#name and age and pronoun reveal oops...

[astericias]

here's my art fight by the way!! for any oomfs who have it :3 still need to update and add characters pls dont mind how empty it is!!!

[leasthaunted]

Least Haunted Character Recap: Consent Fetishist "Rassy."

This Friday (12/22/23) Least Haunted will release its 4th annual fully dramatized Holiday Special: Consent Fetishist Rassy's 100% Consensual Christmas Extravaganza!

But some of you who are unfamiliar with The Least Haunted Podcast might be a bit confused as to what the hell is going on, or who the hell "Consent Fetishist Rassy" is? So We have prepared this Helpful little character bio/recap to bring you up to speed.

This will include all appearances of Rassy in both Halloween and Holiday specials. It will gloss some of the non special appearances for completion. But you really should listen to the show, because they get mentioned rather frequently. Are you ready? You have to say "Yes" first! Those are the rules...

NAME: Rassy

ALIASES: Consent Fetishist Rassy, Consent Fetishist Elmo, Tickle You Elmo, Dr. Funninstuffed phd

AGE: (as of 2023) -7 is from a nullified future timeline/parallel universe. will would have been manufactured ca, 2030.

HEIGHT: 2.5 ft, .762 meters

WEIGHT: Surprisingly more than you would suspect

GENDER: Whatever you want them to be

ORIENTATION: Pansexual Polyamourous

PRONOUNS: They/Them

First, we need to talk about The Backwards Carousel of Time!

The Backwards Carousel of Time was introduced in Episode 04: The Clownening, and is a mechanical device later revealed to have been built by Cody using specs from the internet, and parts kluged together from a Tiger Electronics X-Men handheld game from the 90's, and a Tickle Me Elmo doll. It allows for Cody and Garth to travel through time to observe events discussed in the podcast a la "The Ghost of Christmas Present."

The Carousel SHOULD not allow for interaction between the observed and the observers... It is used primarily as a narrative device to keep things interesting.

All of this changed however in Episode 44: OOPS! All Christmas! Which served as the show's second Holiday Special.

In this holiday special Cody has added some modifications to the Backwards Carousel of Time that would allow for travel to the future and not just the past, and he wants to show them to Garth. Unfortunately a spilled holiday themed beverage causes a malfunction which transports the two to an alternate future in which The War on Christmas was decisively and brutally won by Christmas. Now every day is Christmas, and all culture and economy are yuletide based.

It is revealed that the carousel doesn't actually travel through time, and it never has! Instead it creates a small pocket dimension that operates much like the Holodeck from Star Trek. However this time due to the spilled drink malfunction the simulated people within the pocket dimension can see and interact with Cody and Garth.

In order to escape back to their rightful time/dimension Cody and Garth must team up with a cadre of militant Santa Clauses who are waging a guerrilla campaign to overthrow the fascist holiday state and return balance to all holidays with the true meaning of Christmas.

To repair the carousel they need a chip from a Tickle Me Elmo equivalent, which in this timeline is called "Tickle You Elmo!" (The doll with no sense of personal space!), and it just so happens to be the must have toy of the season. Also, Tickle You Elmo is a fully autonomous AI animatronic toy now.

Working with the Santa's they successfully steal the toy in a heist, use the parts to repair the carousel and return home. Unfortunately in the process the carousel is destroyed, AND the Tickle You Elmo came back to reality with Cody and Garth!

Using quick thinking, the duo lock the pesty robot in a room with the broken Backwards Carousel of Time with instructions to "Fix it."

That is where Tickle You Elmo is left...

That is until, Episode 50: The Garth Moon Hoax!

In this regular episode of the podcast, it is revealed that not only has Tickle You Elmo completed repairs on the Backwards Carousel of Time, but due to some deep soul searching and self exploration Tickle You Elmo has learned the value of consensual interactions, and in fact now consent is their kink. Thus they are rebranded as Consent Fetishist Elmo!

Tracking Coyotes...

[PICTURE REDACTED/CLASSIFIED]

Around this time Consent Fetishist Elmo was sent to help Patreon Monster Squadron member, and wildlife biologist, @thebibarbarian in their research regarding Coyotes. Consent Fetishist Elmo officially became The Bibarbarian's research assistant, and along the way got alarmingly good at shooting a tranquilizer gun. A skill that would have been much more troubling if developed at a past point in their life. Also, a skill that translates into a general proficiency in long-guns...

Episode 65: Helldoodle!

In this, the third Halloween Special, Cody and Garth accidentally open a portal to Hell by playing a Three Men and A Baby Breakfast Cereal premium collector's 45 rpm vinyl backwards.

The resulting portal allows a number of Demons to come through into our plain of existence. One such Demon, Malacoda gets renamed Garth-Two and aides Cody and Garth in closing the portal and returning the other Demons to Hell. Garth-Two sticks around to become another recurring character.

Consent Fetishist Elmo show's up at the end to tranquilize a coyote and announce that they have returned from their time as a research assistant.

At the end of the special it is implied the Garth-Two tries to eat Consent Fetishist Elmo. In the process one of Consent Fetishist Elmo's eyes is damaged. It is later revealed through dialogue in regular episodes that the duo of Garth-Two and Consent Fetishist Elmo have actually become close friends, and that the two have embarked on a roadtrip through The American Southwest together.

Episode 91: Bottleeen!

In the fourth Least Haunted Halloween Special it is revealed that Consent Fetishist Elmo and Garth-Two have returned from their Thelma and Louise style voyage of self discovery. Also In order to escape the lawyers of "Big PBS" and The Children's Television Workshop, Consent Fetishist Elmo has adopted a new moniker!

Since Elmo it a nickname based on the name Erasmus, they have adapted a new variant of Erasmus and now go by, Consent Fetishist Rassy

In the episode Rassy shoots a fake Cody (a bottleganger) in the head sniper style in order to save Garth from being trapped in a small bottle-episode dimension. Although that part may not be completely canonical... You'll just have to listen to that episode to find out!

Which brings us up to speed with this year's holiday special, Consent Fetishist Rassy's 100% Consensual Christmas Extravaganza! Which premiers FRIDAY DECEMBER 22ND wherever podcasts can be heard, as well as on www.leasthaunted.com.

Who would have thought that a small independent artisanal podcast about paranormal skepticism would develop such a complex and intricate backstory and canonical universe? Eat yer hearts out Marvel!

p.s. You should also probably be aware that in the parlance of The Least Haunted Podcast, the term "Notes" can refer to weed. That might be helpful to know in the special as well.

[arizona2004]

Who the Real Wolves Are.part 1

Azriel x reader

warnings: OC death(not too descriptive), eventual smut?

word count: 1777

There will be 2-4 parts total. Part 2 

It had just been an average day when I’d met Azriel. I was walking through the woods, taking the shortcut back to the small cottage I lived in with my grandmother. The first thing I noticed about him when we collided was how tall and built he was. It was frightening but also unbearably attractive. Then I noticed, looking up to his face, the beautiful color of his eyes- hazel. And they glowed golden in the sunlight. He’s beautiful, I thought. Behind him, I saw movement, and that’s when I noticed his wings.

They are magnificent, large, and as beautiful as his face. I take several paces back and continue admiring his wings. He’s fae, but that doesn’t frighten me as it should. I’m curious and step forward toward him. Now he’s the one to step back, and he cocks his head slightly as though confused or thoughtful.

I try again to take a step forward. He doesn’t move. I step again, and this time, looking up into his eyes, I reach out a hand to his wings. Quick as a fly, he grips my wrist and growls. That has me tensing, oops, I think. But when I look back into his eyes, they don’t look as angry as I feared. I relax slightly and try to pull my wrist back. 

He lets go and asks, “What are you doing in the woods?” Now he does sound angry.

What gives him the right to be angry at me, I think, and say, “walking.”

“It’s not safe out here,” he says, “you shouldn’t be walking by yourself” 

“Oh, really? I walk this path every day. I’ve never encountered anything dangerous.”

“Before today,” he responds, indicating himself.

“Are you threatening to harm me if I walk this path again?”

“No. There are dangerous things other than just me out here.”

“Well I don’t think you’re very dangerous at all,” I say, sticking out my chin.

“I’m very dangerous,” he sounds defensive now. It makes me laugh, and he furrows his brow at that, “what?” he asks. It makes me laugh harder, and I push forward, walking past him. “Don’t just walk away from me,” he grumbles behind me, “I’m very dangerous.”

He followed me home that day, but I didn’t mind. When I stood feet from the door to my house, I felt his presence fading and turned around. He wasn’t there. He was shooting into the air, and I assumed I’d never see him again, but that didn’t stop me from hoping. 

Every day for the next two weeks, I searched for him on my way home, but he was never there. Then, one evening, I felt someone watching me. I was in nearly the same spot I had been when we collided weeks ago. I stopped and spun around looking, but I didn’t see him. Then, far in the distance to my left, I spotted him. Or just his hazel eyes. He was covered in shadows; it looked as though a tree was swallowing him. 

As soon as our eyes connected, though, he vanished, and I was alone again. I walked the rest of the way home in confusion and slept fretfully that night. My thoughts were filled with questions and feelings I didn’t understand. I wonder about his name. I want to see him again. I want to touch him too. I want to know why he disappeared and what he was doing on that trail. Mostly, I want to know what his lips taste like.

I’ve been kissed many times before. Some were sloppy. Others fine. And a few were even good. I’d never done anything more intimate than kissing, but this male made me question what exactly I’d let him do to me if he tried.

Several more days pass before I sense him watching me again. This time I don’t look for him -afraid I’ll scare him away. I just stop in my tracks and speak to the space in front of me, “you never told me your name.” Seconds pass, and there’s no response. 

I’m about to walk away when I hear from behind me, “Azriel.”

I turn to find him standing feet away from me on the path, “Azriel,” I repeat.

“Yes?”

Why are you watching me?” I take a step toward him.

“What’s in the basket?” he asks, avoiding the question and my eyes.

“Cookies for my grandmother. They're her favorite. Chocolate chip. Do you want one?” I ask the last bit, sticking my hand into the basket and pulling out a cookie, walking closer to him. I lift the cookie to his lips and watch as he takes a bite. His lips graze my fingers as he bites into the cookie. 

“Delicious,” he says, grabbing my wrist, pulling it toward my lips. He stares into my eyes as he takes another bite. I swallow and try to calm myself down. When he finishes the cookie, I pull my gaze away from his face. I try, at least, but there's chocolate on his lip. Instinctively, I brush my thumb over his lip and pick up the chocolate. He sucks my thumb into his mouth, licking up all the chocolate, then releases it with a pop. 

I’m faintly aware of the squeaky noise I make at his actions and the wobbling of my legs, but I just continue looking into his eyes.

“The sun’s about to set,” he says, “You probably should get home.”

And so I start walking home, and he walks by my side. When we’re mere feet from the house, again, he disappears into the sky.

This continues for many more weeks. Moments after I enter the forest, Azriel is standing next to me. Occasionally we talk, but most days, we walk in silence. And after dreaming of it plenty, and probably not thinking it through enough. I lean over and kiss him before he flys away. I had only intended to kiss his cheek, but he had been turning toward me, so the kiss had been placed on the corner of his mouth. When I skipped the few more feet to the house, I felt his eyes on my back, and a grin plastered my face. 

The day following, Azriel, it seemed, decided to follow my lead. When he met me in the woods and walked me home, he stopped further from the house, this time. I turned to him, and he leaned down, placing his lips to mine. They were soft and warm. I leaned into the kiss, and when I did, his tongue darted out to lick the seam of my lips. I moan, opening my mouth for him. 

His tongue swept into my mouth and gently caressed my own. The kiss was slow and gentle except where Az’s teeth nipped at my lips. My hands held onto him tightly at his shoulders while he gripped my thighs, pulling me up to him. I had never been kissed quite like this before. It was soft and hard at the same time. I felt encased in the kiss. I never wanted my lips to part from his. The way his lips, tongue, and teeth moved with mine had me moaning and wanting more.

After some time, however, Azriel pulls back. We’re both gasping for breath, foreheads pressed together, and Azriel sets me on my feet. He takes a step back, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, without looking directly at me, lips pulling up at the corners.

“I-” I try to respond, but he’s already pushed into the air. I walk the rest of the way home, grinning wildly, and collapse into bed that night thinking of our kiss.

The weeks that follow are similar. Some days we walk. Some we talk. And other days, we find ourselves rolling through the brush tangled in each other’s arms.

One evening Azriel does not show himself, which isn’t unusual. What is strange, however, is arriving home to find men in my house. They’re speaking to my gran and when I arrive point their questions at me. 

Have you seen a fae male? Spoken to him? Fraternized with him?

“You know our laws about the fae, don’t you deary?” The man in charge asked when I’d denied all his accusatory questions.

I did, of course. My village didn’t allow any relations with the fae. And the law wasn’t just against the fae, but the people too. Since the wall fell, the village leaders made rules about interacting with fae. Anyone thought to be aiding or supporting a faerie was considered a fae fraternizer and sentenced to death. The children of the blessed didn’t dare come near our village, they’d be killed on sight.

“Yes. I’m aware. I haven’t had any relations with any fae. I’ve never even seen one.” I say as steadily as I can manage. I glance at my gran and fear I: revealed everything with the look in my eyes.

