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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

Of Academic Interest

Fandom: Indiana Jones

Collection/Series: Tribute to/Part of @alloftheimaginesblog ‘s ‘Secret’s Out’ Saga world.

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Female History Lecturer Reader (Glasses are mentioned very briefly)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You’re one of the newest history lecturers and Indiana turns up to watch your open lecture on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead

Notes: I love Angela’s Secret’s Out Saga, i’m happy that I get to send her requests and see the amazing things she writes for it and lately i’ve been getting the urge to write something for the world/au/series.

This is a homage, a tribute, to it, obviously none of this is canon unless Angela says so.

This is set before Indy and the Reader are dating.

All facts come from an essay I did at university on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead, which I also did an hour long presentation on.

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You were relatively new to the history department at Marshall College and were somewhat of a novelty to students and staff alike having only been there for a few months. Being one of the few female professors and on top of that specialising in some more taboo or ground breaking historical takes on the history of gender and sexuality, you had successfully caused quite the stir.

The majority of your colleagues were accepting, happy to have you and generally interested by your studies and research. Despite being relatively new to academic teaching they were supportive, although there was a small subsection of the humanities department who, in typical old man fashion, talked down to you, treated you like a coffee girl and disrespected your expertise. You had taken to stealing their students from their modules and attracting them to your modules instead as a passive form of fighting back.

Students were clamouring to be taught by you, to get onto the list for your modules or to get to see your open lectures. You were the only member of the faculty who talked about the more riveting elements of history such as prostitution, sexualisation, and even ghosts. In comparison to the same lectures on Anglo-Saxon England and the Civil War, you were significantly more interesting to the student population. That did not, however, remove sexism within the student population. While female students actively enjoyed your lectures, got involved more so than in other modules, and felt a sense of comfort in a more female friendly space, you found that a small portion of the student male population tried at every turn to either explain your own specialism to you or to discredit you. You had long since taken to finding it rather amusing, especially when most of those individuals were failing your course.

You had been asked many months ago to prepare an open lecture on the history of surgery and medicine, the faculty head had told you to pick any topic you wished so long as it was well researched and you could put on a good lecture for the student population. For some it might well be their first ever history lecture, for others it was just an addition to their usual workload, nonetheless you’d chosen a topic that was of interest to you and that you felt confident presenting.

Standing before a podium in a large lecture hall, you push your glass further up the bridge of your nose and flick through the pages of notes in front of you to temporarily distract yourself from the crowds of people that were slowly making their way inside and to seats. It was a large hall, one that could hold upwards of 200 people and despite years of public speaking under your belt there was always an anticipation, a sense of nerves, before you began a lecture or presentation.

You checked the microphone on the podium, happy to find it in working order and smiled at a few familiar faces in the front row, some of your students who had apparently decided to spend their free period listening to you talk some more. Checking the time you waited a few more minutes before choosing to start, letting the last stragglers find a seat or for those unlucky enough to stand at the back after all seats were filled. It was a large turn out and you could feel those nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach as you cleared your throat and picked up your notes.

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules to hear me drone on once more about dead people,” Light laughter and small chuckles filled the space as you began, your students looking at each other with a shake of their heads. “Today i’m going to be talking to you about something called the Cult of the Beautiful Dead in Victorian medicine. Specifically surgery.”

You find yourself drifting from the podium, pacing across the stage even as this requires you to speak louder without the microphone. There is a familiar energy in your body that demands you move as you speak, to expend it in some physical way. “The Cult of the Beautiful Dead pervaded the world of art within the 18th and 19th centuries. It has been defined as ‘a subjective fascination with idealised images of the deceased in such a way that permanently embalmed bodies and stable images displace and replace impermanent reality’, but I would characterise it within medical and surgical art somewhat differently.”

You stop briefly, give yourself time to breathe and them time to process your words, in that brief moment your eyes glance across the crowd and spot a familiar face that makes your cheeks warm and your heart stutter. Professor Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones Junior.

Professor Jones was known throughout the history and archaeology department for his digs, his finds, and his immense knowledge, that and his good looks and charming persona. He was friendly, enticing, handsome, and treated you as an equal. While you could not consider yourself friends, you did have a healthy respect and rather decent crush on the man. In fact, the only reason you weren’t friends, you suspected, was your inability to talk around the man without stuttering. He had no reason to be at your lecture, but he’d come anyway, in fact it looked as if he were the only member of the archaeology department present.

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and continue, “It is the idealised image of the female body on the dissection room table or the surgical bed with her flowing hair, her soft, pale skin, her perfect, unharmed nature and her sexualised passivity which characterises the Cult of the Beautiful Dead within medical art. On your seats you would have found copies of a painting by Henri Gervaux and an illustration by Hasselhorst, I will be talking today about these pieces of art and how they fit in with the realities of the dissection room.”

You move across the stage again, wait as they find out their papers and find yourself looking over at Dr Jones again. He is intent in his observations of the papers in his hands, interested, actively engaged and that is a bigger compliment than anything you think. It would be heartbreaking, you decide, if he were bored by or disinterested in your lecture. While you don’t need his approval, you are an academic in your own right, you do desire it.

You continue on when he looks up, shifting your eyes away quickly, “In the 19th century women were less likely to be patients of surgeons than men and even when they were operated on they were by no means symbols of the Cult of the Beautiful dead. See Before the Operation by Henri Gervaux,” You wait for them to find the print of the painting, “It is a portrait of Dr Pean, a French Surgeon, and depicts the moment before an operation on a young woman and fits into the ideal of the Cult even though the woman is anaesthetised and not dead.”

In this fashion you continue your lecture, moving across the stage discussing the sexualisation of the female body in medical art and the realities of surgery in comparison. You’re highly aware of Dr Jones’ eyes on you as you move across the stage, to the point that you stumble at points in your oration. As time goes on you find yourself relaxing under his gaze, accepting that he is here purely out of interest, not to judge you or pass criticism. His active engagement with your lecture, the notes you can see him scribbling down in a notebook, is rewarding and reassures you that he is enjoying himself even on a topic so far removed from his own studies of ancient civilisations and centuries old artefacts and skeletons.

You reach the end of your lecture, returning to the podium and straightening your skirt, “Are there any questions?”

Hands pop up across the room, but it is one in particular that you are drawn to. You don’t expect him to ask questions, you don’t expect him to have any, but you are a little scared to hear what he has to say. It shouldn’t scare you, this active academic engagement, the meeting of minds, but you so desperately do not want to make a fool of yourself.

“Dr Jones?” You gesture for him to go on and ask and he stands in response. Tugging at the tweed waistcoat and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

He smiles at you as he begins, “Dr Y/L/N,” He addresses you by your title, formal and respectful. You are reminded, once more, that he has never failed to treat you as an equal. Unlike some of the other male professors, “I was just wondering what your opinion was on the eroticisation of death in this period?” You let out a little laugh, for no reason other than a little relief at the ease with which you can answer that question.

“Thank you for your question Dr Jones, well art such as Hasselhorst’s helped to eroticise death in the 18th and 19th centuries, death became equated with beauty, even if the reality of the dissection room failed to live up to the standards of the Cult of the Beautiful Dead. What we see is death portrayed often as a young woman. She is often portrayed as beautiful with long flowing hair, a fair face, a soft pale body, naked, open to the eye and most importantly passive. The dead woman in this period is a passive object, dead, yet sleeping, immortally captured at her most beautiful and unable to object to any sexualisation or objectification. She cannot talk back. Death is an obsession of the Victorians and it’s prevalence in medical art like Hasselhorst’s shows just how deeply connected death, beauty and the erotic became at this time.”

“Do you think we’ve continued that desire for passivity today? The way in which we expect women to act?”

“What do you think, Dr Jones?” You turn the question back on him, eager to hear his opinion, knowing that your own certainly sees the way 1930s society demands passivity from women even if death is no longer eroticised in the same way.

“I think we’ve perpetuated that desire for passivity from women within our society, demanded they hold their tongue, keep themselves in check and in place and as objects of desire, but not too much or else they’re no longer respectable. I think we expect women to be passively sexual, unknowingly so, innocently so, yet they must be attractive else their worth is diminished. An outspoken or intelligent woman is demeaned, pushed out from academics or workplaces. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” You take a moment, give him a smile before answering the next question and the next and the next. You expect him to leave like many of the other members of the audience once his question has been answered, instead he stays, listens to your responses to each question and pays you rapt attention.

You find yourself even more interested in Dr Jones than you were before. His acknowledgement of the treatment you and other women have faced when attempting to make a name in a career or in academics is refreshing and his engagement with your lecture is enjoyable and endearing. You curse him a little for making your crush, your infatuation deeper simply by coming to your lecture.

You find yourself packing up your notes at the end, listening to the sound of feet leaving as you grab your notes and stuff them into your leather satchel. A tall shadow falls over you as you heft the bag onto your shoulder and you smile up at Dr Jones as he stands before the podium notebook in hand, he folds the glasses off of his nose and pockets them.

“How did you enjoy the lecture, Dr Jones?” You run an anxious hand through your hair and twist your wide hips in a nervous movement, always finding yourself a little flustered when one on one with the man. There’s a part of you that worries about coming under scrutiny from him, the part that has so often been judged in life for your gender, your area of study, and your weight. Years of nasty comments, suggested diets and family obsession with the size of your body had created a paranoia almost, a sense of expectation. You were just waiting for the scrutiny to be voiced.

“It was one of the most interesting lectures I've had the pleasure of watching. You should write a book, it might be a worthy next research project and please call me Indiana.”

“Only if you call me by name. I think we can both drop the doctor? I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I...I didn’t think the Victorians would interest an archaeologist.” In truth the idea of Indiana Jones wanting to learn about people not long dead, a period which rarely requires archaeological excavation and has few true mysteries, had never crossed your mind.

“In all honesty?” There’s a pause as he looks away from you with a charming smirk before turning back to you, teeth showing through his smile. “You interest me. I’ve read all your books, all your papers, every time you lecture I stop at the door and listen. You’re a compelling orator.”

“You listen to my lectures?” You can feel warmth flooding your cheeks, your neck, your ears at his admission. Feel a familiar sense of butterflies flapping about in your stomach. You look down briefly, smiling at the ground before meeting his blue eyes again.

“When I have time, surprised you haven’t noticed me hovering in the doorway. You really are one of the best academics I've ever met.”

“I...thank you.” You’re a little lost for words, you have barely shared more than a few polite conversations with Indiana, too intimidated to talk in depth with him and yet here he is extolling your values and praising you.

“Don’t let Dr Carr convince you otherwise.” He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the wood of the podium, looking away from you and towards the door where you can see the much older Dr Carr standing waiting impatiently for you to leave the room for his next lecture.

“You heard...the other day.” You think back to the argument you’d gotten into with the old professor over his sexist attitude towards you, his constant demeaning comments. You had thought it had been a private argument, but it seems not. You were still rather angry about the whole thing in truth.

“Yeah, look he’s old school. Doesn’t think women should have degrees or PhDs, ignore him. You’re a better academic by far and he’s just angry that he’s been passed over for the chair again. He’s a washed up old academic, he’s only still got a job because the Dean feels bad for him.” He says the last part loudly, on purpose you’re sure, loud enough for Dr Carr to hear and turn a glare on him. You know he won’t say anything to him though, Dr Jones was the university’s prized archaeology professor, he brought in more artefacts than the other’s combined and more students. Dr Carr wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Couldn’t. It was enjoyable to watch the old fuddy professor go red in the face and huff at the doors.

“I don’t know what to say. I...Thank you. I know we don’t...we don’t really talk, but thank you, I. It’s been hard joining the faculty, it’s a very masculine environment and I...it’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner.” You think to your Grandfather telling you that academics would make you barren, cause you to go insane, think to your mother telling you to find a nice husband and settle down, that you should desire the life of a housewife alone. It has been very difficult simply getting this far and to know you have him in your corner, someone in your corner means a great deal, in a new city, a new job, a new career.

“Always.” The two of you stand there in silence, just staring at each other, despite the impatient noises being made at the door by Dr Carr. You grip the satchel strap tighter over your shoulder and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Now?” You don’t have any more lectures for the day, just your office hours later to answer any student questions, but the offer still surprises you.

“Yeah, I don’t have a lecture until later and...if you’re free I have more questions.” He holds up the notebook, little post notes coming out of the side, it’s thick from writings and usage. It flatters you that he’s so interested in what you have to say, in your mind. You think it might be more of a compliment than anything physical.

“So it’s entirely professional then, Dr Jones?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from to cause the words to fall from your lips, to cause a little smirk to lift at them as you look at him over the top of your glasses. Flirtation is one area you are not confident in, despite it all.

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely, sweetheart...I’d like to get to know you better.” He’s utterly too charming for his own good you think and too charming for your poor little heart, but despite any concerns you have, any worries about his intentions you still find yourself agreeing. You’ve wanted to get to know him better for so long, too scared to talk to him in more than passing that you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. Refuse to.

“That sounds...lovely.”

“Shall we?” He offers his elbow out to you and you take it, wrapping your arm through his and pulling yourself to his side. He is taller, broader, and warmer than you. He smells woodsy and a little like black coffee and everything about this moment has your heart skipping a beat.

“We shall.”

You take great pleasure in the dissatisfied sneer on Dr Carr’s face as the two of you walk arm in arm out of the lecture hall.

----

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@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929 @trasheater

#plus size reader #secret's out saga #alloftheimaginesblog #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones #indiana jones/reader #female reader #female identifying reader #indiana jones reader insert #indiana jones readerinsert

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 3

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Content warnings: None

"Can't you keep up, ghoul boy?"

Morgan leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree, trying to catch his breath. Blaise was over a foot taller than him and much sturdier, clearly accustomed to regular physical activity. Her brisk walking pace was impossible for him to match. Traveling alone, he'd been able to set his own speed. It was considerably slower.

"No. Your legs... are longer," he panted. She grumbled something under her breath and turned away. Of course she wanted to move quickly. People generally wanted to spend as little time as possible around him. "If we slow down," he suggested, "I won't have to keep stopping." She didn't respond. "Or you could just... not go with me."

"Listen," she said sharply, turning to point a finger at his chest, "I earned my place in the Sisterhood, and I take it very seriously. I have to trust in Kashya's decisions, even if I don't agree with them. I'm going to see this through."

"Very well." He wasn't about to waste his breath arguing, not when it was still so elusive. Blaise peered around suspiciously now that she'd turned back the way they came.

"Hey, what happened to that... thing? Your monster."

He'd had to abandon it some time ago in favour of trying to keep up with the rogue. It made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable even though the enemies had been few so far, and she'd picked them off easily from a distance. She was a skilled archer. "Clay golem. It was too slow."

"I thought your kind raised the dead, anyway."

"Skeletons are faster," he said, watching for her reaction, "but most... don't like them."

She looked away, scanning the treeline. "Don't like you either, so does it matter?"

Morgan didn't know how to answer that. He decided to take it as permission. These fields were ripe with choice, layered thick with dead that had never been laid to rest. He selected two nearby specimens and filled their bones with magic, like pouring a little of himself out of a larger cup into a thimble. Blaise jumped back, nocking an arrow, but seemed to realize quickly what was going on. She scrutinized the skeletons, circling them to inspect all sides. They shuffled, restless - between the freshly renewed energy and whatever remained of their original spirits, they wanted to move. They flexed their bony fingers around the hilts of their swords, which were glowing faintly blue. It cost a little extra effort to manifest a weapon, but it was much more convenient than carrying or seeking out extra gear.

"Looks like these guys are battle ready." She gave Morgan a brief taste of the same assessing gaze. "More ready than you, anyway."

"That's the idea." He was not built for fighting. Or speed. Or much of anything physical, when it came down to it. His delicate frame and poor stamina put a damper on that sort of thing. His magical aptitude, such as it was, was his only strength.

"I mean, your sword is on the wrong side."

"What?" Morgan looked down at the scabbard on his hip, not seeing anything amiss. "I'm right-handed."

Blaise sighed, pointing. "Yeah, I figured that's why you've got your shield on the left. Your sword belongs on the left too. It's easier to draw from your opposite hip." She pantomimed drawing a blade from across her body. It did look easier than the way he'd been doing it, with less wasted movement.

"Ah. I see." He set about fixing his gear's arrangement as she watched, unimpressed.

"Do you even know how to use that thing?"

"Sharp end goes in the target," he answered. That approach had been working so far. Most creatures kept their internal organs in more or less the same arrangement, and damaging those was a quick way to win a skirmish. His constructs took care of most of the threats, anyway - he rarely had to engage in combat himself.

