#( x. VERSE NAME: undetermined. )

[capaciityforpain]

@jgoldberg said: “Wait… How do you know my name?” [ hiiiii! <3 ]

↣ THE SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS MOVIE

He looked to the man, thick eyebrows raising. Look at him. Everywhere the Doctor went, there were always, somehow, people like him. Granted, his knowledge of the man was not what it could be, but that was where this came in. A little tête-à-tête. "Because, Joe Goldberg," (thrown in there to make a point, to assert that he did, in fact, know his name, especially since it seemed to make him uncomfortable), "you've been skulking around my classes, and I'd like to know why."

Maybe there was no harm meant. Maybe he was only curious, but he didn't like the way he was always there, eyes always leering. Maybe he was just a natural leer-y sort, but he didn't trust him. More than that, he didn't like him, and when the Doctor didn't like someone, it was usually with a decent reason.

[vuulpecula]

✖ @paramounticebound inquired: cabin, an abandoned cabin in the middle of no where (( fire watch au?? or cute shenanigans on Halloween night in THAT verse 👀 )

halloween location prompts | accepting !!! 🎃

"I think the map said it should be right over here," Fox looked again at the piece of paper within her hands. The constant folding having left it thin and brittle in some places. Of all their tasks, checking the abandoned cabins and campsites were alwaysher least favorite. There was really no telling what they might find. One year, a whole family of raccoons had taken up refuge within the cabin they were searching for now. Another, she had found signs that someone had been living there in the off season--leaving behind beer bottles, spent shotgun shells, and a weirdly large collection of nudie magazines. She'd reported that one when she'd realized all the eyes had been scratched out. Since then, they hadn't really had any problems, but it was a new year and these places hadn't been touched in months.

"You ever do this before? Check out the abandoned places?" She made conversation to hide how nervous she was. There was something about this cabin in particular that always rubbed her the wrong way. The air around it was bad, tainted, cursed even. Most of the time, animals stayed away, save for the desperate raccoons, and even the birds stopped singing as they got closer. The cabin looming up from the treeline. Forgotten and yet, strangely maintained.

"Ever find anything weird?"

[vuulpecula]

Fox swallowed. Did she dare say? Would it be considered rude to lie to him, a stranger, one who, again, seemed strangely out of place despite his palette of greens and browns. “Aileen,” she settled on. It was not a lie, the name did belong to her, it simply was not what most called her, if any. Other than her mother and at times, her sister. Thinking of the other woman made her assess him differently for a moment. Had it been her sister who stumbled upon him and not her, she knew Kyla would not be afraid. Nor would she be thinking this man could be an enemy--he was far too handsome.

"Jamie Fraser? Yes, he is known to me," Fox stated, unable to keep from frowning in thought. Perhaps this man was only another one of his friends--a bond made in battle. Walk these paths many a time and yet, she could not remember seeing him. Not that that was particularly strange. As a young woman she was almost always watched like a hawk by her elders. Afraid that she would bring upon their families shame and ill-will. Fox could almost roll her eyes at it now.

"You are in luck," she smiled. "Jamie is said to return this very evening. He may even return before I have led you there." Which she would do, on the Fraser's behalf. Surely, that would look good in the gaze of the young, handsome future laird. "Come--though keep your distance, stranger Magni, I know the tales well about men who come upon maidens in the wood."

( vaen )​:

      Fox held her basket tighter as she again looked over the stranger. He was as built and brawny as any of the other men that lived within the land and it made her trust him a shred more. Of the English she had seen, or had the misfortune of meeting, they never looked quite strong enough to pull themselves into a saddle. Let alone, win a fight. Of course, looks could be deceiving if the bloodshed was any proof.

      “Greetings, Magni,” she tipped her head as her knees bent only slightly. It was a strange name, one she had not heard before, though who was she to judge? Perhaps he was named after a type of boar or a breed of goose. The world was vast and if she could hold the name of an animal, anything was possible.

      Fraser. He had said the name of a family she knew very well, surely then he was more of a friend than a foe, though she did not offer her own name in return for the two he had given. “And which Fraser might that be? There is much travel these days, only a few can be found this close to Lollybroch.”

❝ Greetings … ??? ❞ he pauses, a question hanging off the TAIL end of his words,  ❝ and WHO is it I might be greeting ?? ❞ Though his feet are restless, he does his best to remain where they are PLANTED, for the sake of attempting to appear less SUSPICIOUS. However, his earthen gaze does flit from her to the surrounding flora and fauna – there are so many vaettir in these lands that he has MISSED ( and he has yet to find a beauty in all the nine that surpasses the highlands ; they are forever carved into his heart ). 

❝ JAMIE, is he known to you ?? ❞ t’would seem he is making QUITE the name for himself, for Magni had heard it upon the tongues of many a dane before his departure for THESE lands. ❝ I have walked these paths many times, yet I cannot seem to remember the PROPER way. Is he not here ?? ❞ Ravens were a SWIFT form of communication, yet battles had a way of rendering their word of less use when so MANY were on the move. 

