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silverinkbottle · 3 months

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Oh. You

Alright. Finished up the season, enraptured by the concept and premise. Especially with our lovely deer boi's total not mental break at the end.

HUGE SPOILERS FOR FINALE OF HAZBIN. GO WATCH THEN READ

Chapter 2 <-

Warnings: Violence. Murky employment of child-like spirits.

Alright. On to the premise of the fic AU.

Summary: Unexpected meetings with Exes are always dramatic. Meetings in Hell after a historic battle aren't an exception to the rule.

A/N: Shorter chapter, but writing the next one as we speak. Yes, more Reader powers/backstory shall be revealed. This was just a hint of it.

Radio Demon..Gone

A pause in the wave of whispers.

Defeated?

Your lips curled in quaint satisfaction. It wasn’t true. No, he was far too proud to go out like that. The cigarette in your left hand was quickly extinguished in a nearby ash tray as you slid over the familiar carriage of the metal typewriter. The melodic ding of the mechanisms as your fingers hovered over the cool keys. The pamphlet would have to be perfect as you could all but hear your boss’s ranting and raving if the ‘excitement’ of the failed extermination. The bravado of Hell’s singular Princess. That was the problem when writing propaganda, it was so much harder when imagining details instead witnessing them first. Or second hand as there was a faint ding of a bell, a small furred paw slid across a new memo over your desk as you glanced over it with little interest.

Radio Demon. Located.

“Show me. My little rabbit.” You purred as your little messenger respectfully tipped his hat to you. Gently gripping your hand with its paws, you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the claustrophobic sensation of the endless darkness. It was how these little lost souls traveled throughout Hell, through the little pockets of forgotten realities. Never really existing as a true Sinner or Hellborne, all but clinging to a semblance of existence instead of nothing. It’s how your ‘paper’ boys came to your service. The boys came in a collection of fur colors, blacks, browns, whites even the occasional red, all with long rabbit ears popping through tweed caps, looking smart in little vests and trousers. One key feature remained the same, their facial features were blank like a mannequin in a shop. As if unable to manifest their ‘true’ faces from their past, or was it the disjointed collection of spirits unable to enforce a singular will on the others.

“Oh”. Your eyes flickered around to the carnage of rubble. It was a mess, that was the gentlest way of putting it. However, there was an undeniable note of copper in the air, mingling with strangely sweet notes as you nudged at the corpse of an Exorcist in passing. Even that tap with your boot provoked further golden ichor from numerous stab wounds.

“Don’t touch that.” You hissed quickly grabbing the paperboy’s hand to plug him away from the puddle. Who knew what would happen if it managed to somehow consume the holy blood. The gory vision of an imploded corpse passed over your mind. Or somehow the souls reviving themselves. No, it wouldn’t do as your hand tightened about the child-like figure’s wrist as the pair of you marched toward the wreckage of the radio station.

The copper flecks in the warped into something far saltier as you unceremoniously kicked in the half-broken door. A squeak of excitement came from your servant as it was drawn to the energy lingering in the air, bouncing into the room. Paws reaching for the unseen as another loud squeal came from its’ faceless mask. A true scream like that of a small child as black blood dripped down onto the floor, followed by the corpse dissipating much to the disappointment of the predator. Alastor lazily flicked the ink-like blood from his hand as you sighed.

“You look like shit.” You said as that seemed to grab his attention from the corpse to you. Suit torn, a visibly hurt shoulder and above all, that dim smile that seemed to go even thinner with your inspection.

“Like even worse than the time with those moonshiners who gave us a bad batch after that wrong call out. Worse than-”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

His words edged with a metallic screech as you couldn’t help but laugh. His pride made it all the worse to have someone witness the great, dangerous, infamous ‘Radio Demon’ licking his wounds.

“Making sure your ears aren’t burning, darling. The walls talk and this whole stand-off with Heaven will be all the rage on the streets. Especially about YOUR disappearance after returning so briefly for all the fanfare you stirred up. Aligning yourself with the Princess of Hell, facing Angels and aiding in some hotel. Had to come see it for myself..”

“Seems like I was a bit late for that last part. Shame.” You sighed as you jabbed a pointed finger towards the mess outside. Stepping over the corpse it was all too easy to see the little restraint remaining in the demon’s gaze as sharp nails grabbed your face.

“Don’t get pissy because I am telling YOU the truth. A nice change for once, don’t you agree?” You teased as his free hand drifted over the crimson fur of your fox ears. Your sharp canine sank down onto your lower lip to resist the urge to squeal when the gentle touch turned to a rougher tug. A thin trickle of blood drifted over Alastor’s smug expression as you had managed to cut a razor-thin line with your folding knife over his skin. His throat would be next if he didn’t release your ears as you hissed low in your throat.

“Curiosity killed the cat, dearest. Surely you know that better than most.” Alastor retorted as his gaze flicked down to your covered throat.

“Aren’t we terribly clever.” You sneered as you took a few steps back. Even in his weakened state, you knew it was wiser to play your cards cautiously than provoke him further. Genuine surprise crossed your features as you spied to battered remains of that infernal microphone. So those rumors were true as you withdrew your little black book from your dress pocket. A snap of your fingers as an inkwell pen neatly checked off the short list. You were quick to close the book with a loud sigh as Alastor’s peering over your shoulder was less than subtle.

“Don’t you-”

“My, my, still writing all sorts of rumors aren’t you. However, do you find the time?” Alastor mused as he flicked lazily through the pages. Irritatingly sidestepping you with each attempted grab. There wasn’t much worth in that book, but it was still beyond infuriating. Taking a deep breath, you forced a pleasant smile on your face as your fingers snapped together. There was the faintest ding of a typewriter as another small rabbit-like creature sprang from the floor, collecting the book with a quick grab.

“I have reliable help. Which is surprisingly difficult to come by these days. Unlike some Sinners, I can’t shrink from my duties to throw a temper tantrum.” You ticked off the comments on your fingers as Alastor’s ears went flat at the petty remark.

“Oh, I am sorry. Would you like me to embellish it a bit? A dramatic session of sulking after a bruising defeat. An outburst of egotistical pride? No. Something far more crude. A shit-fit.” You nodded to your little rabbit as its paws hastily scribbled your dictation into the notebook.

“Hilarious.”

“I prefer charming.” You deadpanned as he shook his head at you. There was an almost faint feeling of nostalgia in the air now. It was almost human as the faintest memory of you finding him sulking after a less than perfect evening show. That his beat was off, ever the perfectionist as you patted his head with gentle encouragement. Far less cruel times before the darkness began to contaminate both of you.

“You never did answer my question. What are you doing here?” Alastor quipped as he ran a fingertip over the broken top of the microphone.

“You really think I would miss out on the potential of this?” You dramatically gestured to the carnage about you.So many stories waiting to be written as you clapped your hands together. Summoning two more paperboys as their ears quivered from side to side waiting for your word.

“Now off you go. Don’t leave a stone unturned. I wonder if we can get some true numbers on the casualties of saintly Heaven. Now would stir up the populace.” Your pen cut through your book without a thought as if you were in the privacy of your office. Instead of that of one ex-husband who was looking more and more perturbed at your avoidance of the question.

“I’m waiting.” Alastor chirped as his fingers splayed over the wet ink, pulling the book away from you. Or at least he tried to as you were quick to jab the sharp tip of the pen into his index fingers provoking a small hiss from the demon.

“You’ll keep waiting. I’ll give you a single crumb, I didn’t come here for YOU.” You snapped as you did your best to smooth out the crinkled page. The writing itself was a smudged mess of ink as you scowled at the once crisp paper.

“Then. Why?” Alastor asked as you gently closed the book shut, slipping it into your dress pocket. Now came the difficult or was it the dangerous part? Despite your estranged relationship, he was an Overlord and you were well..You. Your connections came from the rumor mills of Hell, whispers of your paperboys hiding in the shadows and the scant bit of information from the rants of your boss.

“I was asked to inspect the battleground, sort out the truth from the gossip and exaggerations. Plus the smallest bit of curiosity-”

“About-?” Alastor mused as he cocked his head at you.

“If it was true that Angels had been slain by their own weapons. I know markets are going to flux with all that. Not to mention the apparent discovery of near comatose cannibals found on the side of the road. Complaining about being TOO full for once, it was quite-”

“You’re chirping an all too familiar song, kit. I know you are hiding something far more than that. Now whoever could have convinced YOU to do the dirty business of finding out sources yourself.” Alastor mused as he placed a single finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“It was Vox.”

Laughter burst from you as saw the telltale twitch of his right eye. The harsher smile over his face at the mere mention of his hated rival. The potential power vacuum or perhaps the reverse of it now that the King of Hell seemed less reclusive.

