he is that of god status

flickr

How many Angels can you fit on a pin by Tony
Via Flickr:
Angel Michael sits fully on the top of the spire at Mont Sant-Michel abbey. Angel Gabriel has diffrent personas dependent on the religious tradition you believe in. For most Christians he is the leader of God’s army against evil and is often poetraid slaying Evil in the form of a dragon. For some he is the heavenly personification of either Adam or Jesus in heaven. In Islam Michael is depicted as the giver of mercy and sends rain to earth.

About

The Hollow Knight.

Created or born of God and Void by the Pale King and chosen to be the vessel that containg the Infection.

He is fast, agile and a formidable warrior. Curious, intelligent and observant. But with an unnoticed flaw…

Early years:

He spent most of his time training and preparing for his duty, next to the Pale King. Sometimes, travel Hollownest.

Adult stage:

Being an unbeatable warrior, with his training completed and next to seal the infection. After his sacrifice, statues were erected for him and the dreamers.

After the Infection:

Surviving miraculously the last battle against infection, his body is twisted and his mind is not the same. 

With his severely damaged chest and the loss of an arm, he still has the ability and strength to fight. Extremely weak when awakening from the sleep of the infection, little by little he recovered his  strength and managed to straighten his back again.

Friendly reminder that this is for the RP and is not totally canon.

House on the Rock Day

Soooo many pictures. Too many for the Twitters, so I’m dusting off the ol’ Tumblr.

In anticipation of next season’s American Gods, my girlfriend and I visited the House on the Rock. It’s a little hard to explain, but here’s the short version: an architect/engineer climbed up a rock and built Frank Lloyd Wright’s worst nightmare. It struck Neil Gaiman so deeply he included it as a critical location in American Gods, and it’ll be featured in season 2 of the Starz series.

So we went. Behold.

This was what greeted us when we pulled up: a ¾ full parking lot, and a big one at that. I was a little surprised; Gaiman’s descriptions of the place gave me a seedier, hole-in-the-wall vibe, but this looked like some mid-level theme park entrance. Hmm. 

We started the tour and ventured around … and I was starting to think we came to the wrong place. Sure, the statue in front was kind of iffy, and some of the rooms looked a little retro, maybe gauche … but not the mindfuck I had anticipated.

Then … then we came to the Infinity Room.

… um. Okay. Hey, there’s a glass floor at the midway point, what’s under ther–

What are those, bushes? Wait … treetops?

HOLY FUCK YOU BATMAN IT’S AN UNSUPPORTED ROOM HANGING OUT OVER A FUCKING CLIFF YOU GO JUMP UP AN ASSHOLE

(It also creaks and sways. I thought it was just an old house, not a FUCK YOU CLIFF OF DOOM.)

Once back on solid ground, we found a door.

After that, shit got … weird.

I call this the Impractical Rejected Weapons from Fallout 3 collection.

Including a literal HAND CANNON. What the what?

Um.

This is getting unsettling.

The pooping dog piggy bank’s eyes won’t stop following me.

Ooohhhkay … hey, look!  Another one of them doors!

I wonder what’s behind this–

… well, I would have never guessed “replica American Main Street inside a house.” You win this round.

“I wish I was BIG.”

And because why the hell not, he’s a goddamned carnival pipe organ.

Then we came to this sign.

What? Bullshit. Bullshit you have a whale in this house. I will *shit myself* if you have a whale in th–

OH FUCK YOU MATE.

NO FUCK YOU THAT IS A THREE STORY TALL WHALE.

THAT IS A THREE STORY TALL WHALE FIGHTING A GIANT SQUID IN YOUR HOUSE YOU HAVE TOO MANY DRUGS

YOU PUT A FUCKING MOTORBOAT IN ITS MOUTH WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU

THIS DUDE GETS IT.

“I have seen some shit.”

And after the whale was just menagerie after menagerie of random audacious bullshit.

“Hello, I’ll be waiting in your closet tonight.”

“YOUR SILENCE GIVES CONSENT.”

Okay, this made me smile.

Fun fact: Burma Shave ads were the precursor to WTFIWWY.

Wait, where is that noise coming fro–

Oh yeah! There’s a HUGE assortment of these weird mechanical music machines assembled from real instruments, electronics, pneumatics, and madness.


But it doesn’t stop there.

Then we stumbled on the “Abominations in the Sight of God” section.

And at the very end … this. If you’ve read American Gods, you know *exactly* what this is. If you’re only watching the show, consider this spoilers for season 2.


Then we went outside, and there was a kitty.

I petted the kitty.

The end.

Bonus: Here is a machine that perfectly replicates the sound of Steve Martin falling down a flight of stairs.

My reason of how I cannot draw Mark fuckin’ Fischbach’s facial Region.

I cannot draw guys for shit, no matter how damn hard I fuckin’ try. This guy’s got the face of what many would depict as a greek god, or like a roman statue. He’s got a very defined facehole, with a jaw that could cut the string of life like in Hercules. He has a chiseled jaw that could decapitate a stone statue’s head, and it’s just… 

SO FUCKING HARD

@markiplier HOW DO YOU LIVE WITH A FACE THAT WAS CHISELED BY THE LORDS OF THE COSMOS

HOW DOES YOUR FACEHOLE DEFINE JUSTICE

HOW IS IT SO… DEFINED

WHAT IS YOUR FECKIN’ SECRETS

I NEED TO KNOW

FOR 18 YEARS, I’VE BEEN SHEDDING BLOOD, SWEAT, SOUL FLAKES, AND TEARS TO MAKE MY ART NOT JUST DETAILED TO THE T, BUT TO MAKE IT ABSOLUTELY PERFECT

