#outdated lore

[gethoce]

who and what is void in your au? how did his whole sealing happen? and where is he after the events of star allies?

Void eventually manage to make their way into the Dreamscape and is traveling far and wide using their skills to help people, as was originally meant to be.

[iheartpeppino]

Just thought I'd inform my fellow Peppino and Maurice Spaghetti enjoyers that our two boys aren't the only hot members of their family. According to an outdated Pizza Tower lore document, Peppino's mom was going to join Peppino on one of his adventures... she was not named, but she was described as Peppino's "hot mom" specifically.

So... you know. Good looks apparently run in the family.

[blueberrysnake]

A Mockingbird Is Cold

Summary: Tommy was cold. And tired. Oh and hungry. Why did Tubbo have to live so far?Why was his vision getting blurry?

Or: Tommy is a mockingbird hybrid and is cold.

Chapter 1/1

On ao3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37840942

Word count: 583

Tommy had a rough night. First, he had to walk through the cold arctic with nothing but a T-shirt, and then he had to fight the mobs that decided to come out at the very moment he was making the long hard trek to Tubbo and Ghostboo's house, leaving him very upset. He just needed a place to live for a few days until he was able to rebuild his house.

But the point is, Tommy was cold, tired, and injured. So excuse him if he started to cry, just a little bit on the way over.

By the time he arrived, Tommy was suffering from some symptoms of hypothermia. He wasn't thinking clearly and his brain felt fuzzy.

He finally got to Tubbo and Ghostboo's house. He managed to knock on the door before passing out on the porch.

Tubbo heard a light knocking accompanied by a loud thud, and rushed over to the door. He opened it to reveal a passed-out Tommy with blue fingers and lips.

Tubbo picked Tommy up, with lots of effort of course, and brought him to the couch, near where tubbo and his dead husband were spending time together attempting to sort through old enchantment books.

Tubbo set Tommy down carefully and signaled for Ghostboo to get some blankets for the youngest in the room.

Once Tommy was covered from head to toe in their thickest blanket, the husbands resumed their work on sorting, though checking on Tommy every few minutes.

Not too long after Tommy was laid down, he was forced awake from a nightmare. As he was struggling to get his breathing under control, Tubbo shot up from his place on the floor, rushing to aide the younger.

Once Tommy had calmed down his breathing, he finally registered how he was in Tubbo's house. Didn't he pass out on the porch?

Tubbo got Tommy some hot chocolate and asked if Tommy needed anything else. After Tommy quickly declined, just saying he needed a place to stay for a few days Tubbo went to join Ghostboo on the floor.

Just a few moments later, Tommy had downed the beverage and was nearly asleep. Unfortunately for Tommy, sorting enchantment books is very brutal on one's eyes, so Ghostboo was not having a good time.

Ghostboo let out a frustrated enderman sound, as he went to rub his eyes. He immediately stopped in his tracks when he heard a sound that nearly mimicked the one he made seconds ago. Eyes whipping around, looking for another enderman, Ghostboo let out a confused warble.

When he was met with the same warble again, he grew even more confused. Tubbo noticed his spouse's confusion and decided to explain what Ghostboo was hearing.

"That's Tommy. He's an avian hybrid, but I think he is a mockingbird or a parrot specifically. because of that, it calms him to mimic sounds that other hybrids make. He is super ashamed about it though, so he rarely does it anymore. I actually only think that he can't control it when he's really tired, so what he's doing now is involuntary." Tubbo notified his husband.

So they spent the next 30 minutes making hybrid noises just to hear Tommy mimic them, only ceasing when they learned he was doing it in his sleep.

So then they decided to cuddle up next to him on the couch, and within seconds, all three of them were asleep, and they had all gotten the best sleep of their lives.

[lynxfrost13]

HOPR comm by Phosology , go check em out :D

[moonscape]

i'm going insane gamefreak who the fuck are these giants you keep referencing

[ratwithhands]

I had this AU archived off my accounts for a few years, but I'm thinking about it a lot more these days so I'm digging it up for sketches.

This is Kudari from Codebreaker, functionally the starting antagonist for the story when Emmet accidentally collides with him and takes parts of his body.

For a little debrief, the main idea of Codebreaker is that Emmet discovers that he exists in a false reality, and that there is a parallel plane where all of the instructions for his reality exist. He finds his way to this plane by accident after walking back from another lonely day at work, and is hellbent on learning how to manipulate it in the hopes that he can recover Ingo with that knowledge. Kudari is his own set of instructions, who he partly dismantles, allowing him to actually interact with the code. This leaves a hollowed out shell that starts trying to find his own way to get his body back from Emmet.

I'd been thinking about the Beta Submas leaks which lead me to sketching him again. Here's the first rough warmup sketch I did with a fight between him and Emmet.

From there I just started reworking his old design to be worse 💀

Let me know if you guys want more of this freak, he's honestly really fun to sketch.

[the-artist-grimm]

Crimson Angel AU Overview - The Lamb, Anthea

Crimson Angel AU, or better viewed as ‘Blood Soaked Angel AU’, is a Cult of the Lamb AU based around the Lamb, Anthea, a seemingly kind, friendly, and optimistic person just eager to help. Yet in reality, much of their actions stem from a mix of guilt over surviving, and a lingering desperation to cling to the way they were raised-to put everyone else’s needs above their own and to bury any negative emotion out of fear of being ‘selfish’. They are an 'angel' eager to help anyone in need, even if that means they bleed themselves dry. The main themes of the AU are learning to communicate and express your emotions and needs to your loved ones, themes of how negative family dynamics can affect a person, and letting go.

Background of the Lamb

Lamb’s Family Overview 

Prior to becoming a vessel, the Lamb was but an older sister, the eldest child of 4 raised with the understanding that in a time of genocide and strife, there was no room to be ‘selfish’. That with Papa serving as the village's supply runner, it was Anthea's job to help ease Mama's burden at home, especially once the twins Lindel and Garrick were born when the lamb was but 4. The first-born was the one meant to handle the burdens of growing up to soon, so that at the very least, the other children could play a little longer. Anthea was to be the example, and all her things were to share. Nothing was ever truly hers because it was better to pass things down, and complaining about it would be selfish when their village was already just barely getting by, as well-hidden from danger as it was. It was lucky that sometimes Papa would take her with him on trips to teach her the routes, though at the time, Anthea never understood why he looked so sad when asking if things were too much back home. Since after all, what was there to complain about? The lamb was alive and could help out her family-that was enough.

Even as Papa died when she was 8 and that left Anthea no choice but to take up his mantle (no one else had the courage to do the same). Even as two brothers became 3 only a week after his death and Mama suddenly needed help more than ever, it was fine. It was fine because that's just what big sisters had to do and she could handle it.

It was the older sister’s job to handle it.

Just as it was the older sister’s job to keep everyone safe, at least until after one standard, uneventful supply trip at age 12, Anthea returned to find that the entire village had been razed to the ground, with not a single person nor body left behind. There was only blood mixed with the ashes of her home, and scraps of cloth that looked so, so similar to what the boys had been wearing just before she'd left. Even after weeks of wandering a kindhearted rat named Ratau finally found and took her in, Anthea was still an older sister. An older sister who had failed, and was now left with this void of purpose. And thus she clung to that old title-clung to that role of self-sacrifice and bottling things up. Because that was her job, and that was all she knew how to do. The boys deserved to live more than her-they were so, so young she'd been 12 they'd had so much more life to give than she, and thus she knew damn well that she better not complain because of that.

The God of Death

Whilst in Ratau’s care, the lamb at first was just going through the motions. Never crying, but not quite settling in either. That was until Anthea came across a collection of books left from Ratau's time as vessel. A collection of books about a fifth bishop, a kind bishop, a God of Death who greeted the departed with gentle hands and soft words, walking with them before seeing them across the Threshold to what lied beyond. A god so unlike the cruel, merciless bishops the lamb had known of, that for the first time in weeks, the lamb felt at ease. If those books were true, then someone kind was there to greet her family after they faced the most brutal of deaths, and though that god was chained now, that just meant he deserved Anthea's worship even more. She created a little alter beside her cot in Ratau’s shack and would prayed nightly to him, then spent her days helping Ratau around the house, learning how to defend herself from heretics from his friend Shrumy, learning how to survive via making potions from Ratau's husband Flinky, how to set traps and barter from another friend Klunk with his buddy Bop, all while secretly awaiting the day she would meet this kindly god, since as much as she enjoyed this life with Ratau and everyone, it was one lived on borrowed time.

