vile live


“People who hunt other people for a vocation, all we want to talk about is what it’s like. The sh*t that went down. The entire f*cked-upness of it. It’s not easy. Butchering people is hard work. Physically and mentally. I don’t think people realize. You need to vent. […] I was a regular guy most of my life, with a nice home, nice suburb. I had pets, I went to a good school. I was a thoughtful, educated, well brought up young person. There’s no question about it. But… at the same time… I was living a vile, depraved, entirely parallel other life filled with debased violence and mayhem, and fear, and death.” —Mindhunter, S01E02

Miranda Hamilton’s war against England

I love Black Sails’ Lady Miranda Hamilton, because she is unapologetic and has the autonomy of a Jane Austen or Mary Wollstonecraft heroine. The witty, educated, literary, flirtatious salon hostess turned dissenter and rebel - that’s a trope I would like to see more of on television.

Miranda would have been at the centre of political and artistic life in London. She was wealthy, assumably respected despite the rumours of her affairs, and happily married. History is full of women trapped in horrible, violent, stifling marriages, but that of Miranda and Thomas seems to have been a true marriage of minds, based on actual love (in whatever form) as well as mutual respect and admiration.

Black Sails is preoccupied with narrative and story telling, and the power of a good story is frequently used to shift alliances and to create villains.

In the eyes of England - imperialist, patriarchal England, Miranda would be at her most admirable as an accomplished hostess, an undesirably intelligent woman perhaps, but she adhered to and upheld the rules of society, and if she ever deviated she did so quietly, in private. For instance, although she wants James to accompany her in public, she only kisses him in the carriage, once they are out of the public eye. She knows exactly what she is allowed to do, but also how she can discreetly manoeuvre her way to obtain something forbidden.

When James initially announces that he and Miranda will not settle in Europe, we get the sense that he intends to raise hell when he reaches New Providence. He does not. Instead he adapts and becomes the very thing he swore to fight and reform. In Nassau, Miranda becomes increasingly reckless and restless, meddling in the politics of the place by forging alliances, confronting and initiating sex with the pastor and she continuously urges James to keep Thomas’ legacy alive by evoking change, even if it is just change for the two of them. In England, James was the plain spoken lieutenant and she the witty, much admired and much adaptable socialite, but in Nassau their roles are reversed. James becomes the figure of adoration (or at least fear) and Miranda the rational dissenter, forever sparring the arguments of others, those of the pastor, the Guthries and James.

Why did Miranda settle in Nassau? She could have severed all ties to James, even spoken out against him to save her own skin, throwing herself on the mercy of Lord Alfred Hamilton. Less drastically, she could have started a new life in Amsterdam or Paris with the help of Lord Ashe. By assuming a new identity (which she does anyway), she could have lived modestly but comfortably as a governess, teaching music, literature, languages. She could have hid behind a personae, like James does with Flint, but even as Mrs Barlow, the pious, Purcell-loving recluse, she is very much the Miranda Hamilton she has always been, even if she does not fully realise it herself. Miranda settles in Nassau after making a ‘hard choice, to achieve the least awful outcome’, to use the wording Lord Ash later employs to excuse his own treachery. Miranda’s chooses to leave civilisation but to keep her integrity, an act of open rebellion against society. Miranda Hamilton declares war on England.

She has not yet realised the extent or the danger of her rebellion when she urges James to ask for a pardon. She laments the lack of company, art and music, and pleads with him to return to civilisation. James furiously refuses to take her advice and accept a pardon, stating that it would be equivalent to apologising to England. ‘The moment I sign that pardon,’ he gnarls; ‘the moment I ask for one, I proclaim to the world that they were right. This ends when I grant them my forgiveness not the other way around.

While on their way to Charlestown, Miranda confesses her astonishment to James on finding that Abigail has grown up. ‘It’s like she’s some sort of clock that’s finally struck its chime and woken me from this dream we’ve been living, reminded me how many years separate me from a world I still think of as home. How unrecognizable the woman I am now would be to the woman I was then,’ she states. As viewers, we are invited to view this as a poetic way of showing for just how long Miranda and James have been exiled, (and perhaps suggesting that mourns her own childlessness), but when James replies that he still recognises her, it is not just a kind reassurance, it demonstrates how little they have changed, despite everything. They are recognisable to each other because they are cut from the same cloth, because their integrity is still intact, because they tirelessly refuse to capitulate, because they are allies in the war against injustice and England.

