happy pride month to all lesbians who are incredibly smart but suck at giving impromptu speeches, homicidal suburban heterosexuals being impersonated by their lesbian clones, gay men roped into helping their foster sisters not get kidnapped and murdered by an evil biotech corporation, bisexual scientists in love with their subjects, trans men who do crime and think nothing of meeting their genetic identicals, and, most importantly, all the queer people who had their queer awakening while watching orphan black (2013-2017)

𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲’𝔯𝔢 𝔐𝔢𝔞𝔫…

True Form!Sukuna x Fem!Afab!Reader (This is an AU!!! Sukuna is not a homicidal maniac cannibalistic murderer! I think he’s sexy and my morals say no dick from crazy murderer BUT dick from crazy 😍)

CW: violence in this chapter, threats, bloodiness, implied sexual violence and objectification

Description: You've been friends with Yuji Itadori for some time now and have seen the best, the worst, and the strange in all your years of knowing him. You've never thought he was one to have any crazy secrets and well... you were wrong. And now the demon bound to Yuji is bound to you too! How fun! Good thing that you aren't stupid and won't fall for a being that by no means should you have ever interacted with! Right? Right...?

*despite this being an aged up version of yuji, there will be no sexual stuff involving him, also the violence is only in the first chapter with a few mentions after that!!! Cross posted on Ao3 under Spicycrunchroll! THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT LATER ON!*

Chapter 1: Never Again.

Poor you, stuck with a gay best friend and his gay boyfriend and exclusively terrible, gross men. The struggle of getting a good man was hard enough, let alone getting some good dick. Even gay men will tell you how bad some dudes are. Its one thing to finish in 2 minutes and cry after, at least there's sympathy, but a whole other thing to just be kicked out of the guy's house immediately and left wearing d r y panties with cum on your shorts. Yeah, never hooking up again, you tell yourself each time. Now, you found yourself wiping the oil off your face with a clammy hand while dialing Yuji's number, having just been booted out this guys house in the middle of the night. It rang only about twice before he picked up.

"Please don't tell me something bad happened." He said on the other line.

You sighed, walking to the end of your date's driveway and sitting on the ground. "Worse than usual. Can you pick me up? I'll send you the address." Your head hung low and your eyes felt heavy, wanting to cry but not having the energy to do so. At this point, you're never fucking anyone again. Let alone agreeing to suck them off before you get off. "I should've known that all his talk were lies."

You could hear him breathe in. "Yeah, I'm coming. Wanna stay over?" He asked jubilantly, as if to raise your spirits.

You smiled softly. "Could you stay at my place instead?"

"Hell yeah!"

You said your goodbyes and opened your phone, aimlessly scrolling on social media while looking for something to distract you from the disappointment of being used up and left to the corner, dehumanized again by a shitty man with a big ego. God, it made you sick. It wouldn't take long for Yuji to get to you, but it wasn't fun waiting either. Each minute ticked on by as if an hour had passed and all you wanted to do was throw away your shorts and shower off the stench of vape juice and alcohol. You didn't want to get in his car and start sobbing about how you wished you never did what you did, not because Yuji wouldn't listen, but because of your own embarrassment. Itadori has always been kind and much more level-headed (at least with this, he's usually just as stupid as you) so its extra embarrassing to have to tell him you sucked off a guy who didn't even get you wet. At least he was clean, you tell yourself, deleting Tinder from your phone for the last time. Never again will you take subpar dick from grown men who act like children! No, from now on, your body only allows worthy men, men that would worship you like you'd worship them!

After sulking for another five minutes, the engine of a car in the distance rumbled in your ear. Straightening your back, your head turned in the direction of where it’s approaching. It’s approaching way too fast for a regular suburban neighborhood. Rising to your feet to take a step back, it already turned down the street you happened to be on and you could hear sirens go off in your head, especially as you noticed that none of their lights were on and they definitely didn’t have tags. The van sped past you but they started to slow down before they reached the end of the street. You felt your heart rate surge when you realized they came to a complete stop. At that moment you realized that they were turning around.

Quickly, your legs brought you to the house you had just left and you banged on the door for a few seconds and screamed.

“Hey! Let me back in!!! It’s not safe!” The roar of the car started again and your intuition told you to run so that’s what you did.