YOUR FACEHOLE FRUSTRATES ME, MARK

THE ONLY THING KEEPING ME TO YOUR CHANNEL IS DICK JOKES AND MEMES

THIS IS HOW FAR I COME

TO BE BESTED YET PLEASED BY A MAN OF DIFFICULT FACIAL REGION GEOGRAPHY AND FEATURES

I’M GOING BACK TO DRAWING HOOTTUBES SHITTING STARS NOW

dude, i cant get over the image of merle highchurch, deadbeat dad & insecure burn-out cleric, vanishing in a beam of light as his congregation sang a hymn in perfect, beautiful harmony. and right after that the church must’ve walked outside and seen that the hunger disappeared with him, that they were saved

like… dude came down from the sky, protected his followers from the end of the world, then disappeared, taking with him the beast that swallows galaxies. there is no way he didn’t become some sort of saint or demi-god to those people. he’s mushroom jesus now. if they ever go back to that planet there’s gonna be statues of merle all over and he’ll be INSUFFERABLY SMUG about it

what if medusa was a real woman. i mean: what if the woman with snakes in her hair was once a tiny girl with beautiful braids in her black hair.

what if the stories came from her smooth hands. when she was six she could make pottery that looked like flowers blooming in your palms. could carefully create replicas of any plant she saw.

and medusa was smart. ran from home, tucked up her hair so it looked short, made herself into a little boy. besides, they liked pretty boys. medusa at school with top grades, sending her unknowable stares at the other men. because the whole time she’s learning the planes of their faces, the way they look while they’re thinking, the slight twist of their hand that meant they were lying. 

medusa going home to sketch every little figure. comes to school in the morning with her hands caked in pottery clay. medusa learns. scrubs dirt on her face to mimic their planes. tilts her head the right way when she’s thinking. doesn’t twist her hand when she’s lying.

in her back yard, a little garden grows. statues of ceramic boys only three feet tall. at first, she can’t quite get the faces right. men are not the same as plants. there is something weird about the proportions she uses. medusa frowns.

she starts making animals instead for a bit, annoyed and disheartened. she’d always just been naturally good at it, and the fact she couldn’t just make something felt as if she’d lost her gift.

she makes cats and dogs and her neighbor’s birds and keeps going.

the snake wasn’t her favorite. he just wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up and let him sleep on her in the cold nights. besides, he was a small garden snake, couldn’t even bite her hard, just wanted a place of warmth. she let him rest on the angles of her shoulders, right near her neck, even if he sometimes forgot and held her too hard. that was okay. when she was little, she forgot too, sometimes, and shattered the slim walls of her pottery. the snake had a lot of growing up to do.

she loved no one. not because she was cold-hearted. just because it wasn’t something she wanted. she was busy with her artwork.

she chose an apprenticeship under a master craftsman. his sculptures made her breath stop. she was careful in the workshop, kept her things simple, kept her mouth shut. he called her stupid often. she would duck her head. sometimes she would make mistakes on purpose. all the while he only made sculptures of men. said there was no beauty in women. often made savage remarks about those they saw in the market.

and all the while, she watched him. she watched him and she went home and sketched. this is how his hands were when he made a vine. this is how they were when shaping a nose.

and her back yard garden would grow. little boys became her master, over and over and over, until she could get his jaw right. ceramic became sculpture.

he was who took her to athena’s temple. who shouted at her about how beautiful the statues were against her own. every week he’d come back and shame her. asked how the women there were smarter than the man she was supposed to be. medusa ducked her head and grit her teeth.

in her back yard, she made them. she made every god and goddess she’d seen in the city. her favorite was athena. she ached over her features. had spent so long in the world of men, was blinded by the beauty of women.

it was a black night. and medusa thought her master had left the temple before her. she loosened all the bindings that kept her from breathing. took her hair out. worshiped in peace. placed on athena’s alter a small and beautiful thing. the goddess, head tilted, thinking.

when he found medusa, what made him angry was not her small frame. it was the statute. a delicate thing. much better than the ones he had ever made.

he took it and snapped it in half. threw it deep in the temple’s well to rot. pulled her by her hair. demanded to know where it had come from.

medusa, angry, tired of hiding, tired of late nights and being a boy and pretending: medusa, athena-mad, spat on him. “I did it,” her voice is strong and full of hatred, “A woman made something better than a man could.”

He meant to kill her. To bash her head into the temple steps, claim it was an accident - or better yet, the spite of a god made flesh.

when he grabs her hair, the goddess bites back. athena, patron of creators, patron of the arts, patron of girls and those who are smart - she turns medusa’s hair into snakes. 

it is a quick little thing, darts out and draws blood, almost falls from her hair as a result. she catches the creature and runs, runs until she feels numb.

and what if - while her master is making up a story about poseidon and athena’s rage, explaining medusa’s back yard full of frozen men as being evidence of her evilness - what if medusa finds friends in blind women. and they teach her how to feel what she is seeing. how to use her hands with her eyes closed to make maps of whatever she holds. she starts with plants again. her snake is big now, and has babies. she moves on to their little wiggling forms, amused when they make tiny rings around her fingers. she does not live in a cave. she dresses as a man again, goes to market, sells her roses and vines and beautiful (simple) things. buys herself and the women a nice house out beyond all the noise of it. fills their garden with frozen men.

when the men come to kill her - because now her name is known, it is whispered, sticks in the throat - they don’t find her. they find a tall man who tells them: look in the mountains. when they don’t come back, it’s no fault of medusa’s. frankly, she thinks they should have brought more supplies than their swords into the deep woods. she’s not cruel. when they leave, she makes a statue of them, as her version of a memorial.

but one man is not like the others. he finds her with her hair down, humming, dancing around a marble stone. her snakes are warming in the sun.

medusa? he asks her. it’s a name she hasn’t heard in a long while.

she is tired of being hunted. she just wants to make art. she waits for the sword point. but he hesitates. looks at her full in her face.

strikes a bargain. if she makes him a head for his shield, he will tell the others that she is good and dead. and he will sell her art to better patrons when he could - although he suggests at least hiding the signature she has with maybe a little less snake-like scrawl - he would make her name known.

but medusa knows men. knows they will chomp down on a horror story faster than that of the artist. she is already permanent. she says: no, here’s what happens.

after many months, he has his shield. she wouldn’t let him leave with the first nine hundred versions, always found something wrong with them. he grows fond of her in this time, agrees to her terms. even he can’t really look at the shield head-on. she has captured a scream, a rage, too much. it is so utterly human and at once not that it makes his skin crawl.

where medusa’s blood drops, serpents sprawl. or at least, that’s the code she uses. when he finds little girls who can make art, he sends them to her. 

medusa does not expect to be known for the school that she starts. she is a women artist in a time of men, and her name is already dead to them. but i know medusa. i know her. she is known for her work.

after all, who can speak about medusa without mentioning how she froze the world?

