#i just find her hatred of the sea to be so funny all things considered

[zmeydeva-arch]

there is... something to be said about zoya being a fresh water creature; she has a distaste for the open sea, yet she is always at her most relaxed when submerged in a tub. water is obviously one of her ruling elements but when mixed with salt and sediment well it no longer can sustain life, at least human life that is! there also is pure water in blood and of course zoya's connection to rain and the water found in vapor i do often thing about her capability to render herself entirely into mist as well but that is a post for another day

#i just find her hatred of the sea to be so funny all things considered #not to mention how much she loves nikolai and that IS entirely his element #the sea is in many ways what the sky leaves behind... and then made to fester and gather salt and coral and fish #𝖎𝖎𝖎. *ੈ ˖ ° ⥽ you gleamed like silver in the distance... ⥼ ⅋. about #anyways i feel like a million years ago i made a post about how zoya enjoys the sea and that ain't true i am rescinding that #she loves fresh water rivers and lakes thanks #anyways this is a very rambley post but just some Thots

[stars-and-darkness]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #10

(wow, i can't believe it's already ten ...)

anyway, here's some faerie au-flavoured john gilbert slander. that's all the context i'll give you, because, you see, i think it's funny.

“It is kind of beautiful, isn’t it?” Elena asks softly, eyes on the snow-capped mountains far away—on the other side, the Autumn Court sprawls in all its glory. “Not in the same way as home, but …”

It kind of is, but even if it wasn’t, Caroline would find a way to twist her words so that it seems she agrees with Elena.

“Very,” she says, while Elena pulls her hat down over the lightly furred tips of her ears to protect them from the cold.

“I really like your cloak,” she says then to Bonnie. “Of course, it’s a wonder anyone could find any fur at all to buy, considering half the animal population of Fairfold must be in my trunks. Jenna hired a seamstress from the Winter Court to make my trousseau. She’s very worried I’ll freeze to death in Walakh Kor.”

“I’m sure Katherine was very thrilled you got so many new gowns, while she got nothing,” says Caroline cheekily.

“I don’t know, actually.” Elena taps her chin thoughtfully. “She kept parading in front of me in all her lightest dresses, and it was probably her way of taunting me. Which—it’s not like she’s expected to survive the wedding with nothing but tatters on, you know? She got a new wardrobe of her own.”

“That’s … likely,” Bonnie says. “And your brother?”

“Bonnie, no.” Caroline slaps her shoulder lightly, as Bon had requested she do whenever she starts moping about Jeremy again.

His and Bonnie’s fling was as ill-advised as it was unhappy, and in retrospect, they all should have known that it would end in tears. By the time Jeremy was caught in the arms of that river nymph of his, everyone was just waiting for it all to fall apart.

So it’s Caroline and Elena’s sacred duty to slap some sense into Bonnie every time it seems like she’s about to regret ending it between them, just like they do every time Caroline starts daydreaming about her time with Prince Tyler, or Goddess forbid, Elena about her family’s gardener, Matt.

It’s the girl code.

“Bonnie, no,” Elena echoes, brow furrowed.

“I …” Bonnie starts, but then her mouth clicks shut. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Certainly, you didn’t,” Elena mutters. “That’s why you can’t even say it.”

Bonnie’s lips twist, and Caroline gives a too-saccharine smile.

“Hey,” she says with insufferable smile, “do you think Prince Tyler—”

“Hey!” Bonnie warns, but Caroline just bats her eyelashes innocently.

“There you have it.”

“Jeremy,” Elena interrupts them both, “is over in the tent, listening to Uncle John talk, for some reason.” Her lips twist together in disdain.

If there’s one thing Elena and Katherine have in common other than their looks, it’s their hatred of their uncle. And fair enough—nobody actually likes the man. In their family, the title is passed down exclusively through the male line, and with Jeremy still too young to take it, John stepped in as the head of the House after their parents perished at sea.

Katherine, as the eldest sibling, has been known to bemoan that particular tradition quite a bit lately.

“I don’t like it,” Elena goes on, hands crossing over her chest. “I don’t like it at all. I don’t like that man, and Jeremy—”

Bonnie nods, and Caroline does, too. They understand.

She shakes her head. “I hate that I’ll be away, and he’ll go back to Summer.”

“Katherine can protect him,” Caroline tries to assure her. “And your aunt.”

But Elena shakes her head. “Katherine and Jeremy were never close; he’ll cling closer to John, just to spite her. And last I heard, John’s been looking into a match for Jenna, too, which I wouldn’t find so suspicious normally, except he’s obviously removing everyone he can from Jeremy’s life. I hate it.”

