length is wrong

themardia replied to your post: how you get six books into Rivers of London and…

i mean. the whole point of those books is that Peter is dragging the Folly into a modern policing era and that he wants to do things the right way. that is a KEY part of his character, that he’s a mixed-race police officer that’s an idealist who believes in a better way. how is this a surprise to anyone?!

that’s LITERALLY THEIR POINT OF DIFFERENCE from urban fantasy generally, that a key plot thread is how you integrate policing by consent with goddesses and magic, rather than just an escalating series of boss challenges for the hero. 

and maybe that’s not for you, and that’s fine, but…it’s like picking up an Agatha Christie and going “I really like the depiction of interwar British life, but why are there so many dead people?”.

anonymous asked:

Will cries in Hannibal's presence, and is all emotional as well, but is Hannibal really, genuiely reaction to that? Because it feels like Hannibal doesn't care at all. He is looking at Will being in despair and he's treating it as cold-heartedly as he can, like Will was some kind of experiment for him.

Just.

The entire show doesn’t make sense if Hannibal doesn’t love Will. That is the center of Hannibal in this show. That’s what drives him apart from his curiosity. 

Hannibal loves Will. He’s effected by Will. He’s changed by Will. He sees Will as the one person in the world who understand him completely, who sees him for who he is and accepts him.

Look 

at this.

Look at this goddamn

cannibal

in genuine goddamn

love.

Don’t even tell me Hannibal doesn’t have genuine emotion for Will. Not only are you wrong, you must not have been watching the show at any point in seasons one through three.

Hannibal is so in love with Will he looks like this

the first time Will touches him and calls what they did and who they are ‘beautiful’. 

didsomeonesayroyai  asked:

#3 for royai because i love suffering asbldfjkla

I too love suffering alsdkafj

“Please, don’t leave.”


“Please…” Roy breathed, his words unintentionally seeping with the fear he had tried his best to hide. “Don’t leave.”

Riz sighed a low, drawn out breath as her hand feebly groped along his torso and neck, eventually finding his cheek. Her thumb swept across cheek, pushing away the tear that had spilled over and had begun to trickle down his face. She finally willed her eyes open, peering up at him through her half-lidded gaze, and the smallest of smiles managed to find its way to her lips. “Is that… an order, sir?” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the frantic thrum of his heart in his ears.

His breath hitched and he struggled once again to reinforce the construct that held back his tears, bowing forward and touching his forehead against hers. The only thing at that moment that held him together was the promise that a relief team was on its way. One of his breaths seized and the words that had been caught in the his throat finally found purchase. “Yes,” he answered softly. “That is an order, Lieutenant.”

“… Okay,” she whispered as her eyes lost focus and fluttered closed. “I’ll… stay.”

Creepypasta #1028: I Thought I Cheated On My Boyfriend, But I Was Wrong.

Length: Short

Just 6 months ago, I was just the sweet, innocent pastor’s daughter in a small, conservative town. I wasn’t allowed to date, I said my prayers every night and went to church every Sunday. Well, that was who I was, until I met Leo.

Everyone in town had always warned about Leo’s family. They lived about 30 minutes out of town away from everybody and I had always heard rumors they were odd, ungodly people. But when I met Leo, I knew those rumors couldn’t be true. Most boys wouldn’t talk to me because of who my father was but Leo didn’t care. He was so sweet and handsome and unlike anyone I had ever met.

We snuck around for months to see each other and it was amazing until one strange night. Leo knew about my faith and that I believed in staying pure until marriage. He was always very respectful of this. 

But, one night when we snuck out, he seemed different. His voice sounded different. He had a mischievous look in his eye and a devious smile. I found it alarming at first, but later I found it incredibly alluring. He was driving and ended up stopping far away from town right outside the forest. I became frightened.

“Leo, where are we? It’s so dark. I don’t think we should be here.”

Once I heard his reply, I became much more than frightened. I heard him laughing, then he turned and looked at me with a sadistic smile and said “I’m not Leo.”

It felt like something heavy dropped down hard into my stomach and I started to have trouble breathing. I tried to brush it off. Surely, he was just joking.

“Ha, ha. Sure, Leo. Who are you, then? His evil twin?”

His face turned much more serious and his eyebrows raised. “Actually, that’s not far from the truth. Though I have some stories from our childhood that prove Leo can be the evil twin sometimes.” He then laughed and put his hand out. “Mantus, Leo’s identical twin brother. Nice to meet you. I’m a little hurt, he never told you about me,” he remarked, twinged with sarcasm. Then he looked me up and down, “especially since I’ve heard all about you, Annie.”

