#chosen: draven

[welcometomeloxia]

[kwistowee]

The Crow (2024) remake: Hi— Me about Brandon Lee and The Crow (1994):

[tildeathiwillwrite]

What's your favorite trope to write?

Ooooooo I had to think long and hard about this one.

I think my top three general tropes are amnesia, protagonist in fantasy story is just Some Guy, and interdimensional travel (I call it Jumping or Traveling).

Amnesia is just so fun because the character used to be somebody, and they have evidence of that somebody through people who used to know them or items they owned. But they have to rediscover that person and the journey fundamentally changes who they are.

Draven is a prime example of Some Guy in a fantasy story. I've never been the biggest fan of the chosen one trope where it's played as "the protagonist has super special powers and they must defeat this ancient evil or whatever". I still like giving my main characters powers but when they aren't special it becomes more like "well this is messed up, someone has to deal with this so I guess it's gonna be me". And when that character doesn't have powers, it becomes a case of "I may not be able to do everything you magic people can but I'm just as capable with or without this gun".

And then interdimensional travel is fun because I can explain why I decided to stick Octavian and Draven in The Legend of Orian Goldeneye when they are from a completely different planet.

For whump tropes my favorite is immortal whump, because there's so much more I can do to an immortal victim that I can't with a normal whumpee, since I prefer realistic whump alongside magic whump. I also like the used as bait trope, sickfics, etc.

[miwtual]

pros of being a goth who watches smosh: the crow (1996) mentioned cons of being goth who watches smosh: no one at the table remembers anything from the crow (1996)

[indigo-casson]

something that i've been thinking about lately is the parallels between star wars: andor/rogue one and tamora pierce's trickster's queen duology. primarily because the star wars brainrot is real and the tamora pierce obsession is forever, but also because they are kind of both tonal and thematic departures from their main 'verses in some similar ways?

in both the star wars verse and the tortall verse, the majority of the media has focused on one individual (or a small group of individuals) who make a profound difference in the world. Whether that's alanna singlehandedly finding the dominion jewel/becoming king's champion/making way for female knights, or luke skywalker blowing up the death star, or daine and numair going to the divine realms during the immortals war, or anakin skywalker becoming a sith and dooming the republic, most of the original material has seen battle and political change as something that is affected by either an actual chosen one or simply a single very plucky and well-placed individual.

trickster's queen and andor, however, really look at rebellion as something that has to be done by a diverse group of flawed people who work together despite their differences. mon mothma knows that her role is raising money. ulasim, chenaol, and the other members of the raka conspiracy each take their individual roles in the rebellion, and recognize that even though they might not want to work with aly or the luarin nobility, they need their skills and influence to make it happen.

both stories also show rebellion as extremely costly and something that requires making tough calls. nobody has their hands clean by the end of a civil war. notably, trickster's queen explicitly narrowly avoids having the protagonists kill a group of 5 year olds. luthen is ready to kill cassian when he becomes a liability, and cassian does kill lots of people, including some allies whose only "crime" is being susceptible to giving up rebellion secrets.

in rogue one, we don't like davits draven because he orders jyn's father killed, and that just feels wrong. jyn is our heroine and it upsets her, so emotionally it's distressing. but of course, draven and cassian and jyn are all working towards the same goal. draven did what he had to--galen erso is a liability as long as he's alive. dove and sarai's little brother elsren has to die because he's a direct heir to the throne, ahead of his sisters. it doesn't matter that he's five and totally innocent. as long as he lives, a luarin has a greater claim to the throne than a raka, and as long as that's true, the rebellion can't succeed.

in the star wars original trilogy, people for sure die! i'm not trying to say that they don't, but it's definitely not something that's shown affecting our protagonists on a deep, emotional level. they're all side characters, or else they come back as force ghosts. the prequels are uh. fucking tragic, but at the end of it, almost all of our heroes make it out. even the casualties of the war are droids vs clones, which is to say, totally interchangeable cannon fodder on both sides!

the number of character deaths in the tortall 'verse is fewer, probably because it's primarily created for middle grades, but even when people do die, they're either demonstrably bad people or minor enough characters that the emotional resonance isn't the same.

by contrast, at the end of trickster's queen, almost the majority of the main conspirators die in battle, not to mention those who don't even make it to the final conflict. at the end of rogue one, all of our heroes are dead, and people aren't exactly making it out of andor s1 in good shape either. more than half of the aldhani team dies on that mission.

I could go on further, but I think my main takeaway is that once you've invested a lot of time and attention and fandom into a 'verse, you have a lot more leeway to tell different kinds of stories. tamora pierce could not have written trickster's choice until after the values and world of tortall were so clearly established, and if she had, it wouldn't have had the impact that it did. similarly, part of what makes rogue one/andor so striking is the fact that it is such a departure from the preexisting values and story format of star wars.

for every chosen one we see in media, there are hundreds of people working behind the scenes to make their big, death star destroying moment possible. the only way to improve society is through collective action, and part of that is that everyone's hands are going to get dirty. i think lots of people want to imagine that they could be like luke skywalker and swoop in 2 weeks before the battle of yavin and become a hero, but the fact of the matter is that that's not how the world works! war requires us to do things that would ordinarily go against our values, but in the context of a drawn out, bloody, thankless battle, maybe we decide the ends justify the means.

