't reciprocated, though. At least, you told yourself that. In some twisted way, you'd reasoned that if you refused to acknowledge that he may feel the same, it would make it easier to deny yourself the ability to love your superior. It's wrong. Unprofessional. It could only end in disaster.

Yet, here you are, timidly knocking on the door to his office. Your heart is beating out of your chest, your hands clammy, your teeth drawing blood from your bottom lip.

"Come in," his husky voice mumbles.

Opening the door, you make your way to the chair across from him at his desk. You cross your legs and anxiously pick at the skin around your nails. He looks up from his paperwork, his bloodshot eyes meeting yours, "Can I help you?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, "I can tell somethings wrong, Hotch. You finished your reports an hour ago, and for the past twenty minutes, you've been staring at the same piece of paper, agonizing over it. I haven't seen you like this since-"

Since the divorce papers.

You shake your head, choosing to gloss over that thought, "Is everything okay?"

Silence pierces the air. A pit forms in your stomach. A glossy haze clouds Aaron's eyes, and a small gasp escapes your lips as you notice it.

"Aaron? Aaron, what's the matter? What's on the paper?"

"It's my letter of recommendation for you. You've been chosen as a candidate for the Counterintelligence Division."

You freeze and stare at him with wide eyes. Unable to gather your thoughts or formulate the right words, or any comments for that matter, you sit in silence with him.

Wait. His eyes were watering. Why would he be tearing up?

He's the Unit Chief; his job is to lead his team and hopefully mentor them into a position where they can advance when fit. In fact, he told you after your first year with the unit that he could see you achieving the goal of progressing to Counterintelligence and eventually to FITF.

Is he not happy for me? Proud of me? Of course, he is. He's always wanted me to succeed. This couldn't possibly be because...oh. Me too, Aaron. Me too.

You take a deep breath. Someone has to break the silence...again.

"When would I find out whether or not I got the promotion?"

"First, you would go through a series of interviews and tests before solidifying your position. My recommendation is merely to give my stamp of approval for your transfer."

You let out a stumbled scoff, "Right. You are just giving me your permission to leave. And that's what you want? For me to leave?"

He furrows his brow, "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"Do I, Aaron?"

The honorable and upright team leader reluctantly turns the piece of paper around, pointing out the empty signature line.

"This is what I've been agonizing over. I'm torn y/n because, on the one hand, all I want is for you to live your life with no regrets. To achieve all that you've worked so hard for. And on the other hand, all I want is for you to stay here with me..." he stutters, "With us. The team."

Did SSA Aaron Hotchner just say he wants me to stay with him?

A pink hue paints his cheeks, and you feel yours heat up to match his. You're in disbelief. In one night, it's as if all of the things you've ever wanted have come to fruition, and yet you realize that you can't successfully have them all. Being in Counterintelligence would take you away from your home, your family, the man you're in love with. But if you stay with the BAU, you can only imagine the repression of dating your supervisor; Strauss would not make your life and job easy. You need to make a choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and you can feel your heart yearn for the man sitting across from you.

"Aaron, can I do something wholly unprofessional and beyond all sound reason?"

Aaron narrows his eyes, trying to read exactly what your motives are; his posture straightens as he recognizes your shared longing. He quickly nods and stands up. You mirror his actions and meet him halfway.

Whoa. He's tall. Very tall. And his face is very close to mine.

With bated breath, you gaze into each other's eyes as if asking for permission one last time. It's now or never. As if in complete synchronization, you both lean into one another, claiming each other's lips. He gasps softly, earning a slight chuckle from you. Your entire body tingles, and his hands find their way around your waist, squeezing your hips softy.

He's good at this. Too good. I'm not complaining though.

It's as if his lips are a paintbrush and yours are his canvas. You should pull away, but you're being held captive by his touch. It's as if you both have been starved for year's and your hunger is finally being satisfied. Nothing could taint this moment.

Except...lungs. Stupid, lungs gasping for air.

Forced to separate yourself from him, you touch your forehead to his, determined not to break all contact.

His smile glistens as a small laugh escapes his lips, "You have terrible timing. I had finally convinced myself to sign the document."