Fuck, who knows who these mother fuckers are! Your mind is racing thinking about what they could potentially do if they caught you. Did they know you were here? Did they just happen to see you? Or… did the motherfucker inside of that house tell them you were here? Oh fuck… that’s why he kicked you out.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you ran through these people’s yards, you could see lights coming on in some houses, but it was no use because the car behind you stopped and three men came out the side door. You prayed that your human survival instincts would kick in and catapult you to go faster than you were, but they were bigger than you and right on your tail. Your legs ached and burned, practically sprinting and trying not to trip in the road. You didn’t dare look behind you, scared to slow yourself down, and scared of them. You kept on running and running until you reached the end of the road and saw headlights.

“Yuji!” You screamed, recognizing the shape and color of his car. With you out in the road, he stopped abruptly and you could see his body jerk with the impact. The men behind you cursed themselves but you felt hands on you faster than Yuji could process what was going on.

“Get her now! He’s coming behind us we’ll throw her in!” The man lifted you and you screamed again, but a hand swiftly covered your mouth. Yuji was out of the car and lunged at the guy holding you captive but was quickly stopped and apprehended by the other two.

“The kid has some fucking balls!” The biggest of the guys holding Yuji shouted, earning a strong blow to the chin. You thrashed against the man’s body as the large van from earlier came up right behind you.

Yuji looked at you as blood dripped from his nose. “Y/n! I got it, I promise!”

You held out hope and believed him even as you were thrown inside the van and the driver pulled away from the scene, leaving the two men with Yuji and you with a man wearing all black pressing you into the floor of the van. Tears spilled from your eyes, angered and terrified at the same time.

“Looks like we got a real good catch!” The driver harrumphed. “Bet she’ll go for a pretty penny.”

Your mind practically stopped when you heard those words. You were going to be sold, like an object, like a slave. The horror of it all made your body go numb and eyes go wide and then you closed them.

“Please.” You begged. “Please let me go.” Your voice was hoarse and you could taste your own tears as your mouth opened.

“No can do. We were told that you’d fetch a high price with your skills. Don’t worry, some girls get a good owner.” His voice was menacing and cold, but he spoke as though he actually fucking believed it. He didn’t even laugh at your pain like a monster would, he was just indifferent, emotionless.

“Please.” You begged again. “I can’t do it, please let me out!” This time your voice raised. “Help!” Your mouth was stuffed with cloth and your face was buried more into the floor as he bound your wrists.

The driver started to chastise the other man. “Why didn’t you gag her right away, the dumb bitch is louder than a dying cat!”

The other man cussed back. “Shut the fuck up, there isn’t nobody coming after us!”

The van stopped so fast you and the man were flung to the front of the car, colliding with the back of the front seats.

“What the fuck!” The man that was holding you down swore. His arms were now off you and the bindings he attempted were loose enough that you released your wrists and went for your gag. “No you don’t!” He reached for your clothes, yanking you back. Before you were held against your will again, the entire van split down the middle, from door to door. The back half of the van was flung off to the side before it became a cut up mess in the middle of the road.

Then you saw him. His hair was the same color as Yuji’s but was much less controlled. You could see what looked like four arms and a giant smiling mouth in the middle of his stomach. Every single person in the van went still and silent, staring at him. The creature looked inside and dead at you, bright red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. All four of them. Even the two on the side of his face that looked almost like a mask. He can’t be real. The tattoos all over his body were arranged in such a pattern that it was beautiful but something that scared you even more.

The creature spoke. “Now.” His gaze shifted from you to the man holding you. “I prefer it when I can get a good fight out of my opponents, but you lot are pathetic.” He looked disappointed. “Normal humans…”

No one spoke and he pouted. “Not a single retort? None of you pathetic excuses of flesh can say a word? You had a lot to say about selling the woman, can’t you entertain me? Or are your brains so simple you can’t think outside of making money off selling one of your own?”

Their own? Did he mean… humans?

The man behind you was shaking. And you could definitely feel his pants getting wet.

The creature before you sucked his teeth. “Boooring.” He narrowed his eyes. “And pathetic.” The vehicle was slashed once again, this time cutting into thirds, leaving you and the man holding you isolated in the middle while the other two thirds, including the driver collapsed around you. You heard squelches of flesh from the front and gasping. “You said she sounded like a dying cat, hm? Since you prefer the quiet so much, I thought I’d help you.” The creature chuckled.

The man holding you finally let you go, and he turned around to see the driver. You didn’t look. You knew what the creature did. Scurrying away, you realized headlights were approaching again and… it was Yuji!

“Ahhh, the brats already here. Well, I can’t kill you lot so how about I leave the piss-soaked one with a lesson.”

You didn’t know if you should thank the monster or run from him. You decided to run toward Yuji’s car.

