#brass the unnamed

[noodles-doodles01]

Some Gravity Falls Stuff I Found

A lot of this could already be known, but I'm having fun and its a way to keep track. All is from thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

So for computer passwords:

Dipper- a letter from Bill (his handwriting + he calls him Pine Tree) telling dipper to stare into the sun

Mabel- Places stickers all over the lab until the screen says "lab fully Mabelized"

Stanford/Sixer- Gives a Medical report on Ford's hand taken at 18, the report censors the mention of kidnapping him for cloning

Stanley- eBay for brass knuckles

MatPat- a video of MatPat saying "hello internet, this time, you're on your own"

Cipher/Bill Cipher- Eye of Providence Wiki

Bill- Sesame Street Video

Wendy- A letter from Wendy saying that she wrote a way to ward off evil triangles at the bottom right of the book (I have two ideas for what this could be), also a 👌 drawn in the bottom right corner upside down.

Blind Eye- A seeing eye test that repeats the letters WKHBOOVHH (anagram maybe?) with a colour code at the bottom (I'll include this later in this post)

Robbie- Shows messenger messages between Robbie and Thompson. Thompson seems to be getting real tired of the bullying (He wrote out "If you keep insulting me one of these days I-" and then highlights it as if he's about to delete it, followed by Yea :(). They discuss going to a site to see Bill, and later freak out about seeing him and knowing how they both die (Thompson gets mistaken for luggage and Robbie chokes on a mini skateboard). The end is this photo with Bill in the background:

Pacifica- A letter from Pacifica herself warning against Bill, saying that she dumped old Tapestries with triangles on it off a yacht with an unnamed friend. She seems to be super uncomfy about mentioning who the friend is (Dipper maybe?). She ends the letter saying that you should follow her on Platinum Paz

Platinum Paz: Details a story of Pacifica having a nightmare about blood being on her hands and everywhere. She then has a conversation with a statue of Nathaniel NW, who asks about her anger. She tells him everything was better before the Pines' came to town, and he says he will help her if she does something for him: go to the Pines' place and grab a small snowglobe that's new (the rift). He is about to shake her hand before she stops and wakes up. She then adds Dipper's number to her phone and sleeps well. Most likely what leads to the tapestries being thrown off a yacht.

Oneeyedking: a hypnosis tape where there is morse code in the background while Bill says "you want to sell your soul to Bill Cipher" three times. I didn't do this but the morse code gives a series of letters (explained below)

If you spam Stanley: you are a taken to something called “the Wheel of Shame” and it is Bill explaining that he knows all of Stan’s shames since he was in his head. They are listed as follows: Ex Wives, Fears, Secret Shames, Unreported Crimes, Stan’s Failed Products, Lowest Moments, Darkest Thought (pin all crimes on Soos), and How Stan Beat Me (He didn’t! I’M STILL HERE SUCKER)

Now for Codes:

When you click on the book of Bill, there is a letter from Ford to Dipper warning against the book. On the last page at the bottom right corner, this code is seen (this is what I thought Wendy might mean):

I tried all the existing codexes, but they didn't work. Until I typed MASON into the compuer (Dipper's acc name), which gives a sheet where Dipper talks about learning how to make codes. Ford's writing comes in at the end, and the words CRYPTOGRAM CODEX are capitalized at the end. When that was input into the computer, a folder file was downloaded and gave me multiple codes.

I used CypherFontA and flipped the message on the Vertical Axis and reversed the message to get: PER ASPERA AD ASTRA, which means "through suffering to the stars" in Latin

There is another hidden code on the candle, visible through the lightning, and it uses the Runes codex, translating to CURSED. When input into the computer, you get this "Just Say No" campaign poster against drawing triangles (RAD), the words Cool and Parties are both randomly capitalized in this speech bubble from Nancy Reagan (not applicable to the passwords tho)

Carved into the wall (visible when lightling strikes) on the left is the Latin phrase "VALLIS CINERIS", which translates to "valley of ashes", you get this image and a creepy voice that says "why did you do it?" (a reference to bill destroying his home dimension)

The morse code spells out NAITSUAF, and when input to the computer, gives an offer to sell your soul. At the bottom is a button that asks are you ready, when you click on it, it shows a contract that has the following code on it

This is also a codex given in the previously mentioned codex file, and it is the theraprism file. It states: "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

Below the theraprism is more CipherFontA code, which I have not fully completed but seems to list out the terms of the contract. However, I noticed these rectangles near the words and am wondering if it means to take the letter closest to it or if it is a period. I am too lazy to work it all out rn so feel free to lmk what that all says :)

When you sign the contract, it says "pleasure doing business with you" and the flame on the candle is now blue. When you mess with the toggle on the computer, you get a backwards audio message in the same creepy voice as the Vallis Cineris code. When reversed, the audio says: " Someone help, the murderer’s name is Bill”

The prism that sits beside the computer has a code with the following symbols: #?&&!, which reads out as SORRY (this code is in the Book of Bill). When you input that into the computer, you get an image of college Ford and McGucket :(

That’s all I have for now! Feel free to reblog with anything else you might have found! I know of a ton more but I didn’t include them since this post would NEVER end.

[strayrockette]

A Daughter Who Loves

A Daughters Letter

Masterlist

A/N: I can’t believe I’m finally knocking this one out of my drafts! I’m so happy to no longer see it sitting there taunting me to finish it😂 hope you guys enjoy ❤️please comment, like and reblog❤️

Summary: Takes place a couple years after the initial meeting with the unnamed soldier. You’ve found a new life for yourself far away from the unresolved trauma and issues of your past.

Dearest Father,

I used to love you. I still love you. But if news got around that you were dead, it wouldn't hurt as much as losing Mother. The worst part about loving you...is knowing that we'll never be a true family.

Despite it all, I must thank you.

-

The pen stilled in her hand. For the first time in years, her mind had failed to slather seething words upon the awaiting canvas. Y/N’s eyes drifted to the open window of the study.

The study was a room of serene contradiction, a place where history and modernity danced together. Heavy oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that whispered of the past. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface cluttered with papers, a brass inkstand, and a small, framed photograph of her and Thomas Shelby. The rich, dark wood contrasted sharply with the lighter tones of the pale, floral wallpaper, giving the room an air of understated elegance.

Through the tall, arched windows, the view of Arrow House's sprawling grounds unfolded in tranquil splendor. The vast acre of land stretched out like a lush green carpet, dotted here and there with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. The manicured lawns seemed to reach out to the horizon, framed by clusters of ancient oak and chestnut trees. A winding gravel path meandered through the grounds, leading to a quaint stone bridge over a gentle brook. The distant hum of life from the village beyond was faint, almost like an afterthought, allowing the peaceful solitude of the estate to take center stage.

The study’s window was open just enough to let in a fresh breeze that rustled the heavy, velvet drapes. The scent of earth and flowers mingled with the cool air, creating a soothing atmosphere. It was in this moment of calm that Y/N found her thoughts drifting back to her father, whose presence was now as distant as the last whisper of the city’s bustling streets.

The room was silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway, marking the passage of time with a gentle, rhythmic insistence. Y/N's gaze lingered on the horizon, her mind grappling with the complexities of her feelings. The serenity of the estate contrasted sharply with the turbulent emotions that swirled within her, a reminder of the painful distance between the past and the present.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions lift slightly with the breeze. For now, the letter remained unfinished, an echo of her unresolved feelings. But in this moment of stillness, she found a semblance of peace in the quiet beauty of the land outside.

Her husband, Thomas Shelby, entered the study with the quiet confidence that was uniquely his. The door swung open just enough to admit his tall frame, and his eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened when they fell upon her. He crossed the room with his usual deliberate stride, his polished black shoes making a subtle, almost reverent sound on the wooden floor.

Y/N, lost in the tranquil view from the window, had been sitting in the study for a while. Her thoughts had wandered to a time long past, a time when her life had intersected with the Shelby brothers.

Thomas’s presence was a welcome interruption, though it took her a moment to shift her attention from the peaceful scenery to him. He placed a warm, familiar hand on her shoulder, a touch that carried the weight of his love and the assurance of his support. His voice, though low and steady, held a note of playful affection as he spoke. “Love, are you planning on joining us for dinner with the family tonight?”

His words were like a lifeline to the present, pulling her from the swirl of past grievances and into the here and now. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a faint, mischievous smile.

“Dinner with the Shelby clan?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement. “Is that the same family that turns every meal into a battleground? I’m surprised they’re all in the same room at once. Last I heard, you lot were still debating over who got first dibs on my chocolate chip cookies.”

Thomas chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate with the room’s deep, warm tones. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. “It’s not quite a battleground, though it can be lively. But I promise, it’s not all chaos. We have a few moments of civility before it all kicks off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can brave the family dinner. Someone has to keep you all in line.”

Thomas’s gaze softened, and he gently squeezed her shoulder before releasing her. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to face them alone.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the life she was building with him. The letter and the unresolved emotions of the past seemed to drift away, if only for a moment, replaced by the comforting reality of the present and the anticipation of a shared future.

She returned her gaze to the window, the sprawling grounds of Arrow House now seeming even more serene in the quiet aftermath of their conversation. The promise of a lively family dinner ahead brought a new layer of anticipation to her day, a reminder of the vibrant life she was now a part of.