Execution

The Lamb faced execution at age 26, and it was a death she welcomed as it was a trade for Ratau. The two had been careless whilst walking home one afternoon and were jumped-a lamb and a former crown-vessel were fine prizes to have, and Ratau was injured during the chase. Having long accepted that she was meant to die, Anthea simply picked up her sword, drew the heretics away, and prayed that her father figure had escaped, knowing that so long as he lived, that would be enough. And yet when the axe fell and Anthea died as the last lamb, the god she finally got to meet wasn’t quite like that of the books and stories she'd managed to get from Ratau. He of Death was tall and grand-with glowing red eyes beneath a dark veil, yet he was shackled in place by bloodied, iron chains, with his dirty robes torn and stained. His arms were stripped down to bone, smelling of rot, and worst of all-though he appeared to hide it as she was beckoned to approach, he was in clear pain. That kindly god she'd grown to worship was chained in such a dreadful state and in pain, and to Anthea's horror-he wasn’t alone. Two kits just barely in adolescence were there by his sides. Two kits whom were black cats just as he was, which made the Lamb wonder how could the bishops be so cruel as to not only chain their kin, but to lock his children with him?

(They had thought the twins his biological children then, but even after learning the truth later, it was clear that regardless of blood the boys were his)

When asked to built a cult in his name the lamb accepted it without hesitation. She had survived her village where she should have died, and even after dying for Ratau, here she was being offered to live again where someone else deserved it more. If this is what her god ordered, then this must be why she lived.

The lamb would fight and die so long as it meant the betterment of someone else's life.

Bishops Arc

Anthea’s time as vessel was a mix between managing the cult and continuously being drawn back to the Gateway by the image of the children, Baal and Aym. Those two little boys who brought back memories of her own little brothers, yet were also two little boys so unlike Garrick and Lindel, that didn't seem to know how to act as kids... Unable to shake the instinct, the Lamb began to try and interact with them whenever she came to report to TOWW, yet each time the boys seemed startled at even a simple hello. What finally broke through the ice was giving the boys a book she had read to her own brothers as a child-and at learning the two couldn't read, offered to teach them how as well.

Yet through befriending the kits Anthea also began to break through to TOWW as well-the god's melancholic, stoic mask gradually cracking as he questioned their reasonings. Why bother with the kits? Most vessels ignored them. Why ask if he needed anything for them or himself besides the Bishops dead? He could manage just fine. Why offer to show him the world via the crown? Why try to talk? Why waste the time? Why do any of this that was not required? Did they wish something to gain? Anthea's reply of simply wanting to make his and the kits more comfortable only seemed to just confuse him more, and it made them sad.

(Which ah, wasn't that something? Them...He Who Waits and the kits helped them realize that. For so long 'she' sometimes didn't feel right, even as a child, but Anthea had always ignored it since there was never the time and more 'important' things to worry about than their own discomforts. It took the three's help to realize that 'he' and 'they' were options too, and that gender could be fluid)

Seeing him think simple kindnesses with no strings attached was unthinkable hurt the lamb. It hurt them to realize that someone being kind to him just to be kind was rare.

In the same vein TOWW started questioning them on other thing too. Why did they awake screaming from nightmares, why did they hide when they were hurt? Why did they seem so, so set on pleasing everyone, yet just as set on ignoring themself?

They started balancing the other out-Anthea would call out on TOWW being unkind to himself, and he the same in turn. A friendship, it seemed, of two people who understood and saw the other's plight. Gradually Anthea's heart started to flutter with every visit, and after constant nightly deaths kept scaring the cult, they start talking to him via the crown long into the night till falling asleep, needing his voice to sleep in peace, but that was normal for friends, it was easier to talk at night and they just had so much to say. And the boys-the boys were there too, such sweet, gentle kits. Seeing them learn how to play, how much they adored their father-seeing such a happy little family despite the cruelty of the situation...freeing them would be worth everything.

Yet in the back of their mind though the lamb couldn't help but wonder-why did the Bishops chain their brother? TOWW's only answer was that they hated him, and yet...Leshy died with a look of resignation on his face. Heket died cursing herself. Kallamar died calling himself a failure of an older brother-so why? How could anyone resent their own kin so much?

(The Garrick and Lindel had destroyed their orginal copy of the same book they'd given Aym and Baal, once. Papa had given it to Anthea shortly before his death, a rare, precious type of gift to find with books so rare, and strictly had told everyone that no one else was to touch it-that it was all hers alone. Yet the boys colored all over it during Anthea's second time running Papa's routes, when Mama was too busy nursing baby Oliver to realize until it was too late.

Yet Anthea had just smiled and said it was alright, that the boys were 4, that they didn't know better, even as they wished to scream themselves hoarse.

A big sister can't resent)

As Shamura's domain came in line however Anthea began to reminisce. The anniversary of their family's loss have come up and...and it had been a long time since they visited, hadn't it? Nearly 3 years a vessel, plus the 14 years since that day, they had been 12 then but were nearly 29 now, and they finally had the strength to go back without dying so...they asked TOWW tentatively if he could accompany them somewhere via the crown, and without hesitation he agreed. They took him there with a bouquet of flowers in hand and...and they just broke.

They failed...They failed....They failed. Their family was dead because of them, weren't they? They must’ve done something, Anthea could’ve saved them had they gotten home sooner, or maybe they weren’t as careful coming or going and that’s why they were gone. For the first time the Lamb broke down, and as they swore that they’d get him and the kits out-that even if it took their permanent death they were getting his family out, suddenly their god-their friend was telling them no and to never think such a thing again.

The One Who Waits told them that either he was leaving the Gateway with them by his side or he wasn't leaving at all, and for the first time...Anthea was first. He was willing to stay there if that meant they could live (it was likely a figure of speech they assumed but...but he'd waited so long for his freedom. Yet he refused to hear about leaving without them. No one...one had ever said something so...selfless to them of all people before). Something squeezed inside their chest and ah, the realized it now, that’s why they were so open with him. Why they so desperately want to talk to him, be near him, to free him and his kits. They had fallen in love, hadn’t they?

‘Either you leave this place at my side or I don’t leave here at all. You’re leaving here with me’ 

They…they wanted that. For the first time in their life, Anthea wanted that. That selfish, selfish little desire to live freely, to live with someone-to do what their kind and their brothers never could, to make a choice and have something of their own, they wanted that and if their god wanted that too then maybe...maybe it was ok.

TOWW stayed with them via the crown till their tears ran dry, then gently pushed them to go home-home to Ratau and their teenhood bedroom and cot, telling them that the cult could manage a night and that they should go see their adopted Dad and Pa and not be alone on this night.

And thus left to their thoughts Anthea started to think. In sheep culture it was tradition to use your own wool to weave a sash for your beloved, as a show of devotion and an oath of commitment, and often given as a sign of courtship or a proposal. TOWW's words weren’t romantic, they couldn’t have been romantic, but that was alright, Anthea didn't mind. This was just to be a symbolic promise to him and themself-they were going to live, and live with him.

The Betrayal

From there by day they were taking on Silk Cradle, and by night, sneaking off to their old loom at Ratau’s with the crown’s eye turned away-a request for privacy their god always honored, to work on their gift. They usually spoke with TOWW before falling asleep, but he seemed to buy their excuses as to why they couldn't-that they were helping a follower, needed some more rest, had other things more imperative to do as sorry as they were, and as much as they missed their talks they wanted this sash done before he was freed.

During the cradle Shamura would ramble on about betrayals whenever they appeared and the Lamb would ask again how could someone ever betray their own kin-Shamura would spat that the lamb didn't understand what it meant to be the eldest sibling, and the Lamb always would reply that they did before the god would disappear. 

The sash was completed a week before Shamura finally fell, and with favors cashed in to ensure they’d be able to get their god, no, Narinder alone enough to give it to him once freed.

(Shamura had said his name the first they appeared in the Cradle. Anthea had died shortly after, and when calling TOWW Narinder in the Gateway it had put such a sweet, flustered look of surprise on his face that they made sure to do it again and again until he scooped them to dangle them upside down out of mock frustration, cracking a smile as the Lamb had hung laughing and squirming before he placed them back down.

It had felt so wonderful to say, to make him smile like that-they loved him so much that it was the closest they'd ever let themself get to saying an 'I love you')

When stepping into to the gateway for what should have been the final time, Anthea barely had a moment before two kits had barreled in for a hug they eagerly returned-knowing that their boys finally were going to come home, that Narinder was coming home with them-but as he called the two back and the Lamb forward something...something felt different.

It had been a week since they last talked to him or saw him, now that they though about it. He seemed so…so sad for a moment before his expression shifted.