“Are you sure? There have been reports of a winged man in the area. People say they’ve seen him near this cottage. With a woman. Though no one is sure if the woman is human or not, I think she is.” He looks at me pointedly, and I want to correct his misuse of pronouns. Azriel is no mere ‘man’. I hold my tongue, though.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The man’s face lights up, and he pulls a dagger from his belt. Then a quiet voice says next to me, “it was me,” my face falls, and I look to my gran in horror. The man turns the dagger toward gran, “I met the male in the woods while picking berries. He didn’t seem to care about my wrinkled age; he’s quite old himself. I’ve-” She didn’t get to finish the sentence, though, as he struck her.

I immediately was pulled from my shock and shouted as I lunged at the man. The other men simply pulled me away. I fought at every turn, and they beat me relentlessly. They only stopped when I was bloody on the ground. Unable to move. The leader of the group knelt where my grandmother sat, crouched on the floor, weeping for me, and plunged the knife into her chest. A choked cry left my throat. The men left us lying on the floor after swearing threats. I didn’t hear any of it, though. My attention was focused on the lifeless body of my gran, inches from me. I struggled to breathe and reached out my hand for hers. She was cold, and I realized it was hours later. Then darkness came and swept me away.

[dirtyoatmeall]

Bokuto’s Cool Sister (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

A/N: Here is an actual fic! I have a list of shit to write I’m slowly working through, next will either be more head canons or a one shot. I’m re-watching AOT rn to get caught up with the new season so sorry about being absent! Luv u guys a lot

Pairing: Tsukishima x Bokuto sibling reader (No pronouns or gendered language used toward reader, not referred to as sister just used for title purposes), Bokuto x Akaashi, Kenma x Kuroo

Word Count: 2k! (longest ever!)