That's kinky

Context: There is a very large skeletal statue, that appears to come to life after stealing lifesource from other living beings. As our overly charismatic bard, I want to hug it.

Drow (me): I’m gonna run up and leap to hug it

Dragonborn: please dont, I’m gonna grab him before he does that.

DM: ok, roll to see if you catch him

(I get a roll slightly lower)

DM: ok you catch him by the hair and he does not get to hug the statue

Drow: so she grabbed my hair?

DM: what

Drow: you said she grabbed me by the hair?

DM: yeah.

Drow: I moan.

Everyone in the call: OH MY GOD

how to write like cassandra clare 101

Jace looked handsome as ever; his slender muscular body stood tall and rigid, impossibly strong and ablaze with power even after hours of fighting. The gold in his eyes was fogged over with a layer of concern, the sharp intelligence behind them ever so slightly touched by emotion. He looked like a statue carved by the gods, all gold and power and perfection. The tall gay was next to him. 

so. SO. @ankkalinna went ahead and sent me a comic i’ve been looking for ever since i made this blog despite me never even telling her that i was looking for it because she just transcended the limits of human communication and directly tuned into my brainwaves i guess.

HOO HOO HOOOOO

it’s the one where magica casts a spell to get the “most important thing to scrooge” and what do you think it is. who do you think it is. it’s not the dime. this post is hard to make because i’m still giddy but it’s donald, of course it’s donald, what else could it be.

and i knew this existed somewhere out there? but i didn’t know the specifics. and i didn’t know that magica, scrooge and donald are all IN THE SAME PLACE AS THIS HAPPENS. PLEASE LOOK AT THE PROCESS OF REALISATION.

this is the only blessed smug donald in existence. all others? highly cursed. this one? reverberating with all the positive energies in the universe.

and of course scrooge just fucking, has none of it. this quality tsundere content. spell must have misfired, day saved, show over, everybody go home and definitely don’t talk to me thanks.

and i think the ending implies that nothing outwardly changes, donald just kind of holds that knowledge in his heart and has a much easier time working and caring for scrooge, then, which, of course, status quo is god, and it’s still super good and sweet, but i also kind of wish he’d get to express the critical levels of smugness he must have reached here. 

like i wish he’d never let scrooge hear the end of it. just walks into the bin like fear no more the most important person in your life has arrived. just pulls up to the drive-through like uuhhh a chicken sandwich for my emotionally constipated uncle and a cheeseburger for me, the thing he fears losing most in the world, and maybe a banana milkshake

(the only drawback is that these scans are in finnish, which i speak eight words of, but i swear to god i will find this in german and scanlate it someday. if i’ve ever been meant for anything, it is this)

Viral

Summary: The Ladyblog catches a private moment and Marinette is furious.

This story can also be found on FF.net and AO3.

The video was uploaded sometime after midnight early Saturday morning.  

As was usually the case after an akuma attack, Alya Cesaire had been running on a caffeine rush and adrenaline high that made sleep impossible.  The dedicated blogger would not see the back of her eyes until her copy was written, her files rendered, and her newest masterpiece was live for the entire world to see.

Or at least the majority of Paris.  She was young yet.

Fortunately for the aspiring journalist, the Ladyblog’s wide and devoted readership ensured that the hits would rack up quickly regardless of the time of posting.

What no one could have anticipated, however, was just how quickly.

It started with the local news.

Nadja Chamack’s bright-eyed good morning Paris grin punctuated the more somber news of floods, akumas, and politics with the light-hearted clip.  The segment usually reserved for heartwarming fluff pieces about eye-seeing dogs and neighborhood bake sales was instead taken over by the city’s most reliable ratings machine.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were television gold.

From there the clip hit the major news networks and was being broadcast to the whole of France. Then came the talk shows, the copycat blogs, the online articles, Buzzfeed, and more.  When the video hit the front page of Reddit there was no stopping the infection.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, less than three days after the akuma attack and the video going live, Chat Noir had become the laughing stock of Paris, the Internet, and the world.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely furious.

Keep reading

♡ The Signs As Lovers Of Greek Myth: Poetry ♡

ARIESAphrodite, The Goddess Of Love & Ares, The God Of War: 

“I am made of war and she is made of love but what makes war, if not love?”

TAURUS: Orpheus, The Musician & Eurydice, The Oak Nymph:

“She was everything. A world with hope, a taste of the divine. My home was empty, she was gone, forever. But I would find her in all things, in hooded sun, in the name-whispering breeze scented with her perfume, in the dreamless darkness in which she walked.”

GEMINI: Echo, The Nymph Of Mountains & Narcissus, The Thespian Hunter:

“Shall the water not remember, my hand’s slow gesture, tracing above its mirror my, half-imaginary portrait? My only belonging is my beauty, which I take away and then return as love.”