[1-800-cr33py]

omg we need more eric draven!! Ur writing is AMAZING

A/N: ask and you shall receive ^.^

Outside the Window

Cold fingers traced the small of your back as silence hung within the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. It was comfortable though, the silence, the feeling of his skin against yours, no matter the chills it brought along with it. Eric lay beneath you, just as content as you, puffing at a half-smoke cigarette. His makeup was smeared, his hair was wet, and he smelt of rain and smog, but he was here, with you; that's all you could ask for. You both were content living this way, happy to simply exist within the same space and not worry about anything or anyone, not anymore.

The seemingly perpetual rain fell just outside the window. Sometimes, you'd see if you could count them, which was impossible to this day; you'd gotten to 794 last time, someone you doubted you'd be able to do again. Eric had been lingering all day, humming broken tunes and nibbling the end of a pencil, hastily scratching down lyrics. You'd what from the perch you'd chosen, a hot mug held close to you as you smiled, simply watching. Eric liked watching you too. He enjoyed watching you sleep, eat, hell, even breathe. It was what made you human, something he longed for now that he'd lost his own mortality not long ago. He adored the things that made people human now that he could notice them. Their individuality, their uniqueness. It was all that he longed for, seeing as now he wasn't quite human anymore, but you were. He loved watching you age, watching you grow as he couldn't anymore.

But he could love you like he could, and that's all that really mattered in your heart. Because outside the window was cold. Outside the window was meanness, cruelty, and hatred. Outside the window, there wasn't him or the life you built together.

[trianna-phoenix]

So imagine with me.

Thorin survives (because I said so ) but to be crowned king he must have a consort, one is quickly chosen for him and they are wed. Bilbo watches from the sidelines.

Bilbo stays to help rebuild and counsel thorin, however a new drawf comes along, one that wishes to court Bilbo

So we’ve got:

A VERY happy Draven lady recently crowned Queen, sleeping in the same bed as THE thorin oakinsheild and in a castle loaded with gold

A very sleep deprived king, trying his hardest not to stare at a certain hobbit everytime they’re in the same space and to focus on his oh so important kingly duties

A Nobel drawf recently added to the kings circle and noticing something pretty

And a very depressed hobbit being followed by an unwanted and at times creepy suitor, being forced to watch as another gets all lovey dovey with HIS king

(Bonus points if Thorin notices this unwanted suitor and has to “step” in”

May haps 🙂‍↕️

[darkintrinsic]

Love In The Dark | Eric Draven (chapter I)

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Eric Draven X Czar Roxy.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. This was not how he imagined his own end. Eric and Roxy were destined for each other like the mission of the sun rising the next day. Cursed be he who wrote this prophecy.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). Inappropriate language, explicit sex, use and mention of illegal and legal drugs, physical and mental abuse, mental illness, delirium, graphic violence and parental abandonment.

This story does not fully follow the plot of The Crown, even though Eric Draven is the protagonist. Everything is purely fictional. Have fun.

Meeting someone like him felt like a safe haven considering the hell she’d been inserted into over the last few days. Filthy men, the sharp noise of screams and the creaking of gates, disgusting food, and the constant sensation of being surrounded by wolves demanded twice her attention.

It wasn’t as if she weren’t accustomed to fighting for her own life since she’d been spat out into this world, but each day seemed to reveal how things could become even worse. Like a test measuring her capacity to keep breathing.

"Lunch time," the guard announced curtly after opening the gate, interrupting her daily session of reflection. "Be quick, or you’ll miss your meal."

As if missing a meal in that place were a big deal.

Her feet slipped into the worn-out slippers as her body aligned on the bed. It was impossible to hold back an exhausted sigh while she dragged herself along the path to the cafeteria.

The other inmates were serving themselves while others ate at their tables. Last night’s session had left her slower than usual, and the cafeteria noises echoed in her ears with a slight delay. The drugs they pumped into her veins without her permission at short intervals kept her more dazed than any sober day she had spent on the street.

Lerry, locked up here after beating his mother in exchange for money to smoke, ate like an animal, letting sauce and noodles drip from the corners of his mouth. The disturbing sight, combined with the sound of his chewing, clenched her stomach. Spencer, thrown in here since he was thirteen because his parents claimed there was something wrong with him for not wanting to go to church, was so inert that he’d fallen headfirst into his plate of spaghetti.

He had certainly raided the pharmacy the previous night.

After taking two portions of pasta and three meatballs, she chose to sit at the last table in the row—it was empty and would certainly spare her from any human interaction.

She wasn’t hungry, though she didn’t know if it was a side effect of the crap they gave her or if she was just tired of having to swallow that gross thing passed off as old food. When she was on the street, the place she had always considered her home, anything she could find to eat during the day had, without a doubt, an infinitely better taste.

Her fingers trembled as she held the fork; it had been over a year, and she still experienced withdrawal effects, which was common when she hadn’t been truly clean for more than six years. Everything around her was uninteresting—every day, she saw the same faces, ate the same food, showered in the same place, and then pretended she could sit still in a group meeting with other addicts even worse than herself.

Some might say this had been her best choice.

But she had never chosen to be here.

A movement at the table in front of her made her lift her eyes, which had been focused on her food. Disguising things was not her strong suit, and it was hard to look away from the man who had sat across from her, especially since he also fixed his two large green eyes on her. He had a full plate of pasta cooling on the table, as if, for a few seconds, he’d forgotten where he was.

She had received many looks in her life; men desired her, even without her genuine interest, looking at her like a piece of meat that just happened to talk. But this gaze felt different. His expression was gentle, with light circles under his eyes, long lashes, and a distinct haircut. He seemed entirely unlike anyone she’d ever seen in this place.

