#Midas Hygiene

[midashygiene-blog]

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[thetonethetollandthethunder]

Scythe chapter 11-15

You know the drill!! Cmon!!!

—

Chapter 11!!

-I always forget the conclave’s have names,,,

-The thing is, you can never blame these people for fighting back, it’s human nature, but OUGH the consequences of human nature are so devastating

-But just imagine the guilt you’d feel, your husband got killed and you get immune from the same fate for a whole year. That’s just prime for survivors guilt

-Also the fact that Faraday told the family the man didn’t resist is just testament to his kindness and compassion

-“The sanctity of the law…And the wisdom to know when it must be broken.” *Stares at Goddard*

-MILK SCENE, I unironically love this scene even tho I think it’s really funny

-Also I genuinely don’t know how ppl drink milk b4 bed, is that even a real thing? How does that make you sleepy??

-Also good on Faraday!! Don’t waste shit!!!

-Apparently all the Scythe Rings are white but I refuse to acknowledge that, they’re all multicolored and each color relates to the scythe in some way <3

-That ring security system Faraday has going on is sick as fuck tho ngl

-“Now let’s see how long it takes Rowan to go for the ring.” I love himmmm, he’s fun!!! He can be fun!!

-Tonist mention!! I love the Tonists <33

-Nice chapter!! Gives more depth to Faraday!!

—

Chapter 12!!

-Rowan and Citra’s test are approaching!!!

-The idea of having to hold yourself back in life because you’re afraid of being killed is actually terrifying—

-Also same Rowan, I hate studying too

-“Rowan concluded that not knowing was more terrifying than knowing.” If I remember correctly what the consequence is then that is CERTAIN true

-I LOVE Citra and Rowan’s banter here!! You can see their chemistry early on!!

-UGH I WONT LIST OUT ALL THE MOMENT BUT THEYRE SO CUTE!!!

-Cute chapter! Lots of Citran moments!

—

Chapter 13!!

-“I’m a human being, not a mole.” Faraday is soooo fun sometimes like so fun and endearing???

-“Destroyed back in the age of mortality by something called ‘terrorism’.” OKAY SO YES THIS DOES GIVE US A LOT TO THINK ABOUT IN TERMS OF WHAT PEOPLE HERE KNOW ABOUT THE AGE OF MORTALITY BUT ALSO THAT IS RLLY FUCKING FUNNY SOOO

-I too hate walking at 6:30 am (I go to public school in America)

-“I have found that with the Scythedom, it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” He is iconic yall

-“What’s the worst they could do?” Things said before disasters—

-“Running the gauntlet” Like walking the red carpet!

-“Scythes wished to be seen as the many faces of light, not of darkness.” And soon they will be! Yk, just right after the plague—

-SCYTHE CURIE OMG OMG!!

-OO now they’re seeing scythe goddard ohoho I LOVE HAVING FORESIGHT

-Citra would cringe at the fact she at one point dazzled by goddard

-Rowan don’t be fatphobic /j

-I like that the conclave’s are pretty boring for the most part, makes it feel more realistic

-I love how only when Citra becomes a Scythe does she begin to understand these rituals, shows how much she grows

-OHOHO we got goddards fuckin note bullshit! Citra is gonna hear allll about that when she becomes a scythe

-Love how Chomsky is basically described as “as white as anyone could be” lmaoo token white man

-also gun lobby, nothing to say about it just…Gun lobby

-Rowan starting to talk like faraday is GOLD

-Again I love Citra and Rowan’s banter

-SCYTHE CURIE

-The idea of the weaponsmaster being a infomercial salesman is SOO funny i need to use that in my scythe oc shit

-Also that digital poison sounds fucking TERRIFYING

-The Scythes not liking the term ‘victim’ is rlly interesting to me, shows they really think of themselves as these faces of light

-Neal I don’t think you know what feminine hygiene products sound like—

-Hand of midas shit but even MORE horrifying!!

-I am terrible with names I saw Scythe Mandela and thought he was Scythe Possuelo and I have no idea why

-Who names their child Ransom??

-VERY good and long chapter!! Two more to go!!

—

Chapter 14!!

-OOO the test scene!! One of my favorites!!

-SCYTHE CURIE

-Again what is with the shit names??? Jacory??

-OHH you do NOT interrupt scythe curie girl you are FUCKED

-Oh Citra you’re gonna revisit the worst thing you’ve ever done REALLL soon

-ROWAN LOSING ON PURPOSE FOR CITRA IS SOOOO!!!

-GODDAMN IT RAND I LOVE YOU BUT STOP

-AND THE TENSION THICKENS WITH THE ADDED RULE OF THEM HAVING TO KILL THE OTHER OH MY GOD ITS STILL GOOD MAN!!

-We all want a relationship with the thunderhead Curie

-Very good chapter that adds to the stakes of the story!! One more to go!!!

—

Chapter 15!!!

-God the shock and confusion and how upset they all are really captivates this conversation

-And you see that eventually Rowan is very willing to die at the hands of Citra, that’s how much he loves her like UGHH

-“Scythes were supposed to be above the petty,” oh citra you have no idea bby girl,,

-Hash pales!!!

-THE KISS SCENE

-Ive already went in depth about why I love this scene in my Citran analysis post but UGH I LOVE ITT

-Liar!! You are totally in love rowan!!

-GODDARD THE BASTARD

-God he is such a fucking dick i hate himmm

-Very good chapter :)

—

AND THATS THE NEXT 5!!! Next time we’ll do chapters 16-20!

[king-midas-fortnite]

hc + 🧼

hc + 🧼 for a hygiene-themed headcanon. adding hc + 👗 for his appearance in general

Prior to Midas' time in the underworld, he was meticulous about his hygiene and appearance to an obsessive degree. He would spend an inordinate amount of time and money on his looks. Hours in the morning spent working out to maintain his physique, regular appointments to keep his hair in check, only clothes that matched his net worth, and he was very particular about his shampoos and colognes. His looks (and smell) needed to reflect his reputation as much as his actions. To everyone.

Nowadays, he's not quite as obsessive about certain things. His personal relationships take higher priority to him now than what the island as a whole thinks of him. He doesn't fuss over his hair anymore, allowing it to remain grown out with a trim every now and then. His dress sensibilities have shifted from a strict sense of professionalism and wealth, to practicality in his armor for protection. (Although he did design it to fit his reclaimed title, and the crown almost never leaves his head.)

However, he is still very particular about his smell. He uses the same shampoos and colognes, choosing scents with earthy notes over florals. He smokes cigarettes far more often now, but tries to always smoke outside and wear a glove if he can to avoid the smell lingering on his hands and clothes.

He's always preferred to shower and groom in the morning (post work-out), with a rinse at night.

All in all, he still cares about his appearance, but more so for his own sake than an ego-driven desire to curate an image for the island.

[shaingles]

★¸.•☆ — First Encounter

Word count; 2,103

Characters Involved; Midas, Boss, Osric, Shepherd

A/N; I'm rewriting the Grand Teyvat (my story). If you're interested in reading the archived version, don't worry. It's still up. Click HERE for the archived Table of Contents

Divider credit; strangergraphics

Crash! Bang! Slam!!!

Midas’s eyes snap open, locking on the dingy ceiling above him. The sleepy haze in his skull fades, but the lingering fatigue keeps his muscles stiff as a board. Men curse, roughhouse, bang against doors and break stuff throughout the halls. The ruckus serves as an unorthodox alarm clock, going off every morning with no snooze button. It’s routine, at this point. He can’t help but groan and wipe the crust from his lashes.

“Just another day, just another day.” He pulls himself out of bed, tossing the tattered comforter aside. When he stands, the rusty bed frame creaks along with the floorboards. “Just get through the day.” He navigates through his cramped room, picking his clothes off the floor before throwing them on. They reek of yesterday’s excavation, but Midas tolerates it, pushing past the stench.

He swims through the crowded halls, ducking and dodging flying objects with skilled ease. However, the reminder of these treasure hoarder’s neglected hygiene shakes his focus. His nose crinkles from the other men's putrid smell. A mixture of sweat, dirt, alcohol, and something indescribable assaults his senses. He walks faster because of this, reaching the dining hall sooner than he thought. The lingering funk turns his stomach. It doesn’t help to see other treasure hoarders dig into their food like pigs. Disgusting, selfish pigs.

“Midas!” A nasally voice rings behind him. It’s almost enough to push Midas over the edge, his features crushing up like balled up paper. However, he takes a deep breath. The last thing he needs is to lash out this early in the morning. Turning around, he sees hair as orange as a carrot accompanied by a smug face approach him.

“Shepherd…” Midas says, crossing his arms.

“Please,” Shepherd says, waving his hand. “No need to be so formal—”

“Don’t piss me off. What do you want?”

“Woah, woah.” He puts his hand up. “No need to be so prickly. Here.” He holds out a fresh, plump sunsettia. “I saved this for you. You’re welcome.”

Midas looks long and hard at the fruit before glaring up at Shepherd. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Again? So ungrateful—Ya know, I fought hard to get this. Those greedy bastards were going to leave you starving.”

He doesn’t bother entertaining Shepherd, instead rolling his eyes. Before Shepherd can say more, the bell rings. More noise to pile onto Midas’s irritation.

“Looks like Boss has another announcement to make. I wonder what you did this time.” He walks off with that same smug look on his face, joining the hoard exiting through the double doors. Midas doesn’t join them. He had enough with the foul stench and morning aggression. Instead, he heads into the kitchen to look for food scraps. He just needs enough to keep his growling stomach at bay.

Eventually, Midas joins the crowd in the meeting hall, taking the spot farthest back. It’s harder to see the podium with all the brawniest and tallest meatheads standing front and center. Regardless, he keeps his head low and leans against the dirty wooden wall. The song he hums helps distract himself from the overwhelming chatting buzz. He doesn’t remember where he heard it, but the song gives him a sense of comfort.

An older man steps onto the podium, his bulky stature towering over the crowd. "Attention!" His boomy voice fills the room, failing to silence the treasure hoarders at first. It’s not until he fires his revolver in the air when everyone cowers and quiets down. “Don’t play with me! I’m not in the mood! Why am I hearing about Hawkeye hoarders stepping into Mondstadt territory!?" 

The silent air thickens. Midas sees some other hoarders rub their necks and share awkward glances with one another. He can’t help but snicker at their discomfort. Midas knows better than to step foot in Mondstadt again, especially with the increase of Knights of Favonius. He knows he can’t afford jail time.

“What did I say about Mondstadt!? Especially after that blunder from last year!? Do any of you want to get caught!?”

Soft murmurs fill the air.

Boss bashes his fist against the podium. “That wasn’t a rhetorical fucking question!”

“No, sir!” the crowd says in unison.

“Don’t be a liability! Don’t draw the authorities to our base! You’re all lucky we didn’t have to abandon this one yet! If you get caught, we won’t save you—we WILL abandon you—just how you abandoned your common sense for a few fucking coins! Do you understand?!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Don’t embarrass us! Despite our allyship with the Black Vultures, they’re still our competitors! Don’t make them think we’re a bunch of single-minded dunces! Now get to work!”

