#(and even briefly opened)

[canisalbus]

I have sleeping Machete set as my lock screen specifically because it looks like his nose is pointing right at the time, and coffeshop Vasco set as my home screen because it looks like he's looking tenderly right at that chrome dino game widget

I'm a comedian, really

That's very cute actually • ^ •

[ten-simm]

"I wonder what I'd be without you"

[sentientstump]

i got silly, here's Somsnosa's greatest song about domiciles

[florshedworf]

i know i dont pay enough attention to the alien infiltrator but there’s something that “vanessa” says that i feel like hasn’t been entirely revealed yet.

they say that shiny has some sort of weapon that would “destroy them.” and sure it could’ve been something like the rainbow beam or the GUT instinct but in the final episode, neither overlord master or the alien infiltrator said anything about shiny having this deadly destructive weapon that would destroy them.

so here’s my super epic theory. i think this is a weapon that hasn’t been revealed yet, and assumedly shiny himself doesn’t even know about it. it has to be a weapon specifically in his arsenal, because they don’t mention/refer thunder despite seemingly having a bigger arsenal. so what if this weapon is going to help defeat that megatron looking thing we see at the very end of the season 1 finale.

and i have so many questions. like what would the weapon even be? shiny’s already turned into a bomb so him being the weapon seems less likely (but i would not be surprised), so it has to be something he HAS.

[wikipedie]

grief is like a really ugly couch

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it. ― Jodi Picoult, Leaving Time

[cyberslug0000]

I think I want to change my name but I can’t think of anything that suits me / feels right. I feel like it has to be a cute boyish name but kind of unusual

[momo-de-avis]

I am eternally amazed at how sensitive the portuguese are at the subject of colonialism. The idea that we practised some sort of soft colonialism is so ingrained in our minds people will be fighting for their lives to defend this idea (which, btw, is still a remnant of Salazar's propaganda). Brazil's colonialism is such a hyper sensitive topic you can see the vein popping on the neck of the average Zé when someone even lightly mentions accountability. I dead ass remember my 7th grade teacher telling our class that Brazil's colonialism consisted of "jesuit priests playing music, which enticed the natives" and that was it (flutes too, to be precise, for some fucking reason) and everyone has just blindly believed this and refused to accept the actual horrible history we're a part of. Portuguese people will be fighting for their lives on technicalities. Say "The portuguese invented the slave trade" and Salvador over there will jump from under the table to explain that akshually african people were the ones to sell their own people as slaves!!! And askhually, slavery goes back for centuries!! You know what they mean, you know what needs to be discussed here, but my boy Salvador is on a mission. He doesn't even care that he's regurgitating fascist propaganda that was entirely built on ahistorical facts that specifically sought to promote colonialism and imperialism as a progressive idea, no, none of that matters. It matters that we are miserable people who will perpetually long for the past, look back on something utterly atrocious and willingly ignore the brutality of it, because we cannot come to terms with the fact that today we live in a country that's ripe with corruption, unlivable wages and high cost of living; we cannot come to terms with the fact that we did all this colonialism just to be a poor fucking country that's being exploited by digital nomads; in fact, we just cannot tolerate the idea that we're just a summer resort for americans and brits and have absolutely no economical relevance in the world, not even cultural, but hey, cultural meaning can be invented. So we look back, we wail and cry and look back at these centuries when we pillaged, enslaved and destroyed because at least we meant something, because we once divided the world in two with Spain, that's how big our balls were once, and because once people knew who we were, they our name beyond the one football player. We purposefully disregard the horrid shit. We coast through life without ever, ever acknowledging it ever existed. We're taught in school colonialism was soft core at best, tell some bullshit about some priests with flutes and be done with it, and then when someone finally confronts us for our history, on god, we'll be fighting with everything we have to prove to you that our colonialism was just fine, and we, white men of the 16th century, showed these countries the meaning of civilisation! Orgulhosamente sós, am i right bitches

[aeoris4lovers]

Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar

There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.

It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.

Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.

He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone. 

“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”

Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.

The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside. 

As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces. 

When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.

All he said was, “Let me.”

She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.

“If you insist.”

Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time. 

Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.

Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided. 

At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep. 

Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.