Warnings: Mentions of underage drinking (everyone at least 20), mentions of secs

~~~

You groaned as you neared the door to your apartment, seeing that the door was not cracked open a little for you to nudge open like you had asked your brother to do as you pulled into the complex. You remember him vaguely mentioning friends coming over, and you can hear music faintly coming from the apartment, but he always checks his phone, especially when you're coming from the store. 

You try to balance the milk on your knee to open the door, and just as you think you have it, the door doesn’t budge. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your brother never locks the doors, why would he now? His car is in the parking lot and you can hear noise inside, so he’s home. Instead of putting groceries on the ground and fishing your keys out of your purse like a normal person, you make the decision to kick the door, not very hard, but hard enough to be heard in the apartment. 

“Kou! Why is the door locked? Will you come open it for me, I have groceries!” You can hear your brother tumbling towards the door, apologies flying out of his mouth a mile a minute. The door swings open, revealing your brother, grimace on his face. “Sorry! I totally forgot you were at the store, I think ‘Kaashi might’ve locked it.” You sighed, not being able to stay mad at your brother’s friend. 

You walk in, jerking your head in the general direction of the parking lot, “I have some more in my car, can you go grab it?” He nods, grabbing his key ring and jogging out. Both of you had the spare key to each other’s cars, which turned out to be more convenient then you originally thought. 

You move toward the kitchen, yelling out a greeting to your brother’s boyfriend. “Akaashi! Next time you come over to fuck my brother let me know before so I can have my keys out, or just leave the door unlocked and go in his room!” You had a joking, yet scolding tone of voice, imagining his flustered state at your words. What you did not expect, was a hyena-like laugh to come from the direction of the living room. You were almost positive your brother said Akaashi was here. 

You place the groceries on the counter and make your way to the living room, freezing in the doorway. Akaashi was there, but so were 3 other people. Akaashi was red, shaking his head that was resting in his palms. There was someone playing on a gaming console on the couch who had their legs thrown over the lap of the laughing one, and one on the other couch, tall and blonde, who looked weirdly familiar, who had a faint smirk on their face. You grimace, you didn’t realize your brother had actual friends over, he usually just meant Akaashi or the occasionally Hinata. “Oops sorry ‘Kaashi, didn't know Kou was having other people over.”

He lifted his head, face still slightly flushed and smiled. “It’s fine (Y/N)-san, do you need help with the groceries?” You shook your head, pointing behind you in the direction of the kitchen, where you could hear your brother rummaging around. “Nah, I made Koutaro get the rest. If you guys are staying for dinner let me know and I’ll make something instead of making him go to the food truck for me. By the way, who are the rest of you? I literally thought Kou was lying about having friends.” 

The blonde one snorted, you narrowed your eyes slightly, he looked so familiar, you just couldn’t quite place it. The one playing the console seemed familiar too, you think you might’ve seen him on Twitter. The only one you didn’t recognize was the first to speak. “I’m Kuroo Tetsuro, we all played volleyball together in high school, I’m surprised he hasn’t talked about us before.” 

You nod in understanding, “Oh so that’s where. I’m sure he has, I just probably wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. I mean you guys seem kinda familiar, more the other two than you, were you like benched a lot?” The quiet one next to him looks up to see his reaction and snorts at the disbelief on Kuroo’s face. “Yeah, Kuro wasn’t very good.” The half blonde says, giggling softly as Kuroo gasps and yells at him. “Kenma!” He turns to you, “I was the captain and a very good player actually.” You laugh as Kenma behind him makes a face that says ‘That’s what you think.’ Before Kuroo could whine some more, Akaashi speaks.

“Kenma-san is a YouTuber, which is probably where you’ve seen him. He and Kuroo-san played for Nekoma, I’m surprised you didn’t remember them from that, you remembered Lev-san.” Kenma actually laughs at that, and Kuroo is pouting as Akaashi continues, a cheeky smile on his face that told you he purposefully sprinkled that last little tidbit in. 

“Tsukishima-san, aren’t you a museum-studies major?” The blonde on the loveseat across from the other three nods, and you snap your fingers, finally realizing where you know him from. “Oh, that makes sense! I think we’ve had a class or two together. I’m an archaeology major.” Tsukishima’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but before he could speak, your brother finally comes in from the kitchen.

“(Y/NNNNN), I put everything away, we were going to go to Onigiri Miya tonight, wanna come?” You nod and swat at his had when he ruffles your hair before plopping down to his boyfriend. You go to leave your brother and his friends, taking one last glance at Tsukishima, who seemed to have the same idea, he averted his eyes the moment yours met, and you smirked to yourself on the way to the kitchen to re-put away the groceries. You loved your brother, but he definitely did not know where to put things, your thought validified as you pull the eggs from the pantry, switching it with the instant ramen packets in the fridge. Good thing he was a great volleyball player. ` Later that night, you join the boys for dinner at Onigiri Miya. You take two separate cars, you driving your brother and Akaashi and Kuroo driving Kenma and Tsukishima. Kuroo made a joke about racing there, which you took as a personal challenge, much to the dismay of Akaashi. You would’ve won too, but you had to pull over to kick Koutaro in the backseat for playing Nickelback. He buys your food as an apology, and Kuroo’s food because he won (you venomed him later for your share of food, which he promptly venomed back to you with angry faces in the description.). The 6 of you sat in a corner booth, you were sandwiched between Akaashi and Tsukkishima with Kuroo between your brother and Kenma on the other side.

The table was loud with jokes, laughing, and yelling as everyone ate their meals. You snuck drinks of ‘Akaashi’s’ margarita when the waitress wasn’t looking (You were 20 and Akaashi submits to peer pressure from you easily). “(Y/N), are you not 21 yet?” Kuroo asked as he watched you nudge the drink toward Akaashi as the waitress talked to the other table. You turned to Kuroo, cheeks just barely flushed. “Hm? Oh no I’m not, I’m two years younger than you guys, I turn 21 in a few months.” 

Kuroo hummed in understanding and got a suspiciously mischievous look on his face. “Oh, you’re the same age as Tsukkishima, and you guys have similar majors, how interesting” Your eyebrows furrow and you snort. “So do over a thousand other people Kuroo, its not a super niche subject.” You turn to Tsukkishima and continue, “Hm I didn’t realize we were in the same year, I thought you were older, must be your grumpy grandpa like disposition.” Akaashi explained what disposition meant to your brother and Kuroo snickered before he was shut down by Kenma, who has been doing an excellent job of roasting Kuroo at every chance he gets. “You laugh like everyone doesn’t call you old man behind your back.” 

You laughed for the umpth time that night, Tsukishima watching you, he could really see the sibling resemblance when you laughed. You throw your head back and laugh loudly, from your gut much like your brother. Tsukishima looks away from you, catching Kuroos eye in the process, the blonde rolls his eyes at the smirk on Kuroos face. Out of the 5 of them, he was the only one not in a relationship and Kuroo has been trying to set him up since Bokuto and Akaashi finally got together at Akaashi’s graduation. 

Tsukishima looks at you again, watching you take a sip of the margarita, and subsequently watches it almost come out of your nose as you laugh at something Akaashi said to Bokuto, clutching the former's shoulder, hand over your nose. There was no doubt that you were pretty, and you did have similar interests. His thoughts were interrupted by you turning to him, knee-knocking against his thigh. “Have you taken Anth 267?” He nods “I took it last quarter.” He replies and watches you sigh in relief. “Oh thank god, I’m having trouble meeting her insane essay expectations. I usually have ‘Kaashi read through mine but would it be ok if I sent them to you? Or at least bounced topics off you?” When he agrees you smile, unlocking your phone and sliding it towards him, a new contact open. “Oh great, here, why don’t you put your number in?” As he fills it out, his eyes involuntarily flit to the text message appearing at the top of your screen. From: That Sunny Bitch

Ew you think Tsukki’s hot? He’s a good volleyball player but he was a meanie in high school 😝

He held back the urge to smirk. That must be Hinata based on the name. He quickly finished the contact and gave your phone back before giving his to you, and you quickly typed in your contact info, as well as snapping a quick contact photo. It was super close to your face with your tongue out, a good tell of your personality. You give his phone back and the two of you talk more about school and classes before everyone gets ready to leave. 

Your brother stands up first, and you take advantage of his large frame and chug the rest of the margarita down, smiling big at Akaashi who chastises you about drinking it so fast. You all wave to Osamu as you leave, and before Tsukishima can get to Kuroo’s car, he turns to the group, smirking. “I've got to run Kenma by our apartment to grab his charger, we’ll meet you guys.” You nod, handing your keys to Akaashi and turn to Tsukishima. “You can sit in the back with me Tsukishima!” Though you might be promoted to passenger if Bokuto makes bad music choices again.” You glare at your brother as you finish the sentence, and he whines about how his taste ‘isn’t that bad!’ 

The car ride back to your apartment is short, and you spend it chatting with Tsukki, as you’re now allowed to call him, and you spend the rest of the night with the boys, playing games and watching movies until early morning. Kuroo and Kenma leave first, and Kenma made your night when he looked you in the eye and said goodbye. Tsukki left about an hour later, his roommate picked him up. Akaashi ended up staying over, and you were glad your bedroom was on the other side of the apartment from your brother’s. You fell into bed content with the day, happy you were able to meet your brother’s friends.

You awoke mid-day, and you browsed your notifications before dropping your phone on your bed when you read one text message, heat spreading over your cheeks. You definitely do not remember changing his contact name.

From: Hot classmate Tsukki

Hey, how about we go over your essay over some coffee tonight?

[doomfm]

adam brody, cis male, he/him — have you met daniel abrams ? they’re forty-one and have been living here for twelve years. they’re known around town as being very eloquent and brooding, and work in town as an english teacher at creekside high. when i think of them i think of a disheveled suit and half empty whiskey glass at the end of a long day, coffee rings garnishing red ink on paper, dark room lit up by blinding white of a blank word document at two in the morning. ( lou, thirty, she/her )

GENERAL

FULL NAME.    daniel elijah abrams.

NICKNAMES.    dan, danny.

AGE & BIRTHDATE.    41 years old ; may 4, 1980.

GENDER & PRONOUNS.    cis male ; he/him.

ORIENTATION.    heterosexual.

MARITAL STATUS.    estranged.

RELIGION.    jewish ( non-practicing ).

OCCUPATION.    high school english teacher.

INSPIRATION.     bill denbrough ( it ), donnie darko ( donnie darko ), lucas scott ( one tree hill ).

PHYSICAL

HAIR COLOUR.    black.

EYE COLOUR.    dark brown.

BUILD.    athletic.

MARKS.     freckles scarcely spread across his entire body.

TATTOOS.    none.

PIERCINGS.    none.

HEIGHT.    5'11".

FACECLAIM.    adam brody.

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC.    taurus.

ALIGNMENT.    chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS.    ravenclaw.

LABEL.    the arcane.

POSITIVE TRAITS.    cheeky, debonair, driven, eloquent, resilient, solicitous.

NEGATIVE TRAITS.    brooding, evasive, inquisitive, sarcastic, stoic, stubborn.

HOBBIES.    smokes like a chimney while writing until he forgets what day of the week it is, dabbles in hunting & fishing (thanks @ his dad), labels all crime / thriller genres as ‘predictable’ but continues to watch them, obsesses over & relentlessly criticizes his own work, drinks heavily & passionately plays moonlight sonata or fur elise as if he’s betoven’s disciple.

BACKGROUND

PLACE OF BIRTH.    california.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.    ashford.

NATIONALITY.    american.

ETHNICITY.    ashkenazi jewish.

PARENTS.   ms bloomfield & mr abrams.

SIBLINGS.    two half siblings.

BIRTH ORDER.    eldest.

CHILDREN.    one daughter.

EDUCATION.     university of california, los angeles; bachelor of arts in english.

LANGUAGES.    english, some spanish & french.

HISTORY

EARLY LIFE.    born to THE miss bloomfield and some newspaper editor, daniel was raised by the latter and notoriously abandoned by the former. well, not completely abandoned - there’s an old shoebox containing a few letters as proof - but that was the only source of communication in their otherwise absent relationship. while little danny boy didn’t fully understand why he couldn’t see his mother, he sought out an alternative solution by watching her movies. his father wasn’t aware, at first, and dan created this extravagant fantasy of the person he thought she was based on the roles she played. however, once papa abrams found out his son was watching these movies (which were probably not fit for children in the first place lmao oop), he begrudgingly revealed the bitter truth. being forced to come to terms with the fact that his own mother willingly abandoned him with his father, daniel didn’t fully understand what it meant; he couldn’t properly process why. the hurt of absent mother was expressed more out of anger, feeling as though there must have been something wrong with him. there were fewer and fewer letters sent to her until he gave up altogether and thus, dan’s out of control behavior was born.

TEENAGE FEVER.    SUICIDE MENTION TW.  he struggled in school. his emotions betrayed him. instead of relishing a happy childhood, daniel found himself pushing everyone away, getting into fights, sneaking out late at night to run around the city streets with his friends and get into all sorts of trouble with them. he couldn’t count on his hands how many times the police picked him up and brought him to his dad’s doorstep. it only got worse once one of his best friends was found dead, written off as a suicide, though it didn’t add up in dan’s eyes and seemed so much more sinister. the young man was nearly deemed to be a lost cause, until he discovered his passion for writing.

                                 language arts or literature was the last thing anyone would ever think to group with daniel abrams. but his english teacher noticed how well he could articulate his thoughts and feelings on paper, and submitted one of his pieces to a writing contest, which earned dan the win and a cash prize. bewildered by a talent he hadn’t even realized was in him, daniel embraced it. he started writing in a journal (which he kept safely tucked away beneath the mattress of his bed), documenting every feeling and thought as a way to express his emotions in a more productive manner. this talent earned him a full ride scholarship to ucla with a major in literature and plans of diving into some sort or creative writing career or perhaps becoming an english teacher, to follow in the footsteps of his high school teacher who he came to idolize.

                                 mere days into his freshman year, however, his high school sweetheart showed up in the middle of the night at his dorm with a positive pregnancy test. it was then the chaotic world as he knew it turned a new leaf, revealing a silver lining in the form of their daughter who daniel hadn’t a clue, just yet, would save him. and so a shotgun wedding was quickly planned around the pair, both families either completely supportive or in utter disbelief. it was quick, it was cheap(ish), and it was stressful as all heck. but they were young, and in love, and were looking forward to starting a family together, despite it being a little earlier than initially planned.

“ADULT”HOOD.    fast forward five years, and they’re signing divorce papers. fortunately, it wasn’t messy. the two had simply grown apart as they matured in their respective ways, and remaining together was only causing a rift to develop between the two. the last thing they wanted, for the sake of their daughter, was built up resentment to tear the little family apart. his wife, who daniel initially thought to be the love of his life, blossomed into an absolute goddess; she was ambitious and knew exactly what she wanted. daniel, on the other hand, was still somewhat caught up in his ‘bad boy’ habits of drinking excessively and his career was still pretty up in the air. the two just didn’t compliment each others’ lifestyles anymore.

                                  daniel moved out but remained in california, settling for a bachelor’s apartment where he was able to have his daughter every weekend. during this time, he finally cracked down and worked on finishing a novel he’d started years prior. within a year, he found a publisher who took interest in his grotesque works, and by the time daniel was twenty seven, his first bestseller hit the shelves, changing his life for the better with the ability to provide for his daughter without stress of landing another odd job ever again.