Bonnie snorts, then quickly covers her face. “Sorry, sorry, I know this is not the moment, but—I just pictured John trying to coerce some poor lordling into having Katherine, and—”

To that, even Elena cracks a laugh. “I mean, considering what happened the last time …”

Caroline slaps her forehead. “Oh, Goddess. I forgot about that. Did they manage to reattach his fingers?”

Elena cringes. “Katherine used Father’s enchanted dagger, but the family magic answers to John now, he was able to nullify it. She said he should be glad she only took the fingers, though. And they’re still tender when it rains.”

A part of Caroline wishes there’d been someone there to cut John’s throat when he announced Elena’s betrothal, but Elena would never do that. She loves her friend for that sort of kindness, and also desperately wishes she were more like her sister.

“Good,” Bonnie snorts.

Yeah. Nobody likes John.

#tvd #klaroline wip wed #ella originals #ella writes

[15-dogs]

can you write about sirus (you’re dating) and you get the death mark even thougjt you didn’t want to (a draco-like situation) and she pulls away from everyone because shes scared and sirius finds out and helps her

fixing a hole |s.b.|

pairing: young!sirius black x fem!reader

summary: you realize that things for sirius black don’t always work out the same for you

warnings: food mention, implied depression, isolation (if there’s anything you want me to add don’t hesitate to message me!)

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, italics = flashback

word count: 2.6K

a/n: I wanted to give a little context so I started a little earlier than you and him dating I hope that’s ok!! this is a little like fluff to angst to hurt/comfort ish?? it does have some topics that could be difficult so be mindful of the warnings and I hope you like it!!

Everyone in your family talked about Sirius and Regulus Black. It was a well known fact that Sirius had run away from the family to live with those blood traitor Potters, deserting his position as a soldier to the Dark Lord. Sirius’s name was a dirty word in your family, like poison that dripped from the tongues of your predecessors. 

Regulus was a godsend. Your parents would constantly talk about him. They had even mentioned you marrying into his family a few times. The command would send shivers down your spine and you weren’t sure why. This is what you wanted, this is what you’ve always wanted.

Then why couldn’t you stop thinking about Sirius Black?

You’d get distracted during classes just staring at his simple elegance. He had these strong hands that you would study as he wrote an essay in class, wondering if they were soft or rough, if they were firm or gentle, if they would fit perfectly in yours. Your eyes would glaze over as you would divulge into your imagination, imagining his arms wrapping around you and pulling you tight against him.

“Control your perverted fantasies, (Y/L/N),” Severus scolded. His eyes never once left his paper as he continued to reprimand your behavior. “Don’t deny the fact that you were staring at Black. Learn to manage those feelings.”

You scowled at the boy who you had once considered a close friend. He had no right to talk to you the way he did, seeing as he was the one who was in love with Lily Evans. He was simply bitter. Bitter at Evans, and Potter, and Black. Bitter at the lot of them just because he made bad decisions.

The more you thought about his actions, the more you feared you were to become him. But that wasn’t it. Not really, anyway. You were more concerned that everyone thought that you were like him. And by everyone, you really meant Sirius Black.

You chanced a look at the raven haired boy, until to find him staring back at you. Your heart froze over as his gray eyes were trained on your body. But then a fleet of butterflies occupied your stomach as he gave you a kind and genuine smile, waving gently at you. Potter knocked his hand down a moment later, whispering something to his friend. You took the small opportunity to stray your eyes from the boy that you undoubtedly fancied, hoping your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

In Divination later that day, you and Sirius were partnered up to read each other’s palms. Your hands were sweating, you were sure of it. You debated the consequences of wiping your hands off on your robes but decided against it, fearing it would lead to a risky line of questioning from the boy across from you.

“I have to be entirely honest with you, (Y/N),” Sirius began. Your heart sped in your chest as you stared at him with wide eyes. “I haven’t been doing the notes. What exactly is...palmistry?”

You cleared your throat awkwardly and shifted in your seat to avoid his piercing gaze. “Palm reading.”

A wicked grin crept onto his face. “And I get to read your palm?”

“Yes.”

“Finally, an opportunity to hold your hand.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. Sirius could see it, too. He could see how flustered his comment made you. But the longer you thought about it, the more you recalled how he always acted like that towards you.

Before Sirius left his family, you used to spend time with him. Not in a friendly way, but in a we’re-the-same-age-at-this-dinner-party-that-our-parents-made-us-go-to kind of way. He would always make gentle comments like that one. Nothing too crude, just enough to make your stomach turn. Although, the idea of him being crude to you thrilled you a little, but you’d never admit it to him.

“Hand, princess.” Sirius outstretched a hand to you, yanking yours by the wrist into his field of vision.