In her reflective mood, Y/N thought back to her time as a nurse during World War I, when her path had first crossed with the Shelby brothers. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days spent tending to the wounded in a makeshift field hospital. Each brother had come through her care, their lives touched by the trauma of war. Thomas, Arthur, and John—each had been a different story, each had left a mark on her heart.

She remembered the late nights spent in the dimly lit wards, the quiet conversations that had unfolded amidst the beeping of machines and the rustling of sheets. Thomas had been the most reserved, his eyes betraying the weight of his experiences even as he tried to mask it with a veneer of stoic bravery. Arthur had been volatile, his wounds reflecting the turmoil within, while John had been more approachable, his easy smile a rare comfort in those dark times.

Y/N had tended to their injuries with a professionalism that masked her own fears and uncertainties. In the midst of the chaos, she had been a silent witness to their struggles and their unspoken camaraderie. The war had been a crucible that tested their mettle, and she had seen firsthand the bonds that had formed between them, forged in the fires of adversity.

As she sat in the study, the weight of those memories mingled with the serene beauty of the present. The sprawling grounds of Arrow House, with its manicured lawns and distant trees, seemed like a world apart from the grim reality of the wartime hospital. Yet, it was here, in this peaceful setting, that she had found a new chapter in her life.

The juxtaposition of past and present was not lost on her. She had moved from the sterile, oppressive environment of wartime care to the warm, welcoming embrace of her new life with Thomas. The contrast was stark, yet she embraced it with a sense of gratitude and acceptance. The Shelby family, for all their complexity and dysfunction, had become a part of her world, and she had become a part of theirs.

As Y/N glanced once more at the window, the promise of the evening’s dinner seemed to symbolize more than just a family gathering. It was a testament to the journey she had undertaken, a journey that had brought her from the battlefields of war to the hearth of Arrow House. The anticipation of the dinner ahead was a reminder of the new beginnings and the connections she had forged along the way.

Dearest Father,

The man I love has given me much more than I anticipated. I no longer ache at the thought of what could have been for my former family. I no longer wonder and question if I have a place in the world. Because I have found it beside the one man who has yet to let me down.

My heart is filled with love and warmth I have never felt. My days are spent basking in affection and care that you were unable to give. I am…happier than ever.

But I wish you were here, to see the women I have become. To know that, I am loved and cared for.

Sincerely,

A daughter who no longer grieves you.

_

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24

[beardedmrbean]

"Disney wasn't an antisemite"

Uh you sure you wanna die on that hill?

How about we ask the Jewish Press what they think

Actress Meryl Streep reignited a debate that has simmered below the surface in Hollywood for decades: Was Walt Disney anti-Semitic?

The occasion was the annual awards event of the National Board of Review, an organization of filmmakers, students, and movie scholars. Streep presented an award to Emma Thompson, for her role in the new movie “Saving Mr. Banks,” about the making of the 1964 Disney film “Mary Poppins.” Thompson co-stars as Poppins author P.L. Travers, alongside Tom Hanks as Walt Disney.

Streep took the opportunity to blast Disney as racist and misogynist who also “supported an anti-Semitic industry lobbying group.”

She did not actually call Disney an anti-Semite, but many people took it that way. The Hollywood Reporter declared that Streep accused Disney of being “sexist, racist and anti-Semitic.” Film professor David Hajdu said Disney was “a deeply flawed human being. A misogynist? You bet. An anti-Semite? That, too.” An unnamed “female Academy member” interviewed by the Reporter referred to him as “that old anti-Semite, himself, Mr. Disney.”

Hollywood historian Neal Gabler examined the anti-Semitism charge in his 2006 biography of Disney. “Of the Jews who worked [with Disney], it was hard to find any who thought Walt was an anti-Semite,” Gabler reported. “Joe Grant, who had been an artist, the head of the model department, and the storyman responsible for Dumbo… declared emphatically that Walt was not an anti-Semite. ‘Some of the most influential people at the studio were Jewish,’ Grant recalled, thinking no doubt of himself, production manager Harry Tytle, and Kay Kamen [head of Disney’s merchandising arm], who once quipped that Disney’s New York office had more Jews than the Book of Leviticus. Maurice Rapf concurred that Walt was not anti-Semitic; he was just a ‘very conservative guy.’ ”

On the other hand, one former Disney animator, David Swift, has claimed he heard Walt make an anti-Semitic remark, and another ex-staffer, David Hilberman, has alleged that one employee was fired because he was Jewish. (However, according to Gabler, Disney himself was rarely involved in firing anyone except the top brass). In addition, the original animated version of the ��Three Little Pigs” portrayed the Big Bad Wolf as a stereotypically Jewish peddler, although after complaints, the segment was altered.

When it comes to explicit proof that Disney was anti-Semitic, the critics’ case weakens.

“There is zero hard evidence that Disney ever wrote or said anything anti-Semitic in private or public,” according to Douglas Brode, author of Multiculturalism and the Mouse: Race and Sex in Disney Entertainment. Brode told The Hollywood Reporter that Disney used more Jewish actors “than any other studio of Hollywood’s golden age, including those run by Jewish movie moguls.”

Gabler also revealed that Disney “frequently” made unpublicized donations to a variety of Jewish charities, including a Jewish orphanage, a Jewish old age home, Yeshiva College (precursor to Yeshiva University), and the American League for a Free Palestine. The League, better known as the Bergson Group, publicly supported the armed revolt against the British in Palestine by Menachem Begin’s Irgun Zvai Leumi. Disney was embracing not just Zionism, but its most militant wing.

How, then, did the rumors of Disney’s alleged anti-Semitism spread so far and wide?

That’s where Meryl Streep comes in. The “anti-Semitic industry lobbying group” with which Disney was associated was the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals. The group’s statement of principles said nothing about Jews; its declared purpose was to prevent “Communist, Fascist, and other totalitarian-minded groups” from gaining a foothold in Hollywood. Among its members were politically conservative actors such as John Wayne, Clark Gable, and Ginger Rogers. But some of its other members were accused of being privately anti-Semitic, and in general it had a reputation as being reactionary.

Gabler believes that “the most plausible explanation” for the rumors about Disney were a kind of guilt by association: “Walt, in joining forces with the MPA and its band of professional reactionaries and red-baiters, also got tarred with their anti-Semitism. Walt Disney certainly was aware of the MPA’s purported anti-Semitism, but he chose to ignore it…. The price he paid was that he would always be lumped not only with anti-Communists but also with anti-Semites.”

The irony is that while Meryl Streep was condemning Walt Disney for associating with extremists, she herself was doing the very same thing. The actress to whom she gave that award when she made her anti-Disney speech, her close friend Emma Thompson, is active in the anti-Israel boycott movement.

Streep hailed Thompson as “splendid, beautiful, practically a saint…a living, acting conscience.” Yet this “saint,” together with other British actors, publicly urged a boycott of Israel’s Habimah theater troupe when it participated in a festival in England. Habimah, of course, has nothing to do with Israeli government policies or any political issues. Its only “crime” is that it’s Israeli.

By contrast, Thompson had no problem with the National Theater of China taking part in that festival, even though it really does represent the Chinese regime – a regime guilty of the most heinous human rights violations, aid to terrorists around the world, and support for the genocidal government of Sudan. But of course, hypocrisy is the hallmark of the “saints” of the anti-Israel boycott crusade. ______________________

The Antisemitism claim is literally communist propaganda.

[chaoscrewtime]

Dragons, Dragons, and More Dragons

Made a bunch of (humanoid) sketches of Araw's and Maharlika's family trees heres what i got

unnamed black dragonborn -(father to)-> Ramil del Mundo (Green) -[married]-> Cora Blackhorn (Amethyst) -[mother of]-> Maharlika del Mundo (Black)

Philippo Cruz (Red) -[married to]-> Jaya Langit (Gold) -[mother of]-> Araw Araw Langit (Red) -[mother of]-> Isa Langit Manalo (Gold)

Talos Manalo (Gold) -[father of]-> Engracia Manalo (Brass) -[married to]-> Cyprus Dionio (Copper) -[father of]-> Bituin Manalo (Bronze)

gold and metallic dragonborn are literally made of their respective metal/gem and it has a big impact on their appearance

[humanpurposes]

Sweet Dream, Teaser

The Sandman AU // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, gore (very briefly), more to be added including death, smut

Words: 800

A/n: Thought I'd treat you guys to a quick teaser. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the actual fic :)

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession. 

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too. 

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings. 

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle. 

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain. I open the way. I open the gates. I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together. Come!”

Suddenly the feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look beyond the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed. 

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

[neopoliitan]

HOLD UP! Could you zoom in on those various Tournament teams? Some of them I don't know, but there's three using the unnamed finalists, full names there for Kobalt and Ivori, and just a lot of names that I don't know! But I can't read them.

I'll write em down

Left side:

Team RWBY

Team ABRN

Team FNKI (Flynt Coal, Neon Katt, Kobalt Marigold, Ivori (I gave Ivori the surname "whocares" in this because I couldn't think of anything. It won't stick lmao)

Team JSPR (Jasper Sarlatova, Asagi Sarikaya, Phoebe Lake, Khloris Rhodes). This is an OC team who's not actually from Vacuo but I had their art so... it was an easy cut and paste. You can read about them here.

