#( para 001 )

[ykaaaars]

Spending a week in the Maldives was quite possibly the best idea Damiano had had in weeks. With band things lined up and his own solo album and tour following, a little rest and relaxation before jumping into it all was exactly what he needed. The cherry on top of it all being that Robyn had agreed to come along with him. Selfishly, Damiano had found himself more often than not searching for an excuse to spend time with her. He was shameless in his pursuit, obsessed with the feeling of a fresh start that she brought with her. This was exactly what he wanted. She was exactly what he wanted.

Shaking the trail of thoughts off, Damiano brought himself back to reality, realizing that he had spent the last couple of minutes lost in thought. He couldn't be blamed, really -- it was early morning and he was still a bit sleepy. Yet that feeling seemed to fade as Robyn entered the room, smile automatically pulling at his lips. "Morning, angel." He greeted, gesturing to the cup of coffee he had made her and the plate of fruit that room service so had politely brought them. "Sleep well?"

@famebyfenty

[paulcolms]

spending the last couple days of 2024 in australia had been a pleasant surprise. paul had originally been planning on spending the day doing nothing on his own, but the sudden introduction of alycia to his life had changed that completely. something about the girl had him wrapped around her finger, his free time often spent with her or thinking of her. it had been so long since he had last felt this way about someone, his relationship with phoebe a distant memory and feeling now. so having this, having her by his side, ignited a spark in him that he had dearly missed. not quite love but so far from being platonic that he knew his feelings could no longer be ignored. with a night of celebrations before them, paul knew it was to perfect time to make his feelings known. he could handle rejection so that eased any worries that had been building beneath the surface, knowing the risk of sharing his feelings with someone. it was worth the risk. she was worth the risk. adjusting the white shirt he currently sported, paul let his gaze wander over to alycia, taking in the sight of her silently and fondly. they had already arrived at the sydney harbor, excited chatter filling the air as people waited in anticipation for the fireworks show to begin. paul himself couldn't deny the feeling of giddiness that filled him, excited to be ringing in the new year with someone he cared about. it felt like a fresh start - like he would be able to leave the exhaustion of 2024 behind him as soon as the clock struck midnight. "thirty minutes until midnight." he noted, turning entirely towards alycia to give her his attention, reaching out to lace their fingers together. "are you excited?"

@aycias

[sassbassmythe]

(continues from here:)

Sebastian looked down, turning his attention to the small gap which now was between them the moment Elliott moved closer to him, their legs almost brushing, and the almost phantom touch moment sensation that overcame him felt like electric sparks up his spine. After all these years, the mere brush of their bodies still had that effect on him. But he needed to keep a cool head if he wanted to come out of that encounter as unscathed as possible.

So he looked up at him and smiled broadly, which soon turned into a warm, honest fit of laughter, and he pressed his hand on his forehead and shook his head. “Oh my god... This is just like us. Going back and forth at the same discussion.” His smiling face changed into a softer, warmer one, his green eyes still looking directly into hazel ones. “Your fault- My fault... Does that really make any difference right now? It happened, Elliott. Things happen. And maybe-” He reached out and gently held his chin between his fingertips. “- it happened because some things simply run their course at the time. It wasn’t our time, Elliott. Plain and simple. Not then.” He could feel his heart ramming inside his ribcage over the closeness between them at that moment, but he was determined to make his point across.

@sexonastick-blaineanderson​

[seekingsomxthinggood]

Who: @faiirytaleskies (Xander)

Where: Twilight Park

When able it was nice to get a little bit of sunshine. Especially when during the not exactly spring yet weather. Winter always seemed to cling on stubbornly for a bit through March. But Spring was trying to push the last of winter out. And for right now it had been nice enough to go out and enjoy. Which had lead to a small puppy running up to where he was sitting with his coffee on a bench. Causing him to look down and pet the pup, "Why hello there. Aren't you adorable? Who do you belong to?" Looking up his jaw dropped at the person that was coming up to him calling for Rosa, which he assumed the was the dog. God, ten years ago was a long time but right at the moment didn't seem very long ago at all. Xander Park.