CANCER: Selene, The Titan Moon Goddess & Endymion, The Shepard Prince:

“She was beautiful beyond men’s prayers for beauty, and she drew her silvery flesh out of the starlit air and her cold sweetness from the midnight dew. Virginal was she, loveliest, austere with visible purity. A godlike love swathed her soft shape in plumes of snow-white flame”

LEO: Helen Of Troy & Paris, The Trojan Prince:

“He looked at her as if she were the sun. One look like that can ruin or rescue, depending on which fairy tales you read, and she had read them all. Eyes like those could never lie, she thought, so when he looked at her, she saw all the devastation he would cause in her name, and all the inevitability of their demise, and all the women who chose peace over passion. To hell with peace. I want a lover like a hurricane or a lightning strike. Love should leave no survivors. So you will be my Paris, and I will be your ship to wreck.”

VIRGO: Odysseus, King Of Ithaca & Penelope, The Faithful Wife:

“Long as the day in the summer time, Deep as the wine dark sea, I’ll keep your heart with mine. Till you come to me.”

LIBRA: Pygmalion, The Sculptor & Galatea, The Statue:

“He slid his arm around the coolness of disdain, felt the distance of an Arctic plain, Rested his hand Upon an alabaster thigh, Saw eternal haughtiness in stony eyes. Human heart has he; She heart of stone - To tempt a man to be so close, but always so alone.”

SCORPIO: Eros, The God Of Love & Psyche, The Goddess Of The Soul:

“He would pluck the feathers from his shoulders, Set flames upon his bow, Drain celestial blood from his veins and become her equal, If that is what it took to deserve her; To share that grin one last time. Curse the gods, If he could only worship the light upon the pores of her skin.”

SAGITTARIUS: Perseus, Son Of Zeus & Andromeda, Princess Of Aethiopia:

“Who decided to call these chains? who said i was forced into who holds me? the rock i sit on is a throne of my choosing; the monster i’m to meet is a friend remembered; Perseus, i choose the water. Perseus, i choose salvation. Because at least this, i can say; the waves have never silenced me the way you always have”

CAPRICORN: Hades, God Of The Underworld & Persephone, Goddess Of Spring:

“He crept into her heart, seeking to devour her, but he was the one consumed”

AQUARIUS: Pyramus, The Handsome Youth & Thisbe, The Beautiful Maiden:

“My Sunset had been darkly beautiful, Asplash with deep reds and purple, crowned in gold. Oh that I had been Pyramus and she Thisbe. Star-crossed and Tragic, A love made eternal by mutual deaths”

PISCES: Leander, The Mortal & Hero, The Virgin Priestess:

“Love is not full of pity, as men say, But deaf and cruel where he means to prey. And now she wished this night were never done, And sighed to think upon th'approaching sun; For much it grieved her that the bright day-light Should know the pleasure of this blessed night, And them, like Mars and Ericyne, display, Both in each other’s arms chained as they lay.”

Things Bruce has definitely said to his boys Part 2

“It is not okay to use sign language to make fun of the waitress. Uh-huh, I’m looking at all of you.”

“Jason don’t- no- please no! …you just had to stuff the entire egg in your mouth and get it stuck!”

“Can you not give the finger to the paparazzi. They already hate us after Jason went and tackled one when they went and threw a banana peal at him. …. no, I’m not joking. Type Bruce Wayne’s Child Assaults Innocent Photographer into your phone. Just shameful!”

“‘I was high-fiving his face’ is not an excuse for slapping your brother.”

“NO! You don’t get a treat for doing your share of the gardening!”

“Stop calling your brother a hoe.”

“Why is there a cut out of Nicki Minaj in the den?”

“Stop playing with your chicken drumsticks, you’re making a mess.”

“Dick, why is Tim and Damian covered in sharpie? …oh they were having a marker fight …was this after the banquet, where both of them were still wearing $4,000 suits? … yes? Well, isn’t that just lovely.”

“And you let Damian take the Ferrari off the estate?! …you only went to Walmart! Do you know what kinda shit goes down at Walmart? I fought a man in a Walmart parking lot yesterday! You don’t take a car like that there!”

“What is brows on fleek? You say this is what Damian has?”

“You bought 500 hundred burritos from Taco Bell? Oh god, those poor workers.”

“For fucks sake Tim, you don’t need a coffee machine in every room of the manor.”

“No, I will not dab with you.”

“Who put the the head of the front statue in the butt of the horse hedge out back? God, I’ll just check the security cameras. They will decide who gets to run twenty miles.”

“The floor is sticky. Why is the floor sticky? WHO PARTICIPATED IN A PANCAKE EATING CONTEST AGAIN!!!”

“Why are toilets white and not neon orange? I don’t know. Google it.”

“Why can’t you be a good kid like Duke? He doesn’t leave milk in his room to rot.”

“You bought a one-hundred pumpkins to line the drive way just to prove you had more autumn spirit than Jason?  I’m surprised I’m not surprised at this.”

“How, even being drunk, would you think setting off fireworks in the microwave be a good idea?”

“Put the cat down, it isn’t yours. …don’t you dare pick it back up when I turn around.”

“Why is there a glowing strippers pole in the batcave?”

“This is the fifth phone you’ve shattered in the last month. Stop bringing it on patrol, that’s why we have coms.”

“Stop prank calling Pizza Hut. You’re going to make the employees go crazy like you’ve made me!”

“Why is there noodles all over the kitchen floor? …a ritual to honour the noodle god? Wow, the excuses just get better and better every day.”

“My secretary said you called her, apparently trying to hit on her. …oh, you were dared?  Who dared you? …Jason!” *growls* “When is it not Jason.”

“Instead of doing your work, you spent five hours playing candy crush?  Get, get, go for a run.  The last thing I want is to be on of those parents with a two hundred pound child, cause that’s where you’re headed.“

Part 1 [here]

Y’all.

This morning Trump tweeted some shit about how NASCAR knows how to respect the flag, which I’m not going to dig out because fuck that

Not half an hour later, NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt, Jr. tweets this:

All Americans R granted rights 2 peaceful protests Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable-JFK

Holy shit.