‘Now, don’t get your antlers in a knot. It wasn’t Vox, you really think I would lower myself and quality for his trash version of news? Please, darling. I do have standards.” You smirked as you smugly patted his cheek before turning on your heel to leave the wreckage of the studio.

“Now, don’t sulk for too long. I imagine that little hotel needs you now more than ever.”

As soon as you stepped back into the air. Small papers were all but shoved in your direction. Questions, answers, comments all things to be filed away as you dove into your work. Allowing words to shove out the memories of the past. To continue forging your path in this forsaken place in your own way. With the smallest bit of leverage through blackmail, threats and a flair all your own.

Flipping through the notes, the faintest tug on your sleeve pulled your attention from the words. A simple request. One that made you want to throw a tantrum of your own as the golden ink burned in your vision. It wasn’t a request.

It was an order.

“Fuck me.” You hissed as you pulled a cigarette from your pocket, allowing the flame of your lighter to ignite the blissful nicotine and eat away at the fine paper. Burning the message into ash to join the rest of the wreckage around you.

You hated feeling cornered. It was an ugly feeling that made your skin crawl like a fox with its leg caught in a trap. There was bitter irony in the scenario as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. The vulpine-like features weren’t as much of a hindrance as you knew it could be for other sinners. Your ears twitched as you could hear the faint conversation outside on the street beneath your room’s window. However, it did make your emotions more expressive as you could guard your tongue, but your ears were another story when it came to harsher emotions. Running a brush through the soft fur of your tail as you perched on the edge of your desk, quietly directing the paperboys about you. Files had to be carefully moved, copied, sent elsewhere for safekeeping and then copied again. Each copy had little fragments of the truth in it, it would be quite the task to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle if someone was desperate enough. Or stupid enough given the true owner of the content wasn’t fond of others knowing his secrets.

Hours passed in a mere blink of the eye as you sighed running your fingers over the last box of files with satisfaction. All written in ink or typed by typewriter, some called your method of recordkeeping outdated. You preferred to think of it as efficient, it was far more difficult to change dried ink than a meddlesome electronic document. Besides, your boss was pleased as long as you managed to write his dictations without the need for a pause in his rambling. Yet, given the events lately, hopefully the work would keep him bursting into your quarters late at night too often.

Clicking together the last few buttons of your tweed dress collar as the lapel was accented by a singular red rose pin, you couldn't help but admire the shine of it. Its metallic petals caught in the sunlight as you stepped out onto the busy streets.You were quick to grab the ears of the paperboys flanking you, halting them from bolting off, especially with the boxes in their hands.

“No time to dawdle, I can’t be late..” You hissed before releasing the furry ears with a nod. Others would soon follow their steps as you silently hoped your arrival wouldn’t be met with much trouble. Up to the steps of the newly refurbished, rebuilt and endorsed by the King of Hell himself, the newly improved..

Hazbin Hotel

#hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin fanfic #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #x reader fic #hazbin alastor

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desertleviathan · 4 months

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I've included every Job I've heard people mention as speculation, no matter how unlikely I personally find it. Propaganda after the cut is all just my own feelings, and includes some very minor spoilers for recent MSQ events, Astrologian Job Quests, and the Shadowbringers patch 5.3 Dungeon:

CALCULATOR PROS: They have had some fun with Math Bosses, haven't they. It is a theme present in the game, and with precedent in earlier FF games. CONS: I can not imagine any configuration of this job that would function within the timing of FFXIV's combat. Applying simple Astrologian buffs is already tricky enough. Also, this was a real balance-demolisher in its main prior appearance.

GAMBLER PROS: FFVI has proven fertile ground for Job design concepts, between the Monk and Machinist revamps. And Setzer's armor is already in the game. CONS: Even more RNG dependent than Dancer? I don't much like the sound of that. And Astrologian has already claimed Cards as a primary tool.

GEOMANCER PROS: It canonically exists in setting. And it is on the dwindling list of Jobs in FFXI that haven't been reinterpreted in FFXIV. Probably a pretty strong contender, except... CONS: The Astrologian quests kind of ate its lunch, explicitly stating that they are heavily overlapping arts. That will be a common theme with entries on this list, Astrologian seems to be made of pieces of a ton of prior Mage jobs.

GREEN MAGE PROS: The presumptive favorite in most of the chatter I'm reading, because of a symbol on a thing in a very "we're teasing new content" feeling MSQ cutscene that matches the design of Green Mage in one of the Tactics games (I think?) CONS: Ok great but what the heck even is a Green Mage? Their whole shtick appears to be long-duration buffs and debuffs that would have been categorized as Black or White Magic in other games... and FFXIV has been very steadily removing those kinds of powers, aside from a handful of DoTs. If they crib this aesthetic, the actual mechanics will likely be something entirely unanticipated, or possibly overlapping with one of these other options, rather than a Buff/Debuff Mage. Or maybe they've just been removing long duration powers from other classes to... consolidate them? I really doubt it, but maybe.

NECROMANCER PROS: It's a solid concept, an RPG classic, and the Necromancer Boss in the Heroes' Gauntlet dungeon looks sick. Rumor has it that all the bosses in that dungeon were concepts once considered as alternate branches of base classes in the same way Arcanist splits into Scholar and Summoner, before they ditched that design. In which case it probably would have split from Thaumaturge? CONS: Rumor also has it that cultural considerations in certain key markets made this something SE didn't want to pose as a heroic archetype. Also, pet jobs. They've been pretty steadily gutting the pet mechanics of Scholar and Summoner, and I can't imagine they'd be in any hurry to add another full scale Pet Job. Maybe a Limited Job though. Also, in FFXIV the art to animate and control the dead seems to be closely related to the summoning of Voidsent, and Reaper is already doing the Demon Magic thing in a big way.

ORACLE PROS: I'm gonna be real with y'all, can't actually think of any. I see this as having zero chance. But the name keeps coming up in conversation. So maybe I'm wrong, and the apparent fan support will keep the idea afloat. CONS: Like Green Mage, it's mainly been a place to dump debuffs that originally belonged to other magic types. And the theme of prediction and prophecy has been thoroughly raided by Astrologian.

PICTOMANCER (A.K.A. Artist, Painter, Ink Mage, etc.) PROS: As I mentioned under Gambler, raiding FFVI has been a solid move, and Relm Arrowny's power set deserves a less-buggy reinterpretation. Also Ink Mages are the only common enemy in the Heroes' Gauntlet that doesn't match a job we have available. Also Yoshi P's TMNT shirt at the first fanfest may have been hinting at Leonardo's dual swords and a Ninja's scouting armor sets for Viper, but it could also have been a reference to the Renaissance Masters that the Turtles were named after. He's clever like that. CONS: The only reason this isn't my #1 guess without hesitation is that pesky Green Mage emblem. I have a theory though that Green Mage and Pictomancer might get combined and have the "green" be about painting landscapes, in which case it might also be borrowing from Geomancer turf a little. Who knows!

PUPPETMASTER PROS: Also on the short list of FFXI jobs that haven't been reinterpreted. Mammets are a big part of this setting and there would be a lot of cool aesthetics to potentially draw on. CONS: Pet jobs. I just can't see them ever doing another full Pet Job. Also the FFXI version was a blend of technology and martial arts, not a caster per se.

TIME MAGE PROS: One of the missing FF classics, with a lot more potential spells than you expect, since it also usually deals with Space Magic. CONS: Haste powers and traits became a huge balance headache in FFXI and I can't see them rushing back into that. Also, once again, Astrologian already swiped several key ideas.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #Fanfest 2024 #Caster DPS speculation

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disneyphantomlover · 1 year

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I realize this is dumb, but here's how my brain follows this:

What little is seen of Wilson, it looks like he's wearing a jumpsuit that is indicative of being a janitor or a mechanic.

Wilson, the Fucker Who Killed the Ink Demon, seems to have kept his humanity, and unless the game proves otherwise, seems to be be free of the Ink's influence. Hell, he has a lil Ink Machine.

He seems to know of Joey Drew's "secrets". (Let's be real, the bastard had a lot)

Now this is just a theory because time is a little kerfuckedy, but BATRD definitely takes place after BATIM. Whether it's months or years, don't know, but! We do know that the general time period of the studio. What I'm focusing on is the studio being open from 1929 to 1948, and it's at least past the year 1952 based on the letters in Joey's apartment and the condemned sign in the trailer.

It's close to confirmed that Wilson is the one who stole Shawn's tool belt, so he was there at least in April 1948.

Given how many people worked in the studio during its hay-day, we shouldn't assume Wally was the only janitor in the studio. Just the most recognized. Seriously, based on the Employee Handbook, there is more than 100 position titles available. Even with Joey being cheap, it doesn't make a great deal of sense to have only one janitor for the whole studio.

So. There's a decent possibility that Wilson was around for a lot of the fuckery at Joey Drew Studios, especially towards the tail end.

