#{ The cape is in fact to hide the tail. }

[niwaart]

More Sukubbus!reader! She's just a queen(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Y/N was summoned by a desperate Gotham villain trying to bind a succubus to do his bidding. The poor fool didn’t read the fine print. No soul offered, no leash attached. She slipped through the ritual circle with a stretch, a pout, and a whip of her tail.

Then she saw where she’d landed.

Gotham City.

Dirty. Dramatic. Delicious.

It didn’t take long to catch the attention of the Bat.

She’d just seduced a minor crime boss into handing over his penthouse when Batman crashed through the window like a brooding gargoyle in a cape.

"Who are you?" he growled.

Y/N blinked, licked her fangs, and gave him her best slow-burn smile.

"Awww, Batsy. You came to check on me?"

He aimed a Batarang at your heart. It melted midair.

Y/N blew on her claws. "Oops. You’re not immune, are you?"

"I don’t get seduced," he snarled.

Fifteen minutes later, he was backing out of her room red-faced, muttering something about "mental training" and "inhuman pheromones" while his cape flapped awkwardly to hide a very obvious... situation.

Y/N stretched out across the windowsill in a silk robe, tail flicking. Gotham was going to be fun.

The next week was like being dropped into a hot man buffet.

Nightwing was the first to show up.

He’d been doing his rounds in Blüdhaven, then came rushing when Bruce mentioned “a sex demon seducing criminals.” Big mistake.

"Hi! You must be the flying one," Y/N purred, materializing behind him mid-patrol.

He did a backflip out of pure instinct and landed in a defensive crouch. "Holy— What the— Okay, no offense, but you are way too attractive."

"Flatterer."

Y/N stalked toward him slowly. His escrima sticks shook.

"I have a very healthy sex life, lady," he stammered.

"Noted," Y/N grinned, right before she whispered something unholy in his ear.

He fainted. Straight up. Just face-planted on the rooftop.

Y/N turned to a gargoyle.

"Is this the Bat-standard?"

Red Hood found her next.

He was, as the humans say, built different.

He kicked open her door like an action movie hero, dual pistols aimed at her chest.

"Succubus, right? Demon, lust, and bad decisions?"

"Hi, Daddy."

Jason blinked.

"Okay, yeah. That’s not fair."

Y/N smiled slowly. "You’ve got rage. Trauma. Deep-rooted lust layered in guilt and defiance. I love that in a man."

Jason didn’t drop the guns. But he didn’t leave either. In fact, he sat down on her couch, threw his boots up on the table, and said:

"Alright. Seduce me. Let’s see what happens."

Y/N gasped. "Finally, a challenge."

Three hours later, Alfred had to call Jason’s phone six times to remind him to go home.

He left with his jacket half off and a glazed look in his eyes.

Tim found a lipstick mark on his neck the next day. Jason denied everything.

Tim tried to resist her with logic.

"I’m immune," he declared. "Demonology says succubi can’t affect people under high mental strain and with caffeine in their bloodstream."

"Is that a fact?" Y/N cooed, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his desk.

He nodded. "I drank four Red Bulls before coming here."

Y/N leaned in close, her breath like honey and heat. "Then let’s test that theory, genius."

Five minutes later, Tim was lying face-down in the Batcomputer keyboard mumbling, “We’re all going to hell.”

Damian was suspicious from the start.

"You will not corrupt me, temptress."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I like you. Very Shakespearean.”

He crossed his arms. "I have trained in the League of Assassins. My mind is sharp. My body, pure."

Y/N blinked. "I’m not interested in jailbait, demon-slayer."

He stared. "You... you what?"

"You heard me, baby bat. Come back when you grow a little more... testosterone."

Damian looked both insulted and vaguely relieved.

He stormed off shouting, "Grayson said you flirted with him too!"

Y/N sighed. “Oh, I flirted with everyone.”

Later that night, the Batcave held an emergency meeting.

Bruce: “She’s a demon. We can’t keep letting her... exist.”

Dick: “It’s not letting, she just does.”

Jason: “Don’t look at me like that. She’s hot and possibly immortal.”

Tim: “I have regrets. I also have a hickey in the shape of an ancient rune.”

Damian: "You are all weak. This is why she mocks us."

Bruce groaned into his cowl.

Y/N, meanwhile, were curled up in Wayne Manor’s guest room (which you definitely broke into), sipping wine and watching Gotham’s skyline.

A succubus loose in Gotham, living rent-free in the minds of every member of the Batfamily?

Delicious.

Y/N blew a kiss to the moon.

“Nighty night, Bats.”

[jkl-fff]

The monster we all made in Silly Game Time

must necessarily have two forms: their humanish disguise (one that can pass for human at a glance) for when they must pass among humankind … and their true form.

When they don their humanish disguise (to hunt or to seek companionship or to get a cold drink out of the fridge—though they almost never refill the ice cube tray when they do, like the monster they are), a sense of unease still surrounds them that has nothing to do with their uncanny appearance. Perhaps we instinctively sense that they aren’t human? Perhaps we remember reading about that one time they cut down the trees in Danny DeVito’s yard so fast no one could stop them, and for no other reason than they wanted to annoy DeVito specifically (like a jerk)? Usually, though, we’re either too preoccupied with our own affairs to care all that much. Or we write it off as eccentricity that’s harmless enough, but still seems off-putting; their hair is an unnatural purple and styled in uneven spikes (like a punk rocker or an anime character), for example, and they always wear a dumb cape like from a Count Dracula costume, they’ll howl at the moon in an almost ironic way, and they can do that tongue trick like the singers of KISS that makes it seem way too long and way too prehensile (it’s forked, though, so it must be a fake extension … right?).

If you take more than a glance, though, you might notice the way their skin is stitched together and mismatched in places. Look closer, and you’ll see the stitches tend to secrete a slime that bears an unpleasant resemblance to Velveeta “cheese”. Yuck. Maybe you might notice that they don’t cast a reflection in mirrors and can’t be captured by cameras. Or maybe you’ll notice that one of their eyes is larger than the other and has a yellowish glint to it (the other has a reddish glint), and both have pupils that look a bit too slitted; see them at night, and you might notice that their eyes seem to glow in the dark.

Most likely, though, you won’t see their eyes at night. In fact, you most likely won’t see anything of them at all at night (until it’s too late), save for a gleam of teeth. Because they can hide everything else of their appearance in shadows—everything but the gleam of their teeth for some reason, unless they choose to let that remain visible as a kind of joke. And those teeth, when you look close at them (if you have time enough to look close at them) are always too numerous, too big, too sharp, too rowed like a shark’s teeth. Or like the more feral depictions of vampires (the ones that are more beast than Bela Lugosi). Which is appropriate, since, like nearly all monsters, they have an incredible appetite for human blood.

Their true form might almost be considered majestic in an ineffable, eldritch horror sort of way. They are big, of course—huge, mammoth, colossal—stretching longer than a city bus from head to the tip of their spiked, foxy tail. They stand on an uncountable number of short legs that all end on big, velvety paws as large as a siberian tiger’s (and just as silent). From their sides (their countless shoulders?) sprout an asymmetrical distribution of limbs with asymmetrical sizing. Some are like humanoid arms (the foremost ones are these, with the left one being massive but clumsy and the right one being puny but very deft), some are like tentacles, some are like wings, and one might be an actual snake that got itself absorbed into their mass. The arms end in long claws, the tentacles end in pincers and scissors, and the wings resemble those of bats (with claws at the joint) or ravens or albatrosses (they shouldn’t be able to fly, and yet they can).

They’re covered in fur the same color as their humanish disguise’s spiky hair. Except for patches of rotting flesh where muscle, bone, viscera, cogs, gears, and internal combustion engines are exposed (yet still somehow function, occasionally bleeding the black ichor like evaporative oil they have instead of traditional blood) or where unearthly mushrooms sprout. And except for along their back, of course, where the skin grows scaly and plates (like a stegosaurus or Godzilla) jut out of their spine. Speaking of their hair, it corresponds nicely to their true form’s horns: on the top of their head at the end of their long neck, their horns are long and stiped and swirling, one set like a ram, three sets like from different antelopes, and one single horn like a unicorn.

