#Salamis-class

[gundamfight]

[timminear]

want to work out but futon so comfy……

[excusumi]

The classic murder mystery game Cluedo meets Duck Detective: The Secret Salami, one of my favourite games I played this year!

Created this packaging for my illustration exam! Super happy how it turned out. 🦆⭐️

[fruitjellyforbugs]

i need to paint the hollow knight eating some salami but im too burnt out from class ough

[lanaevyssmoved]

They might take a very nice salami or two.

like, as food? or a weapon

i think swen could take a salami over the head

[probablyasocialecologist]

Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.

[willowsnook]

Wouldn't have it any other way

rye with salami, ranch, and mikes way please and thank you! (idk if i did that right, i've never done this before)

jack hughes x reporter!reader

she isn’t you

——————————————————

Working as a reporter covering the NHL was a childhood dream of yours that came true. You worked your ass off in college, having internships each summer which led to an opportunity at ESPN that turned full-time after you graduated. You were ecstatic when they moved you to New Jersey to cover the Devils. It had been six months and so far you had gotten along well with all the players…well except one.

“Ya we got whacked two games in a row, so the last thing you want to do is stand and talk in front of you guys,” Jack Hughes told the small group of reporters crowding his locker, you included. You rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say, sweetheart?,” he said, eyes honing in on you.

You felt your cheeks flush with anger at his condescending tone. "It's our job to ask questions, Hughes. If you can't handle that, maybe you should find a new career."

The locker room fell silent, all eyes darting between you and Jack. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.

"And maybe you should find a new team to cover if you can't handle a little attitude," he shot back.

The tension was palpable. You'd butted heads with Jack since day one, his arrogance rubbing you the wrong way. But this felt different, more charged.

"I can handle you," you replied, holding his gaze. "Question is, can you handle the heat when you're not performing on the ice?"

A collective intake of breath from the other reporters. Jack's eyes flashed dangerously.

"That's enough," the Devils’ PR manager said, ushering the reporters out of the locker room. You shot Jack one last glare as you followed the rest of the pool out. You knew you were going to get your ass chewed by your boss but you couldn’t help it. Jack was infuriating.

Unfortunately, your phone rang the second you were out of the arena and you listened to your boss rant at you. The moment was apparently already blowing up on social media and it was not a good look for you or Jack really. Half of the internet said you were too young to be in your job and wildly unprofessional while the other half defended you, calling Jack a dick who needs to respect women. There was another weird fan side of hockey twitter that were now actively shipping the two of you together, claiming it could be a perfect enemies-to-lovers story.

—————————————————————-

Headphones in, you watched workers out the window as they loaded luggage onto your plane. New Jersey to Vancouver was a long flight so you had splurged, upgrading yourself to first class to try maybe and get some actual sleep. The seat next to you was still empty and as the time ticked by you grew more hopeful that it would remain that way but nothing good lasts forever.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice called out next to you and you looked up to meet the eyes of none other than Jack Hughes.

Your heart sank as Jack glared down at you, his tall frame looming over your seat. Of all the people to be stuck next to for a cross-country flight, it had to be him.

“Why aren’t you flying with the team?” You questioned.

“I overslept and missed the flight,” he muttered and you snorted.

Jack huffed as he stowed his carry-on and slid into the seat beside you. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You both sat rigidly, avoiding eye contact as the rest of the passengers boarded.

As the plane began to move, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Jack. His jaw was clenched, hands gripping the armrests tightly. Was he... nervous?

"You okay there, Hughes? Not scared of flying, are you?" you teased, unable to resist.

He shot you a withering look. "I'm fine.”

But as the plane started to take off his breathing grew more rapid and you started to get concerned. You hit a bit of turbulence trying to level out, and Jack’s hand moved towards yours, gripping it tightly.

“Sorry,” he rasped, but you kept your hand in his, caressing his skin softly with your thumb.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Just try and breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped and you rolled his eyes. “I need you to distract me.”

“How?”

“Just tell me something about you I don’t know,” he asked looking over at you pleadingly.

“Hockey isn’t my favorite sport,” you said instantly. It felt like your dirty secret being a hockey reporter, but it was the truth.

Jack let out a strained chuckle, “oh yeah, what is?”

“Football,” you replied and he nodded at you to keep going. “I fell in love with it when I was just a kid watching Brett Farve. Him leaving the Packers was my first real heartbreak in life. I like college football more now and while I love the atmosphere of hockey, there is nothing like a Saturday night home game in the palace. The lights illuminating the fields, the smell of popocorn and hotdogs, the fight song playing in the background, and everyone knows that $20 beer tastes better watching your favorite team. What’s more romantic than that?”

If Jack didn’t have the history he had with you, he thought he might have fell in love with you right then and there. His grip on your hand loosened slightly as he listened to you speak, his breathing becoming more even. He found himself captivated by the passion in your voice as you described your love for football.

"I never would have guessed," he said softly, a hint of a smile on his face. "You always seemed so... intense about hockey."

You shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable having shared something so personal. "It's my job. I take it seriously."

"Maybe too seriously sometimes," Jack muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

The plane leveled out and you both realized you were still holding hands. You quickly pulled away, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Thanks," Jack said, avoiding your gaze. "For, you know... helping me through that."

You nodded, unsure how to respond. This was the most civil conversation you'd ever had with Jack Hughes, and it felt weird. The rest of the flight went by without a spectacle; you were happy to catch some shut-eye, and woke up as you were about to land, Jack nudging you awake. He grabbed your bag for you, and you followed him off the plane, stopping when he turned to face you.

“Back to our regularly scheduled business of hating each other,” he said with a smirk, and you laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Hughes,” you shot back before heading off.

—————————————————————————

After a long call with your boss the next day, you were very irritated. Since the Devils were playing the Canucks, he wanted a short fluff piece about the Hughes brothers reuniting.

“It won’t be that bad,” Luke said after you tracked him down to tell him about the assignment. “You love me, and Quinn will love you.”

“I’m not worried about you two,” you told him with a look. “I’m worried about your other brother, who makes me want to jump off a cliff.”

