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euthymiya · 5 months ago

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part of me (is part of you) — ft. todoroki touya

you realize for the first time, when touya brings you home to his mother, just how much he looks like her. he realizes for the first time, when he brings you home to his mother, just how much he doesn’t look like his father

before you read: fem reader ; non quirk au + canon divergence (enji is in JAIL) ; established relationship ; touya has tattoos instead of burns (he has one burn scar on his back, though) ; rei lives in a peaceful little home of her own like she deserves ; mentions of fuyumi, natsuo, and shouto ; hints at child and domestic abuse (canon enji core) ; food as a love language

“Keep your schedule free this Friday.”

Touya doesn’t ask, just tells you like he expects it to happen. You roll your eyes, sparing him a glance as he scrolls through his phone sprawled on your couch.

“And if I’m already busy?”

“Then get un-busy,” he grumbles. Then, after a moment of consideration, adds: “you’ll enjoy it, anyway.”

“Why? Are you taking me on a fancy date?” You grin, walking over and giving his head a playful shove. He glares up at you, but lifts his head wordlessly, long enough to let you sit before he lets it fall onto your lap.

“No,” he huffs. “Keep dreaming.”

“You say that,” you tease, poking his cheek as he clicks his teeth, “but you always end up taking me.”

“Not anymore,” he swats your hand away. He pretends to go back to scrolling through his phone, but you can tell he’s not paying attention. Not with how fast his thumb swipes, too quickly to register anything on his screen.

“So what’re we doing?”

“You’ll see.”

“C’mon, Touya,” you flick his forehead, making him grunt unhappily, “you have to tell me. How else will I dress appropriately?”

“Just be yourself.”

��What if my true self is dressing up like a hooker?”

“Well, I’ll appreciate it,” he glances up, giving you a cheeky grin, “my mom might not.”

You pause.

He casually goes back to scrolling through his phone, still not really paying attention like he tries to pretend he his.

“Your mom?”

“The woman who popped me out, that’s the one.”

“We’re meeting her?”

“Well, she’s been nagging about it nonstop,” he sighs, “she wants you to meet the rest of my little siblings eventually, too. There’s no way out of it.”

He sounds irritated by the idea. Unhappy enough that your hand tangles into his hair soothingly, threading through the white strands as his lips curl into a puckered frown.

Touya doesn’t talk about his family. Not much, anyway. Sometimes he gives you short, clipped details about his childhood. Just the fond memories—the ones he hardly looks back on like they’re few and far in between.

Me and my brother Natsuo used to fight over those, he’ll tell you sometimes, when you open a bag of candy.

You sound like my sister, he’ll snort when you cry over his feet on the coffee table.

He has another younger brother too. Shoto, he slurs the name one night, drunk and too far gone to realize what he’s saying, y’know he used to be my dad’s favorite? Before the old man got himself locked up. Man, that brat gets on my nerves.

“You don’t sound too excited,” you murmur softly, running a finger along the bridge of his nose. He shrugs, refusing to look up and meet your gaze.

“S’whatever. Was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s just my mom this time around, anyway—shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I could get sick,” you offer, “from…from sushi you brought me.”

“Why does it have to be my fault,” he snorts, face breaking into a small grin, “I bring you nice things.”

“You do,” you giggle, nodding. “Then…oh! I could twist my ankle falling down the steps. Right on our way there—such a tragedy,” you huff theatrically.

“I like your bright ideas, doll,” he shakes his head, eyes glinting with amusement, “but we might as well get it over with. I already promised her.”

“You sure?” You cup his cheek, staring down at him as he finally looks up at him. Two teal, pretty little eyes staring from your lap. You’ve never gotten a face to match them too, one to show you where they come from.

He grabs your hand, fiddling with your fingers as he mumbles a quiet, “yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you nod. And then, because you can’t ignore those eyes, you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

He relaxes at that, grins as he murmurs, “and then we can fuck on my childhood bed, too.”

“No, Touya. Absolutely not.”

——————————

The drive to Touya’s childhood home takes a good hour. It’s not his first home—he tells you that in the car. His mother moved him and his siblings not long after his father’s trial.

She couldn’t stand being in those walls, he’d mumbled, starting his car, neither could I. The paint was ugly.

I didn’t realize you had an eye for interior design so young, you’d teased. That got a laugh out of him—enough to ease the tension in his shoulders as he drapes a hand on your thigh and starts driving.

You trace the tattoos littering the back of his hand on the way there, finger gentle and light as it maps out the ink on his skin and earns hums of approval from him every now and then.

“We’re here,” he says blandly when he finally parks. “It isn’t much. My mom couldn’t afford something as nice as the one my old man—”

“It’s nice,” you smile sweetly. You mean it. You stare at it with an awed expression as you murmur, “looks cozy.”

Touya pauses, staring at you for a moment before he lets out a shaky breath.

He can’t help but pull you into a kiss—abrupt and hard as his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you against him. “You’re something else,” he mumbles between kisses along your mouth, “you know that?”

“Are you crazy?” You gasp. You still kiss him back, regardless, making him smile smugly into you.

“Why?”

“Your mom might see through the window,” you whisper into his lips, earning a chuckle from him.

“Do you always have to worry?”

“Someone has to,” you hum, rolling your eyes as you finally pull away. You glance at the mirror to make sure your lipgloss isn’t too damaged. (It is. It’s all over Touya’s lips as evidence, too). “You’re not exactly the brightest mind.”

“Well good thing I have you to think for me so I don’t have to,” he says with a wink, sliding out of his door as he does a little jog to reach yours.

You giggle, watching as he opens your door for you and offers you a hand. “Please join me, milady.”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you beam, taking his hand and stepping out.

Touya spent the better half of his life brooding. Bitter. Something of a cynical guy who hated every happy couple he’d witnessed, wondered why it was like that for them and not him. Not his family. Not his parents. Maybe, if his asshole father had decided to be the husband the old man should’ve been, then he wouldn’t have to dread the idea of you meeting his family.

It feels too real this way. Feels like he has to relive it all just so you can know about it—you deserve to know about it, know about him. And you will. Someday, at least. He doesn’t know if he can handle it right now.

But you seem content with what he gives you, never asking for more than what he offers you little by little. It’s nice. It feels like maybe, in some twisted stroke of luck, maybe he can be a happy couple he used to hate so much, be so jealous of, be so bitter about.

And maybe he could be the husband his father should have been—for you.

But that’s for later. Right now, he has his mother to worry about as you both approach the front door.

“She can be a bit much,” he pauses and murmurs, “just so you know.”

“I think every guy says that about their mom,” you hum.

“You meet a lot of guys and their moms?” He asks offended, giving you a curled pout as you snort.

“No,” you roll your eyes, “quit pouting.”

“M’not pout—”

“Touya,” a voice calls softly before a woman much shorter than him is opening the door and grabbing his cheeks, pulling him down to inspect him.

“Hi mom,” he sighs, letting her study his face before she finally nods approvingly.

“You’ve been eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“Drinking enough water?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping at normal hours?”

“Yes.”

“No more cigarettes? I mean it.”

“Yes,” he sighs in exasperation, ears burning a slight red. “No more cigarettes.”

“Good,” she nods—and then she looks over at you.

She looks just like him, you think. White hair. Soft, round face. Those pretty lashes you’re so jealous of. The only difference is that she’s missing those beautiful, warm teal eyes of his. Hers are cooler, an icy gray that makes her eyes look sharper compared to Touya’s.

He must have his father’s eyes, you think—it must be why he never looks in the mirror for too long.

“Oh,” she breathes, cupping your own cheeks, “it’s so lovely to meet you—Touya talks so much about you.”

“No I don’t,” he grumbles. “Never mentioned her.”

“Don’t listen to him,” she laughs, admiring you as she holds your face, “he’s very fond of you.”

“Am not,” he huffs. “I don’t even like her that much.”

“I’m sure,” you giggle—his face is turned to the side, the small pieces of his dignity left barely holding him together as he tries to hide his reddened cheeks from you.

His mother ushers you in, hand guiding you on the small of your back as you walk through the small hall into the living room.

It’s as cozy inside as it looks from the outside. Touya’s mother has taken great care to make this house a home. (Rei, she introduces herself. Call me Rei). You suppose it makes sense. Their first house was so far from a home, so desolate of the safeness and comfort it should have had. You don’t know the details—Touya can never talk about it long enough to offer too many.

You’ve stringed together the gist of it through the small details, though.

My old man’s in jail. Gets out sometime next year, I think, he’d said vaguely at the start of your relationship. You didn’t ask any further questions, just squeezing his hand in yours. He squeezed back with a thick swallow.

My mom couldn’t look me in the eyes for years at one point. They reminded her too much of him, he’d said on the first birthday you spent with him. He returned from the other room after a phone call with his mother, eyes hazy and distant as he recalls that small detail of his past. You kissed him extra hard that night.

Got that from my old man, he’d smiled dryly one night, when you’d traced a small burn scar running across his back, pissed him off over something. Don’t remember what. You kissed his scar that night as he slept with his back towards you, curled in your arms.

So much of Touya is foreign to you. So much is not. So much of him is kept locked away to keep him protected so no one who should love him can hurt him again.

This house, however is cozy. Homely. Safe. There are pictures everywhere. That’s the first thing you notice—Touya as a baby, as a toddler, as a young child. Touya on a bike. Touya on the swings. Touya in a pool. Touya grumpy at his high school graduation sandwiched between his two brothers, his sister beaming at the side.

His siblings are everywhere too, of course, but your eyes seem to only find him. He looks happy, you think, despite the less than happy start to his childhood. He looks happy in the few moments stolen by the camera, framed for his mother to look back on.

“You were so tiny,” you giggle, “not much has changed.”

He raises an eyebrow with an amused scoff, shaking his head as he murmurs, “not what you said the other night.”