"Very funny." Morgan looked at Blaise questioningly. What was funny? "Wait, please tell me you're joking. Oh, for the love of-" Blaise clasped a hand to her forehead, turning away. "Perfect. I'm out here with a greenhorned... kid, and some dead guys. I hope finding this Deckard character is worth it."

"I'm probably older than you, I'm just small." Morgan always had trouble telling how old people were, but it seemed like a fair guess based on her voice and the way she carried herself. "And the skeletons... remember. How to fight. From when they were alive." Watching them was the way he'd learned to handle the sword, over the course of the month or so it had been in his possession.

"They what?"

He held in a sigh. People often didn't like this part either. "Some echo of the spirit remains in the bones after a person dies. It's stronger if they died suddenly, or weren't laid to rest. When I tell them to fight, they... fight. However they used to. Look." He commanded the skeletons to spar with each other and they sprang into action, blades clashing. Blaise watched them thoughtfully.

"Well," she decided after a few moments, "that's not as bad as I expected. Now let's get going, you've had a minute to catch your breath." She didn't wait for a response before setting off with a long, loping stride. Morgan trotted to keep up, maintaining a respectful distance. He felt cautiously optimistic. Grudging acceptance was among the best possible outcomes he'd dared to consider.

They'd had to stop for the night. Tristram was simply too far to reach in a single day, no matter how fast they walked. Few words had passed between them during that day, which suited Morgan quite well. Conversation so often felt like a maze to navigate, and he could rarely figure out the right solution. His golems responded quickly and easily to mental suggestions, not requiring any specific words to perform actions or be dismissed. It was so much simpler with them. The skeletons from earlier waited obediently for their next orders, standing guard at the edge of the camp.

Silence was easy. He'd nodded silently when Blaise declared she was stopping to hunt dinner, observed silently as she dressed and roasted the small rabbit she'd shot. Now he was eating silently from his own supply of dried meat, watching the archer oil and restring her bow. It was captivating, in a small way, watching people do things expertly. The fluidity of her actions, the balanced push and pull of her muscles as she conditioned the wood, the way the firelight cast shifting patches of brighter orange on the coppery tone of her skin.

"What the hell are you smiling at, ghoul boy?" Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously. He hadn't realized he'd been smiling. He stopped. The question felt like a trap.

"I was just... admiring you," Morgan ventured. If there had been a correct answer, that wasn't it. Blaise crossed the distance between them with a few long strides and grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him onto his feet.

"Listen close, you disgusting little man, because I'm only going to say this once," she snarled. "I'm here with you right now because I respect my commander. I'm not here for your enjoyment. If you want your cock to stay attached, you'd better keep it in your fucking pants."

"What? No, that's not - I didn't mean-" Morgan stammered, horrified. Had there been a sexual connotation to his phrasing? He definitely hadn't intended one. He'd have to remember not to say that again.

She gave him a shake. "Tell me you understand what I'm saying to you."

"I understand," he croaked. She released him roughly, sending him sprawling in the dirt. He picked himself up gingerly. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear it." Morgan closed his mouth and averted his eyes, shrinking back. An apology would have to wait until Blaise was... less furious.

She eventually turned away. "I'll take first watch," she announced with her back to him. "Can't sleep like this."

He wasn't going to sleep either, not after that outburst. It would be prudent to rest, though. He returned to his seat by the fire and settled in to meditate. The skeletons folded down into themselves, collapsing in an orderly manner so they would be easy to raise again later. Blaise whirled around at the noise.

"What are you doing?" She squinted suspiciously at the neat piles of bones.

"Putting them away. They don't stay together very long when I'm resting."

"Resting." Morgan wished immediately that he'd chosen a different way to phrase it. Maybe an explanation would help.

"Golems need magic to hold them together. Once they run out, if they don't get more, they just fall apart."

"Uh huh, sure. 'Resting' is a weird way to say 'sleeping' if that's what you mean, though. So what exactly do you plan to do behind my back all night if it isn't sleeping?"

"Just meditation."

"Why not sleep like a normal person?"

Morgan made the mistake of hesitating, unable to decide how to answer on the spot. Blaise jabbed her bow towards him.

"I said, why not?"

"It's nearly the same thing," he explained, "just with more awareness. I don't usually sleep in unfamiliar surroundings. None of my Order do."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"I don't lie, but if you don't believe me, I can't make you." He did not look away from her gaze, though he wanted to. It was uncomfortable. But people seemed to equate eye contact with honesty, so he made the effort.

Blaise didn't look satisfied with his answer, but she lowered her bow and turned her back on him again, muttering under her breath. It would do, then. He sat in silence for a minute or so before starting to meditate. Being rested was always preferable to the alternative.

#my writing #story: unbidden

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the-river-person · 3 years

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I’m going to have to make a list of these eventually. But know that the world in “The Alleyway” is now considered "open for use" or “Community Shared” without the need to request permission from the creator (me) though I’d like to be tagged and credited still. Name of Au: WarrenTale Creator: the-river-person Date of Appearance: Aug 1st, 2021 Universe: WarrenTale is a Universe where Monsters and Humans live freely together within the four major cities of the Claustra Alliance. The Alliance is ruled over by an Emperor who mostly allows the city officials or rulers to each do as they see fit. Citizens are not allowed to leave the confines of the cities, which are large enough to be mostly comfortable for a lot of people, except by special rail cars which carry people to the other cities. The reason for this confinement is the Corruption. A supposed poison or infection that covers the land and deadens it, rendering it blackened or grey, and everything on it that is infected. The official reports state that the Corruption originated during the Human and Monster War and that in order to survive, Humans and Monsters formed an emergency peace treaty and created the cities with magic and technology, thus diverging WarrenTale from the main course of events of Undertale. Each city is supposed to corespond to one of the original Game’s main areas. Vandfald, the only named city thus far, is based on the Waterfall Area and features a city of colossal towers that carry layers of open-air streets and numerous districts. This cluster of towers stands in a deep gorge whose depths cannot be seen from above. Water is pumped in from below and put to use all over the city to generate power, the canals then dump it back down into the gorge via massive waterfalls. The city’s drinking and bathing water is pumped in specially to prevent any Corruption. There is still technology in this world, but its either primitive stuff or very very advanced. Little of the stuff we’d recognize remains unless its scavenged from outside the Cities and repaired to be sold by illegal merchants. The Warren is a set of twisted labyrinthine streets that are home to vagrants and vagabonds, shady dealers, persecuted minorities, criminals of various kinds, and pretty much most outcasts from the Cities. They are built to resemble the streets and styles of all four of the Cities, but are actually quite far away from all of them. Technology and Magic as old as the War was scavenged, rebuilt, and used to make numerous Gateways and Posterns that lead into the Four Cities in various locations. In the event of an incursion, these gateways can be shut down to cut off access. Denizens of the Warren see themselves as apart from the Cities and the Emperor’s rule, though not everyone sees themselves as a rebellion. Characters: Frisk: A Gender Neutral child of about twelve years of age who lives with the Dreemurr Family after having been adopted through the system at a young age (a deeply traumatic experience). Though the Dreemurrs are not cruel people and would never try to hurt anyone, they are not the most ideal parents and can sometimes be both neglectful and controlling. Madame Toriel: A charming woman, but somewhat overzealous about what she terms “climbing the social ladder”. This entails hosting large dinners and galas with all sorts of important people, especially Minister Sans. The Minister is of particular importance to her because he is Minister of Finance and Commerce for the City of Vandfald, and the Dreemurr family owns a budding trading company. She may be sweet on Sans, but its difficult to tell whether that’s real or merely a product of her ambitions. Though she sees herself as benevolent and kindly, she likes to have things her way and can aggressively micromanage everyone around her until she’s satisfied. Azzy: The child of Madame Toriel and Master Asgore. Suffers from neglect and is often ill and anxious. Whenever he’s well enough he likes to spend time out in the extensive gardens around the family house and sometimes to visit the city gardens. His favorite flower is a kind of golden blossom whose name he hasn’t found out yet, though he’s memorized the names of every other flower in the city. Master Asgore: A monster consumed by his desire for wealth, left a shell of himself. He is always working, always trying to make better trades, make new profitable deals. Driven by the need to provide a “better” life for his family, he is neglectful and absent. Though others might think him friendly and charming, he is solely focused on rising up in the world. Always rising, but never really stopping, never finding that enough is enough, and slowly losing the very things he’s certain that he’s caring for. Doggo: Surprisingly he’s an old University Professor, fired for teaching his students about dissenting views against the Alliance, the Cities, and the Emperor, about pre war history and philosophy, and about a number of things the city officials decided were “deliberately harmful to the prospects of students by taking up their time with unnecessary and outdated or irrelevant studies.” (In other words, they didn’t want to say he was a threat to the state so he got the boot). He still keeps in contact with several of his students, one of whom is Minister Sans of Vandfald City. Doggo now lives in the Warrens, and has printed several books with his knowledge (all banned by the Emperor after copies were found and confiscated by city law enforcement) under various pseudonyms. Minister Sans: For all appearances he is a respectable and upstanding Citizen. He oversees trade and business for Vandfald as well as setting the government’s budgets. However he is also well aware of the Warrens and is actively engaged in a growing resistance to the control of the Emperor. He is not publicly known to have a brother, but he cares very deeply for Papyrus and ensures that he always has more than enough to live on despite the fact they rarely see one another anymore. Papyrus: The Doorkeeper. Papyrus is rarely seen in person, spending almost all of his time in his home, hidden deep in the lower levels of Vandfald City’s towers. He has control of the mechanisms that maintain the entrances to the Warrens. Individual gates and doors can be shut by someone nearby in the Warrens. But this lonely skeleton holds the key to shut or open any or all of them whenever he wishes. How he ended up in charge of this is unknown, but he’s made it his life’s work to keep the Warrens free and the refugees living there safe. He spends so much time alone, watching the gateways, that it consumes him, driving him half mad. Sitting in the dark and staring at screens from ancient computers as old as the War of Humans and Monsters. Sans visits rarely, and ensures he has money and food and anything else he wants. Aron and Catty: Two married monsters who live in the Warrens. Traders and merchants, they sell illegally scavenged and repaired technology from the badlands beyond the city. Aron is a very handsome aquatic monster with muscular features and comes off as a used car salesman. He is deeply devoted to his Cat Monster wife and would do anything for her. She is only slightly resentful towards their situation, having come from a moderately wealthy family, but loves him just as fiercely. Despite this, they quarrel constantly, and she whacks him with whatever is on hand (really he doesn’t mind this and they both know it. It’s more for the show of getting their frustrations out.) Chilldrake: Child of the Drake family, a family who runs a restaurant in Vandfald City. His friends include Azzy, Frisk, a mouse (whose father works in the restaurant), and a monster named Suzy. Can I use this AU in my story/comic/video/art?: Yes. I only ask that I be tagged and credited! So I can come see what cool stuff you did! Can I write a story/comic or make a video for this AU that tells its story?: Sure. I don’t have a story for it. I might come back and do a one shot or two. But all stories for it are equally canon. Is Mistral Sans an official part of this AU?: He is not. Mistral visited, and ended up giving advice to Frisk and Azzy. But he won’t interfere with events here, and has told them not to mention him to anyone. He might offer them one or two pieces of advice if they really need it, but its likely he’ll be long gone before the story draws to its close. He’s just here to see what this Universe is like. Will you answer questions about this AU’s characters, places, and history?: Sure. I’d love to. Just send an ask and if I have an answer, I’ll let you know. Or if I never thought about that, I can probably figure it out in order to answer.

#WarrenTale #mistral sans #the alleyway #undertale au #community shared undertale au #alternate universe #feel free to reblog #reblogs welcome #undertale #undertale one shot #community shared au

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the-order-of-fools · 3 years

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Also how about the knights reacting to the reader asking them out if it hasnt already been done?

You're not surprised when King Knight puts a hand on his chest and laughs. Since the very first moment you decided to ask him out, you were prepared for a tangent. You're lucky, so very lucky for he has been courted numerous times, yet has refused hundreds - NO - thousands of suitors. You? You're special. You should be honored, His Majesty has granted you the right to feast your eyes upon his naked form, which isn't any kind of privilege - it's a royal, privilege, you're reminded for the fifth time in a row knowing damn well that he hasn't fucked anyone but his pillow.

Somehow, that little crazy alchemist known as Plague Knight was able to steal your heart. He's not even slightly aware, though - or at least he wasn't until you made up your mind and asked him out on a date. You were ready for any explosive concoction he could throw at you, or him eventually bursting out into wild laughter. There was no turning back. You expected the worst, yet you were met with an uncharacteristically quiet Plague Knight. He stared at you in silence, then turned his gaze to the ground while tapping his index fingers together, hiding his face under his hood. You swore you could feel him blush behind the mask (you were painfully aware of his flustered state). You were about to speak when he suddenly threw a vial at his feet, disappearing in a colorful cloud. Days later, you're still left without an answer... Oh wait, isn't that a Plague Minion hurriedly making his way to you?

You're determined to seduce the bounty hunter with nothing but wits and overbearing riches. You've made a habit of safely infiltrating the Iron Whale without running the risk of losing your limbs to any of the hostile sea life or crew member. Gold has been your greatest ally. The first few times you came in empty-handed, you were unceremoniously kicked off the ship. When you started bringing gold, Treasure Knight seemed to tolerate your presence. Things haven’t changed on bit. However, he appears completely uninterested in you - he has his eyes locked on the gold, his hands typing away, counting his growing riches. Maybe... just maybe... you could break into his vault, staple gold coins to your body and lay down in the sexiest pose you can muster... just to seduce the sea hunk.

Specter Knight constantly tells himself he should have never left the Tower to look for knights, as he accidentally bumped into you on his way out - and boy, you have never left him alone from that day on. He doesn't know what went through your head, a huge part of him doesn't want to know, but he always remains baffled at your attempts to catch his attention. This time, you have decided to sneak into his lair, routing every single boneclang sent after you. Even the Super Skeletons are scared of you now, for you have faced the mightiest of them with a fierceness that ensured your immediate victory. All of this... to finally get to him. He is already waiting for your arrival, scythe in hand, ready to engage in combat when you finally show up, ready to... ask him out. Yes. You have mustered up all of your strength and recklessness only to ask the Lord of the undead on a date, to his utter surprise.

Warriors are a common sight. They roam the world fighting for honor, justice and other such stereotypical ideals. You're well aware of Polar Knight’s tender side, you have caught wind of it while spying on him and his Spinwolves, a morally questionable, but understandable, activity. He must want you to deck him so hard, you think as you watch a Spinwolf nearly tear through his arm. You're surprised they haven't killed each other by now, proof of his strength (and that of the Spinwolf's ability to dodge giant snow shovels). Yes, you know how to gain his favor! You must buy a bigger shovel and train! That's the only way, no other options exist! You find yourself with a broken arm trying to mask your pain with smooth words and eyebrow wiggles. He doesn't fall for it due to his extreme intelligence and the ice cubes frozen to your eyelids. He more or less drags you away to what you assume to be your impending doom, patches you up, and silently hmphs, a clear sign of mercy. When you offhandedly remark that you'll never manage to go one a date with him at this rate, he utters these words: "You already have." Your frosty eyelids fuse to your cheeks

Most may wonder how you have ended up crushing on the tiny engineer, as he almost never leaves his crafting table. Your chance encounter with him may be the product of divine intervention. Still, you can't help but feel the need to ask the little man on a date. You already know where to find him, which is already a good starting point. You sneak into the Clockwork Tower, admiring the incredible works of engineering that have brought the place to life. You find Tinker Knight working on a project, he's totally focused on his work as you expected. You're free to take a seat and watch him as he fixes gears and links cables. Finally you see him sit back and sigh out of relief, and it's right then that he notices you. He would have jumped back and thrown a wrench at you, if the sparkle in your eyes and the praise you started giving him didn't stop him. You also ask him on a date between one word and another, a manipulative move, but somewhat romantic... you hope. You can hear the gears turning in his sleep deprived brain. He’s currently a little too confused and taken aback to process your words correctly - having spent time with him in his room is already a win for you, anyway. Soon, you’ll get to fuck him on his giant robot.

You would describe yourself as a responsible person, you muse after your near death experience. You're familiar with the Flying Machine, it's crew and their rowdy captain. You're fond of them, especially Propeller Knight. Your eyes have caught sight of his expert acrobatics many times, it's no surprise you wish to copy those very same techniques, except, you want to outmaneuver him. If one wants to date another, then they must assert dominance through theatrical skills. You're sure of it, you have read that in a biology book, only the melodramatic can breed. Your plan, rather obtusely, fails. You attempted to backflip from the upper deck of the ship to ridge of the lowest platform, which almost led to your demise. Thankfully, Propeller was there to catch you and managed to later brush off your panicked attempts to drag him down with you. So here you sit, drinking water with a blanket over your shaking body, Propeller calmly talking to you, holding the very expensive glass to your lips as your trembling hands attempt to hold it still.