He stood up, a huge smile on his face, "Oh my god! Xander?" Ash didn't even think about it, reaching out for a quick hug. "How are you? You look amazing? Is she yours?" Rapid fire questions came from him before he remembered traditionally it was better to let people answer before you asked more things, he gave a small embarrassed chuckle and shook his head, "Sorry, sorry. But it's just very good to see you."

[dino--draws]

Shoutout to para!Ilse(???) in Fair Play for slaying absolute cunt. I’m a little worried about the kidnapping though

[littlfrcak]

𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘: 𝗦𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗔 𝗧𝗦𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗦

⭑🕯️ʿ ao contrário do que pode parecer, sasha não se inscreveu no blind date de afrodite. seu cartão foi deixado de lado por muito tempo até que o semideus esqueceu que precisava recusar. o fez. tinha certeza que seu cartão continuava em branco quando finalmente fechou de novo o envelope. mas parece que não foi bem o caso. em algum momento @zmarylou preencheu com seus dados e então dias depois sasha estava acordando com uma nova carta em sua cama. droga.

confiar em afrodite não era algo que queria fazer, não quando aquela não era sua realidade. o local dizia para que fosse até os estábulos, um encontro para andar a cavalo... sendo que sasha nem sabia cavalgar! cavalos ficavam desconfortáveis perto de filhos de hades. seu maior erro não foi não olhar o cartão antes de lacrar o envelope mas sim contar para @kittymook o que tinha acontecido. a irmã não lhe deixou esquecer o evento e se prontificou a lhe arrumar. uma camisa emprestada do guarda-roupa de @hwoness ou talvez fosse de petrus, sinceramente o rapaz não fazia ideia, mas era amarela... e ele não tinha camisa daquela cor. a calça e a jaqueta ao menos eram escolhas de sua parte, o coturno preto também. os anéis rotineiros de prata, o único brinco em formato de uma cruz na orelha direita, os cachos bem penteados e o óculos de grau no rosto, estava pronto para descobrir com quem foi emparelhado.

infelizmente... tinha o azar de cair com @nemesiseyes. se desligasse o aparelho auditivo no meio do encontro para não ouvir a voz alheia, ao menos o semideus em questão já deveria estar acostumado.

[dakotajchnson]

Spontaneity was something that had always been present in Dakota's life. She embodied the act-first-think-later ethos, reveling in adventure and surrendering herself to the whims of fate. This time was no different. The actress impulsively purchased a plane ticket to Scotland, to meet up with someone whom she had recently met so he could give her a tour across the Scottish highlands. Sam held a magnetic allure for Dakota, perhaps due to their playfulness and endless banter. He had a knack for keeping her perpetually intrigued, something only a few people could accomplish.

Upon settling into her Airbnb, Dakota promptly messaged Sam her location, accompanied by a text message: "Finally on Scottish soil! I half-expected a welcoming shot of scotch at the airport. Alas, no luck. And yes, I'm ahead of schedule. I was supposed to be here until tomorrow. An earlier flight opened up, and I seized the opportunity. Patience has never been my strong suit. See you soon?" With a tap of the send button, she made her way to the bathroom for a long-awaited shower after her flight. / @fameheughan

[wmu-cedes]

closed starter for @wmucody

Mercedes wrapped her arms around herself. There were too many people, all of whom seemed to be just as anxious as she was, and despite the fact that Brit had given her a 'survival' bag, there was only one person that she was yearning to see.

Her height put her at a disadvantage, but Mercedes had attempted to scan the crowd to the best of her abilities when she turned and spotted him. Ignoring the wave of relief that settled upon her, and instead thanking the Lord almighty that he was tall.

She made her way over to him as quickly as the crowd would allow and took a deep breath. "Cody!"