“You’re dramatic,” he said, crossing his arms and you huffed. “We are all getting dinner tonight; just come with us. It’ll be a good chance to see us all off the ice.”

Later that night, you find yourself in the lobby with Luke, waiting on his brothers. Dressed down and out of your business wear, you felt more like yourself in a cute white sweater and jeans. Jack stepped out of the elevator and you immediately crossed your arms, already not in a good mood seeing him.

“Why is she here?” He asked Luke, completely ignoring you.

“She is writing a piece on the three of us, so I thought it would be nice to let her see the non-hockey side of things,” Luke explained and Jack groaned. Quinn stuck out his hand to introduce himself, and you smiled warmly at the oldest brother.

“So you’re the one who has little Jack by the balls?” He teased and Jack shoved him while you laughed.

You and Jack didn’t say a word to each other on the way to the restaurant and you luckily ended up being diagonal from him. It was a steakhouse but you weren’t that into steak so you opted for a grilled chicken salad with no tomatoes of course. Remembering that you were here for work, you kept quiet just observing the brothers.

"Remember when Jack tried to dye his hair blonde and it turned orange instead?" Quinn chuckled, earning a glare from Jack.

"Hey, at least I didn't cry when mom cut my mullet," Jack shot back, causing Luke to nearly spit out his drink.

You couldn't help but smile, seeing this different side of Jack. He was more relaxed, his guard down as he joked with his brothers. You caught yourself staring at him a few times, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

The waiter soon returned with your food and you sighed as you watched your salad be placed in front of you with the tomatoes you had asked to be left out. You were never one to send something back, so you accepted your fate and unrolled your silverware.

“Everything look good?” The waiter asked. You nodded absentmindedly as Jack opened his mouth.

“She asked for no tomatoes,” he said, pointing to your salad. Your head snapped up and the waiter began to apologize.

“Oh it’s okay,” you said, trying to wave him off but Jack gave you a stern look that made you sit back.

“Don’t like tomatoes?” He mused. “Kind of childish, don’t you think?”

“You literally ordered a lemonade,” you shot back and his eyes narrowed at you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s every kid’s favorite drink,” you retorted.

Jack scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sophisticated Palette. Let me guess, you’re a black coffee type, right? So edgy.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your soda. “At least I don’t need a sugar rush to get through lunch.”

“And yet, here you are, drowning in soda. Classy.”

You gestured to his plate with a smug smile. “Says the guy who’s been avoiding the broccoli on his plate like it owes him money.”

Jack’s smirk faltered, and he glanced down at the offending vegetable. “It’s not avoidance. I’m saving the best for last.”

“Sure you are. Must be why it’s still untouched and getting cold.”

“You know, you’re a lot braver with your words when I don’t have a hockey stick in my hands.”

You shot him a fake, sweet smile. “And you’re a lot more tolerable when you keep your mouth shut.”

Quinn and Luke were thoroughly entertained as they observed the back-and-forth banter between you.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Luke said, looking at Quinn once you and Jack had finally stopped.

“Jack finally met his match,” he commented, prompting an eye roll from the mentioned brother.

The rest of the dinner passed with a mix of tension and grudging amusement between you and Jack, while Quinn and Luke kept the conversation flowing. As you all left the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at how quickly you and Jack fell back into your antagonistic pattern.

"So, got enough material for your fluff piece?" Jack asked sarcastically as you walked back to the hotel.

You sighed, "Probably. Though I'm not sure how to write about the Hughes brothers' dynamic without mentioning how insufferable one of them is."

Jack chuckled, surprising you. "Just make sure to mention how charming and handsome that one is too."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "In your dreams, Hughes."

As you reached the hotel, Luke and Quinn said their goodbyes, leaving you and Jack alone in the lobby. An awkward silence lingering in the air between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He asked and you gave him a weird look, trying to figure out his angle.

“Where else would I be? I’m always front row waiting for you to mess up,” you joked and he gave you a playful frown.

“Very funny,” he said before bidding you goodbye and going up to his room. Things felt different between the two of you tonight, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

———————————————————————-

The Devils beat the Canucks handily and you found yourself with a couple of other reporters waiting for Jack, who had scored, and a new girl that you didn’t recognize.

“Hi Jack,” the girl called out as he got settled and he looked at her amused. She looked like a puck bunny who had snuck in; beach blonde hair, fake spray tan, low cut top, you knew the type. Jesus, what had gotten into you, you thought, trying to shake off your cattiness.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before,” he commented and she giggled. Literally giggled in response. The other reporters were amused but you kept your lips in a firm line.

“You were so great out there; it’s so impressive how hard you work,” she said and he smiled awkwardly thanking her. “Do you ever get scared when the puck comes at you?"

You couldn’t help but snort out loud when she asked that and Jack looked amused at you.

Jack’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk growing wider before he turned back to the blonde with a practiced ease.

"So," he said, leaning casually against the bench, "you’re new to the media scrum, huh? They usually send someone more…" He glanced at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Experienced."

The girl giggled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, well, I’m just filling in today. I guess I got lucky getting to talk to you."

"Guess I got lucky too," he said smoothly, his tone playful. "Usually, I’m stuck with—" He cut himself off, letting his eyes flick to you with mock innocence. "Well, people who don’t seem to enjoy the job as much as you do."

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your face neutral, scribbling something completely irrelevant in your notebook to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"So," the blonde continued, practically glowing under his attention, "what’s it like to be so focused all the time? You’re just so… intense on the ice."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Takes a lot of practice. But I don’t think I’m half as intense as you just now."

Her eyes widened, and she laughed, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. "Oh my God, stop! I’m just trying to do my job."

"And you’re doing it very well," he replied, his voice low and charming.

You shut your notebook loudly, drawing Jack’s attention as you stormed out of the locker room, your cheeks flushed with anger and... something else you didn't want to acknowledge. You made it halfway down the hall before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!" Jack's voice called out. "Where are you going?"

You spun around, glaring at him. "Away from that circus. I have actual work to do."