You adamantly shake your head, "No. No, I don't want you to sign it. I want to stay. Stay here with the team. I want to stay here with you."

He clears his throat, his voice hoarse, "This job opportunity is too good to pass up y/n."

"No, Aaron Hotchner, you are too good to pass up," you say, pressing your palms to his chest and peering into his beautiful chestnut eyes.

"Well then," he pushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, "Looks like I get to boss you around for a little while longer." A devilish smirk spreads across his face.

"Not too fast. I do have an idea of something else you could sign for me."

"And what's that?"

"A check for a raise?"

A hearty laugh echoes from his chest through his office, "I'm gonna kiss you again instead."

"Oh yeah?" You smile, lacing your fingers around his neck.

"Oh yeah." He encloses his lips on yours once more.

It's in that moment when his scent is filling your lungs, his touch imprinting on your skin, and his lips leaving you addicted and craving more that you realize you made the right choice.

No job or promotion could ever give you the feeling you have right now in Aaron's arms. You have never felt more alive than you do exploring your love for Aaron. The best promotion is going from being on the outside of his life to being the one that fills his heart.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time

ok, so. a little disclaimer before we get into the good stuff. Cannon is in no way whatsoever being followed in this. honestly? im not even sure that i REMEBER cannon at this point. that said, cannon is non applicable. at. all. 

moving on. YES, i WILL finish B!DBWM stuff eventually. but uh...not today. i just mentally cant. it. will. come. when. my. brain. can. handle. the. world. that. i. had. tailored. for. it. 

ALSO this is going to be kinda sporatic, but the goal (not end all be all but) is to have this wrapped in a pretty little package and finished (at least on my end) by the end of february.

and now....onto the stuff you came here for!

---

Marinette was running late to school when she met him. She ran into the boy and stumbled back, flailing to catch herself before she fell. He looked down at her owlishly, before looking around. By the time he had returned his gaze to her, the teen had pulled herself back together. He smiled and nodded at her, before moving to go around. When Marinette had pulled herself together enough to call a short “sorry!”, He was already gone.

That was three weeks ago. Now, she was looking at a picture of their interaction, where it blared on the front page of the newspaper that Jagged had sent her. When Marinette had received the package, she had been confused. Jagged wasn’t supposed to send her another demo for a few weeks. They were still working on singles. When she had opened the box and found five different American publications with her on their front page, the teen designer had shrieked. With shaking hands, she picked up the top one and studied the headline.

HAS BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD FOUND PARISIAN LOVE?

The bold text was catching, sure, but Marinette was caught on WHO it was placing her with. Someone she had never met. The second one had a picture of her next to Jagged at an event, and a picture of the boy next to a blonde girl. The headline wasn’t much better than the first.

TIMELINE OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MDC AND THE HEIR TO WAYNE INERPRISES.

The teen snorted. She was starting to see the pattern. Putting the tabloid down the girl moved onto the next one. This one had, once again, a zoomed in picture of the five second interaction between her and a stranger. The title, however, was different than the first two.

ALL OF BRUCE WAYNE’S CHILDREN, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON HIS NEWEST DAUGHTER

She squinted, laughter bubbling up a little as she observed the piece of fiction. Whoever the Bruce Wayne was, Marinette hopped that he was able to combat this, because she had no intention of letting this fly.

Tim and Bruce were staring at the pile of papers in mild shock. When Jared had reached out to them in mild panic, they had been confused. His panic had been explained when the rocker had arrived carrying a stack of tabloid literature a foot thick. When he had thunk’d the stack down on Bruce’s desk, the businessman’s shock had been more than notable. When Tim had picked up the first few publications the initial look on his face was mirth, but it quickly morphed into shock, then panic. When he handed the top item to Bruce, the older man frowned. When the second pamphlet made its way to his hands, Bruce paused. His next move was to call the Wayne family lawyers. when he turned back to his old friend, all the faces in the room told the same grim tale of what was to come.

When Tim found out that it was Jared’s niece that he had accidentally run into in the brief moment in Paris, he wasn’t sure whether he should be more stressed by it, or if it was by pure luck. When Bruce’s friend went on to explain that the girl would probably already suing the reports and papers that had published the rumor, the young CEO was impressed. To have a lawyer on hand like that was…surprising, considering that she couldn’t be older than 18.

