#his most identifiable feature is the fact his hair is brown

[frogloinz]

TLOU artists who draw Ellie like her in-game model and Joel like Pedro Pascal are psychotic /postive. shine on you crazy diamond.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 — 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “the rain falls quietly up above many surfaces, but here, we have the crystals to give us their magic dust, floating like stars. . . yet none of it will ever compare to your beauty, aein” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰verse꒱ verseless ( dwells within the abyss )

. ˚◞꒰face claim refs꒱ ( x ) ( x ) ( x )

. ˚◞꒰species꒱ half abyssal angel / half dragon ( does not identify with his dragon heritage it makes him uncomfortable )

. ˚◞꒰ethnicity꒱ korean/chinese

. ˚◞꒰age꒱ millennia old

. ˚◞꒰gender꒱ male

. ˚◞꒰mbti꒱ infj

. ˚◞꒰aliases꒱ the angel who cried stars, the void , eyes of the abyss, void daddy ( zhào jìngyí 9948e ).

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. long long, jet black hair with stars shimmering by his ends

𖹭. pale skin with golden veins that flow into a gentle amethyst ombre, shimmering just like the crystal itself

𖹭. stands at the height of 7’9” ft ( 236.22 cm ) with an athletic, lean and toned build.

𖹭. has six pairs of void black wings, with golden tips by the end of his feathers

𖹭. long, dark and flower robes. usually wears hanfu or hanbok, but at times also dresses to the usual abyssal fashion. which is composed of long, dark mesh robes, that show the gentle outline of the body and are dorned with lots of crystals and jewellery

𖹭. a combination of masculine and a few feminine features, that give him an ethereal look from all lighting and angles

𖹭. has gold and black draconic scales running down his forearms and the surface of his hands, along with a few on his cheeks

𖹭. soft, golden brown eyes, with a piercing gold slit in the middle of them, that only dilates when he senses danger

𖹭. keeps his hands clean from rings most of the time due to work, but he has his wedding ring on, composed of abyssal crystals and onyx. while his nails are painted gold and are long. they cannot be cut too far, due to draconic ancestry ( aka, it will hurt )

𖹭. only really wears eyeliner, but at times, he enjoys prettying himself up with lots of gold and bronze colors, especially for formal events

𖹭. he has standard lobe piercings and upper lope piercings on both ears.

𖹭. has several eyes concealed by magic. ( all around his body )

 

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. very calm and serene, and is quite reserved

𖹭. the quiet kind, rarely speaks due to the fact he gets intimidated by the consequences of words that may come out.

𖹭. extremely caring with those he holds dear and wouldn’t hesitate to smite someone if they were hurt

𖹭. a gentle soul who can quickly turn stern and disciplined should the matter arise for such

𖹭. a strategic warrior and commander, he knows what he is doing. don’t interfere unless there’s a good reason

𖹭. deceptive and secretive, more than some would imagine

𖹭. kindhearted and very empathetic — he understands many burdens that people go through and work tooth and nail to help them

𖹭. extremely intelligent and wise, sharp at mind and good at pointing out ulterior motives of others

𖹭. despite all of these attributes, this man can also be quite the trickster. loves sending people into a shy flustered state and then leaving them confused

𖹭. he has a tendency to fall in love with what most people consider scary or dark. finding beauty in it and sharing it to those willing to see.

𖹭. is quite poetic and enjoys letting a few confusing riddles roll off of his tongue every now and then and see who gets them right.

𖹭. has a bit of a dark side to himself he doesn’t like showing either, sometimes getting consumed by greed when he sees something he likes and wants.

 

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. teasing, he loves getting a rise out of you and seeing your face go all shades of red. and he especially likes when you cling onto him after.

𖹭. is touch startved and often searches for your hand or your back to hold onto. with gentle and delicate touches, that display so much love for you and all that you are, caressing your body or face — whatever he can get to.

𖹭. really enjoys taking you around the prime city of the abyss, telling you of it’s history. and if you are not a history enthusiast, he will take you to all of the best view spots and restaurants that he knows. sometimes dragging you to cafés to taste the unique pastries of the domain.

𖹭. one of his love languages are words of affection. when he speaks to you, it is with such love that is from way beyond the bounds of his heart, but instead his soul. each and every word are meant to comfort and ease you.

𖹭. loves to take you out for flights, holding you tight and close as he flies the both of you across the realm. though, always careful and avoidant of the more dangerous and dark areas he knows you shouldn’t be.

𖹭. has a thing for doing your makeup. he likes experimenting new looks or looks he finds interesting on you. don’t like makeup? he’ll do it on himself so you can give him your own input! anything to have you close is good for him. he loves talking with you, especially when he feels his spouts of wanting to interact verbally

𖹭. likes waking you up in the morning and whisking you off to eat breakfast with him. soft kisses and tired but fond glances shared back and forth. his feathers tickling your face and hands as he beckons you to brush them.

𖹭. really enjoys when you preen his wings. and sometimes teasingly gives them a little flap so you jolt back a bit and fuss at him.

𖹭. massages you all the time, he wants to assure your muscles are all eased up and not tense. any knots or tender areas are a big no no. he wants your body to feel good just as much as he wants you to feel good mentally and emotionally.

𖹭. a bigger flirt than he seems. he doesn’t mind carelessly pushing you up against a random wall or piece of furniture, whispering sweet nothings and some of the purest filth into your ears. it all adds to his shamelessness, if people watch, let them.

𖹭. will immediately take you away from any place or event that makes you feel overstimulated and overwhelmed, so that you do not end up spiralling down a path that makes you tired and exhausted. and when you feel ready, the two of you can go back together.

 

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. draconic eyesight: has advanced eyesight that extends into night vision

𖹭. advanced strength: enhanced strength both in his stature and wings

𖹭. enhanced agility: advanced agility and reflexes

𖹭. enhanced senses: advanced senses, apart from his eyesight that might dwindle a bit in light areas

𖹭. advanced flight: has six pairs of wings which enhance his flight greatly. he is very fast

𖹭. shadow magic/darkness manipulation: as an abyss angel he is able to manipulate darkness and mould it into a form of magic

𖹭. light magic: the ability to cast spells, rituals and other light magic aspects

𖹭. advanced combat abilities: has an advanced knowledge of combat and is able to execute it exceptionally. his experience as one of the oldest angels plays a part in this as well

𖹭. tactical mind: able to come up with strategies very quickly

𖹭. dragon morphing: the ability to morph into a dragon form

𖹭. healing factor: the ability to heal from injuries and wounds

𖹭. divine banishment: able to banish malicious beings back to their place of origin

 

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. iron: an allergy to iron, depending on the concentration

𖹭. black magic: as both a water dragon and an angel, black magic tends to affect him quite badly

𖹭. heat: too much heat drains water dragons and makes them weak. this can be dire in states of dehydration

𖹭. light areas: his vision gets hazed because he is adapted to the darkness of the abyss

 

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. rinfier mith’andrel: husband, king.

𖹭. rishen aryielus: SON

 

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

silently, and with sharp eyes piercing through the thickest darkness of the abyss. the reknowned eyes of the realm itself overlooks the wastelands and cavern rubble that surrounds the walls outside the city of the king. his stoic expression remaining and wings all extended out with their eyes looking to all corners with him.

many dangerous things lurk within the home of this realm. and it is his duty to assure none get through the city or out.

and though longing to pass through the streets of the city on his way home, he enjoys his work. he loves the feeling of the vapor of this damned domain rushing through his dark wings.

it isn’t a feeling he will ever be able to get rid of, it’s only a matter of time before he can feel it all over again, is it not?

 

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. has the ability to shift his gender and appearance like most angels

𖹭. he is one of the first abyssal angels and thus holds quite the high rank

𖹭. he is omnilingual

𖹭. has a familiar woodpecker named jazz

𖹭. knows all sign languages

[transhawks]

So, uh, just reread "chapter"all it takes is one bad day" and does Twice have pure white pupils and irises like AFO supposedly does? Like, I haven't seen any clear official art of his eyes, but in the one back cover of him they look like they're pure white?

At this point I'm just going to have to make an entire essay on how we should be reading Japanese media with an understanding of cultural and class markers. No, Jin does not have the same eyes or similar eyes to AFO. Yes, there's connections with Jin and AFO but that's another topic. 1. AFO's eye color hasn't been really confirmed aside from that one WSJ cover that implies they can be clear and white. 2. That's not what the "something about my eyes rubs people the wrong way" means. This is what I mean about the cultural context being missing from most of us Western-readers and how we just don't get reading the manga with no guide to explain small details to us. I also wish Jin was just popular so I don't feel like I'm the only one in the fandom yammering about the ridiculous amount of depth he has as a character and in his storyline. First off, Jin's eyes are sunken in, his features abnormally "chiseled" and rough for an anime character. By the time we meet him he looks like he's had a hard life but we also find out in flashbacks he always kind of looked like that.