He jogged up to you, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. "What's your problem? Jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Of what? Your ability to charm airheads?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, that's pretty harsh. What happened to journalistic integrity?"

"What happened to professionalism?" You shot back. "Or do you always flirt with reporters during interviews?"

His expression shifted, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.

“You are jealous,” he said confidently and you were about to argue back but he grabbed a door handle behind you, yanking the door open and pulling you in it. It was a smaller equipment closet, but you didn’t have much time to look around before Jack had you tight against his body.

“She isn’t you sweetheart,” he said as your body flushed against his.

Your breath caught in your throat as Jack's words sank in. The closet suddenly felt much smaller, the air thick with tension. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling against yours.

"What are you doing, Hughes?" you managed to whisper, your voice betraying your conflicted emotions.

His eyes searched yours, intense and unreadable. "Something I've wanted to do for a long time," he murmured before closing the distance between you.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and insistent. For a moment, you were too shocked to respond. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you found yourself kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss was everything you never knew you wanted - passionate, electrifying, and months of frustration bubbling over. His hands moved under your shirt and up your back as his touch burned your skin. Resting your head back against the wall, he took advantage, latching on to your neck, sucking harshly.

“More,” you gasped. “I need more.”

He pulled your shirt over your head and you unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes glazed over, looking at your chest and you smirked before tugging at his shirt. He lifted it off and you admired his toned body, tracing your finger down his abs. His breath hitched as he watched you and you smirked seeing the bulge against his sweats get bigger.

Jack's eyes darkened as he watched your finger trail down his abs. In one swift motion, he lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips found yours again in a searing kiss as his hips ground against you, eliciting a soft moan from your throat.

"God, you drive me crazy," he breathed against your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Your hands roamed his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing under your touch. Jack's mouth moved lower, trailing hot kisses down your collarbone to your breasts. You arched into him as he took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Jack," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. He looked up at you, a mix of lust and something softer. “I need you in me.”

“Let me savor this sweetheart,” he pouted and you shook your head.

“Not the time or place,” you argued back and he sighed. Pulling down his pants, you spit into your hand before bringing it to his cock, pumping a few times, causing him to hiss. Shimmying out of your pants, you let him lift you against the wall, angling himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“Just this once,” you said and he rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he replied and you started to argue back but he pushed in and your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

Jack began to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm. You clung to his shoulders, biting back moans as he hit just the right spot with each stroke. The closet filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin.

"God, you feel amazing," Jack groaned, his pace increasing. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, urging him deeper.

"Harder," you demanded, nails digging into his back. He complied, slamming into you with renewed vigor.

The tension that had been building between you for months was finally finding release. Every thrust, every touch was electric. You couldn't get enough of him.

"I'm close," you panted, feeling the familiar tightening in your core. Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urged and you cried out, his hand coming up to muffle the noise. Riding out your orgasm, you were clenching hard around him and he grunted as he kept up the pace, pounding into you.

As your walls continued to contract around him, Jack couldn't hold back any longer. He buried his face in your neck, groaning out your name as he spilled into you.

For a few moments, all that could be heard was your heavy breathing as you both came down from the intense high. Jack leaned his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your skin. You both took a few minutes to catch your breath before Jack slowly pulled out of you. You winced slightly and Jack gave you a concerned look. He handed you your clothes and you quickly put them back on, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n,” he said softly and you finally looked over at him. His face was flushed, hair all over the place, but the look he was giving you made you want to take your clothes right back off.

“This was just two people blowing off steam, nothing more,” you said and he grinned widely.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I hook up with that other girl next time instead?” He asked and you frowned before quickly morphing into a neutral expression but Jack had already caught it.

“Ugh,” you exclaimed before opening the door slowly, peeking out before you walked out. Jack was right behind you and you thought the coast was clear until you walked right into Quinn and Luke. You froze and felt Jack still behind you as he saw his brothers.

“What were you two doing?” Luke asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“We were just talking,” you defended, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh yeah? In the supply closet?” Quinn teased.

“It was quieter than the locker room,” Jack said.

“Didn’t sound that quiet,” Quinn shot back.

Your face burned with embarrassment as Quinn's words sank in. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Jack or his brothers, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I... I have to go," you mumbled, pushing past Luke and Quinn without meeting their eyes. You practically ran down the hallway, desperate to distance yourself and the Hughes brothers as much as possible.

Once safely in your hotel room, you collapsed onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. What had you done? Hooking up with Jack Hughes in a supply closet was bad enough, but getting caught by his brothers? Your career could be over if word got out.

Your phone buzzed with a text. Hesitantly, you checked it, half-expecting it to be Jack. Instead, it was from Luke:

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with us. But you might want to figure your shit out with Jack ;)”

You groaned, turning over, trying not to think about what happened in the closet or what it meant for you and Jack.

[jaxmos]

🚨CHUK'KELLS THE CLOWN UPDATE🚨 He's recently acquired salami, which alongside being camp supplies (6, lovely stuff) are also FINESSE WEAPONS and you can have TWO OF THEM

he's on a new quest to cleanse the world of evil with cured meats

(you can also set them on fire 10/10 GOTY)

baldur's gate 3 is already GOTY in my books because i can finally bring my wonderful 5E creation, CHUK'KELLS THE CLOWN, to life

[octuscle]

January 03: It was clear that the gym was going to be packed. All good intentions. I made an appointment with Jan. I thought that if I had a personal trainer, it would be easier for me to keep my resolutions. Jan has an incredibly well-trained body, a stunning smile and a motivating manner. I could imagine that getting into shape with him would be fun.

January 08: Yesterday I trained on my own. So I was on the cross trainer for 30 minutes. That's more than I did in total last year. Overheard a couple of teenagers in the changing room talking about doing an extreme tren cycle. I asked Jan what that was. He told me to stay away from that stuff. If I really wanted support, he would know better stuff. But first I should try to achieve the success I wanted through training.