                                  as his fame increased, so did his desire to slink back into the shadows away from the limelight. at first, he enjoyed the wholesome book signings by day and grungy celebratory benders by night. but it grew old pretty fast and he certainly didn’t want to end up as another washed up shmuck. so, on a whim, daniel decided to move out of california completely, removing himself from the toxic lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to and shacking up on a beautiful piece of land in ashford. the serenity and scenery certainly aided in his inspiration, as well as his unacknowledged lowkey addictions slowly being rehabilitated from his bloodstream.

OLD YELLER.    now, in his utmost prime at forty one years old, he’s written numerous cult classics, a few of which have successful movie adaptations. he was lucky enough to land himself in a second marriage, though.... that one is now deteriorating as well because he literally doesn’t know how to maintain a healthy relationship. he’s completely retracted from his former fame and glory and landed a secure job at the local high school as an english teacher, enriching (or poisoning) the developing minds of ashford’s youth. he received full custody of his daughter when she was sixteen, under the unfortunate circumstance of her mother’s untimely death. although they’d been separated for nearly twenty years, daniel was still very much affected by the loss, more so empathetically for his daughter. he’s still hooked on the drink, though he’s definitely calmed down quite a bit from when he was a young buck. basically a messy, depressy old soul who uses sarcasm to deflect his true feelings.

CONNECTIONS

ESTRANGED WIFE.    first marriage was a bust, and the second is turning out to be no better. they haven’t hit rock bottom just yet, in his opinion (which would be finalizing a divorce lmao), and he’s unsure if they should work things out or not but also really.......doesn’t wanna go through the process of another divorce. plus he likes her and deep down adores their bickering. the reason(s) why things started falling apart between them can be discussed of course. lowkey debating on whippin this up as a big official wc but.... if anybody already here would like to snag it, i would 100% mclove it.

COLLABORATORS.    literally anyone he’s worked with over the years, whether they be fellow teachers or authors, publishers/publicists, journalists, screenplay writers, etc. yeehooo the possibilities are endless !!

FOLLOWERS.    anyone hooked on his books, whether devout fans from his early beginnings or people who newly discovered his fictional writings.

FORMER CLASSMATES.    could be from high school or university, but he was in california for the better part of his life aka not an ashford native. former friends to foes & anything in between. dan’s that one kid who spiked the punch bowl at all the dances and years later probably snuck in party favors to snort off the bathroom sink during their high school reunion lmao whew !!

ANYTHING.    literally anything. i blame my groggy state of mind on my lack of creativity rn so please, i’m beggin. if daniel can enrich your characters’ lives in any way, shape, or form, hit me up and we’ll hatch a plan.

[albyfm]

˙✫*ﾟ YUNGBLUD  ,  DEMIBOY  ,  HE/THEY  :･ did  you  hear  alby miller  is  joining  the  cast  of  exposed  after  their habit of facilitating drugs at events, festivals & awards shows  was  revealed  ?  the  twenty-three  year  old  bass guitarist  with 500k followers is  trying  to  clear  their  name  .  they've  become  known  as  the  resident  juvenile  in  the  mansion  ,  and  it's  clear  that's  spot  on  because  they're  quite -  recalcitrant & -  stuck in their ways ,  but  also +  charismatic &  +  outspoken .  you  know  they're  heading  to  the  confession  booth  if  you  hear  lonely boy  by  the black keys  blasting  ,  most  likely  talking  about  how  they're  more  than disheveled outfits of black leather & denim, talking way too candidly to the press, smashed lenses of paparazzi cameras that got too close, an unmistakable mischievous grin & an inability to express real feelings.

hey !! finally getting around to posting this. you can call me aries, i’m 23 and in the bst ( uk ) timezone. my pronouns are she / her. i’m a little lost art school grad with a lot of student debt, a taste for red wine and an unhealthy obsession with arctic monkeys. not gonna lie, i whipped this kiddo up specifically for this rp so i’m still getting used to them, but hopefully with this intro you’ll get a feel for what they’re about. without further ado, here’s alby—

trigger warnings & disclaimer: mentions of hard drugs, alcohol, anger issues, destructive tendencies. my intention writing this intro was not to glamorize or romanticize these things in any way but if anything i have written comes across that way, please lmk!

smash that ♡ to plot or hit me up on discord @ chaotic aries#5793 !!

‘and this is how it starts...’ ( the basics )

name: alby fox miller age: twenty-three gender: non-binary ( demi-boy ) pronouns: he / him & they / them date of birth: may 24th 1997 zodiac: gemini sun, pisces moon, aries rising orientation: pansexual occupation: bassist for drive like i do career claim: ross macdonald ( the 1975 ) genre: alt-pop, pop-rock

‘it’s the way we are, we were smoking by eleven & knocking ‘round town...’ ( background )

you’re born in 1997, in the north west of england. wilmslow, to be exact. a quaint and affluent town, just south of manchester. the family you’re born into is a comfortable one. not quite living lavishly, but not at all struggling, either. your parents both work in business out in the city. you go to a good school. but... all is not how you exactly want it to be.

see, your parents are quite pushy. they expect you to live how they want, rather than how you do. at the all boy’s academy they enroll you in as a teenager, they expect you to pick what they deem as intellectual subjects, such as foreign languages, further mathematics and computer science. there’s a focus on you becoming someone that makes a lot of money, rather than someone who is happy.

but you’re... not the kind of person that can be molded so easily. you’re a fairly happy-go-lucky kid, but also a rebellious one. your parents’ strict ways of trying to force you down their chosen path, only encourages you more heavily to choose your own. 

at fourteen, you meet the guys. lennox, jovi & jasper. they’re some of the only kids at school who can be bothered to be around you, with your high energy and bolshy attitude. really, they’re the only people who embrace you for who you are. they encourage your weirdness and outspokenness. it’s not long before you find yourself wanting to do everything together. it’s not long before the four of you are inseparable.

from there, you fully detach from everything your parents want you to be. you embrace your individuality. you also find the courage and bravery to come out to your parents as non-binary at the age of sixteen. there’s not a single person’s opinion that you’re afraid of, or even care about. 

it’s not all rainbows & sunshine, though. you struggle somewhat with anger issues, and a bit of depression. you’re also practically addicted to getting into trouble: picking fights with bullies at school, selling weed & pills to your friends around town, underaged drinking... you get the gist. though you keep your fears internal, you sometimes worry you’ll get nowhere in life.

so of course, the second the boys are talking about starting a band, you’re all in. imagine if you made it big someday? wouldn’t that be sick? you’re immediately drawn to bass guitar, and use a month’s worth of saved up pocket money to pick one up from the big music store in the city. thankfully, you pick it up quite quickly, because before you can even realize it, things are getting so... real. by sixteen, you don’t feel you have the option to stick around at school for sixth form, because drive like i do is already playing local venues and working on its first album.

you’re just seventeen when the album is released. somehow, the climb to fame is faster than you could have ever imagined. it seems like yesterday you were still watching bass tutorials on youtube in your bedroom and practicing in your friend’s garage after school. first is some notoriety across the uk, but before you know it — boom! global stardom. the fame is a heavy weight for someone so young to carry... but fuck it, it’s gonna be fun, and you know it.

you’re twenty-three now, and days are gone of pipedreams formed in your parent’s shoebox room. you split your time between manchester, london, and LA — and that’s just during rare moments of downtime from your world tours. your band is 4 albums in, and whoever hasn’t heard of you might as well have been living under a rock. is it narcissistic to think like that? maybe, but you don’t care. this is rock n’ roll, baby. this is the life.

naturally, all eyes are mostly on your very outspoken frontman. he’s controversial, but the media can’t get enough of him. as for you? to them, you’re... the band’s problem child. while you argue that your behavior is no different than that of your friend, he’s got the lead singer charm. they don’t seem to like you as much. why? well...

‘drink, fall, spew...’ ( troublesome tendencies & exposed secret )

you never really coped as well as you acted like you did, did you? while you were grateful for the fame, everything was... a lot, and it was all at once. you didn’t even get the chance to process it. 

take four twenty-somethings and add constant prying journalists, paparazzi, and constantly full schedules into the mix. and why not pepper in some typical rockstar vices, too? alcohol, drugs, parties, throwaway sex. things are destined to get a little rocky. though you tried at first not to show it to your fans, your destructive behavior soon got the better of you, and you became known to drunkenly lash out at paps, smash cameras and storm out of interviews when the questions got too personal. 

this all came to a head when you were caught on camera several times distributing acid tabs, cocaine and mdma at events, music festivals & awards shows. the press gave the band a pretty bad time over this, and given the other members’ controversies and lennon’s similar link to drugs, it wasn’t a good look for any of you. 

it didn’t matter that you had a side to you that was good, pure. that you were always kind and loving and down-to-earth towards your fans and friends. you were a bad seed, and you wound up on exposed with the rest of your bandmates. hopefully you can prove there’s more to you than what the media shows...

‘oh & you say, i’m such a cliche...’ ( personality )

immm gonna rush thru this section & write less formally bc those other parts too me WAY too long

basically a literal toddler. loves a laugh, loves a good time, but get on his bad side and he WILL throw a tantrum

it’s mainly people like press & paps he lets his anger out on. the band’s fans and people he’s close with on a personal level know he’s a good person underneath it all

loves a bit of mischief / rebellion / drama

king of hiding insecurities....

literal softie.... like... who allowed this binch to be so soft. he’s so open about how much he loves his friends (particularly his bandmates) and will platonically kiss and hug and love people all the time, particularly on the show bc he’s trying to show the cameras his softer side dfjghdfdfg

so excitable like WHERE does this kid get all his energy...

( tw drugs ) will probably struggle a bit on the show without access to drugs, but ( tw addiction mention ) he has never really been addicted or dependent on them, just a frequent user.

outspoken as fuck, has no filter sometimes oops

very flamboyant, in line with the general aesthetic of his band but also on a personal level. sports a kind of soft gothic/punk/early 2000s emo look. always paints his nails and wears makeup etc

sleeps around a lot but has never really been able to find a lasting relationship, has just had a bunch of short-lived flings???? but lowkey develops crushes at the drop of a hat and would love to properly fall in love with someone who could be with him forever & accept him for all his flaws, but he highly doubts that will ever happen fgjdhsfg

‘why don’t you figure my heart out?...’ ( wanted connections )

exes on good terms

exes on bad terms ( maybe someone who actually really wanted to stay with him but couldnt deal with his bullshit and now resents him? )

 someone who loves the band’s music & inflates his ego ab it

 someone he hasn’t seen for years that he’s reunited on the show & maybe they’re revisiting old feelings for each other??? and he wants it to be DIFFERENT this time but also theres shit tons of fucking cameras and shit which... makes things difficult...

first friend he made in LA or in the states in general, someone who showed him the ropes

someone who hates him / hates the band like PLEASE

and also just a straight up enemy maybe?? someone who finds him annoying as fuck??

FRIENDS!!!

literally anything just hmu and lay an idea on me and theres 90% chance ill be down

[knoxhq]

► ( rudy pankow & cis male ) according to the school’s records, knox drury is a 22-YEAR-OLD senior studying political science, and he lives over in moriarty. he is a gemini, so that must be why others describe him as dignified, humorous, cowardly and naive. when i see him, i’m reminded of walking into class an hour late with sunglasses on, the feeling of anticipation as you wait for a firework to fully blossom, the sound of party music leaking through the walls of a bathroom. ( gibby, 20, they/them, est. ) ◄

hello everyone !! so i won’t even lie to u guys, i am NERVOUS and it’s literally only bc this is the first group i’ve joined in so long like dfdhkjsfjad the last group i was in was almost a year ago but i ended up having to leave due to personal reasons and didn’t get to write so like !!! idk i’m excited !! anyways w that in mind, pls bARE with me bc i have like one (1) braincell and i forgot how to write intros. anyways enough of me rambling, lemme give you knox !!

also this is a bad intro pls dont judge me im trying 2 like. rewrite what i had b4 the storm took it out n like, i lost the braincell

basics. 

full name: knox hale drury.

nicknames: drury.

age: twenty two.

gender and pronouns: cis male and he/him

sexual & romantic orientations: bisexual, biromantic, femme leaning.

major: political science.

housing: moriarty.

backstory.

triggers: implied bullying, police and incarceration ( dw i didn’t make him jj 2.0 ).

nobody gets to pick their beginnings. it’s something that people tell knox all the time, hell, it’s plastered in every stupid coming of age movie, book, film, everything he’s ever seen. you don’t pick who your born into, you don’t pick who you get to be. and to an extent, he does think that this is true but he can’t help but wonder if maybe, if people could pick, if they’d pick differently. because he knows he certainly would pick differently.

it’s not that he even came from a bad home - hell no, he had the most loving family ever. his mother was a saint, a warm sensation bubbling up in his chest when he thinks about her warm cookies or the way she tried to still tuck him in even as a teenager. his father had his flaws, we all do, but he was a good and honest man. hardworking, he showed knox what that stupid american dream is that everyone likes to preach about. 

no, it had nothing to do with them but rather the overall opinion on him and his family. see, the drury’s weren’t well liked - they were seen as lowlives and as shady, the kind of people who you’d only go to if you wanted to get stabbed in the back. generations of drury’s fit this narrative but no, his father was determined to change that. and so was he, even if nobody around him seemed to want to give him a chance. 

knox would go throughout school with this name attached to him like a dagger to his throat - whisperings in the hallway of, “oh, my mom said the drury boy might be steal things if you let him over,” and other random, rude remarks. of course, the people that get close to him know better - they see him for who he really is.

that person is knox. he’s a golden light, often more selfless than the rich pricks who run that small town. he’d give his jacket or umbrella to people even if they didn’t ask if it just so happened to be raining outside, and despite the fact that his family didn’t have a lot, he’d still go out of his way to try to give when he could. 

he eventually graduated high school - one of the top people in his class due to his father’s encouragement, and after a lot of debate, settled on attending haddon university - miles away from that sweet, small little hometown he knew, but a fresh start where he didn’t have to work for anything. he could just go in being him, with nobody attaching a new narrative to him. it was what he wanted, what he dreamed of.

and he loved it. his first semester there was memorable as he found himself surrounded by new friends and people he even considered family. back home, however, things were slipping.

the drury family was never rich, ever by any means, but business was low. nobody wanted to go there, fearing that his father was just as shady as his grandfather. as things got worse, his father had to resort to other needs - stealing, lying about taxes, and doing everything he could to try to make it by. 

it finally caught up to him when knox came home for spring break - red and blue lights flashing outside as loud noises went on throughout the house, until finally someone swung knox’s door open and briefly blinded him with a flashlight, demanding to know where his father was. by the time knox got a grasp on the situation, his father was being rushed off in the back of a cop car. 

he plead guilty almost immediately and for the next few months, knox did school from home to stay with his mother. it was then that he switched his major from what had initially been just a vague, business degree to political science in hopes of going into law after getting that degree - a way of changing things, of helping people so they never got to that point. 

for now though, he’s gone back to haddon’s campus where he study’s away and occasionally finds himself slipping and partying, glasses always covering his eyes as he slinks back class, getting almost nO sleep every night.

study.

so i need u to know right now... knox is baby, FDSHJDFSHAJK