He's unkempt - stubbled, has the sunken eyes and dark eyebags the villains are generally drawn with. He smokes, drinks, wears a wife beater, has no eyebrows, and used to ride a motorcycle. All these things are a red flag. This is where "you really need to be familiar with Japanese media before you read BNHA" comes in, Jin, while drawing from several different Western comic characters (John Constantine, Deadpool, Rorschach), is also neatly fitting into the yanki and bosuzoku (sorta) trope. Or Japanese delinquents. What throws people "off" is the lack of eyebrows. Yanki are traditionally portrayed with no eyebrows. This link here explains that at sight a delinquent can be identified with shaved eyebrows. This is why so many villainous or rough characters are eyebrowless. It's like the Japanese equivalent of giving villains twirly mustaches and goatees - something about the imagery of that already implies villain in our minds, whereas the lack of eyebrows implies delinquent/criminal in the Japanese cultural imagination (in modern day settings. Heian-era eyebrow-lessness is a different story/class marker).

He's also blonde, or "chapatsu" which is also another "Delinquent" trope in Japan - many delinquents in the 70s-90s bleached their hair to this yellow or orange color (hence "cha" which obviously means tea/chai). Japanese schools are infamously awful at allowing for self-expression to the point where naturally brown-haired students can be forced to dye their hair, and chapatsu hair was a marker of a rebellious/delinquent student. Twice isn't the only one who Horikoshi uses this trope for. Tomura, for example, really had the "up to no good" look early on even if I think he's more of a homebody.

You know who else?

Huh, interesting, given Takami's a murderous professional career thief alcoholic. Wait a minute, wasn't Jin was one of the greatest Japanese thieves until his accident, I wonder exactly what Horikoshi meant by making Thief Takami have a similarly unkempt appearance, rough rugged facial features, and barely any brows? Wait -

Something to understand is that we've gotten information from Yoco Akiyama in TUM about how the main manga's design process works and apparently the facial feature consistency is really important for the artists. Thus the fact Keigo's parents were designed with: 1. Rough, sunken features (Thief & Jin) 2. Unkempt facial fair (Thief & JIn) 3. Deep eyebags (Jin & Tomie) 4. Similarly disordered filthy homes (Takami fam & Jin) 5. Beer Bottles lying around everywhere (Takami fam & Jin) 6. Small, beady eyes with little pupils (Takami Fam & Jin) 7. Grey-Blue Eyes (Tomie & Jin) 8. Clear mental instability (Tomie & Jin) Was absolutely intentional. For all that we see Keigo's parents, Horikoshi knowingly designed them to resemble Jin. Again, Jin was Keigo's villain to save. Keigo was Jin's hero. Keigo failed because we needed a character to fail to save "their villain". Both Keigo and Jin have clear working-class background and criminal class markers. These things tie them together, these marginalized identifications make their relationship something that should have worked. If we want an in-universe reason for Keigo's focus on Jin, it's absolutely true he likely (subconciously) saw his parents superficially reflected in Jin, and decided to "save" him because he was unable to save his parents. Of course, that was not only presumptuous, it was also wrong because Jin is not a stand-in for Keigo's parents (and unlike them is a decent person). Anyway, yeah, no Jin's design/looks made him look like a "thug" to people in his community. That's why he had issues and that's what his comment meant. People's biases about people who look like Twice made him just get...away less. If someone "looks like a thug" you will try to make connections that justify that bias. That's why things like his motorcycle accident hurt him so much. He was uneducated, likely a middle-school dropout, fired from a job, had a record and had "bad vibes". Who'd hire him? Can you understand why Jin was doomed into having to survive as a criminal? Society decided he was meant to fail years before he did fail. So much of BNHA is about people falling into traps of pre-determined outcomes. Jin's tragically so.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Captain Cold and the Blizzard Battle: The Kid's Book of Never-Ending Cold Puns

I was looking through some of the older posts on @gorogues's blog, and I was reminded that there was a kid's book that featured Captain Cold and the Top called Captain Cold and the Blizzard Battle. Since it was selling for six bucks on Amazon, I bought a copy, and I am now going to share my thoughts on it with everyone:

Captain Cold's stats (6'2", 196 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes) are taken directly from all those DC guidebooks.

The puns begin almost immediately. Len terrorized Central City with "cold-hearted crimes", the Flash "put him on ice", he has "nerves of ice", and "his cold heart lets him remain calm and collected even when the heat is on". The book also identifies the yellow capsule-looking things on his belt as cold grenades, though I don't think that those are what they actually are.

Captain Cold makes an entire blizzard just to rob an armored car. Seems a bit excessive. He also does it in May, because of course he does.

The blizzard also gets some kids out of school early, much to the kids' delight.

LOL, Len looks so proud of himself as he walks away with his loot.

Icicle (who is also in Central City, and is showing up Len), is stealing some "cold hard cash". Because cold puns!

Len gets away with his loot, since the Flash is more interested in stopping the Icicle (who's trying to get away with a hundred times as much money as Len) than he is in stopping Len. However, because Icicle is threatening his position as the best cold-themed criminal, Len can't even feel happy about his success.

Apparently Captain Cold's hideout is in an indoor tanning salon/steam sauna. He bought it with stolen money just so he could shut it down, because he just hates tanning salons/saunas that much. (I imagine that Mick was disappointed when he learned about that.) The fact that it's an excellent hiding spot for him is just a bonus.

And then Roscoe shows up! He's Len's pal in this story (which is hilarious, since they usually hate each other), and, even though Len invited him over, he still freaks out when Roscoe shows up (allegedly because he might have been the Flash).

"Aww, even you aren't cold enough to freeze a friend." And then Roscoe is instantly proven wrong when Len freezes his nose for no reason.

Roscoe has had "so many run-ins with the law today that my head is spinning".

Anyway, Len is bitter about the fact that Icicle seems to be better at his own game than he is, and tells Roscoe that he's lucky to be the only "spins-around-fast villain in the world."

Roscoe: "Thanks! But don't sell yourself short! What would we do without a guy like you?" Cheerful friendly Roscoe is both endearing and weird.

Len: "You'd call the Icicle. Or Mr. Freeze. Or any one of the other villains who have cold powers. Nowadays, it seems like there are dozens of them!" Len has a point. DC is full of ice-themed villains.

We then learn that, while Len got away with $10,000, the Icicle managed to get away with a million dollars (meaning that he also beat the Flash), and that at some point in the past, Len froze the Eiffel Tower. Why? Who knows!

Unfortunately, the Top then points out that Icicle froze all of Germany at the same time Len was freezing the Eiffel Tower, which I guess makes this version of Icicle the most powerful version ever.

Roscoe: "I hate to say it, but I know when a guy's been topped!" All these horrible puns make me smile.

Len wants to put the Icicle in his place for showing him up all the time, and, after Roscoe starts sneezing, he gets the idea to spread the common cold to the entire city. No, really. His evil plan is to spread the common cold to the entire city, and then rob some banks while everyone is too busy being sick to stop him.

In order to do this, he alters his cold gun so it can lower the temperature by about 20 degrees (instead of its usual, much lower temperatures), breaks into Bosh Labs to steal an experimental hypothermic rhinovirus (rhinovirus is the scientific name for the common cold, which I surprisingly actually did not know!), releases the virus into the air, and then makes the weather chilly so that the virus will spread really fast and get everybody sick.

Len won't be affected by the virus, however, because he also took the antidote from the labs (and also drank some orange juice, just in case.)

"He was about to conquer the entire city with a super-powerful cold! That had to be the greatest "cold crime" in history!" PUNS!

The plan works immediately, and everybody gets sick....but when Len goes to rob a bank, he learns that the Icicle has taken the credit for releasing the virus on live TV, and predictably gets angry.

"After all the years he had spent stealing from Central City, Captain Cold finally knew what it felt like to be robbed." This line is amazing and I love it.

Captain Cold goes to a coffee shop to get his favorite drink, iced coffee. Unfortunately for him, there's a very long line of people (all of whom are ordering tea, apparently), so he uses his cold gun to cut to the front of the line in a manner reminiscent of Gru in the Despicable Me movies.

The clerk gives Len regular coffee, so he freezes the poor clerk too and ices the drink himself...only to see the Flash fighting the Icicle through the window. And because of the cold Len gave him the Flash is losing!

Len goes back to his hideout, and Roscoe promptly shows up two seconds later, noting that it looks like the Icicle is going to "put the Flash on ice----permanently!"

For some reason, Roscoe always spins inside Len's hideout instead of just walking inside like a normal person. Which actually makes sense for Roscoe.

Roscoe has come down with the cold alongside everyone else in Central City. He thinks that the Icicle is responsible until he notices that Len isn't sneezing, at which point Len explains that he was the one who created the virus, and thus knew to take the antidote. Icicle wasn't affected because his entire body is made of ice, and thus can't catch a cold.

Len also reiterates that his cold gun can't affect Icicle...right before informing the Top that he's planning to go help Flash fight the Icicle anyway.

Roscoe's reaction: "That would mean saving your worst enemy---and mine! If you could, that is. No offense, but you said it yourself. You're just a guy with a cold gun. The icicle is made of ice. Your cold blasts can't hurt him, but..."