It’s out of earshot for his mother—or so he thinks. She slaps his shoulder hard enough with a disapproving frown to make him hiss and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Touya,” she scolds, “watch that mouth of yours.”

“Jeez,” he says through a low, petulant grumble, “fine.”

“You let me know if he gives you any trouble,” Rei gives you an apologetic look. You laugh, ruffling your boyfriend’s hair as he clicks his teeth and crosses his arms.

“He’s not much trouble, actually,” you murmur gently, “I think he’s pretty great.”

He softens, face burning with a flush of pink as he looks down at his feet and grunts something under his breath. It sounds something suspiciously close to what a sap, earning an eye roll from you.

But his mother beams—eyes crinkled at the edges as she grabs your hand and pulls you towards the dinner table. There’s plates filled with your favorite dishes, home cooked and piping hot. It makes you realize Touya must have told his mother beforehand: the things you like, the things you don’t. Maybe more.

You lean up, kissing his jaw.

“What was that for?” He mumbles, watching his mother grab plates.

“Because I love you, of course,” you whisper. “I need a reason?”

“You love me, huh? Enough to consider my proposal about my bed?”

“Not that much,” you snort.

He pouts, fighting back a grin as he huffs, “you’re a stick in the mud. Love you too.”

You don’t know much about Touya’s childhood. Bits and parts of the ugliest moments are vaguely familiar to you, shattered pieces of a mosaic you can’t get a full picture of. But you smile at Rei—it feels like grabbing a smooth, unshattered piece and filling in the holes for him, filling in the gaps of love he missed out on.

You take a seat, right beside Touya, watching as his mother insists on plating your food for you. Somehow, despite it being your first time here, it feels like coming home.

This might be considered ooc idk but I write touya and rei how I want idc this is real to me in a non quirk au

#writing tag #touya x reader #dabi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #touya x you #dabi x you #bnha x you #mha x you #touya fluff #dabi fluff #bnha fluff #mha fluff

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honestlyboringperson · 3 months ago

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This alliance dissolved faster than sugar in hot water. (Persona 5 AU)

Also I know Bigb and Lizzie have similar outfits and themes and Ren is more red than Pearl, who’s codename is literally just another word for “red”. Eh, oh well.

Southlanders

Team B.E.S.T.

The Scottage + Gem

Magic Mountain + Cub

More under the cut!

Lizzie - “Flora” - The Tower Arcana - Carabosse/Persephone

Once the leader of a sorority and with sky-high academics, Lizzie has since fallen from grace after allegations of foul play were revealed. Even if Lizzie didn’t commit such actions, the label stuck and she has since been outcasted from the student body and now spends her days in the shadows, taking care of quite a few stray cats. Despite these setbacks, she still retains her gleam of authority and tries to help lead the phantom thieves, using some of her old connections & IOUs from her days as an honour student. She’s in an active and loving relationship with a certain former delinquent.

Within the metaverse, Lizzie uses Carabosse. Carabosse is more well known as “Maleficent” or the thirteenth fairy from sleeping beauty. As revenge for not being invited to a party, she curses the newborn princess to prick her finger and die, which another fairy changes to simply falling asleep after pricking her finger. I wanted to combine the two aesthetics and themes Lizzie finds herself in; cutesy fairy and supervillain mastermind.

Her Ultimate persona is Persephone. Persephone is the wife of Hades, and queen of the underworld and goddess of spring. Persephone is often equated and conflated with Despoina, who’s real name isn’t revealed to anyone but those who initiate her mysteries. She is noted to be so terrifying, one must never utter her by name out loud unless they want to catch her attention. This is heavily contrasted by the later interpretations of Persephone as a simple spring goddess.

Ren - “King” - The Emperor Arcana - Arthur/Fenrir

Ren is a prodigy actor at a local theatre, with his acting skills being matched by no one in the theatre. He specializes in dramatic characters with flowery speech and theatrical monologues, to the point whenever he’s in the metaverse, he LARPs as an Evil King. He helps hook the Phantom Thieves up with a weapons expert, who for some reason wears a goat mask 24/7. Upbeat and Loud, he and Skizz helps keep morale high in the phantom thieves. He’s very close with Martyn, despite Martyn insisting he’s just using them as pawns. Whether or not this is true or not is yet to be determined.

His persona is Arthur, namely King Arthur. He is a famed king, known for his sword Excalibur and his large entourage of knights. His story lives on through media, be it through simple books to as grand as whole stage plays. He is often portrayed as a well meaning king who defends the land from both human and supernatural threats. Although his legend has changed throughout history, his story is one bedecked by both tragedy and grandeur.

His Ultimate Persona is Fenrir, a key figure in Ragnarok and killer of Odin. A child of Loki, he and his siblings were foretold to bring the end of the universe and in Odin’s attempt to escape this prophecy, he ends up giving them the power and motives needed to enact the tragedy. In Fenrir’s case, he was brought up the wolf in their home where only Tyr had the courage to approach him to give him food, which sparked a friendship between the two. However, due to his rapid growth everyday the gods made three leg cuffs and had Tyr helped trick Fenrir into putting the cuffs on. When he realizes the trick, he bites Tyr’s hand off. In Ragnarok,he breaks free of his chains and swallow Odin whole, killing him.

BigB - “Spectre” - The Temperance Arcana - Winchester/Eshu

A velvet room attendant who is currently abandoning his duties as an Attendant in the first place. Since the new velvet room manifested, he has since been shirking his duties to explore the outside world, never really returning to the Velvet Room. He still speaks in a somewhat strange manner but is polite and charismatic, making him well liked by the people around him. He initially joins the Phantom Thieves to keep Watch of Grian, as he is aware of his true nature, but eventually finds more reasons he desires to stay. He is especially gifted with persuasive speech and helps come up with alibis for the Phantom Thieves whenever they get into shady business. He has an odd habit of exiting rooms through doors that weren’t originally there.

His persona is Winchester, both the person and the mansion. Sarah Winchester was the wife of the inventor of the Winchester rifle. After she was widowed, she was told she would be haunted by those whose lives were stolen by the rifle her husband created. In order to prevent the ghosts from harming her as well as to possibly contact the ghosts of her lost loved ones, she turned her farmhouse into a strange, maze like mansion with doors and windows that lead to nowhere, stairs that end in ceilings, trapdoors, and barred windows.

His Ultimate Persona is Eshu or Èṣù, a Yoruba Orisha who specializes in divination and acts as a messenger between heaven and earth. He was known to have tricked Ifa out of his secrets of divination, and another where he frees Ifa from his imprisonment within a palm tree and casts him as a founder of the Ifa religion.

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aethon-recs · 11 months ago

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HP Rec Fest, Day 13 ❄️

@hprecfest daily prompts running through Dec 31. Goal is to find lesser-known or underrated works, even by well-known authors, to feature here.

Day 13: A Fic >100k Words

One Year In Every Ten by @saintsenara (E, 165k, WIP)

Summary: A decade after the final battle, a serial killer emerges, with a message that proclaims the Dark Lord has risen again. Harry is assigned to the case. Why I rec it for this prompt: Casefic is a very underrated genre for the Tomarrymort ship, and Asenora absolutely delivers in this case, with a richly layered and complex murder mystery, as well as the beautiful unfolding of a tenuous working relationship between Harry and Voldemort and all the steamy tension that builds up in between them.

if we were lovers by @reggieblk (E, 143k, WIP)

Summary: When Harry arrives at the most prestigious theatrical school in the country, he doesn't have many expectations. The most unexpected thing he encounters is Tom Riddle, and subsequently, falling in love with the only other person who deals with feelings as well as him. But maybe, just maybe, he and Tom will find out that not all love stories have to end in tragedy. Why I rec it for this prompt: The character work is so rich and detailed in this coming-of-age story in a modern AU setting. There's so much thought that went into all the character interactions here, and I love the way that @reggieblk cleverly weaves in elements from plays and uses the theatre backdrop to develop in such a lovely and fraught and realistic way how Harry and Tom end up falling for each other.

Running list of recs:

#hprecfest2023 #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarrymort recs

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jovenshires · 9 months ago

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endless au edits: smosh theatre's seasonal lineup (2/4)

keeping up with the run of smosh classics, smosh's second production of the year will be a rendition of little shop of horrors in the spring, directed by the other esteemed smosh co-founder, ian hecox. as per usual, any hecox production is certain to be a delicious twist of comedy and tragedy, and this show fits that descriptor to the t. packed to the brim with bright and colorful costumes, elaborate props, and punchy dark humor, little shop makes perfect sense for a director well-known for finding the bright spots in the darkness (and vice versa). with his trusty stage manager sidekick and previous fellow director, spencer agnew, by his side, hecox is sure to make this musical a hit. as for the cast, fans will be delighted to see smosh's resident powerhouse courtney miller as audrey, a hopeless romantic with a heart of gold. miller is not only a vocal and theatrical legend, but also both nonbinary and queer, something they noted that they hope to bring to the role of audrey. miller shared the news on twitter earlier today, saying, "i cannot wait to bring to you this fantastic person i've gotten to know over these past few months. i've put a little piece of myself into her, and i just want you all to know this is our best, gayest show to date." smosh certainly leaned into this idea by making her leading man fellow queer actor and fan-favorite funnyman, tommy bowe. bowe has been with smosh for seven years now; over that time, he's gone from lighting director to bit-part actor to, finally, leading man. this will be the first smosh show bowe's ever taken the lead on, and as i know firsthand from working with him on several other theater productions, no one deserves it more. bowe also shared the news to his social media today, saying on his instagram that this is "a dream come true." we previously saw bowe and miller side-by-side in last year's production of les miserables as thenardier and madame thenardier respectively. as you may recall from my review, the two than proved that they have electrically fun chemistry and excellent comedic prowess, which is extremely promising for this production. i, for one, couldn't be happier for them, and i cannot wait to see how queer this show can really get. other than the two incredible leads, this may be one of the most interesting and unique casts smosh has ever assembled. starring in his first feature role at smosh is trevor evarts as orin scrivello, dds, audrey's controlling, masochistic boyfriend. known for his previous (and part-time continuing) work at the mythic playhouse, evarts is a mangenue on the rise to stardom, and this show is the perfect launchpad for his career. in an interview posted today with theater weekly, evarts said that he was "so excited to join the cast," stating boldly that, in his opinion, "smosh is the future of theater." as trevor's talent is so evidently rooted in his quick-witted, raunchy comedy, there is no doubt in my mind that evarts will make the perfect killer dentist. you know how the saying goes, though; something old, something new. thus, it should be no surprise that we will see two returning faces to the smosh stage, specifically mari takahashi (audrey ii) and joshua ovenshire (mr. mushnik). after nearly four years of absence, the two original cast members are returning for a much-anticipated reunion with the smosh crew. since their original leave, takahashi and ovenshire have worked together on several minor productions, as well as beginning their own podcast. today's episode confirmed that they would be making their re-debut on the smosh stage, discussing why they left and, more importantly, why they're coming back. as an actor, takahashi is known for her rich singing voice and commanding presence on stage, while ovenshire's specialty lies in physical humor and over-exaggerated personas. i can't think of better additions to this cast - although it will certainly be interesting to see how well the old blood blends with the new...