You're aware of Mole Knight's dedication to his work and you greatly admire him for it. You also happen to share the same interest that keeps the ardent Knight focused on digging. Perhaps you’re less of a history buff and artifact enthusiast than he is, but you're not letting this put you down. Mole Knight seems to be quite interested in the history of the Ancient Mole civilization - because of his armor... you suppose? or maybe the armor is a consequence of it? Anyhow, you happen to have found half of a coin belonging to that era. Although, a bit of volcanic stone is attached to the item (you hope he won't mind). You gift the tiny object to the knight, watch him literally flare up and jump around like you had just given candy to a kid, then drag you to his collection and start rambling on about his discoveries and how happy he is to have found someone who shares his interest. You might have not seen it coming, but you're going on a date with him at his personal museum and you couldn't be prouder.

There is only one way to win the edgy, Hot-Topic fucker's heart. You push him against the wall, force his hands over his head, put your index under his chin and look him straight in the fucking eye like you want to tear his ass inside out. His red spandex cannot hide the rock hard boner. He has become your personal bitch.

You bow before the Troupple King and ask for ichor. You wink, specifying what kind of ichor you require. He raises his eyebrows up to the sky: "I shall respect thy wish for you have been kind towards my troupples." Holy shit, you're going to fuck a fish tonight

~Mod Propeller and -Mod Tinker

#king knight #shovel knight #shovelry #black knight #Specter Knight #plague knight #treasure knight #mole knight #propeller knight #Tinker Knight #polar knight #troupple king

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curserp · 4 years

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first of all, i just want to say i loved seeing all the thoughts and theories that were going on around all of this !!! honestly, i think some of you guys gave me too much credit, because most of this is a lot simpler than the intricate stuff you came up with--- i wish i had thought of some of the things you all did ! but for now, finally, here’s ( most of ) the clues i purposefully placed, as well as some general info, which i’ve tried to break up into sections for ease of reading.

SKELETONS / NUMBERS :

the skeletons are listed below with their id numbers ( the tags are linked as well ) :

andromeda : #0237632.

arachne : #0272463.

cassandra : #0276372.

daedalus : #0323357.

helen : #0043536.

heracles : #0472537.

jason : #0052766.

medea : #0063332.

midas : #0064327.

narcissus : #0672787.

orion : #0067466.

pandora : #0726372.

paris : #0072747.

perseus : #0777387.

each of the id numbers were decided by entering the skeleton names onto the dial pad of a phone--- abc = 2, def = e, ghi = 4, jkl = 5, mno = 6, pqrs = 7, tuv = 8, wyz = 9.

phones in general were hinted at a few times.

in asks, as i tried to use the word ‘call’ repeatedly when asked about it, ‘key’ once, as well as the word ‘phony’ at one point. get it ? phone-y ? that one was kind of a stretch, i know.

a phone prominently featured in a branch on the classification quiz.

the encoded text messages were, obviously, sent from a phone.

on an update before dropping stage 3, a strange voicemail was mentioned and you were encouraged to delete it from your phone.

the database speaks to you over the phone during curse finalization.

on the graphic for stage 3, a phone is the only object in the hallway.

some names did need to be shortened in order to fit all the same number of digits, so andromeda became adrmda, pandora became pandra, etc.

honestly, this code was weirder and more random than most of the other things, so i’d call it bonus points more than anything else. a lot of you puzzled out who was who without knowing what the numbers meant.

CURSE REGISTRATION / STAGE I ( here ) :

i asked you all to send in these results to the curse database, and used those totals to decide the order in which the skeletons would be released ; midas ended up with the most results so they’re posted first, cassandra got the least so they’re last, etc.

results from all three stages will also factor in to some future plot drops, though i’ll keep those quiet for now.

TEXT POSTS :

these are pretty straightforward ; i chose text that i thought suits each skeleton as i’ve written them, and tagged them with their respective curse ids to tease the fact that there were ids at all.

FOLDERS PAGE ( here ) :

this displays not only the skeletons’ classifications, but also their active danger levels ; one exclamation point for low, two for medium, three for high.

while the classifications were shown as only numbers 001-007 at that point, since the curse classification blog hadn’t dropped yet, in this ask a few posts previous i wrote the types as the first word of each corresponding number on the list.

CURSE CLASSIFICATION / STAGE II ( here ) :

when you reach a result on the curse classifications, the clock at the top of the screen stops and displays a single time. that number corresponds to the number on the files image. when you get an error it shows only zeroes.

the classifications are :

chaos ( pandora, paris )

death ( arachne )

hero ( heracles, jason, perseus )

infamy ( cassandra, midas )

loss ( daedalus, medea )

love ( helen, narcissus, orion )

monster ( andromeda )

yes, those are alphabetical. when i was making the folders page i just kinda said fuck it.

i took the hands off the clock on the image in the post, both because i wanted to draw attention to the clocks on the actual pages, and cause it looked sick.

if you get to page /c6, the clock stops and zeroes out. that’s because there’s no way to get anything but an error after that point.

i asked you all to send in these results to the curse database, too, and they were used as tiebreakers for the skeleton posting order. like, medea and pandora ended up with the same amount of results from registration, but there were more loss results than chaos from classification, so medea goes first.

TEXT MESSAGES ( here, here, here, here, here, here, and here ) :

the encryption on the text messages is caesar cipher, where you shift the alphabet a certain number of letters over and substitute those letters for each other. for example, an alphabet with a shift of 1 would have a become b, b become c, and so on. the shift changes for each text message, depending on what the character’s curse classification is. so the text from narcissus ( #0672787, classification of 6. love ) has a shift of 6.

the decoded texts are :

#0063332. ( medea, shift 5 ) : you made your choice. now i am making mine.

#0672787. ( narcissus, shift 6 ) : at least you’ll be hung in the stars. i’ll only be remembered like a cautionary tale.

#0072747. ( paris, shift 1 ) : don’t blame me, please. i am not the villain.

#0272463. ( arachne, shift 2 ) : did you make this for yourself, too ?

#0472537. ( heracles, shift 3 ) : wasn’t my strength meant to earn me a better reward than this ?

#0237632. ( andromeda, shift 7 ) : you cannot be a hero all the time. what if my monster wins ?

#0064327. ( midas, shift 4 ) : i could have known better, at least. nothing this gold could come without consequence.

i also wanted to use this to kind of further their feeling of being watched ---which i hope i started to get across just in some answers to anons ---with the messages between skeletons be ‘intercepted’ by the database.

CURSE FINALIZATION / STAGE III ( here ) :

before dropping this stage, a ‘data breach’ was mentioned twice in separate posts. this was to ( hopefully ) encourage people to look for hidden information--- aka, the data that was breached.

there are five total hidden pages on this stage, and one secret extra message.

first is another intercepted message from one of the skeletons. the link is here.

on page /b2, click the word ‘key’ to get here.

the text message is from #0276372, aka cassandra, who is prophetic. cassandra is the only skeleton with anything set about their curse, and their prophecies will be a part of gameplay.

the url for this page is 0677437, and if you use the same keypad method as the numbers for the skeletons, that translates to ‘mssges.’

second is a chart monitoring active danger levels. the link is here.

on page /b3, the clock has stopped at 00:00:14, for the 14 skeletons. if you wait those 14 seconds, you will automatically be redirected.

the url for this page is 0003282, or ‘data.’

the third is a contact log between the database and a god. the link is here.

on page /c2, a ‘source’ is mentioned. if you view the source code of the page, the first thing at the top is the url.

the clock on this page has stopped at 02:09:01, and the connection was lost at that same time ; if you substitute letters in for numbers, 291 spells ‘bia’, the goddess of violence, who the communication was with.

the url for this page is 0005647, or ‘logs.’

the fourth is an incident report from a monster attack. the link is here.

on page /c7, ‘time’ is mentioned repeatedly. click on the clock to get here.

the incident report is 8-1-18-16-25, which, with a substitution between numbers and letters, translates out to ‘harpy,’ the type of creature from the attack.

the url for this page is 0737678, or ‘report.’

the fifth is the list of id numbers and their skeletons. the link is here.

on this ask, i asked ( yes, i sent this one to myself ) about the numbers, and responded ‘why haven’t you searched.’ put /numbers directly after the url of curse finalization to get here.

if you highlight above the ‘submitting’ text on the /finalize page, you can find a message : ‘you’re not safe here.’

the codes you all reached are going to remain kind of a mystery for now. there is a solution for it, if you’re really interested in puzzling it out, but i’m not going to list the answer here. they’ve helped me decide the first plot drop of the group. this is somewhat of a teaser for how the gameplay will go here ; the curse database will remain an active player, and you’ll often be helping choose events. you just might not always when you’re doing it, or how.

easter eggs / fun facts, i guess !

when you get an error in curse registration or classification, if you hover your mouse over the word ‘error,’ it shakes like a glitch. this serves no purpose and means nothing, it just took me a while to figure out how to code, so i wanted to point it out. just let me have this

i actually had a very different stage three planned when i dropped stage two, one incorporating the results from registration and classification more, but the classification results i got were totally different than what i’d expected. while the registration results were pretty varied, over half of the 40-something answers i got from your classifications were for ‘love,’ and i actually got only one ‘monster’ and zero ‘death’ results from you guys. which i suppose is fitting, since there’s only one skeleton of each ! but still, it threw things off a bit, and i had to pretty thoroughly rework stage three. besides, i ended up with like 100+ results from both stages, and i got kind of overwhelmed with my original idea. you all kept me on my toes !!

i sent two asks to myself : the one i needed to set up so i could list out the curse classifications, the one to drop a hint about the /numbers page. the rest all came from you guys ! and for that i am hugely grateful--- i had sort of escape plans the entire time if there wasn’t enough interest, where i’d be able to drop the main after stage one or two and skirt around the extras, but i’m so glad i got to follow through on this thing to the end. i wouldn’t have been able to do it without your engagement. every single time i get a little inbox notification i get excited.

i noticed some of you were getting a lot of error results, but that’s not on you ! there were 32 possible results on curse registration with 16 of those being errors, and 15 results on curse classification with 8 of those being errors. so don’t worry, you were more likely on those stages to get an error than a result.

some of you wondered if the general urls ( /a1, /b2, etc. ) of the different pages on the registration, classification and finalization blogs meant something, and i’m sorry to say they don’t. originally i was going to customize them so they’d be harder to just sift through later, but there ended up being 130+ total pages between all three blogs--- and for my own sanity, and for the sake of easier organization when editing them, i just left them as they were with their letters and numbers.

someone asked me if this post was for cassandra since the quote involves cassandra in the source material agamemnon. whoops. it’s not, that post is actually just a nod to the fact that i don’t know how to read.

i think that’s just about everything ! there are all kinds of other small things as nods to skeletons, the plot, the database in general, future plot drops, all scattered throughout answers on the curse database--- and i’ll be here all day if i list them all. if you have any specific questions about anything i would love to answer them, so please feel free to shoot them my way ! i believe that’s the gist of it, though. thanks so much again for going along with me on all of this !!

#curseadmin #cursetalk #this is so long i'm sorry #but i think i covered everything !!!!

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expshared · 4 years

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this season was kind of whack, but at least we had Eizouken

Heya Camp is just kind of a lazy reminder that Yuru Camp exists, and will continue to exist in the future. You remember these characters?? OK good, just making sure. That said, did I immediately feel the tension release in my entire body when I heard the OST? Duh. Did I sing “it’s coffee time” to the ending not knowing these were the incorrect lyrics? The entire time.

I don’t know what to do with Isekai Quartet because like, objectively, I should hate it. I do not enjoy like 2.5 of the shows involved, and the addition of Shield Hero was not a welcome one. Turns out it doesn’t matter anyway because it was just Isekai Quartet and also Naofumi is Sometimes Scowling in the Background and that’s about as much of him as I want to see anyway. And yet? I do enjoy this Disney Channel Original Crossover. There’s something inherently fun about watching these characters from disparate shows interact with each other, and no matter what the original stakes were in their respective series, they’re all just doing homework and getting part time jobs and that shit’s funny when a big skeleton man is doing it.

After its first episode, Asteroid in Love was kind of a slog. This is your typical seasonal CGDGT show, and apart from that, I really can’t think of anything to say about it. I didn’t learn anything about the Extremely Niche Topic these girls are doing, and it wasn’t even that gay. Disappointing.

I was really looking forward to Toilet Bound Hanako-kun because I am a big fan of the source material, but I was pretty let down by this adaptation. It seems that they prioritized the art style and the color scheme above everything else, but that essentially just meant the entire project ended up being colored manga panels. I wanted to see them move around! There was not a single moment of animation that justified it being an anime. You might as well have been watching a PowerPoint. I can’t think of anything nice to say. Let’s move on.

Bofuri is my power fantasy. I want to play a video game so cluelessly I break it into tiny pieces and bumble into being the most powerful player in the world’s nicest MMORPG. Maple turns powercreep into powersprint. What Bofuri lacks in character development or plot, it makes up for in outrageous Maple feats. She holds the entire world in the palm of her hand and she doesn’t even know it. She named her OP pet turtle Syrup and then turned into an alien abomination unknown to the world and went on a killing rampage. This anime was Maple Crossing Online. Love you, Maple. Wreck shit, Maple.

If My Favorite Idol Got Into Budokan, I Would Die walks a thin line and what separates it from being a slobbering idol otaku engine preaching how Cool it is to Be an Otaku and an Idol Show Watamote is the fact that Eripiyo is a girl. That’s it. If you took her and replaced her with your average Joe Schmoe-san, this show would be insufferably creepy. Every time I was waiting for it to topple over, Jenga-like, it managed to right itself and straddle the tightrope. It’s not a particularly subtle piece of media, nor does it do what I was hoping it would do and engage in any sort of conversation about the obsessive nature of idol otakudom, but you know what it does a good job of doing? Portraying being an idol as a job. Just some adults putting on underground shows and selling the same CD of like two songs over and over again. I was also hoping it would address what happened to Eripiyo, maybe talk about why at the beginning she’s dressed like an office worker and apparently gives that all up to follow this kinda-shitty idol group, why this fanatic escapism is preferable, or even maybe address how gay it is? Not in the cards, though. Honestly Budokan was, despite itself, pretty enjoyable? There are some great background lesbians. Also can we talk about how consistently good the production values were on this show? Why did this have such great dance sequences? Why did this look better than Love “Has More Money Than God” Live? Actually no I take everything back this show was kind of just Idol Otaku Watamote

Hey, let’s talk about the other idol show airing this season: the completely unhinged 22/7. This show is Whack. This show operates on an entire different plane of reality. I know nothing about the actual band, so I came into this blind and oh my god. Hey guys, the plot of 22/7 is that a Wall tells some girls to form an idol unit. A sentient Wall whose orders absolutely must be followed. Why? Dunno! What happens if you don’t follow its orders? Never elaborated on. (Actually, is this a reference to Pink Floyd? I have no fucking clue.) In any case these eight girls, summoned by a letter from the Wall, are all invited to become an idol group, and then they’re magically an idol group. It’s unclear how they become successful, how they book gigs, who’s keeping the lights on at the agency, how they’re getting paid, who HR is, how their gorilla man agent found this Wall and determined that all its directives Must Be Followed, but shit, man. What follows in 22/7 is a one-member-per-episode serial that quite frankly stumbles far more often than it succeeds. One girl’s grandma died and that’s why she came to Japan. One girl had a traumatizing experience where she got lost in the woods for a week and it broke her family apart and now things just suck forever. These things are equal. One poor girl’s entire episode was about how she didn’t want to put on a bathing suit for a photo shoot and how uncomfortable she felt about it, but in the end she was made to apologize for dragging her feet for so long and takes her photo for a pin up. Yuck. Gross. Bad. The only valid girl is Jun, end of discussion. None of this even holds a candle to the finale-- wherein the girls are directed by the Wall to disband, and, defying an order for the first time, the girls return to their agency and throw shit at the Wall until it breaks down. It’s revealed that the Wall isn’t supernatural-- behind it are tv monitors, photos of the girls as children, records of their activities. A person or people are behind this. Why??? Are they being groomed?? Is the Wall a metaphor for the Industry? I’m so concerned. The girls aren’t, though, because after a little side eyeing, they ascend a staircase and wow! A Stage! Our fans are all here for our reunion tour! And then they’re fine and I guess their idol group is back together or something? Did I mention the stage where they perform? It’s at a zoo. I can’t tell if this is the most scathing condemnation of idol culture I’ve ever watched or just completely oblivious. The characters don’t engage in any sort of thought about what they’re being put through, but they are performing their final song, the lyrics of which are about how life is just too hard to keep on living, at a zoo and I don’t think you can have that sort of thing happen unless you’re trying to make a point. Right??? RIGHT?!? Dance and sing, monkeys.