[spidersins]

wake up babe new verse just dropped x

please read content warnings, and note the fact it's a very fictional verse so time period is left vague and undetermined.

note: if you do want to write in this verse, it will likely be very violent, gory with toxic relationships

born into a new york crime family, his father was a high-ranking mafioso who groomed his children for the family business. from his early teens, anthony obliged, distributing narcotics to various establishments across the city. this work introduced him to the vibrant world of gay bars, sparking a curiosity about his own sexuality. drawn to this new scene, anthony began sneaking out on his nights off, cautiously exploring his identity through innocent flirtations and stolen kisses. at twenty, everything came crashing down. a soldier, one of his father’s loyalists, spotted anthony in an alley behind the club, lips locked with another man. the news travelled fast. anthony was summoned immediately to his father’s office. he expected blows, fury, perhaps even exile. but instead, his father’s tone was eerily calm. he acknowledged what anthony had been doing and instructed him to stop, for the sake of the family’s image, to think of his sister molly.

days later, the boy anthony had kissed was found dead. strangled. several others from the club circuit turned up the same way. all queer men. all known to anthony.

the police closed in fast. witnesses placed anthony with some of the victims. others he’d never even met. it didn’t matter. false witnesses, planted items, whispers paid for with blood money, his father had orchestrated it all. to purge his son of shame, to erase the blemish on the mangano name.

due to the brutality of the crimes, anthony was ruled mentally unwell. he was committed to a psychiatric hospital, a bleak facility where his father paid handsomely for specialized "treatment." there, the doctors subjected anthony to violent forms of electroshock therapy and psychological torture. it was a forced cleansing, an attempt to burn away his sexuality, his identity.

only one person ever visited. his twin sister, molly. anthony never spoke a word of the horrors he endured. he couldn’t, knowing if she knew she would challenge their father, and maybe end up with a worse fate.

five years passed before she stopped visiting. her body was found in a derelict lot, stabbed by the family of a rival gang after she refused to marry a their heir. she had defied them, and they’d made an example of her.

anthony spent another year in the institution. no visitors. no light. but something had changed. the boy they had once broken was no longer there. something darker, colder had taken root in his place.

upon his release, anthony masked his hatred behind a smile. he played the part of the rehabilitated man for a few months. enough to convince the public. enough to keep his father from suspecting what was coming.

it was on the anniversary of molly’s death. with his brother returning to town it was just the three of them, a private memorial dinner. wine flowed, false words were exchanged. then, as his father sat at the head of the table, anthony raised a pistol and shot him once through the skull.

no words. no spectacle. just execution.

there were no tears for their father. only a grim understanding. they buried the body in the woods behind the old estate. no headstone.

his brother, moved by justice more than love, accepted the outcome. he stood before anthony and pledged loyalty. not as a rival, but as consigliere.

the family business was now anthony’s.

[lucid-cups]

so, so- bivil. i've mentioned them before, and i finally decided to explain- bivil is bill cipher x evil cuphead (the eternity-verse versions of them ofc), which was a crackship i made a little over a year ago that i've just- fallen in love with yep, you heard me right, my dumb little brain thought these two should kiss, and i just ran with it- for some unknown reason

so yeah, they're a thing. ask me about them, i dare you :3 plsplsplsplsplsplsplsplspls anyways, random info about them! Evil is currently 50, born in 1917, is bisexual, aromantic and somewhere on the ace-spectrum. ofc he knows nothing about what these mean. not because of timeline issues, he can reality hop and despite how he acts, he's not stupid. he doesn't know, because he can't be fucked to figure it out Bill is of an undetermined age, partly stuck in a weird time loop, and is pan, and likely aro as well. it also can't wrap it's head around what they mean, mostly because it can't understand gender as a concept at all, being an entirely genderless being, from a reality of genderless beings. would be it/it's, but gets called he/him enough that it stopped caring overall they're married, have been for about 7 years, and have two kids who are twins named Solpin and Lushi. how the kids came to be, neither of them actually understand and don't bother trying to figure it out.

[eraserisms]

Mobile Verses

Note: The numbers are there as a means for me to keep track of threads. Some will be out of order as I might add verses after having already started my numbering system. This numbering system is more so for myself vs my partners, but I'll explain it anyway.

For an example, you will notice when we write together things are tagged as; Your URL | Your Characters Name & Shota Aizawa | 04 . The number represents where in the timeline/verse the thread is (In this example, it's Pre-Liberation war)

Canon

Pretty straight forward; any interactions during his canon will go here.

Undetermined (00) Childhood (01) High School Days (02) Early Hero Career (03) Pre Liberation War (04) Post Liberation War (05)

Divergent

Any interactions that involve altering Shota’s canon story while still semi-following MHA’s plot will be added here

Villain Vs I- Bad to the Bone (06); Details found here. Villain Vs II- Fallen from Grace (14); Details found here. Twin (11); Shota has a twin brother or sister. This verse is primarily for duplicates. It will be up to plotting / my partner to determine who is the ‘original /canon’ Shota. Also plotting will involve establishing a background/relationship dynamic. Long Lost Child (12); Shota discovers that he has fathered a child that he doesn’t know about and they come to cross paths. This could be by accident or because the child has sought out Shota.