You might easily miss their bat-like ears among the horns, save that they swivel constantly to-and-fro tracking what they hear. You won’t miss their teeth, though; those carry over to their true form, even if their mouth tends to change its location on their face, slithering like a snake between their too many eyes (big yellow ones and small red ones scattered around their face). And, almost glorious, above their head floats an interlocking of many-eyed halos like some sort of angel during one of Heaven’s many drag competitions (the drag they got up there is wild, since they’ve got so many more and wild genders than here on Earth).

This has led some scholars to theorize that the monster (that we just made up yet has also always existed) actually *is* an angel. Specifically one of the Gray Angels who remained neutral instead of siding with God or Lucifer, possibly one overseeing fungi and decomposition. This would explain why they do neither good (apart from maybe making sure fungi continue) nor evil (apart from killing some humans and drinking their blood, but there are over 8 billion of us, so it’s not really that big of a deal when you think about it), and are willing to exploit and disregard the safety of mortals to perform their own tasks. Some say this means they represent the worst of humanity (egotism), some say they’re still objectively more decent than their creator (God, who is indisputably the biggest criminal in this universe’s history). Some say they can be viewed as an allegory for being trans, but since *all monsters ever* can be viewed as an allegory for being trans (one of the many reasons monsters are awesome), that’s a bit like saying the sky is blue. Everyone agrees, however, that it’s pretty cool they can spit acid and breathe fire, and everyone is right on that point.

The final question we might ask is: How can we protect ourselves from our monster? There isn’t anything we can do to harm them, however they do seem to be averse to complex geometry (mobius strips and tesseracts and the like) (it doesn’t hurt them, they just seem to find them too tacky to be tolerated). So maybe wear a pendant with one of those on them. Can’t hurt. Probably can’t help, but can’t hurt, either.

Thanks for playing!

[huiyi07]

it’s brainrot season but I was looking at Kaeya’s outfit because I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on with it but like?? hey it kind can be interpreted as a lot of aspects of Kaeya’s character;

Specifically, his right side represents Khaenri’ah, his true origins and how he’ll betray Mondstadt, and his left side represents Mondstadt, his true home and how he doesn’t want to betray Mond.

I’m abut to sound so obsessive but listen anyway

Notably, his right side has the ‘abyss mage’ fur, the eyepatch, and the streak in his hair.

Obviously people have speculated how Kaeya’s design seems to imitate an abyss mage, especially when it comes to the fur. Abyss mages used to be the people of Khaenriah; Kaeya’s wearing of it’s fur is like a reminder to Kaeya of what he owes to his people to try and ‘save’ them from their curse.

It also has his eyepatch and the streak of hair- pretty straightforward, the streak of hair is pretty similar to Pierro’s, another Khaenriahn who’s speculated to be his dad or grandfather or something. His eyepatch is also a trait shared across lots of Khaenri’ahn characters we know, because it seems to be some sort of tradition within their culture based off of ‘One- Eyed King Irmin.’ Interestingly, Kaeya’s hair also covers his eyepatch, as if he’s ashamed of following this tradition or trying even more to hide the most trademark thing about his heritage that gives him away.

His left side has his earring, the long hair, and the shoulder guard (?) not sure what it’s called- the spiky bronze thing. And the cape.

There’s this really old tweet somewhere (sorry can’t be bothered to find it somewhere) but it points out that according to Chinese tradition, it’s lucky to wear an earring on your left ear because it’s ‘said to represent life that has been endangered’ and protects from bad luck. Kaeya’s entire life has been prone to instability and danger- at any second it could all be thrown out the window by Khaenri’ah’s attack.

His hair, by the way in case you didn’t know isnt actually a ponytail. He just has a single?? Lock of hair?? That’s really long and kinda just always sticks out like that it’s basically a rat tail HAHAA anyway it’s as if he tried to imitate Diluc’s ponytail; we know he had it when he was a kid but still he might have tried to copy Diluc’s when he got adopted. Honestly the fact that it isn’t a full ponytail is also weird like? I feel like it’s like saying how he’s not worthy of the Ragnvindr clan and the most he can manage is only be a sad imitation of them and how virtuous they are. He thinks he can never be as good as them.

His shoulder guard and his cape are representing the Knights of Favonius, obviously, but I really feel like Kaeya’s left side is like how scared he is and how he’s trying to protect himself from his past and integrate into Mondstadt; thus the shoulder guard can be him physically trying to protect himself, and his cape is like him trying to show ‘knightly virtues’ even though he feels like he can never be a hero because of who he is.

Okay that’s it for my brainrot thanks

[starboltz]

My thoughts of the new Minecraft wolf variants!

With the recent announcement of the new wolf variants, I wanted to give my two bits about what real life animal each of the variants are based on! (I study animal ecology so I get excited when animals are depicted in anywhere)

The Pale Wolf, Black Wolf, Snowy Wolf, Ashen Wolf, and Woods Wolf

All of these wolf variants are based on the Grey Wolf (Canis lupus), whether it be the typical Plains Wolf (Canis lupus nubilus), or a different subspecies. The Grey Wolf is the most common wolf species found on the world, typically lives in packs of 4-9 members, and typically has 5 accepted subspecies in the science community - but in total has over 30 subspecies (determining subspecies can be tricky).

The Pale Wolf is specifically meant to represent a Plains Wolf, as this design has been representing the Grey Wolf in Minecraft for at least 12 years. The Taiga biome is one of the biomes where Grey Wolves can be found, making it a great place to find Pale Wolves in Minecraft.

The Black Wolf is not a subspecies, but rather a color variant of the Gray Wolf. The black coloring of their coats is not typically caused by melanism, but rather is a normal gene found in Grey Wolves. One of the causes of wolves having a black coat is due to the black gene being linked to higher immunity to canine distemper, meaning the black wolves that survive the virus are able to reproduce and pass on their black genes. Does this mean distemper exists in Minecraft? Probably not, but that's up to your interpretation.

The Snowy Wolf is based on the Arctic Wolf (Canis lupus arctos). Artic wolves' white coats help them blend into the snow to help them hunt prey, and to hide them from potential predators.

The Ashen Wolf is likely based on the Eurasian Wolf (Canis lupus lupus). The Eurasian wolf can have similar coloring to the plains wolf, but has also been found with greyer coloring along its back, tail, and upper legs and face, and with white on its cheeks, underbelly and lower legs.

I think that the Woods Wolf is based on the Tibetan/Himalayan Wolf (Canis lupus chanco). It was a challenge to find what subspecies the woods wolf was based on because most wolves don't have the deep brown-orange coloring seen on the woods wolf, but the Tibetan/Himalayan wolf can often be seen with these colorings in the wild.

The Rusty Wolf

The Rusty Wolf is based on the Dhole (Cuon alpinus), also known as the Asiatic Wild Dog. Dholes have a rich tawny coat with a rich chocolatey tail. Unlike another popular red canine (the dingo), Dholes live in tropic forests, rainforests, and other habitats, making it an appropriate fit to be the jungle dwelling rusty wolf.

The Spotted Wolf

The Spotted Wolf is based on the African Wild Dog (Lycaon pictus), also known as the Painted Dog or the Cape Hunting Dog. This is variant is my favorite of the variants, and is one of my favorite canines of all time. African wild dogs live in savannah and grasslands biomes irl, and have beautiful coats ranging in different patterns of tawny, black, and white. I don't know if this is possible for Minecraft mechanics, but hopefully the spotted wolves will have different coat variants like their irl counterparts.

The Striped Wolf

The Striped Wolf is based on the Aardwolf (Proteles cristata), which is a species of hyena, making them felids instead of canids! (Yes, hyenas are more closely related to cats than dogs). Aardwolves can be found in semi-arid and open plains, making the badlands a good place to find them in-game. Fun fact! Aardwolves mainly eat termites/ants. Hopefully the striped wolf won't starve in a "bugless" game (rip fireflies).

The Chestnut Wolf

This one frustrates me. I couldn't find a canine or canine adjacent animal that had even a similar coat pattern. This is not a wolf. It is a dog. Probably a Norwegian Elkhound.

[darkmoonravewolf]

Revising a couple things on my commission so I can talk about my ideas for mlp isat. Not really an au just a set of rules so I can draw pones when I feel like it.

Vaugarde is ponies! Isabeau and Bonnie are earth ponies while Mirabelle is a unicorn.