Smile Down the Runway was another show completely divorced from reality. So you got your main character, Chiyuki, whose thing is that she’s Too Short to Be a Model at her father’s very prestigious modeling agency. Which, like, is valid! Let’s see some variation in the modeling industry. Let’s shake it up. Let’s lead the charge for alternative models with bodies outside of the very narrow requirements of the fashion industry. What’s that, Chiyuki? You have no interest in that? You want to be a Hypermodel? I don’t know what that shit is, I think you made it up. Our other protagonist is Ikuto, the destitute, put upon, bobcut boy with a dying mother and 3 younger siblings who is trying to pursue his dream of becoming a fashion designer. Are you beginning to sense the problem here? There is a fundamental imbalance in the presentation of these characters’ goals and situations. Also? Emotions are at an eleven, always. Characters are always acting as if they’ve just seen someone get murdered in front of their eyes even when it’s like. There’s a messed up seam. They are constantly being mortified, crushed, and having their dreams ripped away. One time, two different assholes offered Ikuto magical mom-fixing blood money when he was struggling to come up with funds to pay off his medical debt at the cost of giving up his spot in the fashion show. Wildin’

Haikyuu didn’t exactly come in like a lion, but I’m sure it’ll be more organic upon rewatching. We were laying the groundwork for much of this season so I’m expecting it to payoff later, but the beginning definitely lagged. Every time Haikyuu hints at a women’s volleyball tournament, I want a volleyball anime with girls. Man, those ten minutes we got with Kiyoko? Those were great.

I don’t have too much to say about Somali and Forest Spirit. Abe’s “Make Children” agenda feels at least a little more like a narrative choice in this anime, and I enjoyed Somali and the Golem’s relationship and their travels were in equal turns harrowing and heartwarming. And I did tear up at the end so you got me there, anime.

In/Spectre has some balls being an anime. It’s existed as a light novel and a manga and those are both superior mediums for it because let’s put all our cards on the table here-- In/Spectre is a show about talking. Five whole entire episodes take place in a car. The finale is winning an argument in an anonymous 4chan chatroom. That said, I have such a fondness for In/Spectre. I think Kotoko rocks. I think a show willing to do nothing but talk at you for two hours is badass. Sitting through this anime is like watching a podcast. I think the show engages in some great dialogue about human nature and how we prefer stories that are theatrical, narratively-driven, and have a logical cause-and-effect, instead of the truth, which is more often than not grim, and disappointing, and illogical. I like that Kotoko’s only function, in-story and out of it, is to bullshit so hard she invents alternate realities. Anyway In/Spectre is good.

There’s no praise I can lavish on Eizouken that hasn’t already been said. It’s powerful, it’s strange, it’s energetic, and it’s packaged with such love. It’s repurposed the CGDCT template into something deeply affecting. It’s an anime for people who love animation. I hope everyone watches Eizouken.

#animoose and mango #chitchat paddywhack #long post /

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grimoiresgirlsrp · 4 years

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Welcome, Vera, as the role of Jupiter!

Jupiter is definitely a personal favorite of mine and I love how you’ve managed to bring such delicate but strong-willed traits to your character. She’s immensely complex and intriguing from every aspect of your app! The sheer amount of thought put into Ariadne amazes me. I love the little tidbits you’ve added about her personality, as well--it shows a cool side of your character that most people would never know, but gives them a small peek inside the mind of Ariadne. I can’t wait to see what she brings to Salem and how she will grow with the other characters!

Make sure you give the rules another look, and complete the checklist!

☼ THE WRITER

hello! i’m vera, 24 years old from the est timezone, and i’d say my activity is a 6/7 out of 10! i’m a mommy rper and in another group, but very dedicated to this rp, as it’s my literal brain child and i’ve had this concept for so long!

☼ THE BASICS

skeleton: Jupiter

character name: Ariadne Jiang

Named after the Greek goddess of mazes, labyrinths, and puzzles. Ariadne has a brief tale in the mythos, in which she falls in with Dionysus. Chinese 翔 for Jiang has a translation of good luck, when simply translated, to showcase her river of fortune she’s been granted in life.

age & birthdate: 25, June 10th, 1994

birthplace: Shanghai, China

Though born in Shanghai, her family moved around quite often for travels. Her father is a successful businessman, who built an empire from nothing alongside her late grandfather. It’s a great pressure back home, so Ariadne found a liking to the states quickly, and pursued schooling there primarily after turning 13.

She feels more like New Jersey is her home rather than Shanghai, though she does return several times a year to visit family.

length of time in Salem: 7 months

zodiac sign: Gemini

As a air sign, Ariadne is excellent at thinking quickly. She also carries with her a natural charm, but there is very complex layers under the smooth exterior. With much more ability to think rather than feel, she is adaptive, perceptive, but quite closed off. Forming deep emotional bonds is hard for Ariadne, so she keeps everyone at arms length, though they usually don’t even realize it. Quiet and reserved, Ariadne can weaponize her words, dripping with sweetness, and cut deeper than imaginable. She is pretty self-serving, too, and often will put herself above all else. However, she is obedient and good with limitations, and far from reckless. Everything she does is calculated, which is why the two-faced Gemini signs fits her so well.

It’s important to note that she has a Cancer rising sign, which is interesting as if gives her a much softer, approachable, kinder personality in the beginning.

faceclaim: Natasha Liu Bordizzo

☼ THE CHARACTER

Past: Raised like a dove in a cage, Ariadne felt more doll than she did human. Born to wealthy parents in China, she had a lot of expectation put on her shoulders to perform well and always succeed. When she found a talent on piano, her family encouraged her to pursue her dreams, as long as she also followed their carefully set plan. Between private education in the states, traveling with an orchestra around Europe, and accompanying her father on several business trips across most continents, Ariadne was raised to be well-traveled and quite cultured. Unfortunately, she was often reminded that it’s best to be seen, not heard, so for many years of her life, she fell into an obedient, simple lifestyle that she dare not threaten. After graduating from Princeton with a major in music and a business minor, she decided not to return for a masters, and instead chose to travel.

Present: After becoming engaged to long-time family friend Peter, Ariadne realized she needed to think harder about her life. For as long as she could remember, she has simply done as she was told, only finding herself in the notes played from a keyboard. She felt bored, having already been everywhere and seen everything; now, condemned to a quiet, family life, likely returning back to Shanghai to care for her parents as they enter old age. Instead, she followed her heart to Salem, where she now works as a piano teacher, despite not truly knowing why she chose Massachusetts of all places to spend her last year of freedom until her marriage this upcoming winter.

Personality: Elegance and respect are firmly woven into the creation of Ariadne’s personality. She is complex, layered; like her name, she is a labyrinth of silent thoughts. Without ever having a platform to express herself other than an orchestra, she’s learned to fall in line without complaint, but her mind works quicker than you’d think. She is calculating, always on the hunt for success, and her thirst for something interesting is insatiable. With everything having been given to her, it’s hard for her to remember that her place on Earth is one of privileged, even more so now with her new powers. Cold, reserved, intelligent, and and quick to look for the upper-hand, she is a powerful woman in a delicate shell. Magic, to her, is a chance to be someone new — even if only briefly.

☼ DEVELOPMENT

Pinterest Board.

Personality Analysis:

If she were in a Hogwarts house, Ariadne would be Slytherin

Her MBTI Type is INTJ

Her moral alignment is lawful neutral

If she were in Divergent, she would be placed in Erudite, but quite Divergent herself, likely a mix of Candor and Amity.

Her enneagram type is Type 5

Headcanons:

classical music: her family was happy to encourage her love for piano, especially after moving to new jersey. what had started as a hobby turned into something quite professional until she joined an orchestra in new york city, and eventually went on two different tours with them as a pianist. she has also been paid to come and guest perform at many orchestra performances throughout china, america, and australia. after getting engaged last year, she dropped out of the musical trope.

travel: Ariadne has been nearly everywhere — many countries in europe, asia, to several different states, and new zealand. part of this was due to traveling with her father’s company, where she worked between semesters as a secretary. the other parts were for pleasure and her classical musical career.

peter: as her fiance, peter is a bit of a source of stress in Ari’s life. she doesn’t really want to marry him, and she isn’t being forced into it... she just knows it would please her family, and he’s known her for ages. what else was she to do but accept? it’s helpful because peter’s father works with hers, so he speaks mandarin, and is familiar with shanghai. technically speaking, he ticks all the boxes, but Ari is not happy with him in the slightest.

the future: for as long as she’s been alive, Ari has simply done as she is told. currently she runs a piano lessons business from her home in salem, but she assumes that after getting married to peter and having 1-3 children, she’ll return home to shanghai to live with her parents after her father retires, and she will care for them. plus, it will be her responsibility to sell the business to a good owner, as she does not plan to take over it herself. ari hasn’t even gotten to dream of a future that is her own at this point.

her magic: astral magic. how interesting, right? she has always loved the stars, and naturally had a good ability to connect them into pictures and stories. she sees well at night, she has a connection to astrology and astronomy, but her family always called it silly. i’m excited to explore how ariadne will connect more with the stars. for her, it’s all about light, and the way stars provide it.

#sample app 2 #lsrp #skeleton rp #supernatural rp #rp #accepted

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his-tori-an · 5 years

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This week I had the opportunity to visit Fishbourne Roman Palace, and was very excited to see how they portray a Roman site to the public and engage their visitors. I went with my grandma, who I remember a few years ago saying to me “I don’t like museums”, although she seems to enjoy them much more now when we go together, especially if there’s something pretty to see and take photos of. We had an amazing experience there and I’ve picked out a few of the things that stood out to me to talk about; the museum area, the walk across the mosaics and the gardens. I will be writing about the “hands on” area in my next article, and following this I’ll be summing up my thoughts about how they have portrayed their site and how -theoretically- we could portray Malton Roman Fort (where my department have been excavating) to visitors if it were to be an attraction and museum in a similar way.

A picture of me standing in front of banners showing different types of artefacts

Content warning: images of and discussion of human skeletons

(And yes, I’m wearing a Pokemon T-shirt in the featured image, I had to stick an awkward photo of me in here somewhere)

My grandma looking at a model of a Roman bathhouse

History of the Site

Fishbourne Palace, located in West Sussex, is the largest surviving Roman building in Britain and dates to about 75AD. Most of the palace was excavated in 1960 by Sir Barry Cunliffe after it was accidentally discovered by a water company laying a new line over the site. The palace is so big that a museum has been built over the site to try and preserve as much of the building in situ as possible.

In size, it is approximately equivalent to Nero’s Golden palace in Rome and in plan it closely mirrors the emperor Domitian’s palace (the Domus Flavia) completed in AD 92 on the Palatine Hill in Rome. Fishbourne is by far the largest Roman residence known north of the Alps. At about 150 square metres, it has a larger footprint than Buckingham Palace.

Museum

The museum is the first part you will see on your visit, it is laid out with information on walls in a numbered sequence which gives a background to the Roman occupation of England and the context of the site. These exhibits are very text heavy, and are balanced by the display of artefacts and images & diagrams.

Panel 1 was about the discovery of the site

Panel 2 explained stratigraphy and the display demonstrated this.

Panel 3 was about the site

Panel 4 explained the Roman invasion with diagrams

As well as these more factual exhibits there are interactive activities such as building a Roman road and identifying gods by matching pictures together on a low table. The scale model of the site in the first room attracted my Grandma, allowing for a more tactile experience than viewing a local map.

A scale model map of the area. On the glass there is a diagram indicating where the modern road is.

There were also a lot of kids when I went who were all fascinated by the example weaving activity, the scale model map and the bust of Vespasian, shouting “That’s what he looks like!!”. It is so important to have such tangible links for people to be able to relate to people in the past and see even emperors as “human”.

A bust of Vespasian

The curators of the exhibition have clearly put a lot of thought into weaving multiple themes into one, for example the “imported elegance” panel, which displays wall plaster from Fishbourne, explaining how the elaborate finishes would have been done by a skilled craftsman probably from Italy, and displaying two images of wall paintings found in Italy which compare to the evidence from Fishbourne.

Panel 24: Imported elegance. The display shows wall plaster from the site, and shows wall paintings from other sites which are similar.

The final parts of an exhibition are just as important as the introduction and can leave a lasting impact on the audience, and at Fishbourne the final space has three panels, “Disaster”, “Burials”, and “The Jigsaw”.

The disaster panel explains how between 270 and 280 AD the palace was destroyed by a fire, and how it cannot be certain if the fire was accidental or deliberate, but notes that pirates were raiding the south coast at that time, a neat way of painting a picture and explaining a narrative whilst not asserting facts we don’t know, a lot of archaeologists I know would say that if we’re not sure on the facts we shouldn’t tell stories, which are vital to public engagement and understanding.

The accompanying display is a show of the destruction, with puddles of melted lead, buckled window glass and broken and discoloured pottery which has been repaired and reconstructed for the exhibit. Personally my eyes are drawn to the reconstructed pots more than the disarticulated glass. On the top shelf by comparison, there are lots and glass from the late third century that survived the fire, it’s a massive shame that my photographs didn’t survive however.

The human remains in the museum lie in a glass case.

The burials section is in association with the human remains that lie in the centre of the room which is captioned with “a pagan burial, oriented on a north-south line and discovered in the demolished ruins of the Roman Palace”, which is on the opposite side of the room to the rest if the information. This is probably due to issues to do with space, but it did confuse me having the information, remains and the explanation all in different places.

The panel explains how the ruin was salvaged after it burnt down and that people would take things of value before further demolishing the building. They say that later, probably towards the end of the Roman period, shallow burials were made in the rubble, and one grave was in the north wing which was much deeper and is still there now.

Human remains in a grave cut into the floor

The ethics of displaying human remains in museums is contentious, and I won’t go into full details here. I think it is a lovely gesture to have left the skeleton in the north wing in its final resting place. The sign accompanying the burial simply says that there was no dating evidence in the form of grave goods, but we know that the graves were cut after the palace was destroyed. I was left feeling a little bit frustrated about the lack of information about the burials, although I’m aware that specific information is missing from our records as archaeologists, even more general information about human remains and osteology would benefit visitors. All in all I felt like this lack of information translated to a lack of “respect” for these people as individuals, and that they were seen as artefacts only.

Panel 34: The jigsaw

(Sorry for the image with me in the background.. I guess we can say I’m a treasure?)

The final panel is a neat conclusion to the exhibit, displaying modern and medieval artefacts which were found in the excavation such as coins and pottery which got there through ploughing, and captions this with the story of how the site was uncovered by workmen in 1960. Finally the last image of the exhibition is comprised of images of trenches, finds, archaeologists and analysis overlaid with a jigsaw which is a beautiful and emotive image. This choice to focus on archaeology and archaeologists as well as Roman history is masterfully played out, integrating the modern process of excavation neatly with the archaeology itself.

Image with a jigsaw overlay of archaeologists working on different aspects of the Fishbourne excavations

The Mosaics

Cupid on a dolphin mosaic

Walking around the bridges to see the mosaic floor was by far my favourite part. It was amazing to see the beautiful mosaics, each one different, laid out as though in the villa. The open layout of the room gave an immense sense of space and a feeling of awe, which is a key part of engagement at any heritage site. It is also almost entirely flat or ramped sections, making the exhibit one continuous experience.

My grandma looking at the mosaics

Practically, each mosaic is separated and labelled in a numbered sequence, meaning that you can walk around the room in a loop following the trail and and back at the start, although the route is not necessarily fixed. Each information board is located where you can see both it and the mosaic at the same time, with a description of the art style or purpose of the room and a reconstructed diagram of the art. Of course, at a basic level it is very important to be able to see both the information & diagrams and the mosaic at the same time to be able to understand and compare the information to reality and encourage learning and critical thought.

A shell mosaic

Something which I only spotted on my second visit was “the digital palace”, an amazing model which lets the user explore a reconstructed villa, clicking to walk into different rooms and looking around in 3d using the mouse. This was on understated computer desk in the middle of the exhibition which the user had to sit down to use, hopefully the museum will be able to find a way to make this technology easier to access for everybody to see and enjoy on a bigger screen!

The computer desk with “the digital palace” on the screen

Computer screen showing a digital model of a roman room, it says “Room N1, Hypocaust Room

Information and instructions about The Digital Palace; a representation of the North Wing made by Anthony Crew.