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the-liars-art · 7 months ago

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Slip into the Tragedy

Konrad/Sevatar

Sweet treats, family business, horror movies. a modern AU

Almost two decades ago, before his adoption, Konrad had dreamed of this night. Maybe it would end better than he knew. Maybe he'd find something worth a look beside his current horror movie obsession. Maybe it was why he let Fulgrim take him to the club.

When they arrived at the “hidden gem” in the darker city streets, Horus’ words, he was most disappointed that Mort wasn’t with them. He had hoped to talk for a while, but apparently Mortarion fell ill and stayed at a private hospital. Perturabo left early. Said he had work, and somewhere more important to be. Though he did nod at Konrad before he stormed out of the private room reserved for this half-scaled family reunion. Horus and Alpharius called it a strategy meeting. Konrad was promised, next time, a quieter and more personal celebration just for him: their troubled brother, grown to adulthood strapped in mental institutions and padded cells, finally free.

Freed from their father. Or so Horus says.

Not an hour in and his brothers were drinking too much, laughing and blaming each other, their hands full with glasses of different colored liquids. Konrad wasn’t allowed to drink for too many reasons, and he had no problem with that. Fulgrim asked if he was hungry and ordered him a large strawberry sundae, fancy and pink like film prop.

The ice cream turned out most helpful; he needed the sugar for the rest of the night. Even the interior of the club felt too bright and he couldn’t relax a muscle at first. He wore Fulgrim’s designers’, a loose-fitting robe with fluttering feathery fabric at his back and soft slippers , silky black from head to toe. He liked the theatrical style of it.

Several other brothers left. Then Horus and Fulgrim, arguing intensely while Magnus somehow had Perturabo on the phone. They tried not to yell when Konrad sat in the corner staring at them, confused. In the end, they had to walk outside into the large bar area. They asked him to wait and not to worry.

He wondered for a moment where Fulgrim was, but didn’t feel like finding him chatting and laughing, quoting things Konrad never read. Fulgrim would ask him if he’d like some soft drink or snacks, or how was the atmosphere, and smile and try to lace up his feathery shirt collar again.

It wasn’t bad. But Konrad could do without it for a while.

He grabbed his sundae glass and left the empty table. Pink half-eaten ice cream had begun to melt, mingling with the syrups and frozen berries.

The bar outside hosted a dozen strangers. He wondered how many of them had committed a crime. Maybe all of them. None shall be spared, if he makes the decisions.

Strolling through the empty spaces of the bar, he briefly thought of drinking. Around him, several people were drinking. In the scenes from his recent movie obsessions, people who drink carelessly got their good endings. But it was often the opposite. Then he remembered the doctors’ notes. He had no idea if the new medications were working, but they didn’t make him throw up or pass out. He didn’t want them to.

Bored and frustrated, he swallowed another mouthful of ice cream. He wanted to return to Fulgrim’s mansion, hide in the projector room, and bar the door through the night.

As he walked by, a man at the bar table eyed him absentmindedly, holding a half-empty whiskey glass. A plain black turtleneck wrapped tighly around his muscular shoulders and arms. A well-worn leather jacket, also black, hung on the back of his chair. He could get a silhouette of heavy biker boots under the table.

Konrad ignored the gaze, and went on his way through an empty row of seats. But the stranger in black turned to face him fully and began to stare.

He prepared for insults and tried to remember what his last therapist had said. Deep breaths. What color is your current emotion? (Red. He said red.)

“You look like my favorite slasher.” Said the man with a lip ring and an uneven eyebrow slit. It seem like he was sneering when he wasn’t. Was it the strange angle or lighting, or both?

Konrad didn’t expect that at all. He had just watched too many horror movies in too short a period of time without sufficient sleep. Nevertheless, he searched his mind unconsciously, finding nothing to match.

“Which one?” He raised an eyebrow at the man, who was likely closer to his age than Fulgrim’s.

That was when he realized the lighting was dimmer in this part of the bar. The stranger occupied the darkest spot, like blood rinsed away by water, swirling redness gathering at the lowest corner of the bathroom tiles.

“The one in my dreams.” Said the stranger, in all seriousness. His eyes were as black as Konrad’s own.

All of a sudden the sundae glass became unbearably cold in Konrad’s palm; he had to put it down somewhere. This felt new.

“Name’s Sevatar. You are?”

He hesitated, unsure which name to speak of. He was Night Haunter, always.

Sevatar nodded at his silence, intrigued.

“Ow, I get it. Who are you tonight, then?”

Tonight? Tonight he was Fulgrim’s brother. His father’s one of many failures. Proof that madness runs in the family.

“Tonight I am Konrad Curze.” He said solemnly. Sevatar’s expression remained unchanged.

He was glad Sevatar phrased the question that way. The answer tasted wrong on his tongue, though, like the one time he licked the inner side of his wrist to taste the atrocious perfume that made him grimace and itch.

“Konrad Curse’s hell of a name.” Sevatar blinked. “It’s not you.”

This time it was Konrad who stared. He noticed a thin but visible scar across Sevatar’s pale face which resulted in the inconsistency of his black brow and a left eye that appeared slightly smaller. For the first time in long agonizing years, he didn’t feel like a man named Konrad anymore. Not even for his brothers’ convenience. It was never his name.

“You already know me better than my therapists.”

He found himself grinning. He couldn’t help it. When he was a child, one of the doctors used to whisper stop that. He wondered where that little man ended up. It was difficult to return to his line of work without eyes.

A dull pain rose in the back of his head again. He had to bite his lip, suppressing the urge to bare all his teeth like a hissing feline.

But his cheeks flushed curiously hot, instead of cold all over.

Sevatar grinned back, giving his full attention. The silver ring in his lower lip gleamed.

“I’ll buy you a drink.”

Konrad shook his head. “Medication,” he explained, and tapped the ice cream glass with the long dainty spoon. “I’m here with my brothers.”

Sevatar shrugged, rested an elbow on the table, and downed what was left of his whiskey.

“Just a little taste, at least?” His voice sounded as if he was implying something, but Konrad couldn’t tell from the smile that never reached his eyes.

Konrad barely even tasted alcoholic drinks before. One night after he was brought out of father’s confinement, he attempted to get drunk just to know the feeling. He had half a glass of pale bitter wine from one of Fulgrim’s many cabinets and a few gulps of beer that tasted worse. He remembered an exhaustion that he never wanted to experience again.

“I do,” he said. “I do want a taste.”

TBC

(I’ll do my best to update in chapters, but it might be snippets only)

#konrad curze #sevatar #night haunter #jago sevatarion #warhammer 40k #horus heresy #my fic #no beta we die like konrad

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divinecomedyproductions · 2 months ago

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Fandom Woes: Self-Righteousness of Modern Tragedy

I think I want to explain my case better about my beef with modern tragic/more-bitter-than-sweet fantasy/sci-fi, such as RWBY, Code Geass, and D.Gray-Man and it’s not necessarily the stories in of themselves

It’s the Self-Righteous Martyr/God-Complex of toxic contingent within these fandoms, to me they seem to ultimately not care the message the tragedy and suffering of these stories are trying to convey, but rather enjoy them and flaunt them for their own self-righteous megalomania

And I know that sounds hyperbolic, but it’s the tone, attitude and behavior of these people that give me that impression

For example with Code Geass and RWBY and the tragic deaths of Euphemia Li Britannia, Shirley Fenette, Lelouch, Pyrrha, and Penny respectively

As soon as that happened, many among the fandom would come out and theatrically proclaim the necessity of these tragic deaths, how it is so realistic an shows “thats life”, and brag how ultimately hopeful the stories still are and how it taught them how to be oh-so hopeful despite the odds, and I can see them act that way towards the burden of Allen Walker if the fandom was still active today as it was back then.

In any these cases, these people act as if they themselves were righteous martyrs, prophets of God,Life,Reality, usually the latter two because they claim "that's life" or "that's reality" all in a tone that reeks of holier-than-thou arrogance and vanity...

"Of my virtue, I am justly proud..."

Or worse, they speak with ghoulish glee and bragging about it gives them a feeling of power over these fictional characters as if they themselves are God almighty and it bleeds into how they treat real people who didn't like it by passive aggressively or belligerently belittling, judging, shaming, gaslighting, and sneering at them, implying the worse reasons of their distaste, and tell them to go watch a sitcom or slice-of-life anime or something

Then they are quick to condemn other fictional characters like Suzaku from Code Geass for being such a SOB and cheer on Watts putting Cinder on Full Blast, all while implying themselves to be such better people than both

Then they brag about what story was told with these ideas and concepts to be the end-all-be-all of these concepts in any fantasy/sci-fi epics that have even the slightest tinge of darkness and conflict and, lock them down into little theories, formulas, dogmas, and rule out everything else as a corruption, heresy, or a worthless little parasite, because they themselves are the infallible, all-knowing, and all-seeing “literary experts” who got everything all figured out and everyone else, wether the majority or minority, as peon reprobates.