Isabeau's cutie mark is a sewing needle and thread in the shape of a heart, He got it young but hid it under armor when he became a defender. Bonnie doesn't have theirs yet but everyone is pretty sure it'll be cooking related. Mirabelle... I haven't come up with a solid design yet, my favorite one so far is a magical current wrapping around a rapier.

Euphrasie is also a unicorn and serves as the house's main mentor figure and helps everyone. I also haven't decided on a cutie mark for her but that's ok, she gets to wear a cute dress instead.

Ka Bue is kirins.

Odile is a bit differently shaped than most kirins due to being half unicorn. Her mane is straighter and her tail is shorter than most. She also has a cutie mark, which kirins definitely don't have, in the shape of a book with gems on it. She tends to hide it under a coat.

Islanders are changelings.

Siffrin pretends to be a pegasus but the anatomy is a bit off. They also don't have a cutie mark and hide that fact with his cape.

Loop pretends to be a griffon. Griffons still have the reputation of being unfriendly so it deters anycreature from going towards the favor tree if they see a sleeping griffon.

Both have a broken horn in their natural form.

Of course we have the king, the king of changelings to be exact and he's not too happy about some of his brood trying to kill him.

[whosralf]

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

★ DIMITRI HEADCANONS ★

- It secretly loves affection, and tries to hide it, but his tail always wins and blush.

- tea lover,doesn't really like coffee.

- thriller and horror film/books lover

- when he was a janitor,years ago,they used to have a crush on Aristotle(then Ari started to date Arthur, the usual luck.)

- it likes to have picnics,alone or with Z,and he always have to make sandwich for Z and his tail too.

- is probably friends with Ssssherlock,and his tail loves to spend time with them!

- he hates jewelry, especially rings, they hurt his fingers.

- when he is bored or doesn't want to bring too many things when he is with other people,it hides his extra arms under his cape.

- like to take selfie/photos of himself or maybe with his tails or fans.

- he probably has a mug that says "buonjur bitch" (IDK WHY😭)

- feminist, and you can't prove me wrong.

- in his free time he watch movies,he loves thrillers but some sci-fi films don't bother him

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

FUN FACT :: he was a janitor before becoming a "hero",we'll see more in the novel,but probably he used to work in the same school were Aristotle and Arthur used to study magic.

[dantent]

𝑴𝒆𝒐𝒘𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 [𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

A/N: This isn't a Raphael x Tav oneshot, it's more of a "Raphael was turned into a cat and Tav takes care of him" oneshot. Goes without saying that this is just a big joke and don't take this seriously. Please.

Blame the discord server for this.

Part 2

Raphael was fuming. He was meant to be the Archdevil Supreme. And yet here he was in the form of a beast, an animal – a cat. Forced, exiled even, to Faerûn. Once a place he schemed at, now his prison. Would he still have any of his humanoid forms, he would’ve already planned his great revenge, alas he was stuck in a ruined house, hiding from something as insignificant as rain. He cursed the entire hells for having such sensitivity to water in his new form.

The Devil never considered how a stray’s life would be, why would he? He was Raphael, a cambion of his rank would never stoop so low to think about the poor animals. If he could he would’ve laughed at that thought. But he wasn’t in any condition to laugh; his brown fur was dirty from being thrown in the mud by the portal that sent him to his doom. Curse Asmodeus, he thought, not even begging will better his fate once I’m crowned. Oh, but would that day even come? 

He growled once more. I’m Raphael, he raged, I will not be bested. It seemed he truly believed that, and yet there was a questioning voice in his mind. Raphael shook his now-tiny head, trying to silence it; but he had to admit that his situation was rather unpleasant. He sent another set of curses to his father, Asmodeus but most of all Haarlep. It was them who mocked his “obsession” with cats; earning him this cruel fate. No matter, he had survived far worse and this temporary setback wouldn’t be his downfall. Once he was able to get back, he imagined all the glorious ways he would kill all three of them.

As Raphael watched the rain, thinking of murder, he heard footsteps coming from the street. The Devil, or rather cat, lazily walked towards the entrance, wondering what idiot would run around in a storm. It was his little mouse. Raphael’s eyes widened, hope rising in him. Hope. He scolded himself for thinking of such things now. But Tav didn’t look towards him, in fact they hurried away from the ruined house. In a desperate attempt, Raphael started meowing as loud as he could, hoping Tav would turn back. And they did. 

Tav was always a kindhearted person, one he could easily use for his own gains; and today wasn’t any different. The hero of Baldur’s Gate rushed towards him, covering themselves with their cape. Raphael smiled but from the outside it looked like a distorted grimace. His little mouse, how ironic, bent down to pet him. In any other case he would’ve cut their hand off, but he reminded himself that currently Tav was the only person who could help him, again. No matter, he was patient after all. Another hundred years was nothing to him. He could wait. 

“Aw, you’re trapped here kitty?” their voice cooed at him. “Come, I can help.”

They took their cape off and tried to make a safe haven for him. Raphael wished he could slash their arms but he wasn’t one to bite the hand that feeds him. Not in this case, at least. He gently settled in Tav’s arms as they did their best to cover him with their cape. 

“Are you ready?” they asked before rushing out.

Raphael hissed as a stray raindrop fell on his head. It was a purely instinctual response, one he hated. The Devil spent so much time learning how to hide his reactions in his devil form; now he had to start all over again. Controlling the tail seemed easiest, as it reminded him of his previous one; but these vocal reactions got the best of him. Thankfully Tav seemed to be occupied with something else to notice. 

In the meantime Raphael started making his plan. First, his little mouses needed to recognise him. That would prove to be troublesome but if he remembered correctly, and he always did, Raphael could recall them using a potion to speak to animals before. He could only hope that Tav still had a potion. Hope, again. Raphael growled, trying to forget her. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of that stubborn fool. 

Before he could even consider where he was, Tav entered a tavern. Raphael didn’t recognize it at first but after looking around, he remembered its name – Elfsong. Not the luxury Raphael was hoping for but he had figured out Tav’s lack of style quite some time ago. His hero rushed upstairs, entering the bedroom. To his surprise, not one soul was present besides his little mouse. Tav set him down before releasing a sigh. 

“Oh you poor thing… You’re so filthy.” they shook their head. Raphael growled at them before setting off to find their backpack, and the potion he was looking for. 

He didn’t quite care what Tav was doing in the meantime, since he only needed them to understand him. Raphael was already sure that his little mouse would laugh at this horrid fate, which they would pay for, but he had to endure it. For now. 

Once he found the bag, he tore the top open with his teeth and claws, and started rummaging around. He hated the messiness of this but he didn’t have another choice as Tav didn’t seem to come after him. Raphael searched around in the hero’s disorganized bag, finding all sorts of things. Scrolls on top of scrolls, food that has been rotting there for at least months, a severed hand. The Devil grimaced just before he set eyes on the potion. He grabbed it with his mouth and began pulling it out before he was snatched away from it. 

“No! Bad kitty! Leave my potions alone, they could poison you!” Tav yelled at him with mocked anger. Once Raphael hissed at them, their expression softened. “Now, now, it’s okay. You’re fine but keep it that way, alright?”

Yet they didn’t put him down. Raphael whipped his head around before setting his eyes on a bucket full of water. Coincidentally Tav was walking right in its direction. Oh no. He took the rain and being thrown in the mud but he was not going to be bathed like some animal. Raphael screamed and tossed around in the hero’s arms, scratching every piece of flash he could get his claws on. He despised how weak he was in this form, unable to stop the fool from dumping him into water. 

“Stop that!” they shrieked. “Gods you’re so dramatic, I’m just trying to help!”

Tav raised him above them as Raphael stared daggers at the hero. His little mouse shook their head disapprovingly. Clearly they had not figured out who he was yet. And if they have and were just playing with him, Raphael was going to make sure their soul would suffer eternally. 

“You remind me so much of Raphael, that bastard.” How dare they. “I think I’m gonna name you after him. Wait, he would probably kill me if he found out. Hm.”

That he will. 

“How about Meowphael?” they laughed. “Yeah, that fits.”

Oh, Tav was going to die.

---

Psst, you like Raphael? Why not sign this petition to get a Raphael romance (or at least more content with him)?