And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.

In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim — it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.

And come it did.

One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.

All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.

As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions. 

“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”

And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?

How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?

It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.

[mariocki]

Evil Dead Rise (2023)

"You don't look so good, Mom..."

"Oh, nothing a big old hug and kiss from you won't fix. Open up now. Like a good girl."

[cowboyshit]

“In a perfect world these last three months just wash away and I can move forward” I know they can’t talk full details but even the small glimpse into how matt was feeling during the three months post brawl-out I don’t blame them for no longer wanting to work closely with punk tbh

[bluberimufim]

It's crying about Carmen Bizêtoperacharacter hours, everyone 💃💃

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Character Profiles: Cloudia’s paternal extended family (and Florentin)

Index: Aurèle, Jacques, Arnaud, Anaïs, Gérard, the Marquis, Anselme, Sylviane, Amélie, Firmin, Florentin, Horace, Quincy, Abigail (Percival's siblings)

(All character ages are as of the latest chapter, or when they died. All information as of the latest chapter too.)

Navigation: Main and extras | Cloudia's grandparents and maternal extended family | Cloudia's paternal extended family (and Florentin) | Other servants and employees | Antagonists | Scotland Yard and misc.

Name: Aurèle Beauchene

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: May 20, 1829

Age: 19

Physical description: dark brown hair, brown eyes; he resembles his grandfather the most out of all grandchildren

Affiliation: Beauchene family; Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Favourite Colour: grey, blue

Favourite Flower: lavender

Favourite Dessert: chocolate cake, pain d’épices

What is in his bag? knife, handkerchief, bandage, sharpening stone, another softer handkerchief for glasses, another knife, comb, more knives

Random fact(s):

His favourite dish is quiche Lorraine.

Because his uncle took rather long to get married and have children, Aurèle was regarded as his eventual successor and educated as such. This was only phased out when Gérard was born. (All Beauchene/Dupont children receive excellent, special education nonetheless.) If Aurèle had remained his uncle’s heir, he would have taken the Dupont surname upon succeeding him.

Aurèle was relieved when Gérard was born because he always thought he was unfit to become the Marquis one day. (He also worries about his little cousin in that regard.)

Background info: He was originally named Gervais before I accidentally named the original Clockmaker character that too. I then changed his name to Aurèle, but Gervais the Clockmaker ended up getting replaced by Florentin.

First appearance: The Countess, Travelling (Chapter 21)

----

Name: Jacques Beauchene

Nickname(s): Jacky

Birthday: February 12, 1835

Age: 13

Physical description: brown hair, brown eyes, glasses

Affiliation: Beauchene family; Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Favourite Colour: green

Favourite Flower: very difficult to choose!

Favourite Dessert: cakes with fruits, particularly strawberry cake

What is in his bag? book, notebook, pencil, glasses case, handkerchief, a secondary notebook, a little telescope, compass

Random fact(s):

He used to be a bit afraid of ghosts when he was little. Now, he does not believe in anything paranormal or supernatural.

He wants to be a researcher and author for wildlife and nature. Although his parents assured him it was fine to pursue this goal, Jacques still feels odd not to help with/take part in the “family business” at all in the future.

He’s a bit embarrassed that he still occasionally requires a night light.

Background info: None.

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: Arnaud Beauchene

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: October 15, 1839

Age: 8

Physical description: black hair, green-blue eyes

Affiliation: Beauchene family; Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Favourite Colour: red, blue

Favourite Flower: marguerite, purple hyacinth

Favourite Dessert: soufflé

What is in his bag? marbles, card game, notebook, pencil, small toy train, hair ribbons, handkerchief, tissues, small whetstone

Random fact(s):

Because he has always been so quiet and unintentionally blends in with the wallpaper, Jacques used to believe in ghosts for a while.

Arnaud hears and sees quite a lot but prefers to keep his discoveries and observations to himself.

He’s set to become Gérard’s right-hand man when he becomes the Marquis.

Background info: None.

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: Anaïs Dupont

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: September 21, 1840

Age: 7

Physical description: red-brown hair, blue eyes

Affiliation: Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Favourite Colour: red, purple

Favourite Flower: iris, anemone

Favourite Dessert: everything with pomegranate

What is in her bag? handkerchief, small faerie doll; she has the habit of not carrying around a lot (i.a. because she sometimes loses things)

Random fact(s):

She liked faeries before her near-fatal fever.