Team SSSN

Team NDGO

Team ZRCN (Zelde Sewick, Xanthos Ravindra, Cordovan Radcliff, Neela Oxford) They belong to @sustraiii

Left Side Silhouettes (some dumb names here):

Team CBLT (Cobalt) - Copper Ochre, Rosa Brick, Lime Citrus, Taupe Teale.

Team ATMN (Autumn) - Umber Autumn (the 3 musketeers finalist), Tango Kumquat, Mantis Moss, Navy Catalinea

Team LYON (Lion) - Linen Kokkinos, Vitellus Yolk, Lilac Orchid, Nigel Nautilus

Team MNGO (Mango) - Meridian Cobalt, Beige Naples, Viridian Green, Olive Gashley (Olive was later cut and put on FORG)

Team ASCA - belongs to @sustraiii. Alondra Kirsch (the Aladdin finalist), Clary Eklund, Silas Albero, Ashe Columbine.

Team SEAA (Sea) - Scarlet Schass, Elektra Fury (Elektra was later cut and put on FORG), Ariadne Guime, Aero Nimbus.

Team STAG (Stag) - Stella Quincy, Tan Grullo, Ash Argent, Aureolin Gelb)

Team MSTY (Misty) - Maroon Twilight, Salt Guyabano, Jet Timberwolf, Yin Ming

Right side:

Team JNPR

Team BRNZ

Team RAIN - Robin Lincoln, Akane Amaranth, Irving Hawthorne, Nyssa Noirette. If you don't know about them what the hell are you doing here, read the 929 page comic about them.

Team BASL (Basil) - Brandy Alvarado, Amaretto Alvarado, Sherry Rosalia, Arioch Lundie.

Team PCMN (Persimmon), Penny's Team - Penny Polendina, Ciel Soleil, Mango Fuoco, Gemma Nyanza. Mango and Gemma probably won't show up, they were just drawn for this, they were named after Mangiafuoco and Jiminy Cricket. The idea was that CMN were all plants to manage Penny's day to day - Ciel kept her appointments, Mango was aware she was a robot and would perform hotfixes when Pietro wasn't immediately available, Gemma was basically her moral compass.

Team RUBR (Rubber) - Rae Noire (later moved to FORG), Claret Upsdell, Bleumont Brass, Ruber Rose (A cousin, perhaps???)

Team CFVY

Team CMSN (Crimson) - Crimson Rust, Mars Garnet, Savio Sinopia, Nyx Tupelo

Team CRDL

Team UMBR (Umber) - Umber Gorgonieon (later moved to FORG), Mauve Aster, Bistre Beaver, Rory Raddock

Team TSCN (Tuscan) - Tyrus Niter, Scoria Flint, Adularia Chalk, Nitro Gin

Team NACL (Salt, NaCL is the chemical formula) - Naia Nile, Akira Murasaki, Cyan Bleumont, Layla Blackwell

Team LLAC (Lilac) - Lillian Armilde, Harriet Lazuli, Amaryllis Armilde, Cait Miya. They belong to @mercurryblack

Team INKK (Ink) - Irvine Inkwell, Nickel Bolt, Keppel Jade, Kepler Jade

Team BISK (Bisque) - Burgundy Braun, Indigo Orchid, Stan Silber, Kombucha Cream (I was running out of steam by that last one)

Team NYTE (Night) - Nou Helios, Yulduz Yildirim, Tawny Bisk, Ecru Feldgrau

If anyone wants to nab those silhouette names and draw what they could look like/adopt them, be my guest. I'm not doin' anything with em XD

[pip-n-chips]

aa hello this is info about my DoL PC, currently unnamed but their nickname rn is pipsqueak!

it's all going under the cut because it's a lot, may add more to this in the future

nonbinary (they/them) and androgynous, has a vag, flat chest

cute small thing :) 5'0 tall. is often underestimated due to their looks (people think they're an easy target. sometimes the people are right, but that doesn't mean they won't try to put up a fight) not quite scrawny but not visibly strong either

often overestimates how strong they are but they eventually learn pack a mean punch! doesn't use weapons, but would consider brass knuckles if they ever got their hands on one. (note: they're not a skilled fighter by any means. they just do whatever it takes. a lot of the time they don't know when to quit)

very vocal with emotions like anger, but when talking about other genuine emotions, they find difficulty wording and understanding them. more expressive when it comes to people they really like or really hate

usually kind to strangers! you have to get on their bad side

hates hates HATES being seen as weak, often picks fights or tries to be in a position of control, but usually has it taken away anyway. they don't know how to act when control is taken away from them, sometimes they freeze, sometimes they lash out, etc...

tends to do drastic and impulsive things as a result, puts themself in harms way (physical/mentally/emotionally) a lot but wouldn't like... Injure themself directly? but they make a lot of stupid decisions

that being said, they ARE a sadist + masochist,,, so sometimes it's intentional. gives them a thrill

oh also. they bite! they love biting :) good defense, but mainly it's the oral fixation. they like to gnaw on things, they have a nail biting habit. would enjoy sucking stuff too, but most things people put in their mouth will be bitten if they're sober (likes lollipops :D)

sexually repressed, confused, the doctor is working on it though <3

seduction level is so low it's embarrassing LMAO they just Hope it works. doesn't flirt often though due to little interest or loss of words. gets excitable about certain topics though (example: violence)

inexperienced with sex. or er- consensual sex. if they're bested or unable to fight, they usually refuse to cooperate, or if they have to they're very very unhappy. oftentimes, if they're getting fucked, they hide their face because they don't want to be seen like that, also tries to suppress their moans. depends how well it works, but if they end up unable to hide it they make these cute gasps and whimpers <3 squeezes their eyes shut if they're being vocal like that, but tries to keep their eyes open to glare or look away

if they were to have consensual sex they'd have no idea what to fucking do. they don't do oral much because they're always biting, so they'd have no idea how to start and would be super awkward and unsure about it (same goes with other things) (someone would have to teach them hehe)

when they lose their virginity, it hits them HARD. they feel ruined. partially because they're (usually) an initiate at the temple and they feel impure (vague religious guilt eats away at them in the very back of their mind), but it also comes back to their whole thing about control. it's like they lost the one sign that they were doing well at surviving in this fucking town, and now they don't know what to do

has trouble with intimacy, but is an absolute sweetheart if they're broken out of their shell enough (or broken in general dskjfn)! sometimes they get shy,,,

SO FUCKING TOUCH STARVED. GOD. they like headpats/strokes (it makes them weak in the knees. do it when they're vulnerable and they'll lean into it). they also like getting gifts, it's one of their love languages (bribery DOES work on them- works the best if it's not outright stated though)

does... fine in school grades-wise. skips a lot during certain months due to work (or crime) (or they got kidnapped. again.) (etc) they do really wish they were better at it. they catch up a lot in the asylum

despite wanting to be their own person, they still bend to Bailey's will. they work hard for rent and exhaust themself and seethe in silence until they try to take Bailey on (and lose) they have complicated feelings about Bailey

jobs change a lot, but their main one atm is being an office temp! it exhausts them. pulls the fight out of them and they just seethe silently throughout the day. also they keep getting fucking stuck in things and people keep molesting them. they restrain themself

when they get more desperate and tired of it all, they start to do crime. it's what they enjoy the most, money-making wise lol

they try to stick to a schedule, they really do. they need consistent money, and they need education, but it all gets too much and too stale so, again, they get impulsive. the worse their mental health is the more spontaneous they are

ignores their feelings and trauma to power through most of the time, until they reach a breaking point

lies to look better ("i won that fight" "i'm doing well in this class" etc lol)

at school people think they're weird but most stay away due to their combat fame. people love to gang up on them or take advantage when they're trapped though, it's a rare treat :) god forbid they want a blowjob, though...

doesn't have many friends, can count them on one hand. doesn't mind being on their own, though (they do) (they won't admit it)

needs glasses but doesn't wear them (doesn't like 'em. insists they're fine without it), bad enough to give them headaches, but that's probably combined with the side effect from harper's meds. they take separate medication for their headaches

also i dont have an official reference sheet but here's a compilation of what they look like

the tank top and shorts is their default outfit but I'm working on making them wear cuter clothes hehe,,

edit: OH ALSO they have an in-character RP blog but I'm still getting a hang of how they talk, it's @frooty-punch

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Gilded Cage" - Dark!Morpheus x Reader [TW: dark themes (referenced depression and suicide), obsessive behaviour, explicit language, glorifying captivity?, cringy lines]

[Next part: 'Silvered Perch']

SUMMARY: Your unhappiness seeps into your dreams. The pain in them piques Morpheus's interest. From the very first moment he sees you, he knows what he has to do, regardless of the price. A queen, after all, ought not to have a single hair fall from her head.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.3k

This story began when I fell asleep There was a mysterious ache inside me  All my faults and thoughts buried deep And in this world, I was nothing and everything A lost soul with too many secrets to keep Looking at the bright streets beneath I was wandering the edge of universe yet I couldn’t leap The cold breeze wrapped around me The Moon and the stars silent as I weep I became the brass and the gold, an abyss and a god L’appel du vide

Your dreams were like an itch he couldn't scratch, a speck of dust he couldn't get out of his eye; always in the back of his head, a shadow dancing at the edge of his vision. Had they been in any way pleasant, he wouldn't mind them as much - God knew how much he needed something pleasant in his otherwise bleak life. But they weren't anywhere close to "nice". The darkness residing in your dreams bothered him to no end, never quite letting him go like a blister that is scratched open with each painful step. Strangely enough, such a course of events was completely foreign to Morpheus - people's dreams and nightmares never stuck to him for longer than the fraction of a second between an exhale and an inhale.