He was handsome.

If she was seeing clearly, she’d say a subtle smile had played on his lips before he went back to twisting his fork through his plate.

Could it be that this man had smiled at her? This question crept into her subconscious, because, in her mind, there was no sense in anyone doing that unless they meant to mock her. She wasn’t remotely attractive—her hair was messy from a lack of products to care for it, her face surely worn, and the clinic uniform covering her body somehow managed to make it all worse.

Thinking about it sent a wave of discomfort through her. She had no desire to catch the attention of any man here; she knew they were all dangerous and were just waiting for the slightest slip to pounce on her with the excuse that she’d "asked for it."

"Consultation in six minutes." The guard’s voice interrupted her thoughts once again, and this time, she was grateful for it—she didn’t want to waste energy thinking about that guy.

"As you can see, I haven’t finished eating." Her response was short and curt, without looking at him directly, but her tone made her feelings clear.

"Well, you had time to eat, and you didn’t, so it’s on you. Now go to the consultation and don’t make me drag you there. Remember how it went last time."

She swallowed his words dryly and pulled her sleeve down to cover the marks on her wrist. Pushing her food to the center of the table, she stood up and noticed from the corner of her eye that the man was still staring at her as she moved away with the guard.

Another smile escaped his lips, almost hidden by his fork, but this time, her heart raced at seeing it so close.

"How have you been feeling in the past few days?" Dr. Reigh asked from behind her glasses, holding a notepad with notes about the patient's current condition.

He was distracted with a Rubik's cube, twisting it in his fingers in an attempt to align all the colors. He didn’t feel like talking to her, knowing that any answer he gave would be twisted to make the next few hours as unbearable as possible.

"I remember the last time we spoke, you mentioned that you were having trouble eating. Is that still happening?"

"No." He lied flatly.

"The report indicates that you have been eating poorly for several days. There may be a lapse in our communication, and perhaps you’re starting to hide some facts during the sessions?"

Her calm voice irritated a sensitive part of his head. He didn’t care what she thought of him, but he had to prevent anything negative from being written on that paper.

He knew what happened when she concluded that he needed "help."

"I’m sick of the food here, but that would be resolved if I were discharged and could live like a human out there."

"I understand. It’s been a year since you’ve been with us, but there are things that are hard to adjust to. I would like to remind you that, in society, you also didn’t care about eating, as the drugs took away your appetite. Doesn’t that seem like a somewhat convenient excuse?"

She was doing it again.

"The report says you were involved in an altercation yesterday. Would you like to discuss that?"

"It doesn’t matter what I say; you only care about what’s written on that damn paper!" The words slipped out with a roughness typical of his tone. If he were looking at that bitch right now, his eyes would be burning with hatred, and she would be on fire.

"Please, it would be helpful if you could calm down so we can keep the level of this conversation."

As difficult as it was to admit, she was right.

"The report says you accused another resident of trying to assault you during the night."

"Your report says it all."

"But the guard who wrote your report doesn’t know you like I do, does he?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as he caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. "The guard isn’t aware of your ability to distort scenarios when you’re in crisis."

"It wasn’t just in my head!"

He tried to keep his tone as firm as possible, his body betraying him with a painful noise as tears lodged in his throat. Any memory of the previous night felt like torture, just like every moment spent in this place.

"Your room was locked in the morning. How do you explain that?"

"Why couldn’t it have been someone with a key?"

"So now you’re accusing a state-trained public servant of doing something like that to you? Do you understand the seriousness of what you’re insinuating?"

"I’m saying that someone entered my room and touched me without my consent, and instead of being concerned, you’re treating me like I’m crazy!" This time, he couldn’t hold back and let the cube drop onto the table. His face flushed with rage, and the intense look he shot at her seemed to say enough, as if he was about to claw Dr. Reigh’s face off with his nails. "You’re not interested in hearing me; you just want me to say something that clears your friends, don’t you?"

"You’re getting agitated."

"No, I’m not agitated!"

"I’m going to ask for you to be medicated after this session so you can feel better."

He shook his head countless times, his eyes misty. Nervous sweat dampened his palms, and his skin trembled at the thought of being taken to the medication room. He didn’t want that, not again.

It wasn’t his fault.

"No. Please." He pleaded, almost in a whisper, but Dr. Reigh had already finished writing on her paper.

"I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time, dear."

"NO. NO. NO. PLEASE, NO!" he shouted louder, feeling the guards’ hands tighten around his thin arms.

His scream rose with tears as he struggled, kicking his feet against the floor as they dragged him away. The corridor was long and empty, all the others locked in their rooms, hearing him scream as he dragged the heels of his sneakers across the floor.

"PLEASE, PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE! PLEASE, NO!"

His voice, broken and pleading, sounded just like when he was a child, every time his mother locked him in his room to entertain her latest boyfriend. She didn’t want to hear his voice; she didn’t want him wandering around the house. She didn’t want anyone to know he existed.

They didn’t either.

When they threw him into the cold chair, he grunted against the tight straps bound around his waist, arms, and legs. His tear-filled, frantic eyes continued darting around, desperate to see what they would do to him.

A great regret for saying anything during the session grew in his mind—there was no point in talking, ever. They were all the same.