January 14: It's unbelievable, but I think the training is already having an effect. My pants are looser and my shirts are no longer so tight around my stomach. Nevertheless, I can't help but admire Jan's perfect body. I asked him what he would recommend to see faster progress. He told me that he would bring me an injection tomorrow. Something you inject into the fold of your stomach. Four units, lasts four weeks. If I liked it and tolerated it well, I could continue the treatment and increase the dose.

January 15. I am overwhelmed by the immediate effect of this injection. Jan explained to me that it realigns the hormone balance. This leads to a change in diet and training behavior, which I felt immediately. I didn't want to stop training at all. When Jan's session was over, I went to a boxing aerobics class and then went swimming for an hour. I literally had to be thrown out of the gym. After that, I had to find a supermarket where I could get some rice and chicken breast. I was incredibly hungry.

January 18: My colleagues all went to the Italian restaurant during their lunch break today. I had no desire for spaghetti bolognese or pizza with salami. I went for a half-hour run and then ate my prepared lunch in the social room. i now eat three times during the day in the office. i'm almost insatiably hungry.

January 21: I don't feel like the effect of the injection has worn off. Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to my next dose tomorrow. When I look in the mirror, I can see something like muscles! The fat is melting, the muscles are growing. The effect is incredible. But I've also completely changed my day. Swimming in the morning before work, running at lunchtime, lifting iron in the evening. With and without Jan, every day. Otherwise I'd be missing something.

January 24: Maybe I'm spending too much time with Jan. Today I called a customer “bro” in a meeting in the presence of my boss. The man was 50 years old, I assume. Okay, that was out of place. But I'm in the office for eight hours and I do eight hours of sport. The time in the gym is probably starting to wear off. And it's getting expensive. I've already ruined two shirts. And the suits look ridiculous on me. They just don't fit anymore. I'll have to go shopping tomorrow.

january 25. Jan said we could go shopping together, he needs new clothes too. And he also advised me not to spend too much money. In a week's time, nothing might fit me again. I haven't bought a suit at all. A pair of sweatshorts, a pair of jeans. T-shirts. Polo shirts for the office. That will have to be enough for the growth phase.

February 12: Damn, I haven't written in a while. I mean, writing sucks too. Takes up time I could be pumping up my biceps. I'm in trouble at the office. My boss tells me to buy a suit, jeans and a polo shirt are against the dress code. Okay, I've been mistaken for a courier or something three times. Maybe it's also because I look really fresh and younger. It's unbelievable, but the bald patch on my head has shrunk and the gray hair is dark brown again.

Feb 16: Dude, just hit my fifth jab. First one with the beast mode dose. Bro, it hits hard! Swimming and running? Snooze fest, man. Hitting the gym in the AM, lunchtime, and even PM. Okay, maybe a little solo session in the morning too. Bros, I’m telling ya, the horniness is real! Got wet dreams every other night, and I’m still busting a nut two or three times a day. I could probably shave three times a day too. And my hair's getting wild, gotta ask Jan where he gets that sick undercut.

Feb 20: Bro, my boss is sayin' I gotta show up tomorrow either fresh outta the shower and suited up or I’m lookin' at a new gig in the warehouse or gettin’ fired. I mean, the warehouse could be chill. Sure, less dough, but whatever, I’m down to find a cheaper pad closer to that new gym Jan hyped up. He said I need somewhere to lift those heavy weights, bro. I’d be leveling up on the way to massive gains. Man, I think he’s on to something!

Mar 28: Yo bros, sorry I’ve been MIA for a minute. Life’s been crazy. New job’s dope, I can pump iron at work now. No more showering, win-win. Jan hooked me up with a side gig at the new gym—keeping an eye on the floor and mopping at night. Getting some extra cash, gym’s free and I'm scoring sick discounts on gear. Living my best life, for real!

Another side job is modelling @truevikingblood-blog

[kaysdenofchaos]

Having a common deadname is always a jumpscare

That being said did not expect to hear it in class during a conversation about good pet names

Shoutout to my black lab that I spent like a day calling Salami

[theocddiaries]

Wade: Thank you. Logan: Bub, you don't have to say thank you every time we have sex. Wade: Oh. Okay. Tomorrow you're going to get a card in the mail. Just throw it away. (clattering) Dopinder: Good morning, guys! Wade: …What are you doing here? Dopinder: I thought I'd come over here and make you guys scrambled eggs and salami. It's the perfect meal for après l'amour. Logan: Oh, kill me. Dopinder: By the way, I couldn't help overhearing your big finish. Bravo, Wade. Logan: …See, if you had killed me when I said "kill me," I wouldn't have had to hear that. Dopinder: What do you guys think? Want to take in a matinee, maybe go rollerblading, catch a step class? Logan: Do something. Wade: Okay. Um, Dopinder, we need to talk. Dopinder: Sure. 'Sup, Holmes? Wade: Uh… Please understand that it's not that we don't want you around, But Logan and I occasionally need some… Alone time. Dopinder: Oh. I--I get it, I'm the third wheel. (chuckles). Sorry, I should have seen that. I'll get out of your way. Uh, you're gonna want to eat those eggs while they're still hot. Wade: …Thank you. Dopinder: There's lox and cream cheese in the fridge. The bagels are in the oven, I was… warming them up. Logan: Great. Dopinder: I'm just going to hang out with my mom That's always fun… Logan: Good. Dopinder [leaves the house] Logan: …Are we terrible people? Wade: I don't know. What do you want me to do? Logan: Get him; bring him back. Wade: Are you sure? Logan: Yeah. Wade: Okay. Dopinder come back. Dopinder [walks in the house in a second]: Oh, you guys had me scared for a minute!

[xirayn]

Long distance Stonathan as requested by @fortnightdjo

---

"So when are we going to meet this imaginary boyfriend of yours, Country Club?"

Steve finishes mixing the bloody mary Rosanne Thorne always ends her night with, though the sun will be starting to peek over the New York City skyline by the time Steve gets home. It has been over a year since he started working at The Back Door and the performers have been asking that same question since they learned he was taken.

The drink is garnished with a skewer of cornichons, salami, and cheese kept on hand specifically for nights Rosanne is on stage.