You always blushed when he called you princess. You were an only child, and most pureblood families lived in a sea of boys so Sirius knew you as one of the very few pureblood girls (that he wasn’t related to) he used to spend time with. He’d call you princess because that’s what you were: a pureblood princess.

You rolled your eyes at his gruffness, pretending that you were affected by it. Sirius flipped open the textbook and spotted a diagram of a hand, glancing between that and your palm in front of him.

“This looks like your...head line.” He traced a finger across your palm which had you shivering; his hands were most definitely rough.

“And?”

His eyes snapped up to yours. “And what?”

“What does it say, Black?” Your tone was borderline irritated but you knew you couldn’t be mad at Sirius. Not when he looked at you like a wounded puppy.

“What do you mean what does it say? Aren’t we supposed to be identifying the parts of the palm?”

You stifled a laugh and playfully kicked the boy in the shins. “No, you idiot, read my palm!”

“Alright, alright, okay!”

You furrowed your brow slightly, a smile still on your face; you were positive that Sirius Black was blushing. It was a good look on him.

“Your head line” —he looked up at you for confirmation, to which you nodded— “says you can’t get me out of your head.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “It does not-”

He silenced you with another stroke across your palm. “Your life line says you want to spend the rest of your life with me— how romantic.”

“That’s just cheesy-”

“Your heart line says you desperately, desperately want me.”

“Impossible-”

“And your fate line says that we’re destined to go on a date to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

You blinked in shock. Your eyes darted around the room, expecting to hear someone gossiping about what Sirius had been saying. But you were simply being paranoid, and you knew it, too.

You leaned in slightly towards him, faltering as his musky cologne hit your senses. “Is that a joke? If it is, it isn’t very funny.”

You tried to lean away when he didn’t respond, feeling shame boil up in your stomach when he utilized the grip on your wrist, yanking you towards him so his breath was hot on your ear.

“No, princess,” he growled lowly in your ear, a devilish smirk on his lips, “I’m serious.”

—

From that point forward, Sirius and you were inseparable. Well, to an extent. Your relationship was a secret, the only people having known were James, Remus, and Peter at Sirius’s request. He understood the importance of hiding your relationship, seeing how he was the trademark blood traitor and all. So that was that, no one could know that you were falling in love with Sirius Black.

One of the very few places you convened for dates— or even just to spend some time together— was the illusive Room of Requirement. It opened for you one day as you wandered the halls, head cloudy with decisions that needed to be made about yours and Sirius’s relationship. Ultimately, it convinced you that you and Sirius could work together as a hidden couple, so you decided to continue things with the boy that you had admittedly grown quite fond of.

The door appeared and the room was slightly different this time, that of which had you on edge because you knew that you had come to talk to Sirius about a certain decision that he had made. So that’s exactly where you were, the room that fostered it all, cuddling up against your boyfriend’s chest as he recounted the memories of leaving his home.

Sirius’s hand ran its course up and down the side of your arm as he talked about showing up at the Potter’s familial home. “I was scared, of course, that they wouldn’t take me in. But they did, and I should’ve known that they would-”

What you said next was purely accidental. You didn’t mean to tell him in this hurried way, but you did. It was like the hours of listening could only fit in your head if you let one piece of information go; an eye for an eye. That was the sentiment that propelled you to say, “I’m thinking of moving out.”

Sirius’ movements stopped instantly. He craned his neck to meet your watery eyes, almost to check if what you said was sincere. He knew how much you hated your family, and how that hatred had bloomed and blossomed throughout the years but never did he expect you to say such definitive words.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked carefully like his words would shatter you, if not drive the chisel further through your cracks.

“I do.” You sat up out of his grasp, leaning against the armrest on the couch which you two sat upon. “You did it, and I want out. I’m going to do it, too.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, directing your line of sight to align with his. “Love, what’s going on?” You noticed his eyes flicker towards your wrist, sending your stomach tumbling. “Did they…?”

You jerked away from him. “They want to, so I want out.”

Sirius took a few sobering breaths before settling back onto the other end of the couch. He ran his hands over the worn fabric as he studied you like it was the last time he’d be able to see you. He ran a hand over his face as he sighed, “How can I help?”

—

Things did not go according to plan. You and Sirius had figured that you would escape in the middle of the night during winter break and meet him at the Potter’s home. But things went sour quickly.

You rarely showed strong emotions, feeling that you could keep them intact. But right then, you couldn’t. All the fear and anger had sat inside you for too long and you couldn’t help but cry and rage and scream and sob in the comforts of the Room of Requirement.

“I’m asking you to be quiet, Ebbol!”