When he said my name, shivers went up and down my spine. All the hairs on my arms stood straight up. I knew for sure now that this was not the boy I fell head over heels for. I also knew that I had never felt so scared of someone and insanely attracted to someone at the same time. I know this sounds like a stupid excuse, but I truly felt like he had me under some sort of spell.

He ended up leading me out into the forest, my hand in his. Something told me to rip my hand away from his and run. An even stronger voice told me to go wherever he wanted to take me and that’s the one I listened to. He ended up leading me up a dirt hill. He laid down a blanket and surrounded it with several lit candles. I knew it was wrong, but I was so conflicted because he looked exactly like the man I loved. I made love to Mantus that night on a hill out in the middle of the dark woods. If anyone in town knew about this, I would be kicked out of church and shunned by my family. And on top of that guilt, was the guilt of just committing adultery.

Now, having sex with your boyfriend’s identical twin seems like a fucked up enough occurance, right? I WISH that’s what happened. When I decided to confess to Leo about what I did, I learned that my situation was much more twisted and incredulous.

I told him we needed to talk, so he met me at the park. I could barely look him in the eye, but I just decided to get it over with and spit it out.

“I met your brother the other night.”

Leo looked at me confused and laughed nervously. “Annie, what do you mean? I don’t have a brother.”

Credits to: TrainerTori

READ ON FOR AN EXPLANATION

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In the extremely unusual occasion that a run in with the FAHC results in an arrest rather than an all out firefight an argument could be made that the members of LSPD are even more displeased than the criminals themselves. It’s not just that many feel the crew members don’t even deserve the luxury of an arrest, think the world would be a better place if they were shot on sight, but also the fact that the interrogations themselves never go to plan. The possibility of being the one who brings about the downfall of the FAHC sours in the face of the intangible feeling that the arrest was intentional, that getting one of the Fakes into an interrogation room is still somehow playing into their plans.

Neither Pattillo nor the elusive Brownman have ever made it to the station, the few occasions which have come close getting cut short before they get any further than the squad car. Pattillo is unerringly polite even while effortlessly knocking out arresting officers, while Brownman is utterly relaxed, putting up no resistance and complaining loudly about losing the chance to sleep away the afternoon in custody when his crewmates drag him free. Dooley, on the other hand, seems to turn up at the station with alarming regularity; the FAHC’s newest member wandering in for anything from paying off minor traffic tickets to reporting petty crime. Its infuriating, the man exuding nothing but appropriate respect and utter sincerity, and without any evidence, without anything but street knowledge of his involvement, they can do nothing but treat him like a regular citizen.

When Ramsey is brought in he is calm, judgemental and obnoxiously sure of himself. He proclaims his innocence, his ignorance, his life as a simple businessman with just enough of a smirk to make it clear he is laughing at them, never once even hinting at anything incriminating. Interrogating the man is always a race against the clock; through bail or legal intervention he’s out of their hands almost as soon as they get him. Once, and only once, a detective tried to go the unethical threatening route, claimed other members of the crew were in unrecorded rooms having one-on-one sessions of their own, that if Ramsey cared about them at all he would just confess and save them all the trouble. It was months before they got all the blood off the walls, and the mysterious failure of every camera in the interview room had the station caught up in internal investigations while Ramsey walked away scott free.

Where interviewing Ramsey is always too short to be satisfying, no detective can be done with Jones fast enough. At first the fact that he doesn’t shut up seems like gift, his rages an easy way to trip him up, trick him into revealing information, but its not. Jones will curse you out, run his mouth about the precinct, the cheif, your mother, his own mother, and the competence levels of his crew but he never says anything of use. Even when they wise up to his methods, realise he is waiting out his time as efficiently as Ramsey in his own way, there is still no directing him; his rants and rages as genuine as they are frustrating.

The observant would note that the vagabond was never once arrested before the force gets a photo of his face, fuzzy and still obscured by face-paint but finally mask-free. When he is brought in, silent and looming but disturbingly amiable, the first thing they take is his mask. Then promptly wish they could put it back on, piercing blue eyes amused and unconcerned as the Vagabond’s smirk only twists his face-paint into more grotesque obscurity. Despite staying utterly silent, being securely chained the the table and making no aggressive moves three separate detectives leave his interrogation room in a near panic, two more refusing to even enter in the first place. Mask or no mask there is no lawyer alive who could argue for the Vagabond’s freedom, but a convenient explosion grants enough distraction for the empty cuffs to be left neatly on the table, a box full of contraband disappearing alongside the familiar black skull.