While she likes faerie stories the best, she is very enthusiastic about myths and legends in general. She is particularly interested in Celtic (because of the faeries) and Greek mythology; her favourite Greek myth is that of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Background info: She was originally named Amable and is now named after Anaïs from The Amazing World of Gumball. (She gets a bit of her personality from her too!)

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: Gérard Dupont

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: March 22, 1845

Age: 3

Physical description: light brown hair, blue eyes

Affiliation: Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Favourite Colour: blue, yellow

Favourite Flower: the colourful ones

Favourite Dessert: chocolate cake

What is in his bag? too small to carry a bag, but keeps a stuffed toy close by and his pockets are filled with all sorts of things

Random fact(s): By 1889, no one calls him by his given name anymore as he has become the new Marquis.

Background info:

He was originally meant to be five, not three years old.

Gérard was originally set to become the Aristocrat of Evil with the scarred eye before I changed my mind.

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: ??? Dupont

Nickname(s): The Marquis

Birthday: 1762

Age: 86

Physical description: grey, formerly brown hair, green eyes

Affiliation: Dupont family

Occupation: The Marquis

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Random fact(s):

He had a very happy and loving marriage with his wife Séphora. (She had red hair which her son and granddaughter inherited.) She passed away in 1840.

He tried his hand at clockmaking too which frustrated Florentin because the Marquis was not good at it, and Florentin feared for his workshop and utensils. (The Marquis wasn’t being serious and only wanted to annoy Florentin; he was actually bad at watchmaking though.)

He grew up without any cousins. Because of this and the fact that he is a decade older than his sister and only lived with her for about ten years, the Marquis was a bit lonely in his childhood and youth. He’s rather happy that his grandchildren are so close-knit and get along well (most of the time).

Background info:

The Dupont family’s title was meant to be longer “The Marquis of […],” but I decided to scrap it because it was a very dumb reference to something. There was also meant to be a title for the heir which was cut as well.

I decided on his given name early on. It’s a funny one.

First appearance: The Countess, Mystery (Chapter 22)

----

Name: Anselme Dupont

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: 1800

Age: 48

Physical description: red-brown hair, green-blue eyes

Affiliation: Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Random fact(s): He was quite the lady-killer for a long time and already marked off as an “eternal bachelor” until he met his wife ten years ago.

Background info: He was originally named André. I changed his name because that was the name of one of my driving instructors, and I did not like driving lessons. (I did not end up getting my license.)

First appearance: The Countess, Malady - Part 4 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Sylviane Dupont (née Lavoie)

Nickname(s): Sylvi

Birthday: 1805

Age: 43

Physical description: blonde hair, blue eyes

Affiliation: Dupont family

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Random fact(s): She was tragically widowed twice before she met Anselme. (One fiancé also died before they got married.) Men began avoiding her after her second husband’s accidental death, believing she was a black widow. (In reality, she really was just that unlucky.) Sylviane had made peace with never marrying again or having children until she encountered Anselme.

Background info: She was originally named Renée. I changed her name because I didn’t like it and because I wanted to have as few names with accents as possible.

First appearance: The Countess, Malady - Part 4 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Amélie Beauchene (née Dupont)

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: 1802

Age: 46

Physical description: brown hair, green-blue eyes

Affiliation: Beauchene family; Dupont family

Occupation: Baronne

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Random fact(s): She’s secretly a little nature nerd as well for which her brother used to tease her (and still does sometimes to this day). It was very refreshing to her when she met Firmin, and he treated her the same as everyone else.

Background info: Her name was always “Amelie,” but it was initially spelled differently and weirdly as a silly nod to her father’s given name. Because I didn’t know how the odd spelling would affect the name’s pronunciation, I settled on the more normal “Amélie.”