The sensation of gel touching his temples startled him, but it didn’t take long for a piercing scream to escape his throat as an electric current burned through his brain. The smell of burning hung in the air, and a wave of noise reverberated in his ears, drowning out the sounds in the room.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

They burned his head with shocks even stronger than the previous ones, believing this was the salvation for disturbed minds. His breathing was shallow, his eyes wide, and his body numb, unable to feel anything but muscle spasms as he was wheeled back to his room.

The guard lifted him from the wheelchair and left him sitting on the floor. He didn’t even place him on the bed to recover properly.

Little by little, they were achieving their goal, damaging minds until they became little more than breathing jelly. His memories weren’t the same since the first session; they were broken and crackled like an old TV when he tried to access them.

He was no longer himself.

A small yellow slip slid through the narrow gap in the door. With sluggish, foggy movements, he turned it over with his finger and forced his eyes to read what was written.

I saved my jelly for you. Sorry for this. E.D.

[pupsmailbox]

do you have any names similar to these? it doesnt have to be all of them, but mainly Edgar, Pierce, Rigorre and Grimm. ive been looking around for some and this'll be great help :)!

Edgar, Grimm, Rigorre, Cain(e), Ozzy/Ozul, Onyx, Dice, Throne, Viper, Vesper, Heron, Nyx, Spector, Harker, Talyn, Dorian, Pierce

some might be closed so make sure to do your own research !! I tried to do most of them but I couldnt find them all / some were filled with closed names!

EDGAR︰ adler. albert. alexander. alfred. alice. archibald. arthur. atlas. august. barnabas. beatrice. benjamin. charles. charlotte. clarence. dior. eddie. eder. edmund. eduard. edward. edwin. edyn. eleanor. elijah. elmer. ember. emerson. emmett. ernest. esther. eugene. evelyn. everett. ezra. felix. ferdinand. finn. franklin. gilbert. harold. harper. hector. henry. humphrey. iris. irving. isaac. jack. jagger. james. jasper. leo. leonard. leopold. noah. oliver. oscar. penelope. rowan. rupert. sebastian. silas. theo. theodore. tiger. vincent. violet. walter. william.

GRIM(M)︰ august. axel. brennon. charlie. dax. dean. declan. delilah. demetri. enver. evangeline. ezra. felicity. finn. foster. fox. gaerwn. garan. garima. garin. garran. garren. garron. geranium. gereon. gerianne. germain. germaine. german. geronimo. gerwin. gianni. giovanni. gordon. goren. graeme. graham. grainne. gram. grannia. granny. green. greyden. grian. griffin. grina. gurnam. gwern. iris. joaquin. jude. kevin. kyra. leah. loki. millie. parker. rain. rogue. sage. silas. spencer. tristan. viktor.

CAINE(E)︰ abel. aidan. aiden. aleks. amelia. amory. andreas. aries. asher. aurora. ava. axel. azriel. bane. bartholomew. bonanza. cade. caden. cael. caiden. cain. caine. cale. caleb. cam. camden. cameo. cammie. camo. cana. canaan. canan. cane. cannan. cano. canyon. carter. case. casey. cash. cassim. cato. cawny. cayden. cayman. ceanna. ceona. chahna. chaim. chan. chana. chance. chaniya. charlotte. chase. chayan. chazmyne. chen. chesmu. chesna. cheyenne. cheyne. chiazam. chima. chimene. chin. china. chione. chosen. chukwuma. chumani. chyna. chynna. cian. cinna. cinnamon. cluny. cohen. cole. conn. connie. conway. cosmo. coyne. craig. cuan. cuno. cwen. côme. d'arcy. dane. dash. declan. dewitt. duran. edelynn. elijah. enoch. evelyn. gabriel. gage. gardeenia. genevieve. grayson. gwendelyn. gyles. hadrian. hesh. iain. icarus. jane. jermyn. kace. kade. kaelynn. kaidan. kaiden. kailyn. kain. kaine. kale. kane. kate. kaydin. kaydon. kayne. kedar. ken. knox. koen. lane. layne. liam. liliela. loch. lucifer. lucy. mattheo. nicollette. raiden. rayne. roddy. romilda. ryder. sawyl. scarlett. shane. thane. tyre. violet. wayne. zain. zaine. zane. zayne.

OZZY / ONYX︰ adi. archie. aria. arlo. asher. aspen. atlas. aurora. autumn. avi. axel. beck. bijoux. blade. bodie. bowie. caelum. cora. cy. daisy. davi. declan. draco. dune. echo. elton. elvis. ember. ezra. ezri. falcon. finn. fleet. garnet. gavin. genevieve. harper. hazel. imre. indigo. ivy. jade. jagger. jasper. jem. jet. jinx. johnny. joplin. josiah. joziah. kai. kaiya. kano. karter. kavi. khari. knox. lennox. leo. luca. luna. lynx. mac. maddox. mazi. mercury. millie. milo. morrissey. neptune. night. nirvana. nixie. nova. nyx. oak. oakes. ocean. ocheckka. ochoa. ohanzee. ojai. ojas. oke. oki. oliver. omega. onika. onix. onnika. onnix. onyekachukwu. onyx. ooko. oonagh. opal. opaline. orion. oscar. oscosh. oshae. osias. osiris. ossie. otto. owen. oyku. oz. ozzie. penelope. penny. peridot. phoenix. quinn. quint. rami. raven. ravi. remi. reno. river. rocky. roux. rowan. sage. salem. santana. sebastian. silas. sophie. storm. sunny. theo. topaz. uziel. violet. willow. wren. wyatt. zaki. zephyr. zeppelin. ziggy.