With that, everyone turns to leave. Midas tries to swim with the current as quickly as possible until—

"Midas," Boss yells, "get your ass up here, boy!"

The laughter of passing men turns Midas’s cheeks red. He holds back the urge to tell them to shut up, but he takes a deep breath. Dragging himself to the podium, he swears under his breath, his Fontainian accent slipping through.

“Yes, sir?” Midas keeps his voice and head low, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

Boss steps down, his cane creaking against the worn wooden stairs. “Where were you last night?”

“At the tavern.” Midas doesn’t hesitate, wanting to waste no time.

“The tavern? With the haul you turned in the other day, you don’t have time to get drunk. Only well-performed hoarders deserve that luxury.” Boss closes the distance, the smell of liquor and cheap cologne hitting Midas’s nose like a brick. “Shepherd will look over you for the rest of the month until you catch up with the rest. Do you understand?”

“Shepherd!? That weasel—”

“I said, do you understand?!”

Midas frown fades at Boss’s burning glare. “... I understand.” He huffs like a bull, crossing his arms.

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

He turns toward the exit, feeling Boss’s glare scorch the back of his skull. Shepherd and a few other men wait for him at the door. Seeing that orange hair boils his blood further. Yet another annoyance added to the pile.

"You finally caught up, huh, rookie?" Shepherd's chuckle fills the air, encouraging the rest of the group to laugh with him.

Midas murmur swears, including some non-English curses. He takes another deep breath, letting the air fill his head. "Let’s just head to the Chasm already. I need this day to be over."

Shepherd’s scoff follows his snicker. “Well, let’s go. Don’t fall behind now, rookster.”  

After taking the last horses from the stable, the group set off. The horse ride to the Chasm is somber. Midas dreads descending into the rocky depths. It’s cramped, dark, and reeks of something rotten, especially with the disgusting ooze seeping through the cracks deep in the cave system. He shakes his head, knowing the discomfort is temporary. The quicker they snag leftover gems and ore, the better.

They leave their horses at the abandoned stables. It’s rumored to be left behind by a long gone gang, but nobody knows or cares. To them and other treasure hoarders, it’s just a free-use stable until someone replaces it with something else. Millelith soldiers guard the entrance, their vigilance tested when Midas and his group slip past them with ease. Despite this, the treasure hoarders keep their guard up. One mistake is enough to ruin their entire operation.

Once they reach the bottom, they slink into the shadows with haste. In the corner of Midas’s eye, he spots other hoarders doing the same thing. Shepherd motions for the others to get closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Alright, you all know the drill. Grab what you can get. Don't leave any rock unchecked. We'll regroup in an hour. Got it?" The men nod, including Midas. “Are you sure, rookie?” Shepherd adds, nudging him.

“Shut the fuck up, Shep. Let’s just get the job done.” Midas snarls at the ginger man.

He puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, geez. Archons forbid I keep worker morale up.” He grabs a nearby torch, the other men following his lead. "Be back here in an hour."

Midas mumbles under his breath while everyone departs. Shepherd claiming to ‘keep worker morale up’ gets under his skin. Midas knows it’s fake—a dumb facade the ginger weasel puts on. He grimaces at the familiar, unpleasant feeling in his gut, but he shoves it aside. He can’t let his emotions get the best of him.

While the other men scavenge for scraps, Midas strays away from the team. Along the way, he discards his torch, replacing it with another. The sticky residue of Shepherd’s pseudo-generosity disgusts him. He moves along the path, allowing the light to guide him. It’s easy to take solace in the Chasm’s echoing silence, especially when his normal life is chaotic and violent. He wishes moments like this could last for eternity.

A glimmer on the ground shines in Midas’s eye. Intrigue lures him closer to it, prompting him to pick it up. The dark blue surfaces feel smooth under his fingertips. It’s weighty, but not too heavy. It looks valuable, but he can’t remember the gem’s name.

Lapis? No…

Sapphire? Nah…

Loud rumbling from above interrupts his focus. He jumps to the defence, dropping the torch while reaching for his dagger. His eyes scan the rocky ceiling, ready for whatever might strike. He's unable to assess the potential threat, the sound of falling rocks and echoing screams bringing him confusion. He doesn’t react quick enough, a stranger followed by pieces of the earth crashing down on him. Midas’s dagger flies out of his hand, landing near the torch. They groan‌, the treasure hoarder shoving the person with all of his strength.

“Watch where you’re going, jackass!” Midas said. He balls his fist, ready to give the stranger a piece of his mind. “Are you out of your mind?!”

The man coughs, struggling to rub the dirt out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Midas stumbles on to his feet, reclaiming his torch and dagger. He spouts Fontainian swears, his frustration taking the reins. This was it—the last straw. All the pent up irritation finally boils over. He can feel the surrounding static fill the air. However, it’s not until he sees the man in the firelight when his fury dulls. The man’s ears resemble a sheep’s, his hair looks as fluffy as a cloud, and his skin is as dark as milk chocolate. Midas hasn’t seen someone like this before, especially someone with peculiar ears. He wants to lash out at the man before him—to get payback for the pain aching his body. But seeing the man tremble defenceless on the ground wrings pity from his heart.

"Here," Midas says, holding out his hand. "Let me help you up."

The man looks up at Midas, his star-shaped pupils piquing Midas’s curiosity further. “Thank you.” The sheepman says, his hand meeting the treasure hoarder’s. "I'm sorry for falling on you."

"It's whatever. Just watch where you're falling, Mouton." Midas dust the dirt off the sheepman's clothing, using this moment to study his appearance further. "Umm... Are you alright?"

The sheepman exhales, his ears flicking lingering dirt and dust off. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Are you alone? It's not safe venturing the Chasm by yourself."

The sheepman rubs the back of his neck, a weak chuckle leaving him. "Yes, and no. I was with a group, but I got distracted and strayed away from them—which then led me to the hole above—then it led me to... you."

Midas can't help but laugh, his softened gaze washing over the smaller man. “I see. Well, you can come with me until you reunite with your folk. Just keep your distance and keep up, got it?"

"Got it."

The sheepman smiles, following Midas’s lead. The walk is silent. Every time Midas glances at the shorter man, he catches the sheepman scanning the rocky walls, curiosity guiding his unique eyes. Something in his gut urges him to question the sheepman, but uncertainty tingles his skin.

"My name is Osric, by the way." The sheepman says, "What's your name?"

"I—Uh... Midas. You can call me Midas."

"Mi-das..." Osric’s sheep ears twitching as he digests the new information. "That's a lovely name. It's nice to meet you, Midas."

Midas's cheeks flush when Osric compliments his name. "Yeah..."

He turns away, hiding his tinted face. The stranger's kindness shouldn't distract him from his task; he needs to stay focused. The walk remains silent as the pair continues exploring the chasm.

To be continued…

[420thewritersroom]

Merigold: Chapter 1 - "So no Head?"

Summary: It's all fun and games until you remember your attempting to fall in love with an Astartes

ayo, what it is! What's up! It's been a minute. I'm happy to bring another piece following Midas and Vaine and their venture in discovering what it means to be a mortal and Astartes in love. These two have been on my mind in place of me trying to push out another Mortal Kombat chapter for my other work (it's hard being a MK1 fan in these streets ;A;) and my undiagnosed can't-focus-on-one-thing-ever forced me to do this instead lol. If you want to kinda get the "beginnings" of their relationship, check out the Warhammer Kinktober piece I did before since that's the literal first time I wrote anything about the pair. I also intend to make a sequel piece for a few other chapters from that fanfic since some of you guys gave me ideas that didn't leave me mind. I hope to occasionally come back to this and expand on these two rascals'

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Masturbation, Ruined Orgasm (he wasn't even close to cumming really), Toxic Relationship/Toxic Undertones, Astartes not understanding boundaries

Ship: Vaine (OC)/Midas (OC)

The recognizable rattle of the Thunderhawk enduring landing turbulence alerts Vaine of their destination, his heart(s) thumping rapidly. Excitement, although his scarred face does not show it. It's been an easy 2 months of assisting the brother chapter of the Iron Hands, the Sons of Medusa. Honorable it was to help their brothers in righteous fury and battle against the, albeit small, Tyranid horde. That seems to be the constant problem in the galaxy as a whole now. Tyranids this, Tyranids that. Vaine remembers long ago that he would bring back a trophy of his kills, each a unique specimen that he would happily brag (as boastful as Vaine would be) about how he acquired such prizes. Not that this has changed. Tyranids are an ever-evolving stain in the universe, a chaotic swarm filled with adaptable foes. But Vaine has found himself, for lack of better words, "bankrupt of honorable inspiration" as of late. There are only so many Carnifex's one can best in battle before they all start looking the same with only, what, a minor alteration to its being? Vaine has found himself practically seeking relief from such necessary tedious missions; he barely even brings back home trophies. The last prize he brought back was due to fighting an unusually clever Hive Tyrant, having taken its whip-like appendage back to the Gorgon's Will. That was a year ago. However, despite all of this…There was…One other reason why he desired the steel comforts of his chapters' fleet.

The Thunderhawk made a successful landing within the iron walls of the Gorgon, Vaine being the first to stand and leave, literally milliseconds before his battle brothers. Although his steps are trained and formatted, anyone who knew Vaine would know he was in a hurry. Rushing to see…

Vaine approaches the entrance to his personal quarters. Just as he's about to enter, he stops.

…He should wash himself…He doesn't like it when he returns smelling of carnage and months of uncleanliness, especially if Vaine is…Wanting…

Vaine makes a sharp turn towards the bathing stations. He was the only one present in the space. Good, all the hot water for him to use. Vaine was quick to remove his armor and disrobe his power glove. His movements were not hurried when he was under the showerhead. It's funny; long ago, Vaine never cared much about his personal hygiene. Astartes training, obviously, taught and warned him about the dangers of being unkempt. However, it was mainly in the context of ensuring he could effectively fight off diseases and ensure his battle gear was adequate before the next battle. So, he's always done the bare minimum. None of his brothers cared, the Mechanicus priests never cared (especially since most of them no longer possessed a nose), and he never graced the mortal crew enough for them to say anything. Funny how having one serf under his care changed that mindset within the month of Midas boarding the Gorgon's Will.

"M-my lord, if I may speak freely…But if you are to occupy the same…space as I…May you please, um, freshen up before doing so?"

Vain can still see the nervous look on Midas's face when he first requested this long ago.

"I-it's not only for my benefit, I assure you! Some may have a…More pleasing attitude towards you when you don't smell of death…"

Vaine remembers indulging in this suggestion for Midas, beginning their ritualistic bathing periods. I mean, why get a Serf if not to have them perform minimal duties so that you don't have to, right? Funny…How that changed…Never in a million years would Vaine bother to check his face to determine facial hair growth, tidy his short hair, or bother with SCENTED OILS OF ALL THINGS. Vaine takes one last look at himself in the mirror, analyzing his being for any possible imperfections. Once he was satisfied, he left the showers with his smelling armor in tow, dropping it off to the nearest unfortunate tech priest, unaware of his presence. Have them perform their rites and clean his armor; he has a serf with whom to reunite. Vaine ignored the bewildered stares he got from the passing crew, seemingly unaware that he had left the bathing quarters completely nude. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only.