First appearance: The Countess, Malady - Part 4 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Firmin Beauchene

Nickname(s): None

Birthday: 1798

Age: 50

Physical description: black hair, light brown eyes, glasses

Affiliation: Beauchene family; Dupont family

Occupation: Baron

Base of Operations: Château de Dupont; Château de Charbonneau (temporarily)

Random fact(s): When Amélie expressed her wish to marry him, her entire family was unsupportive because they thought they were an odd match and that Firmin would not fit into the family. The Marquis was the only one who approved him; the others eventually warmed up to him.

Background info: Like with the Marquis, he had a “full” title early on until I decided to leave it out. It was “Baron de Lorraine-Lillebonne,” and I got it from a random title generator.

First appearance: The Countess, Malady - Part 4 (Chapter 23)

----

Name: Florentin Chastain

Nickname(s): The Clockmaker

Birthday: September 9, around 1400

Age: 400+ (about 30 physically)

Physical description: short brown hair, phosphorescent chartreuse eyes, tall and lean; occasionally wears tinted glasses but dislikes them

Affiliation: Grim Reaper Dispatch (former); the Marquis (sort of begrudgingly)

Occupation: Grim Reaper (deserted); Clockmaker

Base of Operations: Grim Reaper Dispatch (former); his workshop in the woods

Favourite Colour: everything except green

Favourite Flower: doesn’t care

Favourite Dessert: angel wings, beignet

What is in his bag? various tools, some loose gears, a glasses case, a small pocket knife, very old Ohropax (he wished he had taken more)

Random fact(s):

He deserted at some point during the witch trials (they were poorly documented in France; very few executions were officially confirmed, but many, many more are presumed). It was a bleak time all over Europe (that the witch trials overlapped with constant recurrences of the plague did not help), and it made him realise the endlessness and pointlessness of his job.

Florentin became a clockmaker not long after deserting. He also became a matchmaker when he (by chance) introduced the Marquis to his wife.

He went on many adventures with the Marquis and although he would never admit it, he enjoyed some of them at least.

Background info:

The bare bones of his character come from a scrapped one-shot about Cloudia and Undertaker, with Undertaker being a very odd “clockmaker” living in the woods, and Cloudia the person who delivers his “goods.” Because I had difficulties writing it, it was eventually replaced by my one-shot “Warming” (which I wrote for a Christmas event). As I still liked the idea, I added a clockmaker Grim Reaper to WotQ (though the situation and details differ from the original one-shot idea).

The original WotQ Clockmaker character Gervais was very, very different to Florentin. I decided to replace him with Florentin because while Gervais did have ties to Grim Reapers, the story ultimately required a different kind of character – a deserted Grim Reaper. (I still like Gervais though.)

First appearance: The Countess, Clockmaker - Part 2 (Chapter 24)

----

Name: Horace Phantomhive

Nickname(s): Hoho (only his sister called him that)

Birthday: 1761

Age: 24 (at time of death; 1785)

Physical description: black hair, green-blue eyes

Affiliation: Phantomhive family; Weston College (former)

Occupation: Lord of Phantomhive; Prefect of Sapphire Owl (former)

Base of Operations: Phantomhive Manor; Phantomhive townhouse

Random fact(s):

The eldest of Octavius and Florence Phantomhive’s four children. He was “the perfect heir and son” in every way. Unfortunately, he and his twin died in a carriage “accident,” and he never succeeded his father as Earl and Watchdog.

Horace and his twin were rather aloof, keeping away from their younger siblings, so he was, despite his other qualities not a “perfect brother.” When Percival became family head, he found some interesting things his brothers had hidden away in the manor.

His middle name was “Greyson” which, just like Percival’s middle name, was never used by his parents. Horace occasionally used it as a fake surname.

Background info: I’m very for “all Phantomhives’ names contain a ‘c’” but then went and completely failed with Percival’s siblings because his original name was Horatio. However, I just noticed that I’ve never stated his name in WotQ so far although he was briefly mentioned, so I’m very quickly and sneakily fixing his name.

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Lady, First Training; Chapter 10)

----

Name: Quincy Phantomhive

Nickname(s): Q, Queeny (only his sister called him that)

Birthday: 1761

Age: 24 (at time of death; 1785)

Physical description: black hair, green-blue eyes

Affiliation: Phantomhive family; Weston College (former)

Occupation: None

Base of Operations: Phantomhive Manor; Phantomhive townhouse

Random fact(s):

As he was younger than Horace by a few minutes, he was the spare. He never minded it much though because he liked being “in the shadows.” He and his twin were very close and secretive.