[mcdameb]

NICHOLAS GALITZINE? não! é apenas BROOKLYN EDWARDS, ele é filho de DIONÍSIO do chalé 12 e tem 27 ANOS. a tv hefesto informa no guia de programação que ele está no NÍVEL II por estar no acampamento há DEZ ANOS, sabia? e se lá estiver certo, BROOK é bastante PRESTATIVO mas também dizem que ele é IMPLICANTE. mas você sabe como hefesto é, sempre inventando fake news pra atrair audiência.

gênero: cis-gênero masculino. pronomes: ele/dele. signo: peixes. sexualidade: pansexual.

links úteis: headcanons 🍇 conexões 🍇 pov 🍇 task

Aproximar-se de semideuses crescidos era um risco que os deuses não corriam muitas vezes, mas aquela filha de Atena… tinha algo diferente. Ao contrário de seus irmãos que focavam em missões e se tornarem grandes guerreiros, a moça decidiu sair do acampamento aos quinze anos e não voltar. Não olhou para trás. Ao invés de se afogar nos livros, a astuta Elian usava seu cérebro potente para decorar falas e aprender novas músicas imensas para os musicais que produzia. Suas peças eram conhecidas, mas não eram tão prestigiadas ou tinham grande renome. Atores conhecidos adoravam trabalhar com Elian, seja como companheira de atuação ou como diretora. Sua alma parecia ter nascido para os palcos da broadway, mas ela ainda não tinha conquistado esse privilégio. Se contentava com os pequenos teatros, com as apresentações no meio da rua, com qualquer coisa que pudesse agarrar.

Se a oportunidade não chegava, Elian abria as portas e ia atrás de fazer seu próprio destino. Para sua surpresa, em uma das peças, viu o rosto conhecido do deus do vinho, o infame diretor do acampamento. Embora achasse que ele estava ali por alguma emergência no acampamento, ao fim do espetáculo recebeu uma resposta que não esperava: não é nada, apenas vim prestigiar seu trabalho. Aquela não foi a última visita de Dionísio que continuou voltando, voltando e cada vez vindo em horários mais aleatórios, não só durante as peças. Se Elian nunca achou que se aproximaria de um deus, Dionísio mostrou que ela estava errada.

Em uma comemoração por mais uma temporada concluída com sucesso, aconteceu o inevitável. O envolvimento dos dois tornou-se mais íntimo e ainda que soubesse dos riscos, prosseguiu em frente com aquele romance. Aquilo não trouxe apenas mais oportunidades, mais chances para que levasse seus espetáculos a lugares mais conhecidos; o sucesso não foi a única coisa, mas sim também uma criança. Um filho. O garotinho de olhos castanhos que crescia correndo pelos bastidores, paparicado por atores que ele via se apresentar quase todas as noites. Foi ali que seu maior interesse surgiu, enquanto a mãe gostava dos palcos, Brooklyn, como foi apelidado pelos amigos de sua mãe por causa do sotaque, gostava dos bastidores. Dos figurinos, dos cenários. As mãozinhas curiosas viviam pegando itens da equipe de produção, vivia criando novos acessórios e fantasias.

A paixão de sua mãe pela atuação, pela música, pelo mundo artístico em si despertou em Brooklyn aquela chama. Em suas veias já corria a inclinação para aquele mundo por causa de seu pai, mas sua mãe também contribuía. Regado de amor e atenção, teve o que considera uma infância perfeita.

A adolescência, no entanto, começou a mudar a criança brincalhona e trazer à tona um jovem irritadiço. Dionísio é um deus com uma dualidade extrema, tanto conhecido como deus da alegria e da euforia como também associado a ira e a destruição. Parecia que Brooklyn tinha puxado justamente a esse lado, embora em alguns momentos se mostrasse gentil, fazê-lo mudar de atitude era fácil. As discussões com a mãe se tornaram frequentes, danificava os acessórios dos teatros por onde as peças de Elian passava, um pesadelo. Dionísio precisou intervir e levou o adolescente de quatorze anos para o Acampamento. Direto para o chalé 12, começou a descontar toda a sua raiva em treinos. Não se satisfazia, mas era o suficiente para lhe cansar. Foi com uma filha de Afrodite, no entanto, que descobriu algo que lhe acalmava. A dança. Tudo bem, já era algo que na infância ocupava bastante seu tempo… mas agora isso servia para calar o barulho em sua mente. Aos dezoito anos, colocou uma mochila no ombro e saiu do Acampamento em busca de uma aproximação maior com as artes novamente. Foi atrás da mãe e a reconciliação veio de maneira tranquila, já não era mais o jovem birrento e encrenqueiro.