VESPER / VIPER︰ ace. aeron. akiva. antares. apollo. arcana. archer. asher. atlas. atticus. aurora. calista. callaway. cardin. cash. cason. chai. chancellor. charlotte. cora. cordovan. coriander. corisande. cruz. denarius. draven. elaina. elixir. elowen. elyse. ember. enfys. evangeline. felix. ferelith. finn. genesis. glade. hadley. halcyon. harbor. hazel. ivy. jaguar. journey. kaemon. kailo. kanon. katia. koa. kobe. kodiak. lainey. lazare. legacy. luna. lyra. magic. majesty. mystique. nora. obsidian. ocasio. oceane. oliver. opaline. ophelia. pax. peregrine. phaedra. phoenix. piper. quinn. rasmus. regulus. reverie. rohmer. rowyn. royce. rule. sage. salome. scarlett. sebastian. shyla. silas. sorcha. summer. tatiana. thorin. titan. vale. vallis. vance. varro. vega. velvette. vera. verity. vesper. vespera. violet. viper. von. vyra. wren. xavier. yvaine. zander. zephyr.

DORIAN︰ adrian. adrien. ambrose. amelia. andrea. appoline. arian. armani. asher. audrey. aurora. basil. benno. bloom. cassius. charlotte. cornelius. damian. damien. dante. darcy. darena. darian. dariana. darien. darin. darina. darion. darius. darren. darrin. darrion. darwin. daryan. datherine. davian. davion. dawson. dayaram. declan. derion. deron. derron. derwyn. dharma. dhiren. dominic. doreen. dorin. dorona. dorsey. dreama. dren. drian. duran. durham. durin. emrys. ethan. evander. evelyn. evleen. ezra. florian. gabriel. gilda. gordon. hadrian. heidy. jackie. jordan. julian. korbin. leander. liam. lorcan. lowri. lucian. lysander. marian. marion. mars. morgan. muse. naoma. oberon. oliver. orion. pallas. penelope. peregrine. quianna. rian. sebastian. shawnee. soren. theodore. tori. umber. violet. warren.

PIERCE︰ asher. audrey. ava. beckett. bennett. brooks. callan. charlotte. claire. cole. colton. dean. emerson. emmett. eros. everett. finn. fisher. fitz. flint. foster. gavin. grant. grayson. harper. harrison. hawk. hazel. heath. henry. hiro. hudson. ivy. jack. james. kane. kyra. landon. leo. liam. mason. miles. miller. mira. noah. oliver. olivia. owen. pace. paprika. paras. paresh. paricia. paris. parish. park. parker. parks. pauric. pearce. pearson. peers. percy. perez. perga. perris. perry. perseus. persia. persis. piers. pierson. piroj. porsche. powers. prakash. prayaksh. precia. preciosa. precious. price. prince. prisca. prissy. pryce. pyrrhus. quinn. reese. reeve. reid. rhett. ridge. rowan. sawyer. scarlett. sirius. slater. spencer. theo. theodore. vince. violet. wren. wyatt.

[riverofjazzsims]

Draven Goodfellow for @awkwardwhims Yearn for Fern BC

Draven Goodfellow, 30, grew up on the outskirts of Strangerville in a small boys home and raised by a rather odd woman that made them call her The Mother. Draven was in and out of trouble, along with the rest of the boys in the group home, procuring special items The Mother had them collect. When Draven was 13 his life changed when a Man showed up at The Mothers door step and claimed to be Draven's father. Seems his birth mother had never told his father she was pregnant and it wasn't until the man came back to Strangerville that he found out from an old friend that Draven's mom had been pregnant right around the time he left Town and joined the Globetrotter initiative to travel.

Draven and his father traveled all over, and it was during his time in his late teens when they lived in villages of Selvadorada that he was introduced to the art of Tattooing. The story that went along with each black line creating beautiful, meaningful and permanent works of art on people called to Draven. When the time came for him and his father to move on Draven asked to continue to stay behind to learn more about the history and the techniques that the Selvadoradian people used. Over a decade later Draven is a well known traveling Tattooist that specializes in blackwork and tribal linework.

He enjoys his time and the people he has met along the way but in the last few years has been craving a permanent attachment to someone that will love the travel, and discovery he continues to have right beside him. Someone willing to share their lives, joys ups and downs, someone that he tattoo his love into their hearts and vice versa

Draven loves the outdoor, has an affinity to cats and the secrets they hold, he comes across as this big aloof guy but is lowkey such a goofball with the right people. His super creative mind keeps him always on a project but because of that chaotic creativity Draven is a #1 slob. Just love him though it ya'll

Available for Private DL if chosen

[koifxshiee]

Can i learn more about Dr.Koifish lore?

Dr. ----- Koifish ( Chosen alias to hide his real identity ) He's a level 5 researcher that works in dissecting corpses of fallen D-Class and SCP's in the morgue ( Which is located in the basement of Site-19! )

He has a massive crush on his Director Alto Clef and has a daughter who isn't allowed to be known to the rest of the facility! He is currently 28 years old and is Pan / Poly!

He draws animals, trees and SCP's ( that are allowed to be drawn ) in his free time and is close friends with a bunch of my friends SCP OC's as well as Kondraki, Draven, Talloran and ( begrudgingly ) Bright!

He was forced to become part of the SCP foundation because of his 'daughters' existence.