His middle name was “Farran” which, again, was never used by his parents. He and his siblings were united in their confusion at least.

While Horace could be a bit stuck-up, Quincy was only a bit more relaxed. He was not much of a jokester but could at least crack some jokes every once in a while.

Background info:

His original name was Joseph which I just changed to adhere to my own little naming rules. I decided to rename him “Quincy” so that he and his brother could be theme-named after the poet Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus).

He was originally four years younger than Horace before I decided to make them twins.

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Lady, First Training; Chapter 10)

----

Name: Abigail Stafford (née Phantomhive)

Nickname(s): Abby

Birthday: 1770

Age: 29 (at time of death; 1799)

Physical description: light brown (on the verge of dark blonde) hair, grey eyes

Affiliation: Stafford family; Phantomhive family

Occupation: Baroness; Lady of Phantomhive (former)

Base of Operations: Stafford Manor; Stafford townhouse; Phantomhive Manor (former); Phantomhive townhouse (former)

Random fact(s):

She always appreciated the fact that she looked very different from her black-haired (blue)-green-eyed brothers and that her grey eyes were “all hers.”

The jokester of her sibling group, much to the annoyance of her brothers (especially Percival to whom she was the closest).

Abigail married in her early twenties but did not immediately want children. In the end, she never had any because she died in a terrible incident related to Watchdog work. (It shook up Genevieve and Percival a lot, and they didn’t speak (much) of Abigail afterwards.)

Like her brothers, she had an “unused” middle name: Delora.

Background info:

Unfortunately for me, I did mention her before by name, so I cannot sneakily change it to something that contains a “c.” At any rate, I did like the fact a bit that I messed up the (original) names of Percival’s siblings because they all died before him. Only the one sibling whose name always had a “c” in it became the successor and reached his thirties (and even his fifties!). A little accidental “curse” on my side.

Her husband’s given name is “Abraham” in my notes. I do have some name overlaps (Theodore Clifford and Theodore Sycamore, for example), so I’m a little undecided whether to change his name or not. But then, it does not really matter because he has no bearing on anything whatsoever.

First appearance: Mentioned only (First: The Lady, First Training; Chapter 10)

[starrytalking]

Recently I was at a meet-up-thing for a-spec people and one of the older ones who organise these meet-ups said in the course of a conversation “well I’m ace and whatever sort of attraction I might feel every time a full moon aligns with the bloom of a special flower won’t shake my understanding of myself, I’m secure enough in who I am to not let that shatter my picture of myself” (that was a very loose quote but I think u get what she meant). And I just found it so funny cause she said it like it was a ridiculous thought to herself, that something small like that could impact herself so much because she’s obviously very at piece and secure with and in her asexuality and while I’m also quite sure of myself in that regard nowadays, there was a long period of time where a random maybe-attraction could definitely make myself question my whole sexuality all over again so that ridiculous thought was and in parts still is a reality to me. And I think this really beautifully shows how self-discovery is a process that we’re all taking at our own pace but that can “end” at some point where we can still be open to new feelings and realisations but where we can have found a way to self-identify that makes us be secure in who we are and where the path of self-discovery is less a daily shattering of our perception of ourselves and more a stable ground we can be free to make new experiences on.

[cuntstable]

oh my god i forgord that people genuinely ship pucci with dio sons especially donatello. what the fuck like they do that for real not just jokes…………. what would they even talk about i genuinely cannot imagine an interaction between them that isnt pucci just being annoying and condescending and donatello going KYS old bitch🖕

[unopenablebox]

i wish that the work retreat dance party every year did not remind me that i think [faculty member redacted] is really hot

normally i don’t think this bc he’s kind of a dick to his trainees but in a stupid work event dance floor setting i am instead reminded that he’s pretty and gay and a kind of terrible but earnest and dedicated dancer

all of which just is hot imo

fortunately when we return to the real world i will cease to think this because i will instead be distracted by my moderate disapproval of his performance as a manager and my perplexity at the choices he makes for his lab space

[misteradrianmonk]

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