Len: "The Icicle can hurt me."

"The Top nodded, and then sneezed. "That doesn't sound like a fight you can win." " Len and Roscoe hanging out together is the best part of this book.

Len, being Len, is determined to fight Icicle anyway, and goes out to do just that. He saves the Flash from the Icicle, which prompts the Icicle to realize that Len's probably mad about him taking the credit for his crimes. The Icicle kind-of sort-of apologizes before telling Len to get out of his way so that "the better cold villain" can "finish off the Flash".

Shockingly, Len doesn't react well to this, and tells Icicle that if he wants the Flash, he'll have to go through Len first. Icicle replies with a title drop: "You just made a big mistake....You and I do the same thing. Only I do it better! But if you want a blizzard battle---you've got it!"

The two start fighting, and, while they're pretty evenly matched in terms of output, Len has a massive problem: as was underscored earlier, he doesn't have any real defense against Icicle's powers.

As the fight starts to turn against him, Len runs away and heads for his hideout. Icicle follows him, boasting about how dumb Len was to lead him to his hideout...and then Len promptly turns on all the saunas and indoor tanning beds, increasing the temperature in the room along with them.

This drains Icicle's powers, and Len promptly kicks the crap out of the powerless Icicle. "It takes more than ice powers to make a man cold. I always knew I was colder than you!" Oh, Len.

After he's sure he's defeated the Icicle, Len makes some more puns. "They say revenge is a dish best served cold....But it also tastes pretty good hot!"

Then the Flash shows up, immediately disarms Len, and knocks him to the ground with one super-speed punch. He's still suffering from the effects of the cold, but the fight between Icicle and Len gave him enough time to recover from his fight with Icicle.

Flash: "I just don't understand supervillains. It was so easy to follow the icy path of destruction that led here. So now I know where your hideout is, which means it isn't good for anything anymore. And with the Icicle out cold and your gun out of your hands, I won't have any problem taking you to jail...Was all of that really worth it? Just so everyone would know you were the one who unleashed this sickness on the city?"

In Len's mind, of course, it was totally worth it. Now that the Flash knows he unleashed the virus, everyone will know "that Captain Cold was the villain responsible for the greatest cold crime ever committed in the city!" So...happy end for Len, I guess.

No mention of what happened to Roscoe. Maybe he decided to go on a date with Lisa.

Anyway, this story was delightful and I loved it to bits. Having a story narrated entirely by Len was great, and I enjoyed that he felt in-character throughout. I could totally see Silver Age comic Len pulling a scheme like this, and Cold's strategic cleverness and grouchy possessiveness of Central City seems to come straight from Johns' Len. I also loved how hilariously petty he was throughout the story, from using his cold gun to cut in line for coffee to saving the Flash from Icicle just so he could prove that he was the better criminal.

The never-ending puns were likewise great, and I enjoyed that Roscoe got to be an important character in the book. Even though the role of Len's cheerful but slightly dimwitted pal would have worked better for Mick than for him, there's something extremely funny about having Roscoe in that role given how much he and Len hate each other in the main comics. And hey, he's still an endearing dork who makes top puns, so there are still some aspects of him that are recognizably Roscoe.

Finally, I enjoyed the art and the characters' slightly goofy facial expressions. I will probably do a separate post of the art at some point so that everyone else can enjoy it.

This is a great little book, and it was definitely worth the six dollars I paid for it.

[keirawantstocry]

Do you have something about morning crew (with bagi, Mike and children) being weird, creepy and unsettling, Addams family style?

okay. this is a bit different but i liked the thought and hopefully you do too?

-

There was a house at the top of the hill. Every child in the neighborhood knew about it. The strange noises that came out of it at night, the weird collection of children and adults that seemed to live there like some kind of strange family. 

The first one that the town met was a tall woman with white hair, a singular streak of brown framing the left side of her face. Besides this her most identifying feature was a large brown trench coat that she wore no matter the weather. If asked about it she would simply stare at you with wide empty eyes before saying, “It belonged to my brother.” 

Two of the guys were almost never seen apart. They sported bright blue and green clothes that seemed so harsh and strange in their house of dull colors and oddities. The man in the blue was the nicest. He loved playing with the village kids once they opened up to him but they lived in a bit of fear of his pink haired friend, always equipped with a smile too big for his mouth. 

There were many theories about the man with only one arm. Surely there was no way he lost that in a way that wasn’t dangerous? The townspeople pulled their people away from him for months until he was seen at the park with three kids; a boy with a fake mustache constantly taped to his upper lip, a girl with tight golden curls and a princess crown that seemed to be made out of actual gold and precious jewels, and a boy with an oversized brazilian football jersey that he was never seen without. The parents trusted him more after seeing that scarred man treat those kids so gently. 

The last guy was a bit more reclusive than the rest. In fact nobody knew he was there until nearly six months after the family moved in. He came out with the young girl with the crown to the store where everyone couldn’t help but sneak amazed glances. Covered in grease nearly head to toe, who does that? But the young one just bounced around him happily waving her hands around in what they soon discovered was sign language. “Yes, poppet,” he sighed every time, before buying her something else in every story they went into. 

They were a strange bunch for sure. Some people were sure they had seen multiple of the discernable figures walking through the town at night. One boy even claimed he had seen the woman with blood on her hands and a frenzy in her eyes. Nobody ever confirmed that claim. The family would stay. Nothing the townsfolk could do but learn to accept it.

[winterpinetrees]

Character Bio: The Adust Siblings

Zerada and Jezero Adust are the two adolescent heirs of Genus Adust, a major noble family who have worked for and with Genus Sondaica for four thousand years. At the end of Book 1, they are both free and supporting Marin, but their motivations aren’t quite aligned with the human heroes. Things will only get worse.

………………………………

Name: Zerada Adust

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Elf (high nobility)

Age: 94 (19 in human years)

Special skills: talented in mind control and illusions, very charming and manipulative, skilled in politics and the games of court. Her primary weapons are daggers which can be thrown.

Appearance notes: Zerada is 5’6 but frequently wears very high heels. She looks ethnically ambiguous in the way that many elves are, with lighter skin and wavy dark brown hair. She has pale “freckles” on her face and shoulders, a genetically modified Adust trait. Her eyes are light brown or amber, and her magic is a burnt orange color. Zerada is very attractive by Western standards and dresses to make the most of it, but has a more athletic and thin build than a stereotypical model.

Zerada is Marin’s betrothed, but would be a more capable ruler than him and everyone knows it. She’s spent the past decade hanging out in among the rich, famous, and desperate of the human world and having a pretty good time. She’s the younger daughter of Kavec Adust, who was Ishtar and Ryn’s mortal enemy. Zerada projects an image of being a genius, a femme fatale, and a vixen like the symbol of her family. In some ways she is. Zerada will beat you at poker and then use mind control to steal the rest of your money.

However, Zerada’s parents were murdered in the coup as well as a few other family members. She’s more worked up about it than she wants to admit, and deep down she is just a teenage girl going through the motions. Zerada is currently in a weeks-long situationship with Brian, though she has ulterior motives (manipulation) and it won’t last much longer.

.......................

Name: Jezero Adust

Pronouns: He/they

Species: Elf (high nobility)

Age: 106 (20 in human years)

Special skills: Jezero is a skilled warrior specializing with curved swords. He’s also a capable politician who has survived and done well at the Conservatory for seven years. They are good with mind control and illusions, but their real talent is identifying when other people are doing the same. Even for an elf, Jezero has very sensitive hearing.

Appearance notes: Jezero is 5’10 with long limbs and the classic slender elf bodytype. He has darker skin than his sister and features that lean more East Asian and African than hers. They have tightly curled hair that they currently wear in twists dyed ombré red. Their eyes are light brown or amber. Jezero has sharp canine teeth like many elves.

Jezero Adust just got broken out of prison and he had a bad time there. Also one of his best friends got recaptured or killed in the escape while trying to be cool and rescue Sierra. They are the new Lord of Genus Adust after the murder of their parents and grandfather, and had been seven out of nine years through the Conservatory (the noble school that is also one giant shared trauma to bond the nobility together with mutual guilt and grievances) before the coup. Jezero is perceptive and bold. He hates being bound or having something weighing on him. Unfortunately, being a Lord is a pretty big weight, and so is revenge.

......................

Fun fact! adust is a word (archaic English with a latin origin) meaning "burnt or having a scorched color", among other things.

[thewistlingbadger]

With the most recent installments to the fnaf franchise, the discussion of Cassie's father has become a main topic. The common theory is that Cassie's father is "the Bonnie bro". I'm personally against this theory and here's why

(Note: please take everything I say with a grain of salt I don't know the lore like the back of my hand and this is all just my opinion)

1. Satisfaction

The main reason I'm against the theory is because it's not narratively satisfying. This franchise is defined by its exclusively when it comes to characters. They always want to recycle the same characters we've always had. "I always come back" is literally one of the most iconic lines from the series. So to me, to have some random, no name, only mentioned once, less than a minute of screen time, ass dude become an important figure? Hell no.