like he’s not by any means like he’s kinda a gross dude like, absolutely randomly burps n is like lol oops n shit, very little manners, will grab clothes off of the floor to put them on kind of man BUT LIKE as a whole ?? he means very well FDSJFAHJ he’s very gentle and will sit there and admire flowers on a bush and then get mad if u pick one bc ur hurting it like. he’s baby.

he also is very loyal to the ppl he’s friends w tbh like. damn he will never leave ur side

that also makes him kinda... super, actually, naive. you see, while knox is incredibly loyal, he often finds himself ignoring signs of toxicity for the sake of preserving a friendship - he fights for people who won’t fight for him, he lets people back in too easily, he just. he sees the good in everyone, even if there isn’t any good.

regardless, he’s not easy to just... manipulate to an extent. while he’ll fall for you being innocent, you can’t ever try to make him think he’s something he’s not - he knows his intentions and he knows they’re usually pure and he’s not gonna fold for anyone if it comes down to him or them. 

bt like again he’s baby

like i dont think he ever gets mad but damn when he does its probs scary as shit like bc he nEVER gets mad !!! hes like. a golden retriever ig

if u cannot tell im trying really hard not to make him too much like jj bc i realize that might be a big thing ppl do n i dont think jj is baby bt like. knox? knox is baby DSFHJKFDHKJ 

he’s just. idk. he’s very protective and cares about his friends a lot and will walk you home even if you went to HIS place and like is always ready to give you a jacket if it’s raining and he’s just lowkey a big, kinda dumb at times, teddy bear and i think that’s valid tyvm 

wanted connections.

friends. — please. knox will lOVE ur muses just let him be their friend tyvm plus he’s a bit of a social butterfly now and i think he’d honestly have a lot of friends.

best friend. — i’m gonna keep this to one muse bc idk i think it’d be really cute if knox got to have his own like, ride or die where they care abt him as much as he cares about them and they’re always there for each other and like !!! that’s cute !!! also found family trope bc i think that is.. again, kyoot, ty

frienemies. — so these are always like, super fun to plot out and i think there’s a lot to work w here... like give me ppl who are happy that knox is loyal and would defend them but would push knox to the side n not do the same for him... also friendships where knox fucked up ?? where knox, despite his goodness, couldn’t keep his mouth shut and revealed a secret to their friend group bc u see he can kinda be a gossip fsjfdaskj. idk there’s a lot u can do n i’d love to brainstorm!

enemies. — pls. like. we can brainstorm this too so i dont just ramble but pLEASE?? please.

flings. — honestly romantic ships are not the point of rps but romantic flings and stuff can be really fun to plot and i love getting soft about them so like ?? idk dude lets fling it up n have muses date for two weeks n then break up like thats swexi, dramatic, 10/10

exes. — i mean this is kind of like flings but i have an idea... give me an ex of knox’s who really was like. everything knox wanted. hell, the two had a really good relationship - they were in love and etc etc gushy details but they ended up breaking up bc they just. they weren’t meant to be! as sad as it is like it was as simple as that! and then the angst comes in after they break up bc god they still love each other so much but they just aren’t meant to be and they see them with other people and oh it just hurts but like, bonus points if they manage to become good friends even after this !! (sidenote, idk i wouldn’t want this to be a full ship tht gets back together bc idk i think there’s a bittersweetness in stuff like this n its just. like. its ok !!! idk !!! )

roommates. — and they were roomates- fdshjkfdsahjk

other things. — honestly these are half assed plots but i’m down for anything !!! i’m still fleshing out knox a lil too bc i really did make him on the spot so pls bare w me :)

[arigatouiris]

daughter of artemis // p.p — [05]

c h a p t e r  f i v e

Pairing: Peter Parker x Demigod! Reader [Female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; angst [a lot of it]; greek mythology rewritten [completely my interpretation of it, oops]; slightly based off the games god of war and assassin’s creed odyssey; hurt/comfort; cliche; fluff [on later chapters sometimes]; mentions of sex and gore; slight alternate universe

Follows events after Endgame, but Tony, Natasha, Steve, Loki are alive in this universe.

Author’s Note: For all those who left notes and messages, thank you so much. It means a lot to me that people read and appreciate this story, because this is so close to my heart. I’ve been harboring this in my mind for years now, and I can finally write about this. Anyway, any guesses who her father might be? xD

Also all of what’s mentioned here (prophecy and deification) are all fictional. I made it up. So, disclaimer alert~

Word count: 4943

05 // στοργή familial love

❅

    “How dare you?”

(y/n) looked up to see Marina slap a man across his face. Her eyes widened and she immediately stood up, wondering what happened. (y/n) had always known Marina had a short temper, as someone who came around only after the decimation. Marina was a tall woman, long black hair, face peppered with freckles, which added to her attractiveness. However, she didn’t speak to a lot of people, and (y/n) had noticed that ever since she came to the shelter, considering Marina came after (y/n), Marina only did things on her own. She cooked for everyone, but never stayed to eat with them.

    “Marina, is everything okay?” (y/n) asked.

Marina scoffed and walked away, while the man on the ground simply sighed.

    “I just asked for her number, man. I didn’t even say anything inappropriate. She could have said no, and I’d have walked away.”

Blinking, (y/n) watched as Marina headed upstairs. She’s confusing, she deducted before getting back to what she was doing.

TV reports stated that school would reopen late this year. (y/n) thought of her own schooling when this was mentioned; having been tutored at her own quarters in Olympus, none other than Athena herself. She knew her mother would have wanted her to continue, but she didn’t have any parents here or anyone to help. Apollo, someone she considered dear now since their relationship was improving, would perhaps not even be aware.

That evening, when (y/n) headed upstairs to train, Apollo stood there, with a brochure. (y/n) blinked before noticing how he waved it at her, a grin on his face. It was strange to see her uncle grinning at her, wearing loafers and a yellow tank with a smiley on it.

    “You are so weird.” She mumbled, walking over to the God of the Sun.

    “This is a brochure for this school, which I think you need to go to starting November. It’s perfect. All of these courses remind me of what Athena used to teach you—”

    “How did you know Athena would teach me?” (y/n) asked, suspiciously.

    “Uh,” Apollo gulped before saying, “Artemis told me.”

    “No, she didn’t. You spoke to Athena, didn’t you? You’re the one who told her to include Arts and—”

    “Shut up. Go to this school. End of conversation.” Apollo’s face, when turned red, was dead obvious.

(y/n) chuckled. Taking the brochure from his hand, she read the name of the school—’Midtown’. The school looked like any regular school, but apparently it was for students who were a bit smarter than average. There were a lot of college prep classes involved here. Thinking about college, and her own education, made her miss her mother more. The smile on her face died instantly, and this fall in emotion was something even Apollo noticed.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Thinking about all this… College and studies and stuff, sure, it’s something mom would have wanted for me. I can’t deny that. But… But, this prophecy and with the way things are going, everyday is unpredictable. I can’t afford to—”

Placing both his hands on her shoulders, Apollo stared directly into his niece’s eyes.

    “Artemis would have never wanted you to use the prophecy as an excuse to skip studying. You and I both know you want this, as much as your mother would have, so please. Don’t leave this behind.”

(y/n) huffed before leaning back and closing her eyes. Apollo straightened himself and cleared his throat, “I... can be your guardian. You can move out of here, find a place to stay. People won’t be suspicious. You can have a proper life, (y/n).”

    “This form is already filled out!” Reading the name of the guardian, she scoffed, “Alec?” (y/n) asked, scrunching her eyes.

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, “Artemis and I had human names. I called myself Alec, and she was Arianna, Aria for short.”

She inclined her head in wonder. “So, I should call you uncle Alec?”

    “Don’t call me anything. So, what do you say?” Apollo snapped.

    “I’ll go.”

When school began in November, (y/n) found it incredibly hard to speak to anyone. Having been home-schooled her entire life, it was strange; seeing so many kids her age, move and speak to each other. However, unlike what she had thought school life would be like, kids were a bit too morose regarding even attending classes.

It must be the decimation, (y/n) thought entering class on her own. Apparently, since she was a newcomer, the teacher introduced her as a foreign student, having her stand up and introduce herself.

    “My name is (y/n). I’m from Phocis, it’s a region in Central Greece. I, uh, it’s nice to meet you all.”

Her face turned red and she sat down immediately, not used to the attention that came her way. She could feel fire on her ears, and when the class murmured to themselves, it was as if they had created a wall that separated them from her. This was how it was going to be, she wouldn’t talk to a soul and finish high school and get out. However, she had her own plans; she had things to do, prophecies to fulfil. Things would get hectic for her in the future years.

As each class dragged on, (y/n) understood that this would become her routine. The grind had begun. Each morning she would wake up, do her regular morning stretches and worry about getting to school on time. The breakfast available at the shelter was always cornflakes with milk, a taste that started to feel like chewing on blocks of cement. She’d attend school, eat lunch alone, listen to things alone, read in the library, read on her way back, and continue reading at home until it was time to train and she’d flip daggers and make arrows with her hands.

She could feel herself growing, each day. Each day felt ridiculously long, and almost as if she was living a double life. However, small changes were in order. Using the influences that a God could, Apollo rented a small place for (y/n), and she wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Considering how she was still considered a minor, the house was under his human name, and that he’s the only living guardian she has, and the process was easier than otherwise.

(y/n) moved out of the shelter rather easily, considering she didn’t have too many things that she brought with her. She was teleported to New York basically wearing her mother’s clothes. Everything else was something she took from the shelter. An old woman gave (y/n) clothes that belonged to her daughter, who was around her age, and this was perhaps all she had.

The house was small, but this would do. There was a small fire escape, with a grilled balcony that let her see the sky at night. Apollo made sure everything was in place and in order when she moved in. There were a bunch of books on the table, courtesy of Apollo, which caused the girl to smile softly on sight.

One night, having stayed back in the school library for long, she was reading this novel ‘Goldfinch’ and couldn’t put it down, (y/n) walked back on her own. She sometimes heard kids talking about Spiderman having been turned to dust too, a fact that caused a tug in her heart. After that dream she had about Spiderman, things have been different whenever she thought about him. He was about to take his mask off, and she knew it was just a dream and there was no way she could link it to reality, but she wondered if she knew him. Spiderman’s voice was familiar, but she didn’t know what role he would play in her life. Maybe, she assumed, that her mind was making things up since he was the first one to help her after her arrival in New York.

She also realized that she’d never know.

As she walked, she heard footsteps behind her. (y/n) was normally more perceptive than people gave her credit for, and this was something very easy to spot. A moment later, the footsteps turned fast, but she didn’t run. Turning around, she grabbed the man by his collar and pushed him down, kicking him on his chest and keeping him there. However, before she could even react, the man’s eyes turned white—glowing white—and his mouth fell open.

Stepping back, (y/n) gasped. She looked up to see Marina walk out from the alley, and suddenly, the whole street was empty.

    “What the—?”

    “I know Apollo is helping you.” She said, her face straight, unimpressed.

(y/n)’s eyes widened. “What?”

    “Don’t be stupid, child. You sure you don’t know what’s going on?”

(y/n) observed Marina. Her hair was pushed behind her, she was wearing a long lilac colored dress, unusual for choice of clothing in the night, her eyes were dark, her skin shone, her face cold. And the peacock pendant stood out over everything else. Eyes widening slowly, (y/n) gulped before coming to a kneeling position; it was instinct.

    “Your Highness.” (y/n) said, to Goddess Hera, who was standing right in front of her.

Hera revealed her true form, her hair visible, her crown on her head, her white dress was backless but shone even in the night. Hera might look like a cocky yet beautiful woman, but she was one of the strongest goddesses in Olympus.

    “Pity I can’t kill you myself. Stupid oath your mother made us all take before you were born. We cannot hurt humans no longer.”

Perhaps, that’s because you went around killing all of Zeus’ mortal lovers, (y/n) thought in her mind but would never dare to say.

    “What brings you here, your Highness?”

    “Oh? I like watching you, is all. I was, let’s say, curious to see how a puny girl like you would dissolve Olympus.” Hera said, smirking.

Hera brushed her palms together, still continuing to watch the girl as she eased from her position. Standing up, (y/n) shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. It was cold that night in New York. Cold and lonely.

    “I’m not going to—”

    “You’re curious about Artemis, aren’t you? Of how she died.”

She froze instantaneously. It was as if hearing her mother’s name come out of Hera’s tongue caused a chill go down her spine; it was unnatural and she didn’t like it one bit. Her eyes turned to slits as she glared at the Goddess, angry at how casual it was for her to bring up Artemis’ death.

    “I’d lower my gaze if I were you.” Came Hera’s warning.

    “You know how my mother died?”

    “Silly child,” She folded her arms as she continued, “Your mother killed herself.”

Confusion struck (y/n)’s features, which made Hera laugh out loud. Not just confusion, but a weird bit of betrayal as well. There was no way her mother could have ended her own life. What purpose would that serve? Was someone after her and she had no choice? Or did someone make her?

    “There’s no way. S-She couldn’t have—”

    “She came to me a few days before your ridiculous prophecy and tells me she needs to speak to her father. Zeus, as usual, was busy fucking some whore back in Mykonos, as he always does. So I asked her what the urgent matter was,”

(y/n) straightened her standing position, watching Hera intensely. As beautiful as she was, Hera could be easily hated for how bitter she was as a woman. And despite being the Goddess of marriage and family, she didn’t harbor love for anyone but herself or her children.

    “She says, to save the world, we’d have to dissolve Olympus! What a joke! As if I’d ever give up this throne.” Hera spat on the ground beside her.

    “What do you mean?”

    “Because your filthy mother can never be as worshipped as I am!” Hera exclaimed, furious.

(y/n)’s eyes were wide in shock. She could not believe a word that came out of Hera’s mouth. Her mother? There was no way in all of Midgard that Artemis would ever be jealous of Hera. Artemis had everything Hera didn’t, a loving family, people who revered and worshipped her out of love and not fear; and yet, Hera was here spewing nonsense. (y/n) knew well that her mother didn’t care about being a Goddess, and that she loved the mortals and wanted them to thrive.

    “Artemis was always jealous of how I had more rule over Olympus than she did. She wanted to see it gone! So she comes to me with a ridiculous story of how Earth was going into a state of pause for five years. Imagine my surprise when some part of it actually came true?”

Hera’s gaze was cold. It sent shivers down (y/n)’s spine.

    “She was feeding me such bullshit that this was all because she wanted to save you,”

It felt as if her mouth was sewn shut. Tears filled her eyes when she thought about her mother, of what she had to go through to even consider taking her own life—if at all any of this was true and could be held accountable. Looking away from Hera, (y/n) quickly wiped her tears away.

    “She knew you would bring about the dissolving of Olympus, so she came to Zeus to have it done beforehand. That idiot husband of mine listens to everything Artemis says, she knew it was possible. Everything would have worked out so well if it had gone along with what she wanted it, wouldn’t it? You two would be alive and Olympus gone. That’s what your bitch of a mother wanted.”

The anger welled inside (y/n), with nowhere to go. She could feel it eating away at her. She knew if she didn't find a way to release it, it would destroy her.

    “Artemis’ own jealousy and her foolish love for a mortal are the reasons she is dead and you are here, living like a street rat.”

It was quick, the way she moved, her hands were fisted as tightly as she could and she moved with every intention of hurting the Queen. However, a strong grip grabbed her wrist and held her back; with the realization of who it could be, tears fell down her eyes, and she held back her sobs.