[you-are-constance]

TCD Stuff Pt. 2 - Costumes

alright so costumes. this one i might do more comparisons between my designs/ideas for costumes and the ones in this production. there are a lot of costume designs i have that i am supremely attatched to, so i kind of just think in terms of my designs lol. still, there are a lot of costumes in this show that i far prefer over mine

i just have to say that all the costumes were just gorgeous. i was told that they were handmade, and I can tell, they were simply so unique and beautiful, and you certainly couldn’t find them anywhere else. im gonna include a few pictures just from the show's instagram page bc i absolutely cannot do them justice.

The Storyteller costume blended in much more with the modern townspeople. the coat he wore was a different style and felt older than everyone elses, but he was still dressed in like “normal” clothes. this is pretty different from how i typically imagine it. it doesnt really aim to hide the fact that will + the storyteller are the same person (though, I suppose, it still would be a surprise to learn that they’re more than just played by the same actor)

all of the townspeople costumes seemed to work together very well. there was nothing that stood out too much, most everyone had some kind of button-up shirt (or something similar), most of them being white (a couple other colors, but nothing that stood out in a bad way), with different patterns/colors of skirts and aprons or different combinations of suspenders and waistcoats. no two costumes were exactly alike but they all went together very well. most of the main characters also fit this similar pattern for most of the show

perhaps the most impressive costume was Ma Riley’s massive hoop skirt. it took up space and was the center of attention, which fit’s Ma’s character very well. she would wear something like that, showing off her own abilities, and making sure that she was always the most noticeable person there. it had a bunch of different patterns of fabric throughout, feeling almost like a quilt in how many different patterns were featured on one skirt.

the show puts a lot of emphasis into the dresses that Constance makes. as such, it is difficult to design costumes that live up to what the show requires. I think the way this production handled it was genius. the dress Constance makes for herself to wear the wedding is gorgeous - with a gold bodice and a skirt in rainbow tulle, and a cute little cape around her shoulders. it doesn’t fit the rest of the town and its not SUPPOSED TO. this dress is supposed to set her apart from the town in a way that they become obsessed with, and demonstrate her sewing ability with something truly unlike anything else. she wears this dress for the entirety of act 2, with a select few townsperson costumes changing to fit HER style, not Spindlewood’s. the women of the town (those that have named characters) have their solid color skirts with a layer of tulle over top, and matching tulle as sleeves. the costumes are so brightly colored, taking their “normal townsperson” clothes and elevating them by incorporating Constance’s style.

which makes it hurt even more when they are still wearing these dresses when they turn against her.

other things i liked:

the tails on the mayors coat were SO LONG sometimes they would literally drag on the ground it was hilarious

will’s hat had a fun pattern on it

also he didn't wear a waistcoat for the entire show and put it on only to get shot

amelia’s wedding dress was GORGEOUS

constance’s other costume was a very cute floral-patterned dress. something that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the town, but isnt her own style, either. she stands out as different when she first ventures into town, but hasn’t entirely found herself yet

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @zodiac-carnival-zine! I love the banter and easy friendship between these three (with Hatori barely keeping these two from falling into chaos).

…

…

…

…

Hatori was a busy man. He had to be as the Sohma family doctor. His clan was a large, sprawling one, and he had more patients than he had hair. Between his constantly complaining elders and his rambunctious younger kin, he had his hands full.

All of that wasn’t including his twelve special patients. They weren’t special in the sense that they had a lot of health problems, needing specialized care and constant attention. No, they were special in the sense that eleven of them were cursed to transform into the twelve zodiac animals. Special in the sense that the twelfth patient was a single, sadistic god. If it weren’t for the fact that he was the twelfth zodiac animal, Hatori wouldn’t have believed a word about the family curse.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t the strangest part of his family—no, that was reserved for the fact that they all lived in a circus. He had never been able to make heads nor tails of that fact, only that it was. At least it was a permanently based one, instead of a travelling circus; he couldn’t imagine the effort it would take to transport the entire clan from city to city.

The only benefit to it was that it wasn’t unusual to see a tiger or a horse here, so it wasn’t too hard hiding a transformation. Not that his own transformation was anything special—the dragon he turned into was more of a sea horse than a beast to be feared. For a while he had considered studying veterinary medicine, just in case, but now he was grateful that he didn’t. Who knew how busy his days would have been then?

Actually, he knew the answer to that: the same as now, too busy. Which is why he didn’t have the time to stand in front of a full-length mirror, his arms erect at his side as he made a giant ‘T’ shape. Grumpily, he stared at his reflection. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Standing next to him, Ayame gasped and clutched his chest. His measuring tape hung loosely between his fingers as he swayed back and forth. “You don’t like my costumes?”

Hatori bit his cheek. In all honesty, the black pants were a little too loose for his tastes. The only saving grace was the soft blue shirt, the tamest thing he’d seen come out of Ayame’s wardrobe. It missed all the bells, frills, and whistles that usually made up Ayame’s fashion sense. Still, there was no point in bringing that up. “No, that wasn’t—”

“This magnificent cape is more than just a cape, Tori,” Ayame argued passionately, plucking a regal blue cape off a nearby chair and draping it across Hatori’s back. “Look at how elegant the fur trim is, how passionate the blue, how eye-catching the apparel is—this is truly the outfit of a hero!”

He felt a headache forming. “Again, that wasn’t what I said.”

Shigure poked his head out of one of the many costume-filled racks. The red tent was utterly filled with them, making the small place feel even smaller and cozier. Wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch, he raised a brow. “What’s not to like? It’s a world of dreams.”

“Gure!” Ayame turned back to Shigure. Hatori could almost see the hearts in his eyes. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Of course I would, Aya,” Shigure replied, traipsing over. Now that he was fully out of the rack, Hatori could make out the space suit he was wearing, and not for the first time he wondered just what Shigure was up to. Clasping Ayame’s hands, Shigure crooned, “Your dreams are mine.”

“I only see you in them every night,” Ayame murmured back, a grateful smile crossing his face. The lighting from Ayame’s workstation only made them look all the more dramatic.

Exactly three seconds after (and it was always three seconds, Hatori wasn’t sure just when those two had figured that three seconds of staring was the exact right amount, but they had), Shigure and Ayame turned to him with identical grins, giving him a thumbs up. “See?” they parroted at the same time.

“See what?” Hatori replied dryly, resisting the urge to sigh. He’d been through this who knew how many times, yet they always managed to tire him out. “Anyways, that’s not it. Your costumes are very well made, Ayame.”

“Tori!” Letting go of Shigure, Ayame leaped forward and hugged Hatori tightly. “I knew you’d like them.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Shigure asked, already turning back to the racks. Hatori knew with a hundred percent certainty that the man was bored; he was only here to try on different costumes. As long as he wasn’t stirring up trouble elsewhere, Hatori would just have to live with it.

“It’s just…” Hatori brushed his hair back, running his fingers through his locks. “I’m the only doctor, I don’t have time to be a performer too.”

“Why can’t you be both?” Ayame asked, pulling back slightly and cocking his head.

“Please don’t ask that seriously.” Hatori sighed again. “I don’t have enough time. I don’t understand why Akito ordered us to perform together again.”

“Akito just likes pushing you,” Shigure replied, rifling through the racks. He pulled out several hangers as he talked. Hatori wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight jealousy in Shigure’s voice.

“I really don’t need to be pushed,” Hatori grumbled, patting Ayame on the back before gently extracting himself. “Even just taking care of our group is more than enough on my plate.”

Not listening, Shigure murmured, “Or maybe he’s feeling insecure after all…”

“Insecure?” Hatori wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that last part, or if he even wanted to. He had his suspicions that Tohru, their new part-timer, hadn’t actually just stumbled into the job like Shigure had claimed. That perhaps his childhood friend was up to something devious.

The only question was if he had enough energy to deal with it all. The answer was a resounding no and he sighed. “Please don’t drag others into your schemes.”

“Schemes? Me?” Shigure plopped a princess crown on his forehead and tried on a pair of angel wings. He gave the most innocent look possible. “Never. Besides, you spend wayyyy too much time in your tent. You need a break.”

“And what greater break is there, than performing with us?” Ayame had stars in his eyes as he posed dramatically. “The bright lights shining down on us, the audience clapping, a flurry of petals—it’ll be just like the good old days.”

Shigure crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “Women swooning, girls wanting my number again—I can’t wait.”