And with that possibility, until proven otherwise by the game, I can't help but think Wilson was able to "kill" the Ink Demon because he was there for its creation, watched what others did to placate it, and just held onto that until needed. Hell, it might be the reason he's given enough respect to get propaganda posters.

Also I get a kick out of the fact if he is a janitor, then it's just a theme to have JDS janitors names start with W.

#bendy and the dark revival #batdr #batdr Willson #batdr theory #I'm spitballing but hey it fits

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justmenoworries · 1 year

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bunch of disconnected musings for the batdr trailer:

Wilson is a filthy liar. His propaganda all around the studio portrays him as “The Man Who Killed the Ink Demon” and he himself claims to have “banished” the Ink Demon.

I guess the latter is kinda true but the former? Wilson, you didn’t kill shit. You just locked a smol bean into a cage with some toys and called it a day.

Second, the trailer very heavily implies that Wilson was the one who dragged Audrey into the ink world and that he’s the one responsible for her transformation into an ink creature. He also knows who she is, since he addresses her by name.

Yet when speaking to his followers, he claims that Audrey is “a stranger” that must be stopped at all costs. It’s obvious he needs her for something or maybe he just doesn’t want someone not completely loyal to him running around in his little kingdom. I also found it interesting how he told his followers catch Audrey and bring her to him instead of simply ordering them to kill her.

Another very interesting thing: Despite having command over the ink creatures and the Lost Ones, Wilson doesn’t seem to be an ink creature or a Lost One himself. The shot we see of him and his image on the posters are entirely human.

(Also, we finally get to see what Joey looked like! Not surprised at all that he’s basically Walt Disney, tbh.)

Wilson is apparently in possession of an Ink Machine. You can see one right behind him. Maybe that’s what he used to transform Audrey?

Also, getting back to Wilson being a lying liar who lies, despite him claiming the Ink Demon isn’t a problem any more, the dialogue with Allison and one shot in the trailer suggest otherwise.

Allison: “Above everything else, stay away from the Ink Demon.”

Audrey: “What’s an Ink Demon?”

Allison: “He likes to smile. And he kills anything that moves.”

So from what we know:

- Wilson is basically a cult leader who gained the Lost Ones’ and maybe the ink creatures’ adoration and loyalty by portraying himself as a savior figure who killed/banished the Ink Demon.

- Wilson has some sort of plan for Audrey. He’s most likely the one who turned her into a Lost One-human-hybrid. He also lies to his followers about her, by claiming that she’s a “stranger” even though he definitely knows who she is.

- Despite his claims, Wilson definitely did not defeat the Ink Demon. Even aside from the small Bendy Audrey finds in the cell, there is another, much more dangerous Bendy running around that Audrey needs to watch out for.

- In contrast to the previous game where the Lost Ones (or at least some of them) worshipped the Ink Demon, in BatDR the Ink Demon is feared and hated. To the point that his former worshippers are publicly executed and called “Demon Lovers” in a very derogatory manner. Which begs the question: What about the other Bendy characters? If Bendy is hated by the new dominant religion in the studio, does that mean Alice is worshipped now? Or is she just as hated because she’s an ink creature too? The latter would explain why Allison doesn’t seem to associate with Wilson’s cult and why Susie!Alice attacks you all by herself.

#batdr #batdr theories

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ragnen · 2 years

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Pride Month >> Demon? Sure why not

So I saw this really stupid piece of right wing bullshit imagery over on Twitter, and like... I had to suggest it as an art challenge to draw OCs wearing it on a shirt. Because propaganda fail, this just makes us sound cool as fuck. Thanks for the empowerment, you dips. So here's my beloved little ink monster Maverasko, trying to squeeze into a pride month shirt that's way too small for him. Where'd you even get that anyway, Mav???

#maverasko #ink monster #ink demon #thing

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writingonesdreams · 3 years

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Writing bucketlist tag game

Rules: list wips you would like to finish in your lifetime and optionally reasons what's holding you off them and how far you want to get them (publish/post etc)

The 5th Magic - Passion project about sentient magic with 5 different ways to access it, culture divided by them, an ongoing war and enemies to lovers changing that dynamic while meeting a God that wants to be human. Holding off cause writing from a brainwashed character's pov in 1st person is unpleasant, but the story doesn't work without his pov

Stormkeeper - so many versions of plot with this thing, but basically two brothers in from high class family in magic solving their differences and the stoic one allowing himself to fall in love with a girl that loves to break established systems. If I just found the right plot and setting to show these arcs.

Rivers of stars - A self-indulgent hurt/comfort urban fantasy story focused on found family, aftermath and healing of three mages and one shy but passionate magic art professor. With a bit of dystopia beginning in their time as systematic installation of fear and propaganda leads to a fall of democracy, which I'm still studying and researching the exact steps of.

The myth of demon hearts - a high fantasy wip with demons and vampires mixed with elves and rangers. Just doing a proper DnD like high fantasy setting with epic stakes would be great while twisting some of the expectations.

General things I would like to write:

High fantasy

Modern urban fantasy with magic as normal part of the world

Dystopian fantasy

Secret mage society fantasy

Space fantasy

Magical school

Teleporting bookshop

Writer caught in her own apocalyptic magical world

Characters coming out of the story

Plot involving travelling through many dimensions and times

Modern fantasy with werecreature society

Sentient magic

Blood magic

Mind control magic

Vampires and demons in a DnD like setting mixed with elves and rangers

Dream magic

Feeling magical currents leading to zoning out too much

A post-apocalyptic road trip and reasons to live for in a devastated world

Slice of life magical realism

Dragons

Werewolves

Gods

Animals turned humans

Hideout filled with found family

A rebellion

A princess, general, seer and bodyguard story

Space knights story

Tagging anyone who wants to play, I would love to see the answers but to kick it off: @thewalkingnerdx @kosmosian-quills @cirianne @sleepyowlwrites @nectargrapes @ren-c-leyn @druidx @ink-flavored @ettawritesnstudies @hannahs-creations @diphthongsfordays @missbrunettebarbie-writer

#writeblr #tag game #writeblr community #writers on tumblr #game #my wips #wip: stormkeeper #wip: 5th magic #wip: rivers of stars #wip: demon hearts

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optikes · 3 years

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Kadim Ali b. 1978, Pakistan; lives and works in Sydney Australia

Sermon on the Mount (2020)

Linen, cotton, nylon, ink, natural dye, synthetic dye, acrylic paint; painting, hand and machine embroidery, appliqué 557 x 397.5cm

Born 1978 Quetta, Pakistan, Khadim Ali currently lives and works in Sydney, Australia. After growing up in Pakistan as a refugee, Ali was trained in classical miniature painting at the National College of Arts in Lahore and in mural painting and calligraphy in Tehran.

1 ima.org.au “I became other. I became one of the wearied, dusty faces from across the border. And although there was no boundary between us, and we were all citizens of one country, suddenly an invisible border of horror was drawn around me that made it impossible to get out” Khadim Ali

In his largest Australian solo exhibition to date, Hazara artist Khadim Ali explores the normalisation of war and the experience of refugees through a series of poetic installations and textile works. Invisible Border comprises sound installation, miniature painting, and a monumental 9-metre-long tapestry, hand woven by a community of Hazara men and women, some who have lost family members in war. Featuring existing work alongside new commissions developed for the IMA, the exhibition will also feature Otherness, a major body of work developed in partnership with the IMA and Lahore Biennale Foundation.

Ali’s interest in tapestries developed soon after his parents’ home in Quetta, Pakistan was destroyed by suicide bombers. Amongst the rubble and debris left from the blast, a collection of rugs and weavings remained the only thing intact: miraculously able to withstand the reign of terror inflicted upon his family and community. In this new large-scale tapestry, and other works, Ali explores the impact of war, trauma and displacement drawing parallels from the Book of Shahnameh, a Persian literary masterpiece comprising of 50,000 couplets and written between c. 977 and 1010 CE.

Just like the many great mythic tales in the Shannameh, Ali’s intricate works depict stories of demons and angels, conquest and war through the lens of the persecuted Hazara community. Expressing the profound grief, trauma and loss experienced at the hands of modern-day warfare, Invisible Border is a necessary and vital exhibition during a time of political propaganda, violence, and fear.

2 ima.org.au Ali’s interest in tapestries developed soon after his parents’ home in Quetta was destroyed by a car bomb. Amongst the rubble and debris left from the blast, a collection of rugs and weavings remained the only items intact: miraculously able to withstand the reign of terror inflicted upon his family and community. In these new large-scale tapestries, Ali makes comment on war, geo-politics and personal trauma, drawing from a range of historical and contemporary influences including the recent Black Summer bushfires, Persian literary masterpieces, children’s fables and the Mughal Dynasty. Expressing the profound horror, grief and loss experienced under modern-day warfare, Invisible Border is a necessary and vital exhibition during a time where political propaganda, violence, and fear pervades global relations.