Miranda inevitably realises the extent of her rebellion, because of the clock, her clock, which now stands in the home of Lord Ashe in Charlestown. It is at this moment that she realises how her values and those of the civilised world are at odds, how her autonomy makes it impossible for her to return to society. Civilisation comes at too high a price. Having been uncharacteristically quiet for the duration of their visit, Miranda raises her voice at a critical point. She demonstrates that at a moment when James is prepared to compromise, she is not. Compromise is capitulation, and capitulation is out of the question. 

Miranda, James and Lord Ashe have all had to make hard choices, but unlike the former, Lord Ashe lost his integrity the moment he de facto capitulated to Lord Alfred Hamilton by aiding him vilifying James. Lord Ashe considered the least awful outcome to be one where society persevered over scandal, where England triumphed over degenerates and the status quo was upheld. ‘You wish to return to civilisation,’ he scorns, ‘that is what civilisation is.’ Lord Ashe stands for civilisation, Thomas, in allegedly forgiving the treachery of his friend, stands for civilisation, Miranda and James stand for justice, integrity and freedom.

Miranda, which was as her most admirable to England as a polite socialite, raises her voice and becomes this raging, furious rebel, which makes her all the more admirable to the viewers. We half expect James to interfere, to cut Lord Ashe down then and there, as the camera zooms in on his face as the truth dawns on him, that he was almost tricked into capitulating to his greatest enemy. In a furious monologue which would not be out of place if delivered by James, Miranda states that she wants to see the Charlestown burned to the ground, and as she does so, she pleadingly turns to James.

We were initially told stories about the mysterious Mrs Barlow’s hold on Captain Flint and how she made him kill on her behalf. Later we hear her blaming herself for letting James know Lord Alfred Hamilton’s whereabouts, we hear her blaming herself for being an instrument in their murder. In truth, there is no way she could have resisted letting him know which ship he was on, it would not have been in her nature. As she tells James when they first meet: ‘Great men aren’t made great by politics. They aren’t made great by prudence or propriety. They are, every last one of them, made great by one thing and one thing only, the relentless pursuit of a better world.’ Miranda has an agency of her own and no means of quitting it. The narrative of Black Sails depicts Miranda’s transformation from villain, to an understandably bitter intermediary to murder and finally, in Lord Ashe’s dining room, to an autonomous rebel, outright promising destruction.

As Lady Hamilton, the hostess and socialite, she was tolerated. As Mrs Barlow, a nondescript exiled Englishwoman, she was tolerated. She might even have been tolerated in Charlestown, had she been submissive and repentant. As a plain spoken, vengeful - and more importantly, rebellious woman in open dissent of the values of civilised England, she could not be tolerated. Had she agreed to Lord Ashe’s plan, or fallen to her knees pleading for him to concoct another, less vile, she would have lived. But here we have an educated, cultivated, intelligent woman who once knew and followed the rules of society, who refuses to capitulated her integrity, who still thinks of England as home. A treason not to be borne! Lord Ashe acted to protect the status quo, but Miranda acts to protect herself in the face of hypocrisy, and this is what kills her. Miranda was a free spoken Englishwoman and her persistently unapologetic existence put her at constant war with civilisation. She was shot because she stood too close to Lord Ashe, too close to England. She refused to offer her country forgiveness of its treatment of her and was executed for her rebellion.

‘The danger here is real,’ she warns James in London. In Charlestown she finds herself in fearless in opposition. Miranda dies because she has realised that she is at war, because a  rational, autonomous, dissenting woman is too dangerous an enemy for England to let live.


I just heard about this release on Milk! Records.  Frankly, it seems too good to be true, especially given how great “Over Everything” sounds.  This album is a collaboration between Australia’s Courtney Barnett (who runs Milk! Records with her partner and equally awesome musician Jen Cloher) and Philadelphia’s Kurt Vile.

This song sounds like both artists and their previous music lives (Vile was a member of The War on Drugs in its early years).  This song also recalls the sounds and pace of Paul Kelly (Australia).  If you’re looking for less “mainstream” comparisons look no further than Dag (Australia) or The Spires (California). 

This is in pre-order phase, but it appears that copies are going fast!

Blood and Bones - Chapter 1

Pairing: Samifer

Summary: When people on the Winchester lands vanish, including Dean, Sam thinks the necromancer who’s living near by in a tower is to blame.

Warnings: Fantasy AU, Violence, Blood Magic (as in people cut themselves and others to get blood for spells), Knight!Sam, Necromancer!Lucifer, Blood Mage!Lucifer, Undead, Questionable morals, Truth Spells

Notes: Thanks to my beta readers @coplins, @trisscar368 and @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell. Also tons of thanks to @askatosch who keeps drawing things for this. Look at this!