At the far end of the room there is a viewing platform displaying a slideshow of old and funny images of the archaeological process, and the options of three films called “1960s excavations”, “New Discoveries” and “Mosaic Care”. The use of audio and video technology allows a different way of presenting the archaeology than in the rest of the exhibit which gives the audience a different way to learn that appeals to them most, not to mention being very valuable for visually impaired or hearing impaired visitors. My only concern was that there were no chairs, meaning that visitors must stand to watch the films, which can be difficult or offputting- I also found the soundscapes coming from the viewing platform to be a bit odd.

The Hadley Trust viewing platform showing Barry Cunliffe working on the Medusa mosaic

Garden

The garden didn’t engage me as much but my grandmother loved it; she said she enjoyed the “colourful part with flowers and the pretty green shaped hedges”. It can be difficult for people without an interest in history to engage with museums, but the way the garden was portrayed clearly made an impact on her and she said that she would be happy to revisit based on that. It was designed to look like the grand garden of a Roman villa, with a beautiful scented lavender bed funded by the friends of Fishbourne Roman palace.

View of the gardens; a big grassy space surrounded by hedges laid out in angular patters.

The best part of the garden for me was the themed Roman flower beds. I thought it was an incredibly creative idea, with each flower bed representing a different theme, including medicine, herbs, beauty and all sorts. It smelled and looked incredible and that sensory experience made all the difference to me in enjoying the garden. I’m not sure if my grandma noticed the themes but she loved the flower beds in the same way as I did, noticing the strong scents and bright colours.

A flowerbed with a panel which says “medicinal plants”

Collections Discovery Centre

This building is separate to the museum, opened by Tony Robinson on Time Team in 2007, allows visitors to see artefacts in a more peaceful and very well lit modern area separate to the main museum. There are interactive drawers where visitors can open them to see collections of pottery, glass, bone and more and curated displays behind windows. Visitors are able to look through the window displays and see the store room and scientific research room, adding a new depth to the museum which isn’t just about the Roman history but also the archaeological process and storage of artefacts, which Fishbourne highlights very well.

A window into the conservation laboratory

Artefacts in drawers which visitors can open.

A window into the conservation laboratory

The Sensitive Store is behind a window display, which displays a variety of artefacts

All in all our visit to Fishbourne was very enjoyable, and I was inspired by the way in which they portrayed Roman history and culture to a modern audience. I’ll be posting soon about their “hands on” area, which was an incredible way of engaging all ages and types of audience in hands on activities related to archaeologists and archaeology. Following that I’ll be using this research to construct a theoretical plan of how we could portray Malton as a site if we were to have a visitor centre or museum, so stay in touch and make sure you subscribe to email notifications!

Let me know what you think in the comments or tweet me @EdgyTrowel!

This article was written by myself with help from Chloe Rushworth, you can check out her heritage blog and posts about the Malton dig here: https://archloology.wordpress.com/. Photos by myself and my Grandmother.

I visited Fishbourne Roman Palace: Here's my review on how they engage their audience... This week I had the opportunity to visit Fishbourne Roman Palace, and was very excited to see how they portray a Roman site to the public and engage their visitors.

#archaeology #children #featured #marketing #museum #Museums #student #tourism #travel #University

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spacefaringviking · 6 years

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Humans are Eldritch Horrors: Biomechanical Technology

Okay so this is a long one, be warned.

I’ve been on a binge between Wikipedia and YouTube, looking up extremophiles, protists, and “intelligent” slime molds that have potential for biomechanical applications.

Imagine if you would, that this biotechnological trend is picked up as a norm for humanity as a whole. Biological material is not suited for every application, true. But graphene, being made purely of carbon, can be integrated into both biological and technological systems. Certain multicellular and monocellular organisms can metabolize heavy metals. Slime molds and human neurons can be surprisingly efficient computers.

Imagine sea sponges designed by humans to build skeletons out of iron, cadmium, or a gold-titanium alloy instead of calcium. Imagine stomatolites building shells for massive spaceships out of the “waste” materials from mining processes. Imagine spacesuits made out of chitin and a bioglass reminiscent of that which tardigrades produce. Instead of air tanks, whole miniature biomes that produce oxygen at a rapid rate when fed biomass.

Essentially, the Engineers from Prometheus. Or like, 99% of H.R. Giger’s work.

Now imagine throwing black hole reactors, Alcubierre/EM/Fold/Quantum drives, mass accelerators (for weapons or other uses) and quantum computing thrown in a big ol’ mixing bowl with biomechanical fuckery. And no horror show biomechanical stuff, but like sleek, fine lighting, no jagged edges, no skulls and pure horror, no wet and nasty slimy shite (aside from the slime molds and several production processes…), but like, upstanding and respectable stuff, beautiful sleek lines mixed in with angles that are a bit too perfect…

Then introduce this to aliens who adopted a purely technological path.

—————- —————- —————-

Xyrhum had seen nothing like it before. About [500 kilometers] away from the jump-entry point of this system, straight off the prow of his corvette, was a [10km] long construct. It was a sleek structure that conjoined its long, near perfectly-straight pair of “prongs” in a semicircle at one end. It bowed out near the semicircular end and was riddled with ridges and bumps and grooves all along its sleek and organic body lines. It emitted a rumble that could be felt more than heard, even inside a ship of this size this far away.

Xyrhum tapped his feelers on the armrest of his chair, the armor at the tips of his appendages making near-deafening clacks and taps in the utter silence of the bridge.

“Pilot, perform a wide maneuver around the structure. Advance no further than [350 kilometers] from it. Do not get too close. Operations, engage stealth.”

“Aye, commander,” replied both officers.

Xyrhum turned to his communications officer, who was staring at him in a mix of anticipation and apprehension. “Communications, perform a passive scan of the structure.”

He turned to the co-pilot. “Retract any hardpoints besides the scanner.”

The communications officer piped up.

“Sir, the construct… It knows we’re here. I’m picking up a tight-beamed signal emanating from the… whatever it is.”

“So, our stealth drives mean nothing,” quipped the commander. “Drop stealth.”

“Dropping stealth.”

“For all intents and purposes, this appears to be a First Contact situation. Prepare the data packet, and begin the ‘friendly contact’ signal. Start with the [Algebraic] equa-”

The ship lurched forward suddenly, cutting off the commander and accelerating at an uncomfortable speed towards the construct.

“Pilot, we have breached the [350km] mark and are accelerating at an unsafe speed toward the construct. Desist this instant!”

At that, the pilot raised his arms from the console. “This is not my doing, commander. The forward engines are at zero acceleration. Inertia dampeners are trying to fight but are overcome.”

“So, these aliens want a more face-to-face first contact.”

“It would seem so.”

“Communications, any changes on the construct? Has it deployed anything our active scanners can detect?”

“Several portions of its surface have shifted. There are numerous structures raising from its hull, but I detect no radiological spikes. If those are weapons, I’d imagine this to be more a threat display than anything else.”

“No chances. Raise shields to maximum.”

“Aye.”

Just as the shields arced to life and covered the ship in a shimmering protective shell, a flash pulsed from the side of the construct, and the ship went dark.

“Report!” Exclaimed the commander, as he began drifting out of his seat.

“Engines and main reactor have spun to zero,” reported the Ensign. “Weapons and scanners offline. We’re drifting without a gun, sir.”

“Damn. Life support?”

“Compromised, but active. Backup reactor coming online. We’ll have full life support, gravity, and lights in [30 seconds] and counting.”

A slow, purplish ghostly wave drifted through the bridge. It passed over every nook and cranny in the room, and tingled every atom in the commander’s body as it passed over him.

“What in the hundred hells was that?”

“Unsure, sir. Hazard a guess, I think we were scanned.”

The ship continued to move toward the construct without spin or deviation. A tractor beam…?

A smaller construct broke off of the hull of the larger ship. It drifted away for a good [minute], seemingly inactive. It suddenly pulsed to life, bright bluish-white lines dancing into activity along its fine and sleek oblong shape. Along its horizontal equator, a line of light traced from the aft end to the fore and culminated in a point of light at the nose. The point of light then moved as the new construct maneuvered to be edge- on with the commander’s craft. The point of light slid along an invisible tract and aligned itself with the craft.

“It’s looking at us,” piped up the communications officer.

At that, the smaller craft deployed long, thick arms from its bottom, unfolding them in what appeared to be a threat display. It swung its aft around with no visible propulsion as it dissapeared above the commander’s ship. Moments later, the ship shook and shuddered. Clanging sounds and depressurization alarms could be heard throughout the ship.

“What’s happening? Ensign, report!”

“Multiple depressurizations in non-critical areas. Crew quarters, medbay, and bridge are secure. We have been captured by the alien vessel… and we’re moving again.”

“Sir, scans for biological activity have… returned. This… ship… whatever it is… it’s hardly mechanical at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that this structure is alive. I’m reading intense biological activity. The outside of the ship is a heavy-metal composite in a carbon-based organic lattice.”

“Living ships? Tractor beams? Emissionless propulsion? Gravitic signatures? What next?” the commander mumbled under his breath.

Everyone was silent as the smaller craft guided the commander’s ship through several [hundred meters] of white-lit oval-shaped corridor. From the port and starboard viewports, he could see a menagerie of other creatures fast at work in the corridors of the vessel. There were strange four-legged things scurrying about and hefting containers of sorts in the low gravity. There were tall bipedal hulks with bowed legs walking along the gangways of the corridor and staring at the ship intensely. They appeared to be aiming at the vessel. Protruding from the floor and ceiling of the corridor were circular domes with spindly appendages jutting out of one side. They tracked the ship’s every movement with a glaring red eye. Turrets?

The ship began to slow as it drifted toward a flat circular platform. Three figures stood in a room separated from the platform with a thick plate of glass, flanked by two of the large bipeds seen moments ago. The craft that had latched on to the commander’s vessel guided his ship forward into a cradle of armlike appendages. A blue field of arcing electricity shot out from the panels above and held the ship steady as the arms enclosed around it. The cradle that held the ship descended from the ceiling and brought the ship to rest on the floor of the platform. Several tendrils rose from the floor and embedded themselves in the ship’s hull.

Suddenly, the ship’s system sprang to life. The docking runtime ran through its paces and the docking hatch opened. A thick hollow tube, ringed with grasping appendages, extended from the wall and affixed itself to the docking hatch. With a thud and a hiss, pressure was restored in the ship.

“Welcome to Gilgamesh,” said the computer.

“How does the computer know the name of the vessel?”

“It was hacked,” said the Ensign. “None of the officers or myself can control the ship. We’re locked out.”

The emergency lights on the floor came to life and led to the airlock.

A voice crackled from the communications panel, causing the communications officer, who was already on edge, to leave the bridge in a nervous wreck.

The center of the five figures in the room adjacent to the ship stepped forward, and began to speak in fluent Union Standard.

“We apologize for the forceful… apprehension… of your vessel. We hope this transgression can be forgiven. However, you entered our space withojt consent and refused to answer any of our hails. The transgression aside, we have been eager to meet an alien race for some time, and did not want to lose out on such an enriching opportunity. We did not expect them to be so… rudimentary, however.”

The commander rise from his chair and stepped to the forward window of the bridge, and met gaze with the figure. “Who are you? How can you speak our language?”

I am a member of the human race. We utilized complex mathematical algorithms to decrypt your computer, and merely gutted a cantelope to get the berries of your language.“

"Gutted… A what?”

“Did that not make sense?”

“…not at all.”

“Ah. It is not a perfect system, mind you. We hope to resolve this.”

“Your peaceful intentions aside, while appreciated, do not excuse your actions. You realize that by seizing a military scouting vessel, hacking it, and taking information without consent, you have not only broken several rules of first contact etiquette, but have committed acts worthy of declaration of war?”

“Humanity does not seek war with anyone. We have outgrown such petty practices. However, and we remind you, you had entered our space, unannounced, in an armed vessel, which warranted a rather forceful response from us. We seem to have stepped on each other’s toes. I do not advise escalation.”

“Or?”

At that, an arm unfolded from the wall and aimed a spindly protrusion at the ship. The protrusion began to glow blue as the air began to ripple from heat.

The ship-board AI chirped to life; “Warning: radiological signature detected.”

“That,” the Human quipped.

“Very well.”

“Please, come aboard. We welcome you peacefully. We wish to discuss many things with you, as well as terms of reparation and harmonious relations.”

The crew departed the ship and crossed through the boarding tube. The air was surprisingly dry and warm.

They entered the room through an airlock of iris-style doors, unfolding with a slight cracking and the sound of sliding stone. The three figures, standing at a whopping [2.5m], stood in the center of the room, flanked by their [5m] behemoths.

The center figure departed the group, flowing robes rippling as it waltzed effortlessly toward him. It stopped at a close, yet respectful distance of [6m].

Suddenly, the plates that composed its cranium shifted and split, hissing out a steamy gust of air as it opened and neatly folded away. What it revealed was the true face of the human; a round head, with pinkish-gray soft skin, nearly hairless and featureless. On either side was a flesh protrusion, full of ridges and bumps, angled forward. Atop its head was a tuft of… hair? It had a rather flat face with a gentle ridge above its pair of forward-set predatory eyes and a protrusion in the center of it all with two holes. Beneath that was a horizontal slit composed of two fleshy lobes. The lobes peeled back to reveal a set of bony protrusions.

“I am Heyatha, the commander of this frigate. It is my honor to greet you, Commander Xyrhum, on behalf of humanity. There is so much for us both to learn from this meeting.”

Submission by the amazing @bartwelchii

#hfy #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humanity fuck yeah!#haw #humans are eldritch horrors #submission

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years

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Congratulations Sass you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Cassandra Burke

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Sass, we’re so happy to see you return to the group! The development you’ve brought to Cassandra from her starting skeleton is amazing, and the passion you have for writing her is obvious in every part of your application. Your writing samples do a wonderful job of explaining Cassandra’s current position in the overall plot and exploring the way she’s been changed by the effects of the war, and we can’t wait to see what you do with her next!

*Your faceclaim change to Nina Dobrev has been accepted

application beneath the cut ( tw: PTSD, trauma, abuse, assault, knives, death )

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hey, I’m Sass, twenty-four years old and from the GMT+1 timezone.

ACTIVITY

Oh, probably a 6-7/10. To be honest I do have days on which I can’t be online at all, because I do have a full-time job nowadays and other commitments, but I do intend to dedicate enough time to Cassandra to develop her further and fully push her into all the drama, all the good stuff.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Originally through the first admin and I’ve been a member ever since (well, with a two month hiatus?)

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Probably with Fred Weasley. As a twin I’m constantly with my twin brother and I’m fiercely protective of him. Also I feel like out of us I’m the one who speaks first and I’m also more outgoing than my brother.

ANYTHING ELSE?

I’m just glad to be back, y’all.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Cassandra – From the Greek name Κασσανδρα (Kassandra), derived from possibly κεκασμαι (kekasmai) “to excel, to shine” and ανηρ (aner) “man” (genitive ανδρος). In Greek myth Cassandra was a Trojan princess, the daughter of Priam and Hecuba. She was given the gift of prophecy by Apollo, but when she spurned his advances he cursed her so nobody would believe her prophecies.In the Middle Ages this name was common in England due to the popularity of medieval tales about the Trojan War. It subsequently became rare, but was revived in the 20th century. Morrigan – Derived from Irish Mór Ríoghain meaning “great queen”. In Irish myth she was a goddess of war and death who often took the form of a crow. Burke – Derived from Middle English burk meaning “fort or fortified town”. It was brought to Ireland in the 12th century by the Norman invader William FitzAdelm de Burgo.

BIRTHDAY / STAR SIGN

Novermber 5th 1957 – SCORPIO -- One of the most sensitive signs in the zodiac, Scorpio women feel their emotions intensely, though they may not always express them overtly. A water-ruled sign, Scorpio is symbolized by the submerged depths, like the pure waters flowing through an underground cave. But you may not see the currents or waves rippling through her facial expressions – much of what a Scorpio woman feels, she won’t always express overtly. Scorpios rule over the occult sciences, and the true meaning of the word “occult” is “hidden” – hence, the Scorpionic tendency toward secrecy and inscrutability. Only the most determined (and respectful) will be granted permission to explore the secret caverns within the heart of a Scorpio woman.

OCCUPATION

She used to be the co-owner of Borgin & Burkes, but is currently a neutral spy mostly affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix (but then again they threw her out, so it’s to being completely neutral again) I’d describe her as almost unemployed? Considering she’s still missing.