    “She may have been foolish, your Grace, but I am the national divinity of Greece. People worship me more than they fear you. You might have to back down before I decide to go against you.” Apollo’s voice had never sounded so cold before.

Hera rolled her eyes a second later and let out a weird sound of disapproval.

    “Leave my niece alone. You of all Gods must know a prophecy interrupted will lead to worse repercussions in the hands of the Fates.”

Apollo pulled the girl back and held him near his chest. (y/n) was distraught, though she tried as hard as she could to not let it show. Looking at her with the corner of his eye, he turned again to Hera to see what she had to say. However, no answer or reply came his way, as Hera simply turned into Marina and walked away.

❅

Artemis didn’t care too much for prophecies. However, when a peculiar knock happened on her door one evening, revealing a worried Oracle on the other side, she knew her life was going to change; and that there would be no going back.

The prophecy that would be delivered in the great hall would be incomplete. There was a bit, which involved Artemis herself, and this would go unsaid. The words slipped out of the Oracle’s mouth rather easily, but were cold to hear nonetheless. It is not a God that sets the Fates moving, it is but a house rat. Artemis didn’t know how she had understood, but she knew that this had to be her doing.

The rest of the prophecy revealed that it would be her daughter who would dissolve Olympus. Gods were turning selfish, Greece suffered economically, and there was strict unhappiness—people were no longer turning to religion, and with the power the Gods possessed, they did nothing to better their citizens’ state of affairs. Artemis understood that it was pollution that was killing the forests and the animals that dwelled in it, but with a structure like Olympus, Gods could not do any good.

I have to tell Zeus, she thought as she ran towards Zeus’ chambers. She knew her daughter was in the temple at the moment, she could sense (y/n)’s presence. However, just as she reached Zeus’ quarters, Hera stopped her.

    “You seem like you are in a hurry, Artemis.” Hera spoke, casually.

    “I need to speak to my father—”

    “He’s not in, at the moment. What do you have to say?” She looked inquisitive.

Perhaps, this was the only mistake Artemis made in executing this. If she had waited and told Zeus herself, perhaps, things would be different.

    “The Earth is going to go on pause for five years, your Grace. Zeus has to dissolve Olympus, to save it—”

    “Do you even hear yourself? Dissolve? Artemis, I knew you were rebellious at heart, but this is far too extreme. I advise you to return to your chambers and never speak of this again.”

Artemis knew she had failed right at that second. Hera now would make sure she would never reach Zeus, a soft, bitter smile played on her lips as the thought appeared. Turning back, she recalled the entire prophecy, from scratch:

The Goddess of the Hunt is the moon of human lives; as the moon sleeps and rises, so shall Earth and so shall she. The first moon will sleep and wake as a rat that does the deed. As Artemis sleeps, her daughter will rise, the new moon she will be, with fate and the sun at her side; and when Clotho stops spinning the thread of fate, Lachesis and Atropos go into a slumber for five years;  

The slumber lasts five solid years and Gods are mere rain; It is not a God that sets the Fates moving, it is but a house rat. And once the slumber ends, then shall arise the new moon, who completes her final hunt, ending Zeus’s fate as King. All his henchman made of blood and stone will erode at her hunt, and Olympus will no longer be a land for the gods.

(y/n), she thought as she rushed to the temple. (y/n) is the key. Perhaps, Artemis knew what she had to do was no easy task, but the faith she had in her daughter was substantial. If dissolution meant murder, then so be it. One of the things Artemis was best at was the fact that she never sided with her daughter just because of their blood relation. She knew (y/n) was a fast learner, agile and quick on her feet, strong in her hands and mind; her skills would sharpen, and the prophecy states that the sun would be on her side.

On reaching the temple, she saw her daughter reading a book, which was a souvenir from Apollo. Artemis knew his conflict. She had asked him to keep the father’s identity a secret, even from (y/n) herself, for learning who it was would be easy if the information came from a mortal. Apollo wasn’t comfortable with (y/n), but never hated her.

She is far too much like me for him to hate, Artemis thought with a smile.

Approaching her daughter, with the dagger in hand, Artemis knew she had to roll the dice now. (y/n) turned to her mother and smiled, confused slightly with the speed Artemis was approaching her with.

    “(y/n),” She spoke, handing the girl the dagger, earning a mixed reaction, “Tell no one I gave you that dagger.”

    “Okay. But, what is this for?”

    “One day, you may have to use this. For a hunt.” Artemis grinned, knowingly.

    “But, I don’t know how to use a dagger—”

    “Shh, my fawn. You will learn.”

Kissing the girl on her forehead, Artemis held tightly to her daughter. Never had she realized how much she could love a soul as much as she loved (y/n). Their hearts were one. Pepper, I hope she finds you first, Artemis thought before pulling away.

    “Head back to your chambers now. I’ll come there later.” Even though there was a lie, Artemis went along with it.

    “The prophecy is today, right?”

    “Yes. Go now. Don’t let anyone see you with that dagger. Not even Apollo.”

(y/n) was slightly scared, but nodded. Her mother always had reason to do things. Once (y/n) was out of the temple, and on her way back to Olympus, Artemis knew it was time. Slowly, she began to sing; she sang a song of sorrow and one that marked everything she could feel, as tears spilled down her cheeks. She summoned a stag to appear in front of the temple, one of her biggest symbols.

Smiling down at the stag, she whispered sweet nothings to herself, and prayed to protect a certain man in America, and a certain woman who would be with him. Pressing her forehead to the stag’s, Artemis shut her eyes for the last time, before turning into dust. This dust was not dark, but gold—soft in texture, and breathed warmth around where it spread.

Artemis had not died, but was in the queue to be reborn.

❅

Pushing Apollo aside, (y/n) brushed past him in anger. Tears spilled down her eyes and her chest ached with the newfound knowledge she had learned from none other than Hera. (y/n) believed she knew enough, but she knew nothing even close to the truth. Artemis had made sure this remained, but Hera’s explanation made (y/n) believe this was all that there was.

Apollo followed quickly behind her, holding her hand and making her stop. Letting out sobs, the God held his niece in an awkward hug, letting her cry. He knew he had to cry as well, since these facts were about his sister, but there was more to it than that.

One thing he knew about his sister was that she would never do something without a reasonable explanation. Hera’s story lacked just that.

    “Do not listen to Hera, (y/n). She runs on envy. She can’t be trusted—”

    “I know!” Apollo was taken aback, and considering that they were in the middle of the footpath, people might think differently. He silently ushered her away from the area, holding her hand the whole time, rubbing small circles on the back of her palm.

    “Let’s go back to the house. Let’s talk there. Please.” Apollo had never pleaded before, his ego had always gotten in the way.

    “I know not to trust her. I know not to trust her and her snake tongue. I know!” (y/n) cried, just as Apollo led her inside the house.

Snapping his fingers, he turned on the light, being the God of light himself, and watched as she collapsed on the ground. Letting out a sigh, for the first time in perhaps a long while, Apollo did not know what to do.

When someone is sad, you hold them, he heard Artemis’ voice out of nowhere, causing his eyes to widen. Moving almost hesitantly, the God wrapped his hands around his little niece, provoking her to cry some more. He didn’t understand if this would help, but for some strange reason, holding her at that moment felt right. Sitting beside her, he held her, listened to her cries, matched his breathing with hers. She was so little, it broke his heart.

    “Artemis is no jealous woman. You know this better than anyone else.” His voice was low.

    “I know.”

    “Don’t listen to the Queen. She is poison. This is how she made sure Hercules died, and never became a God. This is how she does most things. This is how she is.”

    “I know.”

And then there was silence. Apollo looked up to the ceiling and let out a shaky breath. He missed his sister, for he knew she knew best what to do in these situations. She was always more feisty, more independent. Apollo never admitted to anyone but he admired her the most, more than anyone he had ever met—and only she had seen through every face he ever put up.

    “Mom knew about the prophecy,” Apollo turned to his niece and listened, “Mom knew that I would be the one rising as the new moon or whatever rubbish. She knew I was to dethrone Zeus. She wanted to stop that.”

After crying, a child’s voice turns hoarse. It is unusual, and for someone filled with parental love for the child, it sounds like the worst thing you could possibly hear. Apollo understand that small aspect of parenthood at that moment.

His grip on her tightened just a tad bit as he continued, “Because she loved you.”

    “I will kill him,” Came her reply, shocking him. “He tried to have me killed. He tried to kill me without even considering the prophecy.”

Or the fact that you’re his granddaughter, Apollo thought bitterly.

    “I’ll kill them all. Hera, Zeus, his henchmen. All of them. Others who don’t step down too. I’ll die trying. I’ll become a God and turn their lives around. I’ll make the prophecy happen. It was my mother’s last wish, I’ll make it happen.” She cried, clutching her uncle’s hands as if her life depended on it.

Despite how much Apollo hated where this was going, he knew he could do nothing to change it. Blinking away fresh tears, Apollo pressed his nose to the side of his niece’s head, breathing into her. As Artemis sleeps, her daughter will rise, the new moon she will be, with fate and the sun at her side, he recalled that line of the prophecy before shutting his eyes. There is anger in him he cannot show, he cannot risk this anger being a God himself.

    “I won’t stop you, (y/n). I’m with you. Now and till the end.”

❅

A few weeks before her first day of Senior year, (y/n) finished reading the book The Catcher in the Rye. She had heard it was a classic, and even in school as they taught other books, she had never gotten around to reading it. Having read it at last (and not having understood a few more things about the book, and considering how difficult it was to read it), she felt at ease, and allowed herself to read any other book, which may relatively be easier to grasp.

As an 18-year old, all she ever wanted to do was read. And train. And wait for the Fates to begin moving again.

She occasionally met her uncle on random days in between months, when it was easy for him to take a break as a God. He would tell her about new things she could practice, and suggest new books for her to read. In fact, it was his copy of The Catcher in the Rye that she was reading. She hadn’t heard from Natasha, however, and missed the red haired woman’s company. Natasha was a good companion, and there were so many things (y/n) wanted to tell her, now that she was confident.

But patience didn’t suit (y/n) well. Waiting for a plan to happen, waiting for five years for the Fates to wake up, sometimes made her forget Hera’s threat, and her anger with Olympus. That day was a Sunday, and it had been three days since she had trained last. She spent those three days reading books, even though she thought it was time well spent. Getting up from her spot, she decided some coffee could relax her mind, and grabbed her coat before heading out.

She felt stronger in mind and body, however, with these five years. Her hair had grown out, her features changed, her personality changed. She was far more confident now, she felt cautious but aware. There were people who wondered about her, labeled her the curious Greek girl who always had her nose buried in one book after another. And if it wasn’t books, it was music. She was always to herself, but whenever she conversed, she knew people around her wanted more.

This was a trait Artemis had. People loved her everywhere she went, and (y/n) could see what being related to Artemis felt like.

As she walked to the coffee shop, something felt strange. It felt as if people around her were unusually happy, and double in number. People were hugging and crying, and as (y/n)’s footsteps paused, she turned around and noticed there were more people than any other day. Her heart raced instantly, and her legs carried her to the coffee shop, which was closed. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she realized that it had been five years—five years as the prophecy had demanded.

Only one thing could bring her the clarity she needed; rushing to the shelter, where May Parker was five years ago, (y/n) paused on the entrance and saw May Parker herself, sobbing, looking dazed and people gathering around her.

Slowly walking inside, there was a TV on blast. Apprehension swallowed her whole as her eyes darted from one channel to the next. News anchors saying people were back after being gone for five years.

Her face stiffened. Time was moving again.

❅

series taglist:

Those I could not tag, I’ve added your urls here!

@maddie-laufeyson​, @mscoloneldanvers​, @https://dancing-flame.tumblr.com, @daughter-of-stark​, @spider-mendes​, @nerdyandproudofitsstuff​, @someonekeepstakingmyusernames​, @alina-margaret​, @yourwonderbelle​, @viarogers​​, @https://huangsushii.tumblr.com, @eridanuswave​ @oliviaisnotlistening​ @mizpotatobiscuits​ @editsbyjenny​ @abbieroseb​ @justtrynagetthroughlife​ @secretlittlewonders​​ @missmulti​ @shallowshawnshallowshawn.tumblr.com  @eunoiametonia​ @adistiany​ @justletmesleeptillidie​ @ppunderoos​ @myheartonthemove​ @heir2chaos​ @honeybutterparker @truthdaze @mvmakki 

[shatterstag]

IT’S BELLAMY BRIAR!!! HE’S MY DND OC. HERE’S SOME ART OF HIM. NOW IM GONNA TALK ABOUT HIM THANK U FOR VIEWING AND MAYBE READING PLEASE LOVE MY BOY THANKS.

Bellamy Briar is an undead revenant ghost, who was brought back from death by an evil god of the unknown, dreams and secrets, The Hidden One, after Bellamy ritualistically sacrificed himself in a failed attempt to save his dying daughter. 

He’s my oc and dnd character, and he is my favourite and most developed and complex oc I have ever made in my 15+ years of writing ocs. I originally created and played him for a (currently on hiatus) Curse of Strahd dnd campaign where he’s a plague doctor grave cleric with a penchant for being undead, rapier fighting, letting party members die before deciding he should heal them, and generally being the freaky resident cryptid everyone hates. He hides his appearance and nature behind a plague mask; in the campaign the party has no idea that he’s dead, and until I revealed it outside of the game during the current hiatus, the other players had no idea either.

💉💀 🌹  DR BELLAMY BRIAR  🌹💀💉

Age: ~100 at time of death, ~160+? at campaign start

Height: 6’4”

Pronouns: he/him

Race: sun elf w/ UA Revenant subrace

Class: grave cleric

Occupation: surgeon, physician, apothecary, plague doctor, failed dad, local sad ghost boy, horny goth priest dtf

Other shit: Gay, aspie, occultist, left handed, in love with fantasy satan oops

Alignment: neutral good (alive) / chaotic neutral (dead)

Proficiencies: Medicine (expertise, +10 babyee), history, insight, perception, intimidation

BACKSTORY!!!

In life, he was a gentle, mild mannered genius surgeon and doctor obsessed with the occult and stalked by a sinister figure in his dreams - the Hidden One  (true name Indrik, @jacobin​ my dm’s oc and npc), watching and waiting for his prophecy to begin, of which Bellamy was supposed to be a core part of. Born in Barovia to displaced elven parents, he had a childhood of emotional neglect and abuse as his parents attempted to shape him into the black sheep prodigal son they believed would absolve him of his crime of being accidentally born, which trapped them forever with a newborn son in the purgatory-esque demiplane of Barovia.

When his sleepy rural village is obliterated by a terrible plague, Bellamy becomes the town’s plague doctor, desperately attempting to halt the inevitable. But then his adopted daughter - Anya, who Bellamy adores more than anything in the world -  falls ill to the plague. Unable to find a way to save her he turns to occultism, black magic, blood magic and cannibalism, necromancy, all the while rapidly losing his grip on sanity and wildly experimenting with darker and darker magic.

With all his options exhausted, his village in ruins and Anya dying, he turns to long gone old gods in desperation. Alone, insane with grief, with nothing left to live for, he cuts out his own heart in ritualistic sacrifice, offering his own life and body in return for Anya’s to an unknown god he preys to........ who turns out to be the Hidden One, watching god from his dreams, furious that his prophecy tool has managed to kill himself before the prophecy could even begin.

The Hidden One, far from done with him, forms a pact with Bellamy to exchange Bellamy’s life for Anya’s.... but instead, brings Bellamy back to undeath as an empty ghost - devoid of body, emotion and humanity after the Hidden One eats his heart, ‘blessed’ with clerical powers over life death and the grave - and steals Anya’s dying soul to keep her ‘alive’ with him in the Abyss as his carrot on a stick to control and pacify Bellamy. Now he’s doomed to wander the countryside as a puppet spy for his god, obsessed with the idea of saving Anya’s soul, terribly lonely and unable to relate with the living he hides among while being forever cursed to haunt the plague doctor suit he died in.

