[cautionarys]

“  if you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.  ”     a selective multi - muse.   written by taylor,   28, she/they. affiliated with: yharnum, veilmotel, & forwrath.

carrd, memes, boards, art cred. main blog.

primary.

romeo lucignolo from lies of p. he/him.

rufus shinra from final fantasy vii. he/him.

jesse chambers from detective comics. she/her. info.

apollo from greek myth. he/him.

ada wong from resident evil. she/her.

secondary.

filippa kosta from if we were villains. she/they.

vis telimus / prince diago of suus from the hierarchy series. he/him. info.

suren from the folk of the air. she/her.

vincent valentine from final fantasy vii. he/him.

tifa lockhart from final fantasy vii. she/her.

tertiary.

holland vosijk from the shades of magic series. he/him.

matthew lynch from the raven cycle. he/him.

jordan from the dreamer trilogy. she/her.

grant emerson (damage) from detective comics. he/him. info. [tw for csa]

kol mikaelson from the originals. heavily headcanon based. he/him.

jill warrick from ffxvi. she/her.

ethan winters from resident evil. he/him.

test.

will kempen from dark rise. he/him.

larkin gorm garret from tfota. he/him.

sleipnir harbard from ffxvi. he/him.

victor frankenstein from frankenstein (1818 vers). he/him.

test-test... (the boys ain't ready yet, but i have them in my pocket)

prince noctis lucis caelum from ffxv. he/him.

richard 'dick' grayson from detective comics. he/him.

enver gortash from baldurs gate. he/him.

[cautionarys]

pour one out for this compelling dynamic. it grew on me!!!

honestly it felt fresh this time, cole didn't seem stuck in season one... you get the differences between a highborn and a lowborn knight, development for both, shakespearan monologues, and the juicy parallel that is cole begging rhaenyra to run away with him in s1 and burning for a place to belong only to reject gwayne's offer of sanctuary and companionship and LIFE in oldtown because he's too far gone. he doesn't even want a home anymore. gwayne's offer might've entranced anyone else. man, we love to see it. don't give me anything with actual tropes, i'll make it an assignment.

[alucinore]

❛❛ no mortal inspires me, ❜❜ dionysus chimes indignantly. curled unto himself like a cat over the arm of apollo's couches, he takes the offered drink and sighs helpless: ❛❛ in fact, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to find any talent of worth to perform at mystes these days. ❜❜ it had to be insufferably so. it'd been decades since he'd set foot in the olympian realms, and were it up to him, the others would go on thinking it'd be decades more. he'd trust apollo enough to keep the visit to himself. still, spot on as his brother's assumption had been, dionysus refused to reveal the real madness which had inspired the idea.

truthfully, it had been a mortal companion — but which ? the only one who'd ever mattered, of course. the one who, for the first time in 3,000 years, dionysus honestly believed he might find again. how to admit that he'd deluded himself into thinking ariadne's soul had finally reincarnated? these hunches had him wandering into great cities and decades-long benders of destruction and disappointments many times before. but this time it was different ! he was sure ! driven not just by a hunch, but dream. the most vivid vision as he'd seen since her death; they'd been behind the stage of a great stadium, the crowds roaring loud enough to drown out her words and all his good sense. now he thinks if she really is out there in a wide sea of faces, if he could only step onto the right venue, grace the right screen, reach the right ear. . .

❛❛ we'd play at my club— for starters, yes. but can you imagine any band that could hope to rival ours? ❜❜ the natural performer fishes for his brother's glittering ego, his smile growing slow and ever more needling. ❛❛ apollo, we'd be sensational ! not to mention, building a fanbase as rock gods would be the most thrilling form of worship we've had in — father knows how long. ❜❜

[cautionarys]

the muses did not interfere in any overwhelming way; they watched the brothers talk, watched dionysus sulk and fish for ego, watched the god who hardly visited anymore strike gold as apollo hummed, flitting from disbelief to reluctant interest in the matter of perhaps seconds. as a unit, the sisters each rose from their places on his silks, and vanished into the hallway; apollo couldn't help the smile that twitched at his mouth, then. he needn't state his aims or desires, they just understood him as though they were in his mind always.

he sipped at his wine, letting the drink sweeten his tongue, vivid and fruity, a little tart, and he stared at his brother over the rim of the glass before finally lowering it, speaking with all the delayed, arrogant theater of a god who understood. dionysus had sought the right company. all they were missing was hermes and his never-ending mischief.

that the other hadn't been inspired by a mortal was hardly believable, but apollo let the matter go, a suspicious squint in golden eyes all that showcased his doubt. he sank gracefully on a settee placed gilded and comfortably opposite @alucinore. the notion of a "fanbase", as the other so mortally put, was appealing— modernity was a rancid curse, worship was at a pathetic all-time low, and he felt like being adored again, felt like irresponsibly siring children and staring at pretty things, making beautiful music all the while. surely, his brother saw the hunger, glittering and awake and dragged to the forefront by the offer. nothing could ever recapture the drug of ancient devotion, but maybe something could come close.