“Vessel…” he had said in a voice, so, so unlike him. So unfeeling, so cold. “I relinquish you from your service to the Red Crown. Return it to me, and embrace the end that awaits. With this sacrifice of my most devoted follower, I will be freed. Approach, and lay your life down at me feet”

Anthea had been stunned. The kits, too, stood in shock. Then came the rattling of chains, then two cages dropping down-filled to the brim with their friends, their followers, Ratau and Flinky- (Dad and Pa had been at the Cult to finish setting up. Anthea had spent the remainder of the week after Shamura's death prepping everything, but their perfectionism had taken hold. The rat and snake had to practically shove them onto the dais they were so nervous to go)

Just what was he talking about? Sacrificing themself...what?

“You who plans betrayal has lost the right to your life. I know of your plan to usurp power, and will not be chained again.”

Betrayal, usurp? Since when...where did he ever get a horrible, unthinkable idea?

Even the kits tried speaking up and asking just what he was saying-if he was ok? What was happening???

(Their heart felt like it was cracking within their chest-)

Narinder hesitated a moment, then, ordered Aym to return to his side, and for Baal to fight the traitor. All three looked at each other in shock, and when he asked again, hesitantly fell into place.

"We'll just...just spar-" Baal had whispered as they parted. "He hasn't been acting himself lately...maybe that'll snap him out of it?" Anthea didn't really get a chance to ask what he meant, because Narinder ordered them a third time.

The blows they traded were meaningless-light parries of sun-spear and sword, evenly matched. Anthea had sparred with the twins countless times before, the boys knew their rhythm just as much as Anthea knew theirs, so it was easy to avoid any lethal hit. It was easy, until Baal unexpectedly threw his weapon the other way to knock Anthea's balance off, and leapt right into their oncoming slash. Red blood appeared over his chest- red blood VERY much splattering as an artery would. Blood that then roared in Anthea's ears as they caught him falling without even realizing it, with Aym bolting to their sides.

He was fading...he was saying something...he was fading, he was-he was ash. Black ash that fell from their fingertips and blew away in the wind. There one moment, gone the next.

They...they killed him.

Before Narinder or anyone else could say anything Aym's magic was suddenly surging-with Anthea staggering back on instinct from the fiery heat.

"If you want us to fight then we'll fight!" he raged, and Anthea was dodging.

Ash on their fingers, blood on their clothes-they refused to fight, started begging Aym to stop, to calm down, he was going to hurt himself calm down-but nothing could get through and when a spell was suddenly hurled at the cages Anthea was too overwhelmed to think of the consequences as they just threw up an ice curse as a shield. A shield that exploded on impact, piercing ice shards shattering across the field. Shattering, and impaling Aym in the stomach.

They were aware as they caught him falling and pulled him into their embrace. They pressed down on the wound as tears spilled from their eyes and it took but a moment to finally realize just what happened.

He knew they'd defend the cages. Baal knew how to force a strike. They...they were trying to get hurt, weren't they?

"Heh...d-dumb plan...s-sorry..." Aym had whispered, blood dripping from his mouth, body breaking apart. "B-baba-"

Then scattered to the wind.

And ah wasn't that funny? They never realized how much they wanted to hear one of the twins call them that but...but there went his ashes, slipping through their fingertips...

Anthea keeled over, and screamed. The piercing, sobbing wails of a parent who just watched their children die in their arms. And then they vaguely heard Narinder's voice (they'd missed how it shook back then) and saw the shadow of his hand and suddenly it was all just red.

Anthea didn't really remember the fight, just that since all four of his chains had been broken Narinder managed to dodge their first blazing curse, and with the fifth at his throat clanking, the battle commenced. It wasn't until eldritch beast was transformed into a bloodied black cat drowning in giant, ichor-soaked robes that Anthea realized the crown's blade was pressed against a neck, with a thin line of ichor already tricking down his throat. How easy would it be to finish it...to hack away till he was but ash as well but...but they couldn't. Staggering back trembling they couldn't kill him-

(They loved him-)

Anthea sent him to the cult, helped everyone down, and they all warped home. And there on the dais in nothing but his own fur Anthea saw Narinder, The One Who Waits, Their God, the Reaper, and the argument started.

He listened in, he listened in they learned. He overheard them finishing the sash but only part of the conversation and not only went against his promise of privacy but took an out of context conversation as proof of them being a traitor??? Did he think that lowly of them!?? That after all they've been through, all they've done they would just...just betray him???

They were making him a gift. They were making him a gift how could he ever think they were going to betray him how even-a crowd had gathered and was watching, and suddenly Anthea felt like they were going to be sick.

"Show's over, back to work. Nona watch over the reaper, and leave me alone-"

They locked themselves into the temple without bothering to see everyone's response for the rest of the day, fell to their knees, and cried. For their sons. For their broken heart. For that damn sash, tucked into its gift-box hidden still inside the chest at the foot of their bed.

The next day the lamb ignored that the Reaper was not anywhere in sight, and ignored how Nona kept trying to talk to them about him. They simply put on a smile, and tended to their flock.

Don't complain, don't be selfish. People are relying on you, and it doesn't matter how you feel.

A thousand year old cycle repeats. 

Boarders are by @lambouillet

[brown-sugar-89]

Cccoulldd we see some more Sweet Dreams AU stuff? Maybe a Pizzano design? Love the au a lot!!

I swear I can recall people calling SD!Pizzano a broken toy, which I totally agree with, but honestly? he's more of a ticking bomb.. to escaping this illusion :^D He's the last grip before it all goes down track, that's why SD!Pizzelle has the biggest trouble gaining him by his side. It causes horrible mental damage to Pizzano as he's not just slowly gains back his personality like Pizzelle does, but the two of these mix together, causing his memory overlap and/or loss, and confusion. Spoilers ahead: worry not! It'll be okay in the end. Both of the men are gonna team up to handle new rather difficult circumstances.

But I'm seeing too far... For now, we just settle down with utter tension slowly growing in both Theo and Pepi. In their own ways :^]

[serpentface]

Palo and Tigran standing casually in place to provide an outfit reference.

They are wearing the most typical day to day clothing for Galenii monks. This consists of three main parts:

-A simple, ankle-length sleeveless robe (white in initiate monks and black in the fully initiated). -A dark woolen cloak, which doubles as a blanket. This cloak is the foundational item of clothing throughout much of Imperial Wardin as a whole, and worn by all social classes. They tend to be cut shorter and highly decorative in the upper classes, serving only the practical purpose of shielding the arms from the sun. Poor laborers may wear only the cloak and a loincloth and nothing else. In the case of Galenii monks, it is standardized, simple, and dark blue-gray. -The sash. This is a very long scarf that is the primary visual signifier of a Galenii monk. Its open ends drape down the front side of the body and are tied at the chest. It is slung over the shoulders and hangs in a loop around the back. These sashes are dyed an expensive royal blue, indicating the significance and relative esteemed status of this religious order.

Additional elements:

-The sign of the horns: a small iron pin used to fasten the cloak. This is the symbol of the Lunar Face Of God (the specific aspect to which the Galenii are devoted, which is primarily associated with fertility and the cycles of sacrifice and rebirth). This is very common among monks but not standardized wear. Galenii priests wear the sign of the triple horns (though more commonly as an amulet).

-Ear piercings: Galenii monks and priests wear thick earrings of dark meteoric iron and stretch their earlobes. One is added to each ear for each year of the initiatory process. Palo is a year in, and Tigran is fully initiated and has five bands per ear. Body modification is exceptionally rare in Imperial Wardi culture, largely in relation to taboos surrounding body integrity. The exception here is done with great significance and care- these earrings can be made only with true meteoric iron, considered to be the blood of God Itself. Permanently marking their bodies with this metal signifies this priesthood's integral connection to maintaining the continual cycle of sacrifice/rebirth that is believed to keep God's domain stable, and binds them to this role.

-Sandals: usually very simple in construction. Monks are often expected to go barefoot, but the cities are quite dirty so most prefer to avoid this if possible.

-Ceremonial dagger: a sign of a fully initiated monk. It is curved and its sheath is decorated with a tuft of lion's mane (a signal of the Galenii order's close connection to the Odonii order). Most of its uses are ceremonial, but it will be periodically used to perform animal sacrifices. A smaller razor blade is kept in the home for personal bloodletting.

-Hair: Fully initiated monks shave their heads, while those in the process of initiation have relative freedom with hair dressing. Palo is wearing his hair in a single braid tucked around the front. Broadly speaking, braiding the hair is associated with female beauty standards throughout much of Imperial Wardin (though generally in two braids). There is no cultural convention Against men doing so, but it is regarded as mildly effeminate (particularly in the south and southeast).