At first, he feared he became privy to the first tremor of a shattering earthquake, that your misery was an omen of something much darker and sinister. Fearing for the well-being of his realm, Morpheus followed your dreams to venture into the Waking World and find you. Honestly, he was expecting to uncover a true calamity but he never did see it - at least not in the form he had thought.

What he saw was, in fact, a lot worse. All calamities have a source, the eye of the storm, but this one clearly didn't. It would all be very bitterly funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking - how everything you touched ended in pain and loneliness, rarely because of you at that. Your frustrations quickly became his own. Watching you go through every day like you were screaming at the world to let you be happy, to let you have something good for a second, but the entirety of creation was separated from you by a glass wall: you could only watch and weep. Were you cursed or hexed? No, he would have noticed something of that sort. Then what was it? What unnamed sorcery made you the scapegoat of humanity?

He once spent an entire night standing under your window like Romeo admiring Juliet. For hours on end, you were sitting with your face against the cold glass, eyes forever watching the moon travel across the black sky. Your tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as your vacant stare begged the universe for an explanation of its injustice. It pained Morpheus how beautiful and tragic you looked. Perhaps you truly weren't of this world? Would you not find your place in a baroque painting? Part of him wished he could paint that heartbreaking view. Not for his selfish pleasure, no, but for the whole world to be reminded of its barbarity until Judgment Day.

And Morpheus simply stood there until sun rays chased the world's dreams and nightmares away. He wasn't quite sure why he remained a watcher for the entire night. Maybe you appeared so distraught and fragile he feared that the moment he looks away the sunless abyss of secrets unspoken will devour you; that if he left his post there would be nothing tying you to this realm.

A lot has changed because of that night but mostly Morpheus himself had undergone some kind of transformation - he became quieter if that was ever possible and more irritable. He would pace around the throne room, clearly thinking intensely about something but never revealing what it was. And with time, he began to neglect his royal duties, disappearing for hours if not days on end, only to come back and refuse to give any explanation.

Little did you know that he was always there like a guardian angel that never abandoned its duty despite being exiled from heaven; hiding around corners as though he was a mere delusion that lingered on the edges of your vision. Wherever you went, he followed, often leaving pain and terror behind. Things started becoming weirder around you in the sense that people would fall to strange ailments or spiral into madness. Some never woke up, while others went for days without sleep. A snarky acquaintance did everything they could to not fall asleep in fear of the nightmares that awaited them. A cynical relative lost their mind and claimed that horrendous creatures from their night terrors trespassed into reality. Perhaps it was crude to say so but you felt a sense of relief at those tragedies: people too busy with their microapocalypses were too busy to add nails to your coffin, too preoccupied with themselves to put you on the receiving end of their wickedness.

But to Morpheus's terror, his tricks and punishments were not enough to aid your woe. They were merely temporary solutions like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. His anger only grew as the universe laughed in his face and continued its merciless quest for maintaining your unhappiness. Morpheus was forced to watch you being stuck in a cruel cycle of perpetual misfortunes and how you'd cry yourself to sleep only to somehow get out of bed in the morning and carried on, day by day. You were akin to Atlas but Atlas only carried the globe, not the peskiness of the cosmos like you did.

The streetlights lit brightly underneath you. Cars and motorbikes sped through the labyrinth of streets as if chasing time itself. Someone was walking their dog, a man was going home after his shift, a couple chatted happily while walking to a restaurant. They were each in their own microcosms, moving to the rhythm of life. All, except you. How could everyone simply live on, find balance and happiness in their unchanged daily bread? Was there something you missed? A secret you were never told? Or, perhaps, the answer was a lot simpler: you didn't deserve contentment. The fact that you came into this world was nothing more but a slip-up, a stumbling step taken while the person blinks.

You looked at the people filling the streets beneath you. From the distance, they were all so small, unimportant, cold. They never looked up to the tops of buildings, never acknowledged the acrobatics of someone struggling to cling to life. Even if they did, they probably wouldn't care - your hypothetical death was, after all, none of their business. Standing on the rooftop, you were no longer part of the same plane as them. Perhaps, you never truly were. Is that what birds saw as they flew over your head?

The rooftop was so high and the street so low... Would it hurt to fall? And the falling, would it take long? Lying on the cold cobblestone, your hot blood warming the otherwise cold world, how would this starry sky look? Would this rooftop look as faraway then as the street looked now? Would the pavement feel rigid and uncomfortable under your broken bones?

But, maybe, you had the strength to try one last time before taking that path. You looked up at the starry firmament and let out a sigh before speaking quietly. "Hey," you called out to the night sky, "if there's anyone out there, and I highly doubt that, can you help me a little? Life's a bitch, you know? I just... I just need a win. Something good, no matter how small, so I don't feel like my entire existence is pointless if not a burden. But if there really is someone out there, you're probably busy anyway. I mean, there's more important work to do than answer my whining, right? Wars to end, cancers to heal... But if you have a spare second, maybe you could give me something good. Or kill me, I don't care anymore."

"I have listened to your prayer and I heard your suffering."

Surprised and confused, you turned around to look at the stranger. He was tall and lanky, with dishevelled hair and a cold look in his eyes. In some strange and fascinating way, he did not look real but rather like a scribble that came to life; like a raven if it was reborn as a human.

"Who are you?"

"I am Morpheus, Lord of the Dreams," he slowly spoke in a low tone. "I came to answer your call."

As strange as it was to admit it, that was the truth: for the first time in your life, somebody answered your prayer. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually think this would work. I'm not much of a believer."

"And yet I came. Why did you call?"

No words left you at first. A shattering, painful tremble clawed through your body as that gaping hole in your chest was reponed. This sadness... it felt like being stabbed; like your body was so numb in its agony that you couldn't breathe. The full moon's silver light glistened in your tears as if it wasn't you weeping but the stars.

"I am violently unhappy," you confessed.

You didn't see it but Morpheus clenched his fist for a moment, which was more than strange - after all, he knew about your misery beforehand. Perhaps it was your admittance, irrefutable proof of your awareness of the injustice bestowed upon you, that gnawed at him. "Why is that?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"God, where do I even begin... It feels like everyone around me has something I don't like a love song only I can't hear. There's something wrong with me, I wasn't meant to be born into this world. I don't belong here. Nothing I do has any value, I can't keep up with the rest. You try and you try and it's never enough. No matter what you do or how. No one cares about your pain until it somehow involves them. I'm just so... tired."

"They will never stop disappointing you," he said as he walked towards you. Whether it was his own belief or merely something you wanted to hear, didn't matter. For Morpheus, it was one and the same.

"Every day I wake up to a web of human lives I've been woven into against my will, fulfil meaningless duties no one likes and yet everyone follows. Then I come back home to rest only for this pointless cycle to begin again in the morning. And I can't help but wonder if there is no third act where I'm someone special? Where I matter? Is this bland suffering all there is?"

"No," he spoke barely above a breath. "There is much, much more to this world. I could free you from this life."

"Free me?" you asked with a dry scoff. "I am as free as one can be: I love nothing and I'm loved by no one."

Morpheus, however, was a steadfast person and that annoying affliction only grew in strength the longer he was in your vicinity as if your presence was gradually gnawing at his sanity. It was an exchange he'd welcome more than warmly: his reason for your companionship. "You could be the pinnacle of my desire, the anger that forces my hand. All that breaks your heart will have to beg for my forgiveness. There shall be no day when all of my existence does not belong to you. I will bleed out just to quench your thirst." He took another step towards you, his face leaning in so close your noses were almost brushing. "If you do not wish for this freedom, let me imprison you." Then, in a wavering voice, he added: "Please."

His offer made your heart nearly jump out of your chest but you knew better than to immediately agree - he didn't deserve such a burden. Feeling shame and disgust with yourself, you looked away from him. "You will change your mind the moment you get to know me. I'm nothing interesting or worth loving."

Morpheus lifted his hand to your face. His index finger anxiously brushed against your cheeks as if you really were a baroque painting that he defiled with his undeserving touch. Morpheus spoke ever so quietly: "Had I whispered your name to Moses, the whole world would watch God's chosen discard the first commandment."

"Sounds blasphemous," you answered equally quietly. When your breath brushed against his cold skin, a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps if he could fill his lungs with your breath he would never feel sorrow ever again.

"Not to the goddess I worship." His blue eyes, the colour of a raging sea, stared into yours. There was so much he wished to say, unspoken confessions that would embarrass poets but he had a lot of time - all of eternity, in fact.

"Where will you take me?"

Dream's hand gently fell from your face to your own palm. Temptingly, his finger wrapped around yours. "To Dreaming - your new kingdom, my queen."

And from that day on, you never looked back. Never once did the faraway streetlamps visit your thoughts. There was only him: the eldritch king that fell to his knees begging for your affection that you so happily granted. Your desires became his, your pleasure his joy and your discomfort his anger. If he could tear himself apart, he would hand-feed you the pieces that were once him.