Hatori wasn’t sure how much of that was a joke, and how much of it was serious. It was probably both, considering Shigure. “This doesn’t sound like much of a break.”

He hadn’t really expected a response. Which was good, because as usual he didn’t get one. The pair had a feedback loop between them, pumping each other higher. Or rather, Shigure was pumping Ayame higher because he refused to put the breaks on the whole thing.

“Perfect casting, the three of us as the three musketeers.” Shigure raked a hand through his dark hair, pushing his bangs back as he gave a rakish grin. “Utterly flawless.”

“And romantic!” Ayame added, raising an imaginary sword. His measuring tape and other costume making tools were long forgotten and Hatori had no doubt this measuring session would take far longer than it ought to. His silver hair flowed around him as he twirled. “The brotherhood, the betrayal, the friendship—romance at its finest.”

“Romantic, huh?” Hatori paused at that. Tohru flashed across his mind. Perhaps there was some value to this after all.

After the snow melts, spring comes.

He smiled automatically. Maybe he could pay her back for earlier with a front row ticket. She seemed like she’d enjoy a good love story.

“Ohhh?” While he’d been distracted, Ayame had gotten close once more, leaving only the faintest gap between them as he looked into Hatori’s eyes. He smirked slyly. “What’s that, Tori? Are you thinking about someone? Is it…a man’s romance?”

Hatori did not want to know what that meant. Frowning, he stepped back. “Not at all.”

“Are you sure?” Shigure was suddenly at his other side, wearing a Cheshire grin, “You weren’t thinking about anyone?”

“Yes.” Giving him a deadpan look, he flicked Shigure on the forehead. It was important to stop nonsensical thoughts from latching to his brain for too long—Hatori didn’t need to handle yet another one of his schemes. “Now, let’s get this over with. I still have patients to see.”

“Booooo,” Shigure pouted, rubbing his forehead. “That hurt.”

“Stop crying.” Rolling his eyes, Hatori stepped back in front of the mirror and spread his arms. “Ayame?”

“Of course!” Ayame skipped past Shigure, humming softly as he started to measure once more. “I’m glad you’re taking a break. You need it.”

Ayame’s tone was utterly soft, utterly kind, and Hatori relaxed. “This still sounds more like work than a break,” he replied, but the bite was out of his voice. He couldn’t help it—it was impossible to stay mad at his friends for long. However misguided their actions were, it was out of caring that they prodded him like they did.

And he was a lucky man to have so many people care for him.

Though, if they really cared, they’d learn how to rein in their behaviours more. Half of his problems would disappear.

“But, you’re right.” Hatori smiled back, shifting slightly as Ayame adjusted the cape on his shoulders. In the mirror, it looked rather roguish. “It’ll be fun to work with you two again.”

“Fun?” Shigure asked, smirking.

“Fun,” Hatori repeated. For all the headaches, the time he spent with them had always been enjoyable.

“Lots of fun,” Ayame agreed, wrapping an arm around Hatori’s shoulder as he examined their reflection in the mirror. Seemingly content with what he saw, he let go and went to grab the matching hat form where it’d been thrown haphazardly on a chair. “That reminds me, Yuki, yes that Yuki, has asked me to make his costume.”

“Yuki did?” Hatori almost couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, isn’t it amazing! Our brotherly love has pushed through, connecting once more!” Ayame clutched the hat tightly and dabbed his eyes with the brim. “He came to me, tears in his eyes, and asked me to make it for him and his princess, Tohru.”

Shigure snickered as he chimed in, “And Kyo’s playing the horse.”

Hatori was about 90% certain that Shigure had a hand in that.

“He will be the most noble steed ever seen.” Ayame pumped his fist. Hatori could almost see waves crashing behind him. “For he is carrying my darling Yuki into battle. I have already started Yuki’s thirteen-layer suit, and the fifteen ruffles on Tohru’s dress. No one will have ever seen a greater—”

Hatori rubbed his forehead. Maybe after this vacation, he could get another one to relax from the first one.

[kat-creations]

Four kings au personal head cannons

Why do I feel like they were all raised by the previous ruler.

Like Leo was raised by Peach. Raph was raised by bowser. Donnie with king boo and Mikey with king boom.

Plus i feel like Raph was bowser jr but the jr name was a cover up to hide his real name until he was older.

I think Raph has a chompy as a pet. Leo has a yoshi. Donnie has a owl or a ghost cat. Then Mikey was a mini bomb.

I feel like Raph just had thousands or capes and that are just ready to be wornin his closet or has the same one on. Until it is to ripped up to wear any more.

King Donnie gives me Stolas from Hellava Boss  aesthetic.

I feel like Mikey’s mask tails little up on fire when he gets into Dr. Delicate Touch mode. And slowly burn down until he basically explodes.

Raph has a soft side for kids and pets from him originally and the fact bowser himself has a soft spot of children. So Raph would have little fundraisers for orphanages and pet shelters.

Leo was probably spoiled to much when he was little by peach. To the point that he kinda acts like prince Naveen from Princes and the Frog.

Mikey probably cleans and cooks for himself and doesn’t have servants in his castle. He also gives out autographs for little kids. Had probably host most of the party’s for all the kings to go to.

I also think Donnie is the only one that wears gloves because of his autism. And probably doesn’t have many announcements since he probably doesn’t like being in crowded areas.

@lexiechr

@sweaterrat

@gal-with-pastels

[furballfaggot]

black shadow is wearing a cape to hide A the fact he has no ass and B a tail

[isadomna]

The execution of Queen Brunhild

The field was prepared for a trial. Brunhild was brought before them, straight-backed. King Clothar II, from his makeshift dais, declared that the charge against Queen Brunhild was the death of ten kings. She would have been incredulous. Then, Fredegund’s crimes were laid at Brunhild’s feet – the assassination of her husband Sigibert, the suicide of her second husband, Merovech, and the staged jailhouse murder of Fredegund’s other stepson, Prince Clovis. Brunhild was blamed for the death of Clothar’s infant son, who had died from natural causes. Clothar’s list of kings Brunhild had murdered also included her own great-grandsons, two of whom he himself had just executed. (The king listed three boys, either wanting to hide the fact that he had allowed young Prince Merovech to live or, more likely, wanting to hide news of Prince Childebert’s escape.)

Only three of the deaths Brunhild was accused of could possibly be attributed to her – most understandably, Clothar blamed her for the death of his father, Chilperic, whose assassin had never been found. Blaming Brunhild was the only way to decisively clear his own mother of that charge. The deaths of Brunhild’s grandson Theudebert and his baby son could also possibly be laid at her feet because she had supported Theuderic’s feud against his brother. Still, the assembled nobles and soldiers cried that Brunhild was guilty. Had not this wicked woman brought untold death and destruction to their realm? Brunhild was then legally deposed, symbolically stripped of her royal finery, as was the common practice. She stood motionless as her necklace, brooches, cape and embroidered gown were ripped off her, and she stood before them in her linen shift, shivering. Here was the part when she waited – exile, or a convent? Clothar pronounced her sentence: death.

The clamour was disorienting, the sunlight too bright. She had been ‘tortured in various ways for three days’ – likely whipped and beaten. Her face would have been bruised and dirt-streaked, her long grey hair bloody at the temples. She stumbled as she was yanked out of her tent. She was led before a great hulking beast. When her eyes focused, she realized it was a camel. Clothar had somehow managed to secure one – all the sources agree on this specific point – and Brunhild was lifted upon it. It may seem strange to expend the time and money to secure a camel when there were already numerous horses on hand. But this was a public ritual for humiliating deposed tyrants, a practice imported from Egypt to Byzantium. The victim would be whipped and then paraded around on a camel, facing backward, which was intended as the symbolic opposite of an emperor’s triumphant entry into a city on horseback.

Along with the Neustrian army, the aristocrats of Austrasia and Burgundy who had betrayed her lined up to watch. Many of these were the sons of the men who had craned their necks for a glimpse of her at her wedding. Brunhild was ‘already broken by old age’; now she made ‘a most sorry spectacle’. The crowd yelled insults or spat. This mockery went on ‘for some time’, but when the men tired of shouting insults at a great-grandmother, they brought out the horses. In some reports there is just one horse, but regardless of number, they are always described as wild and unbroken, rearing as they are led forward. Brunhild was dragged off the camel, and the men called for the rope. One source says she was bound to the horses’ hooves, another that she was bound to their tails, and yet another specifies that she was bound to a single tail by ‘her hair, one arm and one leg’. At this point, she must have understood. Her nephew gave the signal, and the horses were let loose and given a smack, urged to gallop across this ‘pathless, rocky terrain’. The last thing Brunhild heard was hoofbeats.