-Lore Friendly Sunglasses: Palo has photosensitive epilepsy. No effective treatments for epilepsy exist in the setting (most 'treatments' in Imperial Wardin are alchemical in nature, ie: ambiguously helpful at best or literal poison at worst), but understanding of the Nature of epilepsy as a neurological disorder is relatively accurate, and the concept of photosensitivity is loosely understood (though not with great accuracy, it's assumed to be caused by light in General). Palo had this pair of (VERY expensive) sunglasses commissioned as a youth, which Do slightly reduce the frequency of his seizures. Devastatingly stylish as they may be, his glasses do not offer much visual clarity so he only wears them in bright conditions.

[bongcipher]

ford's ex-siren girlfriend

[dovewingkinnie]

fun fact i had a sugar spider animation in the works that i never finished you guys will never guess who the canon voice of sugar spider was

[districtunrest]

some pre- and post-Games Haymitch headcanons ahead of SOTR:

as one of the oldest grandchildren to his granny/midwife of a maternal grandmother, he was the apple of her eye and learned how to play fiddle from her. he considered her a kook (affectionate) and was respectfully afraid of her

he was "too scrappy" and "a poor sport" for contact sports in school and mostly played baseball. (once, one of the only things kids knew of him was how he successfully retrieved a baseball from a well.) his pitching skills lent to knife throwing

ahead of the 2QQ, he and his peers tried to start a boxing club but it was quickly disbanded for "getting too political" and "turning into a fight club"

like Peeta, he had a circle of friends but didn't have a singular best friend until his girlfriend, who he opened up to more than anyone by the end

he had a reputation because of his looks and because of schoolyard crushes when he was younger, where it was all very flighty and childish. but he was actually as lost as anybody else when it came to dating in his teens. and despite being known as the arrogant, indifferent, wisecracking guy, he did care about what girls thought of him, enough that it embarrassed him

he was whipped at 15 years old for "something stupid" (backtalk)

he worked odd jobs when he could but his mom also pushed him into school theater to fill up his time, in the hopes it would keep him out of any more trouble. he was a backstage hand until the spring show before he was reaped, where he was forced into a minor role (he's still half convinced these are what's connected, not "the fight club")

he was an inconsistent student. his grades would jump whenever he was grounded and had to apply himself, up until he was off the hook - and then they would slip again

he had to catch up on the mending at home whenever he was grounded. with two roughhousing boys, there was always a lot of mending to be done

there was enough of an age gap that he, like Katniss, was more Older Sibling than just 'sibling' to his younger brother

he got into a couple fights at school but strategically off school grounds so they didn't have to notify his mom, who he hated to disappoint or worry - but he couldn't help that people said or did things that deserved a shove (...off the boundary of school grounds)

much of his home interview for the Victory Tour, including the talent portion, was cut for Reasons, which was convenient because he wasn't planning to do much for it (for them) anyway

he weight-lifted into early adulthood for the sense of control over something (his body), which is how he kept so much muscle tone before letting himself go

he's always liked puzzles - and board games & cards, but he mostly liked to see how far he could cheat at those, and he could only play solitaire now. he made some of his own puzzles by coloring slapdash over completed ones to make them harder for when he was trying to come up with things to do, alone in his house

he was glad his grandma died two years before he was reaped. for one, she probably would've been arrested at the reaping. but also, after he came back, she would've had him kiss a toad three times at midnight while holding a cat's tail or something insane like that. though, for all he knew, maybe that would've fixed everything

[iheartpeppino]

Old pieces of OUTDATED Pizza Tower lore I collected by perusing Twitter. Might be good for making headcanons out of, maybe?

What particularly interests me is that Gustavo was Peppino's brother at one point. And they had a third brother named Beppino Spaghetti... which is basically the same name as Peppino's. Both "Beppino" and "Peppino" are nicknames for "Giuseppe", so Peppino and his twin are both actually named "Giuseppe Spaghetti".

I'm also VIBRATING over the fact The Noise was created by a pizza company, outdated lore or not. I kinda had a feeling that sort of thing happened a lot in the Pizza Tower universe!

[blueberrysnake]

Tommyinnit pog

Summary: I maybe made a backstory for OSMP Tommyinnit… just a little bit.

Chapter 1/1

On ao3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37840942

Word count: 3490

The young avian was never able to see the sky until he finally escaped his capturers at the ripe age of 10. His parents were killed when he was 5 for their valuable wings so he was forced to endure the painful abuse the kidnappers that referred to themselves as the ‘Four Muffinteers’ decided as acceptable.

Unfortunately for the child, they didn’t exactly think highly of avian hybrids. Or any hybrids for that matter, ranking the #1 most cruel hunter group in all three worlds!

Long story short, the young avian never had a good childhood. And now he found himself running away from the Four Muffinteers base as fast as his scarred, scraped, and bruised legs could take him.

Out of breath, because of his body never being satisfied with the lower quality air that was plentiful in low altitudes, the young blonde sprinted as far as his legs could take him.

He eventually decided he was far enough away, albeit after hours and hours of running, and let the stabs of hunger and pain plague his body as the adrenaline finally runs out.

He looks around for any type of food in the immediate vicinity, spotting an apple tree not too far away.

The 10 year old heads over to the tree and begins to climb, with his shaky weak limbs and malnourished body struggling greatly. Not that he would tell anyone that. He’s a big man!

As he finishes his climb, the sun began to set. The boy noticed this, but had no clue what terrors awaited at night. He was feeling really drowsy, never truly having had a good nights sleep since the place he was held captive was below ground, not that he knew the reason why.

He didn’t know anything about how avians worked, let alone anything else, so when he heard a loud groan that came from a green gross looking figure, he didn’t know exactly what to do.

His parents weren’t really ever allowed to see him, so they couldn’t tell him of the dangers of the outside. He decided that whatever the creature was, it wasn’t good.

So he climbed. And climbed. And climbed. He climbed so high that the branches higher up bent if he put his weight on them.

The boy looked down, and saw multiple green men, all moaning and groaning. He elected to stay up the tree for the night.

Skip ahead a few hours, and the sun is beginning to shine on the horizon, casting its light along the plains biome.

The blonde haired child woke up from his light nap. Disoriented, he attempted to figure out where the heck he is.

He remembers his whereabouts, and the creatures at the bottom of the tree, and he looks down at them. Unfortunately for him, they are being burned alive, and they stink.

After the last of the green creatures get burned, the boy hops down onto the grass. He chooses to walk in one direction, in hopes to find food. He sees a few more trees in the distance, and decides to check there.

———————————————————————

It’s been many years now. The blonde haired child has turned 15. Not that he knows that. He has however gotten very good at scavenging for berries and plants and such, avoiding eating meat ever since the incident. His stomach can tolerate meat more than most avians, but it feels extremely uncomfortable and he hates meat with a burning passion.

He has learned to barely ever travel at night, but to also be extremely cautious traveling in the day. He has many great skills, like fighting of monsters with a makeshift axe that he made himself out of a rock and some branches and some vines.

Everything was pretty uneventful for a few days. The boy was gaining more knowledge of the food not to eat, by first feeding some to local wildlife and waiting a few hours.

He had seen a lot of things die because of that. It’s not his favorite, especially when the berries were served to the animals in bulk, but it’s one of the few ways he survived this long.

As the sun went down, he climbed a tree, and settled in for a restless night. He never tried sleeping higher up, or even going higher up, even though his lungs were begging for it.

Then he heard the moaning and groaning. And the rattling. Lots of it. Scared, the boy looked down, and saw nothing.

He looked to the clearing, and there it was. A man, about the same color the sky makes when it’s rainy. The man had two wings and was see through as well.

But most importantly, the man was being chased.

The blonde boy rushed down the tree, and ran up to the closest monster he could. It was one that was white, and tackled it, effectively killing it. He ran over to the other monsters, and did the same.

The other man looked at the blonde boy when all the monsters were killed.

“Thank you so much!” The man exclaimed, as he tried to get within 12 feet of the blonde boy to clearly take in the boys appearance.

Startled, the blonde boy looked around frantically for the safest way of exit. As the man approached, the blonde decided to run away, not noticing the trap that was in his path.

He neared the trap, not looking at it, but instead at the man, and activated it. Unfortunately for the boy, it trapped him in a thick rope that was painful to chew on.

The man chased him, and saw the child was trapped.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. I didn’t mean to spook you earlier. I’m sorry. My names Wilbur, and I’m gonna help you, okay?” The man (Wilbur) said in a soft tone, trying to sound non-threatening.

Unfortunately for Wilbur, that just made the blonde struggle even more. His wings were pushed at an awkward angle already, but all the struggling was making his wings ache and begin to bleed.