Alternate Universes

X-Men Verse (07); Much like Shota’s canon, he is a teacher at U.A. which is a private high school designed to train young superheroes. With Japan being ahead socially as far as mutants go, Shota has been sent to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters to work with the students there. Shota is invited to Xavier’s school as a means to help students and to possibly establish more hero programs in the West.

A Song of Ice and Fire (08)

Under Construction

Fantasy Verse (09)

Under Construction

Pediatric Doctor (10)

Shota is a doctor at U.A. hospital where he works a pediatric unit. In general, this verse can be expanded beyond Shota working at U.A. as far as the timeline goes; threads can start when Shota is in med-school up until he starts working at U.A. Alternatively, Shota can open his own practice as opposed to working at a hospital.

Into the Multiverse (13)

Shota has come to the realization that there are other Shota Aizawa-s out in the universe. This verse also applies to characters that Shota comes across who are alternatives of said character if/when it applies.

Vampire AU Vs I (15)

Shota is a very old vampire; Under Construction

Vampire AU Vs II (16)

Once a hunter, and now he has become the hunted; Under Construction

Teenzawa (17)

Shota has been hit with an age regression quirk and he doesn't remember the last 15 years of his life. Alternatively, Shota has been hit with an age regression quirk and is very aware of it and also very pissed about it.

Fallout (18)

Details found here

[shesboundtolose]

"i think someone switched the contents." (From Jack~)

SNIPPETS | Accepting       ( @saoildorcha​ / Jack ) 

       “ Just how fuckin’ STUPID do you think I am, huh? You must be out of your goddamn, drunk ass mind if you really think I’d fall for that bullshit for a SECOND. ” She’d never yelled at Jack before, not like this, not with this kind of fury in her voice. Lou certainly never physically reacted this way either, but when she saw that all too familiar haze in his eyes, she’d snatched the drink right from his hands to smell it. He’d done so well, they’d done so well, but that progress was all for naught as she stood there, glass clenched in her hand before she threw it at the opposite wall, behind his head.

“ I can’t believe you, ”  she growled, tears now flooding her vision. Her limbs shook with the anger pulsing through them and she pivoted, grabbed the bag she’d tossed aside when she entered the apartment, and headed toward the door.  “ Don’t bother callin’ or tryin’ to find me. I can’t be around you right now, for the sake of my unborn child. ”  She knew that would hurt, but she was too furious to care.  “ At least you won’t be alone tonight, Jack; you’ll have your stupidity and weakness to keep you company. ”  Before she could let that settle, before regret could gnaw at her enough that she’d apologize, Lou swung the door open and stormed out, slamming it behind her.

[roseuscrystallum]

Tag Dump

[shesboundtoarchive]

??, & , $

              Text memes are the best memes || Accepting   [ @nevermorningstar ]

[ ⁇ for a DRUNK text ]

[text; Bubba] Dont take thsi the wrong way[text; Bubba] But I miss yuo

[ & for a LOVING text ]

[text; Bubba] You have the best butt. It’s so cute.[text; Bubba] I want to grab it all the time. In a nice way.

[$ for an ACCIDENTAL text ]

[text; Puppy Tree] Maybe I’m not meant to be happy, Ed. Maybe this roller coaster is what I deserve.[text; Puppy Tree] You of all people should understand that.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

to feel the sun from both sides

[newt scamander x reader]

author’s note: shorter than the stuff i’ve been writing lately but still just as nice i hope(: might write for theseus next

word count: 2,330

The months are growing colder, and the drop in temperature becomes even more apparent at the day’s end, when the sun is on its way out. A gust of wind blows strong enough to ruffle Newt’s robes and a shiver runs down his spine. His cheeks and his nose are probably red from the chill, and he manages to free a hand in the midst of his task to bring his scarf up over the bottom half of his face. Ah. That feels better.

He doesn’t see you approach because his back is turned, and he would’ve heard you, would’ve heard the sound of your shoes sifting along the cool grass, if he weren’t preoccupied with the little animal cradled his palm. He’s alerted to your presence when you speak up, and he twists around, but carefully so as not to jostle the small bowtruckle.

“I was wondering where you were,” you state with a smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Newt’s tone is apologetic as he pulls down his scarf to be heard clearly, the cool air once more nipping at his skin. He talks quietly but he always does, and you don’t mind one bit. “I wasn’t able to find you after dinner and I wanted to come here before it got dark, so…”

“It’s fine.” You wave your hand dismissively. It’s easy to be lost in the sea of students flooding out of the Great Hall, so you don’t blame him. You sit down against the trunk of the tree, and Newt follows suit. “I’m sure they missed you.”

Newt looks over, wondering what you mean, and notices your attention is on the creature in his hand. He glances down at it as well. “Yeah… I guess they have.” It’s silent for a moment, then he continues: “Hold out your hand.”

Your eyes widen a fraction but you do as he says, and you go stock still as he sets the bowtruckle into your awaiting hand. Its little legs feel odd on the sensitive expanse of your palm, and it takes several steps, so you rotate your wrist to accommodate it. It walks across your knuckles, where it chooses to remain. Newt watches it fondly, and it looks right back at him, like it knows who he is. And then from beneath floppy brown hair his gaze slides up to you—you’re considerably more relaxed now, and your features are so soft in the radiance of dusk.

