#that typo haunts me

[beheworthy]

If Jane and Thor had a baby and Odin was still alive, do you think Odin would reject the baby? He wouldn't want to see it.

Absolutely. He would be livid. He never approved of her, only hated her more because his wife died protecting her.

As much as I hate him, I kinda understand his resentment toward her (understand, not condone). They are (a) a very rare species of superpowered beings, and (b) in charge of this protected paradise in the clouds. Thor is his sole heir for both roles. He can't just let him slum it out with a meaningless mortal (sorry for the harsh wording, but that's what it was to him). He would do everything in his power to make sure the next Queen is someone worthy - who would contribute to Thor's rule and carry their bloodline forward.

He's so damn hostile about it:

He scolded him in front of the servants!!!! What would they think about their Prince getting insulted like this by the King? And having discussions about the Prince's girlfriend in front of them, calling her a goat. He's relentless.

Then he imprisons her in a room so no one would get hurt because of this mortal:

(My man was ready to fight the Einherjar right there!)

And in the alternate ending, I'm willing to bet that he made Jane break up with Thor because he knew Thor would never do it. He must've guilt-tripped Jane by saying what a selfish person she's being. That Thor can never fulfill his destiny as long as she's tied to him like a stone. So poor girl gave in for Thor.

Thor wakes up in her bed and suddenly Odin has decided to grace Jane's backwater realm with his presence. He's finally seeing her worth, praising her even. Thor's happy that his father has finally come around, only for Jane to ditch him.

Odin made her the villain while winning Thor over. He's such a manipulative a-hole. But in his head, he's justified in controlling his life like this because he's doing it for Thor's good.

It's messed up and I thought it would be explored in Thor3 but no Thor worships him now. :)

[clownowo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[septembermonologues]

sometimes i still think about murph screaming "SHUT UUUUP! I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING WEIRD!!!!" after "honor the cock" and chuckle because that was the funniest part of that whole thing to me

[dawntainbobbynash]

Oh, there he is! Just in time.

[uhohdad]

Drabble requests?? If you would be so kind to humor me then-

Could there be like... soft and kind könig? Maybe just really gentle and domestic cause a while back i saw someone make headcanons of him being like a really mean guy and like all to them for sure!

But I was having a bit of a bad delusional day and könig is one of my attachments and seeing it made me so so sad and a bit paranoid cause like! Thats my partner! He wouldn't be like that!

So uh. Maybe just really soft comforting könig? If thats ok? Cause despite it being a few days now I still can't shake it and I feel bad over it :( hes such a silly but really good comfort for me. Big Austrian man ♡

Anyway if its no trouble then thank you! If not then its alright! Take care ok? ♡♡♡

for you my sweet beautiful anon? anything. i know könig would treat you like his liege ♡

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Köni💕: ‘How s work?’

Liebling: ‘:(‘

Köni💕: ‘o no, what happenbed?’

Liebling: ‘nothing. just nervous and weird. per usual lmao. 🙃’

Köni💕: ‘ill make u feel better when u get home’

Liebling: ‘:’)’

The aroma hits like a wave as you push the front door open, your mouth watering and tummy grumbling at the smell alone.

“Meine Prinzessin,” König calls as you set your bags down with a heavy thunk, “Did your day get better?”

“Just now,” You say, palm flush with the wall to support yourself as you kick off your shoes, “Whatever you’re doing in there, it’s art.”

“Your favorite,” he says proudly, a bit of a tune in his tone.

A giddy, mischievous giggle leaves you.

“Comfy clothes on the bed,” He adds.

You give a soft little whine, because it’s just too sickeningly sweet how he dotes on you.

After changed and settled, he’ll serve you your plate, listening intently as you vent about all the little things that have been bothering you lately.

“And, I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t-”

You sigh before continuing, “Sometimes I have this stupid voice in my brain, and it just tells me that you don’t actually like me, and I’m just not good enough for you. I know it’s not true, but it still gets to me, sometimes. Y’know?”

You look at him, faced pinched and a hand rubbing the back of your neck.