Wilbur noticed this, and grabbed his ax very quickly, in order to free the young boy. He managed to get a good hit on the rope, and the whole contraption fell apart, the child along with it.

With a yelp of surprise, the boy fell with the rope into a pile on the grass. Still tangled, he attempted to get free. Unfortunately he only got himself more tangled in the process.

Wilbur saw this, and untangled him in one swift motion. The boy just stared up at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

The boy tried to slowly rise to a standing position, but with all the commotion happening, he had injured his ankle. He knew this because it was incredibly painful. Also because when he put his weight on it to stand up, he immediately let out a cry of pain and collapsed onto the floor again.

“Are you okay?!?” Wilbur exclaimed, extremely panicked that the child was injured.

“H-hurt… this.” The boy supplied, pointing to his ankle, trying his best to be coherent after years of not talking.

“Okay I’ll take you to some shelter because the sun is beginning to rise, just try not to move it.” Wilbur said, attempting to comfort the boy, however that just made him panic even more, because he barely understood most of the words.

The blonde haired child was very paniced, and he tried to scoot back away from Wilbur frantically. Wilbur of course noticed this, and went to pick him up. Tommy panicked even more, and went to bite him.

He missed, and went to kicking Wilbur instead with his good foot. When Wilbur blocked his attacks and went to carry him bridal style, he started to cry, not that he would admit that to anyone because he is a big man!

Wilbur began to walk towards his bag which was left discarded on the edge of the clearing right before the attack started, and the blonde boy noticed this. He contemplated asking if they could retrieve his own stuff or not.

“Me have things too. We get them?” The blonde tried communicating with Wilbur.

Luckily Wilbur somehow understood him, and told him to point wherever his stuff was, which quickly led them to a tree. The child went to climb up it, only to be stopped by Wilbur.

“No. You stay. I go.” Wilbur explained, as gently as possible, and as simple as possible because he didn’t want to scare or confuse the child.

Wilbur eventually got to a shaky high up branch near the top of the tree. He grabbed the sack that was plagued in holes of various holes. The strap was almost disinterested and the leather it was made of was extremely worn out. Wilbur had to wonder where the boy got it from.

As Wilbur made his decent, (from the tree, not into madness like in dsmp cannon) he noticed the sky growing even more lighter than before, and realized that they had to find a cave, and fast.

He finally made it to the base of the tree, to find the kid asleep. He tried to lift him up without waking him, but Wilbur was unsuccessful in the matter.

The kid’s eyes shot wide open, and Wilbur couldn’t help but feel bad for the child.

“It’s me. Don’t worry.” Wilbur tried to reassure the boy. It seemed to work, that or the boy was just very tired. Something told Wilbur it was the tired option.

The two made it to a cave that they were able to find shelter from the sun in, because of Wilbur being allergic to it.

Wilbur set the kid down carefully, and began to attempt to asses the wound. The ankle looked to be just very swollen and not broken.

Once he made sure there was no real danger, like broken bones or bleeding, he decided to go to sleep. Making sure to not intimidate the boy by moving to a far end of the cave.

The kid was a very light sleeper and awoke to any noise the cave made. Wilbur also noted how the boy seemed like he really wanted nothing more than a full and uninterrupted night of sleep, if not longer than that.

By the time the sun made its plunge behind the distant mountains, the two were extremely hungry. Painfully hungry.

Luckily for the younger boy, he had some fruits and berries to munch on. Unfortunately for Wilbur, there was no meat in his bag left from previous nights.

The blonde noticed this, and debated sharing his food. Eventually, the child arrived to a decision.

“H-ey! You take little me food, you have no.” The child asked the older man. Wilbur accepted the younger’s offer, and then offered something to the boy.

“Do you want me to teach you common?” Wilbur asked. He noticed the speech pattern

Of the child, and noted how he didn’t seem to know much common.

The blonde stared at Wilbur, clearly searching if he could be trusted. Soon, he responded with a sound of agreement.

So the two spent the rest of the night talking. Trying to communicate. And it lasted like that night after night. Three days later, Wilbur asked the blonde a question that he had no answer to.

“What’s your name by the way, I never learned it.” Wilbur asked the younger, as a conversation starter and a language practice.

“I- uhm…” the blonde sputtered as he tried to think. Tried to come up with an answer to the question Wilbur asked him. He knew what a name was, but he didn’t think he had one.

“I don’t think I have name.” The blonde finally answered, clearly confused.

“That’s alright, we can make one up for you!” Wilbur replied with a grin.

The two began to bounce ideas off of each other. Wilbur giving most of them, and the younger only trying them out.

“Jakob?”

“No”

“Frank?”

“No”

“Mitch? Levi? Tommy?”

“No- wait… to-Tommy?” The blonde liked that one. Maybe this is his name.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur asked, excitement being barely contained as he didn’t want to frighten the boy.

“Yeah. Tommy!” Tommy replied. Happy about his new name.

The two spent the rest of the night laughing and talking, until the sun rose, and forced them to come farther back into the cave to escape the daylight.

Tommy and Wilbur had spent long enough in the cave, and now that Tommy’s leg is healed, they can continue their journey to safety.

Neither boy knows where to go, but there is a narrow opening in the mountains, so they decided to head over in that direction, as it looked like someone had carved out the pathway. They just had to hope it wasn’t from a hunter group.

After day or so of travel, they made it to the passageway in between the mountains. The sun was nowhere to be seen, so the boys started walking along the trail.

The duo made it to the other side with very little time to spare before sunrise, so they didn’t spend any time surveying the land before searching the nearby mountains for a cave.

Luckily for them, there was a cave and they hopped inside of it, Wilbur being glad he had shelter and Tommy just wanting to rest.

As they settled into the cave, Tommy decided to ask Wilbur something.

“I go look around? Check for safe?” He asked his traveling companion.

“Sure, just don’t go to far, and don’t get injured again!” Wilbur responded, glad he had a friend after months of traveling alone.

He had only just died a few months before finding Tommy, so he didn’t know really what his hybrid traits and such did. He was a normal non-hybrid before he died, right? Because of the weirdness of phantom hybrids, Wilbur doesn’t remember much more than blurred names and faces from when he was alive.

Tommy, however, seems to have a strong grasp on his traits, what he can and can’t do, what his strengths and weaknesses are, and how combat works. A clear sign that Tommy had been on his own for a while.

It amazed Wilbur that Tommy was doing so well with his communication skills. He really is a fast learner.

Tommy half ran, half glided into the cave, eyes wide and out of breath.

“There’s a gliding place there!” Tommy tried to piece together a sentence with his still limited knowledge of common. He hadent learned the words for ‘house’ or ‘floating’ yet.

“… Can you explain that better?” Wilbur asked, very confused. Tommy just stared at him, just as confused. The language barrier was still very prominent, especially in situations like this.

Tommy then tried for a good half of an hour explaining what the structure he saw was, but it was pointless, and Wilbur eventually told him they would check it out in the night.

Well the night came fast, and Tommy practically dragged Wilbur to the structure. It took Wilbur less than ten seconds to find what Tommy was showing him. It was a FLOATING HOUSE. He mentally facepalmed.

“Toms that’s a floating house.” Wilbur said, trying to teach Tommy at least the words to describe the structure, even if he was too shocked to teach him definitions to the words.

“Fuh-low-teen how-ce?” Tommy asked, not quite sure how to pronounce the new words he was given. Looking to Wilbur to see if he said them right, he realized Wilbur was moments away from climbing right up it.

“Wait. I don’t like tall places. I never been up tall.” Tommy tried to warn Wilbur.

“Oh uh okay how about I go up, and you stay here. I’ll only be gone for a minute though so don’t worry.” Wilbur replied, slightly concerned on how his winged friend was afraid of heights.

As he climbed up the ladder, he saw Tommy working on killing the very few mobs that were spawning, as he realized the boy was probably going to always be more experienced than he would ever be.

He reached the top, only to be immediately greeted by a tall man with wings similar to Tommy’s but also different. He had a white and green striped bucket hat, and big black feathered wings. Like really big.

“Hey- are you alright mate?” The unknown hybrid asked Wilbur.

“Ye-yeah uhm I’m sorry I didn’t mean to impose or any-anything like that I was just exploring around looking for safety with my friend.” Wilbur managed to explain to the tall man.

“Oh, well you are standing on a hybrid sanctuary at the moment! If you want you and your friend can stay here for as long as you want! My name is Philza Minecraft, Phil for short! What’s your name?” Phil asked Wilbur.

“My names Wilbur. Are you sure we can stay here and be safe?” Wilbur questioned Phil. His question was answered by Phil’s quick nod.

