#i love the foe facts journal

[lilac-gold]

I find it so interesting that Sunny's parents are nowhere to be found in Headspace. The only glimpse of them is the photo in Sweetheart's Castle after it's given to Omori by the Keeper, but Mari's a pretty large character in Headspace and it's her who Sunny killed. Logically, she would be the face he tried to forget about most- or go the other way and remember everything admirable about her as a result of his guilt, which he does. Sunny glorifies her in his memories, denying her death and his guilt, but he blocks out any recollections of his mom and dad. Maybe it them seemingly splitting after Mari's death, Sunny's family falling apart even more, multiplied his guilt but it began to manifest itself in the only was he knew how to. He forgot the bad, and refuses to think about his parents in his dream world.

What I find equally intriguing is that it's Hero and Mari who take up the roles instead. Mari offers Omori & co. a place to rest and recover, somewhere to eat food, get better and ask for advice. She acts in a parental manner to the younger kids, and while this could just be her older sibling instinct showing, she does seem to fit into the role of Omori, Aubrey, Basil and Kel's mother. Likewise, Hero offers warm meals and looks after them, healing them and getting them out of sticky situations. He's protective and mature, older than the rest of them and taking them on as his responsibility.

Also, he makes dad jokes and acts like an old grandpa sometimes. The foe facts journal adds so much more fun traits to the HS gang that we otherwise don't get to see

Idk if this has been theorised before, but it's also possible that Sunny's father appears in HS through Daddy Longlegs. The hat/ hat rack and 'daddy' part would indicate so, and it's interesting that a shadowy, faceless, tall figure holding a light and wearing a hat helps Omori get closer to Black Space & the truth. If Sunny hasn't seen him in years and is potentially mad at him about the divorce, he might have blocked out his father's face, only recalling someone guiding and tall with a hat on their head lol. DLL looks like a shadow- like a hole that needs to be filled, a missing space. Like how Sunny's dad is missing from his home

I'll probably have more thoughts on this tomorrow, but for now, I need to get some rest! I hope you enjoyed reading this far- thank you for taking the time to do so! I always love hearing people's thoughts on my little analyses if you wish to share them <3

[sovonight]

waiting (candle event, radri ver, 3k words) ↴

—✧✧✧—

As the light from the window recedes, casting her journal into shadow, Radri sets a candle upon the candle holder on the nightstand, then reaches over the side of the bed, rummaging around in her pack for flint and steel. As she fumbles around for it, Xan glances over from his place beside her, and extends a hand.

"Allow me," he says. With a small gesture and a whisper of a command, the wick catches flame.

"Oh," Radri says, looking up the lit candle, "Thank you."

She abandons her now unnecessary search, and opens her journal once more. Xan glances over again.

"I never found the chance to ask what you write about," he says.

"Mm?" Radri narrowly avoids leaving a blot of ink on the page, and gives her pen a dissatisfied frown, resolving to be more careful. "Normal things, I suppose. What happened today, what quests are in progress, what supplies we expended…."

"A summary of events, then, rather than a collection of personal reflections?" Xan says. "Did you keep such a journal in Candlekeep, as well?"

In Candlekeep? She had never considered it. Imagining it now, her entries would have blended together in their sameness; her days were a mixture of lessons and chores, with the only real variables being the subjects she was taught, and the people around her.

"I didn't keep a journal at all," Radri says. "I was always so tired of writing by the end of each day—the last thing I wanted to do was light a candle and write into the night." She gives her current setup a wry smile.

"But now that I'm gone… there's something comforting about the routine," Radri says. "The scent of paper, the ink… even the flame. Though Candlekeep isn't so full of candles as its name would suggest."

Then she blinks, and lifts her gaze from her journal, glancing over to him.

"I remember seeing that you have a journal, as well. Don't you keep track of similar things?"

"Of our every encounter, foe, and death?" Xan says. "If I dwell too long on what has happened to us, I soon grow astonished at the fact that we are even still alive—and against my will, the mind wanders. I prefer to keep my entries to more pleasant reflections."

"Pleasant reflections?" Radri echoes, curious, "Like what?"

"What else?" Xan says, gazing at her softly. "Thoughts of you, and our love."

—

Radri swirls the liquid wax around in the flat pan of the candle holder, drawing circles around the dying flame. Just as the wick is about to run out, she catches the flame on a fresh one, and sets the new candle beside her closed journal. Her journal entry for the day is complete; she is tired, and she is long due for reverie; and yet, something keeps her awake.

Xan. She sighs, staring into the dull, abandoned pool, watching the wax slowly begin to solidify again. She doesn't know why she's still waiting for him. He prefers to study his spells alone—and she has often fallen into reverie waiting for him to finish—but never so consistently or so often as in these past several days. A shadow has fallen across his dark, gray eyes, and though she lingers in bed, pretending to still be in reverie to ensure he gets all the hours he needs, he hardly looks rested.

When she asks, Xan says nothing. But—she hasn't really asked, has she? Are you alright, is no true substitute for, I'm worried about you. Is something wrong? Is it something I did? Are you avoiding m—

Radri gives her head a sharp shake. No—it does no use to jump to conclusions, and she's been through this dance before. All she has to do is wait for Xan to come tell her everything.

…No, that's not it. The last time she had waited, in just a tenday he had formed a conviction to leave her forever.

Radri stands, sending the candle's flame flickering in the residual breeze of her movement, worry suddenly taking hold in her chest. Her heart is set—she's going to go find him. Xan is probably still at that worn table on the floor below; at this hour, there are none but the stillness and darkness of night to keep him company. Her mind made up, Radri crosses the room in three quick strides, and opens the door—

—And comes face to face with Xan, who stumbles back a step in surprise.

"Radri," Xan gasps. With the glimpse he'd caught of her expression, he sends a cautious glance behind him, before facing her again. "You—you looked as if you were about to storm a dungeon. Are we leaving already?"

Then he looks past her, into the room, where the wax carnage by the candle holder she's been using to stave off the darkness serves as clear evidence of her sleeplessness.

"…Or have you not even rested yet, at all?" Xan looks worriedly down at her. Radri feels, for an instant, abashed to have raised his concern—but no, she has to collect herself. She is worried about him. And she must say it!

"I… I couldn't," Radri says. Yes, a good start—

"I…" she continues, and now, she should ask him now—

"I hadn't yet received your kiss goodnight." NO!

But her excuse has already left her in a nervous rush of words, too late to be swallowed now. Xan, understandably, stares at her—and mentally, she buries her face in her hands. How could her resolve have fled her so quickly?

"I… did not know it was that significant to you," Xan says, slightly puzzled, and it takes her a second to remember what she'd said that he's responding to, "Forgive me for the oversight."

Leaning carefully in, as though partly convinced that she might prove to be an illusion once he touches her, Xan leaves a simple, light kiss on her cheek. When he pulls back away, he seems silently astonished at having confirmed that she is, in fact, real. But Radri's mind holds no room to process this observation; her fingertips rise to touch the kiss he'd placed on her cheek, and her face reddens in embarrassment. He'd… he'd humored her… but perhaps this is the best approach. After all, it's not in her nature to tackle an encounter head-on.

"Are you going to come in and join me?" Radri asks. Though she tries for casual, her voice seems, to her ears, to betray her hours of waiting and doubt. But if Xan thinks the same, it does not show, and he does not refuse her.

Xan moves through his nightly ritual, putting his spellbook upon the nightstand and leaning his moonblade against it, so that he might always have it on hand. Meanwhile, Radri feels as nervous inside as she did the first time they'd shared a room, and finds herself standing still at the foot of the bed, uncertain what to do with her arms.

Xan lays down on the bed, then looks up at her. Perhaps it's just her, or the distance, or the flicker of the candle—but she thinks she sees amusement in his eyes.

"Come here," Xan says fondly, and in that moment, the spell of her nervousness is broken. She hastens over and falls into his arms; Xan's soft, breathy chuckle floats across the top of her head.

"If you were in such a hurry, you need not have waited for me."

She curls up closer, nestling her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. He misunderstands; what she'd waited for is his closeness.

"Will you take my hand?" Radri asks; she misses his company in reverie. Xan sighs.

"I am in no state to show you my memories of Evereska tonight, if that is what you were hoping for."

"I don't want to see, so much as I just want to be with you."

"Well, then, I am already with you." Xan kisses her hair. Her heart clenches, and she tries again.

"Xan… has something been troubling you, lately?"

"I am surprised that you would ask me this," he says. "Many things trouble me, Estel'amin, and at many times." Though his answer is neutral, something beneath it is just slightly tense.

"Does it have to do with me?"

"You are on my mind too often for these troubling thoughts to never lead back to you." But he had hesitated… just barely.

Radri finds her breath caught in her throat. This is the moment; she cannot bear to blurt out any more excuses.

"Is it why you wait for me to fall into reverie, first, before you join me?" Her heart beats so loudly that it nearly drowns out the sound of her own voice in her ears. "I—Is it… why you've been been avoiding me?"

In the aftermath of releasing those words from her mind, she barely registers the fact that Xan's body has stilled, his breath frozen in his chest; her thoughts, many and jumbled, tumble forth, fighting for the chance to form on her tongue.

"I—I'm sorry," Radri finds herself stammering. "After all… it's an uneven arrangement, isn't it? You have such a beautiful city to show me, and I only have books and repetition—the same story, day in and day out. And then I finally left, only to start having these visions… these nightmares. Why would you want to live through them with me? I understand, really. I should never have—"

"Radri."

With one swift movement, she's no longer curled up against his chest, but laying on her back on the bed itself. Xan is leant over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, his face cast into uneven shadow by the curtain of his hair. She can't help but notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, which are still apparent even in this dim light—but more than that, what strikes her is how pained he looks by her words.

"Is that what you think?"

Radri feels, suddenly, that she's gotten the answer very wrong. She's transported back to Candlekeep: one of her tutors stares at her from the board, tutting at her, as Imoen, sprawled casually at the desk next to hers, signals secretly to her what she should have said instead.

But the Imoen of her mind's eye has no choice but to fade away without helping her; there is nowhere in the world that contains knowledge of what Xan is thinking right now, except for Xan himself.

"What," she says, quietly, "Should I think instead?"

Xan, surprisingly, does not answer immediately. He seems, for the first time in a while, lost for words—though not for a lack of emotion for them to express. She watches his expression shift, from reflection, to frustration, to helplessness, to—

"I have been trying to shield you from my struggles," Xan manages at last, "But I see that I have failed."

Pulling away from her, he continues, "I… I keep having visions."

"I am alone with you on a beautiful glade—and we are ambushed by monsters. I join you in your reverie—and wake up next to your lifeless corpse. I let down my guard, and you are taken from me—" He pauses, taking in a shaky breath, eyes glazed over by the memory, "And there are many more. You cannot imagine the perils my eyes see."

"Fear has always plagued me, Radri. Fears of dying, of losing you, of hurting you, of dragging you into the void of my lonely, desolate existence… But now they are not simply that: they are live nightmares I cannot escape, and I dread my reverie every night. How can I share it with you, when I know what my mind will show you?" Xan says, and pulls his gaze away from her, bowing his head. "I am lost, Estel'amin. Lost in darkness… and even the candles of your room are not able to drive it away."