2. Background info

In order to identify Cassie's father, we must use the information that is given by Cassie. Cassie is a racially ambiguous girl with some dark features who is at least a decade old. She says during Ruin that her dad works for fazbear, has had a deep love for the company, and it's also implied that she hasn't seen him in awhile. In help wanted 2, the player is an older ("hey, you look like you got kids") and masculine (listen to the burp sounds when eating food) worker for fazbear. All three of those fit the bill for Cassie's father. So if I don't think it's Bonnie bro, who do I think it is?

3. It's Micheal

In help wanted 2, there's three (maybe even 4) different time periods we play through. We play through sister location, security breach, and ruin (the additional 4th being fnaf 6). Clearly even though help wanted 2 is supposed to a fazbear employee training sim, it's so much more since the games seem to transcend time by going back and forth between past and future. So that means the player has lived through all of those times. We know for a FACT that Micheal is the main character for sister location. In fact, there ARE no other human characters in sister location besides the dead technicians (supporters of the Bonnie bro theory suggest that Cassie's dad still worked at sister location despite this). There are also multiple voice lines in the game that are extremely important! There's the stuff mystic hippo says, there's baby's lines, and "why are you so special".

Baby says "I feel bad for you" , "I like it here. It's safe, safe forever.", "i recognize you", and "you should have known I'd find you". These lines are PERSONAL. This is NOT stuff she's saying to someone she saw years ago at birthday party or to a random worker that was at sister location. This is her BROTHER, whom she has a hard history with. Why is the player so special? Because it's Michael, and he's always been important.

Michael, the first born, the one responsible for the death of CC. Michael, the one who went location to location, trying to undo the sins of his father. It's Michael that's always been the main character.

Michael also fits the bill for Cassie's dad. He's an older, masculine guy who has a history with working for fazbear, and if we're looking at how Michael looks in the bite of 1983, he and Cassie look similar. (Meaning Michael has dark features like tan skin, brown hair, dark eyes. Of course tho, it doesn't really matter what Michael looks like since Cassie could just look a lot like her other parent. Michael is also canonically white so-)

In the pizza Plex, there's a recreation of Michael's room from sister location. It's not the real room, since there's no evidence that Michael's house was built near sister location, or that sister location and fnaf 6 were one in the same. Micheal's room isn't found underneath the pizza Plex where fnaf 6 was, but in the main levels of the building. His room is also altered. The door is smaller, the show on the screen is different, and there's a message on the wall. If Michael isn't an active player at this point, why is his room here. No one else besides him would recognize that room. This also proves that Micheal was somewhat around during security breach, since that is the only time we see this room.

With that being said, let's move on.

4. Counterpoints

It is heavily stressed that Cassie's dad likes Bonnie. Michael is often associated with foxy, since he would attack CC with a foxy mask on. However, he's only associated with foxy in fnaf 4, and that's it. I don't think he would continue to associate with it decades after. Bonnie was always William's favorite and the rabbit is always associated with his evilness and empire. It's unlikely that Micheal would associate with something so connected to his father. There's two things I say to this. 1: it could be that Micheal doesn't like Bonnie/is impartial but says he does to Cassie since she's a kid and he's her dad. If little Cassie asks her dad, who's your favorite animatronic, he's gonna pick one. By choosing to stay so close to fazbear, he has to somewhat open his heart to the company a bit post the defeat of Afton. 2: when you look at the Bonnie mask in the hidden chest of PQ4 and the AR Bonnie mask in Ruin, the masks are red underneath the purple. The foxy mask is red.

At this point in the story, Micheal is "dead". He died in the fnaf 6 fire. However, given that baby, William, and others have clearly come back after the fire, who's to say Micheal can't come back as well?

So is Michael Cassie's dad? Idk, but I think there's some real compelling stuff.

[enigmage]

Application

It’s said that most people are too used to their reflection in a mirror to recognize their actual face.

This is true.

It had happened so many times that logic would dictate it would continue to happen, that they could take the shape of a stranger and the stranger had to squint and tilt their head at them, grasping at what was so familiar it became unfamiliar. Voices, too, were heard through flesh and bone rather than air from one’s own throat. People often couldn’t recognize those right away either.

They could not blame people for this. They wouldn’t know their prior face either.

Once, they had seen it on a mosaic, depicting the Eight Heroes. Of all the tiled, glorious, ancient faces, they could not distinguish who they had been. History turned people into figurines, identifiable by their symbols, their relics. No, the answer was no longer in the face of what was once human, only in the tome they still possessed.

Rather, the tome that had possessed them.

What shape did water take when outside of a glass? They were like this until they pulled themselves into something resembling what they saw, holding onto a new heartbeat for just a little longer. They neither liked or disliked the sensation. It simply was.

The world was a series of facts to investigate, themselves only a sense of will. There was little point on self reflection: they quite literally didn’t have a self to reflect.

There was a series of sounds, a name, to go with the tome, a title to the book.

Bramimond.

They had a mission, a way to pass time as they watched the grains of time drift by, touching all but magic itself, their existence. This task of passive guarding had been simple.

But the Shrine of Seals was no longer their charge. No, not even Elibe itself was their binding home.

The danger had moved.

This is what they said when faced with questions, unknown eyes before them trying to get answers, as if their words could give more than questions. The guard to a place they called Abyss held a spear pointed at their- rather, an identical copy of his armored chest, gripping the spear tightly.

“How did you even find this place?” he asked, voice high with apprehension.

Instinct, fate, what did it matter?

Bramimond responded in his voice.

“Woah, calm down! I’m just going where I need to, okay?” they sounded defensive.

Another guard ran up to them, a brunette woman with fancier armor, looking between the two of them, speaking in an authoritative tone. “What’s going on here? Infighting?”

Bramimond looked at her and their features shifted like rippling water, taking on her wavy brown hair and commanding voice. “No. I need to be here, and you will let me pass.”

Both of them stood still, shocked.

Bramimond raised their head higher. “There is danger in these lands. My calling is no longer in my homeland. I am a protector. My will is to ensure that this world shall continue, as was the deal, and here I face the greatest threats this world has. You shall not stand in the way of destiny.”

The female guard captain and the other guard readied their weapons, but Bramimond had dealt with this before. They broke into a run, pushing past them, unwilling to unleash Dark Magic on people who simply didn’t know better.

The underground marketplace was perfect cover.

Taking the form of a cloaked worker, they ducked their head and hurried away, unable to be tracked. They kept walking like that until they meandered into the residential area of Abyss, not making eye contact with anyone, not wanting to change their shape again to complicate matters further.

It took them observing another person to feel their form shift, all trappings of the previous body gone, even the memory of it beyond what they could physically hold onto. The emotions they expressed were not their own, but just a reflection.

They had a task, a purpose, nothing more.

Abyss was home to people who needed somewhere to stay with few questions asked. They found a spare room in a far off, dark corner. Some shelter and a bed was all they needed. 

When they laid down, they were not relieved. They were not homesick, sad, elated, happy, or anything. Their heart was as blank as the darkness above their head.

There was a goal: Get to Fodlan. Keep watch there.

They had succeeded.

That was all.

Humans often found words inadequate to describe how they felt and the world around them. Words existed to bring something more powerful and evocative into existence, to filter being human into something shared.

For them, it was quite the opposite.

Words, logic, a functioning mind that understood reason- this was all they knew. Their reference was only in the book in their hands and the code of their mind. They could remember how humans felt, how the frightened guard’s heart had leapt as their own, how the captain’s businesslike tone had rang out from both of their throats, how events were supposed to dictate one’s mood, but neither stayed, neither could be conjured up by them even if they wanted it, it was merely data, a borrowed moment, a brief log into their blank canvas.

Bramimond closed their eyes, as that was needed for rest.

They played what role was given to them- no, even forced upon them, walking in another’s skin once they perceived them. This was just what they were.

A walking mirror.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Peter Paul Rubens, Dance of Mythological Figures and Villagers (Antwerp, 1630–35.)

A group of figures dance to the tune of a flute played by a man perched on an oak tree, and to the bells that some dancers have attached to their lower legs. The scene evokes the dances that are part of Ancient Greek history and myths and the tradition that followed—the book Hypnerotomachia Poliphili includes a description and a woodcut of a similar dance. The painting also evokes the arcadian settings of pastoral lyric and drama inspired by Theocritus’s Idylls. In that tradition, and in Rubens’s interpretation of it in numerous paintings, the countryside is considered as an ideal place of plenitude, romance, and sexual fantasy for men. The setting is enlivened by the handling of brown, green, and blue paint. The texture builds on the panel support defining the folds of draperies, head buns and ornaments, and the areas where the light hits the trees. In the middle distance is a farm building with a Palladian motif of arch and lintel—if we were to take this literally, we would place the scene in the Veneto. Rubens favoured this style of sixteenth-century Italian architecture, as witnessed by his designs for his own palatial house and garden in Antwerp.