So in case you don’t know, Dale Earnhardt, Sr. was also a NASCAR driver with a huge fan base who was killed in an accident in 2001. He was elevated to god-king status immediately – there’s still commemorative plates and shit, it’s serious – and his son was invested with all his mythos. 

“Junior” is NASCAR Jesus, is what I’m saying. And NASCAR Jesus just said the NFL protests are a civil right and repressing them will bring on the revolution.

I would give so much to know how his racist fans are reacting right now. Holy cow.

Protected | R.M.

Summary: Reggie Mantle grew up protecting what he loved.


I miss you.

You received the text on the first day of school, the instant your baby pink ballet flats maneuvered within the halls of Riverdale High, which were marginally filled with mayhem from everyone’s first day jitters.

Well, not everyone. You, despite your extra pretty face, extra shiny curls, and extra preppy outfit, wore a heavy façade that drooped lower than the Maybelline Fit Me-concealed eye-bags that were situated below your unexplained, cheery eyes that tried to greet everyone with much positivity as possible. As everyone knew your perfect reputation, the happy-go-lucky cheerleader that everyone admired and loved since the day you entered high school. It was never tarnished, so you refused to let a silly break-up move it at all.

You took out your phone and shakily gazed down at the message. It was sent in clear, with no emoji’s or silly grammatical errors. Your nervous fingers moved for you, but your brain was being silly that day and it had no planned response for the text message.

A wave of students accidentally crossed and one of them partially collided against your hardly five feet tall physique, which was a thankful jolt that rattled you off from replying to the text message. You squeezed the iPhone tightly, bearing no mind of the glittery fake diamonds from the phone case bearing harsh indentions against your palm.

The moment you were able to fix your locker and lock it behind you, you immediately set off to find a seat in the gym—hoping that an early departure from the first day madness would create a false sense of comfort from your inevitable fate, which was meeting your ex-boyfriend again subsequently after a summer of trying to forget all about him.


Everyone had always said that you were perfect for Reginald Mantle.

You were a girl blessed with your father’s dominant sloped nose and your mother’s graceful and tiny, ballerina body. Being the only child meant being under the revolving gaze of your mother and father’s watchful eyes twenty-four/seven, and you grew up to be accordingly limpid; yet, at the same time pretentious for you were the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Riverdale.

Reggie was a boy meant for you even before you knew what he was supposed to be. He was a constant person in your life, a fixture caused by your parents and his parents’ meddling. Though, despite your unending play times together and a hired tutor that taught you and him up until you were in middle school, Reggie and you grew up in different paths, in different aspects.

You and Reggie were in the opposite sides of the spectrum. Nevertheless, you were inexplicably drawn to him. He was exactly the same as you, but as the same time, so, so different.

He was difficult to figure out. He had pushed children off swing sets and had hogged all the toy cars to himself as he disliked sharing. You hated the smirk on his face when he teased his inferiors, and still you loved him when he kissed you goodnight. He’d hold you in the softest way possible, muscled arms entrapped around you with touch as light as a feather, and similarly he’d used the same arms dangerously with heated intent at someone else.

You never got why people often told you that he was perfect for you. He was, in your point of view, a mixture of positives and negatives. He was your opposite.

The thing about opposites was that when a unity occurred, it would be a co-existent dependency that held itself with tension.

You loved him more than he loved himself. That was probably the reason why the balance wasn’t right and he pushed himself off, leaving you in the dust.


“Are you alright?” Surprisingly, Cheryl Blossom would be the first person to question you that today. The said Blossom stood above you, her red curls down the right side of her chest, a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow. You tried to hide the flinch that came with Cheryl’s edged tone, but she assumingly noticed it since she took it herself to sit next to you on that noisy lunch table.

“Talk to me,” she demanded. “I don’t want anyone on my squad to be sadder than my supposed star quality. You cannot rain on my parade on this week’s performance.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered as you picked on your salad.

“[y/n], a stupid boy doesn’t have the right to state your mood status.” She hissed. “There are 7 billion people in the world. God knows how much boys will there be after your life post-Reggie Man—“

“Damn, Cheryl,” You stood up. “I said I’m fine!”

Your words were a little too loud, and laced with anger. The whole open-lawn cafeteria went into a full pregnant pause from your little burst and your eyes betrayed you as it went to a familiar face that you couldn’t just let go off. His smirking, never ceasing, hardly-caring face wavered slightly as he looked your way, as everyone had. He looked down once before pushing his left foot off benched on the seat and faced in the opposite direction, going back into a conversation with Chuck Clayton.

You couldn’t care less what that meant and you sped off from your table, grabbing your cellphone with you. Opening the text message up on your interface, your quivering fingers typed out a reply before hitting send.


“I thought you said I couldn’t see you again,” the tall and handsome boy chuckled as he sat coolly on the stools that they had in Pop’s. His tousled, brown waves would shine into a blondish side under the neon lights of Pop’s infamous signs, and his pretty blue eyes would turn your messy head into a complete haze of white noise. “I missed you,” Jackson voiced out, echoing what he had recently texted you that morning.

It was seven in the evening, and mostly everyone had this night tacked to watch the last screening due for the closing Midnight Drive-In. You had thought to go but you knew that it would simply be another place that would haunt you again with memories that happened in the arms of a familiar stranger.

“I couldn’t resist,” you whispered zealously, biting your lip, then striding towards him until both of your faces had no space with each other. He kissed back passionately, and you followed along in accord, ignoring the way your heart bleated in a monotonous fashion, like it was a routine you followed every morning. Fingers tracing down his rugged, jean jacket, you stopped as it went to a tracing on his arm. A tattoo of a dangerous serpent.

“Watch it,” he pushed himself off you and went to slip down his sleeves. “Any good ‘ole folk wouldn’t wanna see that snake on a young thing’s skin.”