Radri begins to reach out to him, but pauses, his words still running through her head. She feels like she's forced this from him; she's sorry to have pushed him. Perhaps, if she'd just observed in silence longer, she could have guessed that this was what troubled him… but she can't help but think back to that first night, when their shared reverie went awry. Even with her tears, her confession, his words, and his comfort, what she remembers above all is relief, to no longer be holding all of her fears inside.

So she brings herself to him, and she holds him close.

"You can show me," Radri says. "I wish I knew what to say to drive this darkness away… I wish I could do for you what you do for me. But I will always be here to listen."

"I want to know everything about you, Tahlimil," she confesses; despite having spoken it in her mind many times, his name is still new on her tongue, and she feels his breath catch to hear it. "Not just your hopes, but your fears. Not just your shining moments of happiness, but your present sorrows. I want to be here with you, through all of it. There is not a moment in which I would wish that you had spared me… I don't think it's possible for us to spare each other, anymore."

Her heart is beating loud and fast in her chest; she wonders if he can feel it, if he can tell that she feels more nervous and vulnerable now than she does when she whispers to him that she loves him, before all the eyes of the world. Xan, held close, now pulls away to look her in the eyes.

"Estel'amin," Xan says, "I…"

He looks taken by disbelief and awe; he looks as if he wishes to kiss her. But then, another thought comes to him—and she can spy this exact moment, by the sudden look of resolve in his eyes.

"There is a question that has been on my mind for far too long," Xan says. "I have agonized over when to ask it, but I think it can only be now. I feel as you do. I would share everything with you: my memories, my emotions, my life… and I would know you, in turn, as dearly and intimately as I have only ever known myself."

He takes her hand; his fingers, and the rings upon them, are normally cool upon her skin, but tonight they exude pure warmth.

"I wish to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan says. "I wish to have you in my arms, Estel'amin… will you have me?"

The building elation that she'd felt throughout his first sentences falters, stuttering to a halt. Suddenly, their closeness comes to the forefront of her awareness. His touch, his gaze, and even the mundane way the fabric of their clothes has tangled together around their bodies; to notice these things now leaves a weight in her chest.

"Are you afraid?" Xan asks, softly.

She can't respond; he does not push her.

"I know," Xan says, and if Radri were less preoccupied by her thoughts, she would note that his tone betrays a hint of nervousness, "This commitment is far too great to fathom in a single moment. An elven bond is the closest intimacy I could have asked of you; I have had many days to reflect on it, and yet I have not granted you the same. I am not so fragile that I will turn away from you if you refuse me tonight."

Hearing that, her head jerks up, startling him slightly. He thinks that this is what she would refuse? How could he imagine that she would, when even in the earliest of their days together—after she, by a miracle, had managed to convince him to stay—she had thought secretly, wistfully back to the kind of bond she had only ever been able to read about in books?

No, the cause of this pressure in her chest is from the other half of his request, tied so smoothly to the first: I wish to have you in my arms. She imagines that if she were anyone else, she would have already flung herself into Xan's waiting embrace, but though she tries to picture this, to rehearse for the actions she will surely take in the next moment, she cannot do it.

"I... I have dreamed of our bond. For an embarrassingly long time," Radri confesses, and says a silent farewell to such dreams as she admits, "But I am not ready to give you the rest of what you have asked. I'm sorry."

Ducking her head, she closes her eyes tight, ready to hear him sigh and turn away... but the sound never comes.

“Then our bond is all I ask,” Xan says.

Shocked, she looks up at him. Xan no longer looks nervous; he does not even appear disappointed, as she’d feared. Instead, he looks as if he’d received the very answer he had hoped for.

"What do you mean?" Radri asks, "You… you're still willing, to...?"

"Radri," Xan says, a fond, relieved smile pulling at his lips, "Our bond is the one part of my question that I had always feared you would refuse. The rest can wait until the day you wish for it."

For a moment, she can do nothing but stare in disbelief. That feeling of elation returns, building little by little, replacing the heaviness in her chest.

"Can you ask me again?" Radri says, feeling somewhat breathless, "S—so… so that I might accept properly?"

"I have longed to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan begins again for her, and adds, with a look of unbearable tenderness, "I love you, Estel'amin. Will you have me?"

And at last she answers in a whispered, "Yes."

—

When Radri wakes, Xan is sitting up beside her, already awake himself. She stretches her arms out to hug him around the waist, and closes her eyes again.

"You've spent less time in reverie than I," she grumbles, "How is it that you're already awake?"

"Is it your wish that I return to bed, then?" Xan asks, brushing through her hair with an idle hand. "I will… But first, I noticed that you were running short of candles, so I brought you one."

Xan presents her with a lit candle. Radri, sitting up, beholds it with bewilderment.

"I… Thank you, but… if you're already burning it now, won't it go to waste?" Radri asks, looking at him. Still new to her heart, his presence and his feelings there are not yet easy to sort through, but she manages to single one out: anticipation.

"There is more to it, Estel'amin," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "Just trust me."

Holding the candle between them, he faces her seriously.

"I wish to give you a promise, together with this candle," Xan says. "I… I feel you, now, as clearly as I feel myself. I know your fears as sharply as I know mine. And I promise: while you are here, with me, in reverie or in the waking world, you will not run out of candles, and whenever you have need of me, you will not find me wanting. —If you do have need of me, that is."

He extinguishes the candle, and looks at her with a slight smile.

"I almost do not believe it, but I feel… hopeful," Xan says. "And there, the candle is out. Do you forgive me for squandering it, now?"

"Yes," Radri says, barely managing to voice the word with how touched she is, and clearly past the need for any apology of his. "I'm… I…"

Xan just gazes contentedly at her, looking more at peace this morning than he has in days, and rather than trying to put into words what she feels after hearing what he said, she just wants to hold him. So she does.

"I suppose you will want us to return to reverie now," Xan says, his voice slightly muffled by the arms she's thrown around his neck. "I appreciate your offer to serve as my blanket, but it will be difficult to kiss you goodnight in this position… and I know how you cannot bear to forgo it."

"What even are you talking about," Radri mumbles, having reached her limit for deciphering spoken words the moment Xan's candle went out. There's simply too much information: from her heart, her head, this bond, and even the sun, whose rays are now peeking irritatingly in from the gap in the curtains at the window.

"Nothing," Xan answers, feeling all of this from her, and deciding to postpone his teasing for later. They have time. This hour, this day... and yes, perhaps even tomorrow.

—

full xan/radri compilation

[calciumdeficientt]

I BEG… FOR TOM… GURNEY… HEADCANONS…

THOMASSSSSS MY SONNNNN MY BOYYYYYYYYY yah absolutely :3

TOM GURNEY HEADCANONS

That’s an autistic boy if i ever did see one. Tom is me i am tom. The no shoes thing is definitely a sensory issue, i like to think its the socks more than its the shoes, likely the seams around the toes. I feel like if tom is forced to wear socks and shoes he’s got very specific sensory needs. Absolutely no ankle socks, those were sent by the government to make your ankles feel like they’re being strangled by their oppressive regime, only gym socks pulled up as far as they can physically stretch with sneakers that are tied so tight he takes them off and there’s an indent of the laces on his foot and absolutely zero circulation from the ankle down

Tom runs a very successful horror blog, he talks about behind the scenes info for his favourite movies and also provides ratings of movies both new and old. It’s really funny to watch him in the cinema because he sits with a little norepad and makes notes the whole time so he can come up with a decicive score on the blog. He spends a lot of time in the movies, its where most of the money he threatens out of other students ends up. He goes to watch movies a minimum of 5 times to make sure he didn’t miss any details or lose any plot points that might bump up his initial scores. He has a secret spreadsheet and everything, its insane commitment, but special interest is gonna special interest, am i right gamers?

A very very good student when he applies himself, especially as a creative writer, if you look past all the blood, gore, and general slasher rapiness in his works you can definitely see all the signs of a promising novelist or screenwriter. In the poetry department, he’s not so stellar. Tom is still of the mindset that all poems must rhyme and are generally quite superficial and pointless pieces of writing. And they’re completely separate to all the private free form stuff he writes in his journal from time to time. Those aren’t poems at all they’re just… succinct vents

Tom is also a greatly talented drummer, the kid has rhythm all the way up to his eyeballs, and if he wasn’t so scared i think he’d be a great asset to bullworth’s marching band. But he knows he’d get torn to shreds by his friends so he stays well enough way no matter how hard miss peters begs for him to try out. He borrows a drum kit Russel keeps in his garage and practices using karaoke tracks of songs he illegally torrented onto his iPod, no sheet music, just vibes.

Tom’s face bruise is actually part bruise and port wine stain birthmark, hence why it stays that lovely purple hue forever. The redness in his eye is from repeated blows to the head from both friends and foes but the purple skin around his eye is (mostly) just birthmark

The rest of his bruises are actually just from minor injuries. I think tom has elhers danos syndrome (EDS) so the kid bruises like a peach. Minor bumps from passersby in the busy halls of bullworth leave him looking like he was in a full on beat down. That’s not to say that he’s not often in huge scuffles because he absolutely is, he’s just a little more physically delicate than the other bullies

Tom has the hots for angie (at least in my save he does) so he tries to act like a sweetheart whenever he’s around her. He knows that she knows he’s a bully but i think tom really wants to show her that he’s more than that, he’s better than that. Tom doesnt even like being a bully all that much, it’s just the hard facts of life at bullworth that you’re either in or out, and god knows he wouldn’t last a day if he was out.

[sleep-nurse]

so um. i just spent the last two hours working my fucking ass off to try and complete the foe facts journal. and. um. i just realised that i killed king carnivore in the sprout mole village. so i can’t get his entry. so i can’t get the achievement.

i’m fine i love omori so much

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OUCH OUCH OUCH

[wrapmeinatortilla]

THE BITE ME DIARIES

AN ENHYPEN SMAU SERIES

Now Playing; [ Bite Me ]

0:55 ——◦———— -1:42

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

There are three things Y/n knows for certain:

1.) Danielle is her best friend

2.) Her favorite color is pink

3.) And the seven guys showing up in her dreams are hot as hell

When y/n starts college at her dream university, Decelis Academy, her dreams start to fade into reality. Things that are hidden come to light and she starts wishing some would have stayed in the shadows.

Alternatively, you’re thrown into a world of supernatural beings. Are they friends, foes, or lovers? The choice is yours.

Vampire!Jungwon x prophetic dreamer!reader

Currently Writing

Riki is a menace to society. It's a good thing that he is really good at talking himself out of sticky situations. Well he didn’t know exactly how he was going to talk you, a vampire slayer known for getting the job done, out of removing the wooden stake from his heart area. Oh I know! Just promise you’ll help them find the vampire responsible for killing her mom. Shouldn’t be too hard…right?

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

“You’re too sexy to be a murderer?”

“…how do you want me to respond to that?”

“Well the goal is to get you to maybe not kill me?”

Alternatively: Y/n’s a badass who gets flustered way too easily. Riki is a menace who loves to fluster Y/n.

Vampire!Riki x vampire slayer!reader

Coming soon…

Sunghoon was the campus celebrity. The untouchable. The boy who could get whoever he wanted at the drop of a hat. All except for the cute journalism major he had bumped into on accident who now avoids him like the plague. The reason being, you can read minds and at the time of your juncture he had been thinking about who he would be having for dinner.

“Listen I know you’re a vampire and all but can you not think about blood for one second I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Wait I’m a WHAT!?”