“Master Veritas! Master Treagar! I fear that Master (Y/N) is attempting to escape! Masters? Masters!”

You felt that you were flush out of tears, but that emptiness still sat inside you. As you sat on the couch, your eyes unfocusing as your mind narrowed in on that hole. The emptiness hurt. You wanted it gone, or at least wanted something to fill it. Even a temporary fix would do. Just something to stop the pain.

“No, no! Please, mother, please! I swear, I wasn’t…”

You stood up a moment later, clenching your eyes shut as if that would hide the horrors that replayed relentlessly in your head. You wiped your tears away, taking out your wand to place a glamour charm that would hide your puffy eyes and pale lips.

You snuck out and walked to your first class, skipping breakfast because you truly didn’t think that you could stomach it. Your eyes could only focus on what was ahead of you, which is why you didn’t see Sirius jogging up beside you.

“Hey...hey! (Y/N/N), are you okay?”

His words were dull in your ears. You blinked slightly before shrugging out of his grasp on your arm, walking into the classroom ahead.

“You didn’t show up,” Sirius continued as he followed you in. “Are you okay?”

You felt sick bubbling up in your throat and you couldn’t continue talking to him any longer. Every second that you did, you were reminded of who you were: a pureblood princess.

“Go away,” you sneered shakily.

Sirius knew better than to argue with you so he shuffled back to his seat, stealing hurt glances at you every few seconds. Not that you could notice with that ache on your wrist. That was too powerful to focus on anything else.

—

You spent most of your time in the Room of Requirement. It became a second home to you if it wasn’t before. You knew that you couldn’t go back to your common room, knowing that all the eyes on you would make you feel sicker than you had before.

Your emptiness had swallowed you whole. You would stare, you would sleep, you would wake. Nightmares had taken a toll on that cycle, removing the sleeping portion. For a while you had debated brewing your own sleeping draught but you soon realized you couldn’t, barely having enough energy to get out of bed and attend classes each day. Some days, you skipped classes all together.

Sirius noticed your gaunt face and sunken eyes. He had seen you pull away and seal yourself off from everyone— especially him. He wasn’t really sure what your relationship was anymore, but it didn’t matter. He cared about you. Deeply, at that. Lover or friend.

You didn’t turn around as you heard the groaning of the old stones moving to welcome the familiar door. The door opened slowly and quiet footsteps padded in. The couch sunk slightly beside you, and it was only then that you looked up. Sirius jumped at the sight of your face without all the protective beauty charms covering it.

“Merlin, (Y/N), you look ill. When was the last time you ate something?”

You slowly turned away from him. “I...I don’t remember.” You didn’t have the energy to be mad at him, or feel anything towards him, for that matter.

“I brought some chocolate,” he explained as she rifled through the pockets of his leather jacket. “It’s from Moony’s stash. He let me take some for you.”

You absentmindedly took the chocolate, peeling away at the wrapper and biting down gently. As you chewed on the chocolate, Sirius patiently waited for you to speak up. You knew why he was there. You had dreamt about it going quite badly, but you had dreamt about it, nonetheless. You had to tell him. You had no choice.

So, without speaking, you set the chocolate bar down and raised your sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on your left forearm. He jumped up from the couch, running his hands through his hair.

“I knew it, I knew it,” he mumbled to himself. “Those sick bastards.”

“I can’t get it off, Sirius. I tried charms to hide it, even muggle makeup. Nothing works.” Your voice turned shaky as you looked up at Sirius.

His pacing stopped and he sank down to your level, cupping your jaw. “How did they do it?”

“My house-elf caught me on the way out. He called my parents in and they just...mother said they couldn’t wait any longer...that I was to be a blood traitor if I didn’t get it.”

Sirius mentally scolded himself for allowing you to do such a reckless thing without backup. He helped you plan your escape, and now he was responsible for your downfall. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes but he fought them back as he looked at you.

“I can’t go back,” you whispered.

“You’re not going to,” he said decisively.

“I can’t just leave, you know that didn’t work last time.”

He took a careful breath to calm his nerves as his hands trailed down from your face to your hands. “When someone I love gets hurt, I get involved.”

You jumped into his arms. As he tugged you closer to his chest, you felt that emptiness slowly start to fill up with...something. It was a warmth you had never felt. A warmth that made you tear up. Sirius started to tear up as well as he ran his hands over you like he hadn’t seen in you in years. Maybe he felt that emptiness, too. And maybe you filled that emptiness, too. And maybe, just maybe, you filled that emptiness with love as he did for you.