Read it at AO3

Sam knew he wasn’t behaving the way a knight should. If you ride all the way to the tower the vile necromancer is living in, honor demands you knock at the front door and shout a challenge. You don’t hide your horse near by, wait for night, and sneak around the old gnarled building to find a window that looks like you can climb up to it. You certainly don’t wedge two short daggers between the stones of the tower to use as stepping stones. (Proper knights most likely don’t even know how to do that.) You don’t hang on the windowsill to cut through the skin that keeps the wind from blowing through the window and climb in.

Good thing his uncle Bobby hadn’t bothered much with training him and Dean to be proper knights. “If you get into a fight,“ he had always said, “You better win it. Honor doesn’t do you any good if you’re dead.“

Sam said a silent prayer of thanks to Bobby’s soul while he crouched on the other side of the window in a dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He’d left his chainmail behind for stealth reasons, only wearing light leather armor now. He wasn’t even here to pick a fight. He just wanted to find his brother and get out again.

Slowly, the dark shapes around him became bookcases. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. There were way worse places you could end up in, if you broke into a necromancer’s tower, than his library.

Sam moved silently, looking for a door. There was probably a dungeon downstairs, and that sounded like a good place to start his search.

Not long until he found a door that lead to a spiraling staircase. At the end of it, there was a more sturdy door that yielded to Sam’s lock picking skills (bless his friend Brady, whom neither Sam’s father John nor Bobby approved of), and there it was. The dungeon.

There was a torch in a metal ring next to the door. Sam dug for flint in the pocket on his belt and lit it. In the light of the flames he looked around.

The cells were separated by rusty metal bars, most of the doors standing open. Sam stepped in further. One of them had to be occupied. At least one of them. Dean couldn’t be dead, he was not allowed to be dead.

“Looking for something?“

Sam whirled around at the sound of the voice. There was a blond man leaning against the doorframe, all clad in black, a slightly amused look in his piercing blue eyes. “Maybe I can help you.“

Instead of an answer Sam reached for his sword.

Keep reading

A Really Bad Day

“Tell me, my dear, have you ever had a really…bad…day?

You of all people should know. (laughs) There’s nothing so cruel as memory. The pointy, bitey little thunderbolts. Unwanted party crashers, screamers through your synapses. Inescapable, unrelenting…not at all friendly. You can’t even escape into madness! And then you meet someone who changes your life. And you feel that you don’t even know who you are any more! Isn’t it funny how one little encounter can cleave off little pieces of your past, deform your memories and persona until you rethink your whole identity — and as you realize how foolish it all is — your laughter reverberates off the walls of your own emptiness.

You want to know something funny? I used to think of fate as something evil — predetermined — not by some higher power but by the rules of human nature. But tonight, that’s all changed.

Have you ever had the feeling that your entire life has been building towards this one moment? Now I realize that all the battles, the bad days, the brutalities - it was all the hand of Fate at work.

Now I understand. There are no chance encounters. It was all meant to be. Everything leading up to who I’ve met tonight! Yes. And you might say it’s changed everything.

I mean, do you realize what a vile world we live in? How lonely it is to wade through all the wretch and filth on your own? You understand! Even in a crowd of other screwballs, you’re so alone that you can kick, claw, yell, scream at the top of your lungs — and no one cares. It’s like you don’t even exist! I feel… Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped on this path leading nowhere, into just emptiness. But now…

I feel adrift — floating — like someone’s pulled the stopper on my reality and I’m sucked down the drain into something new. It’s all very exciting really. (laughs) You wouldn’t know what that feels like, I’m sure.

It’s like meeting someone I can actually relate to — which believe me, dear, I’ve never felt before. You understand. You’re someone who’s not afraid to let go — and fall. Free falling. And I didn’t pack a chute. (laughs) Do you know what I mean?”

~ The Joker

Batman: Arkham Origins

Originally posted by tylerthetable

Madness II (final)

Originally posted by peperodays

Joker Harley!AU

word count - 2449

a/n: Because of a high demand for joker!sehun, I’ve decided to make a pt 2. I’ve written it a little like canon, I hope you’ll all enjoy it! :)

previous: pt 1

Sehun knew exactly how to draw you in.

You knew he was seducing you every single time you had a session with him, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Despite every time you have told him that this is unprofessional and that he should quit he keeps ignoring your request. 

“You just fascinate me,” he would say, and although you’d never admit it those flattering words he says make you flustered.

Keep reading

Klaine one-shot - “Feeding Time” (NC17)

Kurt is a warlock who feeds off of fairies to replenish his powers. He captures Blaine, a fairy prince, who wanders close to his home.