Alternatively: Y/n wants to avoid being Sunghoons next meal, Sunghoon just wants to take her out to one.

Vampire!Sunghoon x mind reader!reader

Coming soon…

Jay needs a model for his fashion class stat and sadly according to his teacher he isn’t allowed to use anyone he knows. So when Jay sees you the prettiest girl he has ever seen sitting by yourself under a tree, he knows that he has to get to know you and maybe get you to model for him. One thing leads to another and he can feel himself falling for you. However there is one issue, you have an overprotective demon watching over you at all times and Jay can hardly get you alone enough to confess his feelings. That and your creepy ass parents won't stop bothering everyone.

“Wanna go out on a date with me?”

“Let me just ask Yeonjun. Yeonjun can I go on a date with Jay?”

“No.”

“He said no! Wait he said no...”

Alternatively: Y/n has to put up with constant flirting and constant cockblocking and she’s maybe a tiny bit sick of it.

Vampire!Jay x demon summoner!reader

Coming soon…

No one at campus could believe that the captain of the basketball team and the captain of the cheerleading team hated eachother. After all, wasn’t it sort of an unspoken rule for the two to rule the school together as a power couple? Not to these two. However their feud isn’t just one that runs skin deep. Werewolves and vampires are destined to hate eachother…aren’t they? But when trouble strikes that effects the both of them, the two sworn enemies are going to have to band together to solve it. Which is easier said then done….

“Why don’t you just bite me asshole.”

“Wouldn’t you like that sweetheart.”

Alternatively: Y/n and Heeseung are like Romeo and Juliet if they hated each other, and were age appropriate, and were supernatural creatures.

Vampire!Heeseung x werewolf!reader

Coming soon…

Jake was by far the worst person in his group of friends at hiding things. The only things he was capable of hiding was the fact that he’s a vampire and that he has a huge crush on the girl in his inorganic chemistry class. That was until sunghoons girlfriend read his mind and accidentally spilled the beans to the rest of the guys. Now they keep trying to set him up with you but jakes only admired you from afar and you only know him for being the boy with no soul.

“I’ve noticed you keep staring at me is it because of my unwavering charm, my insatiable wit, my dripping good looks?”

“No it’s because you have no soul.”

“Oh…that works too!”

Alternatively: Y/n has no idea why a group of vampires keep showing up around her. At least one of them is cute…

Vampire!Jake x half-angel!reader

Coming soon…

Sunoo had been a vampire for a long time. He was born one, turned his best friend into one, and watched his other friends become just like him. And now he had watched all his friends fall in love and he was happy just watching them. Well he was mostly happy, cause how the hell did those idiots manage to find the loves of their life before he did?! On a particularly hungry night, Sunoo will admit he got a little sloppy, sloppy in the fact that he had drank someone completely dry right in front of you a girl in his criminology course. A girl who happens to be just a tad bit curious how vampires work.

“So can vampires get STD’s if y’all don’t use condoms?”

“You do realize that I can still kill you right?”

“Yes I get that but you gotta tell me man can you get chlamydia?”

Alternatively: Y/n finds out the boy she thinks is a total hottie, is the supernatural creature she finds the most intriguing.

Vampire!Sunoo x vampire enthusiast!reader

Coming soon…

[sheirukitriesfandom]

Snippet Someday "A Change of Seasons: Foe" edition

@elavoria and @miraakulous-cloud-district wanted me to participate (Thank you!!!) and as luck would have it, they got me right as I'm editing the next chapter of my longest fic. It was interesting to see how much my writing has improved since I started writing this fic. I now cringe a bit reading the first few chapters, but I still like them overall ^^; Not tagging anyone because I believe all of you writerly mutuals have been tagged already ^^;. First chapter:

Seeking inspiration for a new story, Rashkan has decided to visit the Frozen Hearth, where he happens upon an unlikely source.

"What I know is that, three days ago, a Stormcloak patrol vanished  — Reinforcements from Windhelm. Apparently, they just disappeared into thin air. No signs of battle — Not a trace—, but then again, it did snow quite heavily that night." Rashkan frowned. An entire Stormcloak patrol just vanishing was already reason for concern, but the fact that it had happened at night when they had likely set up camp, been together, and somewhat fortified…  "I can imagine just how much this got the rumour mill running. Do tell, what is the word around town?" "You have no idea the kinds of stories people tell," Nelacar groaned and rubbed his temples as if to ward off an approaching headache. "Some say an imperial patrol took them prisoner; according to others, it was an avalanche that buried them; Haran says the dead have risen from the Sea of Ghosts to take the living with them."  Struck by the spark of inspiration, Rashkan flicked through his journal and scribbled the words: 'Ghost story — Undead from the sea' onto a free page.

Favourite chapter (Savos 5 & 5.5): My favourite chapters are the ones set in the mine--the segments that got this entire currently-18-chaptered fic started. I loved writing the atmosphere and although I'd now change a few things for pacing's sake, I still enjoy reading them. In this extract, Savos, Kvinna, and Verna (a Vigilant of Stendarr and a Winterhold guard introduced earlier in the story) have just entered an abandoned mine near Winterhold after finding--no, read for yourselves :D.

The mine was warmer than outside and reeked of rotting wood and bat droppings. Step by step, the light from the entrance grew weaker until eventually, the magelight stood on its own against the dark. In its cold glow, shadows slithered along the walls, forming shapes of unknown monsters. More than once, Savos caught himself glimpsing over his shoulder, but every time, he found only Verna. Neither of them dared say a word. They hardly dared breathe as well; too great was the fear of alerting whatever lurked within the depths. As they continued deeper into the bowels of the earth, it became clear that the mine must have been abandoned for decades, if not a whole century. Like the town of Winterhold, it had fallen into disarray and become a grave for old lorries, pickaxes and other equipment; bones of busier days, they lay scattered across the ground or leaned against the walls where time and rust feasted on their marrow. In that forlorn underworld, time became meaningless, an abstract construct for the people above to worry about. Savos struggled to keep his mind from straying, peeking at past regret and putting others in the place of Kvinna and Verna.   Atmah and Hafnar…  It was as if they had parted only a few days ago. The clever, ambitious Redguard new to Winterhold, who had immediately found a friend in Savos; and Hafnar, the bold, jolly Nord, the brother Savos never had. He hoped they still stood firm after all those years, encasing Morokei in his eternal prison; eternal imprisonment they shared, all of them, in their own right.

Most difficult chapter (Rashkan 8.5): Always the one in progress. I'm one of those weirdos who enjoy editing more than writing, so getting the first draft and structural edits down first is always such a pain in the ass. Since I posted the introduction to chapter 19 (still unpublished) a while back, have an excerpt from chapter 18. It's technically a bit spoiler-y but without context, I doubt one can make much of it.

Rashkan made a clucking noise with his tongue, scowling at Muzgog. The hulking orc glared at him through narrowed eyes, his temple pulsing red. Rashkan ignored him and sat up straight. "And what a life it would have been: A life in fear. Of war, famine, illness, the creatures of the night and the daedra that spawned them. Until she died of some wolf or bandit or vampire—a life without any accomplishment," he spoke coolly, his eyes searching the wooden chicken and finding it still in Muzgog's massive hands. "When I arrived in this land, I was lost. Rejected. By my relatives, by the college. I was nothing; another dreg washed ashore in Windhelm, sobering up to the bleak reality of Skyrim. When I was at my darkest, had given up on life here, in this cold, cruel land, I met her. Licette Vantieve, the woman who made me what I am. She took me in with her band of hedge-mages and vampires. She gave me a home, people I called family, and a purpose," he looked Muzgog in the eye. "It was a bloody, hard life, but I would have rather died than give it up." "And for that you took an ice spike to the gut." "Mhm, exactly. What I am trying to say is: You gave that girl a gift greater than any other. You gave her a life with a purpose." Muzgog sat still as a rock, staring at the fireplace, where, bit by bit, cinders became ash. Then, suddenly, he turned to Rashkan and laughed, a ragged sound like millstones grinding against each other. "Spoken like a true stronghold orc; all that pompous talk of family and purpose. Pah, if I were of their stock, I'd be right with you." His expression shifted, and whatever fleeting mirth it contained vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "But I'm of Markarth. Never seen a stronghold from the inside."

I love that exchange... If you've become curious about A Change of Seasons: Foe, you can check it out here. Like all parts of ACoS so far, it can be read as standalone.

[little-nobody]

hello hi what do you think of the bread twins my beloveds the bread twins

THEM THEM I LOVE THEM!!

they are actually my second favorite!!

(right behind captain spaceboy cough cough)

ANYWAYS-

i feel like they have lots of potential for hcs due to the actual openess of their background and they're very fun characters overall!

i love the foe facts journal entry on them, it really adds some depth into their backstory, it also made me giggle a bit

i would LOVE to see more hcs with headspace Hero and Unbread Twins interactions, it would be lots of fun to see their dynamic due to the mutual skills in cooking/baking!

i also just love when people make hcs for them in general, it's nice to see other people's perspective on the whole thing!! (it's also really enlightening to think abt said hcs i happen to see)

i really like how they're based off of the twins irl who actually work(ed?) at the bakery, it was a really nice touch (surprised me when i saw them out of headspace)

overall, very fun characters to play around with when it comes to hcs and other character interactions <3

i love biscuits bread hat thing i would die for him

[lunamidnight]

November 26th

Fanfiction/Original Fiction

First created: Aug. 2015

Last updated: Aug 2015

General Premise: a short thing of an oc in gravity falls.

Other notes: kinda fell out of this one honestly.

It was early afternoon as young Dipper Pines walked along a path following some worn out tracks supposedly made by the great beast that the town has been yammering on about. So while he walked he was occasionally looking in the journal he had with him, finding the best description to be werewolves.”there are two kinds of these unique beast, pure breeds, and half breeds...huh.”Dipper read aloud before looking at the known details of each one.

“pure breeds - human by day, wolf by night, the older the wolf to more likely it can stand on two legs in wolf form. dangerous foes, and worthy allies. Carnivorous mainly but may snack on berries and other plant life if needed.” Dipper read aloud before reading the next part.

“half breeds - half human, half wolf, may hide traits, and most of the time has an avoidance to one kind of meat over all others, ie: fish or pork.” dipper said before humming in thought before continuing”only able to turn into a full wolf on a night of a full moon. weaknesses for all werewolves: silver. huh i was expecting something surprising- ah!” 

Dipper said before tripping in one of the prints, and dropping the journal ahead of him. he pushed himself up just in time for to hear”are you ok?” He looked ahead of him to see no one.”up here”the voice called causing him to look up into a nearby tree, on one of the branches sat a girl looking down at him.The girl had black hair underneath a dark gray hat,a dark blue shirt, dark jeans with a black skirt over the back of her waist. 

“hey i asked if you’re ok?” she asked again since he didn’t respond at first, staring at her in confusion”how in the world...did you get up there?” Dipper asked abruptly.”i climbed?”the girl replied lifting the rope she used to get up to her perch.”why?” he asked “why are you answering my question?” the girl replied smartly. 

Dipper stopped himself and smacked his forehead ”sorry...that was rude...i’m fine, thanks for asking.” he replied “hello i’m fine i’m Fairby, nice to meet you” Fairby replied with a laugh.”sorry i had the chance so i took it, anyways back to your question, i’m collecting berries for my mom” she replied. 