The dancing figures move their limbs and contort their bodies, an expression of the passionate feelings involved in dancing as it is described in Greek literature. Two dogs positioned as mirror images of each other emphasise the circular movement, and the flowing draperies also contribute to the sense of motion. Many of the figures seem concentrated on the mechanics of the complicated dance, as they try not to lose the hands of the others. In the centre foreground, one of the women appears to be upset by the proximity between a woman with a bare breast and a large bearded man with an ivy wreath; his lascivious attitude is intimidating. To the right another couple come close to kissing. Dionysius, ressed in his tiger skin and crowned with a wreath of leaves, looks back apparently pleased by what he sees.

Only the young Dionysius is clad in attributes that allow us to identify him; the exotic tiger skin alludes to his exploits in the Orient. The epic poem Dionysiaca by Nonnos is full of references to such animals. It also mentions a dance that was part of a celebration of Dionysius’s conquest of India: "The foot-soldiers of Bromios danced round with their oxhides and mimicked the pattern of the shieldbearing Corybants, wildly circling in the quick dance under arms". This is not to imply that Rubens is depicting that specific dance, but a reminder of the very frequent descriptions of such activity in Ancient Greek texts, including whirlwind-like ones similar to the one Rubens painted. The most famous is perhaps one of the scenes that Hephaestus designed on the shield he made for Achilles, as described by Homer in the Iliad: "And young men were whirling in the dance, and with them flutes and lyres sounded continually". Other than Dionysius, the identity of the figures in this painting is ambiguous. I see them as timeless, generic characters inspired by ancient texts.

The flute player takes on the role of Pan, the sex driven, pipe playing shepherd god, but he has no animal features. The other dancers bring to my mind the satyrs, frequent companions of Dionysius (but none bear their animal features). Silenus usually formed part of Dionysius’s train as well; perhaps he inspired the large bearded man between the two women in blue in the foreground.

Some women wear high end outfit and sandals, others are barefoot and seem more peasant like. In fact, none of the figures in the scene dress the way high class or countrywomen did during Rubens’s time (as they are shown in his own paintings and in those by Jan Brueghel, David Teniers, or other roughly contemporary Flemish artists). Necks, breasts, and shoulders are more exposed here than they would have been in contemporary society and their uncovered hair and bare feet are also evocative of a different time and place. What the women dancers resemble is a host of timeless allegorical and mythological female figures painted by Rubens throughout his life. They also remind me of some of the bacchantes and nymphs that Titian painted in his Bachanals, following descriptions by Philostratus the Elder—dancing was a favourite activity of both types of creatures, which had the form of beautiful women.

Text translated from Alejandro Vergara, 'Comentario' in: Pasiones mitológicas, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, 2021, p.110-113 nº10

[rhysnolastname]

AHEM.. clears throat 4 7 8 16 17 21 30 39 58 66 79 98

Hi!!! Thank you this was so fun!!!!!

4. Is your oc a daredevil, or more of a scaredy cat? What is the most daring thing they’ve done in their life?

I wouldn’t say Rhys is a daredevil, but they do prefer to face problems directly, whether it requires a fight or it can be talked out, though he’s not good at that last part. I’m going to say the most daring things he’s done in their life so far was jumping into that disgusting hole at Moonrise towers because they were truly disgusted lmao.

7. Does your oc collect anything? What about of knowledge or facts? How big is their collection?

Rhys doesn’t collect anything. I gave him the Urchin background so I don’t think they would let themselves be attached to anything material that they could lose or have to carry around. In the future if he ever settles down somewhere and has a home, I think he’d collect swords. Maybe try to buy back the ones he’s sold so far out of necessity. He definitely does not collect knowledge or facts or anything like that, it’s not their thing (8 int 😭)

8. What kind of flavours does your oc like? How much spice can they handle?

He has a sweet tooth and cannot handle any spice. Sweets aren’t something he gets a lot, specially not growing up, so whenever they have a chance to eat something sweet they’ll take it.

16. How affectionate is your oc? How do they convey their affection? By being touchy, or through more subtle ways?

I think Rhys is very affectionate in a touchy way but does not show it unless it’s initiated first by the other person or it’s clearly spelled out for him. Even like holding hands, they won’t do unless it’s he knows for sure it’s what wanted from him.

17. How polite is your oc? Do they know how to act in a formal situation? How would they *actually* act in a formal situation?

Rhys can be annoyingly polite but only until he runs out of patience and is not getting what they want/need. In a really formal situation, they would let someone else handle it for sure. He wouldn’t know what to say or do or what the expected formalities are supposed to be, or care to be honest. So they’d just let someone better equipped handle it.

21. Is your oc expressive, or would they rather conceal their emotions? What are their typical expressions like?

Can’t control their facial expressions kind of expressive, and he would not hide his emotions at all. I think he’d be awkwardly honest even when he’s not supposed to or probably shouldn’t.

30. How caring/empathetic is your oc? Are they the type to immediately adopt and protect others, or are they a true sadist?

Very empathetic and caring, much to Astarion’s dismay at the beginning. His empathy can be seriously limited when it comes to people who’ve hurt someone close to him, which I think is fair. They tend to give people the benefit of the doubt and try to act as if everyone has good intentions unless proven otherwise. He definitely is protective and adopts people immediately, they don’t think twice about it, again because of their background.

39. Does your oc have any nicknames? What are the origins of them? If they don’t, can you come up with some possible ones?

Does not have any nicknames, wouldn’t let anyone call them by a nickname, and if they did he’d be passive aggressive about it.

58. How would you describe your oc’s appearance to someone who’s looking for them? What features would be most identifiable?

Too tall for doorways, too wide for stealth, has semi long brown hair that they cut themselves badly, big brown eyes, a scar on the right side of his face that he caused himself by accident. Always covered in blood. Unironically wears a cape.

66. What sort of advice would people go to your oc for? What sort of advice is your oc actually good at giving?

Rhys is not good at giving advice, they’ll say what they think once and won’t voice it again. They are also very blunt so while he tries to be sensitive about it and tactful but like I said, he’s not very good at expressing himself. The only good advice they’re confident giving is related to combat strategy.

79. For what reason would your oc turn into a villain? And if they’re already a villain, vice-versa? This is an interesting question and I don’t have an interesting answer! I think the closest he’s come to doing something villainous was considering whether to consume the astral plane parasite, I think it would be an absolute power corrupts absolutely time of scenario for him. But I don’t really wanna taken him down that route. I think definitely revenge would be a reason they lean completely into a villainous arc.

98. Is your oc the type to have a lot of fairly good friends, have a small group of close friends, have one or two best friends, or have no friends at all? Who are they closest to?

Rhys would know a lot of people in Baldur’s Gate but not be friends with them. He’d have a couple of good friends.

[trafficlightchild]

There has been a lot of biphobia going around with the release of Urban Legends #6, so I've decide to make somewhat of a critical post analysis both of what was said in the story and what's begun to be said outside of it.

First and foremost, wanting bi/pan/omni/poly characters and heroes is valid. Wanting gay/lesbian heroes is also valid. The discourse happening is a reflecting on the lack of representation there is as a whole within the DC world.

Let's start with what happening in this issue

1. Tim expressed excitement, happiness, and interest by the idea of going on a date with another boy, Bernard. This story has shown that Tim in some way has felt lost and that accepting this date is also a way of him accepting himself.

Tim is interested in datings boys. That's a fact.

2. Tim declares his love for Stephanie. While this can be interpreted as him loving her as someone other than a romantic partner, he says that he didn't understand why he wanted and did need to feel to break up with her. This implies that, at least up until very, very recently, he was romantic interested and attracted to Steph.

(I think it should also be noted that Bernard shares similar features to Steph, such as having blonde hair and blue eyes)

I would like to focus on Tim's comment "If she didn't understand, you sure don't" and look at previous issues in Urban Legends

We don't really have a timeline for breakup and the aftermath since it all happened off-panel but my guess is that it wasn't too long ago. Steph is clearly trying to talk to Tim and Tim doesn't seem to want to speak to anyone. I think this is important to note because it implies that Tim didn't know how to express what he was feeling or going through to Steph. Obviously, and this should go without saying, you don't need to tell anyone you're queer or questioning unless you want to. But it makes me wonder how can Steph not understand what Tim's going through when there isn't a chance for them to talk.

I want to be clear, I am a major Stephanie Brown fan yet even if I wasn't, I highly doubt that Stephanie will be written as homophobic or biphobic. She has been shown various times to be supportive and friends with various people who are apart of the LGBTQIAP+ community. Stephanie, like Tim and many other characters, has also been the subject of queer-coding - most recently in Future State: Batigrls

Lastly, these of are some the response Meghan Ftizmartin (the author) has made. She hasn't corrected anyone's interpretation of Tim being bisexual. Nothing has been stated in the actually text but I think this indicates that Tim Drake is bisexual.

I hope this is helpfully for all those who are wondering. As someone who identifies along the multi-sexual spectrum, I want to see this open more doors for queer-plotlines and characters.

