The 20’s are upon us, so let’s bring back going to university in suits, smoking in cafés while discussing academia, wearing bold red lipstick everyday and getting absolutely drunk on weekends while listening to jazz
[Image Description: Tags reading “captain america punches Nazis in the face, and the gut, he also hits them with his shield, he will hit them here and there, and in a house and with a mouse, and in a box and with a fox, and in a car and in a tree, he would not let the Nazis be, and on a train and in the dark and in the rain, and with a goat, and on a boat, he will hit them anywhere”]
Reblog if it’s okay for your followers to leave you an ask telling you what the one thing is they remember you for as a writer. Is it a scene or a detail or a specific line? Is it something like style or characterization? Is it that one weird kink they never thought they’d be into, but oh my god wow self-discovery time?
♦On the twelfth hour of the first day of October 1889, police were dispatched to the mansion of the eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves to investigate a report of screams and blending blue lights at the residence. Hushed whispers had always surrounded the elusive man and the adopted children he was raising as his own, rumours were circulating that there was something off about the children, that they were gifted, or maybe cursed, in singularly unique ways. But when the police entered the building on that particular October day, no amount of fearmongering hearsay could have prepared them for what awaited them inside. The bodies of the Hargreeves family, father and children, were found scattered around the dining table, pooling in their own blood. They never saw the attack coming, and as the culprit seemed to have silenced every witness to their crime, the case quickly ran cold, remaining unsolved to this day.
♦To add a strange twist to this tragedy, no documents that could have identified the murdered children were ever found, no birth certificates, no registrations in any municipal or federal institution. All police had to go off were the dead father’s diary, in which he had curiously written about his children by assigning them numbers, rather than names, and that is how the children went down in history, the unlucky Hargreeves Seven. However, as the police slowly combed through Sir Reginald’s files, gathering information to return to the children a modicum of selfhood, they made a chilling discovery. Where the notes spoke of seven children, only six bodies had been found alongside their father, the seventh having had to be taken away by the attacker, or hidden somewhere on the property. The remains of child number five were never recovered, and the lost child quickly earned the simple moniker ‘The Boy’ in local legend. And said legend grew with every year the murders went unsolved, and the mansion never truly coming to a still, with tenant after tenant abandoning the house after a short time, several of them dying in mysterious ways in the years after having inhabited the property. Whispers, which follow the Hargreeves in death as they did in life, speak of flashes of blue and visions of mutilated bodies and the sudden appearances of what looked like a bloodied boy with piercing eyes, speak of a spirit whose body was never truly laid to rest and who will forever be trapped in the pain and anguish of his last moments.
♦A century later, on the one hundredth anniversary of the Hargreeves family massacre, paranormal investigator Klaus Katz enters the Hargreeves family mansion, determined to get to find out what is truly happening within its old walls, and maybe help a lost soul find his way to the light. Accompanied by his usual team of trusted collaborators – Ben, Luther, Vanya, Diego, and Allison, each the leading expert in their field of the metaphysical – he sets out to explore the house, and they quickly realise that something – or someone – must be afoot. Time seems to be moving weirdly in the confines of the mansion, going too fast, too slow, not at all, and soon enough, the first among them catch glimpses of an apparition that bears an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of the Boy above the mantlepiece. Things start to turn sour when the house itself seems to be turning against the investigators, falling apart, lashing out, apparently intent to get them out as quickly as possible. And the team has dealt with enough furious poltergeists in their day, but it is only when the child spectre picks up a knife and hurls it towards Klaus that he realises they might be in over their heads. Ghosts are unable to grasp physical objects, which implies that the Boy may be something completely different, something they’d never encountered before. It begs the questions: what is he? What has a century of loneliness, isolation and bitterness done with him? And what really happened that day a hundred years ago?
Most of Eris’ scars were inflicted by the fire choro fledgling who killed her natal herd. (It was aiming to seize her from behind and managed to tear through her ear in the strike.)
cartoon gore of Eris bloodied with a freshly torn ear:
Lionheart is giving away zine bundles to two randomly-chosen winners! Starting today, our followers can put their name into the lottery for a FREE bundle of their choice.
Check out the zine items up for grabs in our online shop.
To enter the Lionheart Giveaway, you must follow this accountandreblog this post with a link to one of your favorite KiriBaku fics!
We also need to stop insisting that everyone enjoying flawed things must put 25 cents in the Problematic Jar and recite all its failings from memory.
If I just may add: we really need to stop pretending that “I’m a Good person, ergo the thing I like is PERFECT and if you criticize it you’re an ENEMY”. You can enjoy stuff AND keep your sense of critical thinking.
a) Not only do I support Will Smith throwing hands to defend Jada, but also think we as a species would prosper if we collectively agreed to bitchslap comedians each time they make an offensive joke. Consequences delivered in real time >>> screaming and crying on Twitter. Go on, bitch, be ableist. My hand is twitching already.
b) Multimillionaire on multimillionaire violence is wildly entertaining and I hope they set up a whole ass WWE style ring next year and someone gets chokeslammed at the very least. Maybe make them fight for the awards. The possibilities are endless.
An underappreciated whump location, the back seat of cars.
*Whumpee grabbed and thrown in the back of a car.
*Pinned down in tight quarters, Whumper sitting on top of their legs, holding them down.
*Feet kicking uselessly against the inside of a car door.
*Whumpee trying to open the car door and jump out while the car is moving.
*Hit with a tire iron
*Tied up with a seatbelt
*Whumpee duct taped or tied up and buckled safely in their seat.
*Whumpee in the middle seat, squeezed between two henchman.
*Whumper and Whumpee in the backseat as a henchman drives. What kind of fun can Whumper get up to in such close quarters?
*The aesthetic of blood in the back of a car and the story it tells.
*The pet Whumpee with their new owner, riding home in the back of an expensive car or limousine. Kneeling obediently on the floor mat. Or seated uncomfortably beside their new owner, a possessive hand on their thigh.
*Which is worse? Sitting in ridged silence the whole time, or their new owner asking questions about them or telling them their new rules.
*Caretaker driving with Whumpee unconscious in the backseat. They can’t do anything to help them, they can’t do anything but drive to someone who can, or drive somewhere safe.
*Caretaker driving an awake Whumpee, who stares out the window with vacant eyes.
*Whumpee laying across old cracked seats, the smell of vintage leather.
*Midnight roads and unknown destinations.
*Shared glances in the rearview mirror.
*The feeling of dread as Whumper puts the car in park and announces, “We’re here”.
I love the limbo of a scene in a moving car. The idea that Whumpee is in grave danger, but as long as the car is moving, they are safe for the moment. The tension between occupants who know when they reach their destination, is when it really begins.
The anxiety of a Caretaker feeling helpless, yet knowing driving is all they can do, driving as fast as they can, but will it be fast enough?
Yes yes yes. Give me more car whump, please and thank you.
Ok listen.. I want to get fucked so hard that I can’t hold myself up anymore and I’m sobbing into the mattress while you hold my hips up so you can keep fucking me, overstimulating me, making me whine and scream to beg for more