Dipper blinked at the joke before chuckling himself.”hehe good one, really my name is Dipper Pines, nice to meet you Fairby, uh...why way up there, isn’t there plenty on lower levels?” He asked “there is but little known fact the higher the berries are the juicier and cleaner they are.” fairby explained pulling off a small branch on berries and placing them in a bag, before moving to slide down the rope.

Once she reached the bottom, she tied the rope to a lower branch so she could use it later.”well nice to meet you Dipper Pines, You wouldn’t happen to be related somehow to the old guy that owns the mystery shack would you?” Fairby asked curiously.”oh yeah me and my twin sister mabel are his great nephew and niece, were visiting for the summer.”Dipper replied.

”oh that so awesome, i’ve been wanting to check it out, and maybe make some friends or something.” Fairby replied before letting out a sigh "Well you can come by sometime and hang out with us. Mabel loves new friends." Dipper replied.”I’ll have to do that soon, but not today i have to get these berries back home, but maybe tomorrow” Fairby replied.

“yeah, well see you tomorrow”Dipper said smiling a little.”see ya” she said before walking away through the trees. “now where was I…”dipper said to himself looking down at the floor to see where the tracks lead, however there were no more tracks, the last set of tracks looked deeper than any of the previous sets. 

Dipper frowned in disappointment before he picked up his journal and looked inside. after rereading the page he pulled out a small black light and looked over the page again. “were wolves have a keen sense of smell, incredible eyesight, ability to heal their own wounds, fantastic runners, and some of the older pure breeds are agile jumpers.” dipper read. “awww it jumped…”he said whining and making his voice crack slightly before he put the journal away and headed back to the shack.

~

[arobinwithoutbatman]

"C'mon, spill it all. I don't need to see to feel the thousand questions bubbling inside your head." Dio encouraged Tim while organizing his father's old journals and voice record tapes on his observations and research on what had become of Dio through the years of being connected to the ancient Isu temple under their home, and submerged in what seemed to be called Lazarus Pit water by Tim and his siblings, friends and, apparently, foes too. "You're radiating it all the way from there. I can sense it."

"I'm trying to be polite." He argued back. It was a very weak argument, more of a whine than anything, absolutely no anger or sarcasm or even anything negative in his voice.

Tim was always thirsty for knowledge. He soaked up facts like a sponge, sought out anything new like a blood hound and followed and tracked patterns with a single minded focus until he discovered what it meant. He loved to learn. Loved to tinker and discover and question the whys and hows. It had been gone for a while but it was starting to come back. He was back at school and doing work that actually challenged him, he got to tackle harder topics as a vigilante and now there was the absolute goldmine of knowledge kept by his boyfriend's father.

"I've got so many I don't know where to start." He was incredibly careful with everything, had put on gloves just to be on the safe side. "If I start asking one thing, several more questions are gonna try to come out and it'll just be a big verbal mess of sounds."

[thevindicativevordan]

Any thoughts on Grant Morrison's Action Comics run? Beyond T shirt-and-jeans Superman being great.

That whole run reinvigorated my love of the character.

There have been numerous thoughtpieces about New 52 Superman, how he worked and how he didn't but these two entries really do a great job of summing up why Morrison's take on Superman was great. Morrison laid the foundation for a new generational Superman that DC completely fucked up and ran into the ground. I'll always be bitter about that, even if I had tapped out of reading the New 52 Superman books by the end due to how bad they got. Editorial and their idiotic mandates were what screwed over the potential of this take in my eyes.

Now I get that it wasn't to everyone's taste, but I cannot fathom how anyone could ever claim that Pre-Flashpoint Superman was better. If you liked Byrne's reboot better, your guy already got rebooted after Infinite Crisis. For someone like me who really enjoyed the Johns/Busiek era, that era's potential got spoiled after Johns & Busiek left, with New Krypton imploding and the awful Grounded taking it's place. When you get to the point where the best Superman book is the one starring Lex Luthor, it's time to reassess the franchise and figure out where the hell it went wrong.

Which is exactly what Morrison did. For this new Superman, Morrison mined all the best ideas of every Superman era to really give what I consider the ideal "base" for Superman. They also took pains to address common criticisms about Superman, working to correct his pop culture image. People have been complaining that Superman is "too perfect", "too unrelatable" for a long time, so Morrison addressed that. They gave Superman his balls back, and let him reacquire that Golden Age edge he had originally.

There are a lot of complaints you can make about Morrison's Superman, but I don't see how you could accuse this guy of being "flawless" or "bland". He definitely had a personality that you could describe, love him or hate him. Compassionate, but not a pushover. Clearly holding himself back, but unafraid to occasionally let loose. Flaws that were patently obvious, Clark had a temper here that could get him into trouble. There was a real showcase of anger here, of Superman being furious at the way people were treated by the rich and powerful, then doing something about it that I ate up.

I read this run just as I was coming into my teens and it hit perfectly for where I was in life. Did not want a Superman who would smile and tell me it gets better, I wanted a Superman who looked you in the eye and told you he felt that same anger, and then encouraged you to go out and do something about how you felt. That was what this run delivered in spades, and it expanded what I believed could be done with Superman.

While it totally blew my mind to see Superman acting this way the first time I read Morrison's Action Comics run, in retrospect it really isn't that different from how Superman has acted even under Byrne. One of the few traits I've seen carry across Superman incarnations in the comics is that he has a temper underneath that affable nature. "Don't tug on Superman's cape" as the old song goes. This run simply elevated that to the forefront of the character again, for the better in my eyes given I believe "Wrath" is Superman's Deadly Sin.

In fact, one of the strongest features of this run is that Superman gets actual character development over the course of the run, analogous to what Batman underwent in Morrison's Bat-Epic. While the Bat-Epic was merely Morrison re-canonizing Batman's entire history, and applying a retroactive character development storyline that culminated in Morrison's current Batman work, their Action Comics run had them attempt to craft something similar for Superman from scratch. What that meant was Morrison attempting to draw on the most important traits of every Superman era and incorporate those into this new take. So Superman had the Golden Age temper, compassion for the oppressed, and cockiness. The Silver Age supergenuis, proud scion of Krypton who cherished his Kryptonian nature, member of the Legion of Superheroes, and participant in stories that weren't afraid to get weird. Superman's wrestling with his place in the world, the importance of Clark Kent, and making journalism a key part of the character strike me as all being hallmarks of the Bronze Age. From Post-Crisis we got that Clark views himself as human and loves his adopted parents, considering them as equal to his birth ones.

One of the big frustrations for me with the endless origin stories for Superman, is that so many of them follow a predictable and stale formula where Clark puts on the suit and is essentially ready to go. Doesn't interfere with human affairs, is modest and humble, restrained in usage of his powers, it's like Clark has meta knowledge of what he "should" be, despite that he shouldn't have any foreknowledge of what a "superhero" should look like. He operates the same way at the start as he does in the modern day, and that's really boring to me. This Superman, because of the difference in powers and attitude, operated extremely different from his "present day" incarnation. Dangling Glenmorgan over the edge of a building isn't something a fully powered and mature Superman should do, but it works great to make his early days different and exciting to read about, it makes returning to that era something you can do different storytelling with. This run is the only time where I really cared that Superman is "supposed" to be the first superhero, because figuring out what that means here is a big part of how he develops.

We all know the common complaint that Superman is "too powerful" and that "nothing can hurt him" (funny how Thor never gets hit with those accusations), so Morrison made sure to show that this take on Superman could be beaten even if he could never be defeated. Events conspired to force Clark to use his brains as well as his powers to overcome the challenges in front of him.

Examples include him using his heat vision to fry Lex's equipment and escape the military, using his rocket ship to defeat Brainiac, and rallying the population of Metropolis to banish Vyndktvx. Not to say that Clark never used his brains before to win, but this run was very upfront and in your face about how important Clark's intellect is to triumphing over his foes. Can't take seriously the complaint that Superman is too overpowered when Morrison constantly showcased how even a very powerful Superman could get his shit wrecked by his Rogues.

Another example of Morrison addressing criticisms is Kryptonite. A lot of people poke fun at how convenient it is that pieces of Superman's homeworld follow him all the way to Earth. Isn't that a bit of an asspull? So Morrison made Kryptonite the power source of Superman's rocket, giving it a perfectly natural and believable reason both for it to end up on Earth, and for Lex & the military to get a hold of it since Pa Kent gave the military the rocket. That's still my preferred explanation for how Kryptonite ended up on Earth.

It also provides a better explanation for all the different Kryptonite variants. DC can handwave away the different types as a result of Lex experimenting or the different "forces" on Earth such as magic or the Speed Force or whatever creating the different variants. That to me is much more believable than Kryptonite travelling all across the galaxy yet still ending up on Earth somehow.

There have also been a lot of complaints about Superman's villains, and Morrison diligently set about reworking them. By far one of my favorite aspects of the run, was the villain revamps. Nimrod felt like a clean revamp of Terra-Man, making him into Superman's Kraven the Hunter struck me as a patently obvious route to go, wild no one has followed up on that or used him since. Metallo felt like a good synthesis of Johns take of him as an Anti-Superman weapon, and the sympathetic aspects of Corben's origin that are always there, I liked that Morrison didn't make him a total bastard before his transformation like Johns did. Brainiac got some sympathy added to him in that the collected worlds that were already marked for damnation, thus he was "saving" them in a fashion. Clay Ramses embodied toxicity as a wife-beater even before becoming Kryptonite Man, and I thought his backstory was a great way for Clark to still deal with "real" issues via a manner he could punch. Ramses is still the best take on Kryptonite Man. Vyndktvx felt like the greatest realization of the threat Mr. Mxyzptlk could pose should he decide to get serious since Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?, plus I'm a sucker for stories where superheroes fight the Devil. Drekken and Superdoom took the only interesting aspects of Doomsday (his ability to evolve and that he can kill Superman respectively), and were much more interesting characters.

And oh my God, speaking of Superdoom, that part of Morrison's Action run has aged like fine wine. I don't know if they caught wind of DC's plans for the character, or if they were just prescient, but everything that Superdoom is playing on is still sadly all too present. What Superdoom is as a character is a condemnation of what DC keeps doing with Superman: killing him off or making him evil.

When you realize what Superdoom (demand for a more violent and "realistic" Superman) and Vyn (WB/DC) stand in for, it makes the frustration Morrison is channeling much more palpable. Those two plotlines are all DC can think of to do with the character, returning to those again and again. Endlessly attempting to recapture the high of Batman and Doomsday beating the shit out of Supes in The Dark Knight Returns and Death of Superman. Overcoming these two obstacles is Superman's greatest challenge as conceived by Morrison, because both are out to corrupt and ruin the very idea of him. It's not just a physical death he faces, but a metaphysical one as well. Sadly it's a threat Superman just can't seem to lick in the real world, with more and more takes on "Evil Superman" coming.

Lois and Jimmy are great here, because Morrison actually made the investigative journalism aspect of Superman important. Lois is an active participant in the story, trying to break in to the base where Clark is being held by her father, competing with Clark for stories (I love how Morrison writes the banter between the two of them), and generally being classic Lois. Jimmy though benefitted from being positioned as a peer rather than as a kid in comparison to the two, something I wish the comics had carried forward. It looks like My Adventures With Superman is going with that interpretation at least, so I hope others do as well. Jimmy being Clark's roommate really adds to their bond, and I wish we had gotten more stories with that status quo.