Edit: I suggest reading Meghan’s interview with Polygon, as it helps clarify why Tim’s sexuality wasn’t directly labeled in this issue. She references Tim’s feelings for both Steph and Bernard as real and current. It’s clear we are going on a journey with Tim as he figures things out.

We should also keep in mind that DC may be waiting to officially refer to Tim as bi or gay due to non-comic media with Tim that was finished but has yet to be released prior to this issue. Tim is set to appear in season 3 of Titans starting this month and most likely will appear in Young Justice: Phantoms starting in October. Both shows have been in production for a while and before this story was even green-lighted by DC themselves. They probably don’t want to confirm that a character’s sexuality in one media only for it to be different in another media.

[hekateinhell]

Vamptember, Day 2

Armand/Daniel | Rating: M | Prompt: Reverse AU | Word Count: 1600

Getting really AU here! Daniel is a vampire created in the 1970s, immediately left by his maker to struggle and figure things out for himself. Fifty years later, he meets a college student in NYC. A story in four months.

This is what he did to pass the nights. Every decade or so, he uprooted to a new city. Got to know the local culture, the fabric of the community. Attended evening classes at the colleges and universities. Collected stories—always itemizing, memorizing, documenting. He’d never stopped chasing the next best thing, the hot lead; it changed every night.

His creator hadn’t had much use for him before or after the fact—a blond-haired demon in the night that vanished almost as soon the deed was done. No matter, Daniel had made his own way over the past fifty years, since that damp evening in New Orleans in 1973.

What choice did he have?

He’d never made another, didn’t know how to. Never met another of his kind either, not including the one who’d abandoned him in the dark. His companions were the people he met along his trips, those that hankered to spill their guts to a handsome, violet-eyed stranger with a young man’s earnest, trustworthy grin.

—

September

It’s an art class at NYU. First class of the semester. The air warm and compressed with the scents of perfume, product, caffeine, nicotine, all the scents dragged off the streets of Manhattan—and of course, blood. Young and innocent and excitable.

But Daniel won’t feed from these youth, not in this decade anyway. He has never been able to stop before the point of no return. With no mentor, it was trial and error—much, much error—to realize that the ones he identified the most with, the ones he wanted to take into his arms to cherish and embrace, weren’t the ones he could connect with in the most intimate expression he had left.

He was never able to bring them back.

—

Daniel hears him before he ever sees him.

A loud laugh, almost childish in its uninhibition and audio frequency, the sound echoing throughout the classroom as he walks in, looking over his shoulder at a classmate.

Just a kid, Daniel thinks, because he himself is easily five decades older and at least two generations removed.

“Armand, come!" the kid's companion urges.  

Armand.

It’s a pretty name. French in origin. Daniel tries it out without opening his mouth, feeling his tongue try to curl around the R.

Uncommon, but this was New York.

Daniel takes in everything, from the cascading dark auburn curls to the black combat boots. Seeing each feature separately and then combining them into the whole again.

There's a delicate androgyny to the face that would have had Daniel puzzling over the kid's gender—if the bossy friend hadn’t elected to use the masculine pronouns when referencing him to someone else in their little group. It corresponded with what Daniel can see outlined in Armand’s skin-tight leather pants, like he’s been sewn into them—trends from Daniel’s era had become new again. Shorter than average for a man his age then, the top of Armand's head would barely clear Daniel’s shoulder.

Almost as if he's hearing this descriptive analysis of his person, Armand whips his head around and catches Daniel's stare head-on. Smiles and makes his way over, chin tilted upwards.

His eyes large—too large—brown, and playful. And yet, there's an overwhelmingly melancholic quality to them that makes Daniel’s chest clench, in the same inexplicable way the sound of a train whistling in the distance once broke the heart of a lonely country boy in the Appalachians each night the Norfolk Southern freights passed through.

He wants this kid’s story.

“Hey, I'm Armand," the voice is low, breathy, “Is this seat taken?”

—

The kid, Armand, becomes Daniel's new friend for the season.

He’s talkative, and Daniel’s enquiring. He enjoys being the center of attention, and Daniel enjoys watching him in his element. He's sweet and sensual, liberated, and expressive in a way the homosexual men of Daniel’s era could never have been in the mainstream culture of the time period.

Daniel finds himself in Armand's apartment in Greenwich Village after class; first two, then three times a week. It's right there—a ten minutes walk away from campus.

Dangerous, frightening, how quickly Daniel fell into a routine with this one.

It’s easy.

It’s too easy.

Just get the stories and go, Daniel told himself.

But when Armand poured him the booze Daniel was never going to drink, opened the window to climb out onto the fire escape three floors up, laughing at the hesitance he saw written on Daniel’s face—misreading it entirely—coming to nuzzle comfortably against his collarbone, “What, are you scared of heights all of a sudden, Danny?” Daniel knew.

He wants to tell the kid to stop, knock it off, toughen up, man up—that he’s too sympathetic and enthusiastic to go out into the world behaving this recklessly, this trusting.

There’s dangerous people out there.

You’re gonna get hurt.

—

October

Armand leans against the railing, exhales a vape cloud into the sky, the strawberry scent cloyingly artificial.

"Kiss me," he says, his mouth smiling while his dark eyes issue the challenge, masking the plea Daniel can hear as loud and clear as the siren wailing in the distance.

He’d dropped two before going to class. He should be able to manage this, an innocent kiss. Tells himself this is the limit; he’ll enjoy Armand’s company until the kid eventually gets fed up when Daniel can’t offer him anything more and moves on. Sure, he might sulk for a week or two, but he'll soon land on his feet.

He's twenty-one; what does a twenty-one-year-old know about life?

Daniel won't ruin this one. He'll eat before, as many as it takes. Swears he'll never let things escalate to any form of physical intimacy anyway, beyond this.

Meeker, more submissive than expected, and Daniel's grateful for it. His mouth is warm, pliant, and giving, just like the rest of him. It allows Daniel to take control and prevent him from nicking himself on a fang. He’s placing a tremendous amount of trust in the belief that his instincts won’t win out this time, but he’d rather not test it after…

If Armand thinks Daniel feels wrong, he doesn't react, and his thoughts are calm and subdued enough that Daniel can't pick them up.

He pulls back, sees the kid's black lashes fluttering in the muted glow of Manhattan at night, dusting his cheekbones as he struggles to catch his breath, looking up at Daniel like he'd just hung the goddamn moon.

Fuck.

The sky has begun transitioning from black to violet when he lies about being late for work.

Armand’s exhausted, delirious. Jittery from the stimulant comedown, the night chill, the incessant surge of endorphins and hormones.

He trembles in Daniel’s arms, a whisp of a thing. Lips swollen from hours of making out, cheeks pink from cold, his heartbeat so loud and erratic—Daniel imagines it bursting out of Armand’s chest cavity, bathing them both in the delectable red warmth he can feel pulsating right beneath his fingertips. His throat aches and his mouth opens involuntarily, as if anticipating the arterial spray.

Armand stands on tiptoe, pressing one last kiss to his hard jawline.

“Text me later?”

“Later,” Daniel promises.

—

November

Armand calls Daniel his boyfriend now.

Dating has become much more complex and somehow more informal since the last time Daniel did it.

There's an expiration date on this "relationship." Seeing it looming in the distance, a flashing neon sign to an exit ramp in pitch darkness, makes him restless and agitated—which in turn, produces the inevitable natural consequences.

Armand screaming in Daniel’s face, no longer sweet-tempered and soft-hearted. Hurt and rage bringing about the most exquisite flush to his face and neck, the valves of his heart slamming open and shut, his jugular emphasized from the pressure building in his young chest. Completely unaware he may as well be laying himself down on a sacrificial altar.

More tempting was this display to Daniel’s basest desires than any of the nights he’d spent working the kid open, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as Armand buckled and shuddered against him, wailing Daniel’s name in the dark bedroom.

His insides searingly hot as he locked around Daniel’s three fingers, the sweat on his thighs tangy and salty—all of it a tease, a mockery of the red elixir coursing just below the paper-like skin.

And still, it paled in comparison to the passion and intensity of his fits.

—

December

Three unwelcome truths started to arise unbidden after each explosive quarrel, after each of Armand’s tearful outbursts—why can't we go out during the day? are you ashamed of being seen with me? what are you hiding? why can’t I touch you? why don’t you want to fuck me? what’s so wrong with me, Daniel? say it, I dare you, just fucking say it!—after each argument that Daniel stormed out, convinced if he stayed a second longer, he'd slaughter him right where he stood. Armand cursing his name loud enough for all of New York City to hear.

First, he was never supposed to get this far.

Second, he’d gotten the story he’d come for, and it was as tragic as he could have predicted. A tale to be shelved and revisited at a later date once the attachment had passed.

But last, and most importantly, Daniel had been this for so long, fixated on avoiding the literal and tangible collateral damage, he’d forgotten… until the damning pile of evidence couldn’t possibly be ignored any longer…

There was more than one way to ruin a person.