3 Daisy Siddal inqld.com.au Ali has lived in Australia since 2009, nominated to arrive on a distinguished talent visa by then QAGOMA Director Tony Ellwood. Ali has worked between Australia and Afghanistan ever since.

Ali’s most recent work, Sermon on the Mount, adopts inspiration from the Bible and the Black Summer bushfires to generate a criticism of the experience of climate change.

Ali, who lives in Sydney’s inner-west, said his home was 40km away from the Black Summer bushfires.

“During the black summer we had horrible smoke. We were barely able to breathe. I was looking at the smoke and it was nostalgic, reminding me of the war,” he said.

“It reminded me of the stories people told when fleeing from a town that was set on fire, saying there was smoke on the mountain.

“The people who set their villages on fire, the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, they were considered a terrorist organisation. What do you call the corporations who caused climate change and set fire to a significant part of the forest of Australia?” he said.

IMA [Institute of Modern Art, Brisbane] Executive Director and exhibition curator Liz Nowell said she was thrilled to present Ali’s largest exhibition to date, in his adopted home of Australia.

“Khadim Ali is without a doubt one of Australia’s most acclaimed artists. His thought- provoking and poetic works have been seen all over the world: from the Guggenheim in New York to the Venice Biennale,” Ms Nowell said.

“Through intricately constructed textiles that draw on literature, traditional art forms, personal narratives and global politics, Invisible Border speaks powerfully to the experience of displaced peoples everywhere.”

4 guggenheim.org Born in 1978, Khadim Ali grew up in the border city of Quetta, Pakistan, near the border with Afghanistan. Trained in the art of contemporary miniature painting at the prestigious National College of Art in Lahore, Pakistan, and in mural painting and calligraphy at Tehran University, Iran, Ali is inspired by his rich cultural heritage and employs traditional artistic techniques to convey the complex history of this region. His work provocatively confronts the social and religious prejudice his family has faced and considers its effect on the writing of history, particularly during wartime.

5 ima.org.au Since relocating to Sydney twelve years ago, Ali has begun incorporating quotidian Australian iconography such as eucalyptus, currency and kangaroos into his work. Sermon on the Mount (2020) is an example of the artist’s evolving visual language. A direct response to the 2020 Black Summer bushfires—which devasted much of Australia’s bushland—the work depicts a cast of animals and mythical creatures seeking refuge atop a mountain engulfed in flames. The title of the work, Sermon on the Mount, makes direct reference to a series of teachings attributed to Jesus Christ, and widely considered to contain some of his most important messages. This composite tapestry, which was initially constructed as a digital collage, is the artist’s reimagining of a 15th century illustration from the Anwar-i Suhayli. Widely considered a masterpiece of world literature, the Anwar-i Suhayli (also known as Kalīla wa-Dimna, in Arabic, or Panchatantra in Sanskrit) is a collection of fables describing animals as heroic creatures. In the original drawing, held in collection of the British Museum, a crow addresses a group of birds to rally their support against a leader of the owls. In Ali’s version, the crow is replaced by a koala, who is seen towering above a cluster of animals as she delivers a prophecy that foretells the destruction of mother nature at the hands of humankind. While watching the fires unfold on the evening news, Ali was overcome with a deep and pervasive fear, which he likens to his experience living in a conflict zone.

As the artist himself states ‘The bushfires reminded me of the violence I spent my life trying to escape. At the same time as the Taliban burns people and their homes to the ground, a fire—only 40km from my house in Sydney—decimated whole species and blackened thousands of hectares of bushland. As the newsreader described animals feeling for their lives, I recalled whole villages hysterical and panicked as they tried to escape fire. So, what then, should we call these people—these corporations—who are destroying our natural world and quite literally scorching the ground we walk on?’

#khadim ali #Afghanistan #embroidery #applique #textile #narrative #tapestry

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generic-url-name · 4 years

Text

You know what would’ve been x100 better and sexier and would’ve made more sense imo? If Law had sworn to taking revenge on all the higher-ups/officials that were involved in the catastrophe that was Flevance. I’m talking doctors and researchers who falsified information and reports, government officials responsible for the spread of false info, mislabeling as a contagious disease, and propaganda, officials from bordering countries who helped create and enforce the lines around Flevance, preventing its citizens from escaping.

I’m talking about all the people in power, big names and some smaller names, but those associated with and who played a larger part in the massacre. Sure, there’s technically 100s, if not 1000s of people responsible, but I’m talking the Main People, could be narrowed down to maybe less than 100.

But just imagine if Law had instead put Doflamingo on the backburner or something else idk, but just focused on those associated with Flevance. Law keeping a big corkboard-web-map type thing with different colored strings for connections, importance, status (dead or alive, red and blue respectively).

Law keeping a small diary-type notebook that’s actually a hitlist, featuring the names of future victims and past victims, with the latter crossed out in a single line of red ink.

Give me Law who’s trained his whole crew in break ins, trespassing, even some espionage, and instead of acting out the majority of his master plan on his own, they work as a coordinated team through distractions, infiltration, ect all leading up to Law’s assassination of whoever the target is.

Give me a Kill Bill style hunt of all these jerk offs associated with Flevance’s downfall, and Law slowly but surely achieving catharsis while bonding with the Hearts over everything. I want them to be there for Law after each job, giving him enough space and acting casual enough, but at the same time keeping an eye on their captain. Mostly Shachi, Penguin, or Bepo to comfort him after he breaks down.

Give me Law who still has his white spots, scars from the disease that ravaged his hometown, ravaged his body, his mind, his world, his mother and father, his sister Lamie-

I want Law to wear coverup, and right before he kills whoever it is he’s targeted, he wipes the makeup off (or Shambles it off) revealing his white spots and asks the target if they remember him, remember Flevance, the white city, the white demon.

Law embodies the epithet “Surgeon of Death” in the best way possible, becoming the avenger of Flevance, over a decade too late, but not late enough to let the assholes responsible die comfortable deaths. Law makes sure to make them suffer, make them pay.

#trafalgar law #heart pirates #donquixote rocinante #donquixote doflamingo #ANYWAYS #i get why it didn't go like this #lots of thoughts on this matter but #imo this woulda been kinda cool #just saying

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magaprima · 3 years

Text

Episode 3 liveblog

Oh the Blackwood kids, forgot about them

How is mary okay with all this????? Like no to witches but okay to this?? She’s even offering up sabrina???? That’s what Christian propaganda does to ya

I now understand why they mentioned seeing Alien in the first episode because this scene in the mortuary has major Alien vibes

Is Sabrina creating a guy? Or just summoning love in general? The latter is fine, the former is definitely not.

Zelda is so stressed without Hilda living with her!! She can’t find anything in the house without her sister. ‘Selfish to the last’ for moving out hahaha and her demanding she come home at once even though she knows she can’t haha. Zelda needs a hug and some help

Prudence telling everyone to kill Blackwood on sight because no one knows he has the Mark of Cain and can’t be killed!

Mambo marie looking very interested in Roz....

So Lucas is clearly the Trojan horse mary is sending to trap Sabrina and Sabrina clearly thinks it’s her wax-made boyfriend

Mambo marie turning up at roz’s house. Telling her that she is a witch, not a cunning woman?????? And Nana Walker is her guardian spirit!??? Yes we try to see Nana. I like Nana.

WALKER WOMEN WERE ONCE WITCHES????? WHO HAD TO HIDE THEIR IDENTITY AS THEY WERE PART OF THE CHURCH?????????

Sabrina having water dreams; can’t be good.

Also where is all the fucking Lilith content? It’s all so fucking sparse

Lucifer and Sabrina M touring the nine circles and Caliban is all about the throne more than anything else, we all knew this. AND CALIBAN FUCKING TRYING TO RIP LILITH APART WITH HER OWN CHILD. The bastard fuck needs to die

And my god Lilith on the doorstep of the acamedy in agony and begging for help and Zelda immediately doing so and omg the birthing scene this scene is agony and yet so empowering at the same time. The way they all take on her pain is just fucking beautiful and it’s so heartbreaking how surprised Lilith is by this she’s never known such selflessness. And that baby definitely has teeth already. A child of lucifer and Lilith born under the protection of Hecate. I will never be over this scene.

And Sabrina drinking gallons of water because she’s got that weird thing in her now

Omg I don’t think Lucas is the weird he is far too freaked out by her new tongue addition to be The Weird. Oh my god so weird with this sucker tongue and ink sacs in the palms. She’s turning into a squid hybrid too. Ambrose is ‘dreadfully concerned’

Sabrina; get it out of me get it out of me. I definitely understand, Sabrina.