Back again at the entrance of his room, this time not hesitating to enter. Midas, his trusted serf and newly founded lover, sat with his back turned from Vaine, seemingly unaware of his presence. Vaine doesn't make any show to quiet his footsteps or lessen his presence; he wants Midas to know he's here. Yet, with each step, Midas doesn't bother to even look over his shoulder to acknowledge the towering Astartes. As Vaine approached Midas, he saw what the smaller man was engrossed in. Writing something on parchment paper. None of the words looked like prayers or rites of significance. Midas was a celebrity back on his home planet, Vaine remembers. However, he doesn't remember what exactly caused his fame or what he was famous for. Songwriting, poetry, book publishing?

It didn't matter to Vaine; he wanted Midas's attention, and he wanted it now. Vaine takes his own, still flaccid cock in his hand and rests it squarely on Midas's shoulder. This was enough to catch the middle-aged man's attention as he took from his concentrated gaze to look at the surprised penis on his person. His eyes dart up to meet Vaine's, and a smile creeps across the serf's face.

"Welcome home, my lord."

Vaine's silver eyes stare unwaveringly at the smaller man. Midas looks between the cock on his shoulder and his master, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"I pray the journey has left you with minimal damage, my lord," Midas softly speaks, moving Vaines' cock from his person, letting the limp dick hang in the air, untouched.

Vaine's stare hardened as he watched Midas return back to his writing. With a firm grip, he forcefully pulled Midas and the chair he sat on away from the desk, startling the serf as Midas gawked at the table now inches away from him. Midas can hear his own heart thrumming; he knows what Vaine wants.

“…My…Apologize, my lord," Midas slowly looks back at Vaine, doing his best to not look at his lordship's cock. "Um…Would you like some spare robes? I can tell you have recently wa-"

"No," Vaine said.

"Then, may I help you to some food? You have been gone for-"

"No," Vaine quickly interrupts with the same chilling yet even tone.

"Then perhaps I should seek your armor; they most likely require-"

"Quiet."

Midas immediately closes his mouth, his eyes seeking the floor as he displays submission to his lordship. He continues to ignore Vaine's manhood, the way it twitched ever so slightly as Vaine's desire slowly bubbled to the surface. Vaine moves his meaty hand from the head of the chair to brush Midas's hair out of his eyes, admiring such beautiful hues. He carefully slid a finger down his cheek, slithering further down his neck until he reached the collar of his chiton, slowly moving the fabric off Midas's shoulder. There, Midas quickly grabbed at Vaine's oversized hand and squeezed, indicating that he should stop. Which Vaine did, surprised by the sudden action.

"Vaine-"

"It's been months."

"I know," Midas sighs as he guides Vaines' hand away from his person.

"I want to see you. All of you."

"I'm not in the mood right now."

"It's been months. I haven't seen you for 2 months." Vaine lightly shakes Midas's hand off him, reaching out with the intent to disrobe the fallen celebrity. Vaine flinches as Midas stands from the chair, creating a safe distance from the towering Iron Hand.

"I said no, Vaine."

"Why not?" Vaine glares at Midas, his patience growing thin. Where is this coming from? What angle is this serf playing at?

"I already told you, I'm not interested in satisfying your wants right now," Midas continues to boldly reject him, standing his ground as he returns a determined frown back at Vaine.

"Strip," Vaine demanded, utilizing that same godly presence he knows would make Midas cower in an instant…Emphasis on would as Midas crosses his arms and remains woefully clothed.

"Vaine-"

"I said, Strip!" Vaine lowly growls like a snarling wolf.

"Vaine, you're acting like a child!" Midas rebukes in the face of the Emperor's Chosen.

"You're the one being the child, serf! I gave a command, and you're refusing me! I only ask a moment to satisfy me!"

"'A moment,' he says," Midas mocks, grimacing as he looks at Vaines, now limp again cock, "Will that monster there actually want just "a moment" or will you get hard again and demand I nearly break my jaw sucking you off for the 4th time with no rest!"

Vaine doesn't show it, but goosebumps do ride down his spine and crawl across his skin when Midas mentions this. Why is he bringing this up? "We can always replace your lower jaw to better accommodate-"

"Fucking Throne, Vaine! You're not listening!"

"I don't understand what you're upset about! I did eventually stop!"

"Eventually! That's the keyword, bolts for brains, EVENTUALLY!"

"You dare insult me?" Vaine makes a threatening step forward as he clenches his fists.

Despite Vaine's straightened posture and deadly aura, Midas does not stop. "I'm not in the mood, Vaine, because I can't keep up with you!"

"Keep up with me?" Vaine questions like a compressed fire behind a door.

"I…" Midas takes a moment to breathe and think.

"Finish your thought, serf."

"…After a year of…Whatever this is, you'd think you'd call me by my name by now, Vaine," Midas murmurs.

"Finish. Your. Thought."

"…I need to be in a specific mood and mindset to want to…Satisfy you, Vaine."

"Then what's stopping you from doing so?"

"Do you jack off every single day, Vaine?" Midas challenges.

"No, I have my duties to perform."

"Ok, so you understand that. Then you must also understand that not every single day our bodies crave to get drained dry until we're nothing but skin and bones and covered in an inhuman amount of cum."

Vaine blinks at Midas a few times before opening his mouth. "You had months to fester whatever this 'mood' and 'mindset' is; why can't you conjure even a sliver of this desire?"

Midas gives Vaine a dumbfounded look. "Do you seriously expect me to simply wait for you like a bitch in heat for the moment that you want to get your willy slobbered on? Am I just some fleshlight to you now?"

"I don't even know what that is or what you are talking about. I simply want to satisfy myself with you. Can I not have that?"

Midas's features slightly soften as he looks at Vaine, a hint of guilt nearly surfacing before his resolve shoved it back down into murky waters. "Well, my lord," Midas ensures to place a healthy dose of venom in the title, "Today you get to know what it's like to not always get what you want. We're not doing it today."

If Vaine could let out a visible puff of air out of his nostrils, he would. He responds back with gritted teeth, "Then when?"

"When I feel like it, Vaine."

"I said WHEN."

"And I gave you my answer. If you're in much need to blow off some steam, use that Astartes knowledge of yours and what I taught you, and go fuck yourself." Midas takes the then abandoned chair and pushes it back towards the table with his writing material, shutting the door on the conversation once and for all.

Vaine can feel his anger reaching a boiling point. To be denied, ridiculed, talked down to, affronted! Vaine can see his fingers gripping Midas's head and squeezing ever so slightly until nothing but red and bone fragments seeped between his fingers. He can see himself throwing Midas across the room until his bones break and he is rendered useless, lest he turn him into a proper servitor so that he may have better use instead. He should order to have Vaine's mouth sown shut. Or better yet, remove his ability to speak in general. Rip every tooth from his mouth, remove the larynx, and while he's at it, remove his lower jaw altogether. Vaine's thoughts grew more and more violent as he stared at the black-haired man. It almost insulted Vaine more than Midas continued to scribble away at that worthless piece of paper as though he wasn't in the same room with a walking flesh tank. As though Vaine would not, in an instant, decide to end his service to him permanently. He doesn't have to take this from Midas. His purpose is to serve HIM. Midas swore loyalty to him however he could. Yet he denies him due to his petty mortal reasoning. Vaine can take him, right now if he wanted. He could grab Midas and force him on his body, spread his legs for him, rub his cock and spit on his dick until he was satisfied.

Yet, Vaine doesn't move from his spot, nor does he look away from the unbothered Midas. Because despite his anger… He's also…Wounded. Did he do something wrong? For a brief moment, Vaine thinks back to that specific moment Midas painfully reminded him of. That time when Vaine…Went too far, so to speak. He…He can't help it. Ever since Midas opened his eyes to this new world of…debauchery…Vaine is unsure if he's obsessed with the feeling it brings or the feeling Midas gives him when they enjoy each other's "company." He didn't mean to hurt Midas; it was never his intention. He briefly lost control of himself, pushing Midas to a limit he was ignorant of. Vaine thought Midas forgave him; he said so himself���Why would he lie to him?

There is a long, uncomfortable silence between the couple, neither budging to acknowledge the other. Vaine sits himself down on his large bed, positioning himself so that his back is slumped against the wall while the rest of his body lazy boy-ed across the bed. Vaine looks at his lower half, cock still limp, yet his body would not quit. He needed flesh, even after the argument and denial, he was still wanting. Vaine slowly runs his right hand over his left pectoral, massaging the muscle gently, giving himself a firm squeeze. He continues this mindless action before giving more attention to his left nipple, lightly squeezing the flesh between his fingers. Never pinching himself too hard but enough to send light currents of ecstasy down his spine. He slides his hands further south, slowly, taking inventory of his scars, burnt wounds, rippling muscles that dance in rhythm with his breathing…He can't focus. His fingers are too meaty, calloused, incapable of mimicking the soft, delicate, nimble fingers of…Midas always told him that to truly enjoy himself, it was more than simply touching his body and his cock. He had to disconnect himself from the outside world. Focus on the sensual feeling of his fingers trailing and exploring his body. Immerse himself in his solitude and sink into a fantasy. Something Vaine never grasped the concept of. His mind and body could never truly relax. It's against his very nature. There is no rest for the Emperor's Chosen. One must be vigilant at all times. Letting one's guard down not only makes one vulnerable to outside threats but also susceptible to internal threats.

Vaine tries to feel outside of his fingers. It's not his battle-hardened fingers trailing across his chest and sliding down his muscular frame. He imagines, for a moment, Midas's petite body; soft, smooth, unmarred. Midas sliding down, slowly, inch by inch, from his chest, to his midsection, to Vaine's belly, and stopping short under his belly button. Completely naked, Vaine prefers it when he's naked. He'd have him like this every day if he could force Midas to abandon his pride. Cloudy colored eyes looking up at him, that devilish smile that always makes Vaine's toes curl, plastered at his noble features.

And just as quickly as that fantasy came, it left as his mind immediately reminded Vaine that he only has his fingers. One wrong brush from his rough hands, and the dream dissipates. For each mnemonic desire, his mind swiftly closes the curtains as cold logic interrupts his immersion.

"His soft body running down mine-"

"No, it's not, it's your fingers."

"That tantalizing tongue, how it licks my-"

"Still your fingers, not even close to the texture of a tongue."

"How he wraps his small fingers around my cock, how-"

"His fingers are not that big."

With each rising crescendo, Vaine comes crashing down when he attempts to maintain the fantasy. He writhes on the bed, not out of need but out of frustration. He doesn't bother hiding his frustrated whines. Vaine tries to simply be done with this, forcing pleasure out of himself as he grabs at his own cock and starts pumping away recklessly. He tries to force his mind to reminiscence on his prior "sessions" with Midas, trying to heavily focus his senses on how Midas made him feel, forcing every nerve in his body to recall every touch, lick, kiss, and suck that Midas performed on his body. From an outsider's viewpoint, Vaine may have looked to be in pain, his face heavily strained as he pushed himself to a pleasurable finish line.

"Ahem."