Another crack resounded in your ears and then a gut-chortling scream resounded from behind you. “There we are. Something nice and fast. I hope they don’t find you until the morning.” You didn’t want to know what he did, you didn’t want to dare to turn around, all you cared about was the car door opening for you and Yuji’s comforting presence.

He looked so relieved to see you. “Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Don’t worry about those guys. I got you now. Sukuna won’t kill them, he can’t, but they’ll never ever do anything like that again to anyone.” Those were the first words to meet your ears. You didn’t say anything, all you did was sob in the seat next to him as he drove off and away from the scene. You didn’t ask anything. You didn’t want to. All that mattered was getting the fuck away from this and home and into a clean bed.

You could care about this later.

“I would’ve killed them if it wasn’t for this contract.” Your heart jumped out of your chest as the monster’s voice resounded in the backseat. “Sorry you don’t get the pleasure of knowing they’re dead.”

My favorite genre is ensemble cast in a small town solving mysteries/fighting bad guys and navigating complex family/romantic relationships, with a healthy dose of the supernatural and a heavy sprinkle of unavoidable, profound tragedy. Yes please give me a group of weirdo kids or teens caught in the middle of a homicide investigation. Please, let every single character be funny and sad. Give me a sheriff. And a frazzled mother-figure. And an edgy high-schooler with too much eyeliner and daddy issues. Heck, a himbo, too. And the deepest, most profound friendships. Give me a baller soundtrack. Throw "I know the end" in there. Go crazy with it, add a moody cover of an 80s song. I want drama, I want comedy, I want Vibes, I want complicated relationships. I want kids riding bikes down decrepit suburban streets and fighting monsters with garden tools. I want nasty outdated high-schools that house half the narrative of the story. I want them to be doomed from the start. I wanna bawl my eyes out about it.

people with dogs will give them the most normcore suburban name and the WILDEST nicknames, meanwhile people with cats will be like “this is my wonderful orange son, I call him Trip but his legal name is Unsolved Triple Homicide”

God I fucking hate Makoto Kagutsuchi so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid baby face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking pants? Who the hell makes a homunculus with purple pants. His dumb flaily fucking twink arms? His shitty, baby bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking VACANT FOREHEAD that no homunculus has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Makoto or a Makoto gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Makoto the fuckshit masked man, I like warm baths". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Izuru Kamukura summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking pink tongue and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking sympathetic villain character in a stupid fucking video game, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the masked dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking mask. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional twink

God I fucking hate Vegeta so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully smug, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid scrunkly face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking hairline? Who the hell makes a "bad boy" boy friend of the main girl with a hairline like that. His dumb short ass stumpy legs? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking POINTY HAIR STANDING UP IN ONE DIRECTION that no Saiyan has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Vegeta or an Vegeta gif or a shitty goddamn anime clip, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Vegeta the fuckshit monkey fucker, I am the prince of all Saiyans ". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like the grumpy troll from trolls world tour summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking creased forehead and your stupid, empty souless eyes and your over-the-top douchey ass arrogant asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking Shonen anime, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the Prince of all shitfucks is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking scouter. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional alien

The Dark Side of Ghostface

AKA- Me analyzing Ghostface’s character after reading his tome in class 🤭🤭🤭

Spoiler Warning Ahead- Ghostface’s Archives

I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of a perfectionist. I’ve spent a while trying to analyze Ghostface and write him as closest to canon as possible lmfao- and this isn’t me trying to tell people how to write Ghostface..you can write him however you want, it’s just my interpretation…so yeah- Let me know if there’s anything I missed!

I- Daddy Issues + Origin

The only thing known about Danny’s family is his Father, who was also a murderer who loved to share horror stories, just like him.

His father was hard on him, told him terrifying stories of his kills, and was “as tough as nails” - and when your father is a serial killer, a man who’s already prone to lots of violence, you can guess the things he’s done to him

Still, Danny respected his father, but he did kill him, and his father was his first “design” - his first kill - and Danny felt ashamed of the way he killed him.

And for the nature v nurture debate for Danny, I guess we have an answer…both. Not only did he get his Homicidal tendencies from genetics, but his father literally taught him to kill too

Danny’s father affects his perspective greatly, especially how he views life and humanity, saying that humans are “intrinsic killers”

II- The Design + How Danny views murder

It’s easy to tell that Danny is a narcissist and a psychopath, I mean, he literally writes about his murders in the paper

He sees his murders as a story, a design, art, something to keep the suburban community aka the majority and the ordinary at unrest. He sees it as a favor, help keeping their lives interesting by scaring the shit out of them

Danny goes after the ordinary, someone most people can relate to, and someone who doesn’t deserve to die, because it makes it just the more terrifying

He follows his victims routines, plans out the murder in his head, pictures the kill, and the headlines he’ll write about it and then executes it

III- Personality + Pet Peeves

Danny is a perfectionist, but he also seems a little more restrained compared to the other dbd killers. He stalks his prey, holds back and plans his kill, waiting for the right moment…for the most part.