"Once he gets his acceptance letter," Steve answers as he slides the drink over. He goes back to cleaning, smiling to himself at the thought of finally adding the last piece to complete the life he's built for him and Jonathan.

Back in Indiana, Jonathan is attending community college a short drive from Hawkins. Steve understands why. His family might not need him to help pay for bills anymore and Hopper is there to be the 'man of the house', but Jonathan has been too responsible for his family for too long to just leave. So, Steve made an offer: he would be the carrot at the end of the stick and move to New York City while Jonathan earned what credits he could transfer to NYU. If Jonathan still couldn't leave after a few years of seeing his family was alright without him, Steve would move back with life experience beyond a small, midwest town and an interdimensional hellscape.

Rosanne takes a long sip of her drink, considering Steve in a way he got use to sometime back in high school. "Well, if you decide you want a real boy, I called dibs."

Steve chuckles. "You'll be the first to know."

On his walk home, Steve wonders if the crowd and noise will be too much for Jonathan or if he will like the anonymity of being just another face. There is definitely an appeal to it. Safety, as well, since Steve is more concerned about the military or KGB tracking him than he is pickpockets.

There is a padded envelope in his mail. Excitement breaks through his growing fatigue and he practically runs up the three flights of stairs leading to his one bedroom apartment. It's small, but as much as he can afford within a reasonably walking distance of NYU. He calls Jonathan. As the phone rings, he opens the envelope. A groggy voice greets him.

"Don't you have class, Byers?" Steve teases. He presses play before getting a bagel to pop into the toaster. David Bowie croons about changes through the stereo.

"Fuck you, it's Sunday," Jonathan yawns.

"Church, then." The scoff on the other end of the line makes Steve chuckle.

He listens to Jonathan's usual morning grumbles. They talk for a few minutes every few days between Steve going to sleep and Jonathan waking up since long distance calls are expensive. It also allows Steve to check in. Jonathan is likely to skip meals or sleep if not reminded.

"I'd rather love you then be saved," Jonathan says and Steve melts a little. Before can respond, however, the song changes. He recognizes it immediately.

'Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today'

"You got in," he murmurs in realization. Frank Sinatra continues to sing as Steve repeats, louder, "You got in!"

"I did." The sleep has left Jonathan's voice. Steve can picture the amused quirk of his lips and affection in his eyes along with the shy way he ducks his head whenever someone is happy for him. "Do you still have room for me?"

"I think I can find some."

[thebluestbluewords]

banter for banter’s sake

I started thinking too hard about this post, and now here we are. This isn’t really about why Ben dresses like a cartoon character, but that’s where it was SUPPOSED to go.

~

Evie holds up a swatch of gauzy blue-green material.  "I know it's horribly cliche to dress the Atlantica girls in ocean colors, but Aria specifically requested it. D'you think I could get away with giving her a caramel sea-foam sort of shawl?" 

"E," Mal asks oh-so-neutrally, without looking up from her book. It's not that Through The Wardrobe: A History of Magical Portals is a riveting read, it's just that she'd rather stab her own eyes out with a rusty spork than look at another princess dress. "Do I look like I know jack-fucking-all about what colors a mermaid is supposed to wear?" 

"You're the one taking Art History this semester. I've seen your homework, I know you're writing a paper on heraldic imagery for each of the historic royal houses," Evie says, tossing the fabric swatch at her. "You ought to know what colors they can get away with."

The square flutters down to the floor, where Dude the dog immediately trots over to sniff at it. The little monster isn't supposed to be in their room at all, but he keeps sneaking in somehow. Mal suspects foul play. Her shoes have been smelling suspiciously like salami as of late.  "Chartreuse and navy." 

"Like ocean water and piss." Evie agrees. "Perfect."

"My piss isn't chartreuse," Ben says thoughtfully. He's not supposed to be in their room either, but he's a much larger monster than the dog. Harder to kick out. Also, having him here makes Mal's stomach go all warm and tingly, like Ben lying on her floor is the new, goodness-approved equivalent to half a shot of bathtub whiskey. It's easier to sleep when she'd got him close too, and-- 

Yeah, she's not exploring that feeling any further. 

"Skill issue," Evie says cheerfully. "You need to drink less water. If you're overly hydrated your piss will be too clear, and we can't pass it off as a sports drink when we replace everything in Chad's locker." 

"You don't have to torment Chad, you know." 

Evie tips her head to look at him straight on, even though she's sitting in her desk chair with perfect posture, and the king of Auradon is laying on the floor with his head propped up on one of Dude's toys. "But it's so fun?"

"I told Chad you're not messing with him," Ben says evenly, rolling over so that he can face Evie straight on, like that ever makes it easier to stare her down. Evie's not as scary as Mal's mother when it comes to staring contests, but she's got a special sort of mortal talent for them. Mal suspects it's the eyeliner. It's too perfect. She cuts through your focus with it, like the sharp ends are a knife. "Don't make me a liar." 

"Don't tell lies." 

"My father will hear about this," Ben lies, smoothly. "Probably from Mal's father, when he dies of a stress-induced heart attack and goes to hell." 

"Hey!" 

"Not that I really believe Hades is your father! It's just that you said he is, and I'm trying to be good and take you seriously." 

"Don't," Evie advises. "She lies all the time. She'll lie to your face for fun." 

"I am a wicked fairy," Mal tells her book. "By the magical laws of the universe, I technically can't lie." 

"And we all know you've found ways around that." 

"Misdirection isn't lying. It's strategic." 

Ben tugs Evie's fabric sample from Dude's mouth. Or tries to, at least. The little monster is tenacious, which is one of their vocabulary words in English class this week. "Like when you misinterpreted my question about how many chocolate bars you had, and threw up all over the carriage." 

"That," Mal says haughtily, drawing herself up to her full seated height, which isn't very tall, "Was a strategic misinterpretation of the truth, yes. But it technically wasn't a lie." 