Ali mesmo em Nova Iorque aproximou-se de casa de shows, com Elian abrindo as portas de um mundo novo onde Brooklyn seria capaz de juntar tudo o que amava. Dança, atuação, artesanato e música. O palco bem diferente do que a mãe enfrentava, mas ainda assim era perfeito. Os novos amigos que fazia por ali rapidamente lhe acolheram, mostraram a Brook uma arte que não era conhecida, mas que rapidamente se tornou sua realidade, sua motivação. Se tornar uma Drag Queen foi o passo que faltava para calar de vez todas as vozes em sua cabeça, se vinha algo lhe perturbar, Brooklyn transformava em arte. Fazia suas próprias roupas e acessórios, começava também a fazer dos colegas de profissão. Madame B, como era conhecida, trazia diversidade de performances e looks, todos feitos a mão e por si. Seu esforço lhe rendeu recentemente uma vaga no Drag Race, mas no segundo mês de gravação, o chamado de Dionísio lhe arrastou de volta para o Acampamento. Ter que largar tudo o que conquistou deixou Brooklyn mais uma vez com aquela névoa sombria de irritação e ira constante, é comum vê-lo usando a arena ou o anfiteatro não para treinar luta, mas sim suas danças. Está sempre pronto para fazer remendos ou consertar algo com cola quente, nunca vai vê-lo sem seu cinto de acessórios pois dali sai tudo o que precisa.

PODER: MANIPULAÇÃO DE EMOÇÕES: uma faca de dois gumes, como costuma dizer. Do mesmo jeito que consegue captar o humor das pessoas para manipular ao seu redor, Brooklyn acaba sendo também influenciado pela onda que causa. É o que instiga a lhe deixar sempre com raiva, embora não soubesse na adolescência, acabava captando o humor dos outros por causa da falta de controle do poder e isso refletia em si.

PODER PASSIVO(TVH): TRANSFORMAÇÃO LÍQUIDA: Brooklyn consegue transformar qualquer líquido em vinho. Até pouco tempo não sabia que era possível fazer isso, em alguns momentos bêbados no passado seu poder agiu e por estar ébrio, não percebeu. Agora muitas situações fazem sentido como por exemplo, quando os amigos mandavam que bebesse água para ajudar a ficar sóbrio mais rápido, ele começava bebendo água.... e terminava com um copo de vinho na mão.

CAIXA DAS RUNAS: Presente ganho após ter conseguido voltar de uma missão com sucesso. Uma pequena caixa de madeira com runas desenhadas. Dentro da caixa tem um pedaço do que parece ser um carvão; na tampa estão entalhadas as instruções: você deve desenhar as runas que deseja em seu corpo e durante quarenta minutos, o portador conseguirá extrair a magia dessas runas. É um artefato de defesa então apenas runas de proteção conseguem ter efeito. Brooklyn descobriu após o primeiro uso que as runas não saem do corpo depois de desenhadas, elas permanecem e ele pode ativar passando o carvão por cima de novo quando bem desejar.

HABILIDADES: agilidade sobre humana e vigor sobre humano.

ARMA: No aniversário de quinze anos de Brooklyn, Dionísio lhe deu um anel. O deus não explicou o que aquele anel fazia, apenas lhe deu e disse que era um presente. O anel parece ser feito de pequenos galhos de vinhas, entrelaçados e bem seguro. Foi uma surpresa quando girou o anel no dedo em um movimento distraído e uma lança de bronze celestial se materializou em sua mão.

[brittxxbpierce]

Hair of the Dog| Brittana

Tagging: Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez

Time Frame: Sunday, sometime in late November

Location: Brittany’s Apartment

General Notes: Santana comes over to “study” whilst battling a hangover from the pits of hell.

Trigger Warnings: Eventual explicit sexual content, explicit language, intense closeted lesbianism.

There was a time not long ago when Brittany would have been running around in an effort to prepare for her best friend’s arrival. The anxiety of never knowing what version of Santana she would be getting used to cause her to hyperventilate, fixated on ensuring everything was perfect. Hellbent on creating the right conditions for Santana to be…herself.

