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cream-and-tea · 5 months

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nightmare, secret, and wound for the character(s) you think have the most interesting answers!!!

~Morri (@memento-morri-writes)

Not Nice ask game here! (all of these questions are pallasbait so i’m going to get that out of my system and answer all three for them lol)

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

pallas has a pretty messy relationship with the concept of sleeping in the same way that they have a pretty messy relationship with most Basic Human Needs, so they really only sleep when they absolutely cannot stay awake any longer. but if i’m being honest they’ve repressed everything they could have nightmares about SO hard that they don’t really have bad dreams and if they do they don’t remember them when they wake up. they do have one extended nightmare sequence in the book as i’ve planned it but that happens when they’re actively bleeding out + their entire worldview is crumbling, so it’s really a way to show the way all of their Repression Level 5000 Mental Blocks have started to break down lol

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

this is kinda hard to answer because pallas hate hate haaaaates being Perceived in any meaningful capacity, so their view of what counts as “secret” is massively skewed lol. if they had their way no one would be able to access any information about them without going through a fifty step vetting process and a blood oath binding them to never repeat any of it (which isn’t to far off from what they actually do tbh).

apart from one Super Huge Spoiler Thing i think the thing that pallas wouldn’t want ANYONE to know is that they aren’t anywhere NEAR as secure in themself/their position as everyone thinks. they put a lot of effort into coming across as Cool and Detached and Cruel, so to have anyone see past that would be absolutely devastating. because if someone could look and see how much what pallas does is eating them alive they might try to question it and bring them out of it and force them to—GOD forbid—self reflect for once. they’ll take hatred and fear over pity any day.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

heyyyyy character i have with the highest pain tolerance!!!! super powerful bloodflesh magic + incredibly taxing training (to put it mildly) + intense healing factor + functional immortality will do that to you!! due to uhhhhh All Of That pallas’s general response to being wounded is to walk that shit off unless it’s directly preventing them from completing their mission, which is a pretty high threshold. you know that they’re my specialist little guy because they’re constantly being battered physically mentally AND emotionally through the whole story. just put through the absolute ringer. it’s actually kind of hard to choose a worst one bc of that, but i’m gonna say that worst emotional/mental wound happened a year before the start of the book when their best friend nina Died supersuper hard and worst physical wound happens in book two when [REDACTED] [REDCATED]’s them ❤️

#oh pallas #oh pallas pallas pallas #sorry that these are so long i just think about them sooooo much #thank you for that there’s nothing i love more then talking about what’s wrong with this guy lmao #regarding the second one this is the root of exactly why pallas cannot STAND fiver #bc fiver knows enough and has seen enough and knows what they are and just point blank REFUSES to hate them for it #pallas goes ‘haha im scheming i’m so evil’ and fiver goes ‘okay. how does that make you feel?’ and pallas throws up and dies #and calliope evokes the same kind of discomfort because she’s Just Like Them For Real but she also hates them and #wants to kill them with his teeth. which is INFINITELY preferable in pallass mind lol #wip: ghost story #creme gets an ask #pallas

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whitestnoise · 2 years

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It's okay to be nervous, everybody is the first time. But once those monsters are coming for you your instincts kick in.

#first kill #firstkilledit #calliope burns #tess franklin #(mine)#these type of conversations are like catnip for me #more more more!!!#you should question these kind of rules #and this is my second gif set of a show where the discussion goes 'can they feel and love'#i guess that says something about me 🧐

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ennas-aesthetic · 1 year

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by the river hebrus i sat down and wept

rated T, ~2,200 words

Tags: The Sandman Comics Spoilers; Canon-Compliant; The Song of Orpheus; Dream being a Father; Dream and Baby Orpheus; Flashbacks; Major Character Death; Character Study; References to Ancient Greek Religion and Lore; Angst and Tragedy; Grief/Mourning; Dream is Oneiros

Summary:

“I am no longer your son.”

It has taken him aback – a blow to the chest, a dagger to the ribs – that by the time Oneiros pulls himself together Orpheus has already walked away. Back ramrod-straight and unflinching: the final word.