Another episode that reminds of buffy, with the demon egg babys looked very much like this weird thing.

Clever using Sycarax to do the opposite of drowning and dry out Sabrina so the terror will HAVE to leave.

Also I’m dying that every witch in the coven is apparently cooing over Lilith’s baby. We do not see enough accidentally adorable stuff in the show. I want to see the cooing!

So not enough Lilith in this bloody season

I hate caliban so very much. I will burn your clay body to fucking dust. You wanna explode her fucking innards and throw the baby into the pit??? And caliban proving to be more dangerous that even the plague kings realised. Bit off more than they can chew?

And roz is having a witch related identity crisis I feel and prudence pretending not to remember Roz at all. I do love this twist of some witches not knowing they’re witches because having to hide who they were in the burning times means they’ve forgotten

Omg mambo marie has said what I’ve said since part 1; Roz is a Seer!

Lilith being like ‘the kings are to kill my baby not bring gifts’ and Zelda being like well we will fuck them up good and proper. Also is it wrong I loved seeing Lilith holding that baby so closely

‘We no longer worship the dark Lord, and Lilith and the babe are under our dark mother’s protection’ HELLS TO THE YES

My god this spell to defeat the kings is fucking AMAZING. They killed him with the pain of childbirth mwa hahaha. And Beelezbub bailing like the weasel he is

Hilda calling Asmodeus ‘what’s his name’ hehe. And beelzebub is the last plague king

Hilda and Zelda are so cute coming in to tell Lilith she’s safe and can stay in the academy. And I just love that Hilda tried to have the baby, but obviously everyone has been cooing st and holding the babe so Lilith does that cute ‘ah-ah’ he’s mine type thing.

Oh god what’s happening to Lucas???

These terrors have strong The First vibe. They should develop a buffy attitude of telling them to tuck off

Oh it’s still in Sabrina!! SHES TELLING EVERYONE TO KILL THEMSELVES AS SACRIFICE

Ambrose to the rescue with more sleeping spells.

It’s on her brain??????? The ‘oh no’ from Sabrina is an understatement.

Gotta rot her mind to get it out?

So the only reason she was an ideal host is because she felt unfulfilled being single. So if she hadn’t felt so much in need of a partner to feel whole it couldn’t have got in. Lesson to be happy with yourself and not use relationships as your source or self worth

She’s singing 16 going on 17 with Nick to try and stay sane while it’s happening. Is oddly sweet. I’m touched

And now roz has to tell harvey what she is. Awkward considering on their first date ‘You’re not a witch are you?’

‘I’ve been trying to fill myself with the wrong thing’ omg I love this. Sabrina recognising being empty doesn’t mean get a boy in your life, it means you’ve got to figure out who you are on your own. And I love that they have Sabrina actually saying that

Ooooh roz keeping secrets from harvey, not telling him she’s a witch. Tis the beginning of the separate life

Prudence saying the ‘new weird sisters’ broke my heart. She’s lost so much and now she’s gaining so much.

WHY IS MARY SO ON BOARD WITH BLACKWOOD?????

Also he hated so much when the terror said it needed Sabrina not him. He can’t escape her haha

#caos p4 spoilers #CAOS p4 liveblog

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bubblytarts · 4 years

Text

Bendy and the Inky Musical - Part 3/5

Chapter Four content, which takes us to the end of Act One! Including the obligatory dance number, lots of lost ones, and depression!

Set Us Free - Grant, Shawn, Wally, Ensemble

(Think how haunting this would be if it sounded like Stay, I Pray You; Anastasia)

Henry wakes up on a cot, and asks Wally what happened. Wally explains that his friends helped get Henry out of the elevator. Before Henry can ask who he means, two lost ones enter.

The lost ones introduce themselves as Grant and Shawn, and explain that they both tried to stop Joey but were unable to before being transformed. The group reveals that they are surrounded by lost ones, with “He Will Set Us Free” written on the wall. Henry mentions that Sammy believed that, but the Ink Demon killed him. Wally stops Henry, and tells him that the rest of them don’t meant the Ink Demon. When Henry is still confused, Shawn blurts out that Henry is the one to set them free.

Grant then begins the song, with a slow, depressing beginning about how the situation looked hopeless. Shawn joins in as the song shifts to believing that someone will return and stop Joey, and the lost ones and Wally provide a haunting harmony of voices in the back. The song ends with a final chilling duet between Grant and Shawn, completely a cappella.

Henry isn’t sure if he really can save everyone, but he’s willing to try to at least talk to Joey. But first he has to save Buddy. Unfortunately, none of the lost ones want to travel through the next area. But they know someone who can lead Henry.

Bendyland - Wally, Bertrum, Lacie, Henry, Ensemble

(Think the call and response dance break from King of New York; Newsies)

Enter Lacie. She is also a lost one, but knows the next area well, so Henry and Wally bid farewell to Grant, Shawn, and the others, and continue on.

Wally takes over as narrator again, introducing Bendyland while Henry and Lacie continue on offstage. The lost ones here were practicing to perform in live stage shows before everything went bad, so they’re thrilled to have an audience, and want to perform the song and dance number they’ve been working so hard on!

Lacie is amused at the fact that the chorus keeps trying to drag Henry into their performance, but he’s less than thrilled. Even Bertrum shows up to sing about how great Bendyland is! (Or, well, his head does.)

Henry recovers an axe, and promptly gets it stolen by a lost one. Communicating through dance, the lost one makes the situation clear: Henry leads the dance, and if his performance is good enough, he can have the axe back.

Henry reluctantly does a small tap and spin, but the lost ones choose to mock his moves instead of copying them.

Offended, Henry goes all out, rocking that tap dance! The lost ones, and even Wally and Lacie, join in on Henry’s call and response, ending with a final chorus of Bendyland’s greatness, and one final epic tap dance spin as Henry strikes a pose!

Stop This Madness - Norman, Joey

As the dancers exit stage, (and Henry gets out of his tap shoes,) Norman enters.

Norman has clearly just seen something horrible, and looks terrified. Joey appears from the shadows, and asks him what’s wrong. Norman demands that Joey gets away from him, especially after seeing that thing in his office.

When Joey tells Norman to calm down, Norman gets his very angry song, increasing in intensity as he backs Joey up. Joey has had enough, and counters Norman, backing him up now.

Eventually, Joey seems to have calmed down, and stops singing when he admits to creating the Ink Demon and keeping it in his office. Norman tells Joey he’s going to the police about what he did to Susie, and turns around, only to be whacked upside the head by Sammy. Joey thanks Sammy, and plans to make sure that Norman can’t tell anyone about what he saw.

Back in the present, Lacie informs Henry that just past this room is the haunted house, where he can access more of the studio, and hopefully find Buddy. But this is where her expertise ends, so she bids Henry farewell.

Henry makes his way through the ink, listening to Joey’s propaganda tape. (The one where he reveals his true thoughts about “dreaming”.)

The Projectionist appears before Henry can properly react to the tape, and chases him. Henry trips, and yells “Norman, please, it’s me, Henry!” The Projectionist pauses, and reaches towards Henry, only to be attacked and killed by the Ink Demon. Henry runs away before the demon can finish him off as well.

Dear Susie (Reprise) - Susie

Henry enters the haunted house as Susie sings about her troubles again. The reprise is much sadder, and she seems to finally have acknowledged that she won’t ever be perfect, and she was too naive at the studio. She admits that she shouldn’t have trusted Joey, but she just wanted what was best for her.

The song ends as Susie adds that while she knows she won’t be perfect, she still can’t accept herself, and so she definitely can’t accept anyone being more perfect than her.

Cue the Brute Boris reveal, and subsequent fight.

Make You Proud (Reprise) - Buddy, Henry

(Think the depression level of Stay Alive Reprise; Hamilton)

Get ready for tears, folks. The Brute Boris fight is over relatively quick, and Susie demands to know why Henry can’t ever just die, before going radio silent.

Henry collapses next to Buddy, who quietly apologizes for fighting him. The Brute Boris costume is removed to some extent during the fight, so that Henry can scoop Buddy into his arms for maximum sob. Buddy hopes that Henry can get out, even if he wasn’t much help.

Henry, in tears, tells Buddy that he was so much help. (It isn’t clear if Henry can hear Buddy, or it he’s just talking aloud.)

As Buddy is fading, he tells Henry that he forgives him, and then flips his script, and shakily sings that he’s proud of Henry, before going limp.

There is not a dry eye in the audience as Henry sets Buddy down.

Creators and Traitors - Henry

(Think a much angrier Santa Fe; Newsies)

This is Henry’s turning point. At the first note of this song, even before he starts singing, his expression of despair immediately is replaced by a look of fury.

Henry finally accepts that this is Joey’s fault. All of it. Henry is practically yelling through the whole song, and hitting super high notes while he’s at it.