Vaine jolts from where he sat, eyes snapping to the source of the sound. What he found was Midas slightly turned in his chair, facing him. His heart(s) thump rapidly. Did his, albeit pathetic, display finally caught Midas's attention? Did it really take Vaine attempting to masturbate without his serf's assistance to change his mind? To debase himself in such a manner? Vaine's mind raced with commands as though if he repeated them enough times, Midas would finally answer.

Come to me, touch me. I need you. I want you. Please. I'm sorry. I'll do whatever needs to be done to make this right. I just want you all over me. I'll beg, I'll grovel, I'll worship you. Whatever you want. Just please…

“…Leave…” Midas said with a freezing tone.

Vaine blinks precisely 3 times.

"If you're going to do that…Do it elsewhere," Midas clarified, keeping an almost steady tone.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll make a mess everywhere. This isn't news to you, my lord," Midas grimaces briefly, remembering their particularly messy couplings of the past. "It will take hours to properly clean everything. Let alone trying to justify and explain why I need so much disinfectant and cleaning supplies for one room."

"Why complain about this now? Is that not your burden to bear?" Vaine doesn't skip a beat. And he would be too late to realize he struck another cord in Midas. He doesn't show it, but Vaine feels his blood freeze when Midas's glare deepens.

"Get out."

"This is my room."

"And you will dirty your room if you continue to do that."

"I told you-"

"I know," Midas interrupts, "And I'm telling you to do that somewhere else outside this room."

"And where would this somewhere else be?" Vaine can feel his anger boiling again.

"The showers are ideal. Not like you Astartes use it often, or at all for that matter," Midas mumbled the latter half of his sentence.

"I'm not leaving my room because you don't want to deal with cleaning up after me. You're my serf; that was the duty you subjected yourself to," Vaine bares his teeth and grips his cock in a tight hold.

"My lord, I practically live here too. And before I was here, SOMEONE had to care for your things. And if we're going to be doing this, then it would be nice if you were more considerate of me and how your actions affect me.

Considerate? CONSIDERATE!?! How dare Midas, a sensitive, lowly serf, speak to him about consideration. He, who sits across from him while Vaine is deprived deserved pleasure!?! The more Midas opened his mouth, the less sense he made.

On top of that, the little bastard now demanded HE leave his OWN ROOM? As though this space was his own throne room, undeserving of Vaine's presence!?! Who the fuck does he think he is!!! The violent urges spring force again. Vaine quickly stands at his full height, anger clearly present on his face, nose flared, face growing hot with infernal retribution, fingernails biting into his palms as he threatened to pierce his own skin. Yet, despite this sudden action, Vaine does not move forward. And Midas remains steadfast in his demeanor, unflinching, unchallenged.

Vaine leaves the room. Simple as that. Albeit, he practically ripped the metal sliding door off its hinges as he stomped away. If he wasn't concerned about how others felt about him prowling about naked on the Gorgon, well, he REALLY didn't care right now. Woe to whoever didn't get out of Vaine's way, as he was going to step on you if you didn't steer clear from his path. His head swirled with the need to break, rip, destroy something, anything. His restraint was hanging on a thread. One accidental bump from anyone and Vaine would've thrown fists with whomever; even if Ferrus Manus, Emperor preserve his soul, were to shoulder check him, he would've been ready to fight the deceased Primarch. Vaine instinctually reaches the training grounds of the Gorgon's Will, huffing hot air as he darts for the sparring cage. Within the confines of the sparring grounds, an inactive servitor stood silently, awaiting commands to commence simulated combat. But Vaine wasn't here looking for a fair or challenging fight. He immediately goes for the head, connecting his fist with the defenseless servitor. He mindlessly beats the flesh golem, satisfying the violent urges building within. Breaking bones, pummeling its face until it was more unrecognizable of a "person" than it already was. He slams the servitor onto the ground and places a crushing foot on its head while his arms grab and pull at its arm. Pulling, and, pulling, and pulling, until a socket popped until flesh and sinew were steadily tearing away until the bone was exposed. Vaine uses his other free foot to begin breaking the bone, breaking and snapping the limb from the mindless servant and proceeding to use it to club the servitor further.

It felt like minutes passed before Vaine felt the anger abate (it was actually hours later). He lets out labored yet slowly satisfied breaths, staring at the destroyed servitor.

…What did he do wrong this time? He doesn't understand…

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BLOODY PEONY

Character/s: vampire!Pantalone

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, blood, pantalone drinks blood duh + he is centuries old, age gap(?), pantalone has violet eyes here, barely know this man but i hope i wrote him well, established relationship, breeding/impregnation, fluff, monsterfucking, marking, mating press, mentions of violence, daddy kink, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: here is the second entry for kinktober! pls ignore how late it is, i apologize :,) this is dedicated to my babie suki @sukirichi 💕 my first ever genshin fic 🤸‍♀️

❖ kinktober ‘22 masterlist | ENTRY #2

Summary: Forever and always—your immortal husband never fails to remind you of your eternal union in the most unique way.

WC: 2.3K

Midas’ touch was, in no way, on par with your husband’s caress or kiss that he gives you relentlessly without fail. Unparalleled and gentle in a way that it is the single thing that greets you as soon as the moon graces the sky and puts you to sleep the second the sun rises. Such odd behavior was striking to those who lived nearby the neighborhood, yet you did not care about their gossip or stares. All you cared about was him, Pantalone.

Your husband or as his fellow dwellers of the night often call him in their coven, Regrator, was not an ordinary man from the start. He didn’t sleep at night the same way you used to or was required to eat three meals each day. He dislikes sunlight, hates the outdoors, and detests those who refuse to get acquainted with hygiene due to his sensitive nose. You knew him only as Pantalone, one of the many names that he had adopted over the course of his life. A name you have been dying to know in secret. Other than a stake to his heart, Pantalone revealing his real name to you was similar to handing you his soul. The second you knew about this, you didn’t question him about it again. Plus, he drinks blood. In short, he wasn't human nor a creature your kind would be too keen on meeting. This fact was the very reason why you were interested in him in the first place which led you to discover his secret—vampires were real and he was one, too. With this knowledge, it did not hinder you from tying the knot and having him for a husband. Everything else was history from then on.

“Good evening, my jewel.”

Pantalone’s lips were pressed against your forehead, the scent of earl grey faint in his black silk bathrobe and dark wavy hair akin to a midnight sky that grazed your cheek when he pulled back to peck you on the lips. A groan slipped past your mouth, squinting at his beautiful visage further heightened by the moonlight streaming through the glass windows. The thick curtains were drawn back to let in the natural light. Pantalone couldn’t help but let out a breath of awe at your alluring aura which was followed by a small chuckle at your obvious complaint at being awakened. His index finger reached out and pressed at your furrowed brows. But who could blame you? Humans normally wake up with the sun up, not the other way around. You weren’t a vampire, yet. His cool hand grazed your warm soft cheek, a testimony of your mortal life that will soon change… Unless you had second thoughts.

Biting back a yawn, you rubbed fatigue off of your eyes before giving your husband a sweet smile. He then mirrored it, eager to continue kissing you until you were fully awake. “Good evening to you, too. Slept well?”

“As always. You?”

He knew you were lying the second you nodded your head, fighting back to furrow his eyebrows at your evident lie. Somehow, you knew he didn’t buy it. You dare not expound further. Because even if you two have been married for almost four years now, you still haven’t been the subject of his anger, and you hoped you never will. You were still scared no matter how many times he repeated that he will never lose his temper with you. The coven he was part of, especially that young man with the gingered-colored hair, wished he extended the same courtesy to them. Sadly, Pantalone was deaf to their request.

Pantalone was stingy. Nothing escapes his attention and if a single thing was amiss in his finances, he would immediately know. When it came to you, on the other hand, the sky was the fucking limit.

“I see,” he mumbled as he sat himself down at the edge of the bed. “What do you want to eat, darlin’? Just name it.” Your body heat stayed on the silk sheets, seducing Pantalone to remain by your side all night to fool around. Not that he had anything to do tonight that was of the utmost importance other than the special occasion which is your wedding anniversary. You saw the look in his eyes and slyly smirked, knowing all too well what he had in mind for this evening’s affair. Just as he was about to ask if you wanted to sleep more, Pantalone stopped short when your hand rubbed against where his cock was tucked away, twitching at your familiar touch. Not missing the way those sensitive violet irises behind glasses met your gaze, you leaned down to rest your head near his crotch and then innocently smiled. Inhaling sharply, Pantalone, for a second, thought his undead heart was beating once again.

“I’m not sure…” you playfully responded, fingers running up and down his thigh. “Maybe you can occupy my mouth while I take my time to decide, mhm?”

Despite his lack of body heat and the nature of his kind, the esteemed immortal was sweeter than any delicacy or dessert you have tasted behind closed doors. And yet, Pantalone can be rough whenever he or you wanted to be. At this very moment, it took all of his control not to snap and just have his way with you—with your full consent, of course. To spoil you, to love you, to keep you happy and satisfied—nothing brings greater joy to him than to do all of the above and beyond. Pantalone has to be the best in your eyes.

Why?

“My jewel, before we proceed…” he inhaled another deep breath upon seeing you bat your lashes at him expectantly. You were just too cute that he can’t wait to ruin you in a bit. But first, he had something to tell you—a crucial reminder of why you were still human. “You must eat first, alright? I can’t have you tiring so early, plus it might take hours for you to pry my hands away from you, darling.” When you nodded, he continued in a solemn tone that you picked up instantly. “And… you’re not getting younger. As we have agreed, this will be the last year. I promise we will keep trying, but whether we succeed or not, we have to accept it. Whatever happens, know that I love you and it shall never change. Forever and always. You… understand, right?”

Pantalone waited for a full minute until you sat up properly, looked him straight in the eyes, and held his hand. Fingers intertwined and locked together. No words had to be uttered between you two any further. Mirroring the smile on your face, he pulled you into his arms and carried you to the dining room while listening to you ramble about him trying to guess the wedding anniversary gift you’ll give him. However, he knew deep down what you wanted to give him for so long—a child.

Pantalone strived to be the best for you. Why? Of course, Pantalone wants to be the best at everything and this also includes being the best lover and husband. He can’t have you looking for someone else, someone incompetent. That would be the biggest insult of all insults. The odds may not be in his favor, but when has he ever paid any heed to what he can’t do and shouldn’t do? Giving you the most luxurious services, expensive gifts, and dazzling pieces of jewelry was just the bare minimum for a man such as him with the immense wealth that he undoubtedly got after spending centuries on this planet. For him to fail at giving you a baby, Pantalone couldn’t help but wish he were human. Then, he wouldn’t have so much difficulty facing you after every negative pregnancy test result or seeing you stare at shops selling baby clothes. Yet, you never held him responsible or spoke ill of him. No, Pantalone remembered each time you presented the results with a hopeful and comforting grin on your face—stating the same sentiment as always.

“We can always try again.”