Investigative reporter Clark Kent was so actively used here that it feels jarring reading other Superman runs where they tend to downplay and ignore it. Following Clark as he travels to different areas of Metropolis and actually interacts with people, instead of hovering above them as Superman, makes him feel human. Watching Clark actively pursue stories aimed at bettering peoples livelihoods, and seeing how those stories crossed with the superheroics, was one of my favorite aspects of the run. It's one unfortunately few other writers seem all that interested in, especially the New 52 writers who followed Morrison (I know editorial probably bears a lot of blame for that though).

Besides all that, this run was a lot of fun! The Legion of Superheroes showed up, their connection to Clark restored, and they got to play a big role in Clark's adventures! Krypto the Superdog! Martian colonies! Memorizing all of medicine, Superman performs a lifesaving operation! Lex using a "bullet train" to knock Clark out! 5-D imps! Rampaging robots from beyond! A Phantom Zone Halloween story! John Henry Irons suits up as Steel and kicks ass alongside Clark! Every Superman Rogue teams up to try to kill him, but Lex Luthor saves his life because that's a privilege he reserves for himself! Showcasing their trademark love for the Supermythos, Morrison took us on a tour of Superlore that demonstrated the depth and width of what could be done with Superman. Meanwhile the backups by Sholly Fisch excelled at giving us smaller, more human stories about Superman (the one where Clark meets Pa again via time travel "after" Pa has died always gives me a lump in my throat to read).

Ultimately this didn't get to be the foundation for the next generation of Superman stories as it deserved. Johns made New 52 Superman the scapegoat in Doomsday Clock for a lot of storytelling choices he did over in Justice League, something that pisses me off to no end. You want to tell me that this guy "didn't relate" to people, didn't inspire "hope"?

Like hell he didn't. This guy was Superman in every way that mattered and he deserved better than to be framed as the scapegoat for all the stupid decisions DC made about what to do with him. Greg Pak was able to do some great work with this version after Morrison, and just like how Gene Yang got a redemption work starring Superman, I hope to one day see Pak return to the character. Would love to read a Black Label Superman story by Pak that follows his take on young Superman.

All wasn't lost however. Against all odds, and Rebirth trying it's damndest to sweep everything under the rug, it looks like parts of this era have actually survived to the current Infinite Frontier era. With Morrison being heavily involved no less, both as an ideas guy and as an actual writer.

Superman & the Authority is explicitly Superman coming full circle back to the attitude displayed by his young counterpart under Morrison. Janin has outright said that the costume Clark wears here is reminiscent of the t-shirt and jeans era of Superman, and this book so far feels saturated with an energy level from Morrison I haven't seen in their work for hire since they left Action. Reaching old age and realizing he never really delivered on the high ideals of his beginnings, it's Superman putting together a team to hopefully succeed where he couldn't alone. Scathing in how it criticizes the superhero status quo, this has been extremely entertaining to read. Wish Morrison was writing 12 issues with this team, and that ultimately it will be up to PKJ to deliver on the potential is a drawback (although I've loved PKJ's Action run so far), but I'm glad to see DC finally treating Morrison and their ideas with more respect than was shown during Rebirth.

Jon meanwhile feels like an even more explicit attempt at redoing New 52 Superman. There's the updated new suit, designed to appeal to a new generation with it's streamlined look. Positioning Jon as a Superman who wants to tackle the "real" issues, with Taylor explicitly comparing him to Golden Age Superman which as I mentioned was an era Morrison tried to reincorporate into their reboot. There's the Legion of Superheroes connection which played an important role in Morrison's reboot. The rumors about Jon's sexuality are interesting, hinting that DC is willing to go outside the box with him in a way they never would with Clark. I'm excited to see what kind of Superman Jon ends up becoming, if he can deliver on the promise of the New 52 Superman all the better.

This run deserves to be remembered and to have the lessons it tried to teach respected. Probably my favorite mainline run on Superman, I hope more people come around to liking it as time goes on.

[drefvalentine]

Thoughts on Not My Fantasy Skyjacks this week

(talking necromancy, nothing gross, but I’m touching on some stuff pre/post n’goni)

imagining the crew meets someone of this culture. They explain their view of death and the afterlife and how detailing your life is important because then more people can remember you and talk to you. And how you connect with their loved activities and loved places and all collectively let yourselves be haunted.

….add that to the fact that Dref left behind many journals detailing both his work and his thoughts and maybe even feelings. How they (the PCs) could connect to him and now they have this handy book to commune w the dead, they won’t need a lily to perform a dangerous ceremony every time!! ugh I just want them to communicate w dref to eventually face the cutting stone. It doesn’t seem like the kind of foe they ought to face without him. Mmm I do wonder if this magic works if they aren’t committed to the river.

[kadeu]

Accepted — Wainwright Rook

♣     Rook Wainwright aka Hyena looks like Colson Baker (musician/actor) ♣     He was born October 13th, 1966; making him 58 years old, but he appears 26 ♣     This Concubus is Bisexual and a King of Clubs ♣     He is a Tavern Owner and Resistance Informant

Biography

tw: child abandonment

 “I’ll keep a razor in my wraps to slit your throat at the gates.”

 Rook Wainwright was doomed to be a menace from the start. Memories not eroded by drugs or head trauma of his childhood are few and far between, but what he remembers in fleeting moments is the cold, the ache in his stomach as he struggled to keep himself fed, both on meager scraps of bread and small amounts of water, and the emotional stimuli of the world around him, drawn to anger and misery like a moth to a brilliant flame for his own survival. An orphan with no awareness of his true lineage, Rook knew only that one of his parents had been a concubus- and that if they had once lived in the slums of Club, they had long since left it, and him, behind. Little more than a child, Rook had no awareness of the concepts he’d fallen victim to, homelessness, abandonment- He knew only that he wanted to- no, needed to survive, and so, he fought tooth and nail to do just that.

 Club was unkind to him, brutal and lawless, but he found his comfort in a few kinder hands and hearts, a warm meal here and there, a mend on his dirty sweater or a hand me down coat to fight off the biting cold of the winter, and as he grew, he came to understand his position better- he was a one. Lowest of the lows, sooner to be spat on than offered a helping hand, but there were others, people who certainly looked just like him living lives a thousand times better. What made them different? Made them greater than Rook himself? What had they done to deserve their comfortable homes and three square meals? What had they done to sit in the warm glow of the taverns while Rook wasted away in the streets? He learned soon enough that they’d fought for those positions, tore their comfort from the teeth of their opposition, of their ‘greaters’- and had reaped the benefits. Now a teenager with a lithe, muscular frame, the young concubus was no whelp, and with nothing but a miserable excuse of a life to lose, he threw his hat into the ring of Club’s constant power struggles, practically gorging himself on anger and fear before each fight to grasp his single edge over those he faced: Head games.

 “The cuts won’t kill you, but hesitation just might. Don’t let him get in your head.”

 Oh, how Rook loved watching his opponents squirm, every little emotion, their trepidation, their concern, their fear of losing their status to some young upstart made him bloodthirsty. From the first unlucky two he’d challenged to a fight, his method rarely changed: shake them to their core, break their focus. He’d taunt them, infuriate them into making a foolish mistake- the only mistake he needed to put them down. Weaponless and unable to afford one, he chose instead to hone his fists, torn fabric wrapped around shards of glass and rusted nails to make each swing a more deadly hazard, cutting his own hands to pieces in every clash, wrists slick with blood each time he placed a foot on the neck of his fallen opponent. Each promotion was that one step closer to no longer living with the shameful gaze of those who thought he was nothing, something he had now come to loathe.  By 18, Rook was a three of clubs, and had garnered the respect of those beneath him, somewhat renowned for his uncharacteristic kindness to his fellow lowrankers, it was his own bread that he broke now for the Ones struggling to get by, he held no ill will toward those he’d stepped on to climb up- it was the way life worked, after all, and those he left alive always had Rook’s respect. At least, most of them.

 “...A Scavenger, you know that’s what you are, right? Scrappy little fucker picking fights you can’t finish?”

 Rook’s promotion to a seven was unintentional, at least, as unintentional as the boy could manage. Now in his early twenties, Rook had comfortably settled at his position as a five, a dagger strapped to his hip and several tattoos marking his arms denoting his history and previous wins, the closest thing to a journal that the illiterate concubus could maintain to remember his experiences over the years. He’d liked the position, respected by the lowrankers and rarely bothered by the face cards, and most importantly, able to feed his newfound thirst for the emotion of lust, he likely would have held his position for the rest of his life, no hunger to climb higher than somewhere he felt comfortable, if not for the fact he had gotten brave and made a move on a pretty Seven at the tavern, satisfied to simply be rejected for acting out of his position, to feed on the disgust and shock at his mere implication he might be worthy- what he got instead: was stabbed.

 The young man’s lover had seen the exchange, and not particularly pleased at the implication he could be replaced by a five of all things, had drawn his weapon and immediately challenged Rook. With no opportunity to prepare, and largely untrained with his own dagger, Rook was staggered, forced into fighting with a wound and a much more capable foe, his saving grace was liquor, their fight moving into the street before his competitor staggered on the steps, falling back just enough that he could close the distance. It was the same young man he’d flirted with who’d pulled him off, and it was the barmaid who tended to his wound that he celebrated with that night. He was a highranker now, and once more, that voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was still, in the eyes of some, unworthy- a fly to swat, a waste of air and turin. The drive that he had been able to abandon for so long had roared back to life, he would be antagonized no longer, made to look weak by those around him never again. And so, he trained.

 “Fights like a man possessed, I tell you. Doesn’t even use a weapon half the time.”

 His further climbing of ranks was slow going, but brutal. Unlike those he fought to ascend to Seven, he left none he fought for his next position alive, ten bodies of his fellows falling at his feet. He’d known what they thought of him, his promotion a fluke, that his rank never would have changed, if he hadn’t been aided by the mead coursing through the other Club. he proved them wrong over and over again, and as his rank ticked to eight, then nine, then ten, each one hard fought and won with fists more often than his weapons, his body became a network of ink and scars, each mark a new chapter in the story he’d committed to his flesh. By the time he challenged the position of King, Rook had come to be known as “Hyena,” a scavenger with a taste for blood and a brutality not to be underestimated. Now in his late thirties, Rook had stopped aging, and reached his full potential as a concubus, he fed like a king on lust and desire, low ranks and high alike charmed into his bed, honeyed words and drugs shared on wicked tongues in the dark, anger and fear fueling him in the ring. He had long played smart, his position of Jack taken from the hands of the foolish, the Queen rank choked out of a human who simply couldn’t withstand the physical onslaught- But his opponent for the position of King would offer him no such ease, a Strongarm with a history as bloodied as Rook’s own standing between him and his goals.

 “Concede. Concede and we both walk out of here Kings. It’s a fair trade, Rook.”