#cw food mention #tw food mention #cw implied depression #tw implied depression #cw isolation #tw isolation #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black headcanon #sirius black imagine #young sirius black #young sirius imagine #young sirius x reader #young!sirius black #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

[astraeagreengrass]

The Queen's Husband [VII/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 1.893

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of drowning and stabbing

A/N: The banner gif was found here. Thank you to the lovely @xbuchananbarnes​ for proof-reading this. I hope you like it ♡

When you were a child, your mother would take you to the seaside during the summer.

Ergona's shore is an angry one. Dark waves crash against the stone barriers of the cliffs in an endless battle, retreating in grey-white foam only to strike again, violent and persistent. Swimming was strictly forbidden, but she'd encourage you to run barefoot in the shell-covered sand, dipping your tiny toes in the freezing water. It chilled you to the bone, shivers sprouting from your legs to the roots of your hair but you loved it.

It was liberating.

The seagulls and the roar of the tide drowned out your squeals of delight, yet, even so, your mother smiled at the way your lips stretched and the wind mussed your careful updo. Under her watchful gaze, you were weightless, no crown or kingdom to hold you back - only childhood glory.

If only those days could last forever.

By the time you were nine years old you weren't so light anymore. Duty began to lurk in the corners of your world and even your mother's loving shelter couldn't stop the flood of laws, customs and obligations that washed away the last of your youth. On your last summer in Geotach, an entourage of tutors followed you and your mother to the coast, occupying your once lively afternoons on lessons in queenship.

You'd fight more often. The lure of power beguiled your innocent mind, and as much as your mother tried to hold you back, the possibilities of your future were too enticing.  

"You don't understand!" you seethed. "I'll be the queen, the first of my name. Not a consort like you and not a whore like my father's mistresses. I have to be the best!"

"I want you to be the best, Y/N" she pleaded. "But at what cost?"

Cost was a funny thing - it was always more expensive than you originally thought. At nine years old - nothing more than a child - you believed the price of power would be the loss of fun and games that'd defined your privileged upbringing so far. Nothing can prepare kings and queens for the doubt, the anxiety and the fear that comes with bearing a crown and how pride - dripping from your shallow tongue as you'd talk back to the one person who could actively help you - is a trap.

It was your pride that lead the way as you snuck out of the manor, smirking wider as you passed each oblivious guard, down the stone steps to the sand. It was a siren's voice, whispering in the howling wind, tempting you to dive deeper in the dark ocean because even the sea should bend to the queen's will.

Only you were not the queen yet, you were just a girl.

You were underwater for hours, or maybe seconds. Time was irrelevant and trying to tame it was as useless as your struggle to swim to surface. Your lungs burned, but the water drowned out it’s fire and your helpless screams.  And was cold, so cold…

"Y/N?"

Wanda's voice startled you, rousing you from sleep.

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked kindly.

You frowned.

"It was a memory."

There was a breakfast tray on the coffee table. Twisting your neck, you saw a sliver of daylight sneaking through a narrow crack in the curtains. The fire was out, engulfing the room in frigidity just like that of your nightmare and your joints screamed from the way you slept slumped in the armchair, still in your ball gown.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Wanda coaxed, stoking the embers. Black dust stained the tips of her dainty fingers.

Rubbing your hands for warmth, you said:

"Did I ever tell you about the night my mother died?"

Wanda frowned, taking a seat on the chair to your left.

"Yes, Your Grace. Your mother..."

"Was stabbed to death" you completed after sensing her hesitation. "Just like Uncle Tony."

"Lord Stark is alive, Your Grace. Dr. Banner has assured he'll recover" she stated.

"Yes, but it may take weeks for him to wake up! Meanwhile, Aunt Virginia is without her husband and Morgan is without her father" your closed fist banged on the wooden armrest, but the pain was meaningless. "And it's my fault."

"Your Grace… Y/N. Please don't say that" Wanda pleaded. "There's nothing you could've done."

You rubbed your temples furiously, while your eyes stinged with unshed tears. They choked you, stealing the air from your lungs - just like the furious sea.

"The night my mother died, I had escaped from the manor in Geotach" you recalled. "It was the middle of the night and I wanted to swim in the ocean, despite her always warning me to never do that because the water was too unpredictable. I wanted to prove her that I could do anything I wanted because, in my stupid, reckless mind, that's what queens did."

"She was right about the water, of course. It pulled me under so fast and I barely remember being dragged out. My mother had noticed my absence and warned the guards, so naturally they came for me, leaving her at the house unprotected."

"When we returned we found her body - stabbed over ten times by my math tutor, Mr. Jasper Sitwell. He'd killed her then slit his own throat with a silver dagger, just like Zemo last night. Next to him was a note, with two words: Hail Hydra."