“A young thing, huh?” You titled your head, letting him caress your cheek. It made you feel like being touched by an intruder. You held your tongue from stating that out loud. “I heard that your buddies are over at the drive-in tonight.”

“—yeah,” the handsome, rugged boy agreed, holding your hand like a whisper. “But you’re much better than any movie, let’s agree. Pretty and innocent [y/n][y/l/n].”

“If my father saw you with me,” you told him with a trace of a smile hinting on your lips while leading the boy down to a booth. “He would freak,” you ended with a pendulous but crude smirk, as the feeling of going behind your parents’ back often created a brilliant feeling of teenage rebellion.

However, the light that would go unperturbed that night beneath the luminescence of you with the boy from the Serpents would go back unlit as a sudden burst of unexpected customers walked in the empty Pop’s.

It was a famous group of blue and yellow hues, the king, the boy in between the boisterous and rowdy laughs, and you couldn’t help but shake as his eyes immediately turned toward the serpent and your contumacious self.

“[y/n]?” Reggie Mantle took it upon himself to breeze through the rows of booths with a face of disbelief, his voice rising. And as you expected, anger rising as his comical face slowly slipped to stone cold when his eyes landed on the lingering fingers of the serpent teenager on your arm. “Who the hell is he?”  

“Fuck off, Reggie,” you glared, bringing yourself to whisper to your current partner beside you, “Ignore him.” You tried your best to act a casual as possible, though the sudden racing of your heart that went with the way your ex-boyfriend stared at you in a mix of hardening confusion and indignation.

The other football players were left in a fit of widening eyes as Reggie, in impulsion, went and grabbed your arm in fury, “I’m taking you home.”

And it was a laughable scene, provided that you have been in witness in a circumstance like this before; on the contrary, you were always behind him before, supporting him like a good girlfriend. Until now.

Reggie showed the chaos within him through the bones between his knuckles—several scars made proof of that. Now, you were his enemy, the one that caused the fire beneath his eyes. The booths made a guarded ring.

“What the hell, man—“ The serpent boy scoffed before Reggie snapped and gripped and landed a good punch with no regret on the other boy’s face. That started a full-blown fight, which lead pandemonium where Moose, Chuck, and several others hurriedly tried to pull the Asian off the other boy. Reggie’s blows were pernicious, and over the yells of the football team trying to stop the fight, the only thing you could do was watch everything in horror.


“—fighting on public property, what on earth caused you to do that?!” And Mrs. Mantle let out a startled shriek and tried to shield her son as Mr. Mantle gave a tumultuous slap on Reggie’s already bruising face. You gripped your jacket, feeling the cotton and thinking of it as abrasive as hooves, guilt going off you in waves as the only thing you could do was watch the aftermath unfold in the Mantle estate, where you had been protectively ushered off to with your parents and Sheriff Keller due to Pop’s emergency dial.

“This is getting out of hand,” Reggie’s father continued, a harsher than stern look on his purple face. Yanking back his hand, his gaze shot to you, which you couldn’t bear to hold longer than a second. “This boy has been nothing but trouble this year—I swear, this was the last straw, Reginald. I need to ship him to board—“

“It was my fault,” you found your voice, hurried and not gentle at all—willing to cross out the guilt killing your tightening chest. Your parents’ tension-heavy faces whipped their heads to you, their protected daughter that could hardly do no wrong in this world. “I came there with Jackson—“

“No, I fought him, she had nothing to do with th—“ Reggie hastily claimed, harsh and scarily void of emotion. He was seemingly too callous from responding to his father—and you had realized that this could have been happening more so than none and that this boy could have grown up this way, and while your heart was pouring from hearing him protect you, you knew that it was your call to turn things around.

“No,” you squeaked, hearing yourself panic. “I guess I was being rebellious, I met up with Jackson, and – and- “ You eyed your father. “He was with me and Reggie saw me and Jackson did something and he got provoked,” you finished, lying. You looked at Reggie, and he gazed at you, turmoil and hurt swirling in his eyes.

That led to a tension-filled silence. You closed your eyes, and could hear the sounds of Reggie’s father’s footsteps going off to a direction. Somewhere that’s not here, of course.


“Sorry, that shouldn’t have happened,” he would tell you days later, smirk latched to his lips like a boy to a candy bar. He’d say it would no feeling, no emotion, as if he wasn’t someone that was in what happened and he was merely a person who’d heard of what happened.

The memory of his father slapping him because of you would haunt you forever, and your eyes would wander to his cheek not due to any romantic purpose, but the ache of wondering how much it hurt to protect you, a person he shouldn’t even be caring for anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you ignored his first statement, and spat out what you needed to say. The hallways were empty. “I was being petty. I wanted to—“ The words were dignified to be stated out in the open. “I wanted to forget about you.”

His silence mocked you. The 6’3 handsome and usually word-y jock—the boy you really, just really, really loved, gazed at you as if your turbulence, though with a slip of concern on his façade. You continued, lips burning with words you only imagined you would say in a dream, “You hurt me, Reggie. I hated you for making me spend a summer without you. So, yeah. I did something. I slept with that douchebag, that serpent, just to forget about you. So, fuck you.”

The response was instant. An utter storm shadowed over his face. “Fuck me? Fuck me? Are you fucking kidding me?” His fingers wrapped tightly around his coifed hair, eyes blazing with chasms of void and anger. “The only thing I ever did was goddamn protect you! If you hadn’t been so stupid, you wouldn’t be in this mess. I shouldn’t have protected you from the start if it was going to lead this way.”

“Protected me from the start?” You questioned, beckoned with hatred.