Outside of current canon dnd story, I have likeee 70k+ words of prose written about Bellamy and uhhhhhhh also he and the Hidden One/Indrik end up oops enemies to lovers and my dm @jacobin and I are furiously obsessed with these two and I have literally not cared about or been more obsessed with a ship in my entire life, they are terribly sad boys in intense terrible love and have no idea how to make it work because one is a broken lonely god and the other is a broken lonely ghost and ALL THEY WANNA DO IS KISS AND BE HAPPY!!!!!

anyway thats my boy and his god boyfriend thanks for listening to my ted talk please direct your questions and queries straight into my heart

also hey follow me on twitter! I’m way more active and post art regularly! @ shatterstag

[thefatalmarksman]

AU: Ancient Aliens Are Real and They Wear Cowboy Hats

a.k.a.

I Am Hyperfocused on Borderlands and Am Thoroughly Suffering for My Obsession

[[subject to change / additions]]

Name: Prefers “Xigbar” when in human form and “Luxu” in  Guardian form, but has gone by many names

Age: Centuries old. Like. Yikes old.

Birthdate: Unknown

Origin: Nekrotafeyo

Species: Eridian / Guardian hybrid

Languages: Common, Eridian

Height: 6’0” (about 183 cm) as human; 8′0″ (about 244 cm) as Eridian

Weight: Approx. 300 lbs (about 136 kg), but condensed to about 180-ish lbs (82-ish kg) when in human form

Sex/Gender: Identifies with male pronouns/physiology

Sexual Orientation: Humans oops

History:

Eons ago, the Eridians ruled over the universe. They traveled the stars, making their marks on planets far and wide by building monuments to their accomplishments in the form of the Vaults, which contained not only vast riches, but powerful creatures amassed by the Eridians to protect such riches.

However, this was not meant to last.

A sect of Eridians called the Foretellers were led by one called the Master. Gifted with the power of foresight, the Master had written out the entirety of the past and future in the Book of Prophecies.

Knowing that his visions would soon come to pass, the Master divvied up Tasks for his Apprentices, and, once that had been completed, sought to create his final and most vital apprentice---one that would be Eridian of origin, but enhanced by Guardian synthetic technology. Dubbed Luxu, the Master cared for him until he had matured, and, when the time was right, shared with him the haunting vision that plagued him: that, very soon, the entire Eridian race would meet their preordained demise.

However, the Master also revealed that Luxu was destined to be one of the few survivors of this devastating massacre, as he had been built specifically to withstand the centuries that his Task would take to reach fulfillment. And one day, the Master guaranteed that Luxu would witness the return of the Master himself.

He then bestowed upon Luxu the Black Box, which contained only what the Master described as “hope,” a nameless Eridian rifle, which Luxu jokingly called “No Name” (and it ended up sticking, weirdly enough), and the “Gazing Eye,” which replaced Luxu’s right eye, meant to remain there for “safekeeping.” Then, ordered merely to “observe” the sequence of events that would transpire, Luxu witnessed the end of the Eridians at the hands of Nyriad, a Siren who sealed away the Destroyer within Pandora.

Centuries upon centuries passed, and as the rise of humankind reached its peak, Luxu realized that he could not retain this form without drawing suspicion. Using technology that since collected dust, Luxu was able to fit himself into human skin (and yes, it is pretty gross) in order to walk amongst their ilk. He went by many names, assumed numerous identities, accumulated a rather handsome amount of wealth (which he would occasionally spare to the various corporations that dotted the galaxy), and soon enough, he had become “Xigbar,” a gun-for-hire and scourge to Pandora.

And despite being told merely to “observe,” at times Xigbar just can’t help getting himself involved...

Abilities:

Auto duel wielding (modified ATLAS pistols named “Sharpshooters”)

Action Skill: Critical Snipe. Transports above the playing field, auto-lock barrage of bullets for a limited time.

The Gazing Eye - moves from human skin into Eridian form and summons No Name (as it cannot be wielded while in human form), which delivers powerful critical hits. Time also stops for a while, allowing Xigbar to freely wander the playing field to attack his foes until the Eye deactivates

Weaknesses:

Due to his age, his true form has weakened over the course of time and is highly susceptible to electric-based weaponry. Any damage his true form obtains reflects on his human form

In addition, as he continues hopping bodies, they tend to age slightly faster each time

Because he’s fitted his form into a human skin, at times there are “seams” that crack the flesh that will glow violet due to the Eldritch Eridian energy powering his upgraded frame. This is why he dresses in layers, and touching Sirens with his bare flesh makes this glow more intense.

Side Info:

Due to being an Eridian and Guardian amalgam, Luxu did not quite fit in anywhere within Eridian society, as Guardians were viewed as “lesser.” Therefore, Luxu spent much of his time in seclusion, studying various subjects that piqued his interests.

While it’s true the Gazing Eye must be exposed in order for it to activate, often Xigbar keeps it under wraps until he “knows” its use is required. This “knowledge” comes in the form of an ache,  it is that events have already been recorded, but still need to be recorded, thus it’s all predetermined when it must be revealed. ...Yeah, it’s an Oracle thing.

The name of his ship is the Tiresias.

[bvdbone]

(  jon bernthal, cis male, he/him  )  ——  hey! isn’t that  HARVEY “GRIZZ” BOURNE ? i heard they’re  THIRTY SEVEN  and work as an  ENFORCER FOR THE MONGREL MC . they live on the  SOUTH  side and everyone says they remind them of bruised & bloody knuckles clad in biker rings, a worn leather kutte decorated with mc patches, and the roar of a motorcycle on the highway. i wonder where they were when those kids died? their secrets will be revealed soon enough. (  cj, ast, she/her, 25  ).

howdy folks!! my name’s cj, 25, and living it up in the ast part of the world wooo. i have to admit immediately that i....borrowed days gone’s mc bc i love the logo and name so much sdifghkjs anyway if you’d like to plot / chat / whatever, feel free to slide into my dms here bc i’m not a fan of discord oop. i’m super stoked to be here and i can’t wait to begin writing with y’all! now onto the fella you’re here to read about; my Born 2B Wild biker son, harvey.

( &&. GENERAL INFORMATION )

full name: harvey edward bourne

nicknames: harv, grizz, bourne

current age: thirty seven

preferred pronouns: he/him

gender identity: cis male

orientation: heterosexual

marital status: single

zodiac sign: scorpio

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

language(s) spoken: english, spanish

occupation: mongrel motorcycle club enforcer

current residence: old bungalow in the south side of fraiser creek

( &&. PHYSICAL APPEARANCE )

looks like: jon bernthal

height: 5′11″

weight: 185 lbs

hair color: dark brown

eye color: dark brown

tattoo(s): 'overcome’ written along his knuckles, mongrel’s logo on his back, his mother’s birthdate written in roman numerals over his left pec, barbed wire wrapped around left bicep, grizzly bear piece across right arm/shoulder & pec, cross on his inner right wrist 

scar(s): several small scars over his face, hands, arms, etc.

dominant hand: right handed

distinguishing features: muscular physique, broken nose

( &&. PERSONALITY )

positive traits: resilient, truehearted, venturesome

negative traits: truculent, brusque, enigmatic

dominant or submissive?: dominant

emotional, logical or both: both

book smart or street smart: street smart

introvert or extrovert: in between, a little more extrovert

optimist or pessimist: both

spontaneous or structured: spontaneous

instinctual or logical: instinctual

expensive or inexpensive: inexpensive

generous or stingy: generous

polite or rude: polite … but initially comes off rude bc he’s blunt af

day or night: both

( &&. BACKGROUND )

homeboy is a mess. 

that’s it that’s his bg

jk but uh he’s lived in fraiser creek his entire ass life

he was a little punk as a kid, always getting into shit with the neighbours bc he ruined their gardens while playing with his dog, he tore through the streets like a madman with his pals on their bicycles, he lit bags of dog poo and left them on his neighbours’ front steps, and he threw rocks at girls’ windows but instead of it being romantic like intended he literally shattered their windows lmao

he got mixed up with a couple of Real Bad kids in high school and got into some hardcore drug usage that resulted in poor harv’s agonizing addiction that lasted the better part of his young adult life

his dad was on the verge of disowning harvey ( a super religious man with no room for Sinners in his life amen ) but his mom was his saving grace; she refused to give up on harvey, paying for rehab and doing whatever she could to help him overcome his addiction

as a reward to himself for sobering up, harvey purchased his very own chopper. brand new. that motorcycle is his baby and he’ll fuq up anyone who so much as scratches it

he’s got a temper so in order to like......regulate that / put it to good use, harv joined a gym and has a trainer teaching him how to box like a got damn pro

the mongrel mc was founded by one of his buddies or one of his buddies’ brothers ( depends on if someone takes up the wc sdfahiugf ), and he was 100% committed from the get go; a pack of supportive people who shared the same values and similar history was exactly what he needed

harvey ( known as ‘grizz’ in the club ) has held his title as enforcer for ten years. basically he makes sure that the club laws and rules are followed by all members, he protects all of the patch holders and protects the club’s reputation in any type of conflict, and he assists all members of the club in combat of any sort ( including any type of weapons or fist fights woO how rowdy )

( &&. WANTED CONNECTIONS )

ex with benefits  cameryn rhodes

mongrel mc crew  ( see wanted connection on main )

a gal he fooled around with during a “break” from cam ( could have been reoccurring or a one night stand type deal )

folks he grew up with / around!!! whether they were friends or enemies or lovers ( he’s lived in fraiser creek his whole life sO )

some good buddies outside of his mc life ( good influence or bad influence )

people he boxes with / against, fellow gym rats

police officer(s) he deals with on a regular basis, can be civil or friendly or not

former drug dealer he used to hit up ( he was 17-25, so....anytime around then dsfhigfg )

some people he’s constantly butting heads with pls

fellas he possibly got into a scuffle with?? whether it was a one time thing ( maybe some dumb drunk bs at a bar ) or they’re known to throw fists whenever they see each other

cousins??? he has no siblings but cousins would be cool for a lil familia touch

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, LEO! You’ve been accepted for the role of PARIS with an approved FC change to JI CHANG WOOK. Admin Jen: Wow, I literally have to stifle the urge to keysmash my way through this note because THAT is how over the moon I am about your application, Leo! Your analysis of Priam was so intricate and it touched on various nuances in his character that I was very excited to see people explore and peel apart - his moral compass, his honor, his purpose, and most importantly, his masks. The interview was quite riveting to read and I adored how prominently your portrayal of him shone in the narrative. I particularly enjoyed observing his mannerisms and how they contrasted with his thought process but in general, the interview was full to the brim with interesting details to observe and inspect. As soon as I finished reading, I was certain that you would be perfect for Priam. I can’t wait to see him on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leo.

Age | 18, though I still feel like a prepubescent teen oops.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’d give myself a seven outta’ ten for activity levels.

Timezone | ‘m in France, so the timezones might be wonky.

Current/Past RP Accounts | [ x ]

In Character

Character | PARIS ; If possible, I’d like to use Xavier Serrano or Ji Chang Wook. [clutching fcs and sobbing as they spill over my hands.]

What drew you to this character? | “… the world in which he was a child was starkly black and white.” This, I feel, reveals the crux of the matter: that Priam Taravella, born with steel fused into his spine and rigidity formed into his very being, is now such a man of metamorphosis. And, yet, his core hasn’t changed at all. Something like there is enough in me to swallow the world and this body of mine can scarcely contain this hunger would be an apt description for the void that lingers in him. No ambition? What a lie. The ant who dreams of becoming a lion is merely a dreamer of impossibility, but the lion who dreams of becoming a king? There’s the ambition that his family refused to see in him. Priam Taravella was always a man with his feet rooted to the earth and his eyes fixed upon the horizon line because there’s where the gold glitters. Nothing is impossible, for he simply doesn’t deign to dream of impossibility. And, yet, his family mocked him for this and gave him the cold shoulder simply for daring to dream of things tangible. Maybe he cared about this, once upon a time, but nowadays he scoffs at the past, preferring to keep his sights on the present, and oh, there’s simply nothing like it.

There’s this, as well. “Verona’s underworld has made him apathetic towards most things but he has no tolerance for men without honor.” Oh, Priam. In a world where people may say that the sky is green and the water purple without an inflection of remorse, his honor brings such an interesting dimension to his character. He is, for all intents and purposes, a man who still adheres to the ‘black and white’ view of his youth; despite his hollow core, despite the blood that runs from his hands, despite the boundless ambition that serves as a never-ending bloodhound, he still places honor as something important to him, something that’s integral to his very being. And, isn’t this a paradox? In order to move up in the underworld, one must draw their lines of morality in sand, to be washed away and redrawn with every situation that follows. And, yet, Priam’s rigidity doesn’t allow for him to do this: there are some lines that he would never cross, even given the pros and cons of such an action.

He is a man of honor, and aren’t honor and glory both one and the same? Many would beg to differ, but the truth in his mind is the truth of the world. God made man in the image of Himself, the humanists would say, and isn’t this the primary facet of life in a search for unending glory? Verona is a city of divinity; a god without glory is no god at all. Likewise, a man without honor isn’t even worth a single good-natured thought. I think this makes him so very interesting, that in his rigidity and in his purpose, he sees himself as an honor-bound man. Are the three mutually bound? Is he truly a man of honor?

Is it even possible for a man with boundless ambition, crown tilted upon his head and smile slanted across his mouth, to be a man of honor?

(priam, what happens when you end your search? could the void inside of you ever be satiated?)

Which, speaking of, is such a fascinating concept. The void inside of him can be for many things, but the fact that Juliana is the first (and perhaps the only) person who has ever made him feel as if he belonged hints towards a boy who was starved of affection. Yes, he has potential, he knows that he has potential, but what I find interesting is that the Taravella name means something to him. It’s a shackle that he bears with his head held high; he is a boy of only twenty-three, and I think that this bears emphasis, that he is twenty-three and already believes that the only true part of his identity is his name. And, yet, at this age he already takes for granted that love and that sense of belonging are worth something. These are concepts that are not given freely; if he’s not useful then he isn’t worth being loved. This concept is found again in the way that he believes that his name might be the only thing that allows him to belong.

And the only way he would be loved is if he put on the mask. This, in turn, reminds me of a quote: “There was no one in him; behind his face (which even through the bad paintings of those times resembles no other) and his words, which were copious, fantastic, and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one.” There’s something in this that causes one to wonder: where does the mask end and the man begin? Who is he, underneath the habits and personas that he had to adopt in order to realize his ambitions? Iago claims “I am not what I am,” and is this, too, true for Priam?

God, he’s just such a fascinating character, wow, and I could go on and on and on. I’ll leave you with this last quote: “History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of God and told him: ‘I who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself.’”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | I really want him to be submerged into a situation where he must lose his sense of purpose or honor-bound duty or even a situation where he has to redraw his lines of morality in order to feed his ambition. The simple anguish in the fact that he must be, perhaps, somewhat like the men he hates, those men of no honor and of no purpose, would be absolutely lovely. Would he rationalize it to himself? Would he choose honor over ambition or vice versa? In a world that seems to be doing its damned hardest to kill them all, what could he possibly choose?

Why does he hate Boris so much? Is it simply because he can’t stand his ways? Is it truly because the Kovrov man reeks of shameless disloyalty? Or is it because he could see himself in the way he hungers for something more than the lot he was given in life? (maybe it’s because he knows, somehow, that this is the man he could become, that this might be the man he is.) I’d love to explore this.