“I don’t know why you get so nervous,” he remarks. “You’re a natural.”

You chuckle and as the bowtruckle resumes walking, you hold up your other hand for it to transfer onto so it doesn’t fall off. “You’re the natural, Newt. Simply holding them is nothing compared to what you can do.”  

Newt smiles. “But they like you, you know. I can tell.”

You hum, as if to ask Yeah? but you don’t say anything else. Newt assumes that to be the end of the conversation, and he leans his head back on the tree trunk. The bowtruckle appears to have found a comfortable position to rest in, and you allow yourself to return to watching the setting sun. It’s nearly gone, and your breath materializes in front of you with every exhale. Soon the moon and stars will emerge, and they’ll light your path to the castle.

“Would you write a book?” you ask out of the blue.

Newt purses his lips and contemplates the inquiry for a few seconds. He doesn’t ask about what because it’s obvious what he’d write about. The idea isn’t out of the realm of possibility. He keeps journals on his research, though it’s only been on creatures found here at Hogwarts. There are many out there still, throughout the world, to be sought after and studied and cared for. An expansive task but a wonderful one.

“I would,” he responds finally. “But it’d be hard to do that research alone.”

This prompts you to look at him, and he’s watching you with utmost sincerity. The implication of the statement pulls a grin from you, and he mirrors it subconsciously. You’d been attached at the hip from the moment you started talking to each other as first years, and though your adventures have begun at Hogwarts, they wouldn’t end there.  

You sigh lightly and take in the night that has fallen around you, stare up at the sky like you’re in a crystal ball and you’re looking past the glass. “Will I never be rid of you, Scamander?” you tease.

Newt shakes his head. “Not at all,” he shoots back playfully.

You laugh, then sigh as you settle down. “I’ll gladly join you, Newt. Just don’t go falling in love with me while we’re at it.”

There’s a twinkle in your gaze to accompany your smile, and he knows you’re playing around, but he swallows as he mulls over what you’ve said. The smile drops from his own face once you turn away and attend to the bowtruckle in your hand. He hears you asking it if it’s doing okay, and if it’s sleepy, but your voice sounds distant, like you’re farther than you actually are, his own thoughts at the forefront and pushing everything else to the margins. He traces the line of your profile with his eyes, from your forehead to the slope of your nose to your lips, and farther still he follows the curve of your chin as it leads to your jaw, and the sleek column of your neck. And as he continues to sit here next to you, so close he can feel your body heat, and you grin at the animal you’re holding and he swears it’s enough to light up a whole room, he thinks it’s a little too late for that.

———

He tries though. By Merlin, does he try. Being out on the field helps distract him, because there, the work comes first, and in these instances you maintain a professional relationship, that of researcher and assistant. You take notes while his hands are busy looking over the current beast of interest, and he knows he rambles and his brain can move faster than his mouth at times and it does but you’ve always been able to turn it into something cohesive. He gives you his journals to write in, and it’s easy to figure out which sections are yours because they’re neater, and in addition to the skillfully done diagrams of hippogriff talons and erumpet horns, you leave silly doodles in the margins.

The bounds of professionalism aren’t concrete, and neither of you wished them to be anyway. When he’s working late into the night, nothing but a candle to illuminate the pages, you come to him as his friend once more, his best friend, and you tell him he needs to rest and you won’t take any excuses. You set your hand on his to stop his writing, and he glances up at you sheepishly because he knows you’re right but really, he’ll be done soon, just one more sentence—

“There will always be tomorrow,” you murmur.

And the corner of his lip twitches, a smile fighting its way to the surface. You’ve never had to do much to convince him. “Okay.”

For all your denials that you could never be as well-versed in magical creatures as he, over the years, that’s changed, whether or not you even noticed. He taught you as you both went along, traveled from country to country, and it hadn’t been long before you had his confidence in the subject. Or at least something very close. And in those times where you may falter he’s the one to reassure you, telling you it’s okay to approach the thunderbird you’re observing and who’s looking at you closely in kind, two curious souls observing each other.

Gently he takes your wrist and guides your hand to rest on the soft feathers, and your eyes glow and so does your smile and he’s left wondering if he’s seeing things that aren’t actually there because maybe just maybe he’s imagining you like you’re the face he’s given to the beautiful haze of color just before the sun disappears behind the horizon and oh how he hopes desperately this isn’t the case.

But your skin is warm and as his hand slips down to his side, some of that residual heat remains in his palm, and it feels too real to be any figment of the imagination. In the subsequent moments filled only by the low rasps from the thunderbird’s throat that mean it’s happy, Newt looks from it to you and back again and maybe it’s more like you’re the same soul and in an exercise of extraordinary self-awareness the splendid beast that towers over you has looked into a mirror and understood that those are its eyes gazing back. And the flood of love Newt has for you rushes in like it had on day one of an undetermined total (for he’d really like to be with you forever).