 Rook eventually stood over the bloodied body of the other King, planting his foot on the back of his neck with a primal howl, bones sore and broken, armor chipped and busted, but alive, alive and victorious. He was a King, standing now in the upper echelon of face cards with wounds that would eventually heal to show for it. He had proven with no uncertainty that he was no whelp, no refuse of the streets, and for the twenty years that followed- he would hold that position with a brutal efficiency. Rarely challenged for his title, Rook eventually ‘retired’ from his desperate climb for the top- and from his mercenary for hire work for extra coin. He settled on opening a tavern and working on learning how to read, the time not spent cleaning the bar spent reading and writing, practicing skills he never gave himself the peace to embrace as he was growing up. Still addicted to anything he could chew, smoke or drink, Rook’s tavern soon became a well known hideaway for those less… upstanding than most, an uncomfortable kind of peace formed in the awareness that the King running the place would sooner kill a troublemaker than huck them out on their ass. It was through the Tavern he became privy to, and eventually joined the Resistance, an ear to the ground in High Rank circles and many low ones given his position and occupation, Rook is an information broker, collecting and trading information to those who know how to stay on his good side. His hatred of being looked down upon eventually becoming a lust for true anarchy, no loyalty to Club or anyone but himself, for that matter. In Rook’s mind, there are two kinds of people, those worthy of and willing to work for  their survival, and those who are better off crushed beneath the cogs of change.

In Recent Years

Rook has maintained his position as the owner of the Thronebreaker Tavern, so called for one of his early nicknames. He continues to pass information between members of the resistance and operates within High Rank circles only to gather intel, otherwise preferring to be left to his life of excess. Infrequently called to defend his position as a King, Rook has no interest in becoming the Ace of Clubs, and is satisfied to hold his place under a fellow member of the resistance, but he maintains his training regime, and is well known for his brutal removal of those who break the peace of his tavern for anything other than a fight for rank. His addiction to Chrono when he was younger has caused damage to his mind, making him quick to anger and difficult to predict in recent years, and while no longer using it specifically, he still partakes in most other drugs, usually while running the Tavern itself. His taste for anarchy continues to grow, and he’s reveled in the recent attacks performed by those in the resistance, the fear and uncertainty more than enough to sustain him and the general promise of more to come exciting to the concubus.

Personality

Rook has never had any love for the rank system, he climbed it simply because he had to, used it to get where he wanted to be, and treats those around him with that thought process in mind, the gangs and ranks mean nothing to him, a Spade One is as respected as a Heart Ace in his eyes, so long as they respect him in return. Those who are unfamiliar with his past find him generally polite and jovial, a bartender with hundreds of stories and a proclivity for offering drinks on the house if the patron’s got a story to share in return, an imposing man with a heart of gold, at least on the surface. Those with a familiarity with Rook know that his kindness is as much of a play for power as his climb toward King was, that he’s a cunning, calculated sort who never acts without thinking twelve steps ahead, and that telling him too much could get you in the sights of someone you don’t want looking in on you. While often calm and measured, Rook is not above his anger, and often allows it to overtake him with little warning, though if this is because of his drug addictions or his history is up for debate.

  A horrendous flirt with a winning smile and a silver tongue, Rook’s truest vice is in the sins of the flesh, willing to trade more than a few things for a rendezvous in his bedroom, he isn’t picky about who he throws his chips in with, a behavior that’s gotten him in trouble before, and earned him an even more distasteful gaze than even his species has. Despite this, he’s warm and inviting, and keeps his friends close, loyal to the death to those willing to risk a friendship with the Hyena.

Congratulations Ring your app has been accepted and your invitation to the discord will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @crookxdrook to Kadeu!

[littlesparklight]

What is it about Zeus/Ganymede that you like so much?

I like them because I enjoy the dynamic (problematic I know 😬) and the fact that Ganymede was the only one who was given immortality, he must’ve been adored 🥰 instead of simply being a toy (which is my most dislike interpretation because it’s disrespectful to both parties imo)

Do you read fic of them (besides your own)? I remember reading a fic on live journal that I loved everything about but it’s gone R.I.P 😔

Ahh, anon. (guess who lost the original version because of clumsy fingers and now has to rewrite this...) First of all, yes, I do read fic other than my own! I’ve searched high and low for more to read, but I’m picky since a lot of it is with a negative/”realistic” take and I’m not here for that, so I never get to read as much of it as I’d like. And fic disappearing always sucks. :c

Second! Yeah, I plain enjoy the dynamic when spun in a positive way. Zeus must be completely besotted, because Ganymede is the only one that was taken to Olympus, and the only one who was given immortality! Any other relationship aside from Hera (and previous wives) last maybe a year or so at most? Clearly not so for Ganymede. How can I not like that? Not that I don’t understand why people would go with a negative/more “realistic” take, but honestly I am shamelessly going to go with the positive one, both because that pleases me and because that’s clearly what was intended from the ancients’ POV.

I also like both a bit of drama and kidnapping as a plot point, so the fact that things start with kidnapping is a feature not a bug for me. On top of that I like power differences, especially magical ones (extremely powerful beings having a squishy lover is catnip for me ok), and the other ones that comes with Zeus/Ganymede are great too.

Which, as a side point, leads into that any deity/human pairing is going to be incomprehensibly unequal. Any age differences is honestly the smallest issue when it comes to Z/G in specific or deity/mortal in general (considering that say, any Apollo ship for example is going to have them as well, even if he looks eternally nineteen). Ganymede could have been a 40 year old king and still would have been as powerless against and compared to Zeus as he was when he was taken as a teenager. A couple decades extra life experience isn’t going to change that (and, anyway, at some point Ganymede is going to be hundreds to thousands of years old, even if he’s still technically a youth.) If you’re into deity/human ships, this is just how it is. The options (in Greek myth) for mortals are to go “I’m into this, let’s go!!” or reject the god, and with rejection comes 1. it happens anyway, 2. turning/being turned into something else, 3. death. 2 or 3 are as bad as 1 when the mortal is unwilling, but there’s no really functional difference between rejection and consent when we’re talking about a being that is so massively powerful compared to a human. There’s not really any “ethical” way for a fictional relationship like this, and so, whatever. I’m into it, lol.

And with Zeus’ tendency of playing favourites, and the possibility of Ganymede basically having Zeus wrapped around his little finger? Yeah, all that power in service of spoiling his lover. ;)

Also, like. This is basically a bride kidnapping without the father’s permission. Zeus even pays a bride price!

In the end, like I’ve said before, Ganymede is going to be on Olympus either way. The Iliad’s version has not a whiff of the kidnapping being done for sexual reasons (the sexual element is old, but not as old as the oldest sources we have); the gods, all of them, decided “yeah that one is way too pretty to waste on a human life, get him up here” and took Ganymede for themselves. Why not add some HEA with love too?

Have some quotes below:

Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 2. 414 ff (trans. Mozley) (Roman epic C1st A.D.) : "[Depicted on a tapestry of Hypsipyle queen of Lemnos :] This part showed the rape on leafy Ida and the famed flight of the boy [Ganymede]; presently he was standing joyfully at the table in heaven, nay, even Jove's [Zeus'] armour-bearer himself [Ares] quaffs the beguiling draught from the Phrygian's ministering hand."

Quintus Smyrnaeus, Fall of Troy 8. 427 ff (trans. Way) (Greek epic C4th A.D.) :

‘O Father Zeus, if of thy seed I am, if at thine best I left far-famous Troy for immortality with deathless Gods, O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled! I cannot bear to see my fathers' town in flames, my kindred in disastrous strife perishing: bitterer sorrow is there none! Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing, let me be far hence! Less shall be my grief if I behold it not with these mine eyes. That is the depth of horror and of shame to see one's country wrecked by hands of foes.’ With groans and tears so pleaded Ganymede. Then Zeus himself with one vast pall of cloud veiled all the city of Priamos (Priam) world-renowned; and all the murderous fight was drowned in mist, and like a vanished phantom was the wall in vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce; and all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamed from heaven . . . Then left they [the Greeks] that far-famous town, and turned from war, in awe of Zeus' threatenings." 

Also, like, check out the opening scene of Christopher Marlowe’s Dido play, because it’s got some really funny exchanges between Zeus and Ganymede and Zeus basically promising Ganymede anything he might want for, uh... “hugs” /cough.

[mythgirlimagines]

This week, I have a brand-new talentswap MAID especially for you! If you couldn’t tell by the pun in the first sentence, this Myth is the Former Ultimate Maid!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Originally living with her sisters at an orphanage, Myth watched as both of sisters got picked up by loving families, while poor Myth was left in the dust. In order to make herself more desirable to prospective parents, Myth taught herself how to cook and clean after all of the other kids in the orphanage. Eventually though, much to her joy, she was eventually was picked up by a wealthy family that eventually ditched her, despite being great at her maid duties. Eventually, after going through many wealthy families and being tossed out/abused/ignored, without a second thought, one family managed to keep her: a warm and loving family with an artistic prodigy for a daughter. For once, Myth felt the love and affection that she was starved for, after all of those years of isolation and being tossed out like common trash. All of those skills accumulated from both helping out at the orphanage and being raised as a maid for all of these wealthy families, earned her the Hope’s Peak title of Ultimate Maid. 

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Artist

Born into an influential family of artistic geniuses, with their father being a master sculptor and their mother being a expert sketch artist, Wyre mainly specializes in the craft of both their parents, even though they are a master in practically every art form their parents can throw at them. When Wyre heard from their parents that someone was going to be adopted into their family, Wyre was ecstatic at the idea, and Myth quickly proved themself as a great servant and sister figure. Myth regularly serves food and cleans up after Wyre, when they gets particularly busy. Every since Wyre heard about Myth’s past with all of the other families, they claim that they are willing to fight all of them, much to the protests of Myth. 

Outfit: A brown paint-colored apron over a black sweater and matching pants and shoes, a tool belt with sculpting supplies, black fingerless gloves, glasses from original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Detective

Despite Scar’s eccentric behavior and constant talk of possessing an “All-Seeing Eye” under her eyepatch (which was actually lost in a battle between her and a particularly violent criminal), none of Scar’s clients can deny that she is a very competent detective, in spite of both that and her age. Her detective duties can get very stressful at times, but it seems Myth has a psychic connection to Scar’s distress, for she would always be there with whatever can calm Scar down. This has caused Scar to feel both intrigued (in regards to the possible existence of psychics) and concerned for Myth’s health and well-being (because of Myth‘s constant overexertion and overworking).

Outfit: A black and purple eyepatch on her left eye, a black jacket slung over her shoulders Yasuhiro-style, a black vest over a white dress shirt, black pants and black thigh high heels.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Astronaut

Ever since he was little and went stargazing with his grandparents, Fusion has always showed an interest in reaching the stars and traveling beyond the boundaries. Having aced both the physical and written exams at NASA, despite his age, Fusion is well on his way to becoming a full-blown astronaut. Fusion also trains younger children who are planning on becoming astronauts just like him, via lectures on astronomy and little physical exercises to build up endurance, and he brought his astronaut-training seminars to the Kibo-Con. Myth regularly assists him in his seminars, and in return, Myth gets glow-in-the-dark star-shaped stickers and freeze-dried “astronaut grub” from Fusion. 

Outfit: A blue galaxy printed jumpsuit over a red t-shirt with a yellow star on the front, black and dark grey gloves and matching boots, glasses from original design.

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (aka. Fusion Anon II), Ultimate Robot 

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (or Fusion II as she’d like to be called) was a robot created by NASA, in order to both assist Fusion in his seminars and accompany him on his future space expeditions. Created to entertain adults as well as children during the lectures and training, Fusion II was written with more of a sarcastic edge to her dialogue with Fusion, making her a bit more of a straight man to Fusion’s cheerful and pun-loving funny man, almost like Fusion’s rebellious teen daughter. Fusion II bonded with Myth quickly over their shared statuses of being “assistants“ to others. But much to Fusion II’s dismay, it doesn’t seem like Myth is able to pick up on her sarcasm at all.