“Alright then I guess I’ll go get my friend then. He’s a little afraid of heights though so I’ll have to ask him if he wants to stay here.” Wilbur informed Phil.

“How about I come down with you then? Maybe I can help him?” Phil suggested. Wilbur replied with a resounding yes as he didn’t want to pass up an opportunity of safety.

Then Wilbur simply phased through the ground to go speak with Tommy. Phil flew down to meet the boy.

As Tommy saw a strange man falling/gliding down to him, Tommy got really scared and almost ran away to hide. That was until he noticed Wilbur right next to him.

So then when Phil got down the three all talked about staying for a few nights. Tommy of course was very cautious, because of a few reasons:

who EVEN is this random guy named Phil?

Why is this thing FLYING?

Seriously WHY

This Phil guy could be lying

So yeah, they were trying to convince Tommy for so long, the sun was almost to rise. Because of this, they actually did have to spend the night.

Tommy was too scared to actually climb the ladder though, so Phil of course had to carry him while Wilbur climbed the ladder. Tommy had to be carried bridal style in order to be safe from any danger of falling.

About three fourths of the way up, Tommy got extremely tired. The most tired he has ever been. So much so, he could barely keep his eyes open.

When they arrived at the top, Tommy was barely awake. Phil noticed this, and immediately realized that because of the child’s fear of heights, Tommy must’ve never gotten any decent sleep.

Phil noticed Wilbur’s worried look and explained to him the situation, while walking over slightly fast to a nest.

He set Tommy down, and by the time that Phil had led Wilbur to a room with less windows for less chance of burning, Tommy was fast asleep.

And he stayed that way. For days. It was a little less than a week before he woke up again, panicked and looking for Wilbur. Phil gave him some cold water and some bread, and Tommy had finished both within three minutes.

After a few minutes of being awake, Phil finally asked Tommy a question.

“What hybrid type are you?”

“I don’t know… sorry.” Tommy replied, barely over a whisper because if he messed up his common it would be harder to tell.

“It’s okay, mate. We’ll just figure it out together!” Phil replied, while thinking of defining characteristics of hybrids. When he realized he didn’t know of that many, he went to pull out a hybrid trait book out of his inventory.

After an hour or so of searching, they finally came across avian. It was the only thing that  matched Tommy’s wings. The description read as follows:

“Though avians are born without wings, like elytrans they grow their wings once they come of age. The natural born runners have wingspans naturally too small to be able to fly properly.  They have very few redeeming qualities. This species is nearly extinct due to excessive hunting for the rare wings. As of 20XX, fewer than 100 avians remain, passing the elytrans on the extinct chart. Avians are born allergic to meat, and are unable to fly. The species is predicted to become extinct within the next 20 years if no changes are made” Phil read aloud to Wilbur and Tommy.

“What’s allergic? And extinct?” Tommy asked very hesitantly, afraid of being judged by the men.

“Allergic means you can’t eat it, and extinct means that there’s no more left.” Wilbur replied.

The three sat in silence for a while. Tommy was one of the last avians alive. Then, they all decided that it would be safest to just move in with Phil.

[cunningweiner]

Made a visual of the rc9gn aus @mrfartpowered and I have cooked up so far

[birchbow]

CLOWN CHURCH THE COLLECTION

For the me and my readers both; my reference document for Clown Church nonsense. Compiled character ref, clown scriptures, fleet ships, saints, schoolfeeder names and specialties, etc. Subject to change and additions.

EDIT: nice lmao

--

Griefing Specializations

Subjugglator – frontline barbarian/tank, high damage low defense.  Not much concerned with stealth, not worried about taking hits.  Ex:  Feeder Rissan, Sungazer, Cisine, Khalse, Travye. 

Laughsassin – stealth and assassination, not good at taking hits but very good at infiltration.  Quieter/subtler weapons, or the strength and size to make one hit count.  Mime-inspired paint.  Ex: Rishet, Kurloz, Untoxxic, Hurrel

Contorturenist – field interrogation experts, armored, usually with long-distance weapons.  Clean-up crew for missions where information will need to be extracted during the process of the mission.  Ex:  Ianche and Verato Uderak, Yettah

Acrobatterer – frontline opportunist, experts in speed and evasion.  Many lighter, faster hits instead of one heavy one.  Better at taking prisoners.  Friendly rivalry with the subjugglators, because they’ll often use a noisy, head-on assault as a distraction to opportunistically whack their target on the head—sound tactics or cowardly cull-stealing depending on who you ask.  Ex: Ravell and Raywar Olemma.  If asked, some of the younger clowns would probably group Karkat here. 

Gymnabsolutionist – On missions, a form of field chaplain, praying for fallen faithful to make sure the messiahs took note of their sick-ass sacrifice.  On-fleet, spiritual council and advisors.  The oldest is expected to lay to rest the soul of the previous Grand Highblood and help the new one through their prayers/vows, although this role hasn’t come into play in a very, very long time.

Joker – Not technically a position you can train for, but colloquially a highblood who multi-classes or whose style and focus doesn’t fit neatly into a category.  Gamzee is technically a subjugglator (very big, doesn’t give a shit if he gets hit) but can rapidly flip to acrobatterer tactics. Travye's bonekind uses subjugglator style, but his bookkind doesn't fall into a category.

--

Saints And Martyrs

Saint Mortor the Defender — Burned alive to protect other purplebloods from lowbloods; like his giant salamander lusus, he proved incredibly hard to burn, and his execution pyre burned for a night and a day.  Saint of aspiring martyrs.

Saint Trasti — Prayed to the messiahs for vengeance as she was cut apart by lowbloods; when they burned her corpse, the messiahs listened and brought up a plague from her ashes.  Prayers to bring a plague on your enemies or for sick/poisoned faithful

Saint Ekorot — Patron saint of pupation and cocoons, and especially the faithful who die during pupation. One of the oldest saints, said to have hatched with the lower half of her body deformed/largely missing and survived a perigee before being found by the church, surrounded by dead lowbloods and wild animals she'd killed. She was sanctified on the spot because lo, it was fucking dope as hell.

Her bladekind became the Knife of Messiahs' Mercy, the weapon the Grand Highblood uses for ceremonial culling of the faithful (By the new Grand Highblood to finish off their predecessor after the fight is won, when church kin pupate too malformed to live or are so deeply wounded in battle they won't survive, etc).

Saint Jakill — Fought an entire army despite being ripped to increasingly brutal pieces. Refused to go down, until his skull was finally split with his own hatchet. Patron saint of berserkers, death-rages and suicide missions.

--

Schoolfeeders Of The Flagship Dark Carnival

Halore Travye — The Stædfast, advanced scripture and exegesis.

Separates his letters with an extra space, capitalizes nouns and the letter I. Square bracket smiles/frowns.

"sacredDidaction: T h e q u I c k b r o w n F o x j u m p e d o v e r t h e l a z y D o g . : o ["

Veneno Krelle — The Untoxxic, advanced mediculling, poisons/antidotes.

Doubles Xs and inserts them in place of similar sounds. X-eyed smiles/frowns. When speaking they tend to have difficulty finding and forming words due to a long, long career being exposed to all sorts of neurotoxins and poisons.

"abstersiveDetoxifier: If you axx me, the foxx has better things to be doing. X...X" (=uX, XnX XsX)

Ianche Uderak — The Inquirer, advanced information management/propaganda.

Hisses on S, ends all sentences as questions except the occasional Shocking Headline. Snake-tongued faces.

"mortalRigor: Sssso why wasss the fox with the dog at all? >:oY Ssscandal!! Quick Brown Fox Hass Torrid Pitch Affair With Ssslothful Barkbeasst?"

Arelux Stelos — The Sungazer, schoolfeeder of galactic navigation, omens and starcraft. 

Starts and ends with ~* and *~, replaces I and O with 1 and 0. Tends to trail out words and emphasize with capitals and multiple asterisks/punctuation when worked up, which is often. Smiles/ frowns have starry eyes.

"grandlyCosmic: ~*000h mess1ahs you w1ll **never** bel1eve what the STARS t0ld me t0day ab0ut the f0x's dest1ny!!!!*~ *u*

Belico Rissan — Warmaker, Combat/griefing, avid collector of various strife specibi

Largely normal clown syntax but will frequently phrase things with all-caps over-the-top violent language. Doesn't bother to capitalize or use periods but an avid user of exclamation points.

"sanguineEclectica: the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy barkbeast and landed in THE PIT OF A SPIKED AND BLOOD-PUTRID CULL-TRAP as a lesson to complacent wrigglers everywhere! :o)"

Karkat Vantas — Schoolfeeder of quadrantcraft, originally as a joke, but unfortunately for all the elder members of the church the new baby clowns don't know that and he's increasingly accepted and legitimized with every class he teaches.