It’s clear that from now on, Henry isn’t trying to figure out how to find Joey and talk to him. He’s trying to find the fastest way to Joey himself in order to make him pay for what has happened to Sammy, Norman, and now Buddy.

Henry is ready to set them all free.

As Henry holds his final note, the lights on stage zoom in, until only Henry in a spotlight is lit up. The song ends, and holds for applause.

As the applause dies down, Susie reveals herself at the back of the spotlight, behind Henry. Once the applause ends, an ominous chord plays, and Susie screams. Henry whips around and falls as he tries to back away, holding up his hands to try and stop Susie from killing him.

In a direct parallel to the blocking in Dear Susie, a blade shoots out from just out of spotlight behind Susie, slitting her throat yet again. Susie gasps and collapses.

With the music ripped directly from the end of Chapter Four, Henry stands up as Allison walks into spotlight at his side. Tom joins on the other side of Henry, and another blackout, as Act One ends.

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ineffablegame · 5 years

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GO prompt idea? Spending time with the Them after the apocalypse, Aziraphale gets a nagging thought that he can never have children. Crowley is there to comfort.

I’m sorry, but this ended up being quite different from your prompt! I hope you don’t mind (if it’s any consolation, I’m doing something in a similar vein in a bigger work!).

Also published on my Ao3.

Rain

It’s Gabriel who plants the seed in his mind, oddly enough – odd that one of the beings least enamored of Adam Young could rouse Aziraphale to the boy’s defense.

They are at their customary check-in meeting, the sort that have become distinctly less customary since Armageddon failed to occur. Crowley warns Aziraphale not to attend constantly, fretting that they will discover the ruse or overcome their fear and destroy him, but Aziraphale is less concerned. Upstairs scarcely knew him before Armageddon; they cannot possibly know him now.

Besides, skipping meetings has always bothered him. He might have gone native, as it were, but he still believes in punctuality and doing things the Proper Way.

“Well, Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, a little too briskly to be casual, “it sounds like everything is going…” A pause, the phrase as expected delicately skirted. “…as usual.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale clasps his hands behind his back and slants a look at the other Archangels. Sandalphon and Uriel stand at a distance, Michael a few daring steps closer. All three look like startled deer, frozen on the cusp of bolting. Feeling a little smug and a little sorry for them, he says, “Well, I suppose I should be on my way.”

Gabriel nods with a tight smile and turns on his heel. As the Archangels stride out, Aziraphale catches a scrap of their muttering, Sandalphon’s reedy whine: “…if only that Antichrist boy hadn’t…”

“If only someone hadn’t mislaid him,” Michael adds.

“We should have dealt with that brat long ago,” Gabriel says. He never bothered to learn the trick of quieting himself, has never considered that someone may not want to hear him. His voice carries. “Thrown him into the ocean. Like the Nephilim.”

Seated alone on a bench in St. James’s Park, Aziraphale stares into the middle distance. His mind is far away, his skin insensate to the warm drizzle of rain as it gathers like clotting blood. His thoughts are a wound, at once raw and knitted, oozing and bandaged. His gaze may be vacant, but his ethereal senses are immersed in another place: a place of scabby knees and dirt-crusted fingernails, of sunlight skewering through branches and the rapid percussion of cards snapping on tire spokes. Aziraphale is physically in London, but his thoughts circle Tadfield in silent flight.

There they are, in Hogback Wood – three children, one Antichrist, and one former Hellhound. The children are all dressed in striped shirts and tattered jeans. The girl, Aziraphale forgets her name, she has a bandana cinched around her head, wiry wisps of curls escaping every which way. The bespectacled boy wears a carefully-arranged eyepatch. The grubby boy is sleeved in smeared ink marks on both arms, designs that bring Crowley’s serpent mark to mind.

Standing at the center of their group, a wooden sword clasped in one hand – little more than a short stick tied to a long one, playacting hilt and blade – is Adam Young. He lifts his chin, resolute.

“You’ve mutinied for the last time, first mate Brian,” he says in a tone of unshakable authority. “Now you gotta walk the plank.”

“But it wasn’t just me!” Brian protests. “Wensleydale made me do it!”

“Actually,” says Wensleydale, “I’m only the pirate cook.” His voice is the tonal equivalent of a side-eye. “I can’t make you do anything.”

“I told you,” Adam cuts in, “you can be first mate next time. Brian’s first mate now because he picked the longer straw. ‘Sides, without you, we’d all starve on the high seas.”

“Why’re the seas high?” Brian asks, unperturbed by his death sentence. “Are the waves taller than normal?”

“Don’t be stupid,” the girl sneers. “It means they’re full of adventure.”

“Pepper’s right,” Adam says. “It’s only a figure of speech.”

Aziraphale’s mind floats, unbidden, away from the bickering children. It floats away from the time and the place, rising and rising through the years, the decades, the centuries, the millennia. It alights in another world, an older one. A harder one.

He sees them, each face stark and cut-glass precise even in memory. The children before the flood. Most were ordinary, of course: human through and through. But there had been others. Children with an uncanny brightness in their eyes, children who were stronger, sharper, and more beautiful than the others. They grew immense, formidable, and left their human playmates behind to wriggle and rot in the dust. People whispered that such children were favored by God, but that was only propaganda. Giants, the Hebrews called them. Nephilim.

Heaven’s mistake, that’s what they were: children born of unions between angels and human women. Back then, when the world was new, the angels had looked upon God’s favored children with envy. Envy breeds contempt, and contempt breeds a desire to see a foe laid low. And what better way to ruin the humans than to defile their women?

Aziraphale had never been involved in the mess with the Nephilim. Perhaps he had been soft toward humans, even then, or perhaps he had unconsciously seen the writing on the wall and known to keep his distance. He was but an innocent bystander.

“Not the kids,” Crowley had said, the words tinged with shock, disgust, horror. “You can’t kill kids.”

God hadn’t liked the Nephilim. She hadn’t liked a great deal of things about the new world She’d made. And so, in Her infinite wisdom, She rent the world apart. A handful of humans survived, but not one of them carried a drop of angelic blood in their veins.

Aziraphale had thought himself an innocent bystander. Now, looking back, he wonders.

Lost in the mire of memory, Aziraphale is startled back to the present by a blow of occult energy. Reeling, hands unconsciously clutching the seat of the bench, he strains his sight on Hogback Wood. Adam Young stares back at him, brow furrowed.

Then, abruptly, the Antichrist is sitting beside him on the bench. The stick in his hand is transformed, a sword gleaming with tongues of hellfire. The angel startles. “A-Adam. What a pleasant—”

“Why’re you watching me?” Adam asks, without venom or preamble.

“I…” Aziraphale trails off, considers making excuses. Decides against it. I don’t know.”

Adam gives Aziraphale a narrow look, and the angel fights an urge to shrink back. This boy could crack open his head like an egg, spill out his thoughts in stringy runnels. Aziraphale knows this, and so does Adam.

“I could make you tell me,” the boy says, “if I wanted.”

Aziraphale remembers uncanny eyes, minds as keen as honed blades. “If you wanted to, yes.”

Adam swings his legs and stares at Aziraphale. Drizzling rain clings to his curls, runs down his face in rivulets. Droplets hiss and steam off the burning steel of his sword. “Where’s your friend?”

Aziraphale blinks, thrown. “I… I don’t know.”

“Seems wrong, you without him,” Adam remarks.

“It is,” Aziraphale admits, and is startled by his own candor. Adam must be leaning on him, just a little. “Now, that’s hardly sporting.”

“You were spying on me.”

“Aha. Point taken.”

“Seems to me that if someone tries to shoot you and then spies on you, you should be allowed. A little.”

Aziraphale gives a nervous titter. “W-well, you do forget that we helped you. Between those two things.”

“Yeah.” Adam lifts his sword, considering. Firelight plays hellish and bright across his face, and his gaze is distant. “Guess you did.” He lowers the blade and looks at Aziraphale. “What’s wrong, then?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale sighs. “Only I’m very old, and I’ve made many mistakes.”

“Huh.” Adam shrugs. “I don’t see why grown-ups are so stuck on what they did wrong. They can always try and do better.”

Aziraphale turns and stares, owlish, at the boy. He sits, slouched and rain-damp and grubby, all the power in the universe clasped in his fist.

“Your friend’s coming,” Adam says. “I think he’s worried, so I’ll go.”

“Oh.” The sound is barely more than a breath. “Well. Until next time, Adam.”

“Bye.”

When Crowley happens upon Aziraphale – looking for all the world like he’s out on a stroll, belied only by the tense line of his shoulders, the briskness of his steps – he finds the angel alone. Aziraphale looks up at him and offers a faint smile. “Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.” An edge rasps along the syllables of his name. “You should’ve let me know you were back.”

“I only just arrived.”