Sometimes it felt like even when they were alone, San was always checking over her shoulder to see if someone was watching. Terrified that someone would find out about, whatever the fuck they had going on. As a teenager it had been confusing, coupled with undergoing hormone replacement therapy and the general angst of adolescence, but now it was just…Santana.

As stupid as it was, there was some part of Brittany that maintained the belief that things would be different someday. Surely Santana couldn’t spend her entire life pretending…right? On the plus side, maturity had at least helped Brittany…relax. If things between she and Santana couldn’t even be openly discussed, what was the point in worrying? What was the point in preparing? Getting nervous? Those were the kinds of feelings you had for someone you were dating and Santana had made it perfectly clear, time and time again—- sex was not dating.

It was a realization that and felt like a sucker punch to 17-year old Brittany, but 22-year old Brittany? Well, she was used to it, or maybe she had Stockholm syndrome? Regardless, there wasn’t much time to ponder the topic much further before the telltale sound of key turning within a lock made it to prone ears.

Brittany paused the TV just moments before her front door flew open and in stumbled a slightly disoriented version of Santana. The shorter woman was dressed in what could only be described as her standard hangover fit, complete with sunglasses and an oversized hoodie. A paper bag tucked under her arm containing a glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

She was kind enough to shut the door behind her before she shuffled the short distance from the entryway to the couch and promptly flopped herself down onto it, and subsequently, onto Brittany. The blonde didn’t mind, an amused smile taking over her features as she watched Santana roll over, head in her lap and feet barely touching the other end of the pink sofa.

“Hello to you too.” She joked, laughing at the groaned response she received. “No backpack? Laptop?” She questioned, softening her voice when Santana winced at the volume, the fingers on Brittany’s dominant hand taking up the familiar act of stroking dark strands of hair away from a surprisingly tacky forehead.

In lieu of an answer Santana merely raised her left hand and wiggled the paper covered bottle, pulling yet another wave of laughter from parted pink lips.

[ishikaxmehra]

metallic taste of blood - self para

location: angel's rest hospital timeframe: after the attack (before the threads she has in the hospital) mentioning: @labyrinthinesyndicatex (because of course she's thinking about Gavin too)

Waking up was like dragging herself out of a cave—every sound muffled, every sensation dulled by the weight of her own body. Ishika’s eyes blinked open slowly, lashes sticking together from dried blood at her temple. The ceiling was unfamiliar: white, sterile, humming softly with fluorescent lights that never slept. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then her body answered for her.

Pain. Immediate and overwhelming. It radiated from her side, sharp with every breath—fractured ribs. Her shoulder screamed in protest when she shifted slightly, stiff and swollen from where it had been forced back into place. Every inch of her felt battered, like she’d been tossed down a flight of stairs and then dragged across concrete. Her skin wore bruises like war paint, and her limbs felt heavy, alien, untrustworthy.

She didn’t remember passing out, but she remembered the moment before—the sound of Gavin’s name tearing from her throat, the way her legs buckled after the blow to her temple, how the pavement had felt against her cheek. Her hands, now resting limply on the blankets, had reached for him even when she couldn’t speak. That need to protect him had burned brighter than the pain itself.

Now, as awareness settled in her chest like a stone, her first coherent thought wasn’t of herself at all.

Gavin.

Was he okay?

Her heartbeat stuttered beneath the layers of gauze and bandages, panic curling low in her stomach. She tried to sit up, failed, and bit back a cry when her ribs protested. God, if he’d taken more hits—if they’d targeted him the same way they had her—it was unbearable to think about. He had been trying to get to her, even then. Through blood, through fists, through chaos. He’d moved toward her.

The thought made her throat tighten. Not because she was afraid—though fear, bitter and real, coiled in her gut—but because love was never meant to come with bruises. And yet here they both were. Collateral in a war neither of them had fully declared.

Her eyes flicked toward the window, light bleeding through the blinds. Morning, maybe. Or afternoon. Time felt irrelevant. But one thing was clear—whatever part of her had been coasting through Devil’s Junction with quiet confidence was gone now. She wasn’t broken. But she’d been shaken. And until she saw Gavin’s face, until she knew for certain he was okay, nothing in her body would rest.