Outfit: A white exoskeleton, pink and black joints,  and four small black wheels underneath her “skirt”, clothes from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Anthropologist 

Running away from home, because of his massively rich, influential, and incredibly strict parents, with nothing but a backpack and his wits, Janon eventually found the one thing that actually interested him, while on his trek across the world: people and their cultures, which attracted him to the field of anthropology. After writing all about his travels and the philosophies he learned in a couple of journals he eventually published for the masses, Janon was revered as a genius in the field of anthropology. Despite planning on taking this secret to the grave, Janon has a secret soft spot for Myth, for she reminds her of the poor maids being crapped on by his influential family.

Outfit: A black facemask, a black overcoat over a pink t-shirt, a skull necklace, brown pants, black boots, a big brown backpack.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Entomologist

Specializing in lepidoptery and coleopterology, Sparkle intends on showing people all about the beauty of insects, in the most flamboyant and over-dramatic ways possible. Despite these idiosyncrasies, she is a respected figure by entomologists and aspiring entomologists everywhere. While Myth loves admiring the odd butterfly as much as the next person, Sparkle attracts insects like sugar water, and they are all a nightmare to remove and exterminate. The whole insect issue isn’t helped by the fact that Sparkle loudly and explicitly refuses to let Myth get rid of any of her “precious jewels”. Luckily, Sparkle shared some non-pesticide related methods to herd her insects, in case they get wild.

Outfit: A cape that resembles monarch butterfly wings with shoulder pads that look like rhino beetles, a green insect carrier,  a brown skirt with darker brown ant patterns, the glasses, jacket, undershirt, leggings, and boots from her original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Child Caregiver, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Aikido Master

With a childish, immature and cursed yet caring personality, Egg was a massive hit amongst the children of the orphanage that they and their twin Wet Sock were born and raised in. In order to protect the children that their twin cared for, the brooding and cynical Wet Sock decided to pick up aikido and self-defense skills, dominating bigger foes in all the tournaments they entered. Shouldering the burden of hearing the twin’s primary defense mechanism (read: cursed comments), Myth quickly bonded with Egg, thanks to their shared interest in caring for others. Myth tried to bond with Wet Sock, but because of them being tsundere, Myth only gets judo thrown in response.

Egg’s Outfit: Part of their hair tied up with a yellow scrunchie, a green hoodie with yellow sleeves, a fanny pack colored like their original shirt, black shorts, long yellow socks, green light-up-shoes, glasses from original design.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with black aikido pants and matching sandals.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader/Assassin

With the dubious and odd title of “Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader” and an enigmatic and stone-faced personality, almost nothing is known about this mysterious Jr. Ultimate, not even what their talent entails. What Myth and the majority of the media don’t know, is that Curious is that his title is actually the Jr. Ultimate Assassin and is current throneholder of a secret underground religious cult that is particularly known for brainwashing and teaching their children how to assassinate potential religious rivals. Luckily, Myth was fortunate enough to not cross paths frequently with Curious, for she would definitely try to adopt the preteen assassin with a messed-up upbringing, if she ever catches wind of the truth.

Outfit: A simple white robe with a green sash indicating leadership that hides their assassination weapons.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Inventor

Being a mechanical genius born in a country that was ravished by a massive war, Nerd was quickly sent to work in manufacturing and inventing brand-new weapons for his nation’s army. This past has given him a hair-trigger temper and a hatred for being interrupted, when he is in the middle of inventing. And yet no matter how many scouter-burns she suffers in the process, she never remembers that little tidbit of information about, when she comes barging into Nerd’s lab with his dinner, much to the rage of the easily-enraged inventing prodigy. But beneath the foul mouth and even-fouler temper, could Nerd have fallen for Myth’s kind and earnest attitude, despite being very annoying?

Outfit: Black armor that covers everything apart from his head, and the scouter from his original design.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Pianist

Videos of a person garbed entirely in black and playing self-composed pieces have been springing up on the internet for the past year or so, and despite the mysterious person attempting to make absolutely sure that he wasn’t found, Hope‘s Peak found the true identity of the online piano prodigy: Eldritch Anon, a former piano champion, who has since retreated to the shadows in growing anxiety and fear. Whenever Eldritch thinks about anything he wants or needs, Myth would always be right behind him with his want or need in tow. Because of that, Eldritch now wears a tinfoil hat on his head at all times, to prevent Myth’s psychic powers from reaching him, to no avail. 

Outfit: A black marching band outfit with white music note buttons, over a grey hood-up hoodie patterned with black sheet music, white gloves, tall black boots.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Magician

With infectious childlike cheer and unstoppable charisma on stage, Dream’s magical performances are truly a sight to behold, whether you’re a child or an adult. Dream has recently employed Myth as her magical assistant, and Myth regularly roped Dream out of trouble, just in case her magical performances go awry. But at the same time, Dream also took on sort of a mentor role to the maid. While Myth has entertained several guests with some minor parlor tricks, Myth would love to learn all about how Dream accomplishes all of her large-scale and stupendous, and how Myth can learn them herself. If Myth learns from the best, she would be able to entertain way more guests.

Outfit: A black and pink top hat, a black coat and white gloves over a pink vest, an orange bow tie and a white dress shirt, a pink skirt, grey stockings, and black tap shoes.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Cosplayer

Having been a regular consumer of fiction ever since she was little, she picked up sewing and fashion design from her parents and eventually began making accurate-to-the-show cosplay items, ranging from simple accessories to full-blown outfits. Despite being really clumsy when it comes to everything else, Iris is amazing at handicrafts. Myth and Iris consider each other “sewing buddies”, for their shared interests in sewing outfits and other such handicrafts. Iris regularly lets Myth model her cosplay, for they are about the same height and have the same proportions. Iris would be lying if she said she hadn’t tried sticking cat ears or dragon horns on Myth when she wasn’t looking. 

Outfit: Hair down with a heart barrette on each side of her head, a pink jacket with sewing supplies in her pockets and on her sleeves over a seira fuku with a red ribbon and a blue skirt, black stockings and red Mary Janes.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Adventurer

As the daughter of two famous and affluent ambassadors, Purple has been to practically every corner of the globe. Because of her travels, Purple regularly talks in archaic terms mixed with the insertion of gratuitous foreign vocabulary into her sentences, which means that the majority of the Anons can‘t understand a word coming out of her mouth. Purple is also stunningly timid for the daughter of two ambassadors, and often hides behind Anons that are bigger than her for when she doesn’t want to be seen by the crowds. Even if Myth can’t understand much of what comes out of Purple’s mouth, Myth still loves seeing Purple slowly but surely come out of her shell and talk about her travels.

Outfit: The beret from her original design, a dark purple overcoat and brown gloves over the sweater from her original design, lighter purple pants, brown boots, a brown carrier bag.

This AU will center around the maid getting helped for once, much to her protests.

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PERSONALITY

Despite her less-than-stellar past, Maid!Myth has a cheery and energetic attitude that belies (and bolsters) her sheer aptitude as a maid and her joy is described as “infectious” amongst Wyre’s family. With definite “mom energy”, Maid!Myth always comes prepared with the wants and needs for each and everyone of the Kibo-Con attendees, and seems to have an almost telepathic ability to whatever they all want, which unnerves a couple of the Anons (namely Eldritch, Scar, and Purple). Even though she overworks herself to a fault and everyone constantly tells to take a break from her work, she constantly shoulders every burden and duty placed upon her, in hopes that they won’t abandon her, just like every other family before Wyre’s family. This gave her a case of “chronic hero syndrome”.

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APPEARANCE

Maid!Myth’s naturally brown hair is tied in a prim and proper bun, complete with a white and light pink French-maid style headdress. As for the rest of her clothing, Myth wears a white and light pink French Maid dress with the only exception to the “white and light pink style” being a ribbon around her waist with a pink-to-purple-blue gradient, purple socks and red Mary Janes.

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I hope you like this AU! Let me know what you think of the AU and its roles in your reblogs!

[anthonybialy]

Facts in Check

You just need to find someone who thinks bias conforms with results to check a fact. Journalists verifying their semi-co-workers' astoundingly dubious claims make their quasi-industry even more shameful. Citing people who always happen to agree with their oh so balanced worldviews is a nice touch. Naturally, they don't realize they're doing it.

Democratic press agents planted rather openly behind what they pretend to be enemy lines are renowned for never being biased, so we can trust them to issue truth with infallibility. If they're pushing their own beliefs as indisputable actualities, that would mean their entire industry is a joke of a sham, and that's just another alleged fact that can't be true. Check the facts about fact-checking, as the absurdity of feigning objectivity passes through yet another useless checkpoint.

One special section of the ether paper is dedicated to backing opinions expressed as truth dictated by the supernatural being of your choice. The purported verification is just as slanted as the original. Well, I see no way anyone can disagree. Claims go through layers, which means conclusions are certain unless all those involved are partisan hacks working for the White House on an unofficial volunteer basis. I confirmed Subway is delicious with a franchise owner.

Asserting their quite contentious notions as entirely accurate just causes further embarrassment. You'd think trying to get ideas right in the first place seems easier. But, like mobsters who toil constantly to steal instead of creating their own products, journalists think they're beating the system.

Please validate my claims. The truth doesn't need to be restated out of insecurity. By contrast, those upset at math and human nature for ruining their glorious mandatory schemes crave gold stars to slap on their preposterous classifications of reality. Very reasonable types who think cops can't be trusted to enforce laws properly think someone who works at the same paper has cosmic truth on their side.

A notoriously unbiased press explains why everything liberals believe is to be accepted as gospel if you had heretical doubts. They sure are condescending snobs for journalism majors who write poorly for a semi-living.

Those churning it out must be exhausted by the rhetorical framing. They love focusing on how they intend their precious policies to function instead of how much carnage and debt they cause in practice. Parroting the initial silly notion is treated as proof.

The case is closed except for the open bit. Another layer of mendacious reporting is designed to end the argument. There's no need to examine any further. The only thing worse than letting someone untrustworthy back you up is if that someone is Glenn Kessler.

An expert is someone with a degree who agrees with you. Reporters on the fact beat tirelessly seek out people with credentials to their liking for affirmation. Those entrenched in a perniciously useless business might believe nonsense about alleged facts to which they've clung for as long as they've tried to ruin lives through politics. In fact, subjectivity is more likely the more people with the same opinions research the statements in question. They claim this is false.

The subset of communications majors are arbiters of absolute truth in the same sense the Heaven's Gate guy was the messiah. Laughing at anyone who tries to win an argument by citing Snopes is one of the few moments of levity in this rather dumb era. Naturally, laughter is provoked inadvertently.

It's rare to even hear of mundane fact checks like New Yorker-style verification of coffee size. The increasingly irrelevant embodiment of a snotty magazine would now rather be known for pimping partisan narratives that are tougher to disprove.

Don't say silly things if social media drones voted for your foe. Twitter decided Donald Trump's preposterous claims of winning an election must be labeled while Hillary Clinton's preposterous claims of winning an election are allowed to fester. No: our side's lunacy is justified. Stacey Abrams is a liar by evidence, which you wouldn't know based on the lack of disclaimers.