Wanda cursed. The flames from the fireplaces made her auburn hair look almost scarlet.

"You can't blame yourself for this, Your Grace" she whispered.

"Can't I?” you muttered, self-hatred muffling Wanda’s consolation.

"What is Hydra, Your Grace?"

"Legend says it's a secret society of dragon hunters" you explained what little you'd gathered from years and years of research. "I guess one could believe that as much as they can believe in dragons."

"The dragon is the symbol of your house. It is said your ancestors built this fortress themselves using dragon fire" she said.

"There is no evidence dragons ever existed, Wanda" you declared. "Besides, even if they did once, there's nothing left to my family other than skeletons in our closets. I think whatever or whoever Hydra is, they're just trying to destroy me."

Wanda leaned over to whisper something, but a knock on the door interrupted her. You were about to say you didn't want any visitors when she claimed:

"It must be Natasha with Dr. Banner."

That confused you.

"Dr. Banner? Shouldn't he be tending to my uncle?"

"Lord Stark is out of danger, Your Grace. Now we must check if you are."

Of course - your baby. Your hands instinctively went to your stomach as Natasha and Dr. Banner crossed the room. The doctor's kind face was weary and tired from aiding your uncle all night, but still he directed you an encouraging smile:

"Your Grace, I hope I can bring you some good news."

You sighed.

"So do I, Dr. Banner. So do I."

Peter Parker was scared.

Pacing outside the royal chambers, twisting his hands in anxiety, Tony Stark's young squire fought the urge to flee or throw up.

"Keep it together, Peter" he scolded himself.

It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago his biggest concern was fixing the knot on his cravat - the damn thing kept loosening! - so that he looked perfect to attend his first ball. It was Lord Stark that managed to straighten it, with an amused smirk and a pat to the boy's shoulder. Now his mentor was in a coma while his body struggled to recover from the wounds Peter couldn't prevent.

He was the worst squire in the history of Ergona, but there was one last thing he had to do before scurrying back home

He straightened himself when the doors to your chambers opened and you walked out, followed by your handmaiden, Dr. Bruce Banner and Lady Natasha Romanoff. Peter always thought you looked majestic, the strongest woman he's ever seen, but today you were defeated, with bags under your eyes and a hunch in your pace, as if the weight of the world had finally caught up to you.

Once Dr. Banner bid you his farewells, you turned to Peter, your ladies by your side.

"Mr. Parker" you greeted "What can I do for you?"

The boy cleared his throat and curtsied.

“Your Grace” he said. “Forgive my boldness, but may I speak with you in private?”

You raised one eyebrow, tired gaze softening at the sight of the squire. At the cusp of manhood, Peter Parker was all smooth edges and golden dreams, crushed under the gleam of a silver knife. You uncle had taken him under his wing not less than a year ago,

“Walk with us, Peter” you said, motioning him to step in beside you, Wanda and Natasha close behind.

Your handmaiden claimed that the Keep had been forged from dragon fire, but how could she believe that after spending six winters inside these walls was beyond you. The wind seemed to penetrate the stone, howling through the hallways and halls in an eerie song. The noise drowned out your voice when you said:

“You’re May Parker’s nephew, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace” he nodded. “She raised me as her own after my parents passed away.”

“She is a very good woman and a skilled seamstress. I have much admiration for her.”

Peter cracked a small smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll be sure to pass your compliments along when I return home.”

“You’re planning on going home?” you asked.

“Well, I just assumed I would be stripped from my title, Your Grace” he stuttered. “Considering my failure to prevent the attack on Lord Stark.”

“Lord Stark named you his squire, Peter. Only him can remove your title, not me. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. What happened last night was not your fault.”

You stopped in front of a closed window, but the iron knob was too stiff from lack of use.

“Help me get this open, please” you grunted.

Together, you and Peter cracked the window open, baring your faces to the freezing wind. Through the fog, you could briefly make out the snow covered hills of Albeon.

“The walls of this Keep have ears, Peter” you stated and the boy had to perk his ears to hear you. “I’m sorry about the wind, but it’s noise will drown out what you have to say.”

Peter briefly noticed that Lady Natasha and Mrs. Wanda had stepped back and were now each facing one end of the hallway. No one would dare pass by them.

“Your Grace” he started. “After your engagement, Lord Stark gave me a mission: He commanded me to spy on the King’s father and some other nobles from West Ergona.”

“He was suspicious of the Duke of Arvenia, for reasons he never made clear, but, as his squire, it wasn’t my place to ask anyway. So, during Lord Roger’s stay in Albeon, I traced his movements and reported back to Lord Stark.”