He hoped to change that sentence of yours soon, preferably this year or before he will turn you into a vampire. Those images of you wearing his clothes and sporting a baby bump had his senses heightened to an all-time high. A low hiss of euphoria slipped past his tongue at how tight your gummy walls hugged his heavy and leaky cock. The bridge of his glasses was close to slipping past the bridge of his nose because of perspiration. All you could hear was his muffled groans and soft whines. You were close to being bent over on the kitchen counter, breakfast half-eaten on the plate. Pantalone just couldn’t wait to have you and your essence all over him. The sweet scent of your arousal mixed with your desire for him was too tempting to ignore. A husband can’t disregard his wife’s needs, especially when you nicely part your damp folds for him to see.

“Darlin’ so wet. Tell me—ah, fucking hell… Tell me, my jewel, w-what is it that you want?” Pantalone resisted the urge to bite into your neck where your pulse point was and have his own feast. What he desires is to hear you ask for him—beg, cry or demand anything from your husband that may or may not release him from this delectable pleasure that no other pussy could grant him. “Tell me, darling, fuck… Do you want me to cum? To cum inside this cunt?”

“Yes! Y-yes, please, holy fuck…” you almost screamed, whining out the last part of your plea and shaking your ass as a sign he should just proceed to fucking the daylights out of you. Thankfully, Pantalone was a man who did not hesitate to give and immediately carried you to the nearest couch he could find while his cock was still nestled in your pussy. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Both of your bodies that reeked of lust were drunk on each other’s taste, searching for more. Pantalone thought it as a sick desire, but the idea of never leaving your side—to instill himself into your very soul that whoever tries to kiss you or undress you will find crystal clear traces of him. An invisible collar that warned off others that you belonged to no one but Pantalone. He did vow that anyone who touches or covets you will be skinned alive. You laughed at that promise, adorably unaware.

“J-jewel, s’ tight. Pussy’s mine, right? Ah… Gonna let me breed this cunt?” There was no scarcity to his filthy words that fuelled your moans. At this point, you were convinced your soul has left your body by just the intensity of his thrusts akin to how a hammer pounds on a nail. His strength was tantamount to the vampire’s progenitor, one that can cut through a forest or scrape the sky—reduced to a mere force that held your legs apart and pressed them against your chest. His sharp eyesight could put any seasoned predator to shame concentrated on your face, obsessed by the expressions it makes as he takes you. Pantalone’s tongue can cut through the most frigid heart and cause a grown man to weep for his mother’s embrace. The exact tongue that is now whispering your name like a sacred prayer that will save his damned soul from the fires he sold himself to. Honey dripping from his lips into yours without any reservations—all just for you, his beautiful jewel.

“O-oh, fuck! K-keep this up and—shit, you’re gonna, ah, be a d-daddy at this rate,” you teasingly moaned. His next few thrusts knocked the steadiness off of your voice, eager to breed your fertile womb. A human can only take so much and you were quite sure there would be bruises on your thighs and legs. “D-daddy, gonna knock me u-up? Do it, please! Fucking please! Cum inside me.”

Pantalone was a man who had everything until you entered his life, making the immortal realize the world deceived him into believing he did. Now, he doesn’t care if you will be his downfall or his ticket to eternal paradise. There was so much he could give you but he knew nothing could make you happier than having his child… or knowing his real name.

“Darlin’, cum. Cum all over this cock.”

Pantalone didn’t have to tell you twice. Your entire being was spasming, hands pulling him close to anchor yourself from the waves of bliss he let you experience. Your husband followed after. His mouth parted and sank his fangs into your neck, groaning at the taste of your piquant blood on his tastebuds. His hands harshly gripped the armrest, exercising restraint. Hot milky semen coated your walls and your womb. The whole ordeal was not strange to you, however, you couldn’t get used to the intoxicating state he casts on you. His glasses then slipped down and fell unceremoniously on top of your head once he was finished. Stifling a giggle, you grabbed his glasses and set them aside in case you might sit on them. Just as you were about to reach up and wipe off the bloodstain on your husband’s lips, Pantalone leans down to kiss you. He patiently waits for your heart to calm down and for your form to relax. As soon as you did, he wasted no time whispering into your ear his anniversary gift.

His real name.

Your husband hardly laughs genuinely and whenever he does, you treasure that moment—even if it’s because he finds your surprised look comedic. The implications of you knowing and the trust he has in you—it nearly had you in tears.

“I can’t believe you just revealed your real name…” You trailed off to kiss him again, this time, with absolute fervor. There wasn’t anything on this planet Pantalone can’t have and yet, he craves your love like a starved man. His mouth chased after yours once distance was created, the corners of his lips curling up while whispering those three words he will certainly never get tired of uttering for his darling wife.

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[dreaminlittlenightmares]

What are their opinions on their own powers? Like how does the janitors view his arms, what does the Lady think about her magic, what are Mono’s thoughts on his signal powers? That sort of thing.

Oh, this is an interesting ask~

The Maw

Six: Is a bit indifferent to having the "Hunger" power sometimes. Cool, now she can kill people that annoy her, but she's so hungry most of the time! the Janitor: His arms are his favorite thing about himself. The Janitor knows people poke fun at him for them, but that's okay. His arms are long enough to slap them the Lady: Knew the consequences of using and mastering dark magic, but didn't take it seriously until she saw her reflection. She's learned how to live without looking at mirrors, but does sometimes regrets mastering her craft the Granny: Her underwater breathing came from adapting the remnants of her magic to her new life style. Had she still retained the full might of her magic as the old Lady of the Maw, the oceans themselves would bend to her will

Pale City

Mono: Originally, he thought his powers were the coolest thing in the world. But, then he realized it made him a freak; and, that's one of the reasons why he wears a paper bag. Still kinda hates his powers, to be honest... the Teacher: Like Mono, hates her neck stretching ability. She learned to embrace her powers by using them to scare people. There's a joy in frightening people this way that she doesn't get with from inflicting physical pain the Doctor: You're the weird one, not him. Why in the world would he walk on the ground filled with germs when there's nothing on the ceilings? Still washes his hand though...gotta be hygienic before operating the Thin Man: Thanks; he hates it~ His powers are so cool and very useful, but they ultimately cost him a childhood and a decent life

The Nest

the Butler: Embraced his telekinesis at an early age and mastered it in his teens. The key is for him stay as calm as possible, which he usually does. Doesn't like to show off, even though he really wants to sometimes the Pretender: Is still trying to get a handle on her powers, and the only one she's apprehensive about is the dissipating touch one. Doesn't care about destroying things, but when it starts feeling like King Midas's Touch, it gets annoying

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Developing a Character’s Personality Using Psychology (Part 1 of 5)

Big 5 Personalities: Conscientiousness

A well rounded, developed character feels real. They feel like someone you would meet at school, at work, or at the coffee shop. They could be your family member or part of your circle of friends. But how do you develop such a realistic character? How do you go beyond basic characteristics such as hair and eye color, job preference, and favorite color? In this post, I’m going to show you a tool based in science and psychology that I use to create my characters.

Non-modifiable features such as ethnicity, age, and physical characteristics (hair color, skin color, eye color, etc.) are important only to character development only to a certain extent. While these features might give a reader a clue regarding the character’s background or culture, they are not certain. Families and cultures are diverse. Being part of a certain nationality won’t immediately win the hearts of your readers.

So, what will? Their personality. In fact, there is nothing more important that the quirks and baseline emotions that make up your person. If you have the character’s personality down, then certain things such as job preference, favorite color, favorite tv show, will flow together naturally.

When I have a character in mind, I will often take an online personality test to see where they line up. There are several out there to choose from. Myers Briggs is probably the most famous personality tests, but I don’t usually start there. I use the Big 5.

The Big 5 tests a person in the following 5 areas: consciousness, neuroticism (or negative emotion), openness, extroversion, and agreeableness. Now, when you look at this list, there are certain negative or positive connotations associated with each of these characteristics, however, when the data is analyzed, that’s not always the case.

For example, people extremely high in Conscientiousness (characterized by people who are always busy or are very orderly) can become too orderly. This can give rise to certain conditions such as anorexia. This is, of course, not to say that all people suffering from anorexia are high in Conscientiousness or vice versa, but the personality type that is common among people with this disease is Conscientiousness.

All of the big 5 personality traits are like this. They are a spectrum, and each are associated with pros and cons.

Conscientiousness is broken down into two categories: orderliness and industriousness. People high in orderliness have a higher sensitivity to disgust. Cleanliness is next to godliness. They often see the world as black and white, geometrical in shape, and everything in it has its own box. These are your perfectionists. Now this is not always bad, but you can see where it could go a little off the rails. With people extremely high in conscientiousness, anything perceived to be wrong or flawed must be removed or eradicated—or starved.

On the opposite side of this spectrum would be an individual unbothered by messes or disorder. It’s like the just don’t see the mess. Or they see the mess, but are not bothered by it.

In industriousness, your character has trouble sitting still and relaxing. They are always doing something—almost as if they have an aversion to inactivity. These people will often say they ‘just have to stay busy.’ Obviously, the problem related to this is that overly industrious people rarely relax and can wear their bodies down through constant stress.

However, personalities with high levels of conscientiousness are often on track to find success. Their perfectionism and constant work increase the odds that their ventures will turn out. Most people lie somewhere in the middle of the spectrum—neither unaware of messes nor overly concerned with them.

The most interesting part about these personality traits is that they are modifiable. A person can train themselves to become more conscientious over time. Often this can be done through forming a schedule and sticking to it, setting goals for oneself and working to meet them, and create habits conducive to accomplishing more work.

As an example, I’m going to talk about one of my characters who is very high in conscientiousness. In my novel SURVIVING MIDAS, my character Jared is a seventeen-year-old slave working on a drug farm. He has very little in terms of personal items, but each of them have a place and are always neat and tidy. His high levels of industriousness have not gone unnoticed by his captors—not that he is overly interested in their venture, he just can’t help himself—and he is given more responsibility than the others. When he’s not working for his masters, he’s always scheming and working toward escape.

So that’s a very unusual setting for a character with high levels of conscientiousness. Notice that I didn’t say he had excellent hygiene—because his current life doesn’t allow him this luxury. But his personality still shows up in other ways throughout the story.

So where do your characters line up in the conscientiousness spectrum? Tell me about them in the comments below.  

[nfldunn]

     𝙸 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴—𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉     roswelltask 002     ( @rocketfm )

𝑂𝑅𝐼𝐺𝐼𝑁𝑆 & 𝐹𝐴𝑀𝐼𝐿𝑌.

Full Name:   Gunner Raleigh Dunn

Reason for name:   Mostly stereotypical toxic masculinity, Gunner’s father wanted a “strong” sounding name for his son, believing that it would make him strong.

Nickname(s):   Gun, Dunn, QB, Midas

Date of Birth:   November 1st, 1988

Age:  32

Gender + Pronouns:   Cis-Male, He/Him

Place of birth:   Rockport, Massachusettes

Parents:   Sandra Burns-Dunn & Brock Dunn

Siblings:   N/A

Relationship with family (close? estranged?):   Estranged. Only currently speaks to his cousin who lives in England, as far as biological family is concerned.

Pets:   N/A

𝑃𝐻𝑌𝑆𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿.