Fact-checking is the preferred job category of those who can't even do internet searches to find fundamental truth. The absurd notion that someone at a publication known for thinking Joe Biden knows what he's doing will accurately classify preposterous claims resembles how they see science as a faith. Gathering information is a ceaseless process, which surprises those who act as if closing cases means they respect the process.

It's unsurprising that those citing fact checks as immaculate also worship an attention whore of an oscillating hypocrite like Anthony Fauci. Working for the government carries the imprimatur of superiority for a certain type of sucker.

As with endless claims of forthcoming doom for anyone who managed to chew through the duct tape holding on their masks, fact-checking is the flabby exercise of finding a partisan ally who makes claims aligning with their ideology.

Smugly proclaiming the debate's end has precisely nothing to do with indifferent results. Checking fact-checkers throws them off, so don't irritate prophets.

[bastsoldtrollblog]

Kairos trudged through the snow, head bowed against the howling wind, cursing themselves for forgetting how bitter the weather was out here. Of course, they used to love these raging blizzards...When they were out of the wind, in the safety of their castle.

At least their new ‘lusus’ seemed to know the way. She trudged on, pressed almost to the ground, and Kairos had to keep close watch on her tail to make sure they didn’t lose sight of her.

Getting the time off work for this excursion was difficult, but in order to delve again into the art of necromancy, they needed their old research. If it were even still intact; Those rebels might have destroyed everything.

Still, even if it were all gone they had their reasons for paying their old hive a visit. The treasury, for starters. They could live a bit more luxuriously- Not that they had much of an eye for it, anymore- With the help of the copious amount of relics and gold artifacts from there. At the very least they wouldn’t have to worry about rent.

The rest was just nostalgia. Seeing if their original lusus was still around, so on and so forth.

They had all but stumbled through the castle gates by the time they realized they’d even reached their home. The blizzard had created full white-out conditions, and they could scarcely see a few feet in front of them.

They heard their lusus call from somewhere ahead, and trudged through the large courtyard to the safety of the entrance hall.

Immediately, they realized the castle had not been left derelict. Torches were lit inside, and they didn’t immediately see any signs of disrepair. They caught sight of their lusus slipping away down one of the halls and, judging by the fact that she wasn’t calling after them or trying to drag them along, they assumed she did not want them to follow.

They drew a dagger in favor of their sword- Too unwieldy if they came upon a foe suddenly- And proceeded with caution.

They made a beeline for their main study first. This was no longer a casual jaunt down memory lane; This was practically home invasion.

They immediately saw that the study had been rearranged and many books were missing off the shelves. They hastily began searching, though they were unsure exactly of what they were looking for. They’d written far too many research notes to take everything, so they needed things pertaining specifically to necromancy. At least they still recalled their organization system, not that it wasn’t in complete disarray.

They weren’t finding any of their research notes at all, related to necromancy or not. They found plenty of books on magic, their personal journals, but none of their notes.

“Dad?”

A voice called down the hall outside the study. Kairos grit their teeth, mentally cursing and backing away. They pressed their back against the wall behind the open doors, waiting. Footsteps padded along the thick carpet down the hall. Kairos heard him stop in front of the open study doors. His breathing sounded shallow, tense. They could sense his trepidation. Their grip tightened on their dagger as they estimated exactly where he was, what path he would take into the study- How easily they could land a surprise attack and gain the upper hand.

The troll took a few cautious steps in, and then moved further ahead, heading towards the desk apparently without looking behind the doors.

Kairos lunged, grabbing one arm, twisting it behind his back, and pressing their dagger to the troll’s throat. Kairos had seen a hint of fuchsia fin, which meant they couldn’t easily overpower him.

“Be still, or I’ll slit your throat.” They hissed, when the troll attempted to struggle. He froze, taking a few moments to gauge the situation, and then made a demand.

“What do you want??”

“My research. Where is it.”

“What?”

“I wrote many notes on various schools of magic, that were kept in this study. Where are they.”

The troll hesitated, and Kairos pressed the dagger closer to his throat. They could sense this troll’s magic; He had to know what they were talking about.

“I-Is your name- Kairos?”

“So you’ve read them. Where are they.”

“H-Hey- Listen! I’m your descendant! Ramira Mikari!”

“I have no descendants.” Kairos hissed, but glanced up to the troll’s horns. Sure enough, they matched their own, minus the icicles. That didn’t mean Kairos was about to let him go.

“Just look at my horns! We share a name!”

“A sibling, perhaps, but not a descendant. My research, Ramira.” Kairos pressed the blade hard enough to draw blood.

“It’s in my room!”

“The master bedroom?”

“The one next to it...”

Kairos paused. They couldn’t just bind his arms and leave him; He could easily get free with a spell. They relaxed, letting him go, and Ramira darted forward out of their grasp, rubbing his throat.

“Christ,” hissed Ramira. “I thought you’d be kind of a dick, but...”

“Ah, for once I am not a disappointment.”

Kairos stepped back out of the study, turning and stalking down the hall- Only to come face-to-face with a snow leopard. A glance at the eyes confirmed it was neither their current lusus nor their original one, but related all the same.

The leopard meowed at them and sat down. They hesitantly reached out, and then gave the leopard a pat on the head when it seemed to consent.

“Did you have a snow leopard lusus too?” Ramira had followed them out of the study.

“Yes. Is he around?”

“Uh...This is the only snow leopard I’ve seen. I found the body of one in, uh, I think the master bedroom.”

Kairos furrowed their brow, and continued onwards past the leopard. “What did you do with it?”

“I put it in the catacombs.”

Kairos hummed in response. Ramira followed them all the way to the master bedroom, though Kairos stopped and walked right into the room next to it that Ramira had claimed as his own.

Ah. That was definitely a heap of their research notes. Kairos immediately began digging through it; It wasn’t even remotely organized. They were surprised Ramira wasn’t more aggressive towards them, all things considered, but apparently he wasn’t too willing to attack his sibling.

“If you aren’t my ancestor, then who is?”

“Cataclysm, likely. There are books on him in the ancillary study.”

“Oh. Haven’t really looked through that one, yet. What was he like?”

“Do you think I know?”

Ramira put up his hands defensively, making a face and looking away. “Okay, okay. Sheesh.”

“I put a knife to your throat and you still see fit to bombard me with questions?” Kairos hissed.

“You didn’t kill me, so...”

“I am starting to think I should have.”

Ramira backed away a few steps. And then decided to ask another question. “What are you looking for?”

“My studies on necromancy.”

“There’s one on the desk.”

Kairos looked over towards the desk, and then resumed digging through the pile. Ramira cautiously approached, sitting down on the other side of the pile and starting to sort. “Sorry. I should’ve organized this sooner.”

Kairos hummed in response again. By the end of it they had four of their research notes on necromancy, including the one that had been on the desk, and a fifth book they had grabbed on their studies of their own magical ability. That might hold some insight on their current, uncontrollable state.

Shoving the books into their backpack, Kairos stood and began making their way towards the catacombs.

“Hey- Listen- Can we just talk? For a second?”

“About what?”

Kairos stopped, rounding on Ramira, who also stopped dead and faltered.

“Um- Well- We’re related, and all. We’re both mages. And you lived here a while. There’s gotta be...Something you can tell me.”

“There no doubt is. However, I do not care nor do I have the time to share it. Learn on your own. There is nothing I could tell you that is not already contained here.”

“Jesus christ, are you always like this?”

“Yes.” Kairos turned and continued onwards. Ramira apparently thought twice about following, but still ultimately did so. At least he followed in silence.

The already-freezing temperature dropped as they descended the stairs leading to the catacombs. The air shifted, and with it came a horrible crawling sensation. It felt as though the air itself were writhing, heavy and toxic. The stones themselves seemed to be twisting in agony.

This place was cursed, sickening, unfit for life, and still Kairos pressed on.

“Can you at least tell me what the fuck is up with this place? Why is it like this?” Ramira said, finally. At least he had the sense to keep his voice low- And even then, a shriek echoed from some distant depth in the catacombs in response. “Jesus-” Started Ramira, stumbling a few steps back. Kairos ignored it.

“Our dear ancestor trapped the souls of his most detested enemies here. Being a highly successful conqueror, his enemies were many.”

“What was that scream??”

“A banshee, perhaps. Or one of the many twisted souls here.”

Kairos reached the treasury- Kept on the same level of the catacombs to deter ordinary thieves, who could scarcely set foot below the castle without being overcome with fear. They dumped their backback on the ground and began filling what space remained with treasure.

“Seriously??”

“This is as much my inheritance as it is yours.”

“Yeah, but...Jeeze, have some dignity.”

Kairos just scoffed, and once they’d gathered a decent amount, they straightened. Ramira seemed about ready to book it, nervously glancing over his shoulder as though something might come creeping up behind him.

“Show me to the snow leopard you brought here.”

Ramira rubbed his arms anxiously, and then turned to lead Kairos into the catacombs.

He hadn’t brought the corpse far, just into the next room where there was an empty slat in the wall. Kairos scooped the frozen corpse out, glancing towards a half-frozen zombie that had noticed them and was attempting to shamble towards them.

Ramira was bristling with fear. Kairos snorted and moved to carry the leopard’s corpse out.

“Please. It couldn’t bite you even if you let it,” they said, brushing past Ramira.

“This is fucking scary! Don’t tell me you can’t feel it!”

“I can, likely moreso than you. I spent much time down here, however.”

“So you were a necromancer?”

“To some extent. I studied many things.” Though they couldn’t deny that they had a particular interest in death and the beyond.

Kairos carried the leopard’s corpse to one of their old workrooms by the study; This, it seemed, had been untouched. They cleared a table and set down the corpse. Ramira had followed them the entire way.

“Can you light these sconces?” Asked Kairos, picking up an old tool from a tray.

“Can’t you?” Ramira said, still moving to light them anyway.

“My magic is all but useless.”

Ramira looked to them, confused, but Kairos didn’t care to elaborate. Their surgical tools were ruined, unfortunately, and they had to wait around for the corpse to thaw before they could handle it.

They opted to check the eyes first. They were half rotted, but Kairos still recognized the iris’ pattern.

It was their lusus, without a doubt.

Not that they were surprised.

They stayed for two nights to handle the corpse. Ramira- Or Mira, as he preferred to be called- Came and bothered them a few times, pestered them with questions, but ultimately did his best to be helpful. Not that he couldn’t do much; It turned out he was almost as useless as Kairos when it came to magic.

By the end of their stay, Kairos had the bones and fur of their lusus in a duffel bag provided by Mira. The bones were badly cleaned, but that was fine; They at least had something to bring back to Eirene.

As Kairos stepped towards the kitchen portal that lead to a nearby town, Mira spoke up. “Are you going to come back?”

“Likely not.”

“...Can I have your number?”

“...Fine.”

Kairos stopped to enter their phone number into Mira’s phone, and paused as they handed it back. “Do not rapid-fire text or call me.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole, jeeze...”

“You’ve been doing the physical version of it for the past two nights.”

“I have not!”

Kairos didn’t care to argue. They turned to step onto the teleportation circle, before stopping again. “One more thing. My lusus; How did you find him?”

“Uh...He was curled up on the bed. Almost like he were sleeping.”

Kairos narrowed their eyes, and then stepped onto the teleportation circle, vanishing in an instant.