He’s honestly not sure if he’ll ever tell you how he feels, because stuff like that, it isn’t his thing. He trips over his words whenever he’s not talking about his research and he has trouble maintaining eye contact with people, and the issue is increased tenfold when it involves you because the way your eyes seem to burn into him, see through him, is altogether too intense and he loves it but he also hates it because you pull him apart so easily. And maybe he should mind it but he doesn’t because you’re also the one to put him back, not with a wave of your wand and a whispered spell but with your hands, lithe fingers taking each fragment and fitting them together, one by one, slowly and surely, until he’s whole before you, and he would stand prepared for the next time he falls for you, into a million tiny pieces.

A portion of your notes doesn’t sound complete to Newt as he reads it over, then re-reads it a few times in an attempt to make sense of them. A few thoughts jotted down at the bottom are scrambled and disconnected. Usually he wouldn’t linger on these points and would move on, but it just so happens that he needs these particular lines for what he’s working on. With a sigh rife with exhaustion from hours of work, he stands and, journal in hand, exits the study and walks to the lounge, where he knows you’ll be.

There’s shuffling and the sound of your footsteps as you exclaim Poppy! and Newt’s not thinking much of it, but he should have and he understands that now because he turns the corner and says your name to announce his presence, and he’s startled first by your kneazle who just barely avoids running into his legs as it scampers off, and second by you, who’s taken off after her and you barrel into him, knocking you both off your feet.

“Oof!” Newt hits the floor with a thud, you on top of him. His journal had slipped out of his hand and lays face down to his right, but he doesn’t take notice. You push yourself up to look at him properly, eyes wide and brows knitted together in worry.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’m so sorry, Newt. It’s just, Poppy stole my pen and wouldn’t give it back and—”

“It’s fine,” he assures you, smiling. The concern starts to slip away and you nod, and then it occurs to him that neither of you has made any moves to stand. Your hands are braced against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, having found their way there by instinct when you’d run into him and he went to cushion your fall. Laying on the hardwood floor is hardly comfortable but he’s comfortable holding you, and you seem to be comfortable being held by him.

You stare at each other, and again Newt is overwhelmed and he has to avert his gaze and it goes to your lips and they look so soft, like velvet, and he wonders if they feel like it too. He swallows hard, and his mouth opens to say something but what? He has no idea what to say, and should he speak up he doesn’t know what would leave his mouth.

His mouth merely hangs open slightly, words not quite reaching his tongue, and he figures he must look rather stupid, but you seem to pay no mind or even notice as you lean in those last few inches and he learns you taste of caramel creams and peach blossoms. His eyes slide closed as he kisses you and his senses are filled with you you you and he’s breathing you in like you’re keeping him alive. It is a little ridiculous to still be wondering if this is truly happening, that this isn’t some hallucination, but he can’t help it because years have been spent thinking about it, dwelling on it, on all the what-could-be’s and what-if’s, and suddenly it’s what-can-be’s and what is.

You pull away just enough to allow yourself to breathe, and your eyes remain closed. Newt focuses on your lashes that delicately kiss your cheeks, and he wants to do that too. To kiss your cheeks and your nose and each corner of your lips because he loves you so much it hurts. When your eyes open, revealing that charming gaze that holds so much power over him, to a degree he’s not certain you’d ever understand, his heart drops into his stomach and it rouses the butterflies there, and they take flight. He can’t think straight but that’s okay, and at the sight of your captivating, marvelous, lovely, brilliant and every other word which might represent magnificence smile, he smiles too, in disbelief and relief and everything in between.

[croweswings-a]

Character Study. Scott Halpritt

Tagged by @vandewaltmorf​ (thank u sm!)

FULL NAME.     Scott Leroy Halpritt (Hilbert) MEANING.     SCOTT: “from an english and scottish surname which referred to a person from scotland or a person who spoke scottish gaelic. it is derived from latin scoti meaning "gaelic speaker", with the ultimate origin uncertain.”    LEROY: “from the french nickname le roi meaning "the king".”    HALPRITT: made-up alias he created for himself. real surname is hilbert: germanic, means "bright battle". NICKNAME.     scottie ( doesn’t really enjoy nicknames ) GENDER.   male. HEIGHT.  5ft 8in. AGE.     verse dependent ( b. 1940 ) ZODIAC.     aries. SPOKEN LANGUAGES.   english, spanish.

P H Y S I C A L   C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S .

HAIR COLOUR.   golden blond. EYE COLOUR.   slate blue. SKIN TONE.   lightly tan, freckled. BODY TYPE.     toned, not thin, strong legged. ACCENT.  very generic learned TV american accent. doesn’t seem to fit any region. VOICE.     oaky tones, somewhat soft, carefully enunciated. DOMINANT HAND.   left. POSTURE.     tendency to keep his weight on one side, often has arms folded defensively. SCARS.     scar on chin, origin unknown. TATTOOS.   n/a. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).     striking gaze, curly hair (past 1968), sharp nose.

C H I L D H O O D .