[ashxrdavenport]

patient zero – self para.

set on the night of may 5th, 1989.

ooc: since i intend on using this story for plot purposes in the near future, i figured i'd post it to his blog.

the taste of fresh blood straight from a jugular is so inebriating that he doesn’t quite realize what he’s doing.

so rich, so satisfying… he had been told it was good. better than the bagged, tomato-juice-colored liquid he’s used to. but this… this the best thing he has ever tasted. and he drinks, and drinks, and drinks until he’s drowning in it. he drinks until he chokes. until there’s nothing left to drain. and still, he keeps sucking, just to make sure he has taken every single remaining drop…

when he lets go of the body, it hits the pavement with a thud. loud and moist, as it crashes against a puddle. its echo rippling through the alley behind the bar.

still engrossed in the high, he doesn’t pay much mind to it. he’s too busy licking the gaps between his fingers, the space under his nails. satisfying himself like a child eating ice cream for the first time.

it’s only when he can’t taste blood anymore that his senses begin to clear. the world begins to spin at its normal speed again. the rush and the hunger start to wear off. his undead heart slows down. his senses relax. his perception returns. and, in between heavy breaths, asher gradually comes back to reality. thoughts start unclogging, things start making sense. humanity comes back to him, replacing that feral, beastly hunger. and, finally, he realizes.

fuck.

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fu–

he stares at the body for a while. face contorted into an expression that seesaws between horror and concern. furrowed brows and agape mouth revealing his terror and disbelief at what lies at his feet.

fuck. he just wanted to give the guy a scare. beat him up a bit and get on with his life. that was not what he wanted. fuck no. that wasn’t supposed to–

he has to do something about it.

does he go for gwen? does he tell her he just murdered someone? she must know what to do in these situations, right?

but then again, she has given him all the instructions. she has tried her best to orient him to not become a murderer… jesus, she's going to be so pissed... actually, no. he isn’t supposed to think about that guy anymore. weakens him, apparently. satan, she’s going to be so pissed…

no. he can’t tell her. he has to deal with it on his own. he can’t get into any more trouble.

he looks around, desperate. trying to find something. anything. and as something moves inside a dumpster in the dark, he has an idea.

fucking gross. but time efficient.

he fishes for a trash bag, empties it on the dumpster – the reek of waste and rot torment his nostrils – and sets it next to the body.

cracking sounds echo through the dark street as he breaks bones and ligaments, like a nutcracker, but tenfold. even with his heightened strength – on top of what he considered already high strength, even before he’d become a vampire –, he still has a hard time snapping the forearms and legs in halves.

he doesn’t hate the feeling, though… not that it’s fun, by any means, but he is so caught up in breaking the guy’s body into a foldable little mass, that he almost forgets he just took someone’s life…

when he’s done, he fits it all inside the trash bag. he ties it up and heaves it over his back.

a 6’5 man walking down the streets with a black bag, in the middle of the night. not suspicious at all. nothing to see here! just taking out the trash! into the forest! to throw it in the river! what was he supposed to do? leave a body in the dumpster for a sloppy trash collector to drop it the next day and start a whole police investigation? who would want that?!

when the heavy work is done, he sits by the river to watch a dismembered arm and a leg float away (other pieces had been scattered around the forest in precariously dug holes). and it’s only then that the adrenaline starts to wear off. a different kind, though. not the same ecstasy from choking on fresh blood. but a more human, mortal kind. and it finally starts to sink in.

fuck.

he just murdered a guy.

a guy he had met at a bar not two hours ago. sure, an asshole that he had grown to hate within two minutes of conversation, but a human being, nonetheless.

he’s done his fair share of wrongdoings in his. way too many for his own sake. but that was a whole new level…

all the cliché thoughts start coming. what if they catch me? what if he was just a normal, random guy with a family? what if they catch me?

and as a severed foot disappears in the distance, he feels something tug downward inside his ribcage. it isn’t sadness. It doesn’t make him cry. is it guilt? he figures, but he can’t really tell... It is different. unlike anything he ever felt. and it is so, so strange. because he doesn’t know if he feels for the guy, or for someone he might have left behind. or if he just fears getting caught… but he feels… wrong.

is this what he has become? is this who he is now? 