Height:   6 feet, 1 inch

Build:   Athletic, Muscular

Nationality:   American

Ethnicity:   3/4 White, 1/4 Filipino / Spanish / Catalan / Basque / Chinese

Distinguishing Facial Features:   Jawline & Strong, Sometimes Messy Eyebrows

Hair Color:   Dark Brown

Usual Hair Style:   Messy, usually with a minimal amount of product because he runs his hands through it a lot.

Eye Color:   Dark Brown

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birthmarks, scars):   Lightly Tanned, Almost-Olive Skin. A few scars on his hands and also spread over his back and shoulder.

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses):   Anger Issues & Intermittent nerve issues in his injured shoulder that can, at times, leave him in a sling from pain.

What do they consider their best feature?:   His Biceps

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?:   While the injury that ended his career was by no means the only time he’d been injured badly enough to put him in the hospital, it is the only injury that truly left him with a lasting impact. It was during an important game for the season, when, upon one of his teammates getting their hands on the ball, he’d made the decision to tackle a member of the opposing team because he was in the best position to do so, and save the ball from the other team. But the momentum from the tackle had sent them off the field, and upon realizing where they were heading, he’d shifted his and the other player’s position in the air so he took the brunt of the impact when they collided with something on the sidelines. The impact, mostly focused on his shoulder, effectively shattered the bones there, and he’d needed to be surgically pieced back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

𝐴𝑃𝑃𝐸𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐶𝐸.

Favorite outfit:   Decently tight jeans, white t-shirt, and a leather jacket

Glasses? Contacts?:   N/A

Personal Hygiene:   Two showers a day - one when he wakes up, and one after his daily workout. He also has a skincare routine that he does every day, twice a day.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?:   He doesn’t usually wear jewelry, but he does have his ears pierced. He has a large tattoo that covers most of his back of a tree - with an intricate root system beneath the “ground” that’s visible, that says “no tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.” He also has a tattoo of a raven on his non-injured shoulder, with a dragonfly right next to it, and delicate script forming a bracelet around his left wrist that says “you say i killed you - haunt me, then.” because the man is a classical novel nerd. And, finally, he has a roman numeral ‘thirty two’ tattooed on his ribs, near his heart, for his jersey number.

What does their voice sound like?:   I’m not even gonna try to explain it, okay, it’s low and gravelly and y’all can listen to it yourself if you really wanna know. The mans straight up sounds like he’s got a sore throat 100% of the time.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.):   He generally speaks fairly quietly - loud enough to be heard, but generally on the quieter side, unless he’s pissed and starts yelling.

Accent?:   Classic New England accent. But he also has a tendency to drop the ‘g’s from the end of his words, in a more typical Southern habit.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits:   He has a habit of flexing his hands into fists whenever he’s thinking, but generally, he doesn’t have a ton of habits that are unique to him.

Left handed or right?:   He’s ambidextrous, meaning he can use both of his hands equally as well, and doesn’t have a particular instinct towards using either of them.

Do they work out/exercise?:   Almost obsessively. He works out every single day, and usually can’t be caught dead skipping a day.

𝐵𝐸𝐿𝐼𝐸𝐹𝑆 & 𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇.

Known Languages:   English, French, Filipino, & Spanish

Zodiac:   Scorpio

Gifts/talents:   He has always been a very talented football player, a natural almost as soon as he’d started playing, and is also quite gifted at chess, though that’s something that no one really knows about him.

Religious stance:   Agnostic/Athiest, if not a bit antagonistic towards the idea of a higher power.

Political stance:   Liberal, but like with most things, he doesn’t speak of it in public, so no one would really know. Many people in the past assumed he was a conservative because of the sport he played, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Pet peeves:   Quiet, easily intimidated people.

Optimist or pessimist:   Pessimist

Extrovert or introvert:   He has a “switch” he can turn on and off as the situation needs. He’s generally an introvert, but when put into a situation where being an extrovert would help, he can put on an act to become one without much struggle.

𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐴𝐶𝑌 & 𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑃𝑆.

Relationship status:   Single

Sexual orientation:   Bisexual

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate:   He generally gravitates towards stronger, more dominant personalities, though it’s been so long since he’s been in a relationship that it’s generally not something he even thinks about anymore. Someone who’s outgoing and can spar with his prickly mood swings is usually who catches his attention, though.

Ever been in love?:   Once, and while it ended amicably enough, it ruined his views on relationships.

What’s their love language?:   Both physical touch and gift giving.

Most important person in their life?:   It’d been his grandmother at one point in his life, but now that she has passed away, he doesn’t really have anyone - a bit of a lone wolf type.

𝑉𝑂𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁.

Level of education:   College degree in Classic Studies, with an emphasis on Classic Literature

Profession:   Sports Reporter at Rocket Radio Station

Past occupations:   Professional Football Player

Dream occupation:   N/A

Passions:   Football, Reading, Chess

Attitude towards current job:   It keeps him occupied for a little every day, and is about as close as he’s comfortable getting to his past career, which he appreciates, but he’s not exactly passionate about it.

Spender or Saver? Why?:   He’s a little bit of both. He doesn’t have to worry about money, mostly due to smart investments back when he was famous, but he doesn’t necessarily go around just spending money to spend money. If he wants something, he buys it, and doesn’t really have to think much on it.

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?:   He’s never had to choose, because the thing he loved made him money - but if he had to choose, if he could only have one, he’d choose doing something he loved.

𝑆𝐸𝐶𝑅𝐸𝑇𝑆.

Phobias:   N/A

Life goals:   To fade into oblivion, now

Greatest fears:   Intimacy

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her:   Gunner, for the most part, has no shame - so he generally doesn’t find very much, if anything at all, embarrassing.

Something they’ve never told anyone:   His animosity towards his father had started forming at a young age, mostly culminating in screaming matches between the two when he was a teenager, and that was why he left Rockport for college and never even considered turning back.

Biggest regret:   Not trying to make a long distance relationship work with his high school boyfriend, when he left for college.

Compulsions:   N/A

Police/Criminal/Legal record:   Nothing that actually landed on a record, but he did spend brief stints in “Family House”, a place for kids (mostly deemed “out of control”) to go when they couldn’t manage to get along with their parents, essentially giving them a safe place to go outside of their home and to give both parents and child a break from the tension, as a substitute for the foster system, but he only ever spent a few days there at a time.

Vices:   Alcohol

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝐹𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐸𝑆.

Hobbies:   Chess

Favorite color:   Charcoal Grey

Favorite smell:   Motor Oil

Favorite food:   Steak and Fries

Favorite book:   Pride and Prejudice

Favorite movie:   Uncut Gems

Favorite song:   (I Just) Died In Your Arms by Cutting Crew

Coffee or tea?:   Coffee

Favorite type of weather:   Thunderstorms

Most prized possession:   His collection of Super Bowl rings

Most used word or phrase?:   Fuck

[smithema1]

Global Mouth Freshener Market Share, Trend, growth-2027

Qualiket Research delivers a latest published report on Global Mouth Freshener Market industry analysis and forecast 2020–2027 providing a key insights and competitive advantage to clients through a detailed report. The global Mouth Freshener market exhibit steady growth throughout the forecast period. Several market drivers and restraints are analysed in the report, which delivers readers with a clear image of what’s driving and what’s holding back the Mouth Freshener market. The historical trajectory of the market is examined in the report in the report in order to provide a basis for predictions regarding the market’s growth rate during the forecast period.

Global Mouth Freshener Market was valued at USD 10.8 billion in 2020 which expected to reach USD 16.3 billion by 2027 at a CAGR 5.2% from 2020-2027.

Request for Sample Report: https://qualiketresearch.com/request-sample/Mouth-Freshener-Market/request-sample

Mouth fresheners are primarily used for oral hygiene to avoid or reduce odor from the mouth. Various types of the mouth fresheners are available in the market in terms of flavor, taste, etc. These are also available in the sugar free form. The increase in demand for mouth fresheners is encouraging market players to introduce various variants of the product with different flavors like mint, fruit, menthol, herbs, and spices. Mouth fresheners are more popular among young & adult population across the world.

A detailed analysis of the market’s likely growth trajectory during the forecast period is presented on the basis of this analysis that includes historical information regarding the Mouth Freshener market. A complete picture of the market’s movement through the recent past & likely movement in the upcoming years is provided in the report.

Key Players

 Johnson & Johnson, Cadbury Trebor Basset, Dabur Binaca, Midas Care, Haribo GmbH & co., Lotte, Perfetti Van Melle, Kraft Foods Inc, The Hershey Company, Mars, etc.

 Market Taxonomy

 By Type

Spray

Gum

Mint Candies

Others

 By Category

Sugar free

Conventional

 By Distribution Channel

Online Stores

Retail Stores

 By Region

North America

Latin America

Europe

Asia Pacific

Middle East & Africa

 Browse Full Research Report @ https://qualiketresearch.com/reports-details/Mouth-Freshener-Market

[arthskinandfitness]

Why Physical Fitness is Important in the time of Covid?

The last time we were at our cavalier best was in December 2019. Till then, the focus of our lives was mostly on earning more money, earning more fame, buying a new house and other materialistic things. The news of a disease somewhere far off in China did appear in news but still, nobody got alarmed. Just a couple of months later, the dreaded virus changed the course of the world. The scenario was nothing anyone has seen before. The whole world was caught unguarded by a demon that was invisible but unleashed immeasurable damage.

The things, which earlier were taken for granted were now the new directives to stay protected from the Corona Virus and stay safe in the Pandemic. Small habits like washing your hand properly, following a clean & hygienic way of life eating healthy and staying fit. The one word, which again and again popped up in almost all the talks by doctors was ‘Immunity’. In fact, it was witnessed that people with a healthy immune system easily defeated Covid in comparison to people with co-morbidities.

Fitness Centers and Gyms which earlier were opted by obese people now also got popular among everyone. People now started to take their health seriously and fitness became their top priority. Arth Skin and Fitness Center in Udaipur is one of the most popular fitness centers in Udaipur. The center is not only considered as one of the top gyms with a modern facility in Udaipur with the state-of-the-art facility but also has highly experienced and trained expert to not only help you in improving your fitness but also in gaining immunity.

Now, with the advent of the pandemic, we know that physical fitness is of utmost importance. So that glass of milk that you missed or those almonds that you forgot need to be on your ‘Must Do list’. Of course, immunity or fitness is not just about drinking about 2 glasses of milk or having almonds. Strong Immunity is a combination of Physical and Mental fitness. At Arth Skin and Fitness Center we focus on both.

Let us tell you how you can beat the blues of Pandemic and achieve the effervescence of life and the Midas touch of immunity;

Gym with Family

Yes, it may sound a little cliché but ‘Apne to Apne hote hain’ and they definitely help not only in supporting you unconditionally but also in keeping your spirits high. It is seen that a person is happiest when he spends his time with family and what’s better than working on your physical fitness together. Along with your physical fitness, you will see a huge change in your mental health too.

Don’t Lock Yourself, Get Out

Yes, it’s pandemic out there but if you take all the proper precaution and maintain social distancing then why not take a walk around. Go to the park adore the beauty of nature, talk to people (of course from a distance). Walking is the best exercise and walking in a park not only calms your senses but also relieves your stress.

Challenge yourself and win it too!