PLACE OF BIRTH.     location unknown. HOMETOWN.   staten island NY / monterey CA. BIRTH WEIGHT.     N/A. BIRTH HEIGHT.     N/A. MANNER OF BIRTH.   delivered while family was on the road travelling. FIRST WORDS.    the generic “mama”. SIBLINGS.  younger sister, anna, born 1941. PARENTS.     deceased. adoptive parents: jonathan & magdalene stanton. PARENT INVOLVEMENT.     was only 4 when his biological parents passed away. adoptive parents were very kind and supportive, musician father encouraged him to take up music as a hobby and he excelled fantastically.

A D U L T   L I F E .

OCCUPATION.     manager/session musician for CA folk rock band crowe’s wings. CURRENT RESIDENCE.   topanga, CA. CLOSE FRIENDS.  trevett allen, mark crowe, his sister anna. RELATIONSHIP STATUS.     single. FINANCIAL STATUS.   middle class. DRIVER’S LICENSE.  yes. CRIMINAL RECORD.    n/a. VICES.     smoking.

S E X   A N D   R O M A N C E .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   presumed heterosexual, open to exploration. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.     undetermined. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.     provider, supporter. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.   dominant, though it usually depends on mood. LIBIDO.   fluctuates depending on business. TURN ON’S.    confidence, “dirty talk”, ample amount of foreplay, balanced amount of giving and receiving, sometimes getting a little rough, eye contact, women with lots of curves, men with pretty eyes/eyelashes TURN OFF’S.     any extreme bdsm, leather, age difference, etc - just nothing super taboo. he’s not extremely adventurous. LOVE LANGUAGE.   expressed with less words and more actions. he’s considerate and often thinks of the other person throughout the day which leads to little gifts or favours. the sort that will prepare a relaxing weekend off for his partner. good at understanding boundaries but can get moody if the communication is poor. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.   very few, unsurprisingly. he doesn’t easily trust others and if he dates, the other usually finds his privateness to be frustrating to endure and breaks up with him within a month or so. he doesn’t seek out relationships and prefers to let things happen gradually. he’d rather have a relationship with someone he knows well.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S .

CHARACTER THEME SONG.     outside chance - the turtles HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.     playing/tuning/fixing instruments, long walks in the evening, smoking pot and listening to music, sewing. MENTAL ILLNESSES.     mild depression, mild parasomnia (sleep terrors) PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.    n/a. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.     left brained. PHOBIAS.   claustrophobic.  SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   8/10. VULNERABILITIES.   once he opens up to you, he’s trusting you completely. break that trust and he holds grudges for a long time because he’s easily wounded by betrayal. very affected by people who are considerate of his work life and what he has to put up with.

Tagging: @camillelafaye @hasflown :^)

[themonokumafiles]

Welcome Bestbattled!

Name of Mun: usually Minki, but Habit or Scott work too.

Name of Character(s): Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

Gender: Male

Age: ahh i’m uncomfortable with sharing my actual age, but i’m a minor!

Main Verse: during the killing game or just and undetermined verse if it’s a crossover rp.

Selectivity: semi-selective.

Rules: can be found here!

Links to -

Blog Page: x

Rules: it’s up there already—

Mun Page: it’s in the rules!

Head Canons: tba.

Muse/About: x

i hope all those links work!

[blackkudos]

Robert Hayden

Robert Hayden (4 August 1913 – 25 February 1980) was an American poet, essayist, and educator. He served as Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1976–78, a role today known as US Poet Laureate. He was the first African-American writer to hold the office.

Biography

Robert Hayden was born Asa Bundy Sheffey in Detroit, Michigan, to Ruth and Asa Sheffey, who separated before his birth. He was taken in by a foster family next door, Sue Ellen Westerfield and William Hayden, and grew up in a Detroit ghetto nicknamed "Paradise Valley". The Haydens' perpetually contentious marriage, coupled with Ruth Sheffey’s competition for her son's affections, made for a traumatic childhood. Witnessing fights and suffering beatings, Hayden lived in a house fraught with chronic anger, whose effects would stay with him throughout his life. On top of that, his severe visual problems prevented him from participating in activities such as sports in which nearly everyone else was involved. His childhood traumas resulted in debilitating bouts of depression that he later called "my dark nights of the soul."

Because he was nearsighted and slight of stature, he was often ostracized by his peers. In response, Hayden read voraciously, developing both an ear and an eye for transformative qualities in literature. He attended Detroit City College later called Wayne State University with a major in Spanish and minor in English, and left in 1936 during the Great Depression, one credit short of finishing his degree, to go to work for the Works Progress Administration Federal Writers' Project, where he researched black history and folk culture.

Leaving the Federal Writers' Project in 1938, Hayden married Erma Morris in 1940 and published his first volume, Heart-Shape in the Dust (1940). He enrolled at the University of Michigan in 1941 and won a Hopwood Award there. Raised as a Baptist, he followed his wife into the Bahá'í Faith during the early 1940s, and raised a daughter, Maia, in the religion. Hayden became one of the best-known Bahá'í poets. Erma Hayden was a pianist and composer and served as supervisor of music for Nashville public schools.