Oh, Juliana. Dearly beloved, my tender heart, mio tesoro. In a man who’s more steel than flesh, she’s the tenderness of his childhood days in an era void of softness. Maybe this isn’t love—something about her eyes, her smile, the lilt of her voice—but it’s close enough. It’s good enough. (or so he hopes.) And, yeah, she makes him want to believe in the concept of loving and being loved. But, God, fuck, in a world such as this, any hint of tenderness is a hint of weakness. And Priam Taravella has long had enough of being weak. God, there’s so much space for nuance here. Does he truly love her or is it just the knowledge that they know so much about each other? Oh, and there’s this: in those moments of tenderness, in those moments when he’s pressing gentle lips to her forehead and folding his fingers over her hand, is he still acting?

And, also, we cannot forget about this: is he even able to discover himself underneath those layers and layers of masks? We can see that his sense of honor is a way that allows him to hold onto something even through the switching of personas, but isn’t there something more than simply that in a person?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Oh, God yes. The more tragic the death, the better.

In Depth

Priam, with a sickly-sweet taste sitting on the root of his tongue and fingers digging into the blankets, wakes up underneath someone else’s sheets at ass-o'clock in the morning. It’s slightly sticky. His mouth pulls into a slight grimace, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes as he breathes out a longer breath than usual, but the glint in his gaze is devoid of any natural feeling save for a vague sensation of apathy.

There’s a flash of what might be faint amusement as he flicks a glance towards the remnants of last night—scattered items of clothing, the lingering scent of sex, the marks on his companion’s skin—even as he ruffles his fingers through his dark curls, languidly arching his back into a stretch. The arm slung around his waist tightens with his motion before relaxing—Priam carelessly curls his grip around the appendage and tosses it away from him and towards its owner—and there’s a grunt as the man wakes up, lounging in bed and watching lazily as Priam retrieves his pants. “Leaving so soon?” husked out from sleep-ridden vocal chords.

There’s a pause as Priam tilts his head back, flicking an idle glance towards the speaker. Already, the apathy in his gaze had vanished, leaving behind only gentle amusement and a form of satisfied grace. His mouth tilts into a grin. “Mm,” all movement and indulgence as the sound of a zipper rips through the 3am aftermath, “I’d love to stay, mi amor, but I have work in the morning.” The slant of his mouth is a finely crafted thing—God, he’s too tired for this right now, something screams in him, but his every action is mechanically precise—as he quirks his lips upwards towards the other man, roguish charm in the echo of his gesture. Priam Taravella has a reputation to uphold and God forbid he ever forget about those layers of masks weighing upon him like Atlas’ skies.

(Sometimes, he’s frightened by his own capacity for all of this. It comes easily, now, like habit. Other times, he gazes at himself in the mirror and tells himself something like i built myself from the ground up and this is the result of my pride. It’s a delicate balance between irony and smug self-satisfaction.)

Despite the annoyance he holds for clingy lovers—simply the fact that he has had to answer tedious questions in the morning annoys him—his lovely features light up into that charismatic feeling of promise.

(When he’s feeling particularly ironic, he calls it smile number thirty-five where the corners of his lips are tilted at a precise angle of 68 degrees, teeth showing ever-so-slightly and eyes softening. It imbues a feeling of earnestness, as can be seen from all the times he’s practiced in front of the mirror when he was younger.)

“You must be tired,” and there’s that artificial flare of heat that seeps through his gaze as he, seemingly reluctantly, drags his attention from the lines of the other man’s body after lingering upon where the drape of the sheets hid the contours of the man’s lower abdomen. He flicks his glance away after precisely three heartbeats of time, knowing that this gesture was sufficient enough to allay all concerns. “Rest.” He stands. There’s a brief bit of pause when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror—sometimes he thinks that the day when he can’t even recognize himself is near—though the movement seems more like it’s a hesitation to leave. “I’ll see you around,” lying through his teeth with a smile of no substance.

“Will I see you at your favorite place?” exhaled from behind him as his fingers linger at the nape of his collar. Inch by inch, he drags his sleeves up over the breadth of his forearms, folding them below his elbow with the tuck of a button.

“My favorite place?” echoed, though his motions never cease. He refrains from looking back at the other man, knowing that the microsecond of disdainful amusement would show in the curve of his mouth. “Yes, of course,” knowing, too, that favorite hardly means favored.

“The Hotel Emilia?” again, from behind him, and there’s a note of expectation that’s laden within the drowsy voice. Priam simply abhors the expectation that this man has of him and his gaze grows dark, though there’s a careful regard as to how the slope of his shoulders tenses; simply put, he doesn’t let himself do anything except to retain movement in the form of satiated grace.

“You caught me,” a deep timbre laced with fond laughter. The Hotel Emilia? A lie that he’d concocted once he saw the interested flicker of the other man’s lashes on the afternoon of the day before, sunlight streaming in from stained-glass windows and lingering upon handsome features. Something to arouse sensation; oh, the Taravella scion has a weary side, a human side, and wouldn’t onlookers feel honored for the ability to see that soft smile upon Priam’s face?

He knows very well that humans are more likely to worship perfect idols, but that growing close to people requires various imperfections. (He has those in spades.)

Priam slips on his gloves, flexing his fingers against the cool fabric, and takes long strides to the exit of the house. Once he’s graced by the dusk, gentle breezes tugging at dark curls and nipping lightly at his nose, a faint smile slants across his mouth before being obscured by a brighter grin of greeting—still as hollow as ever—towards the few who are still on the streets.

A woman wanders up to him, fingers digging into her pockets and ruby-red lips tilted into a sly grin. “Priam Taravella,” voice low and suggestive, “exiting a random house in the early morning. I wonder, is this something you do every day?” Her gaze flicks up and down, blatantly admiring the way his clothes fit to his body.

He snorts, a sort of glacial coldness readily receding from the shallow depths of his eyes at the interception, even though he gives into the indulgence of tapping his fingers against his thigh once in a subtle show of irritation. “It could be,” allowing a slow, flirtatious grin to cross his mouth, “Miss?”

“Not important,” airily waving her hand. She rocks back and forth on her heels, eyes bright as she peers at him. “What do you do every day, then, Taravella?” The mockery in her voice is evident, as is the almost-envious idolization in her gaze.

He feigns a glance at his watch and watches as the woman’s eyes lingers on his exposed wrist. A Patek Philippe, circa 1997, and as expected, she involuntarily sucks in a breath. Priam doesn’t allow his mouth to twist into an expression of indulgent disdain, but it’s a near thing. “I eat breakfast,” drawled dryly, “just as you do, I’d assume.”

A wry grin slips onto his features like something that belongs. “Then, I get to work. Afterwards, I might go for a drink or two, maybe to an opera or an art exhibition, and then I attempt to buy presents for my beloved fiancée.” He lowers his voice, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes in an artful show of candor and loving laughter, as if the simple thought of Juliana was enough to bring him joy, “Between you and me, the only reason I’m not sleeping on the couch every night is because of this.”

“Do you buy her flowers?” eager curiosity.

He makes as if to reply, but then he places a finger to his mouth. “Some things are meant to be a secret,” tucking his hands into his pockets and nodding at her. “Have a good day.”

God, it’s like he tasted something sour. He’s barely crossed a street before his gaze flickers towards another hovering figure, watching as they attempt to watch him. It’s almost four in the morning and still he is besieged with flies from all sides. Best to get this over with.

Priam beckons, gentle laughter in his eyes. “You have a question for me?” low and soothing. They yelp, almost scurrying off, before they think better of it and sheepishly wander closer.

“Y-yeah,” a soft whisper. “I just- I, uh, I-”

He watches them patiently, even though faint exasperation is bubbling up from the depths of his chest. “Mm?” prompting them with a noise that slicks from the back of his throat, though the smile tilted upon his lips hardly budges.

“I-” They take a deep breath, as if steeling themselves, “I just- You know,” they twitch their fingers and Priam’s eyes narrow towards the motion before flickering towards the bulge underneath their coat, near the side of their waist. He makes some effort to relax his musculature even further into a state of apparent languidness. “The war,” blurted out as they fidget.

Oh. Such an ugly concept. “What about it?” Subtly, he directs them both towards a nearby alleyway, an easy grin donned upon his lips as he clasps their shoulder.

“I- I feel so useless, not being able to do anything,” absently fisting their hands, “do you think I should join? At least then I’d be able to play a part.”

“I honestly can’t profess any experience with the war,” a blatant lie, not even twitching though the word drags itself tastelessly from his tongue, “but I believe in my fiancée and in the inherent righteousness of my betrothed’s family.” Conviction is rife in his voice and in the shift of his gaze as he continues, “This will end, soon,” soothing the other—oh, there’s something in his eyes that unfurls like twin flames, something that gives credence to the lilt of his voice and the slant of his mouth—“and the winner will be in the right.”

“Until then,” gently placing a knuckle underneath their chin and tilting their gaze upwards, towards the looming silhouette of a grand church, “pray.”

Of course, he himself knows better than to pray to other gods.

headcanons:

ok so picture this: you take for granted that the smile slanted across daddy’s mouth is because you did well in school. you take for granted that mom’s words of adoration are because you’ve won some competition or the other. love’s something that isn’t yours to keep. and yeah, yeah of course he coulda’ been worse off. he coulda’ been begging in the streets or barely surviving or thrown into some sorta’ gimmick that he couldn’t have left, but there’s this. there’s this and then there’s those moments when he looks at the people who don’t wear crowns—he’s just a boy and this crown is too heavy for him to bear—and watches their fingers curl around their parents’ hands and watches their smiles—before he knows it, he’s learned how to curve his lips in the exact same way because wasn’t this called happiness?—and he wants.

took him years to realize that this wasn’t for him, but he’s still left wanting.

baby you know the closest you’ll ever get to god is in a cemetery and, oh, he’s visited many. at first, it was the death of a beloved pet. nowadays, it’s to somehow atone for all the sins he’s ever carried, ‘cos god knows he can’t go to a confessional. the dead, at least, tell no tales.

he totally brings back tons of presents for juliana and those he calls friends from his business trips 'nd stuff

okay okay okay hear me out; he’s totally got his fingers in all sorts of pies after leaving his family’s legacy behind. there was something in him that wanted recognition for himself, rather than for his name, and so he’s a fairly well known philanthropist and semi-political figure within the city. semi, as he doesn’t hold a specific position but he’s still rather visible. he also organizes fundraisers and galas and all those kindsa’ parties. whatever it takes for him to be known 'cos it’s something like yeah, i’m gonna’ take the highest position you know and force you to look at me without this goddamn legacy

prolly has a buncha’ hidey-holes. evil lairs. nah, but he does have places within the city where he can pretend, at least for the moment, that he’s just priam. just priam taravella ('cos yeah, even now his family’s name means something to him) on a rooftop and watching the stars. god knows if he didn’t have these places, he’d lose himself even faster

also a tsundere asshole. doesn’t act like it, usually, and it’s easy for him to smile and say stuff he doesn’t mean, but when he does mean something, something that’s either fuckign sappy or really heartfelt, it’d take a miracle for him to admit to it

twenty-three y/o dork, actually, despite all the airs he puts on. juliana knows.

v’ v’ v’ flirtatious. knows he’s pretty. knows how to use it.

DO NOT get into a drinking contest with this boi cos he will either get piss-drunk and say he’s not or you’ll get shitfaced drunk

prolly goes to the fighting ring ngl when he’s feeling too annoyed by the state of the world 'cos he’s still that same stubborn priam, jus dressed up prettier

is??? actually touch-starved like woah

tldr; doesn’t know how to be human 'cos no affection was given to him when he was younger and wow no wonder he’s kinda’ sorta’ feral but he’s learned how to put on masks THEREFORE aggravating the problem rather than solving it

priam aka mister 'ive got 99 problems but acting ain’t one of them’

[violcteyes]

❛  nobody  s m a r t  plays  f a i r ❜

* ╰ Was that ANYA CHALOTRA I just saw walking down the hallways? Oh wait, no - that was EMMELINE VANCE. The FEMALE is a 19 year old SLYTHERIN who is in 8TH YEAR. I heard the HALF-BLOOD has chosen to SIDE WITH THE ORDER which explains why SHE is CHARMING and HARD-WORKING, but also CYNICAL and WITHDRAWN. But who really knows?

pinterest , connections

parallels ; rosa diaz ( brooklyn 99 ) ,  éowyn ( lord of the rings ) , jackie brown ( jackie brown ) , shoshannah ( inglorious basterds ) , margaery tyrell ( game of thrones )

A B O U T

NAME: emmeline sophia vance NICKNAMES: emma , emmy  AGE: nineteen DATE OF BIRTH: february 21st PRONOUNS: she/her ORIENTATION: straight SPOKEN LANGUAGES: english , french ZODIAC SIGN: pisces

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good FOUR TEMPERAMENTS: choleric MBTI: estj ELEMENT: fire WAND:  hawthorn with a unicorn hair core, 11" and quite bendy flexibility FAVOURITE QUIDDITCH TEAM: puddlemere united HOUSE: slytherin BLOOD STATUS: halfblood PATRONUS: a fox

H I S T O R Y:

— emmeline is the only child of lillian vance and an unknown father of indian descent. from the stories lillian told emmeline of her father, he was a nice man until lillian revealed to him that she was a witch, and he left her without gaining knowledge that she was pregnant (lillian only admitted this story one night after a glass too many of wine).

— though technically halfblood, emmeline was raised completely in the wizarding world, with a mild knowledge of muggle affairs, though not many.

— her mother was pureblood, and worked as a curse-breaker for gringotts, and she met emmeline’s father during her travels around the world. lillian quit curse-breaking after she became pregnant, and took a job as a secretary in the ministry.

— ever since she was a child, emmeline was ambitious. she once declared during a trip to her mother’s work that she would be minister of magic one day, to the current minister himself. 

— lillian knew her daughter would be a slytherin from the start, despite coming from a family of ravenclaw’s and gryffindor’s. but she knew her daughter would not be an evil or dark wizard, despite the stereotypes of slytherin house. maybe a little power-hungry, but that was ambition more than anything.

— it wasn’t until emmeline was 4 when lillian realized her daughter was different in more ways then one. she’d thought the hair changing at first had been just because she was a child. babies and infants didn’t have a set hair colour until a certain age, right? or maybe it was the light. but she couldn’t deny that her daughter was a metamorphmagus anymore on her fourth birthday, when she made her eyes and hair bright purple like the icing on the cake in front of her.

— lillian managed to convince her daughter to change her hair colour to it’s natural black, but the eyes remained the bright purple for the rest of her childhood, and her teen years. emmeline liked the way it made her different, and remembered.

— emmeline was confident when the hat fell on her head. she knew where she belonged. it barely touched her when the dusty piece of clothing announced to the hall that she was a slytherin. there was not the deafening applause she had imagined, but there were polite claps from the slytherin table. nowhere else. her eyes had narrowed on the three other tables lacking enthusiasm, and wondered what made them think they were better than her, and her house.

— she would never discriminate against another house, and she does not accept any discrimination against her because of her house. she was not evil, she was not awful, she was just aggressive.

— emmeline knows her morals, and knows there is no higher or lower blood, only talent and power. you did not need to be pureblood to hold the most power. she knew muggleborns more powerful than some of the incestuous offspring in her house.

— emmeline wishes to be minister of magic one day, and fully intends to work her way up the ladder to become the most powerful witch in the country. the right way.

— dark magic is not to be dabbled in, but there is a grey area that is acceptable... as long as its not mentioned aloud.

— despite her aggressive nature, emmeline can be quite charming, especially in front of people who will benefit her in the future. but she’s not entirely shallow. she has quite a few friends that she knows she can depend on, and who can depend on her. loyalty is the most important trait for her in a friendship.

— oops reagan went overboard again hahahaha message me to plot pls bbys