When he asked the rocker if he thought the girl would let anyone go after her, he laughed. Then, Jared Stone explained that the girl was known in Paris for squishing rumors with surprising efficiency.

That evening, Bruce invited his childhood friend home for dinner, and the star spent the evening telling stories of their capers as children, with Alfred grimacing in agreement with the stories. Partway through dinner, Jared’s phone went off. While the rest of the family tensed, glancing to Alfred, their guest frowned at his phone before rushing to answering. “Hey Little Rocker! How’s Pari- oh. So, Penny was more efficient then I thought she’d be. I- yes I figured that you may want to hear. Do- No! Marinette, what!” here, the man paused, his head cocked to the side, his eyes screwed up in thought. “No luv! Sue them within an inch of their lives! You more then have that right.” Here, the rocker paused before he laughed. “Tell that buzzing bee of yours that she’s a good friend. Alright, Miss Mari. I’ll ring you when I’m back on that side of the Atlantic.” He laughed again, “See you soon, Marinette.” The table stayed quiet, waiting for the man to give an indication on the status of the conversation. “Well, Brucie, expect to hear from my niece in the next few day, or at least, her team of lawyers.” the Wayne patriarch blinked before nodding in hidden surprise.

When the family was talking during patrol that evening, Tim grumbled. The 18-year-old was still taken aback that the press had even seen the momentary interaction almost a month ago. As his brothers listened in, many of them started to make fun of the teen. When Jason tuned in, he dropped in the middle of tale. At his confusion, Tim sighed and started over, again. While the family was laughing over his run-in with the press, the former Robin shook his head and silenced his family. He had a feeling he wouldn’t live this one down for a while.

Originally, Jason had found Tim’s predicament hilarious. Of course, the kid had to have the worst run-ins with the press. Then, he had picked up one of the many tabloids with the story. When he had seen the pictures, all mirth left the resurrected vigilante. The noirette that was looking up at him from the page? Yeah. He knew her. Better than anyone else, actually. With shaking hands, the young man paged to the story. What he found was…illuminating. So. She had been adopted. In France. In Paris. After forcing his lungs to draw breath, Jason pulled out his phone. He had arrangements to make.

The day after Jagged had sent her the gossip rags that were considered journalism, Marinette strode into school with a scowl so ingrained in in her features that anyone who didn’t know her would think the expression was permanent. When she stalked into the Lycée classroom, Chloé grinned at her from where she had settled in the front row. Marinette nodded at her friend as she slid in next to her. Lila came skipping in moments later, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before falling when she saw the bone quaking scowl resting on her nemesis’ face. “oh Marinette! Did something happen? Did…did you anger your parents? Did they find out about all those men?” the other girl huffed before turning to her. Lila froze as she was met with the iciest glare that she had seen in years.

“oh Lila. That’s so cute. It almost sounds like you still think that your little stories affect me at all. That’s…adorable.” The Italian girl shrunk under the younger girl’s stare. Suddenly, she understood why people had been warning her to leave the teen alone. this girl, she was brutal. “lucky for you, you’re not the one I’m after, this time. My lawyers have bigger fish to fry.” The newer addition to the classroom gulped, her throat suddenly very dry. It occurred to her that maybe Marinette had let her take control of the class. After all, if they turn that easily, why would she want them for friends. The smaller girl nodded as she watched the realization run over Lila’s face. Raising her eyebrows, the Eurasian girl motioned her classmate along, sending a cruel smile after her.

Chloé waited until the little liar was gone before giggling at her friend’s reaction to the girl who had become their daily annoyance. “I’m guessing you saw what’s been running in the American news? I thought it wouldn’t take long for you to respond. Are a plethora of lawsuits on the way?” Marinette giggled slightly as her severe demander giving way to the internal glee that was consuming the teen over the sheer chaos that was to come.

When Jason touched down in Paris, he tensed. The atmosphere in the city was less carefree than he remembered. There was an air that actually reminded him of Gotham. Tense. Waiting or the other shoe to drop. The expectation that your day was going to go wrong set from the moment one woke up. Pulling out his phone, the Gotamite looked up the address to the bakery that he had found when digging online. If today went the way he was hoping it would, the bakery would be his only stop for the day. Of course, he didn’t count on Gina.