His “normal” personality- Jed is a charming and kind, but non-threatening presence and he knows he has to seem like that to avoid suspicion, duh, and easily manipulate people, so they’ll just be like “oh good old Jed, he wouldn’t hurt a fly” bullshit

But what really pisses Danny off when people don’t fear Ghostface, when they view him as an “urban legend” - OR when ordinary people or losers try to act like killers, like him (EX: “The three stooges” who talked about killing and had the pictures of killers up on the wall…killers that Danny admired and deemed “legends” and he went fucking crazy, stabbing one of the men in the face so many times that he was unrecognizable)

Danny wants people to take what he does seriously, he is aware of the impact of his actions, and what he’s doing, so if and when he finds out someone is laughing about it? Laughing at him? He gets pissed

So there are certain triggers that can make Danny snap, just like anyone else. But when he snaps…he becomes very violent, much more violent than usual

Because Danny takes his designs seriously, does this mean he’s a serious person? Not at all. He’s cruel, and taunts the men he kills in the arcade, and also the man he killed in the hardware store

He’s having a very fun time, as you can see here, humming to himself and doing his little taunting wave before he kills the poor man working at the register (RIP Cashier)

IV- Killing + Entity’s Favorite

Most of, if not all the things Danny does have to do with his design. He’s either writing, searching for his next victim, stalking his next victim, or killing

There’s not a lot of Danny’s life that doesn’t have to do with murder, especially since he was raised to be a killer

Which is why when he was a perfect candidate to be taken by The Entity. While some other killers have been brainwashed or turned into monsters, Danny’s mental state doesn’t change in the slightest, when you read the quotes of his add ons

In fact, he enjoys The Entity’s dimension. It’s a place where he can murder and stalk and do as he pleases, and doesn’t have to worry about getting caught or pretending to be normal. He can just be his murderous psycho self.

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

i agree with every word

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

what.

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 !

here to say that i want even more sapphic stuff so i want to get some thing going with the muses under the cut ! if you are interested in a starter from any of them then please like this post ! ♡

𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

DAWN MENKEN LIAW / director / bi / she + they / chase sui wonders

born in amsterdam and ( mostly ) raised in new york and has the weird accent to prove it, brought up by the world’s grumpiest old man and it shows, mother owns one of europe’s most successful talent agencies, guitarist in all girl punk band called atomic boob as a side gig, painfully pessimistic, a tortured artist trying to make it in the film industry, has an attitude problem tbh, janis ian coded .

HAVEN MAURY LIANG / weather girl / queer / she + they / havana rose liu

local weird girl who will flirtatiously read your palm at a party, has big dreams of joining cirque du soleil as a trapeze artist and is simply forecasting the weather until then, in love with love and everything to do with it while simultaneously being a commitment-phobe, victim of the perfect little rich girl to quietly disowned pipeline, the vibe of a drunk girl in a club bathroom, a lil ty lee inspired .

ROMINA ESCOBAR / reality tv star / lesbian / she + her / camila mendes

a part of a family reality show inspired by the kardashians, deeply codependent and therefore painfully loyal to those she deems deserving, more than kind of bratty, vain, and self absorbed, hates men and is loud about it, is probably the last one to figure out her sexuality because doesn't every gal just want to makeout with her bffs sometimes ? mildly inspired by jennifer check .

RUTH RANSOM / actress / bi / she + her / kristine froseth

daughter of a washed up rockstar and his groupie, mommy and daddy issues ( double homicide ), ran away from home at seventeen, energiser bunny adjacent girlie who never shuts up, the world's biggest flirt with the world's biggest commitment issues, stumbled into the world of acting half hungover and still in last night's glittery makeup, manic pixie dream just a girl inspired by penny lane.

SLATER KATZ  / rockstar / lesbian / she + they / ruby cruz

born and raised in australia, replacement child to an incredibly well off couple who wanted to save their marriage , has had a prodigious talent with music from childhood, has daddy issues, mommy issues, and anger issues, painfully obtuse with feelings, does not know how to talk to people, tends to hit first and ask questions later, never has an empty bed, billy dunn and daisy jones coded .