FACE CLAIM

Nina Dobrev

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I once described her as poison, and she is. I believe every character who’d been with her received their dose of poison and only some managed to find an antidote. It’s not meant in a seductive way, not entirely, but more or less like real poison. Everything she touches gets corrupted, even the most innocent minds, and it’s pretty obvious that she’s a master manipulator and someone who looks out for herself, most importantly. She’d been a Death Eater, a seductress, a liar, a fiancee, a friend, daughter, enemy – anything you can think of, but all she wants to be is a free woman, alive and happy. It’s the old tale of having a strong, flawed character, who has been through hell and survived, who promised herself to change the world for the better, who loved and spent days remembering her happiest moments before being thrown to the wolves again. I remember describing her as this cunning, calculating Femme Fatale with only selfish intentions, but she has grown and learned from her mistakes. She’s almost altruistic nowadays, at least when it comes to her friends.

This war and everything else is something she’d lived with, one of the few who actively lived through the horrors of war – but she has no regrets whatsoever. In fact, Cassandra feels like it’s her main goal to not only be free, but to help end this war. I just love her so much y’all.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

She’s experienced both in love and sex – and some might even say she’s one of the best. Cassandra’s biromantic/sexual and goes by she/her pronouns as a cis female.

For ships, well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. I think I can’t really comment on that since a lot has changed over the past few months, so I’m not sure where new plots and ideas will lead to.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER

I have everything on my blog

Graphics, other stuff I made

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Easy. A spell that changes your personality permanently. Effective to hide or be someone else for a day, you know? In times like these it’s pretty effective and safe to just be a Muggle for a day or two.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I’d say Orion Black since he’s experienced enough and would most likely survive on his own as well, so I’m not at all concerned. And as an object I’d probably choose a Portkey, just to make sure we’d find our way out immediately.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Love. Always love – a bloody nightmare, I tell you.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I lived my life in vain, not really accomplishing anything.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Well, she did got captured. She wasn’t happy about being captured I can tell you all that much, also she wasn’t happy about being thrown out of the Order castle because others couldn’t warm up to her. She’s not really mad, but more or less frustrated. She did change and she’s not a Death Eater anymore, but there’s just no trust between the Order and Cassandra even though she did reveal her memories to Amos and the gang hoping it would make them trust her more. It worked on some, but not enough.

WRITING SAMPLE

1. – I AM RUINATION

April 4th 1979

trigger warnings: PTSD, trauma, abuse, assault, knives, death

“I am ruination,” her voice was merely a whisper, but the psychologist in front of her heard everything, every breath she took in their little zone, those four walls which were covered in a light grey, almost white tone. “How so, Miss Burke. Mrs. Rookwood?” he slowly tried to make sense out of her words, but he failed to understand her, as he should. “Burke, of course. I never actually married him. I couldn’t – not anymore,” Mr. Seymour, her psychologist, shook his head and gestured towards her engagement ring, which she still wore, polished everyday and kept clean over the past months. “A facade, that’s all,” she even wore Evan’s engagement ring, just because she loved the gem set between gold too much to ever take off the ring, at least for now. They were cruel reminders of what she’d endured, who she had to face in order to be free. She thoroughly pushed her thumb against her other hand, aggressively massaged the back of her hand to numb herself. “I never really cared if they were engagement rings or not – It’s already fucked up to know I have two,” she closed her eyes. “I wear them because they show me who I could’ve been if I hadn’t found the strength to follow my heart. I started to believe I had to follow my family’s path, that I have to believe in their lies, that I couldn’t be more than what they’d planned for me.” Cassandra took a deep sigh and she felt her throat contracting, resulting in her barely being able to breathe properly. “They judged me all my life and I let them. I thought I was a monster,” Cassandra watched Mr. Seymour and she realized, rather quickly, that she had to make him forget once they were done. “And you thought no one would understand? A typical case in Pureblood families. You felt like nobody would even dare to help you even if you’d have asked for it. But no one’s alone in this world, I hope you realize that.”

“But I’m ruination,” Cassandra muttered, gulping and shaking her head. “Everyone deserves to be saved, even if they believe they’re doomed. This isn’t the end, Miss Burke,” he was quickly cut off by Cass, who had now raised her voice slightly. “I have lead men to their death, I’ve risked the lives of the people that I love because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I endured immeasurable amounts of pain in return, just to keep them save. I still hear myself screaming, the Cruciatus curse running through my veins and I could never tell anyone about it, because it hurts so much, he broke me. I don’t want to live in pain – and I would’ve rather died than endure just one more second of the curse.” she breathed heavily. Mr. Seymour’s eyes widened in shock at how direct she was, something he hadn’t guessed from someone like her, especially not in front of an official psychologist for the Ministry. “The pain you’ve endured doesn’t define who you are and especially doesn’t mean you’re ruination. Others are, Miss Burke,” Cassandra tried to drown out her own screams, which were repeatedly resurfacing in her head. “The pain has shaped me to who I am now. The pain made me stronger.” “Yes, good.”

“I killed so many Halfbloods, Muggleborns and Purebloods, I lost count. I lured so many men to their deaths, that sometimes I feel like I’ve killed ten in a week, enemies, politicians, Muggles – for the sake of you-know-who and for the sake of my family. I sometimes wonder if Evan’s punishment was justified. He was right, you know? I’m currently playing my games, I haven’t leaned a thing. Nothing. I have scars to prove what I’ve endured, but I wonder if anything changed around me, except me.”

“You pity yourself – the hardships you’ve endured weigh you down. You need hope, love – you’re still here, you still breathe, that’s worth something.” Cassandra shook her head and chuckled slightly. “Do you honestly think those things will be my salvation? They’ve made me who I am in the first place. It’s the pain I cannot stand on its own, the memories. The sacrifices I’ve made until now have made me stronger, but I fear his judgement.” “Whose judgement?” “Amos. Amos Diggory?” He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “He has all my memories. He’ll see myself growing up, being formed into an obedient wife and Death Eater, how I’ve killed someone for the first time and how proud my father was. I never wanted to be such a problem, but I am. I have so much information stored as memories, but there’s also the pain and the darkness within he’ll finally see – and I don’t want to lose him, even if he said he’ll stay, those memories do not define who I am today.”

She took a deep breath. “He’ll see the pain, the love, the lust, everything. There’s so much you will never know, but he will. And I care more about his opinion than about yours.” Mr. Seymour leaned into his chair, slightly distancing himself from her, as if he tried to calm her down with that. “Do you know why I am here?” “Because they want to find out if I’m worth being pardoned. If my memories classify as worthy enough as exchange for my freedom?” “Precisely.” a quill next to his head wrote down every word they spoke, every stop, everything that could potentially be of use later on. As thoughts mixed inside of her head, Cassandra’s eyes fixed on different objects in the room, but never stayed there for too long as anxiety kicked in every few seconds. “And why are you here?” “Because I want to be free.” “There are few rules you need to keep in mind, but first – I’d like to enter your mind, so that I get a general understanding of what happened. You are not making any sense at the moment and I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed with my diagnosis – PTSD, illusions, Insomnia, nightmares and Bipolar Two Disorder, self-destructive behavior and thoughts. There’s a lot to consider, If we could only talk about the consequences and the severity–”severity? “I’m a murderess, Mr. Seymour, maybe I deserve everything that has had happened and maybe my broken relationships and fickle heart are just a result of who I was – they are a part of me. Maybe I deserve to feel empty, to be too broken to be loved. Maybe the person who did love me broke me in the end.” “You do not realize how toxic your mind will become if you do not let people in completely.” “Do you not listen?” she yelled at him, stood up and she could hot tears running down her cheeks. “I did and now I feel powerless, because I know they’ll only see a monster, the person I do not wish to be. I destroy everything and everyone I touch,” her hands shook as her fingertips reached for her mouth.

“I’ve lost my friends, my family, everything – on one day, because I was too afraid to talk to them, because I couldn’t bear the idea of working for him, of being a puppet. I’m not a puppet. I’m a puppeteer and I guide those around me to their deaths, right? And I try, so hard, to be better, to move on. But I can’t handle the pain. I just want the pain to be gone. I want to be enough, just once. I’m just a woman, I was never enough for my father, nor for my friends. I let everyone down, I lie and fake a smile just so that they still see me as confident. I stopped being confident and happy the day I lost him. And I left parts of myself in others, hoping they’ll love and care for them and one day return them to me with theirs attached. They never did. I am nothing in their eyes. Just a wanton,” she quoted Evan on this and looked down onto her engagement ring. Panic filled her heart, but she was stopped by Mr. Seymour, who’d grabbed her hand and entered her mind, now facing every memory she ever had as she let him in and his spell. He saw her childhood, her teenager years, the way she loved Caradoc and lost him the day she’d agreed to follow her family’s path, her Dark Mark, Borgin & Burkes, her engagement to Evan and her near death experience – the way she loved Amos and how she tried to protect everyone from Evan, their hands around her throat, the lack of control, the knife slashing through her skin, her screams, the pain which she endured from the Cruciatus curse – everything at once. He immediately sat down again, clenching his jaw and looking up towards her. “And I just want to feel normal, but I will never be, which is why everything’s so bloody complicated. I’m a disaster. And I don’t want to ruin everything I have right now. Because one day I will, and they’ll leave the second they see my real face, find out I’m a monster.”

Cassandra brushed away the tears from her cheeks and shook her head. “I control others just because I can’t control myself. I wonder if I’m still a monster, if I’ll never change, but I want to. I want to change, please – I just don’t know where to start. I feel like I can’t move, I can’t breathe. And I just want to stop drowning and breathe, survive. I have people who protect me. Orion, Caradoc, Amos, Rodolphus, Charity, Benjy, —- but I want to be strong on my own! I used to be stronger, independent, a lot less afraid.”

Mr. Seymour relaxed, as if he hadn’t just seen an entire life playing in front of his eyes, the trauma, the pain, the joy, the love – as if nothing of it really mattered. “You consider yourself to be a monster, but you haven’t killed me yet. How’s that? That’s because you know I’ll help you. The first step to becoming better is seeking help, reach out to others. You are healing, you have friends and people that love you for who you are - - you just have to open your eyes, Miss Burke. And if you survive through the pain and prove yourself, then you’re the strongest person I know.”

“No,” Cassandra replied, recovering from her panic attack. “I am strongest when I know what I want – and right now I just want to be free and happy.” she whispered, her grip tightening around her wand. A blue light took away all his memories from the past hours and she ignited the quill, which was still writing every word – and every paper lit on fire. “and I know I don’t have to conquer my monsters, I just have to keep them on a leash, because they’ll never see another version of me, the one that’s suffering and alone – I will remain standing, strong and proud. They will never suspect the cracks if no one knows about them besides one, the one I love – and if I still feel… love, then how bad of a monster can I be?”

2. – BRAVE NEW WORLD

Ministry of Magic, Cassandra Burke’s secret Wizengamot trial, the dungeons Date: April 13th 1979

Wind blew through her hair as she entered the hidden passage through the Ministry, a hood loosely falling over her face as she was abruptly grabbed away from the sun and into the dark tunnels. She kept on walking, didn’t really know which step to take next – maybe she didn’t want to know. Arriving at the Wizengamot, a place her parents warned her about, the Dark Lord had warned her about, as well, now looked even more frightening than everything she’d dreamed of. A few wizards were placed on a podium, watching down on her, judging, making comments, whispering and shaking their head. One of the Aurors moved closer, and the former Death Eater immediately thought of Caradoc, who could’ve been here with her, who could’ve been the one to pull the hood away. With dark brown hair now falling behind her shoulders, Cassandra looked around freely, saw Dumbledore, judges, Bartemius Crouch Snr. and not many others, actually. In fact, she wondered why there wasn’t an entire courtroom filled with judges just waiting to drag her all the way to Azkaban. In total, however, she counted eight people. Eight to determine her innocence or her guilt. Others were judged from twenty or more, so what exactly happened in between then and now? Oh, she knew what happened, but didn’t dare to speak of him.

“The trial may begin,” Dumbledore spoke, his voice louder than ever, well, except the last time she’d heard him speak in Hogwarts. Before the trial could even begin properly, she was pushed down on the seat behind her and her hands were wrapped with a silken, glowing substance – a binding spell. While the Aurors removed her wand and went on with their procedures, Bartemius Crouch Snr. stood up, reading a script. “Cassandra Morrigan Burke, daughter of Aurora and Cormac Burke, stand accused of murder, assault, arson, theft, using unforgivable spells and high treason on many occasions. These crimes are, and will be, punished with a life-sentence in Azkaban. As a known member of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his army of dark wizards, you’re an enemy of the Ministry of Magic and therefore judged as an enemy of this court. How do you plead?”

Cassandra sighed, her breath shaky and her eyes searching for something or someone to focus on. Nothing, no one. “Guilty.” after confessing, however, her heart sped up, but her eyes weren’t trying to focus anymore. She kept staring towards Dumbledore, hoping her memories would have an effect. “You choose to help him all on your own. You didn’t care, you regret nothing. Even though your mouth’s moving, your lips are shaking, you’re not sorry at all,” Bartemius started. “You cast your first unforgivable curse at the age of sixteen as you killed your first victim for the Dark Lord.” he looked like a raging old man, incapable of keeping his temper in check, even before Dumbledore, who was in charge. Did Amos keep her memories? She started to shake in fear, but as Dumbledore spoke, she immediately froze. “It does seem like we’re making false assumptions. Our accusations are not too far off, in fact, they’re identical with what I’ve seen,” Dumbledore held the vial between his index and little finger, shaking her tears slightly, almost delicately. “I bear witness her accusations are all true, but she’s here to strike a deal.” Cassandra’s eyes closed in relief. This wasn’t the end, not yet, at least. “Immunity, a symbolic death if you will, in exchange for all information granted in this vial. The Order wishes the Ministry would accept or consider her offer.”

“I offered my memories for a reason. I want to be free,” she pleaded, but Bartemius already tried to silence her. “Silence!”

“I didn’t just offer my past, but several memories of Death Eater meetings and faces. Vast knowledge of dark magic acquired through training and my family’s history in that field. Tom Riddle worked for my grandfather.” “I said silence! You did kill Darius Shafiq, have you not? You lured him into a trap on November 2nd 1978, didn’t you? You assassinated Clara Wilson, a hit-witch, who worked for the Ministry, after she’d been tasked with the killing of an ally of yours, of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Darius was a Death Eater,” she then said, calmly. “I killed him because the Dark Lord knew he’d break.” Bartemius abruptly lost his voice and looked at Dumbledore, confused. She nodded towards the vial. “Everything you need to know’s contained in there. My entire life, my misdemeanors, my knowledge and relationships. I request you to have a look and judge for yourself. I’m willing to share them with you as I did with my link to the Order and Ministry before this trial.” She didn’t want to mention Amos directly. They’d find out sooner or later.

One week later

“Cassandra Morrigan Burke. You’ve been found guilty on all charges. Upon viewing your memories the Wizengamot decided to pardon your crimes and erase all evidence of this trial. Your memories will be stored to further the Ministry’s attempt in finding Death Eaters and stopping the war. Under oath we’ve agreed to never use your name outside of this court. You will be considered missing, if not dead after today. All your relatives will be told of your disappearance and your possible death in times of war. You’re free to leave.”

#lsrpg #marauders rpg #hp rp #nina dobrev rp

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voulezvous-rpg · 6 years

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Congratulations, Dean! You’ve been accepted as The Noble — Fitzgerald Bradford, with a face claim of Max Irons!

Anyone who knows me can tell you I’m always a sucker for the rich bitch boys, which is pretty much making Fitz my personal kryptonite. The overly inflated ego is one thing, but it takes on a new life when paired with the notion that there’s very much a secret out there that could pop his bubble, again, at any moment. I’m so excited to see how that charm and entitlement help him play with others in the club! Very much ready to fall in love with you both. Welcome to the team!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Dean Pronouns: She/her Age: 21 Timezone & Activity: GMT, I’m fairly active, the only times where I can get quiet is when university work is heading towards deadlines which will be over after early May! Even then, I’m still around on the dash.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Noble Name: Lord Fitzgerald Charles Orson ‘Fitz’ Bradford FC: Max Irons Pronouns: He/Him Age: March 28th, 1880. 30 years old Occupation: A Lord

Lord is used as a generic term to denote members of the British peerage. Five ranks of peer exist in the United Kingdom: in descending order these are duke, marquess, earl, viscount, and baron. The appellation “Lord” is used most often by barons, who are rarely addressed by their formal and legal title of “Baron”.

How long has your character been around the Moulin Rouge?

Although Fitz hasn’t been in Paris for long, he’s managed to spend most of his time and a lot of money within the walls of the Moulin Rouge. The club’s allure and reputation was what lead him there first, the moment he caught word of beautiful things dancing around and women that could be his for a price, he knew it would be somewhere worth dwelling.