Which then they pressure onto creatives with less power than them, especially when they disagree. All while they themselves can do whatever they want and do whatever they want with things they are unhappy with because “we know better than you”

I have experienced this expressing my ideas of what RWBY could have been instead, AU and Original work and been told it could only work as a slice of life anymore or a sitcom, or otherwise what I do with this stuff is ultimately meaningless and heresy and spiteful

All while they supported things like His Dark Materials Trilogy which is the Anti-Narnia written by a Atheist who hates CS Lewis and Christianity with a passion because he made the concepts more “interesting”

Or how making a sexy magical Captain Marvel with her own sailor scouts like Kamen America and her Kamen Corps because the creators were unhappy with what was done with the concept of Captain Marvel is nothing but a "Porno Captain Marvel Rip-Off"

while making an evil superman like Homelander and other nasty rendition of superheroes in "The Boys" by a guy who despises superheroes is totally fine because he knows what's the "interesting" end-all-be-all of these concepts.

All these things I describe can be summed up to figures in the Bible, The Pharisees

youtube

“They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”-Matthew 23:4

They brag about the virtues and necessity of tragedy at the expense of fictional characters and real people, and boss around other creatives on what they do with this stuff, especially when they are unhappy, all whilst they themselves do whatever they want because they are supposedly so “objective”, they don’t need to follow the rules like everyone else

These prigs will tell others to “broaden their horizons” and give them the benefit of the doubt, but will refuse to give others the exact same courtesy because once again, “We know better than you.”

These self righteous people seem to only enjoy these stories not because of the message the tragedy and suffering is trying to convey, thats just a shield for them, but rather for their moral superiority and the thrill of power over others and being the measure of all things, for they know how life exactly works for specific individuals in specific genres and they know how to carry it out exactly.

They know with a "G"(gnosis) what's the end-all-be-all of specific concepts in ideas in specific genres and how to carry them out and they alone are the alchemists who can turn lead in to gold and everyone else is subjective and suffer from false consciousness.

In fact, I compare them to Digory’s Uncle Andrew in The Magician’s Nephew who though he could control other people by using their values against them to get them to do what he wants, while he himself doesn’t need to follow the rules, and basked in self congratulation of being a “great magician”

“Men like me, who possess hidden wisdom, are freed from common rules just as we are cut off from common pleasures. Ours, my boy, is a high and lonely destiny.”

And while we’re at it and Code Geass is on the table, let me point to one of the antagonists of Akito The Exiled, Gene Smilas

He was the mentor and surrogate parent of Lelia Macal who sought to bring Europe to a brighter future, often invoking the tale of the venerable St.Joan of Arc.

But when the time came to supposedly save EU, did he bet on his own life like the Saint did?

No.

He decided to position himself as God and Lelia as Joan of Arc, planning for her to die as a martyr for his own gain and become Emperor of Europe, because she happened to be a young lady with good morals who wasn't afraid to fight alongside her troops.

Like Uncle Andrew, Gene was nothing more than a peddling magician, but worse, he saw himself as God who controlled Lelila's destiny all while basking in delusions of righteousness in his quest for power. While Uncle Andrew was at least scared straight by Narnia.

To use a description of the Pharisees from the TV Series Jesus of Nazareth(1977) but slightly tweaked,

He bowed before the Story of Joan of Arc, but violated the heart of it.

And that's why I am so irritable about Tragedy in these kinds of stories, it feels like they are no longer enjoyed out of humility, compassion, truth, goodness, and beauty.

But rather out of pride, vanity, power, cruelty, and moral superiority

and sometimes it tempts me want to write my inspired stories in a way that gives them all the finger rather than for what I saw these ideas and concepts could have been, just so I can give them a taste of their own medicine

I know that's wrong, but these people test my patience, especially when they keep invading other people's spaces, bypass other people's "curations" because "there's nothing subjective about this, I need to correct and educate you", and getting away with this kind of nasty behavior

Because they are perfectly “objective” and everyone else is “subjective” therefore “subjected” to their “objective” will.

@beatricehawthorne @vitamaeternum

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imsparky2002 · 4 months ago

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We All Dye - A Teen Titans (Girls) AU

Band: We All Dye

Founded: October 30, 1999

Location: Jump City, California

Fun Facts

The band is called We All Dye because at the time, everyone had dyed hair.

While they officially formed the band in 1999, they had been practicing together for about a year before the official founding. Their first concert was on Halloween.

Rachel Roth (Raven)

Born: May 1, 1986

Favorite Acts: The Cure, Korn, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Radiohead, Joy Division

Instruments: Lead Vocals

About: On stage, Rachel Roth is a gothic force of nature. She loses herself in the music, putting all her emotions on display and excelling in flair and passion. When she's offstage, Roth is the complete opposite. In real life, she's a reserved and mild-mannered kid who uses sarcasm and bluntness on a regular basis. Rachel's look on life had been jaded even before her mother's death from cancer, an which caused her to create the band as a way of finally releasing her emotions and hurt in a creative manner. She found that in making the band, she had found lifelong friends who would be there for her every step of the way. She tries her best to do the same for them.

Kori Anderson (Starfire)

Born: May 21, 1986

Favorite Acts: Bjork, Britney Spears, The Beach Boys, David Bowie, Rush, Sum 41

Instruments: Lead Guitar

About: An immigrant from Canada, Kori is without a doubt one of the nicest people you will ever meet. Though she's unapolagetically peppy, she's got a love for rock. She is trusting to a fault, which her older sister Kristen (Blackfire) would take advantage of. It was only after her bandmates showed Kori that she was being mistreated, did she finally begin to stand up for herself. Now she feels that she's finally gained true sisters.

Karen Beecher (Bumblebee)

Born: March 19, 1986

Favorite Acts: Jamiroquai, Green Day, Gloria Gaynor, Prince, Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill

Instruments: Rhythm Guitar, Backing Vocals

About: The mom of the group, Karen works alongside Kori to be the peacekeeper. She makes sure everybody's packed and ready to go for concerts. Karen's certainly busy as a bee, which just so happens to be her favorite animal. She's also a proud nerd, hoping to work in tech if the band somehow fails to work out.

Tara Markov (Terra)

Born: February 21, 1986

Favorite Acts: Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Joan Jett, Soundgarden, Fiona Apple, Avril Lavigne

Instruments: Bass

About: Tara is a girl who is not afraid to get her hands dirty or speak her mind. This came from being bullied in childhood as a poverty-ridden kid needing to fight for everything she had. She chose to play bass as she felt it fit her "no-theatrics" attitude. Tara also is the most likely to argue either for herself or for other members of the band if she feels anyone is being disrespected.

Alina Hao (Jinx)

Born: August 8, 1986

Favorite Acts: Hex Girls (She won't apologize), Queen, Shonen Knife, Misfits, Stevie Nicks

Instruments: Keyboards, Backing Vocals

About: Alina is as wry, passionate and mischievous as they come. When Rachel was creating her on-stage persona, she mostly drew inspiration from Alina's theatricality. Funnily enough, Alina and Rachel had been rivals in elementary school, due to frequent bouts for spots in school plays. It was only after puberty and tragedy in Rachel's life did the two realize how silly their rivalry truly was, and Alina was invited into the friend group. Now she feels it's her job to back up her friends, and occasionally drive them nuts with pranks.

Rose Wilson (Ravager)

Born: February 21, 1986

Favorite Acts: Nine Inch Nails, Metallica, Alanis Morissette, Guns 'n Roses, Rage Against the Machine, Le Tigre

Instruments: Drums

About: If you want to keep Rose happy, don't tell her what to do without a good reason. She has problems with authority due to issues with her parents and being seen as a disappointment by most of her teachers. Having two younger brothers (with an older brother, Grant, who's serving in the Army) to protect from their mom and dad means she looks out for other kids going through a hard time. It's also caused her to become jaded, using snarkiness as a way to cope with the feelings of hurt and anger that have built up inside her. While she sees all her bandmates as sisters, she particularly bonds with Tara as a fellow victim of parental abuse, even if they bicker a lot.

So that's the band so far. Credit to Artzy for the name choice! Lemme know headcanons, and thoughts in the replies and reblogs. @artzychic27 @nerd-chocolate @msweebyness

#raven #starfire #bumblebee #terra #jinx #ravager #rose wilson #teen titans #emo #2000s emo #rock band au #we all dye #dc comics #dc #music #rock au #2000s au

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blakebow · 2 months ago

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For me, what bugs me about the tragedy of Arkos, the darkness of rwby, and Bumbleby over BlackSun is the Self-Righteous Martyr/God-Complex of toxic contingent within these fandoms, to me they seem to ultimately not care the message these stories are trying to convey, but rather enjoy them and flaunt them for their own self-righteous megalomania

With the deaths of Pyrrha, and Penny respectively.

Same with the Wasps over Bumbleby because “BEST SAPPHIC REPRESENTATION EVAR!!!” and taunting BlackSun fans for being “heteronormative”

They’re like Claude Frollo in a sense

"Of my virtue, I am justly proud..."

Then they brag about what story was told with these ideas and concepts to be the end-all-be-all of these concepts in any fantasy/sci-fi epics that have even the slightest tinge of darkness and conflict and Representation and, lock them down into little theories, formulas, dogmas, and rule out everything else as a corruption, heresy, or a worthless little parasite, because they themselves are the infallible, all-knowing, and all-seeing “literary experts” who got everything all figured out and everyone else, wether the majority or minority, as peon reprobates.