𝑻𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

ELM MOSSBACH  / museum tour guide / queer / she + they / taylor russell

works for a small museum in a small town in the middle of nowhere, generally the kind of place that people stop by for gas on their way to somewhere better, very much suburban gothic inspired in terms of environment . does she work at an oddities museum ? maybe so . longs for adventure but feels stuck, wants to get out of this town .

FELICIA 'FLICK' RELF / actress / bi / she + her / madelyn cline + meghann fahy

was in a mystery inc crew when she was a teenager and is the star of a limited series inspired by their exploits, is seen as a sellout by the other members of that crew but does it really matter if she's famous ? grew up in a motel as the daughter of the deadbeat parents who owned it, swears all the supernatural stuff in their stories is all fake, but was it really ? semi inspired by scooby doo and the x files .

KINSLEY 'KIDNEY' BEAN  / petty thief / bi / she + her / abigail cowen

raised by two parents who had too many kids to truly give a fuck about all of them, the only girl in a hoard full of brothers, has the accent of a southern belle and the charm to match, will use that charm to walk away with your wallet, has never been single for more than a few weeks in her life, responsible for more than a few gas station hold ups, inspired by villains ( 2019 ) and bandits in general .

LORENA FONTBONA  / grad student / queer / she + they / jenna ortega

drenched in dark academia vibes but exclusively the weird ones, family owns a successful board game company that a lot of them are convinced they made a deal with the devil for but ren has their doubts, a legacy in a secret society, game theory student who reluctantly plans to take over the family business, a natural cynic, april ludgate coded and semi inspired by ready or not .

OCTOBER 'TOBI' CRAFT  / f1 racer / lesbian / she + they / margaret qualley

white trash golden retriever, grew up in a trailer park without a lot of prospects so even she's surprised that she got this far, raised by a father that specifically always wanted one of one of his sons to race ( surprise, dad !), got discovered by chance while street racing ( allegedly ) and hasn't looked back since, can't go to a gay bar without running into at least five girls that she's slept with .

RAVEN ZHAO  / gas station attendant / bi / she + they / courtney eaton

final girl of death valley, nevada and no one will let her forget it, born as the child of a obsessive occultist and his lovesick wife and was abandoned by both respectively, spent most of her adolescence living in an abandoned 'cursed' church and ergo was the town's very own social pariah ( and the first scapegoat ) for it, refuses to go to therapy even if the killer ended up being her own mother .

WREN 'OZ' OSWIN  / athlete / lesbian / they + them / brigette lundy paine

raised by a couple of zoologists who named all of their children after animals and dragged them around the world for their work, one of seven kids, grew up homeschooled and therefore chronically online in search of community and it shows, a goober who just happens to be tall and surprisingly athletic, the world's biggest romantic but they try to keep that on the low, in the wnba .

WYATT KILMER  / student / lesbian / she + they / sophie thatcher

was the favourite child of the worst father in the world which sucked but happens to come in very handy in the zombie apocalypse, was taught to hunt under the guise of bonding, lost almost their entire family at the start of the apocalypse but is searching for their little brother, was the first person in their family to go to university but does that matter now ? deeply ( and reluctantly ) protective .

ZIAZAN 'ZI' DERIAN  / mortician / lesbian / she + her / angela sarafyan

grew up working in her family's funeral home and always knew she would inherit it, has a passion for her work that was also inherited, deeply romantic in an only mildly creepy way ( most of the time ), almost always finds herself going for the crazy ones, writes gothic literature under a pseudonym, vaguely inspired by morticia addams and lisa frankenstein .

find this:

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

It's over 3200 characters so it's split up but the first half is on page 194 of volume 24 on shelf 5 of wall 4 of hexagon (below cut) (second part is also below the cut)

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

the second part is on page 227 of volume 17 on shelf 4 of wall 2 of hexagon 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

Violent crime is way down in Atlanta, despite what Trump says

Darin Givens | January 17, 2024

A few months ago, Donald Trump dubbed Atlanta a "war zone of violent crime." That's a lie.

Violent crime is actually at historic lows in almost every NPU in Atlanta according to a new post at the wonderfully data-rich 33n blog. The Buckhead area, which threatened to secede due to fear mongering about crime, remains the safest part of the city.

It's true that property crimes are high, due largely to a huge spike in Atlanta car thefts. This is part of a national trend in car thefts that's hitting a lot of cities. So there is a certain type of crime wave happening.

But when someone claims that Atlanta is a currently a cesspool of violent crime, whether it's Trump or your angry uncle who never visits the city and who watches conservative news shows all day, they're likely basing that belief on prejudiced ideas about the city and its residents. And we can safely assume that racial demographics play a role.