How did the fire impact your character?

Fitz was never sad about the fire, or those who lost those lives. Instead he found himself irritated that he’d lost his favourite night spot for six months. He’d had to spend time indulging in other parts of the city, going places where they wouldn’t welcome him just as much like a king as they had in the Moulin Rouge. If anything, the vacancy of the club was a knock to his ever so precious ego.

Biography:

Fitzgerald Charles Bradford was your typical high society boy. Brought up in Kensington, he was tailor fit for the lifestyle the future would bless him with. Of course, like most, it all started with his education. After finishing at Eaton college, Fitz went on to study Politics at The University of Oxford. It was there where he’d fell into just the right group, making friends with other blue-blooded gentlemen and aristocrats that would set him apart from those that would go on to nobility and those that would remain nothing more than rich private school boys. You see, Fitz had always been good at viewing the bigger picture, he knew he had been dealt a strong hand and with his own ambition he was able to navigate the situation in his favour.

After graduation, Fitz had created quite the reputation for himself and stir in the politics world. It was a matter of time before he would join a political party which lead him to be personally nominated by the Marquess of Salisbury for his own chair in The House of Lords. As word spread of the new, young and quite attractive, Lord of Islington, fame and popularity followed in pursuit. The media was crazed by Fitzgerald’s life and the coverage seemed to stay consistent when it was his name in the headlines that was selling the papers to bored housewives and aspiring young politicians. Not only had he gained the power of a Lord, but he’d won the people’s hearts. Fitzgerald Bradford was what some might call an inspiration and a true idol.

Fitz had everyone wrapped around his little finger, he played people like pawns and was selfish with his authority. It was only a matter before he would inevitably slip from his pedestal, it couldn’t have stayed that good forever after all, not with the media watching. Once the press caught word of the scandal, London’s golden boy turned into an abomination overnight. What made it all the more bitter was that Fitz had never seen it coming, being undermined by someone so close. Truth be told, he had been involved with another Lord’s wife for months, their affair was under lock and key and that’s exactly how he thought it would stay. Nothing more than a secret hidden from the public eye. But the Lady had other plans, the second Fitz declined any possibility of supporting her in a divorce and engaging in a marriage to him instead, she’d made the decision to ruin his reputation.

And that was exactly what had happened. The weeks that followed were unbearable, for a while it seemed like the whole of Great Britain was discussing the young Lord’s fall from grace. His profession had turned into a mockery, humiliated by the widespread story and unable to be taken seriously as a politician any longer. With his name completely diminished and pride tarnished, he was not longer treated as a Lord but instead a uncivilised child. Nothing would ever be the same for Fitz again, not in London at least. But that’s where he had found a loophole and did what anyone else would have done it his situation. Fitzgerald ran, he ran to a place he was confident hadn’t caught word of the English media. He ran to Paris.

It was an easy solution, a quick fix that would put him back at the top of the food chain. Fitz had already had another circle in France he could migrate into and owned property in central Paris. That combined with his trust fund meant he was basically set for life. He could forget about London, the scandal, everything, because in Paris he was still a noble. Fitzgerald was allowed to be the man he was born to be again, carrying out his fantasy even if it was built on delusion. Perhaps it was that which lead him to the Moulin Rouge that one fateful night. It was a place that promoted the concept of the dreamer, those walls were draped with luscious lies and facades of every other human that had come into contact with the club. There was nothing you couldn’t become, nothing you couldn’t have and for a Lord that had lost everything it became like a drug to him. Being called out within crowds for his British nobility and treated by the dancers and courtesans like a celebrity. It was a momentary return of power, and he was greedy for the attention he’d persuaded himself that he deserved. Fitz was convinced he had found the antidote to all his problems under one low lit roof, a sanctuary.

But he was never truly relaxed. The moments of ecstasy couldn’t conceal the fact that the man held mystery, a riddle that most were curious to solve. Fitz could never escape the anxiety of the scandal and the pressure the secrecy would weigh upon his shoulders. He had begun building a respectable name for himself as a gentleman in Paris and no one could ever find out that he was a living a lie. No one could ever find out that he was just a disgraced Lord who had ran from his country and his high responsibilities. The things someone could do with that information, what they could make Fitz do to keep it concealed from his new circle. It was only a matter of time, of course, before another Brit came to the Moulin Rouge and spilled his little secret. Fitzgerald was no gentleman, no, he was a creature of the underworld like all the rest of them.

Potential Plot Points:

Ego boosts- With his fall from grace, Fitz has got himself quite the busted ego. Because of this, he’ll always be in search of those who would be willing to praise him. Whether that be genuine, or for a certain price, he wouldn’t care. He’s desperately clinging to the person he once was, all he wants is to be that man again.

Stuck in his old ways- For a while, Fitz will remain in his old habits. Sleeping with any woman that throws a wink his way and caring little for the consequences. Of course, as his insecurities grow and trust diminishes he’ll start to build more of a mysterious facade. He’ll only indulging in those he has the utmost confidence in, in order for the past to never repeat itself.

Secret keeper- Keeping The Double Entendres secret reassures him even more in his power. Not only that, but it’s strangely settling that someone else is also hiding a part of themselves from the crowds and their inner circle. But he won’t be making her any promises, his mind works like politics after all and he isn’t past throwing someone else under the bus, especially if it meant keeping the spotlight away from his own reality.

Fall from grace- Just when it seems like he’s back in the limelight, that he’s regained his status and privileges, it will come out. The scandal that lead him here the first place. Be it the nature of travelling word or another Brit entering the Moulin Rouge, Paris too will know of Fitzgerald’s disgrace. He will learn that he can’t just run from his problems and be forced to confront his demons.

Down to earth- With the truth being out and him not going anywhere, he’ll learn that titles and wealth are not everything that should make a man happy. Fitz will begin to notice those around him from different financial backgrounds and how they shine with fulfilment despite their lack of money or authority. He’ll learn that life is more than numbers and blue-blooded societies and he’ll want to find out what that it.

Become a real gentleman- With his growth as a person who no longer bats an eye at his own or other’s status, his ability to be a true gentleman will also flourish. The way he treats others will develop from seeing them as below him to his piers and genuine friends. He’ll stop feeling so threatened that everyone must treat him as royalty and start seeing relationships from a new perspective.

Possible infatuation or sibling bond- To start caring about someone else more than he cares about himself would be his biggest accomplishment. Be it platonic or romantic, finding someone that he can put their needs before his own and help them in achieving their own goals and dreams will give him a new sense of a pride. Because he’ll have more than just himself to be proud of.

FREESTYLE

Myer-Briggs personality types: ENTP

The ENTP personality type is the ultimate devil’s advocate, thriving on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. Unlike their more determined Judging (J) counterparts, ENTPs don’t do this because they are trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, but for the simple reason that it’s fun. No one loves the process of mental sparring more than ENTPs, as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.

The Alignment System: Chaotic Neutral

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organisations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behaviour is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it.

Star sign: Aries

Strengths: Courageous, determined, confident, enthusiastic, optimistic, honest, passionate

Weaknesses: Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, aggressive

Aries likes: Comfortable clothes, taking on leadership roles, physical challenges, individual sports

Aries dislikes: Inactivity, delays, work that does not use one’s talents

As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Thanks to its ruling planet Mars and the fact it belongs to the element of Fire, Aries is one of the most active zodiac signs. It is in their nature to take action, sometimes before they think about it well.

Archetypes:

48% Royal

When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

26% Rebel

The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across

26% Performer

Taking center stage comes naturally to the Performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience. They are magnetic and know how to inspire.

Traits:

+ Charming: there was no effort or thought put behind it. Fitz was a natural charmer, bewitching most of those around him. Be it his witty temperament or sleek appearance, the man was seamlessly refined. He’d learned quickly that he could get almost anything his heart desired with an enchanting smile and smooth words. It was like an alter-ego, an intoxicating version of himself that he could so easily slip into and enhance at will.

+ Persuasive: He knew the game well, every sentence designed with killer disposition. Fitz was a tactical thinker, strategizing his every move so that the cards would play out in his own favour. He had a talent for making anything sound appealing, it was not just a talent but an art to him. It was all part of politics, without a persuasive tongue, he wouldn’t get far.

+ Adaptable: It was his intellect that had made him good at adapting to any situation. He was never the fish out of the water, floundering simply wasn’t in his vocabulary or an option. In many ways, it made him a chameleon, how easily he could establish himself with such ease.

- Promiscuous: as any young bachelor, loyalty in such a sense was a manner in which he lacked. He was flirtatiously alluring, toying with broken hearts and he generally regards the women he seduces with little more than contempt. A romance wasn’t anything he’d ever been intrigued by. It seemed trivial to him, a gimmick that he solely had never sought to find.

- Ingenuine: Fitz was a liar, a con-artist disguised in pressed suits and designer shoes. He was a riddle that no mundane person was able to crack. He likes it that way, he doesn’t like the thought of being a person that’s easy to read. Fitz doesn’t want to be the guy that you can see what his next move is going to be, he takes pride in his spontaneity, he likes to keep people confused.

#accepted #accepted: the noble #the noble

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247krp · 6 years

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— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Kwon Iseul, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I remember seeing her with The Plastic Committee back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say charismatic and cunning? Apparently now she spends time as a news broadcaster for SBS, and keeps skeletons buried at Geumsang Apartment Complex, A102. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Silver Tongue; we missed you so.

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

When one thinks of Kwon Iseul, their first thought is usually something along the lines of how she was every bit as plastic as the name of her clique made her out to be. She wore different personalities like masks, removing one and replacing it with another with ease in order to get what she wanted, which in most cases, involved uncovering the truth. There was perhaps one person who could say they knew every facet of Iseul’s true self, while everyone else only saw bits and pieces of what she allowed them to see. The girl was the epitome of hypocrisy, to put it simply. But as the head of the school newspaper, there was not anything she wouldn’t do to put out a good issue.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

There is not much different that could be said about Iseul today, except for the fact that she uses a more direct approach when attempting to get what she wants, relying on her own innate charisma to get her places. Still, there are instances where she has to revert to old tactics ( the world of broadcast journalism was very cut-throat indeed, more so than it was in Cheongnam High ). Either way, she was known for her ambition and willingness to do whatever it took to succeed and excel, thus ultimately landing herself a position as a news anchor at sbs. In regards to her personal life, however, she was just as secretive as she was before, if not even more. She keeps people at arms length always, keeping people thinking that they know all there is to know about her when really they know nothing. After all, if her secret was to get out, the scandal would most likely cause the downfall of her career before it would even have a chance to fully begin.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

She is the first of two children, born to a steadily rising politician and a loving housewife. Despite being somewhat disappointed that their firstborn was a daughter instead of a son, they raised her well, grooming her to be the perfect picture of beauty, innocence, and respect. After many failed attempts at a second child, the two parents almost give up– until one final and successful try gives them what they had originally wanted: a son. It doesn’t take long until all their attention focuses to him, leaving a 6 at the time Iseul to her own devices. Not that she wasn’t cared for, but rather they simply were too busy already getting started in grooming the newborn to follow in their father’s footsteps. They would have been happy with Iseul becoming a housewife in the future, just like her mother was. But the young girl had other plans.

She would spend her time doing anything and everything in attempts to impress her parents and to make them proud, from keeping nearly stellar grades her entire academic career to engaging in many extra curricular activities and racking up volunteer hours with many charity organizations. The social skills she had spent learning when growing up assist her the older she gets, and by the time she gets into Cheongnam High, she fits right in and ultimately rises to the top of the social ladder of the school, taking up a position with the clique known as the plastic committee. Upon beginning to work for the school’s paper, the young woman finally discovers what it is she wants to do with her life, and for the first time she finds herself glad that she was not under the watchful eye of her parents, as they were sure to disapprove. Journalism.They hated the media, her father especially. But for once, she didn’t care what they thought, as they hadn’t the majority of her life. The more time she spends with the newspaper club, the happier she finds herself being. Life was good, if she looked passed another major part of herself she was ignoring and pushing down even further, which was her attraction towards women. It’s loosely tied into what makes her decide to betray her so-called best friend, though she would never admit that even now, and especially not back then. By this point, Cheongnam High is just a stepping stone on a long path to her career. In her mind, it was very unlikely that any of the relationships she had there would carry over into her professional life, so she didn’t care about the bridges she was burning on her way out.

Her attitude towards school however, did not change her behavior. Iseul still would do whatever it took to get where she wanted and rise higher and higher, until finally she ended up with a position as a news broadcaster with SBS.

#247: accepted

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violetsystems · 4 years

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#personal

There’s been a lot of encouraging news in the face of absolute disaster lately. None of it really applies to anybody but me. So I have been living that reality to the best of my ability. It hasn’t been without missteps. Things feel even more fucked up than they were in the world let alone life. For me society trends downward when I shut the door. So I’ve been focusing on improving my surroundings. My kitchen has officially become my office. Google announced their employees were working from home until the end of the year. Facebook threw its hands up and said forever. My situation is far more complex but doing my job depends on the internet. I upgraded my router back in April at the first hint of all of this. Slowly I’ve been building up the infrastructure around here to support me being able to do my job. I upgraded my internet and finally got a home phone number linked to a 312 area code. I’ve been relying on package delivery for a good month and a half. The amount of packages I’ve had stolen has dwindled. Yesterday the Stussy drop from Dover Street Market was misdelivered. The day before they wouldn’t drop it off without a signature. I had to flag down the fed ex truck on the corner. I walked them back to the address explaining that I had to be vigilant due to gang activity. That morning when I put out the signature release one of the gang members from the block had talked to me. Mostly in passing about life. I’m pretty sure theirs is rougher than mine. But that’s the upfront and transparent life I live. Having to be up front and center with people at all times nobody what emotions I feel inside. I wore a mask when I approached the fed ex truck. When I walked them back they discovered they had delivered both packages for my address to the neighbor. So I killed two birds with one stone though my neighbor would never know. I woke up Sunday morning to a pigeon completely ripped apart on my porch. I can’t tell if it was the cats or something else. I cleaned it up at eight in the morning regardless. Finally just decided to clean and minimize the porch for the summer. I had a refurbished shark robot vacuum delivered by UPS that same day. They texted my phone and I ran out to grab it. The guy thanked me for being fast. I plugged it in and set up the app on my phone. The splash screen showed a clean, neutral home. Lurking in the background picture was my router. I let the thing run for an hour. It picked up dust I never knew existed. My cat is bewildered and afraid. Much like most of the neighborhood is when my name comes up in conversation. What is he like? What does he do? Is he single? No. No. And no. Do I get things delivered on time? I get them in the end. I ran around the neighborhood in the Nike X Stussy drop after my works hours yesterday. I almost got run over twice. The shirt says increase the peace. I guess I struck a nerve. And yet people have been walking over me for years. The embarrassing part is now everybody sees just how much and in what context. And people are reasonably scared because as calm as I seem if they were in my shoes it would be different. They would break down. They would collapse. My credit score went up a hundred points this week. That’s some encouraging news. Cash positive is a good look. Too bad our president isn’t.

Money seems to be all that is important to people these days. How much you spend. What deals you make and steals you uncover. I try to play that game sometimes. I’ve saved a lot of money over the last few months. Locked down. I’ve improved my health, my cooking skills, my body tone, and my video game performance. I just pieced out the first stage of a new desktop. A mid sized microatx ryzen. The first PC I’ve built in over a decade. My goal is to play wow at the maximum settings on my TV. More so like the phone, I’d just rather have my own computer for home. My watch has organized a lot of my appointments and responsibilities in a low key way. Much how I continue to live my life. Low key. This is not to say I feel trapped between two huge plates of metal. The one grind where I’m not good or important enough to pay attention to in real life. The other grind where people use me as a bait or decoy to trick people. Neither of those cases treat me like a human being. I have been hurt so much by this process that I have transcended to a point where I don’t bother much with society. And yet society still expects so much out of me. I ordered my Jacobin magazines for Mayday. I might sit out on my porch, drink tea and read them by myself. But nobody ever engages me in a way that’s respectful. It’s all trick after trick. Scam after scam. Hushed back talk and shadowed praise. I am fucking invisible. Nobody cares about me. If they do, they aren’t able to show it. And there’s only a few people I love enough to understand that relationship deeply. The rest of the world is empty to me aside from animals and gardening. I should be so much more. And somehow looking back to the last decade I am. It’s just not of value to anyone but me. And I’m not really interested in taking another step backwards to show how genuine and truthful I am. The embarrassing thing is while people gave the most vile people the pass because they were more famous or pretty I suffered. Over and over and over again. To the point where whatever it was people were chasing after seemed meaningless to me. I tried so hard to get back on track. And then I did. And I took a look around and it frightens me. Nobody knows the value of anything beyond money. And I’ve held a job consistently for twenty years. Paid taxes for twenty years. Grown actual competitive job skills for twenty years. Accrued a pension. Travelled the world. Networked all over the map. And I’m still here on tumblr every Saturday. Typing away as a warning. One that nobody really hears other than myself and my friends. Who I think have offered me a place to control my own narrative in the face of lies, bullshit, and selfishness. It all took work. Courage. Callous confrontation. A look in the mirror of what it is I could become. And what it is I am now. I don’t really know. I deserve to know. I deserve to be loved, respected and treated like a valuable human being. I know I am not.