In pursuit of a master's degree, Hayden studied under W. H. Auden, who directed his attention to issues of poetic form, technique, and artistic discipline. Auden's influence may be seen in the "technical pith of Hayden's verse." After finishing his degree in 1942, then teaching several years at Michigan, Hayden went to Fisk University in 1946, where he remained for twenty-three years, returning to Michigan in 1969 to complete his teaching career.

As a supporter of his religion's teaching of the unity of humanity, Hayden could never embrace Black separatism. Thus the title poem of Words in the Mourning Time ends in a stirring plea in the name of all humanity:

Reclaim now, now renew the vision of

a human world where godliness is possible and man is neither gook nigger honkey wop or kike but man

He died in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in 1980, age 67.

In 2012 the U.S. Postal Service issued a pane of stamps featuring ten great Twentieth Century American Poets, including Hayden.

Career

By the 1960s and the rise of the Black Arts Movement, when a more youthful era of African American artists composed politically and emotionally charged protest poetry overwhelmingly coordinated to a black audience, Hayden's philosophy about the function of poetry and the way he characterized himself as an author were settled. His refusal to revamp himself as indicated by the pictures of the 1960s earned him feedback from a few scholars and analysts. Hayden stayed consistent with his idea of poetry as an artistic frame instead of a polemical demonstration and to his conviction that poetry ought to, in addition to other things, address the qualities shared by mankind, including social injustice. Hayden's beliefs about the relationship of the artist to his poems likewise had impact in his refusal to compose emotionally determined protest sonnets. Hayden's practice was to make separation between the speaker and the movement of the poem.

The impact of Euro-American innovation on Hayden's poetry and also his continuous assertions that he needed to be viewed as an "American poet" as opposed to a "black poet" prompted much feedback of him as an abstract "Uncle Tom" by African American critics during the 1960s. Unexpectedly, African American history, contemporary black figures, for example, Malcolm X, and African American communities, especially Hayden's native Paradise Valley, were the subjects of a significant number of his poems.

On 7 April 1966, Hayden's A Ballad of Remembrance was awarded, by unanimous vote, the Grand Prize for Poetry at the first World Festival of Negro Arts in Dakar, Senegal. The festival had over ten thousand people from thirty-seven nations in attendance. However, on 22 April 1966 Hayden was denounced at a Fisk University conference of black writers by a group of young protest poets led by Melvin Tolson for refusing to identify himself as a black poet.

Hayden was elected to the American Academy of Poets in 1975. His most famous poem is Those Winter Sundays, which deals with the memory of fatherly love and loneliness. It ranks among the most anthologized American poems of the 20th century. He declined the position later called United States Poet Laureate previously, accepted the appointment for 1976–1977 during America's Bicentennial, and again in 1977–1978 though his health was failing then. He was awarded successive honorary degrees by Brown University (1976) and Fisk, (1978). In 1977 he was interviewed for television in Los Angeles on At One With by Keith Berwick. In January 1980 Hayden was among those gathered to be honored by President Jimmy Carter and his wife at a White House reception celebrating American poetry. He served for a decade as an editor of the Bahá'í journal World Order.

Robert Hayden hasoften been praised for his work crafting of poems, the unique perspectives in his work, his exact language, and his absolute command of traditional poetic techniques and structures.

Other famed poems include "The Whipping" (which is about a small boy being severely punished for some undetermined offense), "Middle Passage" (inspired by the events surrounding the United States v. The Amistad affair), "Runagate, Runagate", and "Frederick Douglass".

Hayden’s influences included Wylie, Cullen, Dunbar, Hughes, Bontemps, Keats, Auden and Yeats. Hayden’s work often addressed the plight of African Americans, usually using his former home of Paradise Valley slum as a backdrop, as he does in the poem "Heart-Shape in the Dust". Hayden’s work made ready use of black vernacular and folk speech. Hayden wrote political poetry as well, including a sequence on the Vietnam War.

On the first poem of the sequence, he said: “I was trying to convey the idea that the horrors of the war became a kind of presence, and they were with you in the most personal and intimate activity, having your meals and so on. Everything was touched by the horror and the brutality and criminality of war. I feel that's one of the best of the poems.”

Wikipedia

[vuulpecula]

VUULPECULA’S VERSE MASTERLIST. 

      Below the cut are all the current verses available for rp. Just a heads up, there are a lot of them! By no means is this list all that there are, more will be added, some will be removed, it is ever changing. If you see one on here you’d like to explore, please don’t hesitate to let me know! Thank you and have a good one! xo. 

UPDATE 07/25/2017. It’s very unfortunate that I have to add this, but I do. Please do not steal verse names. Now, I understand, I did not come up with these quotes and lyrics ( there are a few that I did, however ), but I did take a great chunk of my time searching and perfecting these. I also understand that there are a few on here that are already very popular, such as the hamilton or hozier lyrics! Honestly, if we have one verse that is named the same, whatever, but I’ve seen a few people now with MULTIPLE ( up to 4 - 6 ) and it’s just made me very uncomfortable. There was even an instance where someone copied the below text, word for word, now they deleted their blog before I really had the guts to say something, but it’s just so out of hand. It’s more of a polite thing, y’know? Like be original, find your own things, if you see a verse of mine and you just love the name, let me know! 10/10 I’m probably gonna be like oh yeah use it! Because I’d rather know than to stumble across it and feel very idk violated? So yeah, that’s all, now get on to those verses! Sorry again that I had to add this! xo. 