It was strange - how comfortable imprisonment could be, to be forever tied to someone. After all, aren't trees prisoners of their roots? And yet should they struggle free, they would fall straight away and die of thirst.

Were you not a bird of paradise? Sitting on a perch in a gilded cage only because someone liked your feathers or your song. All the comforts you were given, wishes that he granted, just so you stay the canary that sings his loneliness away. And like a bird, you were released from your cage only to be imprisoned by the confines of Dream's home. The bird, however, rejoices! For it never knew such freedom.

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Well Run

That was ... pretty blatant. Freddy basically did the old pantomime bit: "She's behind you!"

Okay, so: Sam and Celia are going to the theatre, and they are going to see The Pillowman. Now, I have not seen The Pillowman (as Sam suggests, theatre tickets are expensive), but it is a black comedy about a man who is arrested when the details of a series of murders appear to be drawn from the plots of his stories.

It seems a stretch to relate the whole plot, but there's a lot here about a fuzzy line between fiction and reality.

The most obvious connection there is Mr Bonzo: he's a character whose pranks, while disturbing from the get go, have now transitioned into brutal murders. However, Mr Bonzo is not in this story: an unnamed caterer is.

The story ends with the caterer discovering that Lady Mowbray is, in fact, right behind him, ready to conclude her hunt. At which point Celia discovers that Lady Mowbray is also right behind her, and perhaps ready to begin another. Fiction blends into reality, and Freddy uses the story to shout a warning.

And the thing about the caterer guy is that he had another life – another identity – and that life was violent and disturbing. It seems to have been a long time ago (he mentions having worked with his current crew "for years"), and he seems to have been actively distancing himself from it.

I've got a pin in this guy, too, as a possible member of Starkwall. Now, to be clear, he has definitely served in the military, and there is absolutely no reason a military man might not have had multiple roles. But the only thing he explicitly connects to his military service is a familiarity with cooking for the kind of people who fundamentally believe they are better than everyone around them.

I don’t know how else to describe her. This big, imposing, like – some Roman statue brought to life and given a gun. I kept thinking of my army days, cooking for the top brass. She had the same eyes, like they didn’t see people any more, just “assets” and “resistance.” – The Magnus Protocol: Well Run

His other assertions, about knowing how to kill, and what it feels like to face down a gun, are made entirely context free. And the caterer ran. My, did he run. He notes at the beginning that the event for the which this nightmare was the catalyst took place "a couple of months ago", and he's been evading his pursuers ever since. Lady Mowbray seems to be particular in her choice of prey – she had no interest in hunting the caterer's staff herself – and I am not sure I believe that just any military man would have suited her. There's a whiff of "infamous massacre" about this one.

And it goes back to the blur between fiction and reality, because this whole thing is a pretty straightforward allusion to The Most Dangerous Game, in which a bored, exiled aristocrat hunts men for sport. While the caterer is significantly less eloquent than Rainsford, it's hard not to see the similarity between the description of General Zaroff and Lady Mowbray:

Rainsford's first impression was that the man was singularly handsome; his second was that there was an original, almost bizarre quality about the general's face. He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair was a vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military moustache were as black as the night from which Rainsford had come. His eyes, too, were black and very bright. He had high cheek bones, a sharp-cut nose, a spare, dark face, the face of a man used to giving orders, the face of an aristocrat. Turning to the giant in uniform, the general made a sign. The giant put away his pistol, saluted, withdrew. – The Most Dangerous Game, Richard Connell

Although if I'm honest, right now my mental image of Lady Mowbray is "Audrey from To the Manor Born decides shooting her way back into the house is a socially acceptable move", and that is almost certainly not what they are going for here.

So if we're talking about stories, why is that relevant? Well, Lady Mowbray is fascinated by Celia.

Lady Mowbray My, we are an odd one, aren’t we? [She sniffs again, exhales.] Lady Mowbray And braver than we look. Celia (low, steady) You’re not allowed to be in here. Lady Mowbray I was invited. [The dogs’ growling intensifies.] Lady Mowbray A fine specimen… strong and… different… [Another inhale, exhale, slow] What is that…? – The Magnus Protocol: Well Run

And it is at least plausible, at the moment, that Celia herself is a character from a story. Specifically, she is a character from The Magnus Archives.

If she is that Celia, Lady Mowbray is right: she is indeed remarkable. She was one of only a handful of people to escape a torture chamber in a world run by eldritch gods, and live free. Granted, she had help, but that does not make her less unusual.

And if she is that Celia, that means she is also Lynne Hammond, a woman who was almost absurdly pragmatic about being haunted by a burning woman.

Lynne I mean… she burned me a bit. Martin Oh! Oh wow! Okay, er, like, are you okay? Did you – Lynne Oh. Martin Was there, was there a lot of damage? Are you – Is there…? Lynne No, no, no. It’s… er, just, just a few hairs. My right arm. I mean they, they’ve grown back. Martin Like, like a few hairs? So then… And then she disappeared and you…? Lynne I went back to sleep. [MARTIN GATHERS HIMSELF WITH A LONG INTAKE OF BREATH] Martin Right. Erm… And, well, then what happened? So, y’know, y’know, you’ve been burned by this, mys-mysterious ghost, so what did you do? Lynne I mean, I moved out. Martin And nothing… nothing since then? Lynne Well, no. I’ve, I’ve moved. – The Magnus Archives: I Guess You Had to Be There

In that case, Celia, like the caterer, has another identity she has left behind her. And while she is no killer (as far as we know), she is very much a survivor. I mean – what do you even do with that? The lady faced down a burning ghost and then went back to sleep.

Of course that's all speculation. Celia could be someone else entirely. But even if that is so, I think it is still true that she has left some life behind her.

Celia And before you ask, no, there’s no dad on the scene, not even sure who he is. I had a… couple of wild years after I moved here. It was a really weird time for me, but somehow I got lucky enough to come out of it all with him. – The Magnus Protocol: Futures

There's a story in all that – one she has not told all of yet. Lady Mowbray wants to hunt, sure, but her particular interest seems to be in bringing people's pasts back to haunt them.

But if the episode's case is directed at Celia, Alice is nevertheless the main character of this one.

There's a ... lot going on there, and it's almost hard to track which pieces fit with which others. There's a lot of watery imagery even before we get to the point of the matter: Luke's bands are called "Dredgerman" and "Penny for the Well", and the beer they order, Doom Bar, which is apparently real (I know nothing about beer except that it tastes revolting), draws its name from a treacherous sandbar that was apparently cursed by a pissed off mermaid.

The most obvious connection to all of this is Marked, although it's hard to tell if this is a power-themed manifestation (something is into drowning), or if this is more directly related to Ink5oul's tattoo-related grave robbery. Alice doesn't mention tattoos – not on her brother and not on the victim, but that's hardly conclusive as she clearly has other things on her mind.

None of that is what really interests me, though. I'm more interested in the meta level of how these stories are told. And there are two here, even if one is short and bleak: the tale of the caterer on the run, and the tale of the drowning victim's last gasp.

Because this goes back to the nature of stories again.

The first interesting thing is the tape recorder. Because the tape recorder is a choice. Alice is there, with her phone, and whoever is listening does not use that. It can use Alice's phone – it does in the scene with her brother – but just now it isn't recording Alice. It's recording the drowning victim, and Alice happens to be there. And for that, it pulls out a tape recorder. So why for this?

The second thing is the way the stories are told. Both narrators are astonishingly coherent, and this is especially true for the victim, who in theory had too much water in her lungs to even talk.

Now, obviously this is how these stories work. I believe at least some inspiration for the style was drawn from M R James, so there's nothing surprising in the use of that particular style, with a lot of incidental details included by the narrator to set the scene and build up to the horror over time.

However: a) not all stories in The Magnus Protocol are like that, with some taking a more fragmented format, as they're told through emails or forum posts and b) there was eventually an in universe explanation for why people in The Magnus Archives talked like that – the Archivist was able to draw out their stories.

There's no direct connection between the way the two characters tell their stories: the caterer seems to be using a tip-off line for a newspaper, and the drowning victim is talking to a tape recorder that shouldn't be there.

But both find a voice to tell their tale that they really should not have. Not in their current circumstances. You see it in Futures, as well: Darrien starts out with a completely expected angry customer rant. But after a little bit, he drops into that habit of telling his life's story, of all the context that brought him to this point. He was talking to a support line.

So ... it's the tech. That power that John had, and Gertrude before him, it's in the tech. And not just in one app or phone or spooky tape recorder. It seems to be in everything. And it's powerful enough that it can compel a dead woman to speak.

That's interesting.

[aurorawest]

Reading update

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers - 3.75/5 stars

I hate myself a little bit for using this word to describe this book, but it's a meditation on modern (western) culture, the drumbeat of living a purposeful life, and, imo, the millennial condition.

It also, separately from that, made me think of the song 'New Constellations' by Ryn Weaver: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13EX7qGdUGI

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

This book features Gareth Inglis, a member of the gentry whose father shipped him off to his uncle when his mother died. Gareth never saw or heard from his father (who remarried and had another child) again, and no one knew he existed because his father was a piece of human garbage. Which meant I couldn't stop thinking about my former father-in-law, who had two sons from his first marriage whom he, as far as I could tell, never had any contact with after remarrying and having another child. Life imitates art?