Interviewing Free feels a lot like signing up to the crew’s personal watch list. He doesn’t have the presence or deniability of Ramsey, doesn’t rage like Jones or ooze threat like the Vagabond. Instead Free is all smiles and winks and cheeky flirtation, derailing the interrogation to ask questions of his own, from opinions on sea monkeys to the statistical likelihood of extra-terrestrial life. For those detectives who play along he will answer questions in turn, talking fondly about the most dangerous criminals in the city, never actually helpful but close enough that it almost feels like a victory. For those who don’t, the detective’s who’s interrogations are aggressive and underpinned by something nastier, Free’s demeanour doesn’t change, but his careless questions do. He asks about their money problems, their monthly AA meetings, the not-always-figurative skeletons in their closets. He’ll ask, still smiling despite the rising tension, about each of their family members by name.

Some people contacted me to tell me that I drew Vax’s cloak the wrong length.

It actually was the correct length in the picture, just that that black feathers of the fabulous raven wing-like cloak I always draw him in covered it in the last picture. So I just wanted to show it off properly in a dumb pose.

so no worries. QwQ Vax is still Fabulous.

eastcoastkody replied to your post“Friday night at Decabar Z was Visual Kei Oldies night and my fucking…”

is this like themes to animes?

Oh, no… I apologize for the oncoming otaku/weeaboo/whatever nerdery…


Those are generally referred to as anison/anisong, though several anime OP/ED numbers have been from VKei artists (Death Note’s The World by Nightmare and Kuroshitsuji’s…everything pretty much thanks to SID come to mind immediately, though there are several more and newer examples - such as the new Kuroshitsuji season songs by SID…HA - out there)

Visual Kei (VKei) is a type of rock (basically and generally) music that focuses on the visual presentation mostly. There are all sorts of music styles represented and a lot of different sounds incorporated, but the main identifying factor of a VKei band is their look.

Here are some examples (in gifs because tumblr won’t upload my damned pics):

Originally posted by thefabulousscale

Versailles

Originally posted by exotictaomi

The GazettE

Originally posted by ithankuandiloveu

Riuki from Velbet (new to me, I’ve not kept up with VKei bands since 2005?)

Originally posted by seishinbyou-wa

Diaura

For a just a few of…a metric fuckton. Old bands die out, new ones take their place, and many long standing bands shift away from the VKei image to focus more on exploring their music style more (I’d say Dir en Grey and Alice Nine come to mind most for this AFAIK)


So…there’s a lot of variation in their individual styles too, but there’s a sort of generic, bare bones expectation of what VKei style looks like too.

the wrong way kids

@sbminsung

“How much do you love me?” Moonkyu hummed the second he heard Minsung answer, wincing as one of the cracks on the phone’s screen managed to snag and pull on a single hair. He was a god with a roll of tape, it was all that was holding the majority of his kitchen sink together, but he still hadn’t quite managed to perfect three too many drops or an “accidental” tumble down a flight of stairs courtesy of the dancer on the other end of the line. “I have free pizza; answer wisely,” he warned. He doubted it would make much difference either way. He always had free pizza, and Minsung always seemed to have something shitty to say, that’s why they were friends.

Moonkyu pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he stood at the base of the stairs cursing the day he deluded himself into thinking they wouldn’t be a problem and were healthier. He also used to wake up before 3pm and not put vodka in his orange juice and call it breakfast, but clearly, things change. “Just unlock your door. It’s dark, and I’m very tempting. I could be kidnapped and it would be entirely your fault.” The fact that he was a grown man and most likely fairly low on most people’s ‘Tenants I want to Kidnap’ lists was irrelevant.

He barely took the time to insist that he was coming up whether Minsung liked it or not before hanging up the phone and slipping it into his pocket. By the time he made it to the fifth floor, he felt like his lungs would collapse at any second, if they didn’t spontaneously burst into flames first. Moonkyu looked fine from the outside, at least from a distance, but on the inside, he was probably closer to last month’s roadkill than a functioning human. He made his way into Minsung’s apartment as if he owned the place cocking an eyebrow when the door was actually unlocked. He liked to think that he actually opened it for him, but he was willing to bet money on the fact that it was already unlocked, and Minsung hadn’t moved an inch since they talked.