UNCATEGORIZED.

x | v. undetermined. - for the verses that i have yet to place in a verse or for those i have forgotten which verse they belong in. 

MODERN.

x | v. it was so easy once ( MODERN ONE. ) - basic modern verses, applies to any age & any setting. 

x | v. she waits seething; blooming ( MODERN TWO. ) - high school ages and verses. 

x | v. too young for a heart so heavy ( MODERN THREE. ) - kid!verses.

x | v. ask me no questions and i’ll tell you no lies ( MODERN FOUR. ) - verse in which fox pursues a career in therapy. 

x | v. нет прошлого нет будущего ( MODERN FIVE. ) - deeply rooted russian threads. 

x | v. we can only know that we know nothing ( MODERN SIX. ) - college based verses. 

x | v. i don’t sleep i just dream ( MODERN SEVEN. ) - southern gothic / au in which fox grows up mainly in the deep south instead of russia.

x | v. near to the end of a very long adventure ( MODERN EIGHT. ) - old lady fox.

x | v. you fix others because you can’t fix yourself ( MODERN NINE. ) - nurse / doctor fox.  

TELEVISION / FILM / GAMES / NOVELS.

x | v. our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry ( ASOIAF ONE. ) - following fox’s original timeline within the asoiaf/got world. 

x | v. the soup is warm and full of vegetables ( ASOIAF TWO. ) - serving girl fox. 

x | v. the first casualty of war is innocence ( ASOIAF THREE. ) - all threads set during any time of war. 

x | v. a single day of freedom is worth more than a lifetime of chains ( ASOIAF FOUR. ) - threads in which fox is from Essos. 

x | v. i feel thin sort of stretched like butter scraped over too much bread ( TOLKIEN ONE. ) - used for all threads set within the LOTR & Tolkien fandoms. 

x | v. we can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark ( HARRY POTTER ONE. ) - all threads set within the harry potter universe. including fantastic beasts.

x | v. mankind has always feared what it doesn’t understand ( MARVEL ONE. ) - mutant verses. 

x | v. atom bomb baby ( FALLOUT ONE. ) - basic fallout threads. 

x | v. every day you fight like you’re running out of time ( DRAGON AGE ONE. ) - set during the blight, usually warden!fox. 

x | v. you have no control who lives who dies who tells your story ( DRAGON AGE TWO. ) - set during the inquisition. usually with inquisitor fox, but applicable with any sort of au of that. 

x | v. one choice can transform you ( DIVERGENT ONE. ) - base divergent verses. 

x | v. fear doesn’t shut you down; it wakes you up ( DIVERGENT TWO. ) - usually dauntless based.

x | v. it’s strange what desire will make foolish people do ( UNCHARTED ONE. ) - anything set in the uncharted universe. 

x | v. i’m not scared of dying i’m scared of living like this; the constant pain ( AHS ONE. ) - any threads set within the ahs  universe or when dealing with witches.

x | v. dude that’s complex ( ORPHAN BLACK ONE. ) - geneticist fox! 

x | v. i’m the one with the keys ( ORPHAN BLACK TWO. ) - clone!fox. 

x | v. sometimes someone hurts you so bad it stops hurting at all ( ORPHAN BLACK THREE. ) - orphan black au with a very helena-esque upbringing, fitting more with her original Russian storyline. 

x | v. the saddest people smile the brightest ( LIFE IS STRANGE ONE. ) - just your basic life is strange au. 

x | v. ruthless gravity ( JAMES BOND ONE. ) - really any spy au tbh. 

x | v. size ten chaos ( SNOWPIERCER ONE. ) - literally just snowpiercer. if you give me this i will love you forever. 

x | v. things are only impossible until they’re not ( STAR TREK ONE. ) - for all your basic star trek needs. 

x | v. always remember your focus determines your reality ( STAR WARS ONE. ) - basic star wars verse, mainly plays onto the rebellion side. 

x | v. i want to believe ( X-FILES ONE. ) - literally just the x-files all day every day. 

x | v. war is peace; freedom is slavery; ignorance is strength ( 1984 ONE. ) - give me 1984 aus and i will love you for freaking 5ever. 

HISTORIC / SCIFI. 

x | v. there is no love in war ( HISTORIC ONE. ) - WWII threads. 

x | v. we just sell different parts of ourselves ( HISTORIC TWO. ) - WWI threads. 

x | v. my funny valentine ( HISTORIC THREE. ) - 1930s - 1950s threads. 

x | v. gods smile at brave women ( HISTORIC FOUR. ) - viking era threads.

x | v. all i kept thinking about over and over was ‘you can’t live forever you can’t live forever’ ( HISTORIC FIVE. ) - 1920s threads. 

x | v. my innocence is gone forever ( HISTORIC SIX. ) - victorian era threads. 

x | v. so it goes ( SCIFI ONE. ) - anything basically set in the future. loosely based on Slaughter-House Five.