Anyway, it's KJ Charles, so you pretty much can't go wrong. I saw someone refer to this as enemies-to-lovers and realized my toxic trait is railing against people who want to apply enemies-to-lovers to everything. Spoiler alert, this is not enemies-to-lovers. But it is lovely, and includes Gareth and Joss Doomsday (a smuggler) bonding over beetles.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by SA Chakraborty - 4.5/5 stars

It was no Daevabad Trilogy, but then again, I remember finishing City of Brass and being like, yeah, it was fine, I'll probably pick up the sequel at some point. It wasn't until Kingdom of Copper that I grew to really love the series, so I'm hoping the same happens with this. This book was a lot of fun, and the fact that all the characters were middle-aged was pretty delightful. I'm definitely excited to see where this series goes.

The Long Run by James Acker - 5/5 stars

Excellent YA book about two lonely jocks in New Jersey.

Feel the Fire by Annabeth Albert - 3.75/5 stars

His Accidental Cowboy by AM Arthur - 4/5 stars

Brida by Paul Coelho - 1/5 stars

One of the reviews for this book on Storygraph says it 'aged like milk' and I can't put it better than that. This is a soul mate AU where souls undergo cell division, essentially, and your soul mate is from your same base soul from before the soul split in half. Okay, great. Oh but wait, the soul always divides into male and female. And your soul mate is always someone of the opposite sex, even though that doesn't make sense because as souls divide again and again, that means there are a lot of people out there who came from the same original soul as you. Also, witchcraft? Also also, even though the book is called Brida and is ostensibly about the title character, her whole journey was really just to serve the unnamed male character, the Magus. This isn't implicit either, it's completely explicit. At the end it's like, 'sometimes young women come along to show men the way' (I'm paraphrasing but...not much).

This went straight to my give away pile, and I hated it so much that the rest of my Coelho books joined it (except The Alchemist).

Enlightened by Joanna Chambers - 5/5 stars

Or, For The Love Of God Please Give David Lauriston And Murdo Balfour A Break, And Preferably A Happy Ending.

They got one, btw.

Song of Silver, Flame Like Night by Amélie Wen Zhao - DNF

Honestly, the Mad Libs YA title should have warned me off of this one, but I always give my Illumicrate books a try. Cartoonish villains and protagonists I find myself liking less the more we get to know them. The prose is quite good but not enough to make up for the character deficiencies.

Solomon's Crown by Natasha Siegel - 5/5 stars

Blurbed by no less than Tamora Pierce (Song of the Lioness supremacy!), Rainbow Rowell, Freya Marske, and CS Pacat. Did I go into this book with insanely high expectations? Yes. Did it mostly meet them? Yes! If you're a Captive Prince fan, this one's for you.

Siegel tells us up front, before the book even starts, that it's a romance and not historically accurate. So don't go into this expecting a historically accurate love story between King Richard of England and King Philip of France. It is, however, a gorgeous romance. The world-building is top notch. Even if it's not totally accurate to the High Middle Ages, it feels accurate, if that makes sense? Siegel really captures the feeling of being in a different world. Lush writing, amazing sexual/romantic tension, lovely sad boys. Highly, highly recommend.

Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots by Cat Sebastian - 4.75/5 stars

I docked .25 stars because it bugged me that they didn't move in together at the end. Idk, just felt too 'look, I'm subverting romance conventions!' Still good, obviously.

Like Real People Do by EL Massey - 4/5 stars

A very wholesome and low stakes hockey romance. I found myself often thinking that the interactions of the men on the hockey teams seemed unrealistic, but it was charming and sweet enough that I didn't care.

The book reads like fanfiction, which is because it was fanfiction—but it's in a mostly good way, not a bad way (*cough* All The Way Happy *cough*). Apparently the original version was Check, Please! fanfiction, which I am vaguely familiar with as a thing that exists. Apparently it's a web comic? Anyway, I enjoyed the book enough to pick up the sequel.

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 41 (New chapter sorting)

Summary: William Birkin completes the Beta strain of the T-virus. Oswell E. Spencer and Alexander Ashford sign their first commercial contract for the sale of biological weapons. Albert Wesker gathers enough information on the two Umbrella presidents.

I

Convulsion.

The creature's hands moved. The legs trembled. The eyes opened. The torso jerked and the creature sat up straight. Mouth open, oozing saliva and bile; rotten teeth protruding like fangs.

The creature kept its balance. Then it walked. One step. Two steps. Staggering as if drunk, to nowhere. It hit the wall. It raised its arms. It clawed at the concrete. Fingernails came loose from both hands.

A gate slid behind it. A dog. A Doberman. The Doberman barked in fright. The creature turned around. The Doberman, barricaded between the closed gate and the creature, bared its teeth. The creature did not back down. The Doberman stepped forward: it bit the creature on the leg. But the creature felt no pain. With the impact, it pounced on its prey.

The creature bit off a chunk of its snout. The Doberman whimpered and rolled over, but the creature held it in its immovable arms. It went for a foreleg. Food. The doberman, limp, fell to the ground. The creature preyed on the torso, peeling away layers of dermis until it reached the intestines. It ate most of the intestines. Satisfied, it rose again. It wandered in circles around the tiny cell.

Convulsion.

The Doberman's legs twitched.

Beta strain completed. The first fully functional biological weapon; a scientific prodigy. However, there was a handicap. Ten percent of the population was immune. 0% immunity had been mandated, but, for the moment, Beta was enough. His greatest success; his first great achievement.

Dr William Birkin.

The nameplate made him smile slyly. The PhD had been a cakewalk compared to his real job. A couple of years invested, and he was done. Doctor. Now he really felt like the chief researcher at Umbrella's top clandestine lab, like their top researcher. He already had two major projects under his command: the T-virus Beta project and the Cerberus project. Spencer had called him to congratulate him. Everyone trusted him. He was the best. But he didn't waste any time either. Spencer demanded that he solve the 10% problem and he came up with a new idea. A crazy idea, but in line with the research he had done.

The Hunter project.

Spencer called him back. A risky and expensive idea. But they made a deal: if he got results within a year, Spencer would increase the lab's funding.

Birkin agreed.

He would meet his boss's fiscal demands at all costs. He couldn't afford a single mistake, a single failure. And so, his former life faded with every sunrise over Arklay. Two years shy of coming of age, he had surpassed the expectations of the company's top brass and the rest of the scientists on staff, who were much older than him. He was euphoric and couldn't stop working flat out. Whether he was paid or not didn't matter to him as long as he achieved his goal: to rise to the top of the company's hierarchy; to sit at the executive table, even if he had to sacrifice his youth to do so.

II

A white dome of smoke had formed over Oswell's head. At times, instead of smoking, he seemed to be chewing his cigar with relish as he reviewed the supplementary papers to the main contract he had received from an unnamed Department of Defense agent. For his part, Alexander was silently sipping his third glass of Scotch. Their first massive sale of biological weapons to the Western military-industrial complex.

Oswell read diagonally through the eternal clauses set out in the supplementary papers like a list of meaningless legal fanfares. What was important was on the last page of the main contract: how much, how much money, how much to spend. Alexander asked Anthony Campbell, his cousin, to advise them on how to read and sign the contract. Oswell didn't want any surprises or backstabbing later. Fortunately, Anthony verified the integrity of the agreement. Now it was up to the two presidents.

And they had a problem. The bioweapons production model remained as defined by Edward Ashford and Oswell E. Spencer a few days before founding Umbrella, with both presidents responsible for an independent line of research. Although Spencer was neither a virologist nor a passionate scientist, he knew how to manage a company and its employees, while Edward was a virologist and knew how to manage research teams. Ultimately, it was established that both presidents would lord it over a portion of the company to accelerate the development of new projects and that the two lines would not overlap or saturate each other.

At first, until Edward's death, the idea seemed good. Then, with Alexander, Oswell chided himself for his naivety. The initial plan was forged on the basis of Edward's assumed experience and Marcus's greater commitment. But with Edward out of the picture, what remained was an underachieving Ashford junior, an anti-social Marcus and a Spencer on the verge of an anxiety attack over the fateful prospect of economic growth. Thatcher's fiscal policy had helped them to clean up the books, but they were still in the same rut and Spencer wanted to end it as soon as possible by unifying all lines of enquiry into one. He would not go to his grave with an absurd bankruptcy.

The point is that the fine thread on which his success hung was in the hands of the individual sitting opposite him. Alexander would not budge an inch, even though his line of enquiry was going down. Spencer tried to convince him, appealing to his father's memory, if necessary, but nothing. He had clung to the possibility that his beloved daughter, Alexia, would take up Edward's unfinished work to revive a line of enquiry deader than the pharaohs of the Lower Nile. And that was as far as it went. Oswell cursed the memory of all his ancestors from the 20th century to the kingdom of Scotland.

However, he calmed down and, on second thoughts, soon changed his attitude.

He gave in to Alexander's demand on one condition: that all the necessary resources be allocated to the Arklay laboratory, at least to fulfil the most immediate contracts. Alexander reluctantly agreed. Spencer assured him that his two chief researchers, one Birkin and one Wesker, would be sufficient for the delivery of the first full B.O.Ws package in the form of a couple of samples of the Beta strain and a squadron of Cerberus.