Nothing remained of the queen. The King of Spain writes that ‘her nameless and bloody limbs, pulled apart, were spread out, widely scattered’. A chronicler notes that she was ‘cut to shreds’. Another notes the effort Clothar went to, even after her death, to destroy what remained: ‘Her final grave was the fire. Her bones were burnt.’ Clothar could not take the chance that Brunhild would be regarded as a martyr, that her tomb would become a focal point for opposition to his rule. It seems, though, there may have been a tomb in the crypt at Brunhild’s church in Autun, complete with marble columns and mosaics. Although the church was destroyed during the French Revolution.

Sources:

Shelley Puhak, The Dark Queens: A gripping tale of power, ambition and murderous rivalry in early medieval

[dashielldeveron]

To cope with my flight home i crafted a little outfit for binding magic and other medievalisms shinsou 🧠🧠🧠,, (fun challenge because fun fact when you’re on the plane you have no internet!! So I had to only look at reference images I’d already saved (( so pls forgive if it’s not very historically accurate 😅😅😅😅ALSO PLS FORGIVE IF UGLY IT WAS A 9 HOUR FLIGHT OKK ILL DO HIM BETTER SOON I SWEARRRR))). Also a challenge because it’s the first time I’ve drawn shinsou not bf coded 😢😢. When crafting his little outfit I looked at other characters from media who have aura,, so I could get his intimidating vibe right ,mainly capitano and dainsleif from gi, but as a consequence I think I made him look too princely?? ig it could be fitting since he’s the heir but I wanted to make him more rugged. So just imagine this as his court outfit.

(Also the way I drew the hood hides like my favourite part of the design which is that it’s one of those like mask hood things which I think suits him as spy master!!)

the great thing about medievalisms is that they aren't historically accurate, by design! they're only inspired by the medieval period and aren't representative of the period itself! so it's cool and fun to have anarchronisms that are sexy, which this is!!!

he!!!!! he's not bf-coded!!! where's our boyfriend???? could he be buried inside this dark, brooding stranger???? i think him looking princely works out fine 👀 bc isn't he a king to us????? i fucken LOVE all the little decorative, jangly things that are so genshin-coded, bc that makes shinsou even MORE frustratingly talented: how can he fucking move silently all the time if he's draped in clangy metal??? how DARE he somehow mute all of that??? the SKILL the FRUSTRATION i want to yank him closer by that dangly belt and taunt him in his face that he's too much of a coward to kiss me. the SLEEVES the tails on his COAT paired with a CAPE at the same time; what a dramatic little bitch. those sleeves are fucken hot. dear God. i wish i had more coherent thoughts than "i wanna take that off of him," but here we are. spymaster shinsou hot. i like how you've captured his stupid expression of "i don't wanna be here, but i'm also going to pay So Much Attention bc i am teeming with both Bitterness and Affection." love him.

i bet he has some absolutely abominable outfits that aren't appealing at all that he does actual undercover work in. doesn't care about his appearance at all, but aizawa forces him to polish himself up for court appearances, so he has something elegant like this. maybe he feels like a collared cat in formal court clothing. idc he's sexy in it, so he needs to deal.

a beautiful man. a perfect man (well, not this early in the fic). our boyfriend. our arranged husband. our little bitch of a childhood friend. we're going to ruin him 💚💚💚 thaaaaaaaank you SO MUCH for another lovely drawing!!! i've been sitting on this ask for a few days bc i've been like, "oh god. how do i talk about this without just saying i Need him expeditiously." but y'know? i can just say that, too. i hope yer day is peaceful!!! xx.

[altzaza]

HTSIAHFOB | Part 2

Oops, looks like someone got caught! But will their meeting go smoothly?..

Previous | Next

(Narrator: Alex)

Let me try to explain what's going on...

The light is brightly on. I'm sitting in the kitchen, and the one I called a rat is wriggling in my hand. What should I do with him?.. Be kind, be demanding?.. Can't kill him, can't pardon him either. Let's try to put some pressure on him first.

I squeezed the boy a little tighter, lifting his chin with my thumb.

- Quickly tell me WHAT. THE. HELL. IS. GOING ON?!

The little one immediately tried to cover his poor ears, but his hands were clamped, and he himself only began to kick harder, as if he was about to start crying... Nope, he definitely won't tell me anything with threats, I need a different tactic.

I carefully opened my palm, but remained on guard. If he runs away, I will never forgive myself. He will tell everyone everything! But he will not calm down instantly... I'll give him some time, and at the same time i'll try to describe him.

As I already said... He's shaggy and slightly dirty, his hair seems to be somehow brown... I couldn't make it out. I also remember slightly torn clothes, sewn up with patches somewhere, and a cape with a pin stuck into it. Small boots, I think... And a tail! There was definitely a tail with fluff on the end. Oh no... We've come to the point where rats turn into people... Or people into rats. Or... Agh, whatever, no time to rack my brains!

The boy was still shaking, looking at me with frightened eyes. Perhaps I should say something. I probably wouldn't like it either if some giant just stared at me.

- ... I have no idea if you'll understand anything in this state or not, but... If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be sitting here, shaking with fear, although you were so brave until you met me face to face... Where is your courage, little pest?..

His tiny, fragile body seemed to tremble a little less... But he was still scared to death, which, however, was not surprising. Although, it seemed that he was a little offended by the last words, and, slightly frowning, said something in a high-pitched voice

- D-don't call me that!...

- Why not? You're harming me, my food, my things in the end. And you are not ashamed at all. Sounds like a pest to me

I smirked slightly, resting my head on my free hand. Okay, he was being a bit funny. But that didn't negate the fact that he and his little buddies had done me a fair amount of damage.

Little one turned slightly away from me, as if he wanted to hide, covering his face with his little hands. He sat there for a few seconds, then carefully removed his hand from his face to look at me and mumble something.

- S-sorry..

-... Hm?

That... Was unexpected. Such a pest, and he himself admitted his guilt?

- For the cup... D-dropped it... Accidentally!

- And the rest?.. Also an accident?

The little one hesitated, covering his face again. Well... At least he's honest with me, and I'm grateful for that.

- Okay... Look, I'll just ask a couple of questions and you can go home. The sooner you answer, the sooner we can both go and have a good rest, hmmm?

The rat nodded. Great, that means he's completely at my disposal. But what exactly should I ask?

- Um... Let's start with a simple one. Who are you yourselves? I know you're some strange creatures, surviving by all means and so on, but... Your names, at least that..

The shaggy boy shook his head and waved his arms. I saw him try to step back, but unfortunately for him, my fingers blocked his path.

- I can't! I-it should be a secret! The rules don't allow it!

- Alas, but I found you! Forget about the rules, at least tell me your name...

- Mm... Poppy... You know, like a flower, red..

- Don't be afraid, I'm going out to touch grass, I know what it is

.. Starting the acquaintance with sarcastic comments. Well done, Alex, a great first impression: a sarcastic giant, you can definitely trust him! Although... The so-called "Poppy" did not even understand this, quietly giggling

It seems that the conversation is starting to move in a more pleasant direction. We can continue asking.

- Okay... Then another question. Why my house? Why are you here? Why do you treat me this way?

The little rat shook his head again, more confidently

– I can’t say anything. I have to... Maintain anonymity, even if I was noticed... I-is that alright?

– ... That won’t do.

I frowned slightly and seemed to lean closer to the boy. I could see from his eyes that he was scared again, and his little hand was carefully reaching straight for the pin on his cape. But the little one stopped abruptly, and his gaze seemed to be a little behind me.

I immediately turned around, but didn't notice anything. Something was clearly not right... My gaze returned to the boy, and my fingers unconsciously began to lightly squeeze Poppy.

- Was there something?

- A-ah... Just... A spider, it seemed..

... It's hard to believe, but I'll pretend to be a fool for him, so that at least some happiness would be in his life

- Well, so... Will you finally explain to me what's going on? I still don't understand how I deserved ALL THIS.