[welcometomeloxia]

[kwistowee]

“What really drew me to it was what Rupert Sanders wanted to do with it. He wanted to completely reimagine the story and the character and tailor it towards a modern audience.” - Bill Skarsgård about The Crow remake x

Then it's not 'The Crow', is it?! Get out of here with your Pete Davidson meets Jared Leto's Joker, wannabe Constantine crap. Tell me you completely missed the point of the original without telling me you completely missed the point of the original. The Crow (1994) honored the spirit and intent of the graphic novels, rather than reimagining them.

The original was simultaneously over the top and exquisitely subtle, the character development was brilliant, and the writing was spectacular. There are no substitutions for the 1994 original, no I will not be taking any questions.

[slaaneshwrites]

«𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭»: 𝐍𝐨𝐱𝐮𝐬 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐩𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭:

Darius doesn't quite understand the reason for joy. He looks at you with some disbelief. It remains amazing to him how enthusiastically his summoner tries to maintain his excitement and zeal, even despite the obvious and stupid mistakes that sometimes lead the Hand of Noxus to death. Over time, a man realizes that your plan of exceptional approval has a positive effect on him. Suspicion turns to gratitude, a frown gives way to a smile.

Draven initially takes all the warm words for granted. He is the incredible and unsurpassed executioner of Noxus! How can you, the happiest of the summoners, NOT MAKE such joyful eyes and NOT UTTER an ode in his honor? The more approval he gets, the louder his arrogant laughter and the fiercer the swinging of the axes.

Kled's behavior will first force him to make a couple of strange and not entirely understandable threatening phrases at you, but after several successful exits into the gorge, Yordl's positive attitude will make him smile stupidly more and more often, shout motivational slogans and spur poor Scarl. He will hardly be able to tell you intelligibly how much he likes praise, but everything will be clear from his behavior anyway.

Swain understands perfectly well who you are and why you are so eager to support him. A man is restrained, well-mannered and knows about his powers and abilities without outsiders, but who in their right mind would refuse to have such kind words spoken to him? The Supreme commander does not mind taking compliments from you, but do not turn into outright fanaticism – it looks annoying and stupid. Swain will not be silent.

Talon is not one of those who likes annoying people. Even if your thoughts are pure and all you want is to support the killer, he still doesn't pay much attention to your attempts. He knows perfectly well that he is a master of his craft, and he does not need to be motivated once again. He has been given a purpose and needs no more. Save your reverent speeches for someone who is ready to listen to them.

Vladimir is a rather exalted person. An inhabitant of an elite society, it is not the first time he has heard sweet compliments and words of support. However, unlike murderers and warriors, a man knows how to be grateful for the efforts that you put into keeping his motivation and fighting spirit at the proper level.

Sion has been dead for a long time. All that interests him is a brutal and endless war. However, even in the blindly obeying soul of a warrior, there is room for a few words of approval from the one who called him to this gorge as the chosen champion. He will not thank you or rejoice, but by his zeal and unquenchable thirst for blood, you will understand that he hears and accepts your support.

Mordekaiser is a single-minded, cruel and treacherous hero. Knowing full well that you and your soul are beyond his control, he accepts the fact of your existence and perfectly understands the goals and motives of your suspiciously positive attitude towards him. As a wise man with experience and superior strength, he will tell you short, but very deep phrases, and accompany each of your approving remarks with his comment. He likes praise, but he is above showing his feelings openly and corny.

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Whumptober: Day 6

for the prompt recording (warnings: recorded torture, nothing too graphic)

When Cassian’s tracker was turned off, Jyn could tell something was very wrong.

Let it be known, she was against this from the start. When one of their agents discovered an underground crime syndicate called the Glorious Dawn before going MIA soon after, it fell to Cassian to find out more. It wasn’t an extraction mission; Agent Varga was presumed to be dead. But what little he’d disclosed about the Glorious Dawn before his disappearance was unsettling enough to warrant a thorough investigation.

Kidnapping people to be tortured for show. Broadcasting their death-struggle over the holonet. Letting viewers bid and choose what happens to those poor souls — and if that wasn’t horrific enough, large parts of that money went into the Empire’s pocket to fund their weapons and tech development. Bad news all around. An operation that needed to be stopped. Jyn understood that.

She also understood the horrible fate that had more than likely befallen Agent Varga, and she was damned if she let it happen to Cassian.

She couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that churned in her stomach on the whole journey to this small, backwater planet, but she dismissed it — tried to dismiss it as natural. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to worry about Cassian’s safety on a mission; it’s just what happened when you loved someone. Perfectly normal for her to be antsy. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow different. Dangerous. Foreboding.

Jyn resolved to bite her tongue and keep her thoughts to herself. Cassian was an intelligence officer, and he didn’t need her to baby him. He was a far cry from a novice; that’s why Draven had chosen him. Because he was the best for the job. And he certainly wouldn’t have resigned from the mission regardless. Jyn didn’t think he’d ever told the rebellion no (Galen Erso and Scarif notwithstanding.) He’d happily carve out his own heart from his chest and serve it to the figureheads of the Alliance on a platter if that’s what was required of him. She’d only make it worse if she expressed her fears.

Because someone had to do it.

But why did that someonealways have to be him?

With mounting resentment towards Draven, towards the rebellion, towards this entire fucking operation, Jyn sent him off with a kiss and a plea to stay safe. She’d wanted, so badly, to ask him to check in as often as he could, but knew it would be too risky. He’d give sign of life when it was possible without compromising himself. And she’ll wait until he returned, or…

Well.