“What kind of war are we getting into?” Oswell mumbled.

“Afghanistan, maybe.”

“Hum. Fuck the Commies. Anyway. Shall we sign?”

Alexander put the glass away and pulled a gold pen from inside his jacket.

“We sign.”

III

Albert stored everything he had collected on the presidents of Umbrella in a file overflowing with printed sheets.

Oswell Ernest Spencer was a sexagenarian from the south of England, specifically, the county of Essex, where his country house, The Spencer Estate, was located. Only son of Abraham Spencer, 2nd Earl Spencer. Unmarried and childless. Known for his extravagant artistic sensibility and his love of hunting, which he practiced regularly on his Essex estate. Hereditary member of the House of Lords. Resident in the Principality of Luxembourg since the 1950s, where he built a replica of his ancestral home. Arklay's Spencer mansion was also inspired by his country house. In his youth he attended Eton College. Graduated from two university degrees in the United States. Affiliated with the Conservative Party. A staunch capitalist, as his very small public appearances made clear. Allegedly, Spencer was a member of the exclusive Harriett Club, made up of billionaires and other influential British personalities linked to politics, business, and the media. Outside of Umbrella and his other companies, knowledge of Spencer's private activities was negligible. He was generally regarded as a mysterious figure, unknown to the tabloids. Somewhat more information was available about his relatives, such as his cousin Beatrice Spencer, the current inhabitant of The Spencer Estate after her cousin's departure for Luxembourg.

Alexander Charles Johannes Arthur Duncan Ashford-Campbell-Douglas-Stuart was a Scots-Dutchman residing at Ashford Hall, Northumberland. He was the sixth Earl Ashford and the rightful heir to the late Stuart dynasty in the United Kingdom. Divorced with two children: Alfred, the heir, and Alexia, a child prodigy who started university at the age of seven. Known for his love of boxing and for participating in television talk shows. Affiliated with the Conservative Party and honorary fellow of the Royal Society[1]. Hereditary seat in the House of Lords. Most relevant: Grand Master or ‘head’ of Jacob's Circle, a little-known secret society which is attributed with a decisive occult power in British domestic and foreign policy.

Interesting, but insufficient. The data collection was not enough for him because his goal was not knowledge, but to infiltrate Umbrella's power networks. And to do that, he had to make contacts. Get to know other employees. He would not stay locked up in a lab for eternity. He had changed his mind about his destiny: he wanted to possess the Progenitor virus and make its limitless potential his own. He wanted to be more than just an employee, no matter how high his rank.

That was his desire.

[1] Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge.

[luvuomi]

an excerpt from my unnamed & heavily unfinished lyney fic:

Thin, frail hands reached out to grab hold of the brass knob that was cold to the touch, slowly twisting and pushing open the grand doors. Their deafening sound disrupts the unperturbed silence of the other room. At first, Lyney is hesitant to continue further in. The lack of human presence indirectly urged him to turn back and find Lynette.

However, as his curious eyes wander across the hall that appears to stretch on for what seemed like several miles, he unknowingly finds himself walking forward. The plush carpet below softening his footsteps as he gazes in awe at the room’s emanate opulence: pedestals where pristine ceramic vases sat upon holding flowers, modest paintings of pleasant fields or mountains of solitude, and the array of tall windows that filter in ample sunlight through draping curtains.

Though he walks a good distance away from such novel furnishings, he continues to remain careful for the unknown fear that he may accidentally knock something over. Forget damaging—he may as well leave a stain on this place with his own breath.

Wavering footsteps eventually recede to a halt as his eyes catch sight of a particular painting.

Gilded in gold, it depicts a woman elegantly sitting upon a throne. Her black gloved hands rest leisurely upon her lap, contrasting her straight and refined posture. Rose gold hair styled in a loose braid that falls seamlessly down her shoulder, complimenting her poised sea-green eyes. Though she displayed a cordial smile akin to that of a loving mother, something about her gaze unsettled Lyney. Like it held a glint of rancor that most would not perceive.

Stationed beside this painting, was another more distinguishable portrait. It portrayed yet another woman of equal eminence, if not more. But even at a mere glance, it was obvious she held more eccentricities about her. She sat upon the throne as though it were any other seat: one leg crossed over the other and cheek languidly resting upon her hand, further emphasizing her impartial demeanor. Layered black and white hair that extends almost down to her shoulders on one side and—her eyes.

They are not ones Lyney has ever seen before. Black as a moonless night with striking red pupils shaped like “X’s.” Compared to the previous woman, this one evidently held a more daunting presence, even within the confines of a painting. Yet despite such looming authority, something about her held more sincerity. For what exactly, Lyney has no clue.

All he knows is that should he ever come face to face with such a woman, he would undoubtedly take her words as they are, without question.

Gradually peeling his eyes away from the paintings, Lyney’s gaze then landed upon another item of interest, one that stood at the center of the room and that he’s surprisingly failed to notice until now—a grand piano.

Approaching the instrument, Lyney’s eyes examine its spotless condition. Free of any marks or scratches as his fingers gently grazed along the black and white keys before taking a seat. He plays one note, and then another, the soft sound managing to echo throughout the entire hall. He definitely shouldn’t be touching this, his mind tells him. Though his actions speak otherwise. Slowly positioning his hands on the keys, Lyney begins to play.

It’s a melancholic tune that plays, but one so cathartic it brings the world to a standstill. He was never one to find great enjoyment in playing such an instrument. Lynette had often told him to put such talents to greater use, perhaps performing in the grandest of stages like the Opera Epiclese, but Lyney never indulged those possibilities.

Such an opportunity should only be granted to those who have a true passion for playing a beautiful instrument like the piano. Not someone like him who only used it as a means to get by.

“What are you doing?” A stringent voice cuts through the somber melody, immediately making Lyney’s hands flinch away from the keys and head dart at the person standing a few feet away. Their expression mirrored their tone of voice: cold and apathetic. Had they been here this entire time?

Upon receiving no response, their eyes narrow at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Lyney!” He blurts out immediately, shooting up from his seat that almost knocks over the stool behind him. He winces a bit at the commotion he’s now caused. “I mean–my name. My name is Lyney…”

“...Lyney?” The person repeats, voice dripping with doubt and ready to suspect him of hiding his true identity. But then there’s a pause and Lyney watches as their face morphs from a look of ponder to a scowl before they speak again. “Oh. So you’re the one “Father” talked about bringing in.”

[astra-galaxie]

"The Flying Squad? Meraviglioso! I feared Chief Wright had not gotten my message about arriving a few days earlier!" - Argo Acquafredda

Biographical information

Full Name: Argo Ahohako Ka’uhane Acquafredda

Alias(es): 

Sirena(Siren in Italian)

Melodía (Melody in Spanish)

Tesoro (Treasure in Italian)

Pestisor (Little fish/fishy in Romanian)

Ahohako Ka’uhane (stage name)

Gender: Intersex (pronouns: he/him)

Sexuality: Gay

Status: Alive

Age: 25 (season 4)

Birth: December 22, 1865

Race: Siren(The Heart of The Ocean)

Nationality: Italian-Polynesian

Origin: Canto del Mare, Italy

Residence:

Concordia, USA

Rome, Italy (formerly)

Naples, Italy (formerly)

Canto del Mare, Italy (formerly)

Profession(s):

Detective

Singer

Family:

Santiano Adriatico (guardian/adoptive father)

Răzvan Negrescu (godfather/adoptive father)

Moana Acquafredda (mother) (deceased)

Moray Acquafredda (father) (deceased)

Unnamed grandfather(deceased)

Unnamed grandmother(deceased)

Partner(s):

Jason Nicchi (boyfriend)

Diego del Lobo (ex-boyfriend)

Affiliation(s):

Concordia Flying Squad

The Circus of Dreams

Profile

Height: 5'4"

Age: 25 (season 4)

Weight: 127lbs

Eyes: bronze

Blood: O-

Argo is a young, beautiful man of below-average height with a slender figure. He has very androgynous features, so much so that he can be mistaken for either gender. His sharp eyes resemble melted bronze, and his hair is black as night, made of soft, loose curls trimmed to just brush his shoulders, while his skin is a warm shade of honey brown.

Argo is intersex. Although his body appears and functions like a female body, it has a mix of chromosomes, with some cells containing XY (male) and others having XX (female). This is due to the blood samples from his mother and father used in his creation, so when his blood is tested, it can produce male or female results. He used to identify as a woman before the mixed chromosomes were discovered, and after testing out male pronouns, Argo felt he/him fit him better than she/her.

Under his clothes, he wears a special corset Răzvan designed for him that functions as a binder to make his chest appear flatter. It's breathable, soft, and comfortable (perks of having a fairy godfather). But while he dresses more masculinely in public, he prefers to be more relaxed and often wears dresses, skirts, and generally flowy clothing at home.

When working as a detective, he wears a black dress shirt with the top unbuttoned to expose his neck, a deep blue corset vest with lighter blue details and small bronze clasps down the front. His black pants are fitted but not tight, with the ends tucked into a pair of dark brown boots reaching just below his knees. Over it all, he wears an ocean-blue trench coat with bronze buttons. Brown leather arm guards are on his wrists to protect him when Caspian rests on his forearms/wrists. Lastly, he wears a black choker with a bronze nautilus shell pendant, small matching earrings, and goggles on the top of his head with elegant waves engraved into the metal surrounding the lenses.