“That man that stabbed your uncle, Baron Zemo. He said something before he killed himself: Hail Hydra. I’ve heard these words before, Your Grace. I’ve heard them from the mouth of Joseph Rogers, the Duke of Arvenia and King Steven’s father.”

A/N: *plays Law & Order theme song* TA DUM 

#steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #king!au #king!steve #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x you #king!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve x female reader #marvel!au #marvel au

[jackals-ships]

In Which We Explore Scenes Of The Emotions Of A Human Forced To Work With A Troll They Cannot Stand

contains: 2nd person pov, exploring pitch-pale emotions, they're stupid your honor, semi explicit injury towards the end of the fic, pre relationship+relationship set up

2282 whole words mostly written at 3am. no betta we die like men

Your name is Jackal Glass, you work for Her Imperious Condescension as a great many things: spy and assassin being first and foremost. You are in her words "one of the funniest lil humans [she's] met". It's often accompanied by a smile with too many teeth and a laugh bordering on cruel. (But that is simply how she is you have learned. She was born of the Deeps, of the cruel dark sea, she was not made to be soft and gentle.)

In other words: she likes you. She values what you can do for her empire and because of this she has elevated you to a status that very few humans, trolls or carapacians are capable of reaching. 

It is this status that has you gritting your teeth as you wonder for the hundredth time if it's worth it.

Because Her Imperious Condescension has given you a mission, not unusual in and of itself, but that mission is to accompany one Orphaner Dualscar, Captain of the ISS Calamity to crush a small insurrection before it can grow to catastrophic proportions. 

You know from the documents his hatchname is Cronus Ampora, he is the Empresses matesprit, and you now know he is a rat fucking bastard. 

Not even a minute into the conversation and he has somehow managed to insult you multiple times. Implying that you must be filling one of Her quadrants to have the position you do, outright stating that if it wasn't for Her orders he would throw you off the ship at the first given opportunity.

You are filled with the urge to pull him down by his stupid bejeweled fins and bite him. By the end of the conversation you are vibrating with a barely contained rage. Later Kurloz will laugh at you, tell you how "wicked mother fuckin funny it is that you've up an gotten your pitch on for the fish bastard" and it will leave you flushed from ear to collarbone. The hatred you feel is the most purely platonic, nothing more or less. 

(this is of course ignoring your daydreams about throwing him to the floor and kissing him senseless with a knife to his stomach, maybe that will shut him up for more than thirty seconds.) 

----

Your first week passes calmly enough. You stay out of the Orphaners way as well as you can, treat your job with the Utmost Respect you show everything you do, and begin to bond with some of the crew. They don't trust you, not yet, because you're human, because you're a part of the Church and that makes people uncomfortable. (you choose not to get into the hours long ramble of the church is more your moirails than yours. you don't find safety in it's cold embrace but you do find it in his.)

And you learn things about the Orphaner. Little things here and there, because no matter where you go people will always love to gossip. 

He's always tired, but he'll never admit to it. Not even when he's swaying on his feet and clutching at the rails til his knuckles then ashen. Doesn't have a moirail to speak of apparently. Only quadrant that's filled is his flushed and even that is tenuous at best and often tinged in shades of pitch. 

He's as old as Kurlz apparently. Been on the same ship for as long as anyone can remember and been through more crew members than you can count. (It must be lonely you think. There's not many other violets on board and purples often cluster to the Church. hell even ceruleans don't live as long as the others and...maybe that's why he's so tired all the time.)

He's got more scars and tattoos and piercings than he does clear flesh. That one you learn by observation. Sometimes he'll lean over the side of the ship, get a far away look on his face, and strip his outerwear before jumping overboard. Your heart stopped the first time before you reminded yourself he was born of the sea. 

(when if you kiss him will you taste it on him? will he taste like brine and blood?)

----

Your name is Jackal Glass and you have decided you will not be telling the Orphaner that. 

He calls you dog when he deigns to address you again, venom dripping so sharp from that single word you're surprised you haven't keeled over dead from it. The crew gives you side long glances, expecting it to bother you and send you into a shouting rage but. But you can't help it. 

You laugh at him. 

The look of shock on his face is enough to make you break down into further giggles, teeth bared up at him in a mockery of a grin as his fins press further against his face. That will do then Captain. Since you're apparently lacking the braincells to recall my name proper. 

You have never run so fast in your life, furious seadweller on your heels and still cackling up a storm.

(he will not catch you, you will jump onto the mast of the ship, swing yourself up like the ropes are the silks your Siblings use for practice. you will mock him, affectionately sharp, and inform him if he cannot catch a simple human perhaps he is getting far too old to be the captain.)