༻❁༺

There is a wedding somewhere, in the pastures and vales of Aeolia, by the banks of the river Pineios.

Or: The Song of Orpheus in Dream’s Perspective. One shot.

The fic has a playlist! Listen to it here.

___________________________

“Must it be on his wedding night?”

Her face crumples. “Oh, Dream.” She takes both of his hands into hers. She runs warm, warmer than most mortals. Oneiros feels the heat scorch the ice in his veins. “Do you remember what I told you, the day Orpheus was born?”

He pulls away, the offense actually coloring his wan cheeks.

“I need no reminder,” he snarls. It is the truth; he remembers the day his son was born. His subsequent presentation to Oneiros’ siblings, when all except Potmos were surprised that their nephew was human. The son of a goddess and a concept deified, and he was human. Flesh, and blood, and bone. Ephemeral, fragile. He remembers the shot of panic he tried to deny as Teleute, cooing, took the babe in her arms. How soon after she took him aside, placed a hand on his shoulder. Told him the words he had expected, though never wanted to hear: “He is mortal, Dream.”

Read On AO3

#the sandman #dream of the endless #lord morpheus #netflix the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fandom #morpheus #orpheus #aka The Song of Orpheus Special but in Dream's Perspective #*Takes Orpheus' decapitated head* Do I like you as a character because you're a compelling one #or do I like you because I can project my issues onto you?#(Spoiler alert: It's both)#this is the second orpheus-centric fic i made for the sandman amazing #the brain is rotting and all that #dream x calliope #sandman fic #the sandman spoilers #sandman spoilers #ancient greek mythology

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rinasred · 2 years

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the thing that got me about the calliette tree makeout scene is that jules' dress was very much getting hiked up a little, like they weren't just normal making out in public, they were hardcore going at it

THEY LITERALLY WERE?!?!? they had literally no shame- they were out in the open too!?!? anyone could've saw them 💀 honestly never seen two people this down bad for each other they were literally so insane for that

#like.. am i gonna say they weren't valid?? absolutely not.. i lack class too so who am i to judge #but wasnt this like their second official kiss? otherwise the one in their dream #no wonder they couldn't stay away from each other my god #calliette #calliope burns #juliette fairmont #first kill #first kill spoilers #my asks

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10moonymhrivertam · 1 year

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Have started a fic in my notes app where a curious Aziraphale is the impetus for a Hob Saves Dream and Calliope fic

#and they are absolutely out to save Calliope first and Dream second #especially because they somehow manage to talk circles so it never comes up that Dream is his stranger #but Aziraphale notices Weirdness in Fry’s books and tracks it down #and when he finds out about calliope then he’s like ‘shit maybe lord Dream can do something’#and he calls Crowley who is like ‘???? Angel the Dreaming’s been in shambles for decades he is very Not There.#I’m sure Loosh would be glad to hear from you but even she can’t track him down

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ectogeranium · 11 months

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wait... I have a very pressing question...

#Personally Ive been pronouncing it as the second one but I realize now that it might be pronounced like calliope #monster high #gooliope jellington

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spooky-drusilla · 2 years

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Why is Juliette's actual first kill so funny

#like #its out of nowhere #shes fighting him and then sucks his blood and after two seconds youre like ah. right. thats her first.#while the song in the background is like ~oooh shes a killeeeerrr~#Ben is crying terrified #and Cal is like 😠🧍yikes #I love this show very much just to make it clear #first kill #personal #juliette fairmont #calliope burns #maria watches first kill

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nightmarecountry-a · 2 years

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look. I just think unrequited shit is very fun. I think the idea of corinth absolutely frothing with jealousy and rage and hurt because of his unfulfilled desire for attention/approval is delicious. I think him being absolutely unhinged about dream in particular while dream barely seems to notice he exists and will never give him what he craves is unparalleled.