I pointed my finger at a large number of thin scratches. The boy's eyes only grew wider, like beads. He tucked his little tail to himself, and his gaze ran from the scratches to my face

– Y-you see, w-we don't know what you can do to us... I-instincts, I suppose?..

Something clicked in my head. It was as if a candle had lit up inside me, wanting to bury itself in the darkest secrets of these wondrous creatures. No longer holding back, my fingers completely surrounded the rat, but did not press it to the point of pain. The boy cried out slightly, his hand reflexively reached for the pin, but was quickly clamped.

– Do you understand that justifying yourself with instincts gives me NOTHING? You are driving yourself into a trap, little one...

Maybe I really am starting to push the issue too far. But the emotions slowly accumulating in my tired mind did not allow me to think about this issue too much. I wanted to lift Poppy closer to my face, but a sudden weight on my shoulder stopped me. Before I could turn my head...

A sharp pain suddenly stabbed my neck.

It was so fast, I didn't even understand what happened... With a slight cry, my hand unclenched, dropping the rat. I grabbed the sore spot, hissing in pain, covering my eyes. The last thing I saw were two tails disappearing around the corner. CRAP, I LOST HIM! THEM!

Annoyed... I didn't dare to chase after them.. No, not now. I need to understand what kind of wound I got. With slow steps, I reached the bathroom, looking at my maximally tired face. I carefully removed my hands from my neck, to find a small hole there, bleeding.

Could it be... They stuck a needle into my neck? It's good that it was only a small wound... Just on the side... I'll just cover it with a bandage.. I'll start wearing clothes with collars to hide this wound now too. Just... Just...

... I need some rest.

[pleb-the-original]

Well, there's something a little extra special about my Heart, Mind and Soul that I just finished up. Now as I listened to the album and got more into crafting my version of the story, I created something new: the Tridental Sovereign forms. To summarize, these forms basically signify Concord by the trident breaking apart and releasing everyone's missing aspects as well as giving back Heart and Mind's memories of the previous loops. They're also my way of introducing some more common fanon elements into their designs. These forms are basically the three coming one step closer to actually being happy, although as we all know the loop continues as eventually they have to lose these powers and reform the trident. One last clarification: they get the forms when they sing the "tridential sovereignty" line in Two Wuv, they start losing their powers by Greener and the end of Special, they fully lose the extra powers by TMR, and they lose their memories at the end of Mucka Blucka. I'll make a timeline soon probably, but now onto the actual forms themselves!

Fun Facts: Heart gets his wings! And yes they do work. Heart doesn't know they're specifically chicken wings which cracks up Mind and Soul. He is good at upkeep though. The blindfolds are more for comfort. The bangles are more a last minute addition since the the other 2 have magical artifacts and I didn't want to leave Heart out. There isn't really a concrete power set for them, they can just do whatever Heart needs them to do. They're practical. Also the heart symbol thing isn't exclusive to this form, this is just a demonstration of how it looks when Heart is feeling heightened emotions. The wings act as a signifier of Heart shedding some of his self-sabotage and self-loathing by letting himself fly free.

Fun Facts: Mind gets some more royal garb. I didn't think a crown would look good on him but luckily the scepter technically has a crown. The plug tail is meant to be a signifier of Mind being more open with his emotions as it does act as an indicator but he usually hides it under the cape out of lingering feelings against being too emotional. Also why has no one else given him an Aussie specific plug tail, you'd think that'd be a given. I've mentioned this in the tags of previous posts but this is where it comes in but Mind is actually posic and objectum. Specifically, he is married to his wife: the scepter. He loves the scepter and treats it better than his own others but they accept it because love. There is an aura of tragedy as Mind believes the scepter is the only one that truly understands him. (There is also the fact that he feels like the scepter is trapped inside the trident when its around. He does hear the trident too during Cacophony by the way, it can be very cruel.) The scepter is also able to float freely. And being a magical artifact it can do basically anything Mind wants it too. And that extends to literally anything as Mind can excuse any weird magical nonsense that would normally drive him crazy with the simple logic of "my wife is amazing and can do anything" The cape is attached on the back.

Fun Facts: Soul gets their half shadow and mask! And yes the shadow is a physical split in their body. The horns are grown from the head in front of the hair. They're actually a signifier of Soul being more accepting of their inhuman nature (but of course not quite fully accepting it). It isn't noted in the ref but when the mask comes off, it's linked to Soul's face with a small bit of red lightning. The mask giving Heart and Mind's major changes and the heart shaped duo tail are also meant to represent Soul accepting the fact that they do love their ids and also reconnecting with them since Soul is pretty distant during Cacophony.

[christinescupofcoffee]

All That Glitters is Not Gold

Chapter Four: Saturnalia

Meanwhile, over in the diorama of Ancient Rome, Octavius took his spot near the foot of the catapult closest to him. He took a glimpse over his shoulder at his men as they persisted along with their work. They were small but their hearts were large, or so he had declared on that fateful night. With a large heart came some rather deep wounds the size of the Roman Empire itself.

Jedediah probably didn’t remember, but he definitely remembered the breakup.

It was rather strange to see Jedediah there in the diorama with his revolver out as if to take him out on the back of an outlandish accusation. It came so far out of the blue that the mere sight of Jedediah’s shaggy blond hair underneath his Stetson was enough to send him reeling. Octavius watched him go and kept his back to him all the while, but his red velvet cape could only obscure so much from the Old West due across the way.

It was moments like this where Octavius would catch a glimpse of that little cowboy over there, hard at work on the railroads and they would stumble upon veins of gold in their mountains, and he would think of that night. To that day, he still tried to piece everything together whether it was him who broke things off, or if their relationship was growing to fray away with the passage of time, anyway.

It all happened so fast and on the tail of a sunrise, right when the museum was tucking in for the night. Jedediah had collapsed down on his knees with his face buried in his hands, while Octavius had his hand clasped to his brow. The breakup shook the very foundations of the museum, much like how the eruption of Vesuvius shook the very foundation of Rome itself. The tears streamed down Jedediah’s face, and he tried so hard to hide them from him behind his big canvas goldenrod gloves, but Octavius could still see them past the seams on the edges of his hands. All he could do was gaze off to the side, over to the wall for a good long moment before he strode away and back to the safety and familiarity of Rome.

All he could think to himself all the while was “corda et cogitationes deficiant.”

But rather than go about with business as usual once the next sunset came about, he ducked away from the catapults and the lead pipes. He gave his men an excuse, like he wasn’t feeling too well on that particular night, or something of that nature: as long as he found a way out of there for the night, it would make no difference either way. He could keep himself busy with the tending of things, but he would always have to come back to the pain by the end of the night.

In fact, after that last encounter with Jedediah, he found his way away from there once again. The mighty Roman general, and yet, that little cowboy left such a mark on his heart, and to the point that he could hardly think of anything else.

Octavius had watched Jedediah return to his display, and in the corner of his eye, he took notice of that cowboy ambling down the ladder to the floor below, but he turned away before Jedediah could even turn into their direction. As bizarre as it sounded, he understood what Jedediah was veering for with the gold, especially with the tablet so close by and the return of the book of the dead so fresh in memory.

Everyone had their own personal book of the dead, but somehow, the fascination over that shimmering golden tablet and Pharaoh’s own tome was enough to overshadow Octavius’ own. The Romans had nothing like hieroglyphics engraved on papyrus to guide them along through their journey into the afterlife, but they did have the realm of Dīs Pater as well as Pluto; the word of Virgil and the embedded feeling of Vesuvius in his bones.

The diorama extended back into the alcove, which thus gave him a chance to have some more time alone, some silence and some solitude away from the rest of Rome. Away from the view of the world and tucked behind the marble pillars stood his own private catacomb, the place he often went to when no one was looking. It was a narrow, slightly winding corridor which led to a small, cozy room, one just big enough for him, a small chair and a stand of a table, and a small stack of books: every Roman general needed to have his brain intact as much as his heart.

Octavius untied the twine underneath his chin and took off his iron helmet, and he ran his fingers through his soft dark hair matted to his head, and he kept his helmet tucked under his arm all the while. He sank down in the spindly chair and peered over his shoulder to the winding hallway behind him. He could hear their voices on the other end, but he had no desire to return to them, at least not at the moment.