But, of course, the definition of “feed” can vary. (1292 words)

This was based off of an anon request to write a one-shot based off of a piece of art found on Tumblr. However, when I went to link it, the post was gone. Just imagine Tinkerbell in the situation Blaine finds himself in at the end with who I think was Maleficent, and you get the gist. This isn’t usually my cup of tea so after this, I’m going to burn my eyes xD

Warning for non-con elements but nothing too graphic and bondage. Evil Warlock!Kurt; Fairy Prince!Blaine

Read on AO3.

Kurt peers with satisfaction through the bars of the tiny cage – one built from sturdy vines to hold insects and sparrows, but with a greater prize locked inside. Kurt had happened upon him by accident, searching an area of meadow just shy of Kurt’s own house. The fairy was far from careless; that’s not how Kurt encountered him. He had been embroiled in a battle with Kurt’s familiar – a Minx so grey, she was almost silver; and so large she frightened dogs and children alike. The cat would swipe and the fairy would dodge, unable to fly with dew-wet wings. The fairy fought hard - not to hurt the feline, but to evade - and showed no signs of tiring. A few more clever dodges and he would have been able to best the cat, daze it with a well-aimed blow between the eyes and scurry away. Still, so involved with the cat was he that he could not anticipate Kurt, who had cloaked himself with a shadow spell to better his chances. The cards, it seemed, were stacked against the poor fairy. It was only a matter of time really. All Kurt had to do was wait for the fairy to get within reach and …

Bam! Kurt swept him up in an old mason jar.

Kurt didn’t need to conjure in order to find this fairy, so he marks this one up to fate, ordained by whatever supreme beings have given Kurt his power and the knowledge of how to keep it.

In Kurt’s mind, he was meant to have this fairy.

Keep reading

Wow….interesting choice of movie roles:

🔸Zac Efron to play serial killer Ted Bundy in “Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil & Vile”.

🔸Blake Lively as a disgraced MMA fighter in “Bruised".

sufferzone-deactivated20170917  asked:

klance + 24 ✨✨✨

| “You’re the only one I trust to do this.” |

Wishes are impulsive and wanting.

And as Keith wishes, wishes he hadn’t gotten hurt, he feels like a wish in all its qualities. He doesn’t want to be incapacitated, useless and undriven. If only he hadn’t rushed in like he did or else he could be heading out right now with the others to scout the planets.

He can’t fly, what with two broken ribs and an arm in a sling. He curses under his breath, disappointment in his chest causing his heart to suffocate.

But the suffocation’s relieved when he’s visited by Lance, who’s about to depart.

“You don’t have to look so beat up about not flying,” Lance starts and Keith glares at him, to which Lance only smiles. “I hope your hot-headedness has taught you something.”

“Not as much as your ego,” he huffs, dark hair gathered on his shoulders. “It’s taught me that I have no taste in men.”

“You lie, you have excellent taste,” Lance moves closer, sitting next to him on the chair. “I’m glad you do.” He grins. Keith scoffs, and turns to move when his ribs remind him he’s a wish, he’s impulsive, and he pays the price. He winces. “Hey now, careful. You have to be careful.” Lance’s voice grows softer and he loses the smile. “Take care of yourself,” Lance whispers, pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek. It’s only a couple seconds and then he pulls away. Keith presses his hand to his cheek and the stars burn above.

“You’re one to talk,” Keith declares, lips craving to smile but they don’t. “I should be worrying about you. Make sure you do the same.” Lance easily slides into a smile, eyes looking down at his hands and that’s when Keith notices the bag he has.

It’s old and velvet and curled with faded gold lines. It’s red. “Lance?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Keith retorts, a sliver of a smile appearing. It’s amazing, sitting there, just the two of them. It’s anything but the embodiment of a wish; it’s a promise.

“I need you to hold onto this for me,” and he offers up the bag. It’s small and intriguing, dangling between Lance’s fingertips. Keith reaches out, accepts it, and curiousity replaces the vile and unpredictable suffocation living in his chest.

“What’s in it?” The strings are waiting to be pulled, the bag waiting to be opened.

“Keith, listen to me. You cannot, under any circumstances, open it. Wait for me to come back.” He offers a smile and something pangs inside Keith’s chest and it’s new. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

“Lance, what-” He’s silenced by Lance resting his hand on Keith’s cheek, his thumb brushing at Keith’s hair.

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.” He pulls his hand away and immediately Keith’s heart reminds him that he is a wish, wanting Lance’s touch for even just a fraction of a bit longer. “Please.”