Jyn was just back-up, only to intervene if something went wrong.

Something like his tracker getting disabled a few weeks into their assignment.

The first thing she did was pull up that forsaken holosite on her datapad where they broadcasted their sick little game to their bloodthirsty audience. The site was strictly exclusive and carefully hidden on the holonet, not something you could stumble upon by accident — or at all. The password changed every week, but Cassian had forwarded the latest one in his last encrypted transmission two days ago. Which meant Jyn had access.

A part of her wished she didn’t. Because for the first time since they arrived, a new show had been announced.

An image of Cassian strapped to a chair greeted her. He was unconscious, his head lolling forward and his hair shielding his face from view. The buttons on his shirt were undone, sweaty skin and dark wisps of hair peeking out from underneath. But he seemed unharmed. For now.

Various tools and gadgets and syringes lay scattered on an equipment table next to him, and the words under the feed read “Show starts in two hours! Place your bid now!”

Jyn nearly threw her datapad at the wall, wanting to hurl.

Two hours. Two hours was all she had to find him before…

She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in deeply. Tried to push down the fear and panic rising from the core of her, threatening to overtake her executive functions. She needed to keep her head clear. Stay alert. Figure out an action plan. But all she saw behind her eyelids was Cassian’s figure strapped to that chair, helpless and vulnerable, and the comments she read under the feed. Asking for him to be drugged, to be beaten, to be hurt.

It started out tame, as it always did, but the worse ones… The ones she couldn’t even speak.

A wounded sound rattled in her chest, her entire body shaking so bad she nearly dropped the datapad. She didn’t need a weapon, she would slaughter them all with her bare hands.

She just needed a location.

And she knew where to start. Agent Varga’s contact on the planet had to have known something. Jyn would make him talk, whatever it cost.

Opening her eyes, she ran her finger across Cassian’s figure on the screen and tried to summon all the strength she possessed even as she felt like crumbling to the floor. She couldn’t lose her composure now; he needed her.

“I’ll find you,” she whispered, a promise he wouldn’t hear. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

xxx

Agent Varga’s contact was a Rodian male who was proving to be rather unwilling to talk when asked nicely.

And Jyn had tried. To ask nicely. But time was limited. She wouldn’t leave Cassian to be cut apart piece by piece like a slab of meat.

So if violence was the only language the Glorious Dawn understood…

The Rodian squirmed in the chair she’d tied him to, blood dripping down his face from a large gash on his forehead.

“Tell me where he is,” Jyn said again.

“They know who is,” the Rodian spat, ignoring her question. “A spy for the rebellion. They’ll make it slow. Your man is coming home in tiny boxes.”

He laughed, loud and gleeful, and Jyn clenched her fists as she tried to control her rage. He was egging her on. Trying to get a reaction.

She had to be in control here, even if all she really wanted to do was beat his face to a pulp.

“If they know who he is,” Jyn said through gritted teeth, every word an effort, “then they know an intelligence agent is not the ideal target. They’re trained to withstand pain.”

The Rodian laughed harder, something almost maniac in his tone.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“You’re mistaken. That makes him more interesting. Makes it fun to see how far we can push him before he cracks.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “The other agent cracked easier than we thought. Maybe this one will be more resilient.”

Jyn punched him, foregoing her batons this time. The idea of beating him to a pulp was looking more and more appealing by the second.

“Where is the base?” she snarled, no more room for the illusion of patience.

The Rodian spat a mouthful of green blood at her feet, but this seedy little motel room was so dirty, it hardly made a difference. “They’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“I will kill you.”

“I’m more scared of them.”

Her lips curled into a sharp, threatening smile. He had no idea what she was capable of. But he’d find out.

“Big mistake.”

xxx

Jyn twirled the bloody blade in her hand as she watched the last rays of the sun cast the landscape in a pinkish hue. She was losing time. The show would start soon, and Cassian would not survive the night.

He might hold out for a while, but she didn’t want to take the risk. Didn’t want to let anyone touch even a hair on his head.

Behind her, the Rodian was coughing and gasping for air around the blood in his mouth. She had to slow down before he actually died on her.

“So? Still nothing?” Her voice was coldly detached. She’d shut down, stopped feeling anything about twenty minutes ago. The only thing that still sparked a flicker of emotion was the thought of Cassian. Her partner. Her love. Her home.

If she didn’t find him soon…

“It’s too bad you’re a rebel bitch,” the Rodian wheezed, “you’re good at this. You’d fit right in with us. Not so different after all, huh?”

A cheap shot. Jyn let it roll off her like water.

“Don’t deflect. Where’s the base?”

“How much time can you waste on me? The show starts soon, and they’ll tear him to tiny pieces. Varga squealed like a little pig, you know. I wonder what sounds your man will make when they’re digging in his guts. I can get you VIP seats if you want.”

He laughed, though it was a strained sound. No longer so confident; a dying man grasping at his last semblance of control. Jyn tuned it out, her gaze trained on her datapad which lit up with a notification. A signal.

Heart hammering in her throat, she watched the pulsing red dot on the map. Hope flared in her chest, tentative but persistent. Cassian’s tracker. They turned it back on.

Which meant it was a trap. She wasn’t stupid. They were baiting her. But she had to go.

It was her only lead; and regardless… It might as well have been guaranteed death.

She’d always come for him.