Minera Tresor — Scriptural basics (deceased)

--

The Holy Holidays

TURNING NIGHT/DAY

The troll equivalent on New Years Night/Day; for most of the population it's a raucous all-caste night of celebrating that they've made it another sweep without dying. For the church it's their most sober holiday, a reminder that another sweep came and went without the promised Vast Honk and Dark Carnival. Faces are painted white (funeral paint) during the night, and in the morning everyone takes off their paint entirely until the new sweep is rung in at noon.

In the meantime, it's expected everyone will spend the night/day fasting from food and drinks, and tempting themselves with things they want or enjoy, whether that's making your favorite food and not eating it, or hooking up with a quadrant and then breaking off before either of you are satisfied.

Then at noon everybody goes buckwild and indulges until they're sick.

ALL COLORS WEEK

A very rowdy church-wide holiday. Work forbidden, only fun and capricious impulse. Copious colored clothes and decorations, painting, and powder dye are rampant. It’s traditional to stash little brightly-colored objects (and vials of blood) throughout the rest of the sweep and then hang them out a day at a time through the week so that the decorations get slowly more colorful and vivid.  They lump the seadwellers in with the rustbloods and the last colors to get hung up on the last day are the colors of the church.  

There’s also a different major saint for each day, which some people remember to pray to and some people don’t.  There’s a lot less quiet internal prayer at this point too--if you have something for a saint or messiah to hear, you probably shout it.  

Also; massive games of--essentially--capture the flag.  Teams are assigned according to age group, with the youngest/most numerous cohort starting on the first day.  They’re split in half into a team with a seadweller-color flag and rustblood-color flag, which they play for for the first day.  After that the next age-group comes in with their color, and all three teams try to collect the flags, and onward and upward until the schoolfeeders and generals come in to play, each with an incredibly high-point-value purple flag.  You have to challenge them to a duel to win one, in whatever area they teach/specialize in.  It’s pretty widely assumed that you won’t actually beat them, they just respect your attempt enough to hand it over, but if you do everybody is like !!!!!!! WOW HOLY SHIT DUDE and you’re a hero to the rest of your team.  The points system is pretty unofficial but the more flags you have, and the higher the blood color of those flags, the more you “score”.  Winner gets preferential treatment for the next two weeks.

--

Ships Of The Holy Fleet

Names of ships are subject to change when a new captain takes over, although they aren’t always changed—when Kurloz joined the fleet, the flagship was the Painted Disciple, and Kurloz changed the name to the Dark Carnival after he successfully challenged the previous Grand Highblood. 

The Blessed is intensely focused on prayer and meditation and prophesy—much less in the way of combat training etc.  You can get religious training anywhere on the fleet, esp. the flagship, but if you want to basically focus your life on spirituality the Blessed is full of like-minded trolls.  

The Orisoner is Just Straight Up Vibing to an extent that many trolls find unnerving, but the crew of the Blessed are absolutely ride or die with her/him/them/etc. His powers are 100% min-maxed into sucking hate/rage/fear out of people, and the resulting good vibes and soft euphoria are a powerful (and borderline addictive) combination. Secretly terrifying, because nobody wins fights against her--because very few people can even bring themselves to lift a hand against them in the first place.

irenicDevotion: no caps, sooo many smilies :o) and just like... emphasis extensions my duuude :oD copafuckincetic

The Sinner is a party boat, which is considered an act of worship in and of itself.  People just get rowdy and wild and live it up at all times.  If there was air in space, you would be able to hear it as you approached to board—when it’s landed, you can hear it, and it’s super eerie.  Lots of trolls whooping and honking and shouting in a big metal box.

The Libation's powers are addictive in a different way; he's physically intoxicating to be around. If he focuses, he can easily have most people, especially people who aren't used to being drunk/high, blacked out and pretty much incapacitated.

ecstaticEroticism: 8RO h'es. straiht up nightdrinking rn. look hers his 8onkinggourd. all teh 8s their 8s its little drinking gurds. motherfuckr this paryts LIT roflmao

The Joker is a pretty standard barrack ship, although it has the notable reputation that under the current captain if you’re cheeky enough to do something and do it well, you should be allowed to get away with it even if it’s against the rules. It takes the majority of mediocre-to-fair trainees every generation, and compared to the Dark Carnival, a much higher percentage of its graduates go on to live off-fleet on shuttles or colonies.

Sister Waspclaw is a walking test of ability to read a passive level of threat and calculate accordingly. Very talkative, encouraging and pleasant, with an extremely dangerous and unhinged core. Her whole philosophy is that you can get far in life by figuring out what the most daring trick you could pull and get away with is--but it's very important you don't try to take even an inch with her. She's tiny, but her claws are incredibly venomous and very few trolls in the entire church fleet can match her for speed.

toxicAudacity: wazpclaw'z zo excited to talk zhe can't even bother with the zentencez and ztuff like that and it all flowz together but if you pizz her off you're DEAD MEAT and you can tell if you've pizzed her off becauze when zhe's angry zzzzzhe zzZZTARTZ GETTING A LITTLE UNHINGED AZZZZZHOLE!!! >:o[

Elixir and Stardust are commercial centers; the two ships used to be separate, but the people living there had so much reason to cross between the two, they put boarding passages up and welded them in place, fusing them together.  People who handle the dark, mysterious and miraculous arts of financial management and resource acquisition work here.  It’s also the most common place for the few cult members who aren’t purple-blooded, one of the few places they’re comparatively safe.  Some non-church quadrants of purplebloods will also set up hive here.

The Abattoir is canny, sober, and calculating, a loyal ally until slighted and then a bitter enemy. The nature of her identity is a topic of fierce public debate, and he's certainly not giving out answers. Whether her consciousness is originally one of his bodies now inhabiting two, an amalgam of two minds indistinguishably linked, or some completely external force puppeting two bodies, everybody can agree she's damn good to have on your side, and that crossing him is a fatal mistake.

duelReactor: II speak clearly and concisely because II respect your time, motherfucker, and forsooth you will respect me similarly. II am busy today: I am on-ship and I am travelling to the flagship for work. II will be back in office by sunrise.

The Freakshow is a cesspit of violence and bloodshed. A very dangerous place, but also prime picking ground if you have strong conciliatory urges and are looking for your One True Diamond. People who want to settle shit once and for all can come here, and the winner will probably get a cut of the pot from the people betting on their death-match.  The bloodshed and rage are technically holy and irreproachable but most fleet faithful tend to give this ship a wide berth.

The Behemoth is the epitome of Alternian culture: take what you want through force of bloodcolor and unmitigated violence, and maintain it through merciless supremacy. Sharper than it likes to act, and with a blatant disregard for any power except its own monstrous strength, it's been butting heads with the Grand Highblood ever since it came to power, and only a surprisingly canny ability to judge the rare occasions it's outmatched has kept it from marching on the Big Top and trying to take the throne by force.

brutishAnnihilation: O- BIG MOTHERFUCKER, BIG LETTERS, ONLY LITTLE BITCHES BOTHER WITH PUNCTUATION -O

The Penitent is essentially church jail, for sinners and troubled faithful, especially/specifically those who don’t have any close mentors or quadrants to help rehabilitate them.  It’s also where prisoners under suspicion of church-related crimes are kept to wait for inquisition, as well as non-urgent/non-imperial messengers from outside the church who are waiting to be heard by the Highblood.

The Judgment is both incredibly stern and strict, and also surprisingly forgiving--her job isn't to decide who to cull, it's to decide which sinful highbloods can make their way back into the church, through a lot of prayer and ritualized punishment. In person, though, she's a terrifying battle-ax of a troll with zero patience for dilly-dallying or lollygagging or talking back or not talking back enough or failing to use her title or answering clearly and concisely!!! She has shit to do!

consecratedCourtroom: Very rarely embellishes. Very rarely ends sentences with anything but a period. Speaks CONCISELY to get her point across. Uses emphasis scaling that always seems a LITTLE passive aggressive and sarcastic. Occasional interjections of OVERRULED. GUILTY. DISMISSED. IRRELEVANT. Etc etc.

The Dark Carnival is a little bit of everything, but the clowns who work there are generally the best of the best in at least one area, or extremely promising.  Intensely-devoted cultists, genii of violence and/or interrogation, artists, artisans, the rare mechanics, geeks and scientists, navigators, or just trolls who show a lot of ambition and leadership, all get funneled into the Dark Carnival to be trained up as heads of their respective fields.  