To read more on that, check out this excellent piece from Brandi Griffin who grew up in Atlanta. She writes:

"Major media outlets routinely present a distorted picture of communities of color. The narrative that has been created around communities similar to the one I grew up in is one of gang violence and drug crimes — written, told and oversold by aging white men who have had a strong presence in the newsroom for decades now."

Well said. News media sends out 'dog whistle' reports about crime in majority-Black cities like Atlanta and I suspect that part of the appeal to the audience (beyond the obvious racism) is having their suburban residency justified as a superior choice. At least they're not in the city, right?

the most insane thing self hating self righteous white women do online to own the True Crime women (who are not even remotely all white, and who are merely the modern version of dateline 48 hours ID suburban women - who also, are a multiracial group, a group that includes my mother, a former journalist and news anchor) is downplay the reality of violence in poor, majority black urban communities. it’s so bizarre how everything is so peaceful and hunky dory for you, while we know many poor black children are growing up with warzone level trauma and ptsd, not to mention the adults. but you don’t care about the link between poverty and violent crime, both victimization and offending, because you would rather play pretend and paint very rosy views of homelessness and poverty - everybody is happy and cooperating and all the homeless men and everybody else is holding hands and singing kumbaya (and homeless women don’t exist) and drugs never make people unusually desperate or make them act out of character (and women addicted to drugs don’t exist) and chronic instability and disinvestment have no impact on the self image and worldview of young men specifically. and femicide is not real.

when it comes to you quite literally making up facts about violence - i saw someone say you’re more likely to be killed by an upper class white man…that is absolutely absurd - you’ve lost the plot actually. we know why black men make up a LARGER NUMBER (not a ratio, an actual larger raw number) of homicide victims and perpetrators than white men, why homicide is the leading cause of death for black men and boys ages 1-44, why black women make up a disproportionate percentage of homicide victims compared to white women (who still make up a larger number of victims). but when you pretend that’s not reality, and not an issue, you’re are unconsciously (or perhaps on purpose) ceding ground to conservatives, who can easily call out a lie, and then run away with whatever narrative they want because you refuse to challenge them meaningfully.

and anyway, the idea that white women, or any women, should not be concerned about violence from men they don’t know because they’re more likely to be killed by an intimate partner (or someone ‘close to them’ which is vague and can include strangers and loose acquaintances, like a hinge date, a maintenance man, or a coworker) is as callous and ridiculous as when conservatives derail conversations about police brutality by talking about black on black crime. it is quite literally the same argument; it lacks sympathy for an understandable fear that a group of people (all women and all black people, but specifically black men) have at their vulnerability to a specific kind of shocking, sensational, and difficult (on a personal level) but relatively easy (on a societal level) to prevent violence, by rebutting that someone they know is more likely to kill them anyway. and that rebuttal specifically seeks to imply blame - you’ll be killed by someone you chose to be around, you bear some responsibility for your own homicide, etc.

im literally so tired

THEME: Teenage Hijinx. 

This weeks’ games are all about the transformative period of adolescence: from first crushes, to the new weight of responsibility, to the feeling that you have no idea (or control over) what’s going on. 

Monsterhearts 2, by Avery Alder.

By the time they hit adolescence, most people have gotten over their fear of the dark. They spend their midnight hour on gushy phone calls, diary ramblings, and wet dreams. They fall asleep peacefully, assured that the shadows hold no monsters.

But the shadows do hold monsters. You know because you’re one of them. Wickedness dwells within your heart, hunger courses through your veins. High school weighs on you and teen drama puts you on edge, but you have power. What do you do next?

Monsterhearts 2 lets you and your friends create stories about sexy monsters, teenage angst, personal horror, and secret love triangles. When you play, you explore the terror and confusion of having a body that is changing without your permission.

With a second edition to update some of the rules and mechanics, Monsterhearts 2 has received a lot of love from players and creators alike. You are playing teenagers who feel the deep-seated discomfort of a changing body, sometimes against your own will. Adolescence can be ugly, and this game helps you embrace that. There are a number of playbooks, called skins, that have been created by the community, including a supplement called Acehearts, for asexual characters who may not want to play with the sex moves with the rules-as-written.

Kids on Bikes, by Hunters Entertainment.

The door to the old house creaks open, the rust on the hinges groaning as you see the dust floating like spores in the air inside. By the faint light of your cheap flash- lights, you see the stairs to the upper floor, its railings gnarled and broken like crooked teeth. Their curve makes the stairs seem almost like a hungry grin, and you wonder if their age will support your weight. Still, you must go in. 