“You’re right,” Jyn said, cutting off the Rodian mid-sentence. She had no idea what he’d been saying, but with a flourish, she turned and fired a blaster bolt between his eyes. “I don’t need you anymore.”

xxx

It took her less than fifteen minutes to arrive at the location where Cassian’s tracker had pinged outside the city limits. An abandoned imperial compound greeted her, imposing with its high walls and tall towers.

Jyn hopped off the speeder she stole and listened. Something was off.

No guards posted at the entrance. No movement from the yard. No sounds from inside. Only the wind whistled through the trees, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

Ghosts were the only thing frequenting this building now.

But there was one window, on the third floor, where light streamed outside into the brisk, darkening evening. Jyn eyed it warily, that feeling of wrongness only expanding. The light seemed to almost beckon her, — come closer, come see — but she couldn’t shake the thought that this whole thing was off. The tracker being activated, the absence of living beings anywhere, that single light spilling from the window…

Jyn swallowed, shook her head. There was no time to waste. Blaster in hand, she made it inside the yard, more and more unnerved by the lack of resistance she found.

Trap, trap, trap, her mind screamed, but she ignored it and kept going. Cassian needed her. Her brain latched onto the thought of him, lending her strength and ignoring everything else.

She was furious enough to put up a good fight if they did ambush her. Let them try, let them fucking see what the daughter of Saw Gerrera was capable of.

She, too, was more than ready to give them a show.

More silence greeted her inside the compound. Jyn crept through the quiet halls, eyes flicking in every direction, but no one was hiding in the shadows, no one was trying to stab her in the back. Her footsteps were almost soundless as she made her way up the stairs towards the room where she saw the light. So close now. But as she reached the second-floor landing, muted sounds interrupted the eerie silence.

Heavy panting. A struggle. Something creaked.

Then, a cry of pain.

Jyn picked up her steps, no longer caring if someone heard her. There was only one objective hanging in front of her: find Cassian. Get to him before he was hurt. Protect him. The urge overshadowed everything else.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t realize what was happening until she pushed the door open with her blaster.

The room was empty.

Jyn’s blaster slowly lowered as she stared at the scene before her with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Only a single holoprojector stood in the middle of the room, showcasing a sight she never wanted to see. Next to it, a forgotten tracker lying in the dirt.

It wasn’t a trap. It was a distraction.

Cassian was awake now, still strapped down in that chair, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. The world tilted around her, her legs trembling, but Jyn couldn’t take her eyes off him. Unable to stop seeing what they were doing to him. One of his fingers was trapped in a vice, and a masked man wearing dark robes was in the process of tightening the tool.

Jyn stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move or breathe or think. It felt like it was happening to someone else. She stood until she heard the crunching of bones, the tearing of skin, and another pained shout tore free from Cassian’s mouth.

With an angry scream, Jyn kicked the holoprojector, sending it flying against the wall. The image cut off, and dead silence followed.

Time had run out.

“You fuckers!” she yelled before crumbling to the ground, all her strength gone. She’d failed. She didn’t find him in time, and now he was… Now he was…

Shivers wracked her body, the image of Cassian’s hand in that vice burned into her mind. That would be far from the worst of it, she knew. They were just getting started. The Rodian wasn’t kidding when he said they’d tear him apart bit by bit.

She’ll burn this fucking city to the ground —

Lightheaded, Jyn buried her head in her hands and allowed herself to weep. Though it hadn’t been her who was taken, who was tortured, she felt like her hand was in that vice too, crushed under its cruel grip. Paralyzing fear weighed down her limbs, making it impossible to think straight. For a wild second, she thought she might throw up, but she pushed the bile down, her fingernails digging into her own leg as she tried to find some sort of anchor to hold onto. Something to ground her. Anything.

She’d give anything —

Her thoughts spiraled.

She had to find him. She had to. It wasn’t too late, she could still — she could still save him, she could still bring him home and make sure he was safe, make sure he recovered, make sure nobody ever hurt him again. She had to find him. She had to.

Jyn lifted her head, taking deep shuddering breaths to get her pulse under control. Back to business, no time to fall apart. Get yourself together. She wiped away her tears, her hand coming back smudged from her eyeliner. Her heart rate slowed, a little bit. She needed a plan.

As appealing as it was to burn down the city, it wouldn’t help much. She couldn’t go knocking on door to door either, and the Rodian was dead.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. She didn’t have time to find anyone else associated with the group; let alone capture and interrogate them. But she had access to the live feed, though her stomach revolted at the idea of bringing it back up. Maybe she could get some clues from the show… Maybe she could pose as a bidder? Try to wrangle something, anything from the comments?

As her brain whirled with ideas, each one more desperate than the other, something else on the ground caught her eye.

Next to the tracker lay something small… Something purple.

With a frown, Jyn stood and examined it closer. It was a flower. She picked it up, turning it in her hand. A pang of familiarity washed over her as she stared at the purple petals with pink streaks. She’d seen that flower before.

Varga’s last transmission. Made from a room in a brothel downtown. The flowers on the wall behind him. Morning glory, it was called. The whole place was decked out in them.

Morning glory… The Glorious Dawn?

Jyn crushed the petal in her hand, determination hardening her features. Cassian had left her a clue, and she knew where he was.

She was coming.

[150151]

i dont care if that crow remake turns out to be good. remaking it will forever be disrespectful to me. bills skarsgard is the LAST person that should've been chosen to play eric draven. that movie was brandon lee's legacy.