[burningupp]

written under the cut!

eighteen: stupid

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Immediately after you send the text, you hear the telltale sound of a FaceTime-call breaking through the silence of your apartment. It makes you smile, and shift to sit more upright on the couch - Jimin may be a friend, one of the best ones you've ever had if you're honest, but you don't find the thought of exposing him to your double chin while you lay down particularly enticing.

Since Jimin (and Taehyung, but you try not to let your thoughts linger on him too much) left, talking to the cheerful man had become like habit. He always texted you good morning, asked how your day was when you got home, and wished you sweet dreams before sleeping. Unlike Rosie, he actually took his time to listen and hear you out just as you did the same for him.

No shade to your long-time best friend, but she wasn't particularly attentive to others; an unfortunate trait she had always carried with her.

As soon as you pressed the green button on your screen, Jimin's smiling face made an appearance. The sight of him pulled a smile onto your features, one you couldn't have fought off if you wanted to - the man knew how to cheer someone up.

Jimin seemed to be in a living room of some sort, something that you found rather surprising. The other times the two of you had FaceTimed, he made it a point to provide the both of you with the privacy of his room, door shut tight. You didn't mind much, but the unfamiliar background intrigued you.

"Y/n!" Jimin exclaimed, that large smile never leaving his features.

"Hi Jimin," you smiled back.

Though your greeting may not have been quite as enthusiastic, you were in fact very happy to see your friend. Your days were spent in a kindergarten, after all, and as much as you adored the kids you cared for, they weren't very good conversationalists just yet. Besides, aside from Rosie, you didn't have many friends, definitely none you considered close, in any case. Jimin's presence in your life, in short, was a welcome one.

"How you holding up?" the smiling man asked, gaze softening.

"I told you I'm alright, Min," you chuckled, glaring at him playfully. "I'm not a child."

"I know, but I care about you, love," he answered, pouting a little. It made you giggle at him.

As bothered as you were because of the whole Taehyung-situation, you figured it was no use dwelling too much on it; if he was upset, you didn't know why, and if he expected an apology, he would have to man up and ask for one. You felt guilty, of course you did – it was in your nature to do your best to always keep all your relationships amicable. Still, there wasn’t much you could do if you didn’t even know what to apologize for.

“I know, thank you for your concern,” you told him, smiling sweetly.

“No problem,” the man grinned back, and you briefly reflected on his ability to shift emotions with such speed. “Anyway, I’m sorry for saying those things about Rosie, that was not very cool of me.”

You bristled a little at that, not even having thought much about his less than kind words towards your best friend. Honestly, they were kind of true – Rosie really shouldn’t have gone through your phone without your permission, and definitely shouldn’t have taken Taehyung’s number without yours (or his) permission at all. However, you were very much used to her antics, and therefore tended to gloss over things like this.

“Ah no, it’s okay,” you told your friend, waving him off. “She can be a bit much at times… it does feel a little bit weird when you don’t know her, I suppose.”

Jimin hummed a little, a crease appearing between his brows. He didn’t want to tell you, but he thought Rosie was a horrible influence on you; he thought you deserved much better friends in general, if he was honest. He had heard about her from you, and while you tended to sugarcoat most things in life, the things he heard were still a bit appalling despite it. On top of that, he had seen the way Rosie acted around Taehyung, and the fact that she was manipulating him understandably didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I guess that might be true,” he agreed, not wanting to make you uncomfortable with his opinions on the matter. “Aside from… that whole situation, how are you doing?”

This question caused you some distress. Your gaze fell upon your coffee table, littered with mountainous piles of papers and books, your laptop open in the middle, glaring its bright white light at you. You bit your lip, stress swelling in your chest and threatening to consume you. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath – nothing good would come from stressing about the situation.

“Y/n?” Jimin asked after a few seconds of silence.

Your eyes were burning with the effort of keeping your tears at bay, but you still answered the man as calmly as you could.

“I’m okay. A bit stressed, is all,” you said, tacking on a chuckle at the end as to not clue the man in on your severe distress.

“How come?”

“This one teacher… She was pregnant. Keyword ‘was’. She was in her 36th week when she went into labor, meaning she still had lessons to plan all the way until summer, and she had two weeks left  until her maternity leave. Now we have to plan all her lessons quickly, because we have to bring in a substitute and it’s just—” you stopped yourself, taking another deep breath before you hurled all over your fairly new couch. “It’s just a lot.”

Jimin frowned at you through the screen. He could definitely see the dark circles under your eyes, and the mess your hair was due to the incessant pulling. He could see a coffee stain on your sweatshirt, too, and when you covered your face with your hands, your bitten-down nails also became apparent. He really felt for his friend, and wished he could relieve your stress somehow.

Just as he was about to suggest taking a break or a vacation or something, you saw another man walk up behind him. Despite looking the band up online (purely to be able to keep up with Jimin’s stories about his life), you could not place who the unfamiliar man was at first. He had broad shoulders, was reasonably tall, and had brown, messy hair. From the looks of it, the man was about to walk straight past Jimin, before he stopped dead.

“Hey, who are you talking to?”

The man padded up behind your friend, leaning in to see the phone screen. Jimin jumped as soon as he heard his friend speak up, clutching his chest and glaring at the man.

“Yah hyung, you scared me,” he whined, and you giggled, your stress momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, is that Y/n?”

Now that the unfamiliar man was so close, you could identify him as Seokjin, the oldest member of the band. You smiled bashfully and waved a little. “Hi.”

You had never talked to Seokjin before, but he gave off a very friendly aura, even through your phone screen. He smiled back at you, and waved a little too.

“Nice to finally see your face,” he grinned, and your eyes widened. “Taehyung talked a lot about you.”

At the mention of your childhood friend’s name, you froze. Jimin was very good at avoiding mentioning his name, but of course, Seokjin wouldn’t know that the two of you were… not on the best terms at the moment. So, you swallowed down the sudden melancholy that washed over you, and tried your best to smile. It sort of worked.

“Ah, well that’s nice of him. Seokjin, right?” you settled for asking, not wishing to dwell on Taehyung for too long.

“Call me Jin,” the man told you kindly before turning to Jimin. “Our car is here to take us to practice.”

Your sweet friend groaned loudly, pouting at the camera. “I guess I have to go,” he said grumpily.

“I guess you do,” you giggled as Jimin stood up from the couch. “Don’t work too hard and take plenty of breaks, okay? You too Jin!”

You saw Jin pause at your words, turning to grin at the phone once more. “You really are a sweetheart, you know that?”

His words made you blush, because you weren’t very used to compliments, but you appreciated them nonetheless. Jimin was quick to agree with his hyung, reiterating how sweet and kind you were, and your face flamed even hotter.

“Yah, let’s go!” you heard a shout from the background.

“Alright, now I really have to go,” muttered Jimin, smiling softly at you. “Please don’t overwork yourself. You won’t be any good to those kids if you’re burnt out, you know.”

You returned his smile easily. “I will do my best. Now go before someone bursts a blood vessel!”

Jimin giggled before saying a quick goodbye, followed by a shouted one from Jin. Before the screen went dark, though, you saw a man with curly hair walking out the door.

You hated the way your heart sped up at the sight of him.

[fangirlings-things]

Rescheduled Lesson

❦ PART. II

Fandom: Enola Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Word count: 3K

anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&

A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)

also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!

gif credit: @henrycavilledits

❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.

You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.

Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.

You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.

And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.

“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”

“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.

“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.

“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”

That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”

Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”

“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”

Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”

“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.

“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.

The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”

Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”

“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”

“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”

Enola laughed as she hugged you back.

════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════

Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.

You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.

On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.

You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.

You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.

When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.

He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.

“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.

“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”

You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”

“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”

You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.

“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”

He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”

He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”

“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.

“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”

“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”

“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”

“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”

“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”

“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”

“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”

Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.

He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.

“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”

“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”

“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.

“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”

You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”

“Please, call me Sherlock”

And after that, he walked away.

[conradscrime]

Identified Doe: Orange Socks

May 05, 2022

On October 31, 1979, the nude body of a woman was found face down along I-35 in Georgetown, Texas. The woman had been sexually assaulted and strangled. She wore a pearl stone ring and became infamously known as “Orange Socks” due to the fact that she was found wearing orange socks. 

The unidentified woman was estimated to be between the ages of 15-30, 5′8-5′10 and between 140-160 pounds. Her teeth were in good condition, despite two of them being missing and she did not have much dental work done or any cavities. She had long brown hair with a reddish tint, unshaven legs, painted fingernails and pierced ears.

 It was estimated that she had only been dead for a few hours before she was discovered. 

Serial killer Henry Lee Lucas confessed to the murder of Orange Socks in 1982 but there was no physical evidence linking him to the crime. Lucas claimed he picked the woman up in Oklahoma and they had sex. He asked her to have sex again while he was driving, to which she replied “not right now” and tried to leave his car. Lucas killed and raped the woman and then drove her body to Georgetown. He claimed that the woman said her name was either “Joanie” or “Judy.” 

There have been reports that during the time of Orange Socks’ murder, Lucas was working in Florida, though the murder took place in Texas. It is also said that Lucas contradicted himself several times when confessing. Many find it hard to believe that Lucas would have traveled to Oklahoma from Florida, then to Texas and back to Florida to commit this crime. 