He kept his helmet rested upon the stand before him, and he leaned back and closed his eyes, and he let himself feel the agony of having lost Jedediah. He smiled to himself when Jedediah made a comparison between a flyswatter and a flapjack, and at that moment, Octavius still had no clue as to what a flapjack was. The smile persisted when he thought about the day they met one another, and he never believed that they would form such a relationship with one another, formed out of such vitriol and fire, but they had done so, and now the fire had been doused, and Octavius had left were embers.

He opened his eyes and glanced over to his left to the books next to him. He picked out the first one on the top, and he spread his fingers across the hard cover. It wasn’t so much a book of the dead, but a book of rituals.

Every hundred years came the festival to appease Dīs Pater and Proserpina. Every hundred years came a proper worship of the dead. With every gem extracted from the ground below came the blessing for the dead and the world residing seven stories underground.

Maybe that was a source of his own agony: Jed had found the gold sometime following the breakup, and there was no blessing of the underworld. He had no idea.

Octavius lifted his head and looked on at the stone walls that surrounded him, all of which had been adorned with stones that not only made him think of gemstones, but of skulls. He did refer to it as his catacomb, after all: they made their catacombs to uphold their graves. He went in there to let his agony die away.

There was another diorama nearby: the Mayans. They had their pyramids to rise in junction with the pillars and stadiums of Rome and the gold veins of the Old West, much like how Egypt had their pyramids. Much like the Romans, they had their own way of life, all the way down to their own pipes. Much like the Egyptians, they had their own books of the dead. And much like the Old West, they had their own search for answers, to which they started with the veins of gold down in the earth.

In fact, when he thought about the Mayans, he remembered that they resided on the other side of the wall to his left.

Every culture had something to unite it.

Octavius picked up his chair and scurried over to the other wall to see if he could eavesdrop on the world of the Mayans. He leaned in closer to the wall, and he caught the muffled sound of Native American warriors on the other side cheering and shouting about something.

Something to ruminate on, especially when he could scarcely let the pain fade away with the catacombs.

Octavius scooped up his helmet and left the room, and he skirted on past his men and their steady movements. But he kept on walking to the edge of the display case, and all the while, he put his helmet back on lest anyone see his hair.

The tablet shimmered with life after midnight, and he lifted one leg up and rested his foot on the edge of the display. He rested his hands upon his knee and looked on at the hieroglyphics inscribed on the stones of the tablet, all the way from clear down the hallway. Jed had gone into another wing of the museum with Ahkmenrah, and Octavius was left alone with his own thoughts. But it was there he could hear the Mayans on the other side of the wall.

It was a dumb idea, perhaps an insane one and one that would land Lawrence in a mountain of trouble once the sun rose again, but he thought about it, and he thought about it more with the turn of his head in the other direction.

He thought of the woman who came by around the hall of miniatures, with that pad of paper in hand and the pen ready to take his likeness. He never would have thought that any of the few women in the diorama would even so much as take an interest in him, let alone a woman from the outside world. The thought of her hand been engraved in the back of his mind, even when the sun went down and the entire place slipped back into the darkness with the feeling of nocturnal life once again.

What was worse was he never learned of her name, but rather, she became known as the maiden in red. The maiden in red with her figure as full as that of Venus and Pomona, and he knew that she could take him under with the most decadent and ripest of apples. Her dark red velvet to match the blood red color of his cape and his tunic almost felt fated, as if this was meant to be. However, he believed that he was meant to be with Jedediah and that fell apart harder than the oldest of stones which made up the Colosseum.

To witness the fall of Rome once again, and one that could perhaps take down the rest of the miniatures around them.

But it was a risk he had an inkling to take for himself when she came along once again—that is, if she did. If the light came again, and she never surfaced again, then it would be all for naught.

Octavius put his arms around both of his legs as if he was a bird perched on a ledge. In a strange sort of way, he was a bird perched on a ledge, and with the cape spread behind him like a velvet tapestry as if to provide him with something of a nest.

“Venus, guide me,” he whispered to himself. “Pomona, tempt me with the apple of sin.”

He thought of joining the Mayans on the other side of the wall, especially when he remembered the way over there, but a loud noise down the corridor caught his attention. Ahkmenrah resurfaced from the other wing with Jed perched upon his shoulder like a little bird. Octavius jolted back and clambered to his feet, and he nearly stumbled backwards onto his cape as a result. But he caught himself, and he gingerly leaned forward to see them down there.

When Ahkmenrah began back down the corridor once again, that time to bring Jedediah back to the Old West, Octavius ducked away and made it look as though he was keeping busy. He closed his eyes when he heard those hobnail shoes on the tiles behind him: he knew hobnails when he heard them.

Jedediah said something right then, and Ahkmenrah strode away. Octavius turned back around to find Jedediah back on track with the railroad work across the way: he craned his neck again, that time to make sure that the pharaoh had returned to his tomb and the sarcophagus.

It was a five and a half minute hallway, after all.

His hands shaking, and without another word, Octavius climbed down the stairwell to the linoleum below the diorama. He adjusted his helmet with one hand and covered his face with his hand lest alone see him walking along the edge of the floor. His red velvet cape flowed behind him like a thick trail of blood on the sand.

It wasn’t the first time he had to go down that hallway to visit Pharaoh in his tomb. There was the time he went down there to talk to him about that shapely woman beyond the glass, the one who often lay her eyes on him and the way he stood tall with his hand pressed to his hip. It was without question his finest moment.

No sooner had he reached the intersections of the corridors when the Anubes guarding the tomb glared down at him, the gaunt foreboding giants they were. He was the Roman soldier with the blade of Damascus steel tucked in the protective sheath after all, absolutely no match for these towering jackals.

“Octavius!” Ahkmenrah declared as he whirled back around, perhaps to see what was the matter. Octavius froze in place, to which the Anubes held back away from him. “What are you doing here?”

“Th… Thinking,” he sputtered out. “And…” He shrugged his shoulders. “…a rather big part of me wishes to share the thoughts, as well.” Ahkmenrah promptly knelt down and extended a hand to him, to which Octavius stepped upon his palm. The two of them turned away from the doorway and retreated into the darkness of the tomb, only to be met with the glimmering tablet suspended over the sarcophagus, still wide open from when Teddy had broken him out of there for the night.

“If I am honest, a part of me wishes I had a rope to tie around my neck,” Octavius confessed.

“Sometimes I wish I could do such a thing as well,” Ahkmenrah said. “Though my parents had given me everything I had wanted when I was alive.”

“The wounds of the heart originate from the kiss of the dead from down below…” Octavius’ voice trailed off when his eyes swept over the papyri down below him.

“My tablet originated from three thousand years ago,” he said, “Virgil, two thousand years ago. Even with the time, death unites us, and with the taste of death, comes the kiss of gold.” Slowly so as not to jar the mighty little Roman soldier, he knelt down to the floor so no one coming along the corridor would take a glimpse inside and see them in there. Something told Octavius that he was flirting with disaster here, especially when the pharaoh had easily spent a long time with Jedediah in the next wing over, but then again, Ahkmenrah did suggest to him to pose for the maiden in red if and when he saw her again. The pharaoh was a lynchpin of sorts, but the best and seemingly most trusting of lynchpins always came with an element of danger to them, and there was a love of danger with Octavius, hence why he had warmed up to Jedediah so much.

“You and I, we’re going to have to go back to our wounds,” Ahkmenrah told him in a low voice. “Me, to Kahmunrah and our parents. You, to the volcano and the fall of the empire.”

“Seriously?” Octavius raised an eyebrow at him.

“Seriously. You and I, we walk through the fire together to come out clean in the end.”

“What about Jedediah’s gold?” Octavius asked in a small voice.

“Don’t worry about him,” Ahkmenrah assured him with a wave of his free hand. “If anything, he’s going to have his work cut out for him. He’s practically looking for dust from my perspective.”

“And he’s not even looking for gold, either,” Octavius pointed out. “He found it by mere chance.” He looked on at him with a thoughtful look on his face. “Imagine if he found dust by mere chance.”

“With his luck, definitely,” Ahkmenrah assured him.

“Now, you better not leak out our secret to the rest of the museum,” Octavius told him in a low voice and with a wag of his finger, to which the pharaoh raised his free hand to him.

“Saturn’s truth, and my free hand rested on my own eulogy, I am not lying.”