[reinhartetc]

Another Sunday, another service. Lili fidgeted in her seat and she could practically feel her mother's gaze burning against her cheek. She cast an apologetic look at her before straightening up and training her eyes to gaze studiously at her father as he delivered his sermon. She was paying attention, honestly. She enjoyed church, she did. She loved singing along to the worship songs and she soaked in the peace that settled over her as the final prayer was delivered. She had been baptized in this church, participated in all the Christmas plays, and knew this building like the back of her hand as she had grown up in the pews and scampered around in the rooms as she was a little girl. She felt the same sense of safety in this holy place as she did sinking underneath the sheets of her bed.

It was just - she hadn't slept well the night before and Lili kept longingly thinking of other teenage girls who were still curled up like cats in the early AM of the last day of reprieve from school. She'd be here for another few hours as they were hosting a luncheon afterwards and Lili's mother would have no arguments that Lili would serve and assist in cleaning up. Sleep would not be an option until the evening and even then, Lili still had a history paper to write.

She wasn't aware her eyes were closing until an elbow nudged her in the ribs and her mother's green eyes were glaring at her. "Sorry," she whispered and was saved from further judgement as she heard the doors open and her head swiveled around automatically to see who had entered.

[seekingsomxthinggood]

Who: @halfwcytohell (Vince)

Where: The Third Eye - afternoon

Some might say Ash was incredulous for his believe in things like Psychics and the supernatural. But he' d worked on enough full moons to know that it was possible for planets and stars to have an effect on how human's behaved. On a more personal level no one could convince him that his Aunt wasn't somewhere watching over him and still guiding him along. Ash had a strong belief in the unseen around him, that there was no such thing as coincidence. Stumbling across The Third Eye on one of his first forays around Clearwater had been one of those not so random random things. Ash had liked the energy that Vince gave off from the jump and what had been just a random walk in had turned into a regular part of his routine for the last six months. He was dressed to head to work after, clean and professional, different than his non-work wear of baggy sweaters and ripped jeans, "Hiya Vince. How's the day going?"

[linguadetrapo]

GRETA ONIEOGOU? Não! É apenas ODELLA ANASTASIYA MOROZOVA, ela é filha de TIQUÊ do chalé 41 e tem 27 ANOS. A TV Hefesto informa no guia de programação que ela está no NÍVEL III por estar no Acampamento há TREZE ANOS, sabia? E se lá estiver certo, ANA é bastante CARINHOSA mas também dizem que ela é MENTIROSA. Mas você sabe como Hefesto é, sempre inventando fake news pra atrair audiência.

gênero: cis-gênero feminimo. pronomes: ela/dela. signo: libra. sexualidade: lésbica. INSTRUTORA DE IDENTIFICAÇÃO DE MONSTROS.

links úteis: headcanons 📢 conexões 📢 pov 📢 task

⭒˚.⋆ ʿ                                     há um boato entre os deuses que tiquê não se aproxima de homens azarados ou pobres, que a deusa está sempre em busca dos melhores em suas categorias… mas há alguns anos, quando isso surge nas rodas de conversa divina, o nome de anatoly surge como deboche. o rapaz parecia ser o detentor de todo azar possível, pobre e trambiqueiro. sua lábia provavelmente foi o que atraiu a deusa, encantada por um humano conseguir falar tanta abobrinha e ainda se safar.

uma coisa que ele se safou também foi de ganhar a criança que a deusa gerou; tiquê, sabendo do potencial da bebê como uma legítima filha sua teria no futuro, a deixou em um orfanato. não deixaria que ele se aproveitasse de seus futuros dons, seja lá qual fossem. acontece que a sorte sempre estava ao lado da criança, foi adotada na primeira tentativa que o orfanato fez consigo, um casal de classe média que desejavam um bebê mas não podiam conceber. levada para os Estados Unidos, ana foi amada e recebeu uma boa educação.