The only question is who will go first? 

Kids on Bikes is a Collaborative World Building RPG set in small towns with big mysteries. It is a rules-light storytelling system that gets players into the action fast. The Adventures of Kids on Bikes take place in small towns at any point in history before everyone had a camera phone that could catch video of a Ghost, use a GPS to track a Homicidal Maniac roaming around town, or research an old creaky house in seconds using Google. Kids on Bikes takes place in a more mysterious time, where anything and everything *could* happen. 

This is a game with plenty of tools to help you built a setting similar to your favourite piece of media, whether that be Stranger Things, The Goonies, or a similar piece of nostalgia. The group will work collaboratively to create the town you live in, local rumours, and a powered character. This power character its collectively controlled, rather than played by one single person. When it comes to the dice used in this game, you’ll likely be using everything from a d4 to a d20, which can make it a bit difficult to determine how often a character may obtain success, but is a good representation of how good your character is at certain things. If you like this style of gaming, you can also check out Teens in Space and Kids on Brooms, which use the same rules for different genres of kids on various adventures.

Visigoths vs. Mall Goths, by Lucian Kahn.

Visigoths vs. Mall Goths is a tabletop roleplaying game and dating sim about the conflicts and romances among the warriors who sacked ancient Rome and 20th century spooky teens, set in a suburban Los Angeles shopping mall during 1996. There are a lot of bisexuals.

The plot structure of Visigoths vs. Mall Goths resembles an open-world videogame RPG. Designed for either one-shot or campaign play, each adventure episode offers several quests that you may choose to pursue (or ignore), and the mall setting is packed with many strange retro marvels to discover. Or you can just replay the game over and over to kiss all the kissable clerks.

If you like the idea of teenage grudges and crushes all pooling together into one hot mess of overblown competition and wild chases across a 90’s mall, this game is for you. With 6 character options and two factions: Mall Goths and Visigoths, this game uses Powered by the Apocalypse mechanics to pit your players against each-other, encourage the characters to embarrass themselves for the good of their friends, and perhaps even kiss a cute shop clerk along the way. This game comes with 6 pre-built adventures for GMs that want an easy-to-run experience, as well as well-designed map of the mall and a list of clerks and local teenagers. It’s perfect for first-time GMs or folks who want an easy-to-start introduction to roleplaying.

Breakfast Cult, by Weird Age Games.

In the Weird Age of the late 21st century, the newly-discovered occult sciences are changing the world. If you want to learn them, Occultar Academy is the place to go. In this secluded island school, talented students from all over the world can learn sorcery and occultech under the Foundation's watchful eye.

...But they won't tell you everything.

Breakfast Cult is a Fate Accelerated TTRPG about cosmic horror mysteries and high school drama. Play students at the world's best occult school as they solve mysteries, uncover the terrible secrets of the Ancient Ones, and try to find which of their classmates is conspiring against them before it's too late!

The game starts when a normal, ordinary day at Occultar academy goes horribly wrong. In this anime-style, high-school-horror game, you and your classmates will work to uncover a conspiracy that is both awakening an Ancient One and sending you to detention - and you don’t deserve to go to detention! With inspirations such as Persona, Soul Eater, and Danganronpa, you can expect many hi-jinx to ensue as your characters desperately try to continue your studies.

Girl Underground, by Hedgemaze Press.

Inspired by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Labyrinth, The Wizard of Oz, Spirited Away and similar tales, Girl Underground is a tabletop roleplaying game about a curious girl and her strange companions as they travel through a wondrous world, complete a quest, and find the way back home.

The world the Girl finds herself in is equal parts fantastic and perplexing, full of characters who operate using strange logic and speak in riddles. Thankfully, she has found friends who she can rely on, and who rely on her in turn. These friends represent the archetypes found in these kinds of stories: talking animals, living dolls, friendly giants and other quirky companions. Girl Underground is designed to tell a satisfying story in just one session, making it perfect for convention games or for game nights when you don’t have a full table. The game comes with a variety of locations to explore, making Girl Underground great for short campaigns of 2–4 sessions.

Each playbook for this game comes with beats that your character can hit, which is not surprising for a game that is Powered by the Apocalypse. With the 2d6 and staggered levels of success that are iconic of the PbtA system, Girl Underground makes these rules work for a game that is much shorter than other games that use the same mechanics. While Girl Underground is still in play-testing, there are 4 playbooks ready-to-use, with 3 more on the way. If you like Alice in Wonderland, or stories about children finding solace in magical worlds, this might be the game for you.

Slugblaster, by Mikey Hamm. 

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hoverboarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool.