“Yes! I’ve always been protecting you. I love you, [y/n]. So much. The reason I ended things is because you were going to end up broadcasted on this shitty book and—“ Reggie sighed and you looked at him confusingly. He stepped forward, “Look, last year I was in hell. My dad caught me doing some stupid shit and he was going to blame it on you. I needed to protect you, it was instinct. I had to break up with you because I couldn’t bear the guilt that—“

This time, it was your turn to slap him. Reggie snapped his head back at you, shocked.

“You stupid jerk,” your body shook from relief and at the same time, numbness. “You couldn’t have at least told me about that? I literally cried for a week because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, the great Reggie freaking Mantle.”

Reggie stared at what only could have been eons, before shaking his head and returning a soft gaze that was only for you. “I’m sorry.”

You could shake your head as he placed out his warm hand next to yours, swirling and wrapping it around yours in the gentlest way possible.


It was an epiphany, when you looked at him and you had finally seen a glimpse of an extent that he would do for you. The balance was off and you had thought of it in the wrong way.

He loved you more than he loved himself.


omg i’m so sorry. whenever i write i’d always get so carried away with excessive details and annoying character musings!!! please tell me what you think! feel free to reblog or like or message me! always open to hear what you guys think huehue. :) 

anonymous asked:

How the hell is Ava gonna fight Titan if he's so huge? He was more than twice Wrathia's height in the flashback!

 This is Titan’s size comparative to Wrathia and Pedri:

This is Ava compared to Wrathia:

We know that TiTAN not only has black hole technology, but he also can feel and sense immense spouts of power just as he felt Ava’s attack. I sense a great disturbance in the Force lol.  This guy is immensly powerful.

It will take the combined abilities of all the hosts to defeat TiTAN. I had hoped that would not be the case, but a combined effort seems more and more crucial. I have a feeling not all the hosts and their demons will jumping on the band wagon though…. I’ve actually theorized that a host could become a secondary antagonist (let us see)

I believe potentially the enlistment of his other enemies could be of great use too. It is unclear whether the Silent Scavengers are 100% TiTANs enemy. If they are aligned with the Arrow family then having them would be great since they harbor the capabilities to destroy and harvest planets, the only issue is they seem morally debased and self reliant (chaotic neutral). 

I also find the idea of Wrathia being a known enemy as comforting; this could imply that others worship Wrathia and the Vengess like gods. Six recognizing Wrathia establishes some legitimacy to this rebellion

You could argue that this was simply Wrathia being vain, but then at one point upon seeing Wrathia’s statue Odin utters in his native tongue, ‘Goddess Mother’

His reaction is a mixture of disbelief but he also seems oddly happy ? 


Final statement: Ava destroying a portion of HQ will send a message out to the galaxy. It makes it clear that there is hope and the potential to resist TiTAN is there. I can see TiTAN trying to cover this up and hunt down the hosts, but that too will have consequences. The next host we’ll be meeting is Star Guy, I wonder if he’ll know of the cause and be willing to join. 

gentle reminder for women: you (we) were worshiped and adored long before any male-assigned deity was. it wasn’t He, it was She. it wasn’t Him, it was Her. it wasn’t God, it was The Goddess. modern patriarchal religion serves the purpose of erasing women’s herstory as loved, adored, supported, revered givers of life. temples were covered with images of worshiping you. your connection with the lunar cycle was viewed as earthly affirmation of your status as the Creator. 

it was never supposed to be a man.

Hiveswap has made me realise the the Alpha/Beta Kids and the Trolls were probably unnaturally strong probably because they were ‘born’ because of ectobiology instead of the natural way?

I mean Joey never actually defeats a monster herself she either manages to get away or gets the monster to knock themselves/ each other  out with magic spice and distractions and yeah when John first entered the medium he had trouble defeating an imp but he could still do it and Aradia’s psychic skills are incredibly more powerful than Xefros, I mean yeah she was a ghost when she was fist introduced which might have given her a boost but when Aradia was fist introduced she was destroying temples and ripping off frog heads from statues with her powers while Xefros has trouble bending spoons.

So the players are probably ridiculously overpowered compared to normal people even before they became gods.

Hiveswap Teaser #2 Analysis

So, first of all, HYPE. Although I never stopped being Hyped but. MORE HYPE. Before I start talking at all about the teaser trailer, I gotta say, I’m glad WP are taking their time refining and bug-fixing to make a great game for us to enjoy, and knowing how far along it is and how close the release date might be, we’ll wait to see how it comes out!

Okay so the teaser, first we start with what seems like Joey peeping into the attic of the house through a hole. That already makes me feel we’ll get the little tease of knowing where to go but forbidding us from seeing what’s behind the cool curtain until we find the key that opens the door there.

There are a LOT of guns, some sarcophagus, tons of horse imagery, statues in the background, mirrors, Jake sure loves tossing stuff he finds during his adventures around the house! The multitude of items frame the centerpiece of the portal quite well, and the eerie glow gives-

Wait.

Okay, wait, what the FUCK JAKE.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M SEEING?

WHERE THE HELL DID JAKE GET THE CLOCK?!

We start /well/ if this is the kind of shenanigans Hiveswap has prepared for us, oh my god. This means that by this point in the timeline, Jake had access to SBURB stuff, though, so that’s an interesting thing to have in mind.

The camera zooms on the portal, and then Joey appears, reaching over to expose it, before cutting to the title. Hiveswap.

Can I say, I’m really glad about the direction they took with the 2D stuff. Everything looks so good, Joey’s expressions and movement are so sweet. I love her already.

The next scene cuts to Jude using a flare gun (Which we see later in his inventory) likely to warn Joey or to use it as a distraction somewhere else? The pile of leaves right under the window makes me think he’ll have to hop right off the window and into it in the future. There’s also a fountain on the wall that looks like a Lich, further confirming Jake’s already gone hunting to the Medium by this point. Also, the sky, the clouds, the background, looks absolutely GORGEOUS.