Forgive my Catholicism talking, but it reminds me of the Pharisees

“They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”-Matthew 23:4

Or with Bumbleby, how they are righteous champions of queer culture against eeeeevilllll heteronormative culture which reeks of resentiment

And that's why I am so irritable about Tragedy in these kinds of stories, it feels like they are no longer enjoyed out of humility, compassion, truth, goodness, and beauty.

But rather out of pride, vanity, power, cruelty, and moral superiority

While Bumbleby over BlackSun and the whole Adam fight enrages me because it feels like some sick power fantasy of LGBTQ+ Revenge against “Heterosexuality” while Sun is supposed to be kind of humble cuck

and sometimes it tempts me want to write my rwby au fanfic and original stuff inspired by it in a way that gives them all the finger rather than for what I saw these ideas and concepts could have been, just so I can give them a taste of their own medicine

you totally lost me on all the religious stuff, i don't subscribe to that by-weekly at all, fam.

on that note though, i do agree for the most part with the idea that the wasps have taken advantage of the canonization of bees to appoint themselves to some kind of sainthood, like they're holier-than-though over the rest of the fandom. and frankly, i can't stand those insufferable type of people.

they over project themselves onto terrible ships and even though people tell them how toxic and dysfunctional it is, it goes in one ear and out the other. they don't listen. they live in a detached bubble in a separate reality.

sad to say, that's not the first time that i've encountered fans like this in a fandom. some people really should be on a no fly list because they're clearly mentally unstable and a danger to others, but i don't get to make that call, unfortunately...

i want someone from crwby to come out and tell them that bees was never planned, because i think it would utterly shatter their delusional reality if they felt so betrayed by the hand that fed them. they should be soundly slapped several dozen times until they lose all coherrence.

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pixies-and-poets · 10 months ago

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Well, well! What have we here! If it isn't your girl Bramble "I'm going to write fanfics but ONLY RARELY" Scramble with another fanfic!

I don't know if I'll ever continue this story directly, but I thought up a starting point for the Divine AU and haven't been able to stop thinking about it for a couple of days. Enjoy my attempts at "localizing" things into Greek! Phantom is also literally Dionysus here, but it's strange to call him that, so I did what we in the business called "cheesing it" to get us back to his familiar name.

As always, thank you for putting up with my Phandrow obsession lmaaaooo. And now enjoy...

An Appeal to the Heavens

It was mid-morning of a bright day in early spring, and the city streets bustled with activity. Children and adults alike ran about wearing colorful togas or tunics. Street vendors shouted from the sidelines, or pushed their carts straight through the crowd. The drinking was heavy, and wine stained the lips and tongues of many a mouth.

It was the middle of a festival, after all.

The Dionysia lasted for a whole week, and mostly celebrated theatrical productions both grand and small. But today there were also competitions for poetry: theatre’s cousin, and also much beloved by theatre’s God. There were different categories for original poetry throughout the day: epic, tragic, comic, romantic. It was an hour yet before they began, and every adult was preparing themselves with the appropriate amount of inebriation to survive the more tortured of verses- and purchasing fruit to throw, if need be.

Through the mass of pure white or brightly-colored clothing pressed a man who stood out from the rest in his somber long tunic, so dark brown as to be almost black. The only spot of color on his form was the vibrant pink ribbon that tied the cloth around his waist. More notable than his clothes, however, was the way he literally stood out amongst his fellow rabbids: his tall, slender but top-heavy form being so unusual that it drew plenty of rudely curious gazes.

…Or at least, that’s what he imagined they were looking at. More likely, they were staring at the tiny raincloud that followed in his vicinity, bobbing here and there as if to observe the festivities, and occasionally giving off a little thunderclap of excitement.

The tall man carried a bundle wrapped in white cloth close to his chest, protectively but not too tightly, as delicate and guarded as if it were a newborn child. He weaved through the crowd with extreme care, so as not to let anyone bump him and his precious cargo too hard.

Finally, he reached his destination- a grand temple, richly decorated above and among its pillars with carvings of grapes and their vines and leaves, and the masks of comedy and tragedy, and harps, and musical notation. Atop the pillars, its triangular pediment was carved with a relief depicting actors upon a stage.

For a moment the visitor stared up at the building in awe. He could have spent hours taking in every detail. It was so large, so ornate, compared to the temple in his home village! There was only one, which all the gods had to share, their little shrines jumbled up against one another inside. This one was so huge, despite its dedication to a single god alone! But it only made sense- this was THE main temple to Dionysus, in the city that was holy to him.

And yet… hardly anyone was around. The wide set of stairs leading up and inside were the least crowded space the tall rabbid had seen for a while. This surprised him a bit - he had expected others to have the same idea as him, to come to pray. Perhaps most people saw little use - or little fun - in being pious at a temple, when the whole city was transformed into a shrine for the god’s honor.

The visitor slowly approached the doorway, and then turned around. He noticed his cloud hanging back- the little thing rarely came into buildings to begin with, and certainly not temples.

“I won’t be long, Katára,” he addressed it, with a gentle smile. Then he turned back and entered the structure.

He found himself in a massive hall. On the left side was a large dias - a stage, in fact - and on the right, rows of seating, raised up in tiers. Here plays were sometimes performed, but right now they were elsewhere, all over the city. And at the far end of the hall, which the visitor was now walking towards in the space between the stage and the audience, was a statue.

The newcomer's green-blue eyes, which were often somewhat squinted due to his poor eyesight, widened in amazement. The statue was larger than life, much much larger than even the largest mortal rabbid he had ever seen. And it was an incredible piece of workmanship. At its base, a large harp - which the god’s body was said to contain - was delicately rendered and covered in gold. This was subtly part of a pillar, which supported the statue’s upper body - the god with one hand at his chest and the other stretched out, his hair flowing, his eyes closed and his mouth open in divine song. All of this was carved in stone, but painted in vibrant color: the purple of his toga, the green of the grape leaves in his hair, the red of his mouth, and even more purple on his wine-stained lips, which were said to be a near permanent feature.

Most astonishingly of all, however, is that his giant round belly was made entirely of glass, through which the harp could be seen.

Never before had it been more obvious why the god had earned the colloquial name of the Phantom. He usually kept his stomach transparent, like a ghost, so that all might see the glorious instrument inside. Most statue depictions, of course, could not capture this detail, or had to attempt it in the most rudimentary of ways. He also went without legs most of the time, his body culminating in a ghostly tail- although legends claimed he could give himself legs, if it was more fun to have them.

There was another reason he'd earned that name, of course. He was infamously elusive, appearing before mortals extremely rarely, at least in this age. Some gods, like the hero Perfectus or his less heroic brother Augustus, dwelt among mortals almost full-time; others appeared rarely, but at least sometimes... and the Phantom was almost never seen at all, at least in his own form outside of some disguise.

"So that's what you really look like, eh?” said the newcomer as he gazed up in wonder. How different this was from the simple wooden carvings in the temple of his village! Those certainly couldn’t pull off a trick of transparency like this. Before he knew it, he was at the base of the statue, which was raised up on a huge pedestal of its own. His eyes were at the level of the harp, and he could see his own reflection- a poor, tired poet, gazing at a form of divine magnificence. Embarrassed by his own awkward reflection, he looked upward again, at the face of a god who was rapt with the joy of performance... and without thinking, he reached out a paw and touched the glass.

He stood like that for a moment, before suddenly coming to his senses, embarrassed and ashamed. He took his paw away, and saw that it had left a faint print. At this point he was more relieved than ever that not another soul was present in the temple. He must clean that off in a moment. But for now…

He looked around the edges of the statue’s base. Various tributes had been left here recently; sumptuous costumes and props; bundles of papyrus that were probably play scripts, piles of coins, and more. The newcomer found some empty space and sat his own bundle down, gently unwrapping it. Out he pulled a bunch of grapes.

It was a healthy group - each individual a rich reddish purple, as full and round as the god’s own belly, with no bruises or wrinkles or rot. The ideal representation of the fruit. He had spent far too long at the market this morning, picking out the absolute most perfect bunch he could find. In fact, he was pretty sure the vendor had charged him extra for it after seeing how long he had agonized and deliberated.

Now he sat them tenderly at the base of the statue, and used the freed cloth to wipe off his paw-print. He stood back, looking at his tribute nestled in amongst the others… and felt shame. They were only grapes, after all. Nothing compared with the expensive clothing and masks and other offerings on display. He sighed. Still, it was about all he could afford to give. …That, and his endless devotion, of course. If the god would have it.

But no one seemed to want it.

The visitor tucked the cloth away within his tunic, and then knelt before the statue, his ears flopping forward over the top of his head. He brought his long arms together and clasped his hands and shut his eyes.

“My Lord,” he began. “It's been a while. It's me, Tristan of the Woods, from Chróma Próta… do you remember me? I’m very far from home. I used to pray to you in rhyme, but… well, I think you must not have liked it, because you never answered my prayers. -But I don’t hold it against you personally! None of the gods ever do.”

He sighed, feeling like he was messing this up already. “-So anyway, I thought I might try something different this time. I thought I should be more casual. Perhaps you’d like that better…”

Tristan paused here. His knees were already hurting from kneeling on the stone floor. He opened his eyes and looked up at the statue, at the torchlight reflecting off its glass, making the god seem to glow.

“You know,” he said, “if I’m going to be casual, I should go all the way. Commit to it. I hope you don’t mind.”

He went around the side of the statue’s dais, where there were no tributes laid out, and heaved himself up onto the platform. This was the side where the statue’s ghost-like tail snaked around, and the visitor settled himself into the crook between the tail and the statue’s body, resting his back on the glass, curling his legs up behind the tail.