"He can eat that fabric, by the way," Evie breaks in. "I don't think it's the right weight for this dress anyway. If Aria really wants her ocean green, she's going to get something structural to contrast the cliche of it all. It's like, I know I have a signature color, but you don't actually need to wear your kingdom colors all the time." 

"It's not good for him to eat any fabric. And I do have to wear my kingdom colors all the time." 

Mal kicks a foot out at her boyfriend, pointing her toes towards his lounge pants, which are black. "No." 

"These aren't mine." 

"Stolen goods?" 

Ben's cheeks flush beautifully, delicately pink. Like a sunburn. "Borrowed, actually. I have permission." 

"They're too short for you," Evie observes, leaning forwards in her chair to survey this new weak point. "Black could be anyone, but I recognize my own work when I see it. Why are you stealing Jay's pants?" 

"Borrowing." Ben squeaks out. His face is progressing from sunburn-pink to blood red rather rapidly.

"Mm. Sure. Why are you borrowing them?" 

"Normal reasons." 

Mal resolves to ask Jay about the “normal things” he’s been doing with Ben’s pants as soon as possible. 

“Well, the next time you two do normal things together,” Evie says, with a face so blank and sweet that it could belong to a doll, except for how the very corner of her mouth is twitching, “tell me beforehand and I’ll make you a pair of your very own.” “I, uh—“ 

The doll mask breaks into a wicked grin. “You what, baby?” 

Ben groans, rolls face down, smashes his entire head into the dog’s belly, and somehow flushes so bright that the color starts traveling down his neck. “I like wearing other colors sometimes, that’s all. I know I’m breaking dress code, and I don’t want to encourage you to make me more stuff that I can’t wear, but I do like it.”

“Dress code?” 

“Family dress code, yeah.” Dude’s underbelly says. “I—blegh.” Ben emerges from underneath the dog. “Why does he taste like licking a trash can? I thought Carlos was washing him every week.” 

“Yeah, he started doing that cause he rolls in garbage more than once a week.” 

Ben recoils. “He sleeps on my head!” 

“Ooh, see, I know for a fact that he doesn’t,” Evie says sweetly. “Because he sleeps in the boys’ room whenever he’s not in his kennel, which I know because I’m the one who walks him down to the kennel when we kick him out of our room. So unless you’re sleeping in the boys’ room….?” 

“I’d never break curfew.” Ben lies. He does it smoothly, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth while he’s saying it. 

Mal points. “Evie—“ 

“Breaking curfew means being in the halls, dorm rooms of students of another gender, and common spaces after hours, yes.” Evie, her beautiful human dictionary, confirms. “It doesn’t technically say that you can’t be in the dorm room of another student, just that boys and girls can’t mix. Sleeping with us would mean breaking curfew, but the boys aren’t technically addressed in the rules. An oversight that I’m sure a good student council member or two must have noticed, am I right?” 

“I get lonely,” Ben admits. “Doug noticed it first.” 

Doug, her mortal enemy, working in Ben’s favor? Mal doesn’t want to believe it, but the guy does have some weird sort of friendship with Ben. It’s like they genuinely enjoy each other’s company, or something. “I feel like there’s a story here.” 

Ben flops his sweet golden head down onto the floor again. "Not really. I got lonely as a kid, and Doug and Chad were in a double together, and we just never corrected the loophole after I stopped sleeping over. I haven't used it much since then." 

"Since you stopped sleeping over with my mortal enemy," Mal says, teasing. "I see how it is."

Evie throws a pin at her. "Doug's a nice guy, M! Just because you think he's your mortal enemy doesn't mean we all feel that way." 

"He stares at your boobs when he thinks you're not looking." 

"So do you."

"I'm allowed." 

Evie tosses her hair back over her shoulders in a gesture that, in the wrong hands, could level nations. "So's Doug. I think he's cute. Besides, you're distracting me from my goal here, which is for Benny-boo to tell us why he's got a dress code and we don't." 

Ben groans. "I don't, really. It's just. Royal stuff." 

"Which is why you wear the same boring blue suit every day," Evie prompts. "Because of your secret dress code. You can tell me what it is, I'll work around it." 

"I have a dozen slightly different blue suits, actually," Ben says, ignoring the question. "And I'll wear them until I die, just like my dad." 

Mal shuts her book. She's starting a strict no-parent talk policy, and her boyfriend's in immediate violation and must be distracted or killed before he can bring the mood down further. "Unless you die on the toilet." 

"Why would I do that?" Ben asks. He looks genuinely confused. It's so sweet, Mal could just vomit. 

Evie bounces down from the desk to join him on the floor.  "Chronic constipation can lead to straining so hard you burst a blood vessel, which could travel to your brain, and kill you?" 

"I don't have that?" 

She pats his golden head. "If you keep wearing terrible suits you will."

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

celestial surveillance + some garden of eden parallels

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open. - Luke 8:17 (NIV)

Over and over, we see how the bookshop feels safe/private while simultaneously being sort of a fishbowl, leaving its inhabitants quite exposed to onlookers. *garden of eden vibes*

Similarly, Aziraphale and Crowley tried to conduct a class-A surreptitious 6000+ year agreement/slowburn romance and yet their 25 Lazarii relationship is fairly obvious to others.

Reminiscent of how Crowley is painfully aware that nothing is certain and time is horribly finite, Aziraphale lives with the knowledge that anything he does or says can be used against him—or much worse, used against Crowley or others our little guardian cares about. Unlike his emotional support demon, however, Aziraphale was afraid Before the Beginning, before The Fall.

While Upstairs aren't the only ones watching, they have the potential to be the most dangerous threat (emphasis on potential bc they have to take an interest and also maybe stumble into important clues): The heavenly office overlooks the entire world. Where Hell had to send Furfur to the theatre with a camera, Heaven's got Earth Observation Files they can pull up to see what someone was doing at any point in history—not even St. James Park can keep you anonymous in the face of thirty-seven classes of scriveners/recording angels!

Aziraphale may tend to underestimate danger in general because of his misplaced hope that Heaven is truly Good, but in the same way that he can be both clever and stupid, I think he trusts Heaven and fears it at the same time. Why else would he be so worried about breaking their rules even when he knows they are wrong?