Trolls are always coming and going from ship to ship for whatever they need or to visit other faithful, and there’s always the constant low level of kinship between any members of the church, but there is also a certain amount of distance between the microcultures of each different ship.

Outfitting is pretty consistent ship to ship, with exceptions; on the Penitent nobody but the sufferingmasters and the captain are allowed weapons, armor, or decoration.  On the Blessed clothes tend to be plain and austere by cult standard, but they are allowed to wear armor and carry weapons.  

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Scriptures (to date)

Beginnings - a clown book of Genesis, of sorts. Creation myths and ancient church history.

“When it started we had fuck-all but dark. And so it stayed until Messiahs pulled back the curtain and said ‘let’s get this motherfucking party started’.  And they threw stardust down and it hit mud and it made dirtbloods, baked all dry enough like they could crumble if you breathed wrong.  And it hit water and it made waders; wet, cold, mirthless salty motherfuckers with too much eye for their own motherfucking sparkle.  But where it hit oceanside it made trolls out of sand, all capricious as fuck and changing with the water.  Trolls who could go hard or give when they had to.  All balanced on the universe high wire and not ever falling sea-side or ground-side but right there on their line like the acrobatterers they were.  From the sand were made the faithful; from the beachwood their horns, their goddamn bone snapped off from sea-floor stones on mountains under the water.  And what they made was Troll.  Only that.  Just that and no motherfucking more.  And when the last world was all fit together, messiahs looked on it and said ‘motherfucking money’.  

“Remember this story, faithful, and remember its lesson.  Change yourself always like sand in the water, you motherfuckers hand-shaped of surf and whimsy.”

“Urge of chaos and whim of change be ever on your skin like paint, in your pusher like blood, on your horns like a crown.  Mirthful, faithful.  Kickass and giving no shits.”

 (Book of) Colors - church policy on lowbloods, seadwellers, social order and painting, as well as the meat of the “Dark Carnival” scriptures/afterlife mythology.  

“You’re next.  You’re motherfucking next, give no mercy because the mercy of the messiahs is only as much as fits in their hands and what’s poured out on shitblooded scum will not be given you in the dark carnival gates and—”

“The Vast Honk will deafen and take from us, and all together we’ll head on up and get our dance on through fire and over skulls and horns—”

“No fear, brothers and sisters, no fear of the waders, the brine-drinkers.  There's no mirth in the sea and no painting the water doesn't wash off and you've got your hands on the righteous shit they won't ever know. No fear of the waders, for you're higher than them.  You're higher than anybody.”

“I fucked up, I fucked up, the fault's mine and there's no motherfucker I can share it with, I fucked up, forgive me.”

Sacrament - ceremonies, specifically related to new initiates and promotions within the church.  Naming ceremonies, promotions, priesthood bestowal, etc.

Suffering - Stories of martyr deaths and heretic executions.  Unique in that it is occasionally edited or added to if the church believes a story has been included in error or that a modern event needs to be added to the record.  

“…I am lost, kin.  My eyes see no colors I know.”  

The Cult of Flesh were a heretic movement deemed too dangerous to the faith of the readers to be included in the book of Suffering. Their belief that the Messiahs came to Alternia and were raised in flesh bodies by a troll acting as a lusus has been stricken from this record; their attempt to win over the current Grand Highblood, who they consider the descendant/reincarnation of the holy troll-lusus Brother Immortal, caused a schism and internal inquisition violent enough to be purged from the accepted imperial history.

Hilarities - Platitudes and words of wisdom, including the rules of comedy, the Great Unfunny Jokes, and some really quite good dating tips.

“It’s not a wise one who leaves the place of their motherfucking heart untimely.   No laughter in the suffering of those early lost of their quadrants so rest you with heart and spade and club and diamond and speak of the fucking Hilarity to each other.” 

“Fill the night enough full of holy deed and you’ll have no need of sopor to bless you with dreaming.”

“Ha ha, you salty motherfucker.”

“Let your spade burn hot, drive you up and make you great.  In this motherfucking way your kin will increase you and I’m not just talking about your bulge, LOL.”

“The wage of weakness is death; fear the only edge sharpened by waiting.”

“Take all you can grasp in your greed and your lust.  If something you want comes to your fronds, motherfucker, take it and run like it’s yours.”

Hot Shit – Letters from a historical Grand Highblood to his matesprit.  Considered by some to be a holy template of pity and matespritship, and to others a hot piece of smut that has been hilariously canonized.

(Hot Shit 1:1) "My sister in mirth, blessed in hilarity, peerless in holy rage; u up girl? :o?"

“Only let me hear you want me!  Hold me down and devour me, my love.”

“When my feet touch soil again I’ll make my way to you.  Take me as you like, heart of my heart; throw me down and fuck me under night sky and the Messiahs will only hear me sing praise out louder.  I’m hollow as a thunderstruck tree for you, sister.  I need you like starving needs food, like rage needs mercy, like sin needs forgiveness, like pain needs pleasure.”

"In grandest tradition of hot motherfuckers at the prime of their lives, fuck if I don't get mad stupid when I'm horny, sister. :o("

"Well the fuck I will reward you when you come back to hive. So well will I show my love for your thicc motherfucking ass, not for a night and a day and a night will you get feeling back in your motherfucking legs."

Revelries - Praises and adulation to the messiahs.

"I'll sing out my praises with wicked flow to the messiahs who saw fit to smile on me.  I'll praise and shout how I'm greatly blessed, I'll cry and weep how I'm not fucking worthy; their claws are in my soul, in the shape of my body, in the beat of my pusher.  Oh, my holy kin, we are color and light inside.  We are stardust.  Hands raised and faces laughing, spitting sick and delirious, together in glory.”

“…the halls around you will be painted bright and all the glitter and shine you’d want; get ye lit as fuck, brothers and sisters, let the beauty of their holy color and noise spin your pan like a motherfucking top.”

“Oh that I’m of use to you, all times and ways and places, my idle rest is to watch your show and my dreaming to hear the holy motherfucking noise."

“For not a troll was ever made, who didn’t fuck up nightly; never a faithful hatched who deserved their seat at the show.”

“Never will we be anything but loud, nitty-gritty dirty little freaks.  Lo, pour elixir and raise a glass.”

Conviction - The duties and trials of the church

“…leave ye not the dirtbound warm of blood to crawl and scrape, and waste offerings in vain.  They owe you penance and awe and what they give you are owed to take. A good ruler does the mercy of taking.”

“When your feet are unsure and what comes on you is un-fucking-funny, seek you holy suffering in penance.”  

“Dumbass, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“If fool-ass jokers fail to learn from looking, let their bodies learn it for them; scars teach best what a motherfucker’s too deaf to hear.”

“If your kin gets you sinning, cut them away, no true fucking family can they be. If the noise from your flap be blasphemous, carve it from you and stitch shut your filthy mouth, motherfucker. If your flesh leads to sin scourge it clean, washed in blood; cut away rot, and leave only what’s holy. Repentance by mouth never saved a soul; spill blood and flesh in price of forgiveness.”

Angels - Death, last rites, damnation/double death, hell, etc.

“[death] itself is not a glory; more glorious far to walk on and trail paint where you walk.”

‘I suffer pain, and want become need…I am allowed no motherfucking means to make resistance.  I wait for death, brothers.  Pour one out for remembrance of my soul’.”

“Why seek martyrdom when you could bring a hundred down with you?  Turn martyrdom to murderdom.  Paint the way; make them pay.  Shit, kin, let’s be destroyers.”

Devotions - Prayers, repentances and rituals.  (”Leader.”  “Congregation/faithful.”)

Repentance of sin (ending) - “Hail messiahs both.”  “Their works, their great motherfucking joke in the pits of the worlds they left and in the space in between.”  “Hail messiahs both.” “Your penance is paid.”

Reaffirmation of faith - “If I go false on promised devotions let messiahs grind stardust out my bones.”  “If you’d paint the face of flawed unholy troll with the shades of our holy messiahs, answer yes brother I will.” “Yes brother, I will.”“If you believe truly in what holy mess and bloody riot will come at end of worlds, if you plan on being full and motherfucking ready, make some motherfuckin’ noise.” “(Response, freeform).”“Have your ticket ready when you kick it, give me an amen brothers and sisters.” “Amen.”  “No mercy, faithful one.” “Amen.”  “No fear.”

The Dark Scriptures - only shown to religious sacrifices before their deaths. Readers must subsequently die. Contents are a mystery.

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His/Her/Their Mirthful Majesty

King/Queen/Crown of Colors

His/Her/Their Holy Hilarity

Biggest brother/sister

The Ringmaster