Argo uses a pair of custom-made forearm crutches to assist in walking. They are made of brass-plated poles with copper handles and matching forearm cuffs. On the ends of the poles are copper covers with rubberized tips to stabilize when the crutches touch the ground. The poles are also carved with intricate wave engravings like the ones on Argo's goggles.

When disguised as Ahohako Ka’uhane, he wears a tight, deep blue mermaid-style dress that hugs his curves in all the right places and exposes his cleavage. The dress has a glittery fish scale pattern, and the flared skirt is multilayers in shades of blue to resemble a fishtail and hide his feet. He has a white fur shawl across his shoulders and a silver shell brooch pinned at the center of the dress’s top. He wears a necklace of pearls and blue gems, matching pearl bracelets and a silver crown made of shells, coral, and more blue gems. He also has glittery blue eye makeup, blue-coloured contacts and dark blue lipstick. Lastly, he has long black hair extensions with a section covering his right eye and deep blue streaks throughout the hair.

As per his suspect appearance in Curtain Kill, it is known that Argo plays a string instrument (he plays violin), knows La Traviata, and drinks wine.

As per his suspect appearance in The Greatest Murder, it is known that Argo is superstitious, eats popcorn, and knows how to ballroom dance.

Powers and Abilities

Argo is a Siren and the son of the Spirit of The Ocean, Moana.

Argo’s powers include, but are not limited to:

Hydrotelekinisis (Argo can control any form of liquid (such as water, drinks, blood and other fluids).)

Illusion creation (When singing, Argo can create illusions for the people who hear his song. Anyone captivated by his voice fully believes what they see is real, from lost loved ones to cherished friends.)

Hypnosis/Mind control (Like his illusions, Argo can control people through commands. He has to be careful when he’s not wearing his shell (which has a spell to neutralize his voice-based powers), as any order he gives will be followed. For example, when he told Diego to shut up during The Greatest Murder, Diego couldn't speak until Argo gave him a new order.)

Voice alteration/impersonation (Argo can change his voice to sound like others, right down to unique accents.)

Weather generation/manipulation (while his mother is the Spirit of The Ocean, some call him the Storm Spirit (which is what Ahohako Ka’uhane translates to).)

Ocean manipulation (Like his mother, Argo can control the tides and waves of the sea. He could turn the calmest waters into raging waves in an instant.)

Healing (Using water, Argo can heal minor injuries like burns and cuts.)

Other abilities Argo has, but is not limited to:

Immortality (since he is the Heart of The Ocean, Argo is immortal. So long as he receives love (family, romantic, or platonic), he can sustain his physical form. But when he's deprived of love, he gets sick, and his body starts shutting down. His power of immortality can be extended to others.)

Breathing underwater

Skilled swimmer (he can swim in any water and survive deep pressure and changing temperatures)

Talking to sea creatures

Water body (since Argo was created using water and sand as base elements for his body, he can change his physical body into water and move as fluidly as the liquid does. He can change shape and is immune to most attacks except fire. If he is attacked by fire while his body is in this state, it could destroy him. He can also change his appearance but always reverts to his original form.)

Transformation. Argo has a few forms, not just his Siren and human ones. His forms are:

Full siren (his original form)

Human (appears fully human)

Sea monster (his most terrifying form. He can grow to the size of a whale with scales covering his entire body, claws, fangs and glowing eyes. He could sink a ship with one strike.)

Half-siren/half-human (think like the sea people from Luca, but not as scaly.)

His scales are like armour; they can stop bullets and shatter blades

Likewise, his scales can glow, helping him see in dark waters

Other facts about Argo’s magic:

It is unknown whether Argo has a soul or not. Since his heart is The Heart of The Ocean, no one knows for sure if he has a soul that can move on to the afterlife if his body is destroyed or if he’d just cease to exist until the stone powers a new body. Even then, it's unknown if Argo would be the one who hosts the body or if a new persona would take over

When controlling the weather, glowing markings appear on Argo’s skin, and they resemble traditional Polynesian tattoos

As previously stated, the shell Argo wears helps neutralize his voice-based powers so he doesn't accidentally control people

Santiano and Răzvan taught Argo how to transform between his forms

He needs to transform back into a Siren and swim in the sea at least once a week, or else he’ll start to get sick

He regularly uses moisturizes as his skin dries out more quickly than humans

Sirens eat human flesh, and Argo is no exception to this rule. He can safely consume raw meat and blood, which actually helps him maintain his strength. He prefers to keep this a secret/avoids doing it even if it benefits him physically and mentally

When he lacks love to power him and starts growing sick, Argo’s scales, skin and hair gradually lose colour. They begin turning gray and white the weaker he gets

His eyes are bronze because of the second colour in The Heart of The Ocean, while his scales, fins, etc., are blue because of its primary colour

History

To be revealed during Murders of The Past

Events of Criminal Case

Season 4

To be revealed during Murders of The Past

Organization(s)

Concordian Flying Squad

Rank: Detective

Story Information

First appeared: Welcome to Concordia!

Trivia

Argo suffers from Mal de Debarquement, also called "landing sickness," a rare disease which results in a near-constant feeling of motion, even when sitting or standing still. Think of the feeling of standing on a boat rocking in the waves; the rocking or bobbing movement Argo experiences is similar. It also results in a sense of imbalance and vertigo, among other symptoms that he suffers from. Argo has good days and bad ones where his symptoms are better or worse, respectively

He uses his crutches to help keep his balance while walking and standing still

While he can run, he'll only do so if necessary or if someone is with him and can stop him from running into anything or falling over

Despite his condition, Argo loves sailing; he used to sail every chance he got while living in Italy

He talks with his hands like many Italians do. It becomes more animated if he doesn't have his crutches to limit certain movements

He's a musician and singer. He doesn't often perform for others, but those who have heard him will say he's amazing

He's left-handed

He loves the ocean and everything about it. Fish, waves, seashells, beaches… If it's related to the ocean, he loves it

Likewise, he LOVES swimming. Whether for pleasure or sport, he enjoys soaking in the waves

Gallery

Argo's Siren form:

Close-up of his face in his Siren form using the CC edit I made for Argo:

Argo’s siren form features:

The birthmark on his chest resembles the markings on The Heart of The Ocean. It's the only giveaway that The Heart is his heart, but people need to recognize the makings to know this, and few people know what The Heart of The Ocean looks like (he can make the birthmark temporarily disappear for his safety. Some details are missing in his human form, and the birthmark resembles a simple wave. It’s slightly darker than the rest of his skin and can easily be covered by makeup)

Gills on his neck to let him breathe underwater. They close when above water to allow him to breathe air

Webbing between his fingers helps with swimming. His nails are also sharp, nearly claw-like

Fins on his arms and tail also assist with swimming

His tail fin has a thin overlay that's more decorative rather than assistive with anything

His ears are finned to protect his eardrums while swimming and diving

Scales cover his torso and chest. He does wear a fitted dark blue, sleeveless top for modesty, but the scales cover him, too

The black sections of his hair turn dark blue. Upon first glance, people might think they’re black, but in the right light, it's obvious they’re dark blue

He has scales framing his eyes to help protect them

His lips are tinted blue, like natural lipstick

The Heart of The Ocean:

Its abilities:

It grants people immortality

It can heal any injuries and illnesses. It can even regenerate lost limbs and organs

It allows people to control the ocean and weather

It grants safe passage across the sea

It opens the gateway to the Infinite Ocean, the place where all oceans originate from/are connected by

The holder must give The Heart the love it needs to be gifted with its power; its power cannot be taken by force

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames Mega Anime Avatar Creator! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad) Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad) Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad) Murders of The Past (Ao3/Wattpad)

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Orpheus (Gavin Basil King)

A rival to both his cousin Conner Hawke and his childhood friend Duke Thomas, Gavin’s father was one of John King’s illegitimate children, while his mother was the daughter of Axel Brass (better known as Doc Savage). Originally trained as dancer, he combined his dancing with martial arts and a high tech suit to become the celebrity vigilante Orpheus. His singing career was cut short when Black Mask slit his throat, though he was quickly rescued by his benefactor: Manhunter, Agent of Leviathan, the creators of the Orpheus suit.

Notes: I've wanted to do Orpheus for a while, but couldn't really crack him. Connecting him to both John King and Axel Brass is admittedly a pretty big reach, but the surnames match up (Basil Brass was a pseudonym Gavin used once, idk) and part of Gavin's lack of irl staying power was his disconnection from the wider DCU, so.

The Leviathan thing is a reference to the Legends crossover, where a supporting character in pretty much every DC book at the time was revealed to be a Manhunter agent (including Wally's dad). I just combined that with the unnamed secret society that gave Gavin the Orpheus suit in the first place.

[arab-character-of-the-day]

Character of the day is the unnamed protagonist of the first-person "City of Brass" videogame.

[metamelonisle]

the scp foundation sends 1000 unnamed highly seasoned agents to apprehend rosie and predictably they almost immediately and anticlimatically have her dead to rights because while she's powerful he generally never has enough charge to plow through an entire army, let alone an army of soldiers far above even the us military's top brass