Everyone needs motivation why not give yourself challenges to accomplish physical fitness. Make challenges to eat right, hit a gym, do exercises like Cardio Kickboxing, Pilates or any other workout and keep ticking all that you accomplish.

Chart your Calories

Calories are very important for us but we must take as many as our body requires. If your intake of calorie is higher than your physical activities then they can put an adverse effect on your overall health. A workout at the gym or activities like household work or gardening can help.  

Don’t let your Bones Weaken

Calcium, Vitamin D and B12 are the most essential for the health of bones. Doctors insist on taking calcium-rich food but in order to keep your bones healthy and sustain the encumbrance of age then physical activity is a must. During the pandemic, most of us had to work from home this made us majorly sitting in one position and on one spot only. Not going out and lack of physical activity will only lead to the deterioration of our bones. Regular physical exercise is the only answer to healthy bones.

Pandemic has become a new normal and it’s time that we make ‘Strong Immunity’ a new normal too. Physical fitness combined with a healthy mind is capable to beat any virus, even Corona. So, let’s get up and get going!

For More Detail:

Visit- https://arthskinfit.com/

Email- arthskinandfitness@gmail.com

3rd Floor, 4C Apex Chamber, Behind Bhartiya Lok Kala Mandal, Madhuban, Udaipur, Rajasthan

[caspian-skye]

The Apoptosis Project Ch.1, Darkness Returns

Heya! I figured I’d start uploading my series directly to Tumblr too, rather than just linking. So this is The Apoptosis Project, a series that takes place 25 years after the events of RWBY. It’s the sequel to GRAE/Twilight Crusade that follows the main characters’ children and a few more characters, but you can definitely read it without ever reading the former series.

“Twenty-five years after Salem's defeat, twins Caspian and Lazula Skye are finally of age to attend their father's academy; just in time for the Creatures of Grimm to return. While fighting the revived horror alongside Frontline Biomedical's controversial Organic Androids, they begin to unravel a web of secrets ensnaring more than they could have ever known.”

Now initiating The Apoptosis Project...

On a clear night, sailors off Vale's coast swore they could see the lights of Port Cyrreine from fifty miles away. A rainbow of hues, from thousands of windows and holographic ads within the glimmering maze of skyscrapers, reflected in ripples upon the placid black waters off the city's Southern shore. In front of the wall of light was a lively boardwalk; the vendors stands, restaurants, and crowds of people barely visible in the shadow of a ferris wheel lit bright blue for the night. From a distance, a muffled chorus of sirens could be heard.

Two airships jetted toward the city, the air in their wake tearing the water's surface.

"Reports on the ground indicate an attack by the Creatures of Grimm," a man's voice scratched through the radio. "I repeat, eyewitnesses are reporting an attack by the creatures of Grimm!"

"Grimm?!" Another voice repeated. "No way in hell, those things have been gone for, what? Thirty years now? You sure it's not Sentinel's animatronics?"

"We've established contact with Headmaster Skye of Sentinel. He was at the academy's practice grounds when the incident began, and has confirmed all animatronics are in place," a woman reported.

"What do we know about the incident so far, then?"

"Just under a hundred port workers were laid off, and replaced with a couple dozen of Frontline's organic androids. A peaceful protest turned violent when the Red Claw showed up. Right after that is when reports of Grimm started coming in," the woman replied.

"Griswold Baine has sent his son and a team of organds to help sort things out on the ground over there. ETA: less than five minutes," the man on the radio concluded.

The two airships landed on a flat slab of concrete near the docks, lit by the shipyard cranes above. The door to one lifted to reveal a golden-haired warrior. His armor, fixed over a jet black bodysuit, was dozens of silvery white plates covering chest, shoulders, waist, hips, and legs; the edge of each plate gilded with a shining trim. His eyes were obscured by a knight-like visor, with a single light blue band to ensure vision. Behind him, a score of armored huntsmen.

"There have been reports of deaths in the area," the man assessed. "All of you. Secure the entrances to each building. Search for survivors, and ensure their safety!"

"Yes, sir!" the huntsmen shouted in unison. They began to pour out onto the streets, save three.

"Desmond, Lavender, Nikole! You three are with me!"

"Yes, sir!" a broad-shouldered man, and two women confirmed.

The street before the huntsmen was a hellscape, far from the peaceful mundanity typical of the city's port district. To each side of the street, flames leapt from shattered windows, dumpsters, and the hollowed-out remains of cars and shipping equipment. Smoke poured into the alleyways, shading the entire area an eerie shade of orange.

The golden-haired warrior held his wrist out in front of him, projecting a holographic screen from his Holoband, a watch-like strap around his wrist. With two fingers, he zoomed in on a map of the area. A yellow marker indicated his position on the water's edge. Several blocks away, a zone was highlighted a bright red.

"Looks like the Red Claw's taken control of a warehouse two blocks Northwest. Our mission is to clear them out, and secure the area. Move out!"

"Midas! Look!" One of the huntsman's allies interjected, pointing ahead.

He raised his head. Through the smoke, he could make out several black forms. Though on all fours, they stood nearly his height. Their claws scratched viciously at the pavement as they charged forward, their hungry snarls audible above the breaking of glass and crackling of flame.

"Beowolves."

Without a second's hesitation, Midas charged forward with Desmond, Lavender, and Nikole in tow. From his back he pulled a beautiful halberd, taller than he and crafted from the same steel as his armor. He plunged the tip of his weapon into the open jaws of the first beast, and flipped through the air. He flung the unfortunate Grimm backward into a shield bash from Desmond, and brought the axe's head down on the next beast as he landed. A pair of swift spins despatched two more Grimm before he ducked, deflecting the swipe of another across the shaft of his weapon. Lavender, his teammate in purple, pounced with a pair of bladed tonfas.

The four continued on, clearing out a handful more Grimm on the way to the warehouse. As Midas approached a corner, he held an arm out, indicating his teammates to stop. "The Red Claw's stronghold is just ahead. Post up here, and defend my flank from Grimm. I'll be fine alone."

The three filled into the street; Desmond in front, posted with his shield. Nikole and Lavender to his sides. Midas stepped forward. The smoke and uncanny glow of the main street grew more intense as he pressed on. From the fog came the scratching of countless feet, their claws impaling concrete with each heavy step.

A stark white pincer, as big as Midas himself, burst from the smoke. He held his weapon up to block the attack, but was forced backward by the power behind the strike. Another pincer attack was met with his weapon's axehead, and forced into the ground. Two lines of beady red eyes glowed behind the pair of claws, and the creature scuttled into view. Its body was the length of a school bus, low to the ground and clad in bony spines for armor. The scorpion's tail curled over its body, ending in a malicious golden stinger.

The deathstalker screamed with rage. Midas spun with the momentum of another blocked claw swipe, and thrust the tip of his halberd into the stinger as it bore down on him. He gripped his weapon's handle as the beast hoisted him into the air.

He cracked a grin as the tip of his halberd unfolded, freeing him from the monster. His weapon's shaft folded backward, until it had transformed into a bow. Still in mid-air, he pulled back on the string of hard-light dust. The vibrant arcs of electricity crackling around his body became one with the bolt of focused energy forming at his weapon, and he let fly.

The deathstalker halted in sudden stiffness as the bolt shattered the armor at the back of its head, a shockwave rippling through the smoke. The beast's tail uncurled and slammed to the ground next to the huntsman as he landed. It began to dissolve into the night.

The huntsman paused, eyes fixed ahead. He had only taken two labored breaths before two men leapt into view, blades prepared to kill. He swore, and electricity coarsed its way through his halberd just before he raised it to block a vicious overhead axe swing. Static worked its way down his enemy's weapon. The faunus seized up, and Midas freed his weapon. Aura crackled around the assailant's gut as the tip of Midas's spear was thrust forward. Midas set his feet, once again transforming his weapon back into a bow. He let fly on his second enemy with a point-blank jolt of dust.

The smoke began to clear.

Two dozen feet ahead, a truck had been tipped onto its side, blocking most of the lane. On the edge of the cab sat a bald-headed woman, clad in leather robes of black and white. As her eyes met his visor, a broad, serpentine tail pulled up from behind her, and settled in her lap.

"Red Claw commander!" Midas called. "Who are you working for? He's here, isn't he?!"

"And why would I tell you, prettyboy?" the commander mocked, her tail lashing once. "Although, by the way you asked that, you already know the answer."

A young woman's voice faded in and out. She seemed to want something.

The morning light pouring in the window was far too bright. The plush bedcovers weighed the boy's body down, sinking him deeper into his mattress. He groaned, and rolled over.

"Come on, get up. My breakfast is getting cold."

"Go away, Lazula," the boy mumbled, feebly shooing her away. He gathered his pillow in front of his eyes.

"Lilly's gonna be there..." the young woman teased, her voice softening. "Sleep much longer, and you won't be able to shower."

Lilly. Lilliane Corvis-Braun. The very image of beauty, kindness, and feminine grace, in the boy's eyes. Sure, they had been friends for the longest time. She probably wouldn't judge him for one morning of disheveled hair. But still. He couldn't stand the thought of questionable hygiene on a day he would see her. He worked his way upright, shivering as the blankets fell to his waist. He turned to look at his sister with an exaggerated look of bitterness.

Though the two were twins, the young man and Lazula bore little resemblance. Lazula had inherited her father's strong chin; dark, full brows; and long, straight nose. Her eye color was difficult to discern. Though mostly a green-heavy hazel, transient flecks of nearly every color seemed to come and go, by lighting and by the minute. Her hair, a vivid electric blue, was swept to one side in front, tied into a messy low bun in back. Rebellious strands of hair fell to each side of her face, the biggest running down the bridge of her nose. Caspian guessed she had snuck in some early-morning training.

Between the young man's soft, kind-looking face, large round eyes of a vivid blue, and button nose, he was quite obviously his mother's child. His hair was coarse yet voluminous, falling in fluffy layers to eyebrow level in front, and chin level in back. His deep blue roots were visible at the crown of his head, but faded to silver further away.

"Good morning, Caspian. You slept for seven hours and thirty-seven minutes," the automated voice of a woman reported from the headboard. "Would you like to see this morning's top news stories?"

"Yes," Lazula cut in. She nudged her brother as he began to doze off again.

A holographic screen flashed up across the foot of the bed, displaying an aerial view of a street near the docks. Between the stacks of shipping containers and open flames, three beowolves and a hulking, ursine form ran. "Darkness returns: eight are confirmed dead and fourteen have been wounded in a Port Cyrreine Grimm attack overnight. Authorities confirm this is the first Grimm attack in twenty-five years," the voice stated. "Vytal Tournament champion Midas Baine was dispatched to the scene with his team and several organic androids, but was ultimately unsuccessful in apprehending the woman believed to be behind the attack."

"Jeez... Looks like Ichigo was right," Caspian said, putting on the round lens, wire-framed glasses that rested against his bedside lamp. "He told me Grimm were sighted, and I... well, was I supposed to just believe it?"

Lazula sighed. "Looks like this huntsman education will do us some good after all." She stood, and walked to the door of Caspian's room. She rested one hand on the doorknob and turned around. "We have to pass the entrance exam first. You should start getting ready."