When she called him over from where she was standing by her bike, Jason had to smile. The woman was part of the reason that he wasn’t still camping out in Gotham, waiting to kill a certain billionaire. Once the spry biker had latched onto his arm, the young man knew that his mission would have to wait just a bit. After all, he owed Gina almost everything he had.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 26, Post #1 by @cheesyficwriter

Title: The Greatest Chapter 

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Prompt: Moving in together

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: None

Prompt: Moving in together 

  The Greatest Chapter

At age 10, I had the most embarrassing schoolgirl crush on Harry Potter. I'd see him and run in the opposite direction, painting the perfect image of me as a young girl who lacked the confidence needed to formulate words — any words — around someone I liked. 

Before getting to know Harry for who he really was, I was so infatuated with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. I wanted so desperately to be going to Hogwarts with Ron before I was old enough, knowing that Harry Potter would be there too. 

The way Harry took on a basilisk to save my life during my first year did nothing but solidify my growing feelings for him. My crush never really went away but instead transformed into a casual friendship based upon our shared experience in the Chamber of Secrets, a friendship that I was willing to accept at the time because I just wanted to be around him. 

As we grew up, I started to relax more in his presence. We gained a mutual respect for one another, exchanging laughs in the Great Hall and sharing in-jokes during Christmases at the Burrow. Those little moments, in between all of the chaos and turmoil of what used to be, helped me learn a few things about Harry that I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise — not even on the front page of The Daily Prophet.  

When I was younger, I admired Harry because I was under the impression that he possessed traits that I didn’t. I never imagined that I could be as brave, or courageous, or charismatic as he was to me. What surprised me the most about our developing friendship at Hogwarts was that there were far more similarities between us than differences. We shared the same wicked sense of humor — that I like to say I inherited from my plethora of brothers — yet could still hold my own during quick-witted battles, and I often found myself looking at Harry whenever something made me laugh, just to see if he was laughing, too. My stomach always spiraled when, more often than not, I found him looking back at me. We used our shared humor to our advantage, and I was thankful for that small respite in the midst of so much darkness. 

We shared the same values, both of us realizing the importance of family, friends, and love above everything else. It’s what we fought for every day, even when it seemed like we were too young to really know what love was. 

As our friendship continued, my romantic feelings for Harry were buried deep down in a place where I was once convinced they would stay. I decided to throw all of my energy into school, developing my skills as a witch, thus growing the confidence I needed along the way to put myself out there with other, more available boys. 

For years, we were caught up in our own lives, and it shocked me more than anyone to have captured Harry’s attention when I least expected it. From the first moment he kissed me, I never hesitated. All of those feelings I had attempted to bury came rushing back to the surface, like revealing a galleon that I had stashed at the bottom of my trunk. 

I will never forget those few stolen weeks we had together when I was 15 and he was 16. He described it as something out of someone else’s life, and at the time, I had thought that was all we would ever be. Time was fleeting, and there wasn’t enough of it. 

Harry had no choice but to dedicate his life to fighting for the wizarding world, and I was always determined to be right there beside him, up until the point where I couldn’t. I was smart enough to understand why he didn’t ask me to come with him. It was his mission. His, Ron’s, and Hermione’s. I didn’t often miss the times the three of them carried on by themselves, engaging in secret conversation and disappearing without the faintest clue of their whereabouts until much later. 

On that fateful day that Harry broke things off, I already knew what he was so desperately trying to convey to me. If I were to have accompanied him on the Horcrux hunt, it would’ve been me he was worried about instead of finding the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that were crucial to defeating him. 

That notion — although tragic in a sense — gave me more pleasure than the feeling of scoring an impossible goal during a Quidditch match. 

Regardless, Harry was never far from my mind those long months that he was gone. My childhood crush seemed silly at that point because I had gained so much more than a fleeting romance. 

As time passed, and Harry and I found our way back to each other after Voldemort's defeat, it took us a minute to catch our bearings and resume our relationship that we had put on an indefinite pause. 