Then the flare lands in front of the house, and here we can see a few things. First of all, the statue. Of course. And also, I bet Jude cut the bushes to look like Nessie because he’s a cryptid fan. However, there’s a thing I just realised. I don’t know if this was a detail in the prior trailer or not but…

Doesn’t the house look just… Not taken care of? The previews of the inside, all the stuff just thrown everywhere, I assumed Jake was just kinda like that, messy. But the look of the house on the outside, with the broken pillars and the vegetation growing everywhere. The broken glass is likely from the monsters, but otherwise…

Jake. How long have you left those two poor kids alone? Not to say, wherever ‘Hauntswich’ is, there doesn’t seem to be a soul ANYWHERE in the surrounding area except for their creepy neighbours.

Next, Joey is crawling through the vents, either to get in or escape from some monsters, and while happy, soon the vents shake and her expression shifts. The way her expression dynamically changes like that, I love it, makes me think a lot about some Homestuck panels. That being said, either the vent is shaky, there’s something BIG and lumbering down the halls of the manor, or the damage to the house is more extensive than it appears.

Then, oh boy the UI looks neat! Worried Joey wanders the halls of her basement, I presume. The X at the top-left might be to make the UI disappear, or perhaps a quick quit to the game? Options on the top-right, help… Then, the inventory seems managed with Captcha Cards, of course. Easy to access and drag around to combine with stuff. Then there’s her battle… Stances? Weapons? There’s what seems like a ‘stomp’, her normal shoes. Then ballerina shoes, and her flashlight.

This makes me wonder how the combat system is. Furthermore- Joey seems to have the shoe selected! What’s that for? Maybe to hint that’s what you want to do in a sneak attack? Or is it not the weapons, and just something more like her ‘stance’? But if it was her stance, wouldn’t the flashlight be the one chosen right now? We’ll see how that works.

Of course, more to the right, there’s the character… Selector? Right now we have Joey, and you can talk with your Jude with a Walkie-Talkie. Straight-forward enough.

Also Jake, please.

Jude’s side of things isn’t looking too hot. That mansion looks fucking MASSIVE. It looks more like a village, but everything’s too… Bunched up together for that to be the case. Lumbering shadows, just there. Staring. The view is amazing, but very, very eerie. Here we see he only has a flare gun- Which we see him using earlier. Again, straight-forward enough.

Now is when things start getting interesting.

First of all, the new design of the Cherub Key is amazing. Cherub Teeth are the fangs, with the Calliope-Caliborn spiral in the middle, and the snakes coiling up. But also-

IT’S ALIVE? JESUS THAT’S CREEPY.

Creepiness aside, I like this much, much more. The one preview we had when it was still 3D had Joey actually reaching in to turn it on herself, just out of pure curiosity. In this situation, however? She’s being /dragged/ by the key, forced to open the portal, not by her own volition. This makes much more sense narrative-wise, and also makes me wonder if the key itself is a Juju. The lollipop forced Jane to lick it after all, and Jake has the CLOCK, so a Juju key with a Juju teleporter? Yeah, that fits.

The cherub snake-beams activate and… Okay, while the glow of the energy is red on the Caliborn snake and green on the Calliope one, both the eyes AND the sparks around the energy are green on both sides. Maybe the teleporter uses First Guardian energy in some capacity?

Finally, we switch to the Trolls! Xefros is a cutie, and that’s some RADICAL VIOLET BLOOD riding a… Bronze grub. That sure’s a way to promote the drink. Anyone can decypher what the can says?

Then we have a first GOOD look at Xefros’ Hive! There’s a picture of the Sloth Lusus, Xefros and Dammek. Cute. Also there’s a tree going through the entire top, maybe his hive is like Terezi’s? It could be, his Lusus IS a Sloth, and Joey switches with Dammek, so it’d make sense Dammek is the one with the more urban hive.

We see an Alternian Phone, some videogame, with HEXAGONAL DISCS. I don’t care if it’s more bug-like, that’s so incredibly inconvenient and asinine, Hussie, What Pumpkin. >:V Then of course, theres Trizza broadcasting her memes permanently on the TV, and the first look at Xefros’ weapon of choice! Which seems to be a… Cricket bat? Cool.

Then Xefros slams the can of soda against his forehead to crush it. Nice.

This is a lovely look at the urban look of Alternia. It’s curious, Trolls are nocturnal so I expected to see more activity at night. Then again, Drones have been taking Trolls to cull, so it’d make sense if they’re all hiding.

ALSO DAMMEK’S LUSUS! They’re riding it around :D Likely going from Dammek’s place and towards Xefros’ if he does live in a tree-Hive. The background of the Alternian Landscape is absolutely haunting.

We have a VS Screen! Not only that, but Joey’s reaction to each enemy and situation seems to vary from one to the next. That’s a nice touch.

Joey, you’re being unnecessarily extra. That’s Jude’s pigeon though, and the bat monster seems surprised by Joey’s dramatic entrance!

Okay so, the thing at the bottom seems like it’s maybe the battle system? The right arrow points at Joey, so maybe it’s her turn and when it’s the monster’s it points left. Then the three spikes at the top might expand into something like. Abscond, Abjure, Aggrieve? Again, I have no idea how the system will work. Also, the bat seems confused and bouncing around. It’s hard to tell if this is RIGHT after the Vs Screen, and being surprised made it flip the fuck out, or if Joey did something that confused it and made it bounce around.

The state of the kitchen really drives home the fact Jake has been an absent father for a VERY LONG TIME. Have they just been ordering noodles to eat all this time? I can see some adorable pictures on the fridge.

There she goes. What do you wanna bet that in Hauntswitch Act 1 we get a scene exactly like this but with Dammek’s silhouette going down the red shaft?

Me too, Joey. Me too.

Finally, “The door is nearly open” seems like a reference to the little line on the Hiveswap page: “First thing’s first. You need to open the door.”

Conclusion: I NEED THIS GAME NOW. Patiently waiting for it to come out, still very hype.