"Of course you'll pass..." Caspian muttered, watching Lazula leave. He switched off the holographic screen, which had changed stories to show a bald, bearded man in a tailored suit giving a speech. After grabbing a bite to eat, throwing a few last-minute items into his suitcase, and grabbing his pre-planned outfit of a blue knit sweater and khakis, he made his way to the shower.

The water scalded his back, but he paid no mind as it drained between his feet. "Today is the day," he thought. He took a deep breath. The final entrance examination. His written scores, apparently, had been on par with the top percentage of Sentinel applicants. He scraped by the physical tests, but today...

Every time he thought about it, it made him feel a little sick.

Caspian turned off the water. One typical morning routine later, and he opened the door, giving himself one last look in the mirror. Yet as he turned to the doorway, he started.

His eyes locked with a colorless stare. Not silver, not even a light blue. Her irises were entirely devoid of color. Her matching hair was styled neatly, bangs sweeping across her forehead and tucking under the locks that framed her doll-like face. Her hair in back tapered to a single point at the nape of her neck.

"Oh! Snow. Thank you, for the jumpscare," Caspian said, grinning with embarrassment and holding a hand over his chest.

Though Caspian's heart was one beat from leaping out of his throat, the girl was entirely unperturbed. Her gaze followed him. "Your mother told me to tell you she would like to leave in twenty minutes." Her eyes cast downward, looking to the holoscreen she projected from the band at her wrist. "This was two minutes ago. Will you be ready in eighteen minutes?"

"Eighteen?" Caspian repeated. He pursed his lips, and grabbed several items from the bathroom counter. "I guess I'll have to be. Oh, if you're here, is Uncle Doug around?" he guessed.

"He's working this morning. He said he will try to attend the Final Examination," Snow said. Her voice was soft, hardly ever carrying much more strength than a whisper. Words followed each other in disengaged monotony.

She turned, beginning to walk down the hall. Caspian admired her combat outfit, which she had already changed into. A snow white vest made of neoprene met her skirt at belt level, on which she holstered the handle of her weapon. The skirt was patterned into the interweaving fractal arms of a snowflake, layers underneath, visible in the gaps between the snowflake's arms, a shade of light blue. She wore a collared shirt of the same shade beneath her vest, the tight sleeves coming down to her wrists. Black socks were the only hint of darkness to her outfit, starting at her knee and feeding into her glossy white boots.

The hum of the airship's engines was all Caspian heard. It was the perfect background noise for his thoughts, all blending together into one monotonous drone. Snow sat beside him, her vacant gaze matching Caspian's out the window. Lazula sat a few rows behind the pair, watching a video from her last tournament, playing and replaying to study each of her moves meticulously.

The city of Port Cyrreine was founded on two peninsulas, jutting out into the ocean like a massive pair of jaws. The Southern peninsula, further from the airship window, held the city's downtown. Closer to the mainland, the skyscrapers tapered off into a maze of dingy mid-rise buildings, an area of town Caspian intended to avoid.

Toward the peninsula's tip, a magnificent structure of glass and steel. The apexes of two black towers, one just half the height of the taller, skewered the sky. A golden ring circled the neck of the giant, holding an airship platform several hundred feet above the ground below. A shell of smooth, silvery-white encased the Northern side of the structure, which loomed above the mouth of the bay. Etched upon it in thin black lettering, "Frontline Biomedical."

Snow's eyes seemed intent on the building.

The Northern peninsula; the tract of land the airship carrying Caspian, Lazula, and Snow, descended over; was a mish-mash of residential areas and small businesses. Frontline's main hospital sat on the tip, directly North of corporate headquarters.

"Perks of being the Headmaster's kids," Caspian noted, sticking a finger to the window and peering down. "We don't have to sit in that."

Lazula appeared, leaning over Caspian's seat and looking to the city below. Seacrest Bridge, the lone road between the two halves of Port Cyrreine, was packed bumper to bumper.

"Lilly's there, she said she's with Rowan and Ichigo," Lazula said. "Laurel's on her way, but the traffic doesn't look bad from the North. Still, I don't envy whoever's stuck in that mess."

A few minutes passed, and Caspian looked away from the window and into his lap as the airship slowed to a stall. He felt it begin to descend upon a mile-wide cape that stuck into the bay from the city's Northern half.

The campus of Sentinel Academy.

[howtohero]

Fairy Tale Themes

Having a distinct superhero identity is very important if you’re going to be a superhero. You can’t just be stopping crimes as a civilian, stopping crimes is often a crime, for some reason. So you need to wear a whole getup and come up with a whole unique shtick. But that can be pretty hard. You can’t just throw a bunch of darts at a word board, that’s how you get heroes like Cat Vomit Confetti Man, or Pencil Rhombus Mount Rushmore Woman. (No offense to those guys, I know you guys were instrumental in repelling that Planet Doom invasion a couple of years back!) So sometimes, instead of coming up with an entirely new thing, heroes just steal an old one.

If you’re going to pattern yourself after a figure from a popular tale or piece of folklore you need to make sure you pick a good one. For example, you don’t want to run around fighting crime calling yourself The Ugly Duckling. (No disrespect sir, I know you singlehandedly held the planet together during The Great Fissuring.) But at the same time guys calling themselves Hercules are a dime a dozen. (None of you come to my house and punch me! I know how important the Hercules human pyramid was in saving Earth during the Galactic Olympics.) You need to hit that sweet spot of not completely ridiculous and not too overplayed.

You’d also be smart to grab a fairy tale character whose got a similar set of abilities as you do so your powers are thematically appropriate. If you’re an ice guy you can be The Abominable Snowman or Jack Frost (not to be confused with Jacked Frost the ice man who is almost too buff) but you wouldn’t want to be calling yourself Elsa from Frozen Man or Frosty the Snow-Man (yes Mr. the Snow-Man I know about the time you cooled the fires of Hell and freed several hundred wrongly damned souls during Greg the Skeleton King’s war on the living. If you’ve got the power to turn things into gold you might call yourself Midas but you wouldn’t want to go fight crime under the name Rumplestiltskin (for one thing, his whole bit is that people can’t guess his name, and if people can’t guess your name you’ll never be able to sign any lucrative sponsorship deals!) If you’ve got a winning smile you can call yourself Cheshire Cat but you should, under no circumstances, model yourself after dental hygiene folk hero Finnigan Floss. (He’s a sixty foot giant who has teeth the size of cars and spends all his days flossing, the story was meant to teach children not to focus only on one thing and let life pass them by but the dental industry coopted it and turned Finnigan Floss into a propaganda tool!)

But becoming a fairy tale character isn’t just a simple trick to get out of putting any effort into your superhero identity. You need to be ready to grapple with the consequences of such an action. For one thing, if there’s any villain out there who is already aping the image of a character from the same fairy tale, they’re going to automatically become one of your villains. So if there’s an entire crew of Wizard of Oz themed villains, maybe don’t call yourself Glinda the Good With of the North Man. (Tinman-Woman, I swear this is not a callout on you, I have nothing but the utmost respect for you after you singlehandedly, and I mean that literally she had one hand tied behind her back, thwarted a robot uprising.) At the same time though, if they’re famous for being hilariously ineffectual villains, then it might not be a bad idea to guarantee that they move to your town and attempt to commit crimes there for you to easily stop.

Your decision to become a fairy tale character might also inspire fairy tale enthusiasts to take up arms against you. These nerds will point out all the inaccuracies in your take on the character. Every. Single. One. “Ahem, Marry Poppins never drove a Poppins Mobile, she had a magical umbrella this is highly inaccurate.” “Erm, I hate to be that guy (you know that they love to be that guy) but Little Red Riding Hood was not a thirty five year old man with perpetual stubble.” “Goldilocks historically (???) had 150,000 golden locks. I’ve noticed when I observed you while you were sleeping (????) that you have only 135,000 locks of hair, and don’t even get me started on your roots.” So you’re going to need to preemptively block every fairy tale and folklore nerd in the word on all your public social media accounts, and probably some of your private ones too. Don’t underestimate the power of an angry nerd. Some of them might even be so angry, that they’ll try to become a fairy tale themed villain, just to show you the error of your ways. So... if you want to have a little fun with that be our guest. Make some nerd rob a bank while showing you what the real Little Bo Peep would look like! Convince some fairy tale buff that the best use of their time is mugging people while espousing the importance of pronouncing “bippity boppity boo” correctly.

Side note: Don’t become a Goldilocks themed superhero. Goldilocks is the clear villain of that story. Anybody who breaks into someone’s house and eats their food and sleeps in their bed is a criminal. That’s not just right. That’s just wrong. You should avoid taking on the appearance of any classic villains. That’s going to confuse trigger happy police officers who are responding to the scene of the crime. I guarantee you they’re going to shoot the guy dressed like Dracula (or plunge a wooden stake into your chest, which is just like, splinter-city) or an evil step-mother before they ask even a cursory “Which of you costumed ninnies is the superhero here?”

Superhero identities are as unique and varied as the people who choose to don them. And some people are just not all that unique, and for them we have some not so unique superhero identities. The stories we’ve been told as kids are rife with potential do-gooder (and do-badder) identities. So head to your local library, pick up a giant book of fairy tales from the kids section, and then sit there and read it and make all the parents there with their kids wary.

[neckstrips]

What is a Barber Cape?

A barber cape is a protective cape worn by barbers or hairdressers to cover a client's clothing while cutting or styling their hair. The cape is typically made of water-resistant material such as nylon or polyester and is secured around the client's neck with a snap or Velcro closure. It is used to protect the client's clothes from hair clippings and chemicals such as hair dye.

How to use a Barber Cape?

Professional barber cape is typically used as follows:

The cape is placed around the client's neck and secured with a snap or Velcro closure.

The client's hair is combed and styled as desired.

The barber or hairdresser uses scissors, clippers, or other tools to cut or trim the client's hair.

Any hair clippings that fall during the cutting process are caught by the cape.

The cape is removed and the client's hair is styled and finished as desired.

The cape is then washed or cleaned before being used again.

It is also used to protect the client's clothes from hair clippings and chemicals such as hair dye.

It should be made of water-resistant material such as nylon or polyester and should be properly cleaned after every use.

Advantages of Barber Cape

There are several advantages to using a barber cape when cutting or styling hair:

Protection: The cape protects the client's clothing from hair clippings, dyes, and other chemicals used in the styling process.

Hygiene: The cape can be easily cleaned after each use, helping to maintain a clean and hygienic work environment.

Versatility: Barber capes come in a variety of materials and styles, making them suitable for all types of hair cutting and styling.

Convenience: The cape can be easily put on and taken off, saving time and making the hair-cutting process more efficient.

Professional appearance: Wearing a cape during a haircut or styling makes the salon or barber shop look more professional and polished.

Time-saving: The cape allows the stylist to easily catch hair clippings, saving them time from having to constantly clean up hair from the floor.

King Midas Empire is the one-stop shop for all of your barbering needs. From our high-quality and barber capes, aprons, and jackets to our wide variety of tools and accessories that you need to be a successful barber, we have it all! Our products are guaranteed to last through years of hard work and abuse. Shop now!

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