#wishlist.#[ to be clear it is Complicated.#it's not unrequited love exactly. it's more like unrequited importance.#unrequited obsession.#the desperate craving to serve a purpose while also longing for freedom.#something something when you want god to love you but you hate him.]#[ anyway this is why I vibe so hard with Dream/Hob and Dream/Calliope and Dream/literally anyone else.#while Corinthian just seethes and claws the furniture in the background.]#[ he's not in love with Dream because like. he's a nightmare. that's not really a thing for him as I've talked about before.#but jealousy takes many forms.]#[ something something the idea that if he ever IS given attention it's like a dog being fed scraps.#not intentionally perhaps. but he Knows he is always second best.]

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

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Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged.

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you.

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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elliespectacular · 3 months

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Do you still have that Jellicle name generator saved anywhere? Some friends and I used it for our OCs and it was an absolute blast!

The name I got was Callio the convivial cat, which is short for Calliope, who I played in Xanadu. She has a whole costume and everything now!

Even if you don't have it anymore, tysm for making it ;-;

Xanadu mention! Also I do still have it saved! This one is revised a little and I might make more changes later, but here it is in text form:

Jellicle Name Generator

This will give you a name that is relatively in-line with the naming conventions seen in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot and later adapted into the musical Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber - and unlike those shitty "last name and your birth month" name generators, this one won't doxx you in the process.

Before we begin, a bit of terminology we'll be using: - Portmanteau: Turning multiple words into one word linked by a sound or letter. Compelling Television = Compellevision. Punk Squid = Squnk - Smoosh: Combine words by simply removing the space and (optionally) changing the word positions. Country Jester = countryjester - Prefix: Goes before the name, like Mr. or Captain - Suffix: Goes after the name, like Jr. or The Great - Cat-like term: Something associated with cats. Meow, Whisker, Bell, Claw, Scratch, etc.

FIRST: Roll a D20 to determine your base name

An uncommon person’s first name

First syllable of a common last name + a unit of measurement. Portmanteau 'em.

Short, dangerous noun + a non-dangerous profession. Smoosh 'em.

Two Latin words. Portmanteau 'em.

A simple present-tense verb + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Cat-like term + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Combine two short nouns, then add "-er" "-ie" or "-est" to the end.

Think of an actor you like. Shorten their first name to its shortest nickname.

A medical term spelled incorrectly.

A food you liked as a kid + a pretentious word. Smoosh 'em.

A figure of legend/myth. Remove one syllable and any spaces.

An older person's first name that isn't common today.

Last name of a historical figure + a silly word. Portmanteau 'em.

A kids' name with 2 or more syllables + that name again without the first syllable + an onomatopoeia. Portmanteau 'em if you can.

A silly word + the first name of a former coworker. Portmanteau 'em.

A kind of public event + a cat-like term. Smoosh 'em.

Something from ancient history. Shorten what you came up with into a single word.

Something you do when you're nervous. Take that verb and add "-er" to the end to make it a noun.

Silly word + hostile-sounding verb. Portmanteau 'em.

Two silly words with 2+ syllables each. Smoosh 'em.

SECOND: Roll another D20 for flavor

Before you roll, consider how your name sounds without any additional flavor. If it's fine on its own, feel free to leave it as-is. Otherwise, roll on!

Suffix - An upsettingly average last name

Suffix - Think of a hobby. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - A short adjective

Suffix - Think of an adjective. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Choose Mr. Mrs. Ms. Mx. or something similar

Suffix - Think of a color. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Any one-syllable word. Repeat the word a second time, adding or replacing the first consonant with that of your base name.

Suffix - Think of any non-proper noun. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Suffix - it's the word Cat

Suffix - it's the word Kitty

Suffix - it's the word Kitten

Prefix - Choose "Sir" "Madam" "Captain" or something similar

Prefix - Choose "Lord" "Lady" "Noble" or something similar

Prefix - His/Her/Their Majesty (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - His/Her/Their Grace (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - Mc

Prefix - Van

Prefix - Von

Prefix - De

Suffix - Any cat-like term

And you're done!*

*This is as much a creative exercise as it is a "generator" so feel free to mess with the formula and/or let your result inspire something more original. Add multiple layers of flavor if you want. The rules are not rigid. I recommend generating a few names and picking your favorite!

#jellicle #name generator #jellicle cats #cats musical #cats the musical #ask

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