“Well then.” He began to speak once more, looking alternatively down at his knees, or the statue’s tail, or the decorated walls around him. “I’m here today because - I need your help. Desperately. If there’s ever a prayer I need answered, if you only answer one in my whole life, let it be my request to you today.”

He shifted, slouching down even further against the statue. “You see, My Lord… I am a poet, yes? Or at least I call myself such. But in my hometown, they do not like my poetry. I don't blame them, because neither do you, it seems- the gods, I mean.

Well, despite everything, I care for my hometown. I want to give back to them. It just so happens that they're holding elections soon, for the archon- you know, that’s someone who’s sort of in charge of a town, among us mortals. A lot of decisions, and a lot of responsibility. The only thing is, it’s only open to people who can pay a certain amount of money… to prove we’re financially stable, and responsible, and well-to-do.”

The poet took a deep breath, then exhaled sadly. “The problem is… I’m NOT. I have hardly any money. I barely scrape by. And that’s why… that’s why I came all the way here, to the poetry competitions. I entered myself in all four of them, you know! It’s going to be a busy day for me. But just winning one… that would be enough. The prize money would be all I need to enter the election.”

The rabbid turned his upper body around, to look up at the statue once more, though from here he could only really see the side of his toga, his elbow and his flowing locks. “So… since this is your festival, I was hoping… maybe you could inspire me today, to do extra well? Or… perhaps convince the judges to see the virtues of my work. Whatever you can do, as a god, to help me win. Just one little competition! I… I would prefer it were the tragic poem, as I’m always most proud of myself in that regard. But any will do. That’s all I ask. Just one, my Lord. It’s for a good reason, I promise you.”

He turned back around, put his hands together once more, and was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was softer. “Even if you don't like my poems.... maybe you can pretend, just this once. And in return… if there’s anything you wish of me... just let me know somehow. Send me a vision, a divine message in a dream, however you wish to reach me. I will do whatever you ask.” The poet suddenly had a feeling that he might dream of the god that night, and for other nights to come, divine vision or no. He felt very warm, and blushed. Could the gods tell what a mortal was thinking? Especially if they were in the god’s own temple? He desperately tried to suppress the thoughts that had been bubbling up inside him since he first laid eyes on the statue, on the god’s fair face. Absurd thoughts.

“There are, perhaps, better deities to pray to,” he continued quickly, drowning out his thoughts by speaking, “for poetry specifically. But… I have always been drawn to you above all gods, My Lord. I know you have never answered my devotion with any reward, but… well, you are busy, I’m sure, granting the wishes of playwrights and actors from the cities. And who am I but a humble poet from a town buried in the forest? I… would like your assistance, My Lord, but above all I simply… I simply pray that you hear me. I have come here, to your grand temple, and although I have little to offer…I do have myself. And I want you to know that I am ever your faithful servant. I am yours, body and soul, if you will have me. …Thank you for listening.”

During this last bout of speaking, he had closed his eyes, clutched his hands together, and bowed his head once more. Now he opened his eyes and stood up. He got down off the pedestal and walked back to the front of the statue. Trembling, he looked up at it one last time, and felt the warmth rise again to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He was so beautiful, and the lowly poet so unworthy…. How dare he ask for anything?? And what’s more, how dare he dream- how dare he entertain the thought even for a moment- that the god would take notice of him as anything more than yet another wish to grant, or more likely, to ignore?

Ashamed of his whole endeavor, the poet turned and left in a hurry, to rejoin his cloud and prepare for his first oration.

—

But the poor mortal did not know the terrible truth! His prayers had not been ignored on purpose. In fact, they simply weren't reaching the long ears of the gods.

They never had.

The poet was well aware of his own ill luck and misfortune. It was a reality he lived with every day, with every verse he spoke. But he had been taught as a child that the gods heard everyone out, no matter how pious or fallen, no matter how glorious or meek. Little did he know, so complete was his curse, that the Fates blocked his messages from ever reaching the holy realm.

Today, though… in that realm, far above the land in which mortals struggled and died…

The Phantom’s eyes opened. He opened his mouth, too, very wide - not in song, but in a mighty yawn - and he stretched his arms and shook his silver hair.

Then he groaned and flopped backwards again onto his bed. He really needed to stop having drinking contests with Augie. The god of wine always came out on top, of course, but it was a close one, with the sea-god just barely passing out when Phantom was at his limit. The constant beach parties in Pharos Philia, where Augustus made his home among mortals, had trained him well.

The god of theatre, wine and merry-making was feeling anything but merry this morning. Under the dull pounding of his hangover - something to which even the gods were susceptible - he felt a prickling in the back of his mind. He had prayers to listen to.

Of course he did; it was the third day of that damned festival. He had ceased to care about it decades ago. Mortals always followed trends in their work and their lives, and their trends repeated in cycles, each generation thinking they were the first to discover some grand theme or unifying truth about existence. For a short-lived mortal, their little dramas, both those on a stage and those not, always seemed important and new. For a god, it got boring after a while.

And yet… today he had woken up with a strange feeling. A premonition he could not shake.

Perhaps, for the first time in years, he should visit his own festival. In disguise, of course. It wouldn't help his headache, but… he had nothing better to do.

The god closed his eyes, and the eyes of the statue in his grand temple opened, and glowed. He was looking through them.

….But there was no one around to notice. The temple was completely empty.

Of course, Dionysus thought. Of course it was empty. No one was at the festival to actually celebrate or worship him. They were there for their own entertainment or their own glory, as actors and writers, directors and choreographers. Well, he supposed he couldn't blame them. He knew the feeling.

At least this was a choice spot to manifest into the mortal world, then. In a sparkle of gold, a body materialized before the statue- the guise of a mortal rabbid, although notably larger and more rotund than the average. He had given himself legs, and was dressed in an unassuming blue toga, and even transformed his hair into fancy curls and a neat little ponytail, quite different from the messy locks he was normally depicted with. Still, he did not want to alter his inborn beauty too much. He hoped no one would catch on.

He turned around to give a brief glance over the tributes at the base of his statue. There were some finely-wrought objects and pieces of clothing, but still, nothing compared to what he saw every day in the land of the gods. Some mortals had even offered him their mortal play scripts- eurgh, no thank you. But just as he was about to turn away again, his eyes caught a small spot of purple.

He walked over and saw… a bunch of grapes. They looked delicious, and clean, and very fresh. Someone must have left them here quite recently! As far as he was concerned, this was the only useful gift in the collection.

With a smile, the Phantom picked them up, and strode out of the temple, eating the succulent orbs one by one.

#mario plus rabbids #mario + rabbids #phandrow #woodrow #ts woodrow #the phantom of the bwahpera #soh divine au

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reggieblk · 1 year ago

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what's If We Were Lovers? I was scrolling on the Tomarry tag and I'm so curious now! I love longfics. What's the concept?

hi! thank you for asking!!

if we were lovers is the second long fic I've ever written, and I'll try and explain the concept to you though please keep in mind that I am so bad at explaining the premise of this fic and I rarely do the actual fic justice when I explain it lol

but! basically it's a no magic AU that takes place in the 90's (so same era tomarry) with some timeline mashups when it comes to secondary characters. the premise is that Harry gets into a very prestigious and selective school for the arts (he attends for theatre) and his arrival sparks a bit of controversy because students are only accepted at 12yo or never at all, and he is 18, so joining the last year theatre students. his arrival is not taken well by Tom, whose class he is in, because students get cut every year, and by arriving in their last year Harry has subverted that threat that the others faced every year. there are five other boys with Harry and Tom in seventh year that i love a lot. I'll put the list of tags I have up until now at the end of this post to give you an idea of what's gonna feature in this fic!

concerning the actual writing of the fic, initially it was heavily inspired by the book If we were vilains by M.L Rio, if you've read that. though the inspiration kind of dies out after the first Act of this fic, so it doesn't resemble the book plotwise at all, merely in vibe. as such, I decided the write this fic in 5 Acts, each comprised of 12 scenes (the fic will be posted in Acts so each update will be very long, and there will be a total of 6 "chapters"; Acts 1-5 + an interlude for a rough total of 260k words).

Additionally over the months I made this post, this one, and more recently this one about this fic if they can give you a vague idea of what's gonna be going on.

And, here's the list of tags I have so far :

And here is the summary (which may change bc i literally just wrote it now for this post) :

When Harry arrives at the most prestigious theatrical school in the country under very suspicious circumstances he doesn't have many expectations. The most unexpected thing he encounters, however, is one Tom Riddle. Amidst peers of great talent, his worry for his Godfather, unconventional professors, and a vague sense of unworthiness, Harry falls in love with the only other person who deals with feelings as well as him. But maybe, just maybe, he and Tom will find out that not all love stories have to end in tragedy.

Okay!! sorry for going on so long, like I said I'm really quite bad at explaining the premise of this fic lol. I promise the fic is actually good, and with so much divergence from the canon works, there's quite a bit of world building and stuff.

thank you again for asking!! i hope my answer piqued your interest, and feel free to ask anymore questions I will be more than happy to answer! I'll come up with a posting schedule some time this week and post it but the whole fic will be going up in December!

#ask #anon #billie speaks #fic : if we were lovers #tomarry

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inkyucu · 7 months ago

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So... I got showed a website where you can pose a model for characters, and I planned on making a sketch.

This.... This was not the game plan, and yet I don't mind what happened, because I got to work on my horrible abilities when it comes to working on perspective AND full body Eclipse I will totally use as reference! Two birds with one accidentally thrown stone if I do say so myself

(Transparent version)

+ A little bonus

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chigirisprincess · 1 year ago

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On the Phoenix' Perch | Prologue.

D. Ragnvindr.

General Series Warnings: 18+ only minors dni, gn afab reader, historical au, canonical character death, parental loss, grief, angst, familial bonding, ragbros, courtship, class differences, some references to canon typical gender stereotypes, slow burn, eventual smut, several minor side ships, unfinished multi-chapter fic.