Slugblaster is a wild child of a game, with an abundance of evocative set-pieces, lists of interesting obstacles, and NPC factions that are sure to provide your group with compelling rivals, overbearing adults, and devoted fans. If you don’t want to play in the sleepy town of Hillview, there are a number of other hometowns written by a cornucopia of contributors for your group to call home base. The game is built off of Forged in the Dark mechanics, with slimmed-down stats and a Turbo option for a faster setup. 

What I especially love about Slugblaster is the vibe. It’s easy to get folks on board when you can drop hints about mathpanthers, logic binders, and the concerned parent group that Stacy’s Mom runs. This is a game with bright colours and teenage nostalgia, and I heavily suggest you check this one out.

👽 X-Files Crossover Fic Recs

The theme of International Fanworks Day in 2023 is When Fandoms Collide. So here are a bunch of very good X-Files crossover fics. Enjoy! Abner by Anonymous Mulder and Scully are assigned to investigate a possible serial killing in a small, very suburban neighborhood. The Beast Within by Yahtzee Also from the department of twisted crossovers comes this story – but I’ll leave the crossover for you to figure out as you go. Mulder and Scully’s journey to a troubled Louisiana town leads Scully to an encounter with a far more troubled man. Birdsong by @chekcough The plot of Silence of the Lambs, with Dana Scully replacing Clarice Starling, and a younger Agent Mulder, working in the B.S.U, assigned to help her. It is not at all necessary to have seen/read either 'The Silence of the Lambs' or 'The X-Files' to enjoy this. The Glimmering Girl by Tesla Mulder works a child abduction with Frank Black, while Scully is away for the weekend, but very much on Mulder’s mind. Homicidal Tendencies by Swikstr What begins as a typical ritual murder case with supernatural overtones for Mulder and Scully in Baltimore becomes something else as the two are forced to interact with some of the unique personalities on Charm City's murder squad. Scully's developing connection with a Baltimore homicide detective has far-reaching consequences in the evolution of her relationship with Mulder. Interagency (Mulder and Scully Meet the Director) by pinebluffvariant "You're wanted on a task force." Leap of Faith, parts 1 and 2 by Livengoo Sam Beckett has to keep Fox Mulder from becoming one more abductee, but when he leaps into Dana Scully's size fours he finds that might not be such an easy job. Letting Go by Joann Humby Mulder goes solo on a case in San Francisco. But when the killer isn’t what he was expecting, he needs the SF PD and the FBI’s finest to help him out. Lucky X in the City by @lilydalexf Samantha Jones meets Mulder in a bar. Fox hunting ensues. It’s more serious than it sounds. Samsara by Alicia K. Crossover of sorts, MSR of sorts. I don't want to say anything more, so we'll just let it go at that. Out of the Little Grove by @slippinmickeys I got an anon Tumblr prompt asking for an X-Files/His Dark Materials crossover in which Mulder & Scully were detectives in Lyra’s world. There may be some small liberties I took within the HDM world’s canon to make this story work for M&S, which I ask you to please forgive. Road Fools by denynothing1 Only one of the reasons that the X-File on a little town in Kansas is so thick it occupies its own drawer in the filing cabinet. She's Beauty, She's Grace by @sunflowerseedsandscience I was asked to write a Miss Congeniality/The X-Files mash-up… so here goes nothing. Travelling with Children by @seepunkrun and Sab In the armory we have: one revolver, some rope, a candlestick, a knife, a wrench, and a fork. Twilight, parts 1 and 2 by Shannon A serial killer is on the loose in Baltimore. Mulder and Scully are called in to assist the Homicide Squad in profiling and finding the killer before he strikes again.

Elias and Rorke fight flirting 😂😂

I can't get the image out of my head, when Elias first picks up on it or maybe he gives Gabriel the idea to it, but i can't stop envision that one audio that was going around awhile ago.

Elias: "are we flirting or are we flirting right now, because i kinda get mixed messages"

Rorke: "i'm gonna sink my teeth into your fucking throat!"

Elias: "still proving my point, mixed... mixed messages"

Everyone hearing them is just like "huh???"

Oh real.

Also suggests that Elias thinks romantic love is expressed via attempted homicide, which brings into question how his wife cuffed him... I don't think Rorke was the only one wearing a "I tried to kill Elias Walker and all I got was this T-Shirt" shirt.

Now to be fair to Mrs. Walker she also did marry him but that probably came with the shirt.

Also you cannot convince me Elias was the one to propose o/chase Mrs Walker. Look at the fuckin guy. (The guy in question is your average suburban dad)