For the record, I’m Tim. I fucking hate politics. I am an adult who has seen more of my time wasted and freedom siphoned. And I also live in America. A place where people tell me to stay indoors and shut the door. A place where if you come knocking with a warrant you better be wearing a mask. A place where I pay it forward enough and keep a high enough profile to avoid awkward conversations like that. And yet space is still encroached on. I am for the record enjoying the territorial markings. I’ve carved out a very special place for myself in the third most populated city in America next to LA and New York. I was thinking about heading to LA for a day sometime. A lot of my friends out there are in the same ecosystem. And yet the internet has kept us all together regardless. Tied and knitted together by the stories, art, fashion and ideals we felt important to share with each other. We are a community in and of itself. The community that I pay forward to and have seen so many great things happen in my life. Free thinking and independent minds linked like block chain when it comes to the latest drops or rare trivia related to science, anime or that little horny fucking skeleton guy you people draw. People are always failing at engaging us. And so we fall back to our dead platform and seeth in our collective anger sometimes. Other times life goes on and we post another picture. I post the same picture every once and awhile to let everybody know how much of a nerd I am. And also how romantic I think I am when everybody tells me I don’t exist and could never connect with anyone. I’m not good enough. Handsome enough. Young enough. Happy enough. For the record, people lie to discourage you. They talk behind your back because they’re afraid of the competition. They’re afraid of having to work as hard as you. Suffer as a horribly as you in silence. They have no plan other than being negative. Playing dirty tricks. Playing people against each other. Using discontent, anger, division against their own people for the sake of consolidating power. I’ve written about it in anguish for years. And people just don’t listen. I do. I act on things creatively. I think on my toes. When the package doesn’t get delivered I don’t sit and wonder why. I go out there and get it. When the test of time is withstood. It’s me sitting there with a faint smile on my face and a knowing look. It’s been a long time. And as long as I’m around you know what consistency looks like. And maybe what forever has the potential to be. Me and you. Not me, you and the rest of society constantly knocking on our door asking for milk and sugar. What will the neighbors think if I don’t answer? That my time is more valuable spent with you. A long time of no regrets. Just forward thinking and self care. And a humidifier in the bedroom. Speaking of clearing the air. <3 Tim

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helenachen · 4 years

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[chloe bennet, female] it looks like [helena chen] was seen at camp halfblood. i know she is a [twenty-two] year old child of [hephaestus]. they’ve been at camp for [four years]. i’ve heard from some that they’re [ +inquisitive and +determined] but there are some rumors that they’re [-impetuous and -reticent]. it’s also known that this demi-god is [not worried] about the increase in monster activity. crumpled up newspapers, ink smudged hands, muffled laughter, && worn leather jackets are some of the things i think of when i hear their name.

[ wanted connections are at the very bottom ]

FIRE TW, DEATH TW, ABUSE TW

— BIOGRAPHY:

HELENA FRANCES CHEN was born and raised in covington, georgia, the third generation of her family. she is the product of a shotgun wedding, her parents getting quickly engaged at the age of eighteen, mostly a show for her maternal grandparents (well-known covington residents who demanded their squeaky reputation be maintained ). they were the picture perfect family of three, attended church every sunday, helena got solid grades, volunteered at every town event. she stayed under the radar for most of her life, known as the product of a HAPPY-EVER-AFTER story between two high school sweethearts. at least, until age fifteen, when a TRAGIC FIRE left her HOMELESS and an ORPHAN. she was sent to live with her godmother across town, but skipped town after only a few weeks. on the streets for nearly a month, helena eventually ended up at camp half blood fulltime.

this is the story of helena chen, the girl who had earned her town’s sympathy. unfortunately, the story is much more grim for those who bothered to read between the lines.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

the truth about her adorable little family ? her mother was a beautiful, kind-hearted woman who dreamed of studying greek history, traveling the world, and coming back to settle down in their perfect little town. on a break with her high school sweetheart, helena’s mother hadn’t expected her one night stand to be a god, and also hadn’t the slightest idea their one weekend of romance had ended in a pregnancy. she’d fallen back into old habits with her ex the next week anyway. her father ( or who helena has always assumed was her father ), although very intelligent and charismatic, was emotionally and verbally abusive their entire relationship and marriage. her mother could never leave the man, always swore he was getting better, even when the abuse became physical. he never laid a hand on helena, but the screams, the shattered glass, all within the walls of their ancient house left her traumatized. she tried for years to convince her mother to run away, even went as far as packing their bags for them when her father left for a business trip once. however, the only thing her mother loved more than them was their family’s legacy in their town.

at age fourteen, a pair of demigods showed up at helena’s doorstep. they explained she was a demigod, and helena nearly choked from laughter. still, she’d wanted to run for so long that she agreed to go with those crazy nuts to ‘ camp half blood ’. after being there a week, and not being claimed, helena returned home to find how fearful and ANGRY her mother and father had been, respectively.

thinking herself quite insane for everything she’d seen at camp, helena admitted to her mother in private where she’d been. she’d never seen her mother’s face light up so much in her life. she begged helena to return and discover the identity of her father, promised to leave if helena’s ‘father’ harmed her again, and that she could return for all the holidays.

although she should have known better than to trust the woman, helena left that summer and gave the camp a second try. she tried everything she could think of, sacrificing as much of her meals as she could to each of the gods. her money was on hermes. maybe he’d just gotten confused since she already lived in his cabin ?? the gods weren’t necessarily the smartest after all…

helena had stayed at camp half blood for a year, and was truly happy there. she’d made plenty of friends, gotten her first boyfriend, learned to duel, and was certain hermes would claim her any day.

that christmas, after telling all her friends goodbye for the holidays, helena returned home to a significant lack of christmas cheer. in the middle of a particularly brutal fight between her parents, helena couldn’t take it anymore. she had thrown herself in front of her mother and screamed ‘ STOP ’. the fight did stop, but only because, in her fury, helena had erupted into flames, the house and everything in it following soon after. the authorities said it was a miracle when they found the young girl all that was left on the property, but helena knew the truth: she was a curse.

they’d placed her with her godparent, a generous woman her mother had known since high school. an innocent that helena had no desire of harming. she went on the run, spending a few weeks on the streets.

she’d been too mortified to return to camp at first, but it was also the only place she could perhaps not hurt anyone, so helena relented. to her horror, a bright fiery hammer glowed above her head as she entered the gates, leaving celebrating campers in her midst. couldn’t they realize this was no better than a brand of her sins ??

helena has never told a soul about what happened, even seven years later. only one or two of her childhood friends even know about her ‘ father’s ’ abusive nature. whenever family (or anything personal for that matter) comes up, helena has suddenly turned the tables, leaving you with a vague answer and asking enthusiastically about your own life.

— PERSONALITY:

helena is generally friendly (though quite snarky and sarcastic), although there are very few people she is close to. she is 100% gryffindor, chaotic good, and investigative journalist is her dream career because she loves to stick her nose in other peoples’ business. she’s much more of a listener than a talker, but also does not know how to say no to an adventure. if you hang around her too long, you’re probably going to end up trespassing, getting shot at, hiding in someone’s closet so you don’t get caught, etc. she’s also a big history nerd, especially in terms of greek mythology, one of her mother’s passions. she wants to go to greece one day so she can see it for her.

— ANYTHING ELSE:

AESTHETIC: leather jackets, crumpled newspapers, crimson, muffled laughter, ash- or ink- covered hands, rebellion, skeletons in a closet, midnight walks, old history books, messy handwriting, irritatingly smug smiles, skinny jeans, chaotic good.

Her Pinterest board is here.

relatable fictional characters: rosa diaz, rogue ?, jessica jones ?

— WANTED CONNECTIONS:

HER PEOPLE - { 1 / 2 } - samantha darling - despite being at camp for nearly a decade, helena is not great at making friends. in fact, there are about two people she would even consider one. she’s not exactly sure how it happened, but whether it’s taco nights, rants about the surrounding idiocy they have to deal with, or falling asleep watching horrible movies for the 20th time, these are her people. OPEN - maybe one of the pair of demigods who originally found lena ?? or her best friend before she went home for the holidays ?? either way, they didn’t give up when lena re-appeared and shut everyone out and helena eventually gave in.

LITTLE BROTHER/SISTER - { 0 / 1 } - probably someone outside of her cabin who helena has come to view as a younger sibling and is extremely protective of. under 21.

EX-BOYFRIEND - { 0 / 1 } - helena had only been fifteen, but he was her first boyfriend and first kiss and they’d dated for half a year. helena never returned at the end of christmas break, and when she did later that winter, she seemed to want nothing to do with him anymore.

FRENEMIES - { 1 / 3 } - catarina harmon - helena is generally snarky to everyone, but especially to these few. the bad part ?? she actually misses days when they aren’t around to tease.

ENEMIES - { 0 / 3 } - maybe a friend helena ghosted in high school when she returned or they just can’t stand her attitude.

OTHER - please hit me up if you have any other ideas too !!

#hbs:intro #). bio #). wanted connections

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archivesofcreation · 4 years

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC WILLING TO LIE TO ADVANCE EVOLUTION

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SCIENCE - IN A FIRST, FOSSIL DINOSAUR FEATHERS FOUND NEAR THE SOUTH POLE Separating fact from fiction in a farcical story! Were fossil dinosaur feathers really found near the South Pole?

Dino-bird evolution frequently causes excitement on social media platforms so my attention was grabbed by a picture of a fully feathered dinosaur with a sensationalist National Geographic headline that read, “In a first, fossil dinosaur feathers found near the South Pole”.1 However, what had actually been found differed so significantly from the headline that words such as overreaching speculation and grandiose story-telling immediately came to mind. In what follows, I have broken down the article’s salient points to highlight the highly misleading nature of National Geographic’s claims.

What was actually found?

Fact – The research team described ten exquisitely preserved 10–30 mm long fossil feathers, found from 1962 onwards over multiple digs in the Koonwarra Fossil Bed, south-eastern Australia.2 The feathers include downy feathers, contour body feathers, a complex juvenile flight feather “like those on the wings of modern birds”, and one that they refer to as a ‘protofeather’. Speculation – They allege that the feathers are 118 million years old, some of which belonged to ground-dwelling carnivorous dinosaurs. Conventionally, this ‘dates’ from the early Cretaceous period when they believe that the landmass of Australia was joined with Antarctica, before drifting north to its current location. This is why they have fossil feathers coming from near the ‘South Pole’ in their article title, rather than Australia, to make the story even more sensational. Although they think Antarctica would not have been as cold as it is today, they speculate that, “feathers may have been important for insulation, allowing small carnivorous dinosaurs to survive the difficult winter months.” “None of the feathers are currently associated with distinct dinosaur or bird bones”—National Geographic.With what type of dinosaur did they find the feathers? – “None of the feathers are currently associated with distinct dinosaur or bird bones. Instead, they were probably lost during molting or preening and drifted on the wind onto the surface of an ancient lake, where they sank to the bottom and were preserved in the fine mud.” What they would like to find in the future? – “To actually find the skeleton of a feathered dinosaur here in Australia would be amazing,” said Dr Stephen Poropat, a paleontologist at Swinburne University, Melbourne. It appears that we can agree on something: amazing it would be! Imposed Ideology – The National Geographic article tries to reinforce the current evolutionary idea that birds evolved from dinosaurs. This is done by use of a spurious picture of a fully-feathered dinosaur (which is simply made up) and the misleading headline. The details in the actual article do not begin to support the idea that dinosaurs evolved into birds, nor even that dinosaurs had feathers (although the creation model does not necessarily rule this out). This kind of blatant propaganda occurs on an all too regular basis; for another example, see: Sorry, how many feathers did you find? The reality is this is simply one more case of paying homage to the altar of naturalistic evolution. Geological context – The research team presented no direct evidence whatsoever that the feathers did not belong to birds. And they must have been rapidly covered in sediment to preserve them. They have been found in a sedimentary rock layer laid down by water in Australia. The fossil bed also contained numerous other animals: freshwater ray-finned fish, lungfish, various insects, arachnids and other terrestrial invertebrates, aquatic insect larvae, hydrophilid beetles, and horseshoe crabs. Plant fossils were found as well: mosses, liverworts, fern-like plants, Ginkgo, and conifers. A better explanation – The reality is that these fossil feathers and their geological context fit much better with biblical history. The fossilised feathers provide yet another example of swiftly-lithified fossils. These, along the range of other creatures and plants mentioned above would have been fossilised during the conditions provided by the Noahic Flood some 4,500 years ago, itself a successive burial of pre-Flood ecosystems. Finding feathers at an alleged 118 million years old adds nothing to the evolutionary story anyway; there are ‘older’ birds with feathers in the fossil record, such as Confuciusornis, an alleged 153 million years old. Genesis 1 clearly teaches that animals were created to reproduce within their own kinds. This is exactly what the fossil record shows, and we observe today. Gondwana Research, 2019.

The 10 feathers described by the research team.

Lessons to learn that should have been learnt

Social media is used to share news stories quickly and widely. In doing so, organisations often use unique punchy headlines to get people’s attention, hoping that they visit their websites, and read their material. Creation Ministries International also use social media (why not give us a like if you have not already?). However, we are very careful to ensure that our article headlines images and captionsare factually accurate and not misleading. Unfortunately, organisations that zealously promote big-picture evolution, such as National Geographic in this bold and fanciful instance, frequently do not take the same care when titling their articles or matching the content to real facts and verifiable history. This is not the first time that National Geographic has blatantly promoted the false idea of dinosaur to bird evolution.This is not the first time that National Geographic has blatantly promoted the false idea of dinosaur to bird evolution. After the notable Archaeoraptor hoax scandal, a phony dino-feathered fossil that they published and promoted, but then had to recant, one might hope they had learnt their lesson. Leading paleornithologist Alan Feduccia was scathing in denouncing the debacle over Archaeoraptor: In his open letter to Peter Raven, Storrs Olson asserted that National Geographic had “reached an all-time low for engaging in sensationalistic, unsubstantiated, tabloid journalism,” and “The idea of feathered dinosaurs . . . is being actively promulgated by a cadre of zealous scientists acting in concert with certain editors at Nature and National Geographic who themselves have become outspoken and highly biased proselytizers of the faith.” Although the scandal was resolved through the self-corrective process of science, it is worth noting that it would not have occurred had a more critical attitude toward dinosaurs and the origin of birds prevailed in the scientific and popular literature. In illustrating the degeneration of scientific discourse with respect to this issue, Olson’s letter clearly illustrated that the highly respected magazine National Geographic and a major scientific journal, Nature, were incapable or unwilling to consider critically the question of the origin of birds.3 Jonathan Chen, Wikipedia.org

The fraudulent archaeoraptor fossil Christians should always adhere to a higher standard of truth, being careful in the information they present to others. In the National Geographic article the intention of the headline is clear, as well as the implications: another ‘helpful’ example of evolution has now been discovered, which adds to the enormous body of evidence that evolution is a fact. Yet many readers likely never clicked on the story, and actually read the details, so this is the message that they would have taken away. However, had they read carefully, with an inquisitive mind, then they should have been left with a very different understanding altogether. In view of the unwarranted imagination promoted to an unsuspecting public as fact (compared to the factual data about these fossil feathers), the whole story is farcical. Our prayer at CMI is that people will come to embrace the alternative and true understanding of the world around them: Humanity was created in the image of God (the day after the birds, and on the same day as dinosaurs; Genesis 1:20–31), but we are separated from Him due to our fallen nature (Romans 3:23). This, we have inherited from Adam, and our own personal sin further condemns us (Romans 5:12; 1 John 1:8, 10). This is bad news: each of us is totally helpless because we cannot make up for our sin towards God (Romans 6:23; Hebrews 9:27). But God, being gracious, sent His son Jesus to live a perfect life, to shed his blood on the cross in payment for sin, and that all those who repent and believe on Him can be saved: This is good news to all people. Amen! ORIGINAL ARTICLE FROM CREATION.COM Read the full article

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