“I have the same stupid voice,” He says, those hooded blue eyes trained carefully in you, “But know little one, I love you more than anything.”

You pinch your nose at him, but you still have to fold your smile, cheeks warm and bunched.

“I love you more than anything, too,” You say sheepishly to your plate, tone soft as your fork absentmindedly plays with your food.

Once tummies are full and plates cleared away, König herds you to the couch, draping you with a cozy blanket. He fixes you a tea before joining you, happily letting you rest your head on his thigh. He’ll tolerate your silly little comfort movie without complaint, stroking your hair, playing with the soft locks. He doesn’t dare move after you ensnare him by falling asleep, snoring softly into his leg long after your half-drunk tea has gone cold. ♡

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

♡gentle!könig

[rayyawoo013]

I barely open Tumblr anymore so sorry 😭😭 I'm 70 times more active on Twitter if you guys want to see poorly drawn doodles idk

[feartoxinjelloshot]

The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf.

It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing.

He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.

[bidokja]

do you ever think about how we absorb little bits and pieces of everyone we have ever been close to? how it echoes. how heavy and wonderful that is? how we still remember inside jokes with people we no longer talk to, and the favorite wild tale of an ex-lover, and how we say that word a specific way because a friend did that and...and, anyways, totally irrelevant, but ever think about how kim dokja just happened to take in the story fragments of a swordmaster and a dragon.

[wntrsnat]

He’s so silly I love him

[originalartblog]

I did actually notice I just didn't say anything at the time bc I wasn't sure how to approach it without sounding like a jerk

thank you for your belated honesty and support

[momentomori24]

I like to headcanon Shin as a hardcore atheist (complete opposite of Hiyori who's a very religious person). He can't see himself believing in a higher power, not when his plights and tragedies and suffering were always met with indifference by whatever higher power may exist. But not by Sou Hiyori-- his guardian angel all throughout high school. His protector and his tormentor. His saviour and his captor. Someone he devoutly followed for years after having found him. Someone he looks up to; someone superior (always "Hiyori" while he's still "Shin", never his equal). Someone whose teachings he takes to heart and lives by. Someone he seeks out instinctively in his hour of desperation and need. Someone whose hand-me-down he wears dutifully around his neck to keep him close at all times. Someone who will praise him for his obedience and dependency and punish him for his defiance and independence. Someone he loves and respects and fears all at once. The moon can't shine without the sun, and Hiyori all but shone upon him when he couldn't find the light within himself. Shin doesn't believe in God, but loving Hiyori is the closest he's ever gotten to religion. I think it's poetic, in a way.

[voidthewanderer]

For the paranormal asks:

1,6 and 9 for Crow, Ripper and Arsenic ?

(01) Is your OC superstitious?

Ripper: Not particularly. He doesn't shun other people for being superstitious, however. His grandparents used to tell the superstition of Writing Love Letters To Juliet Capulet, which is most likely why he's not; given the story of Romeo and Juliet ended very tragically. Why would writing love letters to Juliet would grant potential love.

Crow: To an extent. They play on some of the more common ones, such as walking under a ladder is bad luck, throwing a pinch of salt over your shoulder toward off evil, knock on wood, etc. They very heavily believe in the strength of nazars.

Arsenic: Absolutely not. He finds that most superstitions come true because they're generally mentions of 'bad luck'; so people overreact and the bad thing does actually happen.

(06) What is your OC's favorite cryptid?

Ripper: He loves the story of the thunderbird. While not necessarily a cryptid, it's the first thing that comes to his mind when asked the question.

Crow: They're a Jersey Devil fan. There's a magazine that releases semi-annually called Weird NJ, which highlights many different types of haunts in New Jersey, which uses the Jersey Devil as one of their mascots. They fell in love with the design of it.

Arsenic: He likes anything sea serpent or aquatic. It's a hard time choosing between the Loch Ness Monster, Ogopogo, and Champ. However, if he's being a tease or just a brat, he'll say the kraken. For reasons.

(09) Has your OC ever seen a ghost?