Of course, Aziraphale is also a courageous little bastard with a deity-defying protective streak! Despite Heaven's indoctrination, we see him navigating all sorts of grey area as he learns to 'blur the edges'. But he knows it isn’t safe to do that openly. He keeps this more human side hidden and tries not to think too hard about why doing good is wrong in heavens eyes. (lol other people's aziraphale metas are my main food group rn)

At the end of S2, we see him leave A.Z. Garden & Co. after tasting the forbidden fruit large oat milk latte, armed with his naïve/misguided 'knowledge of Good and Evil'. (and perhaps he knows he can't 'let the sun can’t go down' on him in Soho lest the the Metatron mete out death instead of coffees?) When Adam and Eve left Eden, Aziraphale and Crowley observed from above. When the angel and demon leave their own garden, we get the sense that they are also being watched.

(also idk if this is anything but Adam facing off against the lion while Eve looks on in the bg seemed a bit like Crowley watching Aziraphale walk into danger w the Metatron. could be a good sign since the lion gets turned into salami)

There are hints at the end of S2 that the watching is getting a little a spicier (at least I think they are hints haha): the bookshop windows are still broken during the last part of E6, further decreasing privacy; the zombies used binoculars to watch A&C from the Dirty Donkey under cover of darkness in 1941 but the Metatron just looks across the road in the light of day. And then there's the whole 'hefty jigger of almond syrup'.

[whirlpool-blogs]

NHL notebook: USA Hockey's Jack Hughes expected No. 1 pick in NHL draft

Published: Dec 5, 2018

PLYMOUTH, Mich. — Jack Hughes draws a crowd.

Detroit general manager Ken Holland and former Red Wing star Steve Yzerman chatted during the first intermission of one of Hughes' recent games. Scouts from the NHL were scattered throughout USA Hockey Arena that night, taking notes for teams paying them to evaluate the world's best hockey players.

Hughes, a 17-year-old center, will likely be the top pick in the NHL draft in June.

USA Hockey has developed the nation's top players for more than two-plus decades and four of them have been selected No. 1 overall — including Auston Matthews and Patrick Kane — from its National Team Development Program. Hughes is expected to be next.

"He's as good as I've seen come through here in terms of talent, work ethic and being the complete package on and off the ice," said senior director of operations Scott Monaghan, who has been with the program since its inception in 1996. "He's more like Patrick because of his skating and shiftiness than Auston, who was really big and strong.

"We have 30 to 40 scouts at most of our home games and as many as 60 because Jack is on a team with as many as six, seven or eight first-round picks."

Hughes chose to surround himself with the best American hockey players his age as an amateur instead of getting paid as the No. 1 pick in the Ontario Hockey League. He also could have graduated high school a year early to play with his brother, Quinn, a freshman at Michigan and a defenseman drafted No. 7 overall last summer by the Vancouver Canucks.

"I feel like it's the best place to be for a 16-year, 17-year-old," Hughes told The Associated Press. "No one trains as hard as us. We skate every day. We lift three days a week. We play a great schedule. I think it's the best place to be to groom yourself to be an NHL player someday."

Hughes was born in Orlando, Florida, where his father, Jim, was assistant coach for the Solar Bears in the International Hockey League. He wasn't there long. Jim Hughes moved his family a few months later to Boston because he got a job as an assistant with the Bruins. Two years later, the former Providence defenseman went to New Hampshire — where he, his wife and three boys vacation each summer — to be an assistant and later head coach with the Manchester Monarchs in the American Hockey League.

Jim Hughes' next job appears to have been pivotal in the development of his sons' hockey careers because it landed him in Toronto as an assistant with the AHL's Marlies. He later became director of player development for the Maple Leafs.

"I always played him a year up and that's not easy to do in the hockey mecca of the world," Jim Hughes said. "Even when he was 5, you could see he had a special skill set. As he got older, coaches were yelling at their players to hit him and teams were trying to attack him. And quite frankly, he was still dominant."

While Jim Hughes was often busy with his job when the boys were growing up, Ellen Hughes taught her sons how to skate. She drew on her experience from playing for the U.S. women's national hockey team and at New Hampshire, where she was also on the soccer team.

"When Jack would go outside to play, older boys would always pick him even though he was at least two years younger than the rest of them and he always wanted the puck," Ellen Hughes recalled. "We never had to push him. It was always organic and Toronto was just the best place for him to prepare him for what he's doing now."

Jack Hughes starts his day at 6:15 a.m. with two eggs on a bagel with cream cheese and salami along with some fresh fruit, orange juice and a vitamin. He has to arrive at school shortly after 7 a.m. and if he's tardy or misses a class, USA Hockey has a staff member who knows it and there are consequences.

"There's no sleeping in," Jack Hughes said. "They'll sit you for a period if you're late or skip a class, or if you're late for the bus."

Hughes, who plans to graduate this month, takes four classes before heading to USA Hockey Arena in suburban Detroit to drill on a shooting pad, lift weights and go through an intense, two-hour practice before going to study table. His favorite meal is his father's grilled steak. Shortly after dinner, his parents don't have a hard time getting him to go sleep.

"If you don't go to bed early, this place will eat you alive," Jim Hughes said.

The 5-foot-10, 168-pound Hughes feasts on the competition wherever he goes, playing U.S.-based colleges against players much older and bigger than him, as well as in the United States Hockey League and international competition.

With 16 points in just four games, he was tournament MVP at the under-18 Five Nations tournament in the Czech Republic last month. He had 116 points in 60 games last year and he is averaging about two points a game this season, putting him on pace to set the NTDP career record for points. Hughes skates effortlessly in any direction and has soft hands, allowing him to dangle to puck to set up a shot for a teammate or himself.

"Jack Hughes is the leading candidate to be the No. 1 pick at this point and scouts are out evaluating him as often as possible," Holland said. "He's an incredibly talented player, who is destined to have a fabulous NHL career."