❛ hmmm... ❜ eyes flicking to the vaulted, painted ceiling, then back at dio. ❛ i suppose i could spare a bit of time for the endeavor. it has been a while. ❜ sad, truly. he bent one leg over the other, unblemished skin gleaming. his golden hair fell mid-waist, splaying on the fabric of the settee. ❛ worship is stagnate, as you say. it's the... telephones, and those dreadful buildings they flee to to worship their singular god. ❜ catholic churches, what a bane. ❛ if your club-goers hold promise, brother, i am willing to try. when would you like to start? ❜

[cautionarys]

i dont go here but for gwayne: you're bleeding.

❛ ah—... yes, my lady. it appears that i am, ❜ the human knight said with the easy warmth of a man accustomed to being the most amiable of his household; charming words to soothe over slights caused by a cruel cousin, plying smiles that allowed his younger sister to slink away anxiously and find rare solace in shadows. today, things were terribly simple; suspiciously simple, this close to baldur's gate. six goblins lay strewn with their necks half-dislodged. (he may as well have beheaded the little brutes, not left them hesitantly chopped.)

his red hair was a far cry from the neat brush he usually preferred it to fall under, but his armor, entirely his own, hightower silver with ornate, pale green engravings, flaming fist sigils left behind, gleamed, only a bit of blood splattering his chest plate. he looked out of place here, a singular knight, courting desertion, not entirely sure whether it was wise to go home, not entirely sure if he should turn around and put on the garb of the fist again. if he returned before nightfall, they might be more forgiving. he could claim he'd felt restless and longed for a walk. he could claim devotional necessity and they might avert their gaze. they were a brotherhood of sorts, though, and he felt entirely apart.

only training and manners made him reluctant to go back on his word and leave them all in the dust to their own schemes and loyalties. the goblin ambush, a group of them coming out of the bushes to rob and murder, gave him pause, gave him time to think and choose. so too did the approach of @nightorne whose eyes fixed on the three inch cut that marked his cheek. he used a handkerchief to dab at the blood. tendrils fell resolutely down the curve of his jaw. ❛ the one wearing orange here jumped onto my head with surprising dexterity. her claws must have struck. nasty creatures, they are. i dare not think of what infections they've brought upon me. ❜ levity, like it was all so easy. gwayne looked shadowheart over, curious, the expression on his face still pleasant, the faintest touch of dirt on his brow. the weapon she carried was curious, clearly of high stock. he'd ask after it soon. ❛ are you headed for the city, then? i might escort you. ❜ he'd made his choice, then. he'd hold on for a little while longer.

@nightorne,

[cautionarys]

hello... would anyone like some memes? ahah [lip bite]

[cautionarys]

gwayne bg3 verse... the hightowers as worshippers of helm... half of them batshit and then there is just gwayne thinking about deserting the flaming fists because he's not feeling the vibes anymore, it's getting weird out here and he misses his silks.

[ormundshightower]

[cautionarys]

need to write my new charas asap (gwayne hightower, richard papen …) what if you sent memes for them? haha. wouldn’t that be super cute of us. link here 😌

[cautionarys]

very tempted to write gwayne sexytower

[cautionarys]

gonna do it. i love when i am enabled

[dracaria-dracarys]

Freddie Fox as Gwayne Hightower

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S3E4

[cautionarys]

very tempted to write gwayne sexytower

[cautionarys]

thinking about this trope again. thinking about vis and how i need to write him more and shove him in a million aus. thinking about my shayla who crosses all of his own personal boundaries and becomes princeps and what he has fought against and nothing makes sense to him anymore. ill sob 20 times

[usergif]

THE 'CORRUPTED CHOSEN ONE'

A trope that involves the classic narrative of a foretold saviour, one that has been singled out by prophecy or destiny, with the intention to bring peace and liberation, but the very forces that elevate them also isolate and distort them. Whether it's overwhelming power, deep personal loss, or the desire for freedom, they fulfil their role in a way that becomes catastrophic. This trope is marked by the character often believing they are still saving the world.

Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars) / Paul Atreides (Dune) / Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan) / Daenerys Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire)

[daylighter]

❛ a shame you had to see me like this. ❜ (romeo :[)

brothers were squarely useless. even half-brothers, and step-brothers, and good for nothing drunkard brothers. his contemptuous incapacity for forgiveness seeps out of him like a bad poison fog. their father’s dna is split so evenly between them but not that father’s grace. was it an eventful day for fate, the day it decided, romeo would get the heart, and kenneth would get the pincers? this is what they contend with today. ❛  a shame i see you at all. ❜ his violence scarcely apologises for its own teeth. miraculously, they hadn’t fought this time. he was not the reason romeo’s nose was a smear of blood more than warm coloured skin. his brother sported a black eye that, regretfully, wasn’t his doing either; it looked dark and purple, like a spot on earth that the sun had abandoned.

they were close enough in age to look like twins. close enough in age to still remember, those lonely days in a house for too many orphans. but, he was the younger brother, who had always acted as if romeo was the baby.

        ❛  all of this, ❜ he said, and with no shortage of disgust, gestured with little effort at the state of the other man, his face, the washed up carcass of his potential. ❛  over some fucking guy. i should have killed you in the cradle. ❜ he turns around then, looks about the room. he suspected, there was only one thing that would jerk romeo back to attention, would reel his sorry soul out of the pits of despair only confusion and loss could inflict. he grabs the cellphone. dials the only woman he thinks his brother still fears the dejection of. ❛  cheer up, i’ll put us on speaker so you can explain this to her yourself. ❜

[cautionarys]

romeo half-sneered at his little brother's venom. he was warm at heart, but still fiery, still deeply emotional, and not entirely above bickering with the sibling he'd just as unflinchingly die for. he huffed a laugh, something bitter crawling around his gut, something bitter followed by a sharp pang of sympathy, of pity he had to bury lest kenneth see it. how couldn't his brother understand? how couldn't anyone? love was such a delightful feeling, wonderful, intoxicating, and it was worth every bit of pain, every slice on skin and blow to the gut. he would take the pain twice over, a black eye every day, and not regret a thing; he missed his friend. had set out with only the warmest intentions in search for his other half, and no beating would dissuade him. zero shame in his eyes, zero regret.

❛  i knew this was coming— the hostage act. you always do this, but i never force you to stay. ❜ yet ken still did, teeth or no teeth, never-changing. he watched as he fiddled with his phone, breathing to keep his emotions in check. he listened to his words with a slightly baffled expression, brows raising up, cheeks pink from frustration, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to deal with dripping blood, an old-fashioned habit picked up from lea, who was loathe to admit she picked it up from her father. he dabbed at his eye first, the little cut that sat bisecting the bruise on his cheekbone.

then he focused on his nose, squeezing a little to soak up the blood. it hurt, but it was nothing. he'd dealt with far worse injuries in his young life, and left his opponents with nastier welts. the mouthy brother had gone away hissing with a broken wrist and busted lip. the sister with aches from being shoved. with the right amount of pressure, sharp teeth always hurt the one who filed them. he shoved the soiled cloth back into his pocket. he'd clean both it and his trousers the moment he was alone.

lower, though no less frustrated, the voice of a man trying very earnestly to speak in an even tone: ❛  quit trying to make me feel pathetic. i won this fight and i'm not at all sorry. she— ❜ gesturing to the phone in ken's hand, the glow of which lit up the younger man's face, ❛  she taught me to never be sorry —... did you really expect me to tolerate cheats and liars? like you're so peaceful. ❜

[ormundshightower]

Haymitch Abernathy / Effie Trinket in Sunrise on the Reaping (2026)

[cautionarys]

the thing about romeo is that he had every reason to be a vile boss. vile bosses have been made under less dire circumstances. he was abused back to back, physical tortured in such an obscene way, his body carved by arlecchino—while he was awake and screaming, mind you!—limbs cut and strung up like art. and then, just when he thought he found peace, perfectly happy to bleed out and have the pain end, geppetto scoops him up and subjects him to another round. he loses his body. wakes up with one constructed from pieces of arlecchino himself. he's constantly reliving his trauma, and even then, he doesn't turn violent with p until he has confirmation that all his desperate appeals have flown right over his head and there is no other way.

[boothillpurin]

LOPTOBER DAY 18 - The King