mas ah, filho de peixe, peixinho é. mesmo sem conhecer seu pai biológico, a garota tem seus traços de personalidade — para espanto da deusa que vez ou outra observava a filha crescer. odella era uma jovem trambiqueira que fazia as coisas e dava um jeito de colocar a culpa em outra pessoa ou de nunca ser pega. mal sabia, mas a manifestação de seus poderes começaria justamente quando a garota aprendeu que mentiras eram um jeito fácil de enganar as pessoas.

não importava o que ela inventasse, as pessoas pareciam acreditar e se moviam para fazer acontecer. o uso exacerbado desse poder fez com que monstros começassem a serem atraídos na direção da garota, que como era de se esperar, escapou por pouco. seus pais adotivos não tiveram tanta sorte. o azar deles foi o que salvou odella, mas também seria um trauma que ela carregaria para a vida. a partir disso, sendo levada para o acampamento meio-sangue com apenas 14 anos, odella começaria a tentar treinar seu poder para não deixar mais as pessoas próximas a si serem levadas embora.

seus treinos deram um bom resultado, até demais na verdade, já que quando ia para as missões, quando tudo parecia perdido… odella dava um jeito de todos escaparem com vida. seu sucesso nas missões se devia apenas ao acaso das ações de seu poder, mas a garota não admitiria isso. o que importava era a quantidade de missões concluídas. os semideuses que iam consigo nas missões nunca eram repetidos, ela sempre escolhia parceiros novos para que ninguém notasse que seu sucesso nada mais era do que sorte. ela não luta bem, não tem uma boa mira, é desastrada… mas ah, sua lábia. até o minotauro mais faminto por sangue de semideus se rende quando a voz de odella soa.

ficar presa no acampamento sem missões é um tormento para a mulher que como não tem um jeito de extravasar a energia contida de seu poder, decidiu que o modo mais divertido de lidar com isso era usando dentro do próprio acampamento. apesar de ser um movimento arriscado pois por causa da frequência, para que notassem suas mentiras seria um pulo, isso não a para. odella adora a adrenalina que consegue disso. se tem como instigar intriga ou alimentar mentiras, ela estará satisfeita em correr o risco.

PODERES: Chamado de Eco da verdade é o poder de manipulação da realidade através da voz. Obviamente não é capaz de grandes feitos, mas fazer colegas acreditarem em traições que não existem? Fazer pessoas lhe darem presentes que deseja? Ou em batalha, redirecionar a atenção de um monstro para outro lugar o suficiente para que ataquem? Isso ela consegue. Em batalha a situação é um pouco mais complicada do que as fake news que inventa pelo acampamento, ela demora mais a se recuperar e acaba ficando fraca. É por causa disso que as pessoas acham que ela é uma lenda das missões, porque chega esgotada e trazendo todos os integrantes de sua equipe.

HABILIDADES: Sentidos Aguçados (audição) e Reflexos sobre-humanos.

ARMA: um shashka com a lâmina de ferro vestígio. a arma tem o punho de niello mas ornamentada com pequenas letras gregas que odella sempre diz que é para proteção…. mas na verdade são apenas palavras soltas mesmo. sua bainha é preta e vira um pompom de cabelo que ela ou usa para prender os fios escuros ou usa para colocar no pulso. em ambos os casos, para ativar a arma basta tirar o elástico e sacudir a mão, ali rapidamente aparece sua lâmina.

[mxvick]

                                 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 .

                                     with @wclfdaddy .

           *　  /　　maverick gostava de frequentar o cinema da cidade. terror era um dos gêneros que mais gostava, pela ironia de morar em arcanum. a proposta do véu da meia-noite sempre soava atrativa para o lobisomem e decidiu aproveitar uma das noites para fazer aquele programa. decisão de última hora, por isso foi sozinho. já tinha sua entrada no bolso da jaqueta de couro, agora se dirigia para a fila da pipoca, que não podia faltar naquele programa. reparava nas pessoas que circulavam pelo espaço. não tinha muita gente, na verdade. preferia assim. pensava nisso, por isso só percebeu que era o colega de trabalho que estava à sua frente. " se tivéssemos combinado, não tinha dado certo assim. " anunciou sua presença com humor na voz. achou engraçado encontrá-lo ali depois de todo um turno de trabalho juntos e não tendo combinado nada.