After his conviction in 1984, Lucas recanted his statement and his death sentence was later reduced to life imprisonment in 1998. Many doubt Lucas’ confession, as he was known to confess to lots of murders, up to 3,000. Lucas died in 2001. 

Also in 2001, there was a missing woman’s photograph that surfaced that resembled Orange Socks, but DNA testing proved that it was not a match. Media reports suggested that Orange Socks was a woman who had disappeared in the 1970′s with her abusive boyfriend. 

Some believed Orange Socks was a woman named Martha Morrison, but that was ruled out. Morrison’s remains were identified in 2015 as a Jane Doe who was found in Washington the same year she vanished. 

The case was featured two different times on America’s Most Wanted, with one of these times generating a woman who called to say she had seen Orange Socks hitchhiking on the day of her murder, but this did not lead to any new information on the case. 

In January 2019, it was announced that DNA had been taken from the orange socks that contained two or more males. 

On August 7, 2019, Orange Socks had finally been identified after almost 40 years as 23 year old Debra Louise Jackson who was born on September 23, 1956. The DNA Doe Project had identified a potential cousin of Orange Socks through research. A revised sketch of the woman had also caught the attention of Debra’s sister. 

Debra’s sister submitted a saliva-based DNA kit and the results confirmed that she was related to Orange Socks, identifying her. Debra was last seen around 1977 and was never reported as missing. Her family said that they just assumed she was living on her own and fine. Debra had been working at the Ramada Inn in Amarillo, Texas and Bur-Mont in Azle, Texas in 1978. 

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

I’m on mobile, so ya know, but for @five-rivers @floralflowerpower and I just checked, lemme amend to @uwuplasmiusuwu

This is Fathering a Phantom

It was a bright summer day in Amity Park, Danny Fenton was in the grove - no one wanted to say “Amity Park Park” - doing a handstand while braced against a tree. “See? I told you I could do it.”

“You’re not using your powers to float into that position, are you?”

“Sam, I am offended that you would imply that I, of all people, would cheat at things with levitation.” Danny laughed, flopping down onto his belly in the grass. “Appalled, really, how dare you?”

Laughing, Tucker ripped up a handful of grass from his side and sprinkled it down into Danny’s bird’s nest of hair. “No of course, you are the most noble in character there is. As we have seen, you are a superhero through and through. Complete with bedsheet cape.”

Danny groaned while the three of them laughed and shook his head. “Alright, listen.”

“You, wearing black and white alone, looked at me and asked if I was willing to wear bright primary colors, Danny.” Sam patted his shoulder blade and Danny rolled his eyes. “A ghost asked a goth to wear bright colors. You shall never live that down.”

“There are pastel goths,” Danny countered with a pout. “I checked, there are goths who wear bright colors. It’s a mindset, not a fashion statement.” Tucker draped yet more grass on Danny, who turned to stare at his best friend and deadpanned, “Dude that’s kinda gay.”

Tucker snorted and laughed himself back into the tree they were sitting in front of. “H-how exactly is that gay?”

“Grass, in flower language, represents homosexual love,” Sam supplied.

Tucker covered his heart with a hand and gasped loudly. “Oh goodness me, I, a bisexual nerd, cannot be gay good sir and madam, that is simply unacceptable. Truly, this is the end of my world.”

“I will write you a gorgeous eulogy seasoned with memes,” Danny said, patting Tucker’s thigh as the latter flopped over, putting on his best ‘dying’ act. Then a chill completely at odds with the summer sun shining down on them went up his spine and out of his mouth as a cloud of icy mist. “Shit.” Danny braced for impact, a dome of green light erecting itself over the teens just in time for five missiles to strike it and explode.

When the smoke cleared and Danny transformed in a flash of light – pale skin tan, snow white hair, glowing green eyes, black and white jumpsuit, all the staples of half dead teendom – Danny locked on to his attacker. A large, mechanized man with flaming green mohawk was grinning down at him like a predator baring teeth to prey. “You’ll have to survive to his funeral first, whelp, and I assure you that’s not happening. I’ve gotten a few upgrades since last we fought, and The Hunt is on.”

While Skulker popped out a new cannon, Danny turned to check on his friends, both of whom were pulling out their own Fenton ecto-pistols. When he turned back there was an explosion of golden light and the screeching of tearing metal, and Skulker was missing half of his mech before Danny could even quip at him. Danny dropped his shield, turning to stare at the source of light with everyone else, and found his jaw had dropped very literally to the ground.

Something that could be a bear mixed with a goat, an electric eel, and at least three kinds of birds was aiming a bow at Skulker, an arrow made of golden light already knocked and shining brighter with every second. Each feather was a different color, oscillating in intensity, but overall, it was both hard to look at and impossible to look away from. “Hi there,” the ghost said with a voice that could have been a thousand people speaking in tandem. “You are going to leave in the next five seconds, or I am going to traumatize these children by showing them just how one Ends a ghost. Four. Three.”

Danny had never seen Skulker fly away so fast, especially with only one turbine to boost himself. He couldn’t even blame him, not with the burning fountain of energy beating their kaleidoscopic wings in front of him, aiming at Skulker until buildings were in the way. Danny charged up an ectoblast of his own even as the arrow dissipated. “Well, ever since all this ghost stuff I didn’t believe in guardian angels. Get lost in the Zone?” Much to Danny’s pleasant surprise, the angelic ghost laughed.

“Gods, your aura is screaming ‘fight me,’ did you know that?” The ghost turned to Danny and all the animal features melted into each other until Danny was looking at what could almost pass for a regular human being. Blond hair, brown eyes, some weird old-timey robes, and a single pair of feathery wings that reflected the light catching them like crystal glass. In the next moment, Danny was being dragged into a tight embrace, cut off from the world by arms and feathers alike, and he blinked several times, tense as a bowstring.

“I’m gonna need you to back up before I zap you,” Danny said with his hands up and a buzz traveling from his chest toward his fingertips. The ghost backed up, hands held up where everyone could see them, and wings half folded around him like a cloak.

“Apologies, my response to seeing kids almost getting hurt is to hug them. I should’ve asked first.”

“That’s very true,” Sam said with narrowed eyes. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Yeah, we don’t get many new ghosts around here who know how to speak English,” Tucker said. “Or any who help us.”

The strangely human looking ghost took a deep breath, eyes glowing from brown to golden-orange and clasped their hands together in front of their face. “Well, that explains a few things I’ve observed of you in the past two minutes. Right, so, first thing’s first; hi, I’m Tobias Lumano, you kids can call me Toby. He/him and all that.”

Danny shook the hand extended to him, ignoring the fact that a hand was held out to all three of them. “Danny, Phantom currently.”

“Tucker Foley.”

“Sam Manson. What exactly did you observe of us?” Sam still held her pistol, ready for a fight. Toby chuckled and shook his head.

“Well, Danny here is screaming ‘fight me,’ with his body language and if all you’ve ever met are hostile adult ghosts then that makes sense. You’ve got that Still Warm feel to you, like you’re only recently dead. Which makes the rumors about you impossible, of course, cause I’m pretty sure none of you are even close to being adult humans unless people look a lot younger per quarter of their life in this Realm.” Toby settled with his wings crossed over his chest, relaxed but not quite limp, and Danny cocked his head to the side.

“How do you even see with those glowing in your face all the time?”

“What about Danny screams ‘fight me,’ exactly? He’s totally chill right now.” Tucker gestured at all of Danny, bobbing idly up and down on some kind of current that he had yet to identify.

“Oh, my dear summer child, ghosts communicate in ways that non-psychic humans cannot perceive fully. You see this?” Toby brushed a feather against Danny’s glow and the teen made a face, drifting away from the odd sensation. The glow stretched with his movement before Toby backed off. “That’s your aura, little man, and it’s currently positioned in a way that’s sort of giving the finger to everyone around you. How long have you been liminal if you don’t know about your aura?”

“How long have I been what now?”

“I think he’s talking about you being half ghost,” Tucker said, whipping out his PDA and tapping away at the screen. “We’ve never actually heard a term for it before other than Sidney Poindexter calling Danny a halfa. No offense to Poindexter but that’s a really dumb name.”

Toby laughed, covering his face with a hand, and shaking his head. “Right, ok, you’ve got a lot to learn, but I think I can help with that.”

“We should probably take this discussion somewhere a bit more private than the open park,” Sam hissed. “This is supposed to be a secret, remember Danny?”

Danny rolled his eyes and turned his head around 360 degrees. “There’s no one here right now, Sam.”

“Well, if you’re keeping this a secret then yeah, you should probably find somewhere secure to talk about this at.” Toby rolled his eyes and became translucent, spreading his wings and circling around the three of them. “Here, you take this feather and just break it when you feel ready to talk with me. I’ve got some things to figure out around here.” One such feather fell into Sam’s hand, taking on the hue of several leaves in a gradient, and Toby winked at Danny before vanishing entirely from view.