Wc. 2.0k

❝For the first time in the five years following his fathers' death, Diluc Ragnvindr returns home. After the terrible affair that had been his seventeenth birthday, Diluc re-enters society and claims his rightful place as the head of his family. Bound by duty and haunted by the ghost of his father, Diluc strives to uphold the Ragnvindr legacy while also navigating the dreaded social season. Vowing to find love and continue the Ragnvindr line, Diluc chases the coattails of the man he thinks his father wished for him to become.

Failed love affairs and blunders drive him right back out of society, but in retracing the footsteps of another lifetime, Diluc might just find what he is looking for❞

[See future updates on ao3 @ dearbraus]

The day Viscount Ragnvindr died was not meant to be a tragic one.

Diluc, the young master and heir to the Ragnvindr clan had just turned seventeen. Though still cherubic and shrouded in the essence of boyhood, Diluc had stepped into society that day. Celebrations of grandeur crept around the corner with each passing day until April thirtieth had finally arrived after an arduous winter, he couldn’t wait to finally relish in the frivolities and luxuries his father saved only for the most special of occasions.

His younger brother, Kaeya had been so excited too. He could hardly sleep and rose before the sun to wish Diluc the happiest of days. Kaeya loved parties, the theatricality of it all but he was only fifteen, still too young to spend more than a few precious moments soaking up the festivities before Adelinde, their governess, helped him to bed. That day though, he was allowed to dance to his heart's content and sip on sweet lemonade until his tongue grew tart.

It was all the two boys could have ever wanted, and their father, Crepus could feel his heart swell thrice its size, adoration and pride filling every fibre of his being. There truly could never be a father quite so proud of his sons in all of Dulcis, so overwrought with love that he’d pluck the sun, the moon, and all of the stars in the sky if they so wished for it.

How unfortunate it was that as the hours bleed late into the night that tragedy would befall the Ragnvindr family. In the span of a few short minutes, Diluc and Kaeya’s world went from that of a dream to a nightmare.

A chill drifted into the ballroom, ice biting through the warmth that collected amongst the throngs of bodies spinning around the room in a waltz. Diluc, ever the dutiful son, slipped between cheerful embraces in search of the miscreant so his father wouldn’t have to but all he found was broken glass and his father's crumpled figure. Silky strands of hair spun by scarlet lay splayed across the carpet, dampened by streaks of metallic crimson. It stained Diluc’s shirt, the new one the modiste embroider as a gift to the family, and seeped into the cream-coloured flowers of his mother's favourite carpet as Diluc gathered Crepus into his arms.

Diluc didn’t realise he had screamed until others came rushing in, a stampede of prying busybodies who traded gossip like children traded marbles. His father's blood bubbled from the gaping wound that tore through his chest, his hands not enough to quell the bleeding no matter how he tried. Tears hot and angry stung his eyes, a frustrated cry clawing at his throat, fervently willing Diluc to feel the anguish that had struck him. But, Diluc felt nothing, too numbed with panic to do anything other than compress the wound, until Kaeya’s desperate plea reached his ears.

It was caught between a haggard breath and a flurry of sniffles, hardly coherent for anyone but Diluc.

He doesn’t remember much from that night, but Diluc remembers how raw his chest felt when he barked out an order for Kaeya, willing him to stay back and close his eyes. Kaeya didn’t need to watch another father die. He had already lost too much at such a young age, his heart would break. Diluc could not bear the thought of it.

That night, minutes before the clock struck midnight, Crepus took his last breath. His two sons' names lingered on his tongue as the light faded from his eyes— his dying breath lost on the eager ears which desperately sought out those last few words.

Diluc was gone the morning after Crepus had been laid to rest, the only evidence of his departure was an empty armoire and Crepus’ timepiece having gone missing. His bedroom in the Aquilae Estate had been largely untouched, to the naked eye it’d have seemed like an ordinary living quarter but the life that had once occupied had been swiftly snuffed out and the servants knew it the moment they had gone to refresh his linens. The young master had deserted his newly acquired postage, swiftly slipping into obscurity.

He was meant to attend the Akademiya, Alicante’s most prestigious post-secondary school, come fall. Elzer, Crepus’ steward, contacted the institute every few weeks in the hopes of hearing any news in regards to Diluc’s welfare but no matter how often the man sent word, he never learned anything more of his status. Until he was slated to begin classes and a notice of prolonged absence was sent to the estate, along with a hefty fine for overdue tuition fees– Kaeya who was still but a boy had to foot the bill now that he had assumed the position of head of the Raginvindr clan. There was no amount of money or tutors or governesses that could have prepared him for losing an entire family for the second time.

Even with Elzer’s guiding hand, Kaeya’s nimble knees buckled beneath the weight of aristocracy. At nights when he felt lost and that familiar feeling of loneliness began to creep in with the self-doubt, all Kaeya could find himself wishing for was his big brother. In his eyes, he knew everything; Diluc was the smartest person Kaeya had ever met, even smarter than their father. But, Diluc was gone. He’d disappeared faster than the moon and the stars did when morning sat on the horizon, though he never reappeared when evening came as they did.

When Diluc did return, Kaeya was nearly a man grown.

Though, society with all its barbs did not see it that way.

Kaeya had been a man since the mere age of fifteen and now, at twenty he was everything that Diluc should have been. College-educated, knowledgeable about the Ragnvindr business, and ready for marriage. Diluc was none of those things, he was no more grown than he had been at eighteen though now he sported reddish stubble on his jaw, his features weathered from whatever travels he embarked on. He looked every bit the man Crepus had been at his age, a ghost occupying a fleshy body. It terrified the staff when he returned one winter's night. The sun had long since been laid to rest and snow fell from the sky in big white clumps. Diluc appeared on the veranda of the Aquilae Estate with nothing but the singular case he had taken within him so long ago.

Anyone could have mistaken him for his father.

But, Crepus too had long since laid to rest and the young master was all that remained of him. The plains of Diluc’s face were but a map of their late master, a mirror image that forced a bleak reminder into their hearts when he stepped through his childhood home for the first time in five years. A stranger now, no longer the joyful young man they knew him to be. He wandered the halls like a well-worn memory that had begun to fray at the edges. Whatever sadness was felt by the servants, was swallowed by a far greater melancholy that tugged at Diluc’s heartstrings like a long-lost melody.

They tugged at Kaeya’s too.

For he too was a stranger in the eyes of a man who was once his brother.

He wore the face of familiarity well, but when Diluc gazed upon his features, ones that he once knew so well, neither man could feel anything but estranged.

Estranged by distance, time, and loss.

It all hung in the air between them, unspoken, neither willing to be the first to bare his soul or tear open the newly healed wounds that throbbed with each passing second.

It would hurt too much, to hash out the feelings both had worked so diligently to bury deep within their souls. They harboured two lifetimes worth of sadness and heartache, and somehow it would hurt even more.

Diluc longed too, though. He longed to pour his heart and every fibre of his being before his brother. To speak the words that he should have long ago, they sat heavily on his chest and danced upon the tip of his tongue, taunting him as his throat swallowed itself up until he choked on his guilt. That’s what kept him truly silent, the guilt of it all. Diluc was selfish, that much he had accepted but to speak it into the air and allow it to settle, he could never do. To admit it, was to admit that he was everything his father had not raised him to be, and to be a disappointment to Crepus was all that he had feared.

So, brothers turned to strangers.

One silent, a frown permanently etched onto his once cherubic features; the other boisterous, he filled the gaps of silence with well-crafted paragraphs that spoke too much but revealed far too little.

It was strangely befitting for the brothers to play such a balancing act. Two sides of the same coin, aching to be melted and returned to the earth once more.

As days turned into weeks, and then months into years, no warmth had yet to fill the hearth of the place they called home. A layer of frost prickled their skin and kept their feet pressed firmly in place so they remained five feet apart, always. Diluc would muse to himself that it was better to keep the distance because the grief might hurt less in the end. How sweet, naiveté could be

It was a tragedy to see all that Kaeya had lost in a matter of minutes.

The relief that should have filled him the moment he saw his brother's face once more did not fill him, instead, it was dread. Dulcis, like all of Alicante, was built around the egos of eldest sons. They may as well have put all the stars and the moon into the night skies with how they were cradled like young gods, always deserving, forever in want. It mattered nought that Kaeya is the son who stayed and strived to carry his father's legacy upon his narrow shoulders despite being no less of an unknowledgeable boy than he had been the night before Crepus died. He knew little of the family business, as a second son there was no need for him to learn more than how to assist his brother's pursuits. A lifetime of lessons was compressed into mere months and as years with no family became more familiar than it was strange, all that Kaeya had built for himself, for the Ragnvindr name, was to be ripped from between his bare fingers.

Diluc was home.

The title of Viscount Ragnvindr was his, Kaeya was simply keeping it warm for the day that Diluc finally felt strong enough to bear the burden that was noble society.

It would have been cruel of Kaeya to resent Diluc for returning home. He spent countless, sleepless nights praying to whomever would listen, to return Diluc home safely, or even for a letter detailing his wellbeing. For years, Kaeya wished for nothing more than to see his brother again, but when he stood before him in an ill-fitting wool coat, Kaeya wished that no one had listened.

Kaeya knew what it made him, an awful brother and an even worse person– but, was it fair? If you’d ask Kaeya while he lay spread bare, chest heaved and sweat dabbled he’d confess that he did not think it was. As much as he loved Diluc, the closet remnant of his own flesh and blood, why should he be so entitled to a title he never longed for? Kaeya did, he spent many balmy summer days dreaming of when the King or Queen would be so gracious as to bestow a title to him.

Lord Alberich sounded divine, far better than sir.

If Kaeya had been a worse man he may have fought it. His fathers raised him to be good and kind. Kaeya could never hurt Diluc, he could not bare for him to feel as hollow as he did. It was the respectable thing to do, to step down as Viscount and shepherd Diluc into society and into the Ragnvindr clan.