“It’s a promise.” Keith rests the bag at his side and then motions for Lance to come closer. “Remember.” And he presses his lips against Lance’s lips. When Keith breaks the kiss, he finishes his sentence. “Take care of yourself.”

“It’s a promise.” He stands up, his helmet resting on the side of his hip. “Remember.” Lance smiles brightly and Keith feels like he’s stared at the sun for too long. “Wait for me.”

And so Lance leaves, and Keith waits, waits for him to return later that day.

But he never does.

Time doesn’t wait for Lance but Keith does, he does.

Four years come and go and Keith’s been waiting ever since. The red bag sits on his desk and he continues training to take his mind off the sun he hasn’t seen for years. He doesn’t touch the bag after a year of looking for Lance and can’t even look at it after barely surviving three. But he knows, he knows it’s there.

It’s the heart of their promise.

And it’s getting harder and harder to keep.

As spaces silently and continuously expands, impulsively, Keith realizes he needs to go back home.

He needs a breath of fresh air, to resume the normalcy his body forgets now.

Yes, wanting, it pools at the bottom of his stomach, and he’s ready to force his body to accept that their promise is broken in this lifetime. Or maybe what’s broken is him, and it hurts a lot more than two broken ribs and an arm in a sling Keith wishes, wishes didn’t happen so long ago. It hurts because he is a wish, impulsive and wanting, but he dared to think he could ever believe in a promise.

It hurts.

And yet, he brings the bag with him, clutching it tightly all the way home.

His home, miraculously, is still there. It’s dusty and a ghost of the past but it’s home. Pictures are still pinned to a board, lines connecting them, and it’s all there, the beginning of it all, of the gathering of the five paladins. It’s all there, burned into his mind.

He can’t forget, he’s a wish.

Keith inhales, taking in a deep breath, letting it go.

He needs to let go.

He needs to but he’s not a promise, he’s a wish, a wish whose heart wants everything back.

The air becomes unbreathable inside and his chest clenches and then he’s outside, outside and wanting Lance back.

It’s unbearable. The stars now so far away shine in the sky and they’re reminiscent of the day that their heart was born. But their heart is fading, fading, and Keith is tired. He sits on the porch and snatches the red bag from his pocket, fingers shaking, with a certain hold on the weathered yellow string.

Wait for me.

Lance’s words echo at the back of Keith’s mind and he decides to give him one last chance, letting the strings slip from his fingertips. His chest hurts, hurts at the thought of holding out for one more night but their heart is not gone yet.

Even though he is waiting, he is tired, and sleep is kind to him underneath stars who remember too much.

The sun is making the horizon glow when he wakes. He watches with pained eyes, as the sun greets a new day and a last chance. It’s bittersweet and Keith wishes, wishes to believe in a miracle for a little longer. The clouds become orange and the rocky terrain around reveals itself and Keith finds himself looking away from the horizon, morning breeze blocking his vision for a moment and he brushes his hair out of his eyes, only to find it’s a mistake to look forward; he thinks he’s dreaming.

Lance is standing in front of him, aged and with longer hair, smiling.

“Thank you for waiting,” he speaks and Keith doesn’t know if this is real. “I’m sorry.” The sun he is almost ready to acknowledge as burned out stands before him, a flicker of a flame from long ago.

Keith doesn’t know if Lance is real and he’s at a loss for words. The boy in front of him looks at Keith’s hands and smiles more warmly, stepping forward, kneeling in front of him. “Looks like I trusted the right person, mi amor.” He places a hand on Keith’s face and everything comes flooding back.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” Keith whispers, slowly raising his hand to hold Lance’s in place.

“I’m home.”

It’s warm and the stars are no longer harsh. Keith’s emotions from the past four years are bottled tightly in his chest and he’s feeling dangerously close to suffocating. His face changes and Lance knows, he knows. Keith opens his mouth when Lance cuts him off.

“Keith, you have every right to be angry at me because I promised you I was supposed to be careful but I wasn’t. I know I deserve everything you have to say but it’s been four years,” Lance admits, voice steady. “You can open the bag now,” he finishes and Keith doesn’t know what to expect as he pulls open the bag. Red comes apart and their heart is open.

It’s open.

Keith pulls out a black box and he can only wonder what exactly was worth waiting for all these years. He opens it, and a flash of silver is the first breath of a sunrise from his very own sun.

“Will you marry me?”

And like a wish, Keith is wanting; like a wish, Keith is impulsive.

Together, they are a promise; and together, they are a promise to last a lifetime.