“Still.” Crowley’s mouth slants, purses. Aziraphale wants to learn the corners of that mouth, the softness and demand. “You could’ve…”

He really was worried, Aziraphale realizes. All the fretting and discouragement – all to cover his fear.

Aziraphale stands and Crowley trails off, knowing before he’s aware. The angel has made many mistakes over the millennia – things he’s done and things he’s left undone – and suddenly it seems the simplest thing in all of Creation to do one good thing, and enfold the demon in his arms. Crowley is angular but pliant, stiff for just an instant before seeming to melt against him, into him. His mouth tastes of rain.

“Oh,” Crowley says when they part. His face is flushed up to the tips of his ears. “Huh. Missed—missed me, did you?”

“I did,” Aziraphale says, smiling gently. “For a very long time.” He takes the demon’s hot, damp hands in his own. “Let’s go back to the bookshop.”

“Right. Right.” Crowley coughs. “Right.”

“I have a Bordeaux that would be quite to your liking.”

“Hnngh. Right. Yes.”

“Do you mind if we walk? I’ll cover you if the rain gets worse.”

“I know you will.”

“Of course. Let’s be off, dear.”

“Lead the way, angel.”

#rcglasses #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #good omens word prompt #long post #these just get longer and longer don't they

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tallat-of-thralls · 4 years

Text

Dirty laundry

At my laundermat, missionaries and other christian religious groups always hover around waiting for someones ear.

This day, the mat was empty aside from me and the owner.

On wednesdays, there are these two abuelitas selling bibles dressed like school marms and talking betwixt eachother about things at home. Mostly griping about their grandkids. Theyre usually waiting patiently at the door beside their book stand with bilangual bibles upon it. They leave just before sundown without many interactions.

Sometimes, there is this gaunt and very skinny woman that wears tangerine lipstick who comes in with 30second-read pamphlets from her recovery group and passes them around to everyone there. Except me, she throws them at me and says "god bless". She has seen me where my talisman and typically sneers towards me.

There is this deacon, who scars me a little with his nice suit, clear compelxion, and bleached smile. He leaves brochures in the magazine box next to the laundermats bible. Hes careful about not coming in contact with anyone and most certainly doesnt use the business.

I never bought a bible. I already have a couple that were given to me so i have very little interaction with the catholic abuelitas.

Like i said, the recovery group members typically throw the pamphlets into my lap or the more polites ones set them down next to me.

The deacon... I take his pamphlets home with me for anylization. Why? Because his pieces are different than the content of some of the other missionaries media.

They read like well informed propaganda, written by a 'science teacher' that twists logic to demonize other beliefs and penalize most scientific ideology even quoting some of the bigger names like Carl Sagan to back up this christian rhetoric.

I really dont have an axe to grind when it comes to people wanting to worship in their own personal manner when it harms no one else and to a deity of their choosing. But these... These things epitomize what i hate about many super churches and conman pastors.

Raised as a carnie by conmen myself, i recognize the double speak and the irrational logic they use to sell their message. I find it deplorable and blameworthy.

More so, i find it cunning and my shadow admires the twist in morals.

They read like a narcissist is writing about their own plan. Their angle (not angel) on how to sell the show; akin to what we call "hawking". How the placement of eachword and the carry of the sentence matters in convincing the reader and to pull them into the crowd or congregation.

Art of the street performer made in ink.

Both brilliant and appalling.

Its written in a manner that could be understood by a sixth grade reading level but just complex enough to be a little confusing giving the visage of superior knowledge. HA.

Im keeping these.

However, when i brought them home my husband shook the brochures at me, his voice shrill, "Hun, what the fuck are these???"

As if they were baggies of nefarious contraband.

"Reading material?" I replied.

"Why do you have them?"

"Im looking at how to argue with a person like that who warps logic so poetically. You worry too much."

He looks at me then at the brochures and frowns, "i worry cause we live in the south. In some parts they still burn witches, hun. And with the virus..." He shakes his head, "I dont like it."

He sets the brochures down and leaves the room.

Alas, dear husband. I dont always look like a witch and that day, i did not for i left my talisman at home. So, no one is going to look twice at a woman with long hair wearing a plain dress reading a christian brochure in the middle of the bible belt at a laundermat on a thursday.

In truth, upon reading them only my cackle gave me away.

My conclusion:

They dont belong at the local laundermat.

#witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #witchy #true story #storytelling #story time #story #laundry

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fool-isophic · 4 years

Text

at isabella's request

five years from now

our broken souls have finally found our other half, and we have built our own retreat at the edge of the ocean. it is a place where we find solace and peace, a life well deserved for the lives we have lived.

it is a miniature castle that sits in the middle of nowhere, with tranquil gardens and grand oak doors. we have a dog named Aslan and a parrot which we keep outside the door, and they play together in the garden during summer afternoons. we have taught it to say howdy doody when people walk in, however the dog still insists on barking and making no other noise. we all know he could speak with the parrot if he chose to. he teaches us what it means to be resilient.

inside, the cupboards are filled with clothes, both strange and mundane. we have a store room just for knick knacks, found objects, odd every-day items which we like to collect in case they come in handy some day.

there is a wall reserved for little scribblings; quotes, notes, grocery lists, riddles, little wisdoms, love letters etc. this room, funny enough, has curtains the texture of octopus tentacles. it is a room we have turned into a studio: a place for us to clunk sculptures into beings, or spill ink on old typewriters. there is a machine that can create a pill from thin air after drawing the chemical compound, which you would use as reference a book written by my dad (who was a chemist). the machine takes a few minutes to work, but i do not complain, as some of these pills have helped me escape those dreaded, sleepless nights.

there is a study room full of quizzical objects. i cannot name half the objects in this room. it looks a lot like Dumbledore's office, where large majestic objects twirl and whirl, while tiny odd-shaped objects dance on the spot. there is a telescope pointing out the window, which cost me my right arm. i have learnt how to write with my left hand. the telescope points at the moon, which i could not help but notice was half-full. where the other half of the moon disappeared to still remains one of life's greatest mysteries.

there is a room full of artwork and maps, and a large canvas depicts the night sky. we (bella) stay up some nights to count the stars on this map, as the city lights create a sort of myopia. we have been charting a map of the heart, but we are having trouble filling in the middle. i'm slowly losing confidence that i can finish it, but bella is always there to give me gentle consolation whenever i break down. whenever i break down, the map of the heart erases itself and i have to start again from scratch. it's been a long and tedious project, but my emotions will stabalise soon. bella is confident that it will be done in the next fortnight or so.

there's a globe sitting on one of the mahogany tables we can spin. sometimes we spin it and stop it with our finger, and accidentally teleport there. this can be infuriating as more often than not, one winds up in the ocean, taking forever to get back again.

as part of god's strange and wonderful ways, i often see vomit being sprayed into our house. i have come to the conclusion that this is god's humorous way of reminding me not to go back to my bulimic days. those were cold, lonely days, and i always clean up vomit from the strangest places (under my bed, behind a curtain or inside an old drawer) with a vacuum cleaner, so i don't get my hands dirty. we don't keep any broomsticks, for fear they may fly away one day and never return.

there are no lightbulbs in the house, instead spotlights and odd trippy strobes strewn haphazardly from behind bookshelves ignite the house interior. there are some rooms with a soft-lit glow, with no apparent light source. of course, there are also rooms that are bright as the midday sun, which are only bright by night as they absorb the sunlight during the day. some doors slide into walls, and some bookshelves are hidden doors. all the door frames are decorated, sometimes with black cloth, sometimes with thread as thin as spiderweb, sometimes a little gong. whatever the case, you would always have to make some kind of entrance if you went from one room to the next.

there is a little chest my mother gave to me as a child, which me and bella have both, at seperate times, thrown angrily down the gutter. however, it always finds its way back to its rightful place. it is a chest we whisper love into. when one has to wake and leave first, for work, the other will wake in time, and lift the lid and the box will whisper love back to them.

we are saving up. we have a schedule for chores, we have settled into slaves. we take turns mopping the floors, scrubbing the windows and cleaning the dishes. we have settled into rhythms. we are getting ready for a child.

we are into the fourth month of the Great Roach War. the propaganda posters insist we take a vacuum cleaner to each country and take no prisoners. however inclined i am to support such a cause, merciful though i am to spiders, lizards, ants (they were my closest friends, during darker days), i find myself unable to trust something that has the same name as a cigarette butt, the last of my demons.

oh yes, and the parrot's name is Megan, named after a girl i once knew, who i think is doing her arts education in the UK. she and her friends have never stopped talking to me throughout my life, no matter which point of our friendship we looked at. i plan on teaching it how to ask questions and start tantrums and conundrums when people leave the house.