It’s what Crepus would have wanted.

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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honestlyboringperson · 3 months ago

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Team BEST in the Persona 5 AU! Skizz looks like utter dogshit because I can’t draw muscles! Sorry Skizz!

Also yes, Etho’s outfit is partially based on @/spell-struck’s Arcana Swap AU design for Yusuke. Go check it out! Their designs are amazing.

Again, More Information is under the cut.

Southlanders

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

Bdubs - “Scout” - The Lovers Arcana - Peter Pan/Orobas

A man of short stature and an even shorter fuse, Bdubs is a college student pursuing a degree in architecture and is known for his dubious ability to immediately know what field someone should go into. Be it art, film, or even just mathematics, his judgement is never wrong which led him to be recruited into a local theatre troupe to help with casting members to roles. This causes him to befriend a certain young prodigy actor who specializes in theatrically heroic protagonists and bombastically charismatic villains.

His persona is Peter Pan who is a famous pop culture character. Peter Pan is known for his devil may care attitude and his claims of greatness. His abilities allow himself and others to fly, and in this AU, Bdubs is known for uplifting others with both his scouting abilities and work as a phantom thief. Bdubs is also quite boastful, also fitting with Peter Pan’s character.

His Ultimate Persona is Orobas, a Great Prince of Hell and a Goetic Demon. He is the patron of horses, and gives power and control over others. He also can protect people from evil spirits and is clairvoyant. No wonder Bdubs “Horsegirl Supreme” got this guy as his ultimate persona.

Etho - “Shade” - The Hanged Man Arcana - Arahabaki/Inari-Okami

Etho is a mysterious college student known throughout the campus as being aloof, quiet, and even possibly dangerous. Those close to him know he’s just socially awkward. At a young age, he is known for his inventions in engineering and was presented with several scholarships to several prestigious institutions across the city. Unfortunately, he is horrendously bad at anything that isn’t engineering, with his apartment in shambles and his diet mostly consisting of energy drinks and a wide variety of instant ramen.

Arahabaki is a Japanese god of uncertain origin, with this particular portrayal & the one in the Shin Megami Tensei franchise being mainly inspired by the forgery by Tsugaru Soto-Sangunshi. They are a symbol of treachery, rebellion, and heresy after Emperor Jimmu found his enemy Nagasunehiko worshipped him.

Inari Okami is the kami of foxes, fertility, rice, tea, and general worldly success. They are the reason several shrines in Japan have fox statues and they are known for their ability to shapeshift. Their entourage was made up of pure white kitsune, categorized as “zenko” as opposed to the malicious “yako” kitsune.

Skizz - “Knight” - The Justice Arcana - Templar/Heracles

Skizz is Impulse’s best friend and former police officer. He currently works as a construction worker, but helps Impulse with his smithing business. He was fired after directly opposing the corruption that began to spread throughout the city’s police force, and his name was slandered. Despite these tragedies, he keeps a goofy and cheerful demeanour throughout his days. Despite no longer being in the police force, he will not overlook anything he sees as harmful.

Templar, full name Simon Templar is a Robin Hood figure coined “The Saint”. His calling card consists of a stick figure with a halo, and said calling cards were often given to corrupt politicians, warmongers, and other similar low-lives. He was described as “a buccaneer in the suits of Savile Row, amused, cool, debonair, with hell for leather blue eyes, and a saintly smile.”

Heracles is a famed Roman hero, and is considered the god of strength and heroes. He is most known for his tale of the twelve labours, wherein he completes twelve labours set by King Eurystheus to atone for killing his family after Hera makes him temporarily lose his mind. These tasks were aided by his allies and finished with a combination of strength, trickery, and camaraderie.

Tango - “Blaze” - The Magician Arcana - Guy Fawkes/Nimrod

Tango is a popular novelist and D&D master, known for his works in the fantasy horror novel franchise “Decked Out”. Although the original novels were made to satisfy his own desire to tell a compelling story, he becomes severely creatively blocked and is unable to keep up with the demands of his fans. After joining, he’s trying to start fresh with a new franchise, and is currently looking for inspiration for a new novel with the help of Jimmy.

Guy Fawkes is a key figure behind the infamous & controversial Gunpowder Plot. The Gunpowder Plot was a planned regicide, with several barrels of gunpowder being hidden within or near the House of Parliament, with Guy Fawkes being in charge of the explosives. The plan was to blow up the Parliament with the King James I inside and instate a Catholic monarch to the throne. Despite the motives being questionable, the plan failed and all the offenders, Guy Fawkes include were executed for treason. Today, in celebration of the king’s survival and the failure of the plan or simply enjoying the festivities, Bonfire Night was created, with several bonfires, fireworks, and other similar events taking place.

Nimrod is the architect of the Tower of Babel and is known as a king who rebelled against god themselves. The Tower of Babel was intended to reach towards the heavens, but God struck it down and changed the language of the people so they could no longer understand each other and scatters them across the earth.

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marzipanandminutiae · 1 year ago

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Can I ask some random headcanons for our blorbo(lucille, obviously) for no reason?

Does she keep a diary? What's inside it? How many hours does she usually sleep a day? In modern AU, what's her favorite movie or theatrical piece? What are some significant objects in her room, other than what we already saw in the movie(like butterflies, books, wood carved animals)?

Sure!

I don't think she keeps a diary, but I can see her writing out her whole sad, sordid life story over and over, tearing it up each time, and scattering the pieces to the winds. A la the movie Byzantium. Because she can't tell anyone. She can't even tell Thomas everything; that wouldn't be Shielding Him from the worst of her pain and darkness (how well does she actually do that otherwise? shhhh). So she gives her story to the howling winter tempest instead.

On a good day, eight. On a bad day- and they are not infrequent -two if she's lucky. I don't think she slept at all the night Edith and Thomas were at the depot.

Modern-day favorite movie...not sure I've seen enough movies to say! I definitely don't think she's a horror fan, though the more lyrical side of the Gothic might appeal. She's seen enough horror in the real world, thank you very much. Something beautiful and sad- weirdly, I can see her enjoying Titanic or something similar. Thomas (and Edith, in OT3) is totally baffled by this. Meanwhile Lucille just doesn't understand why such a bittersweet tragedy about True Love has the reputation it does.

Significant objects in her room? You covered a lot of the bases, I think! I can see her having a very fantastical jewelry-box made by Thomas, though. Are there like four items in it? Maybe. But that's not the point. She deserves things like this, in his mind- beautiful, exceptional things to make her happy after so much darkness.

(the novelization version of her room, with definitely-not-in-the-movie preserved animal fetuses, and witchcraft paraphenalia from all over the world- the actress said she doesn't believe in ghosts; why would she have any interest in that? -can fuck off)

#ask #lucillesharpeismybaby #crimson peak #headcanon

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leonardoeatscarrots · 7 months ago

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So i don't really know much about your fandoms or interests so... idk, would you mind giving me the rundown maybe? Like a little description about the games you like, or some info about your different comics? I want to chat more with you but I'm not sure where to start since I'm not familiar with your fandoms

Haha, that makes sense, my Fandoms can be considered a little niche.

First off, I'm super glad to finally meet you, lol. I've sorta been watching you and Pringles from afar, and you two seem like good friends.

But yeah, I'll happily give you a rundown, thanks for asking ^^

Pathologic/Мор: Утопия is a Russian videogame developed by Icepick Lodge. You play as one of three healers in a bo-hum steppe town, and your goal is to try and save the population from the outbreaking plague. The game has a lot of heavy theatrical influences and is well known for being extremely difficult and cruel. Which means the writing is perfectly catered to my tragedy-loving gay-theater-kid ass.

Karamora/Карамора is a show I got into a while ago. Basically, it's a fictional retelling of the Russian revolution (one of my special interests, lmao), except all the nobles are vampires. It's dumb but it's unironically so well made. Plus it has that twinky ginger guy, Evgeny Schwartz, in it. This show is also what got me on the Russian media pipeline to begin with XD

Lost Splendor was a memoir written by Felix Yusupov (aka the guy who killed rasputin, aka an important figure in the Russian revolution), and it's just incredibly funny for no reason. Man killed Rasputin, but all he could think to write about was how gay and ADHD he was.

Comics. I'm just very normal about them. I have a collection of around 80 different comics, single issues and graphic novels included. My favorites are queer and indie graphic novels, but im also a huge sucker for some of the classics like V for Vendetta. I have yet to purchase The Sandman comics, but they're on my list.

As for webcomics, I'm addicted to those too. I'm probably the biggest fan 5-ever of The Peculiar Compendium of Victor Van Wolfe on webtoons, and I've written a few fanfics and made fanart aplenty, as well as made custom stuffies of the characters. But I have a wide list of recommendations across a lot if genres XD

As for comics that IVE written, I currently have two open to the public on webtoons and tapas.

The first is Spaceships and Vodka, which is my primary comic. It's an anachronistic sci-fi surrounding a band of space pirates. It's a monster of the week style story with a lot of extra narrative told through backstories. It's currently still in the exposition stage and on hiatus.

The other is Gentle Hands, which is technically an AU of S&V. It's a gay romance following a disabled WWI soldier in a shellshock home and one of the nurses he has a crush on. This one is, alas, also still in the exposition stage, but is currently updating one page every other week.

As for like individual OCs, I mostly obsess over my comic characters. I don't typically make Fandom OCs.

My absolute pride and joy is Craig. He's also the fan favorite thus far.

I don't even know where to begin with him.

I have a bio for him and some other OCs I think, but I have yet to actually fill out any more >>_>> executive dysfunction my beloathed.

The full main cast list includes

Craig

Mirium

Derick

Terric

Carl

As well as Erasmus, Rusty, Cipher, Jadyn, and Jesper as some other extras.

So long as I'm here I may as well finish all the bios and make a master post lol...

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