[lajosbringa]

My oc

(First, let's say that I can't draw. This was made by first using my laptop as a copying board to draw a body, than, color it in MS Paint, and add the features. But let's get to the fun stuff, which I have quite the hand for, the story! I wrote this for @elmushterri in private, but I wanted to share it with y'all.)

Name: Ivan Berilov

Age: Early 20s

Height: 175 centimeters

Appearance:

Knight form: (seen on the drawing) He is a slender humanoid sea creature with light blue straight hair which is glowing lightly, blueish gray scaly skin, blue eyeballs with white irises, two holes for his nose (forgot to add it) ears like fins that are the same color as the skin, gills on the neck, and neck ends in a neck-piece which translates into a whole suit of medieval knight-like armor with Spartan elements, and only a fish-like, scaly tail of the same color as the skin is out of the armor (a bit chunkier than on the pic).

Advanced Knight Form (or as Ivan calls it, the Apex Predator): His hair glows blightly along the lines on his armor, fangs grow instead of his human teeth, claws come out of his armored hands, his tail gets a stinger on the end which can be used to bash or sting enemies.

Human form: He has dark brown, creoleish white skin color, is around the same height and figure as his knight form, has a weak moustache that teens have. He wears brand-new sailor clothes in human form.

Backstory:

Early life: He was born to two rich spice traders, and he was rolling in dough since the craddle (his parents literally filled his craddle with paper money). They were the avarage 8-hour work parents with the added benefit of a whole estate and cash. That meant he had a normal upbringing, and went to a public primary school. In 8th grade, on his last class field trip, the school put his class on a boat which he knew was a cockleboat. He insisted on asking his parents to lend one of the boats from the trade flottila, but the school said no. And well, the boat sank, but the lifeboat only held 20 people, and there was 21. He was put into the boat, with the captain willing to sink with the ship, but he jumped out, and shoved the captain into the boat as it was lowering (lore tidbit: the captain was the father of one of his classmates). His last words were: Warn the principal that my parents are gonna sue the sh*t out of the school!

Life as a Knight: When he was reincarnated moments later, he was dumbfounded. And it seems that the gods gave him a reminder of his death, because he became the fish-human he is now. He decided to settle into the sea he drowned in and where his parents' estate are. (The sea is about the size of Tokyo Bay, and it is more of a bay.) He quickly made friends with the fishes and the whales who live there, and was declared the protector and ruler of his home sea. And that meant protection from fishermen. He attacked the big companies, stole their loot, and scared away those who did it for survival, but secretly giving them the loot he stole. With these acts, his former home country banned fishing or harming the sea in any way, not to anger the "sea monster". This caused a rift between him and upper circles, and when he was called to Gallantia to answer for his crimes, he dug his claws into the cover of his handbook, and made two claw marks on it (this became his symbol). He rules the sea ever since, mostly uninterrupted.

Habits: He is mostly a vegan because of his pact with the sea creatures (and it's not appetizing when your dinner begs for mercy), but sometimes, he still eats meat. In the past, he used to flood entire cities for some cuts of beef or a piece of salami, but only like an inch to basically force them to evacuate. Now, he found another way to fulfill his cravings, thanks to another one of his hobbies. He, being a history nerd (more about that later), started collecting ancient treasures and put them on shore in a specific valley. This was soon discovered by archeologists, and for their gratidute, they left some gifts for him, including some meat. His last hobby is writing. Like some form of Knight Wattpad, he writes his stories to all who like it, and he garnered quite a fanbase, including the former Queen, which made along with his loyalty to his cause quite a beloved figure except in higher circles (they still hate him for killing humans who didn't run).

Personality: He can be defined as a loner, living in his sea, and only coming to shore or Gallantia for fan meetups or world-ending dangers. But with him missing his family for the latter half of teenhood, he is still unstable, reckless and can be quite agressive when angered (that being hurting his loved ones or himself). But he is brave (he didn't even fear death), and when warmed up to someone, he is loyal and kind. But thanks to his duty, he is slowly shedding his unstable nature, and becoming wise and strategical.

Likes and hates: He loves history, fighting, meat, duty, loneliness (but sometimes, he enjoys the fan who visits him), writing, his moustache (it looks out of place on him), and his family (lore tidbit 2: sometimes, he specially leaves gifts on the seaside beach of the family estate on special days of the family, like his or one of their birthdays). He hates his former school (lore tidbit 3: he flooded it after he got revived and the court case where their parents demolished the defence of the school), men who exploit the sea, his higher-ups (except the old queen), and sea demons.

Abilities: He has no Mortal Wound, but as a replacemnent, his gills function like it. His weapon is a trident, and he can also pull a shield with his symbol, an old helmet he excavated from a ship (it's a Spartan helmet without the colorful top). He, along with his transformation, can control the seas, create air bubbles, and talk to all sea creatures.

Fighting style: He starts out mostly defensive, with quick flurries for the win. But when he gets angered, his attacks become really agressive, but he still holds back, and tries to be merciful even when killing sea demons. But when they won't go down, he transforms into the Apex Predator, and goes nuts, while laughing and berating them, reveling in the carnage (lore tidbit 4: he was questioned for using it on humans, but was pardoned by the queen as his regret was genuine, and this caused the ongoing shift in him, but when in need, he still uses the Apex Predator).

Speech: He is really vulgar when just chatting with someone, using it to emphasize his point, with him even using swear words from his original language (that was Hungarian), much to the annoyance of others. But he can speak quite selectively, evident in his writings. He is also self-depricating and sarcastic, but he only uses it to not harm people, only for lightening the mood (except when hurt, he can be quite sharp). He also uses jokes, mostly sea puns.

Stance on the main plot (Sidra vs Jules): He is at the time, saddened by the former queen's death, as she was one of his most loyal readers (lore tidbit 5: he rushed to finish a story which the queen loved when he heard she is on her last legs), but he couldn't care less about the new conundrum. As long as he is not evicted out of the sea, he is willing to help both of them, and can be still called upon if a threat arises.

Leave your thoughts or ideas in the comments!