#spilled ink #stories #literature #love

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downwithwritersblock · 6 years

Photo

Welcome to part five of our Monthly Guide to Monsters! My dear sweet @quills-and-golden-ink and I have put together some quick and easy guides to some of the world’s most infamous creatures!

The guide will include: basic background, historical information, abilities, how to defeat them, and portrayals in media. My sets will also always come with Prompts!

For the Month of October, we will be posting two a week! I’m so sorry that I am so late for this one. Life has been a bit hectic. But no matter the date it is posted on, we promise it will be 2 a week for the rest of October, and two a month for the rest of the year.

*Warning for graphic or gruesome depictions and retelling of violence*

Without further ado, we present to you all, the Monthly Guide To Monsters #5:

Witches

Definition: One who practices the art of witchcraft. Can be good, evil or neutral.

Definition of Witchcraft: There are many meanings or definitions given to witchcraft throughout the world and through many different cultures. In some beliefs, it’s a practice usually used for healing, in others, it’s a magical ability to do mystical things far beyond normal human capacity. In cultural anthropology, Witchcraft is usually defined as the innate ability to cause harm.

Description: Just like the definition, the description of witches changes across cultures. Many legends depict them as being physically indistinguishable from humans. They are often depicted as females in folklore, but more modern media has broken that line. In some (older)media, Witches were depicted as being rather grotesque humanoids, with large noses, warts and straw like hair. (*Disclaimer Edit*: I didnt add this before, because I found it unnecessary, but apparently it is needed. This old depiction of witches comes form anti-semetic propaganda. This description is extremely racist, but is no longer seen in modern media, so I did not think I had to advice people against doing it.)

Abilities: Depending on where you are looking, the abilities of a witch can change drastically. In some cultures, Witchcraft is purely a practice that requires hard work, education, potions or special ingredients, mystical objects and sacred words/spells/incantations. In other cultures, Witches have innate magical abilities where they need only to think of something in order for it to be done. Other cultures, and most forms of media, like to mix these two ideas. So usually Witches have or use the following:

Spells are a kind of incantation with strong magical power(Older spells are often in a foreign or ancient language rather then English, so it’s not uncommon to see a witch portrayed as speaking multiple languages)

Potions made from magical or mystical ingredients and can be used for a large number of things.

Witches are often shown possessing a large amount of knowledge about other magical creatures.

Levitation and flying

Witches are sometimes said to be able to disguise themselves through transformation magic, though the extent of the transformation depends on the lore. Some are just to look ‘more human’, others can fully transform into animals.

Opening of portals to teleport

Some witches are said to control or communicate with certain aspects of nature, like animals, elements or the weather.

Necromancy is usually more of a specialized practice, but it is said that some witches can raise the dead.

Demonology is a darker idea behind witches, it’s the idea that witches can and often summon demons from hell or trade their souls with demons in exchange for magic.

Healing. This is a magical art usually given to ‘white witches’, in which a witch is able to use their own or the life force of the wounded to heal some injuries or illnesses.

They are usually immune to human illnesses, diseases, and deaths. They have a stronger immune system and usually a prolonged life.

Witches usually have a familiar, a magical helper usually in the form of an animal.Familiars help witches with spells, potions, collecting ingredients, and even help protect their witch. Familiars are usually voluntary, but sometimes they are humans that have been cursed to live as an animal and serve the witch. Familiars are usually seen as cats, owls/birds, spiders, and rats.

Testing, curing and killing witches: As many know, Witches have a very long and dark history when it comes to their treatment. So many people who were more than likely to be innocent were tortured and killed in extremely gruesome ways.

Testing:

The ‘swim’ test. The victim was often tied with a heavy rope and weight tied around their waist and then tossed into a river or lake. It’s said that an innocent person would sink, but a with would float and bob a long around the surface. Almost every person subjected to this trial drowned to death.

The Prayer test. It’s said that witches were incapable of reciting the holy scripture. A witch on trial might have been expected to recite a line or two, but were expected to do it perfectly without any hesitation or mess ups. If someone failed at this test, it’s most likely because they were either illiterate, or too nervous to talk. It's said that some people even managed to do it without problem, only to have their success be waved off a ‘a trick of the devil’ and for them to be executed anyway.

All witches were said to have a unique mark somewhere on their body that could be in any shape, form or color. Examiners rarely didn't find a ‘witches mark’ because birthmarks, moles, scars, tattoos and sores could all be seen as being the mark of a witch.

The scratch and poke test. So, witches marks were said to be incapable of pain and bleeding. If an examiner could not find a witches mark, they would produce this test, using specialized or dull needles to poke around the accused bodies until they found a spot that produced the painless, bloodless results they desired.

Pressed. The accused would be lied down, and a wooden board would be put over them, then heavy stones would be placed over it repeatedly until either they confessed to being a witch or they were crushed to death. Either way, they died.

The perfect Weight test. This one wasn't as common as some, but it still existed. Some accused would be weighed against a stack of bibles. If they weighed more than the bible's, they were a witch. If they weighed less than the bible's, they were killed. They had to weigh the exact same amount of the bibles. It was an impossible test to pass.

There was also many tests involving the accused victims, which were always faked as their victims would lie just to have the accused prosecuted.Witch trials were designed to always work in the favor of the ‘victims’, and the ‘Witch’ was almost always killed.

Killing of Witches: Because yeah, those were just the ways that accused were tested for being a witch. If that test didn't kill them, there were many other ways to do it. The most popular ways to kill a witch were:

Hanging

Burned at the staked

Real Life Witches:

Now witchcraft isn't just an old folktale. It’s considered a very real thing in many different cultures. Witchcraft was a real thing that many people actually did study and practice, many people still do. A more modern, well known descendant of witchcraft is the practice or pagan religion of Wicca

Wicca: A more modern pagan religion that while it draws on witchcraft, and has a good deal in common with it, is entirely separate. Many who practice Wicca do not consider themselves a witch, and vice versa.

Wicca is a belief system, and a way of life that focus on peace, harmony and balance with oneself, humanity, and nature.

Wicca is nothing like the old tales of witchcraft. The most stark difference being that old witchcraft was said to be to harm others, while Wicca not only avoids harming others, but strictly forbids the harming of innocent beings.

Wicca is often rather specialized, and changes little features here and there depending on the individual coven or practitioner.

Studying and becoming a Wiccan is not quite as simple as many believe

To find more about the faith(and other sects of witchcraft) I highly suggest browsing around the web, in books, and through any willing Wiccan/witch consultant. Go with multiple sources, not just one or two in order to get the best and most in depth understand of the practice. To be clear, I myself spent many years studying witchcraft and I myself am wiccan.

Witches in Media: Now over the years there have been a lot, and I mean a lot of media that focuses on witches. I’ve tried to arrange for you all a good range of some of the most popular witches in media.

The Craft(Movie, 1996)

Hocus Pocus(Movie, 1993)

The Harry Potter Series(Books and Movies)

The Blair Witch Project(Movie, 1999)

Practical Magic(Movie,1998)

Halloweentown(1998)

The Crucible(Play by Arthur Miller, Movie; 1996)

Kiki’s Delivery Service(1989)

Bewitched(Movie;2005, TV show 1964-1972)

The Witches of Eastwick(1987)

The Wizard of Oz(Movie:1939)

Wicked(Book1995, Musical 2003)

Charmed(TV show 1998-2006)

Charmed(TV show 2018 reboot airing)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer(TV show, 1990s. Now I included this because although it’s not primarily about Witches, one of the main Charcters: Willow, is one of the most famous witches in modern media)

American Horror Story: Coven (TV show)

The Secret Circle(2011)

Sabrina The Teenage Witch(TV show 1996-2003, and there are rumors of a new,darker retake of sabrina coming soon to netflix)

Prompts:

“What are you gonna do, huh? Curse me again? I’ve spent the last three centuries with you, there’s nothing left for you to threaten me with”

“Okay so, I think you gave me the wrong shopping list,?I don’t think the local grocery store carries dragons scales or fairy tears? They might have the pigs tongue though...”

“You love that cat more then you love me” “This cat has been with me, helping and protecting me for the last four hundred and twenty seven years. Of course I love him more then you.”

“We arent all bad you know. Look at me. You know me. I would never, ever hurt you. My magic isnt evil. It doesn't come from anywhere bad or dark. My magic is a gift. It comes from the earth. My magic can help you. Please just trust me about this.”

“You turn one person into a toad one time by accident over six hundred years ago and nobody ever lets you live it down!”

“I’ve been crushed, hung, stabbed, drowned in freezing rivers, crucified and burned alive. So go ahead, try me. Read all the weak, half-assed incantations you want. Call every priest in the state Torture me all you want. You don’t scare me in the slightest. There’s nothing you can do to break me, I have endured worse for centuries.”

Hope you enjoy, and find it useful :)

and if you like my work and would like to support me, consider buying me a coffee?

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