Ripper: He hasn't; or rather, he believes he hasn't. Since he is a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghosts, so he tries to find logical explanations for certain things. While he hasn't actually seen a ghost (at least in his canon), he has experienced them. Gotta face it, New Jersey's pretty damn haunted. He's seen what happens when you disrespect The Devil's Tree (ex friend of his took a dare to carve something into the tree; they wound up with their car broken down not even ten minutes after they left). He's driven along Shades Of Death Road (which is right next to Jenny Jump State Forest and Ghost Lake); his headlights kept failing despite having recently replaced them and they were fine once he'd left the area. He's still a thrill seeker with paranormal stuff, even if he is a skeptic. Not to mention as well, he took refuge in Sterling Hill Mine when the bombs fell; which is allegedly one of the most haunted places on the east coast.

Crow: Yes. They truly believe they've seen the ghost of their family multiple times when living in Caine. Not to mention as well, they've also been to some of the New Jersey haunts as well (with Rips on Shades Of Death Road; saw something on the side of the road). They've also visited Boldt Castle in Alexandria Bay, New York, which they've experienced disembodied footsteps through quieter parts of the castle.

Arsenic: He has not. Arsen's generally not the same type of paranormal thrill seeker like Crow and Ripper are, a non-believer; and even he knows that even if they were real, ghosts wouldn't be active during peak tourist hours and most haunts are tourist spots.

[sleepy-aletheas]

It's interesting, how after Rukkhadevata deleted herself,the Aranara never call Nahida Queen Aranyani. Like, it's fascinating how Irminsul works, cause normally, it fills in/connects the blanks of logic that once had a certain information before it was taken out, but in this, the information just never got filled in. Irminsul doesn't really connect Nahida with Rukkhadevata here, even when there are being directly impacted by it (I mean, it makes sense that anything Rukkhadevata did was transcribed as feats Nahida once did, and that certain things like Rukkhashava mushrooms just become a part of nature instead of a God's lore). The Aranara mention the Dendro Archon, but there is this a certain disconnect that before the deletion wasn't there.

And the thing is, it makes sense they're not phased by that. Even when the Aranara are dream beings that carry the memory of the world with their endless "The forest will always remember." there is an inherent loss they carry around, where if they use big amount of power, they'll lose their memories. A lot of Aranara forget what once happened, because they had to fight and protect, and there is this melancholy around it, but they're peaceful despite it. Because the forest remembers, even if the individual Aranara doesn't; cause it ultimately doesn't matter. The memory returns back to the Sourcesong, the rivers of memory connecting back to the greater body, before dividing again.

Nahida not being Queen Aranyani, who was a mother figure of the Aranara, but still being seen as the creator is just bittersweet. And on that note, it's also bittersweet that we don't know Nahida's true birthday. Cause unless she was born on Rukkhadevata's birthday, and Rukkhadevata died on it at the same time, I have too many emotions about Nahida not being aware of this :)

And on another side note, cause I can't shut up apparently, I always found it fascinating how people would describe Nahida as a new copy of Rukkhadevata, or like her being the same being, but smaller, because they're from Irminsul. When really, they're two different branches of a whole, and even if they're made out of the same entity, each branch of a tree is different, you can't really put two together and go "that's the same thing" when they're not really (their shapes are different, they don't have the same amount of leaves, their sturdiness also can differ...). She is a new version of Irminsul's avatar in this cycle, but as the game told us in this summer event "Stories follow rules, unfolding in cyclical patterns, but each should follow its own course." and Nahida being her own self outside Rukkhadevata is no different (and maybe I'm also sad, cause she has the knowledge of before her existence at her fingertips, but any knowledge about Deshret or Nabu Malikata will never be her memories about her friends, cause they never were that to begin with, and if that isn't a severe case of Impostor Syndrome, idk what is).

Sometimes taking a nap truly brings out All The Emotions.

[drama-glob]

[extraterracetrial]

IS HERMES THE ONE WHO TALKS TO CALYPSO BECAISE ATHENA IS FUCKING DEAD