It hadn’t always been easy dating him. In fact, dealing with the fame that Harry carried around with him from being a war hero had been a lot harder than I ever anticipated. But it was always unspoken that we managed, despite what any publishings had to say about us. 

I came to love him, not for being Harry Potter, but for who he truly was. His heart. His courage.  

As I stood reflecting on my relationship with Harry in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, I was overcome with emotion. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was the one we were destined to have, and that made every hardship worth it. 

The room housed a large window overlooking the street, a charming — albeit dusty — fireplace, and ornate fixtures. For a person who just moved in, I felt like the house itself could have been in worse shape. Harry did an exceptional job keeping the place organized, especially for someone who, up until just a few days ago, lived there by himself. 

That’s not to say I hadn’t already spent plenty of nights at Grimmauld Place over the last couple of years. In fact, I probably spent more nights there than I did at the Burrow once I returned home from my final year at Hogwarts. 

It was during those nights that I discovered just a fraction of the pain Harry went through. He’d always been intensely emotional, and so many nights I spent shaking him from his residual nightmares of the trauma he went through, despite the wizarding world being in a much better place. I comforted him the best I could in those moments, determined to make it clear to him that I’m never letting go — not this time. 

I smiled to myself as I took a seat on the piano bench, observing the peeling paint from one of the large, cracked walls. We had a lot of work to do, but moving in together was a proper next step for us. 

"Gin? Are you home?" Harry’s voice carried through the dusty walls. 

Before I could respond, Harry was already standing in the open archway, head tilted to the side with curiosity etched across his face. “Were you just staring at a blank wall?”

I crossed my arms, determined not to let him know about my extensive reflection into our past. “So what if I was, Potter?”

He looked as if he wanted to question my retort further but instead joined me at the piano, bumping his shoulder with mine. 

“It’s a lot of fun coming home to you,” he admitted, the rich, melodic sound of the piano filling the open space from his fingertips pressing against one of the keys. 

“You know that’s practically how we were before, right? When was the last time we spent a night apart?”

Harry shrugged, and it was clear he never really thought about it. “Dunno, but it was one night too many, I reckon.”

I sighed, wanting to ask a question that had been weighing on my heart. “Do you find it odd that we’ve never really argued? I mean, even when you broke up with me-”

“Why must we go back to that?” Harry interrupted, a pained look crossing his face. 

I gave him a playful pat on the arm. I wanted our past to be something positive we could look back on and didn’t fancy dwelling on the shit times. 

“Shush. I’m just saying, even though it hurt a lot to not know where you were for almost a year, I always understood your decision. You had to go.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together, clearly still trying to work out the point of the conversation. “Where are you going with this?”

“I just-I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I rubbed my temple to ease my stressed-out mind. “I’m actually worried that we will never fight.”

“Oh, we’ll fight.”

I turned towards Harry, who was too busy fiddling with the piano keys to even look at me. He responded straight away, like he didn’t even have to think about it. “How can you be so certain?”

Harry snorted. “I’ve witnessed you get all hot-headed when you disagree with other people.” He sent me a dazzling grin, reaching out to trail his fingers through my stray ginger strands that hung loose from my ponytail. “You’ve got that fiery red hair. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hey!”

“In fact,” Harry smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I think you’re the most problematic person I know, Ginevra.”

Harry yelped when I pinched his forearm. “You prat.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. “In all seriousness, though, we’re going to be fine.”

I stared at him in awe but leaned into him. “You are so sure of yourself.”

He grabbed my shoulders, pivoting our bodies so that we were facing each other on the bench. “You wanna know how sure I am?”

Before I could respond or even react, he kissed me full on the mouth. He growled as our kiss intensified, and all at once, our positions shifted as I felt a sharp pain in my back from my body making contact with the piano keys with a resounding trill. I was left dizzy and breathless, snogging Harry as a wave of happiness resonated through me. 

When he pulled away, his fierce emerald eyes locked on mine set my mind ablaze. “Does that answer your question?”

I decided his question didn’t require a verbal response, so I simply attached my hand to the nape of his neck before dragging his face back to mine. We didn’t talk much for a while after that. 

I knew, perhaps more than anyone else, how much Harry desired moving forward from the past. I’m ready, too, to start the greatest chapter of our lives.