“I’m going to do a marathon just so I can die on the finish-line and ruin it for everyone else,” he announced, still out of breath. He had decided somewhere around the 3rd floor landing. He liked to imagine paper thin women who could tell you all about kale and whatever the fuck quinoa was stepping over his body to collect their participation medals so they could take pictures with them to post on instagram and prove to their friends just how much better they were than them; he hoped they tagged him in the pictures.

“What do you have to drink?” he asked, tossing the pizza towards Minsung before moving to rummage through his cabinets. “Do you think rum or,” he paused pulling out a bottle he didn’t recognize, a truly remarkable feat, “whatever this is pairs better with pepperoni?”

41. “You’re going out dressed like that?"  51. "I’m your husband. It’s my job.” 55. “It’s just you and me tonight. I was thinking we could have a little fun.” JUICE

I was suppose to be going out with my friend, Rachel.

I picked a decent enough outfit, nothing that showed too much leg or that was too tight.

I brushed out my hair and barely applied any makeup.

Juice walked passed the bathroom door, his chains clinking together. He paused a few feet away and walked backwards.

He rubbed his mowhawk, whistling as he took in my appearance.

“You’re going out dressed like that?” He asked, and I could see the worry and jealousy in his eyes.

I looked down at my dress. It was a pale blue, knee length sundress.

“Nothing’s wrong with my dress Juice. I’m just meeting Rachel at the mall. Don’t worry.”

He looked bashful, “I’m your husband. It’s my job.”

I couldn’t be annoyed with him looking at me like that.

Grabbing his cut, I pulled him to me, kissing his sweet tasting lips.

“I love you too Juan.” I said, smiling.

Juice walked me to the door, giving me one last kiss before I left.
°°°°°°
Rachel stood me up, not bothering to show. I decided to go to Bath and Body Works to treat myself and to get Juice a couple of things.
°°°°°°
Juice was playing a video game when I walked through the door.

He looked up, surprised to see me since I was only gone for an hour and a half.

“Hey baby.” He said, getting up.

I smiled, giving him a kiss.

“Rachel not show?”

I shook my head, giving him the bag filled with his goodies.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed.

I’d found him some comics that he’d been searching for.

He put the comics back into the bag and wrapped me up in a hug.

“Thank you, baby.”

I accepted the kiss he offered, “Very welcome Juan.”

He put me down, smoothing down the wrinkles in my dress.

“Ya know…”

I raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just you and me tonight. I was thinking we could have a little fun.” He said, pulling me tighter to him and smiling.

“Oh really… and what type of fun are we talking about?”

He leaned down, peppering my collarbone with kisses, “Well, you’re looking all sorts of fine in this dress, baby,” a flick of his tounge, “I figured, take you out for dinner and bring you home for dessert.” He sucked lightly on my pulse point.

I closed my eyes, smiling at the sensation that was coursing through me.

“Hmmm, that sounds like a plan.”

Juice held my face in his hands as he rubbed his nose against mine before moving his lips over mine.

He pulled back slightly, “Get that fine ass in the car, baby.” He winked.

We gathered our stuff quickly, ready to get our night started.

Today:
1) had a lovely school visit at a lovely school that I wish was not located on my least favorite road in the world
2) proceeded to stay longer than I planned to at lunch because a stereotypical New Yorker was sitting in the middle of Panera, describing, loudly and at length, everything that was wrong with the Trump Administration and the Republicans. The entire place descended into awkward silence for 40 mins while she went on. I had to hide behind my computer to laugh when she described just how much she wanted to smash a tomato in Paul Ryan’s face.
3) got to listen to two old guys argue about what a Fribble was while I was eating dinner at Friendly’s. The waitress came over to settle the argument and one of the guys proceeded to regale her with a full history of Friendly’s.
4) May have come out to my family via Facebook post. Definitely implied that I was hoping for a modern repeat of March 15, 44BC.

archiveofourown.org
The Killing Type
By Organization for Transformative Works

By: protagonist_m

Liam breathes hotly through his nose, eyes twitching shut as he squeezes a bit more on Zayn’s neck. “Do you know how dangerous what you’re doing is?”

Zayn draws in his own ragged breath. “Do you?”

Zayn is a doctoral student who goes to great lengths to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liam is heading the biggest serial murder investigation London has seen in half a century. And before this, he’d never been sent a love note via corpse.

AO3 chaptered