(you will both refuse to think on the fact he could have caught up to you in two strides and thrown you overboard.)

----

Orphaner Dualscar is an old troll, older than some stars and old enough that his skin has gone so dark oftentimes you lose him up against the night sky. But when he fights he moves like a troll a tenth his age. 

You've always enjoyed watching others. But your Siblings….well. There is an unfortunate truth to the Church and it's brutality you have to admit. Dualscar? He moves like a dancer. 

He fights with fancy flourishes that other trolls couldn't get away with. He fights like he's putting on a show. Look at me, look at me. Am I not powerful? Am I not worthy of adoration? I could destroy you with a flick of my wrist and I wouldn't even care. 

It is...enthralling. He sends his opponents sword flying before knocking them sharply down, his sword to their throat and a half feral grin on his face. (you do not think about how you want to be under him like that. you do not.)

You also, do not see the look on his face as he watches you flee with your tail between your legs. It is the look of a man who is beginning to realize certain emotions within himself. (he does not under any circumstances think about wanting you under him instead of them. and if he does it's because you're human and it is only natural as a violetblood that he is better than you and. and. fuck)

---

there is blood on your face and on your hands and half of it is yours and. that is. not ideal. things had been going swimmingly until now, heh, swimmingly. oh….. right. you're busy bleeding out aren't you?

the insurrection was easily crushed. it was naught more than a small group of lowbloods, half of them honestly couldn't have been more than ten sweeps old. later you will think on it with a grimace, pressing your palms into your eyes and think once again: is it worth it. should you flee into the wilderness.

but for now you are holding your stomach with one hand, holding yourself up against a wall with the other and gritting your teeth. you will not die today. not here, not now. 

you know you only have a few more moments before you succumb to the bloodloss and lose consciousness (you have seen your moirail perform inquisition more times than you can count, and you have seen even the strongest of your siblings drop in battle) so you push yourself forwards, saying a prayer to the Messiah's for good measure. ive payed my way in flesh and blood brothers mine. now let me get the fuck out of here back to my diamond.

Dualscar is the one who finds you. he rounds the corner and almost bowls you over in his haste. vwhere the fuck have you- DOG. he sounds...scared?

oh. what's up asshole. you give him the quickest of finger guns before slumping against him. he's always so cold but….this time you hardly feel it against you. that's..not good is it? 

but he's holding you with more care than he ever has, cradled against his chest like a newly hatched wriggler while everything goes fuzzy around the edges. it's...it's nice. in it's own way. 

the last thing you think about is the impulse to bite his dumb, stupid dumb bejeweled fins. 

---

When you wake again you feel as if you've just been run over by a truck. Which...all things considered you suppose that's better than not waking up at all. 

You are in a hospital room apparently, there are bandages covering your hands, a cast on your left wrist and even more bandages around your waist. There is also a very large, very old troll currently draped over your legs. He looks like shit. 

His hair is splayed out around him, face scrunched up like he's in the middle of a particularly vicious daymare and the bags under his eyes are far deeper than normal. He has several cuts on his face and neck that you're certain will only add to the mass of scars.

Right now too he's close enough you could just...his face relaxes as you lay your palm on his cheek. Fuck but seadwellers are cold. He's worse than the bloody ocean he spends most of his time in. It doesn't stop you however, from running your hand across his face, tracing the parallel scars that mar his cheeks and eye. (he won't tell anyone how he got that one. he freezes, looks around the room at everywhere but the person asking before telling em it's none of ya fuckin business don't ask me again vwriggler.)

(in this moment you don't know that he will tell you one day. face pressed against your collarbone as he whispers it like a confessional. you don't know that you will mark down a name in your mind with a newfound rage. for now you just know that you hate this man and you also don't want to stop touching his face.)

When he wakes it's slow, shoves his face further into your palm like an overgrown cat before yawning wide. It shows off the double row of fangs and you just. Hm. Well that is your finger on the Orphaner's golden canine and he's fixin you with just such the most bewildered look. Eventually of course you retract your hand and he sits up all proper like the Fine Captain he pretends to be. "So. Ya ain't dead."

"..not for lack of trying." It takes a moment for your mouth to remember how words work. "How long I been out?"

"Boat a vweek now. Medicullers. They vwerent sure... if ya vwould vwake up." His accent comes out stronger when he's stressed you've noticed. It makes you feel such emotions inside.

Your hands find his to give them a gentle pat, his rings are almost as cool against your skin as he is. (what do you feel like to him? does it hurt? you are hotter than even a rustblood you know. does it feel like he's holding a dying star in his hands when he touches you?) "Eh don't worry bout it Captain, we both know I'm too stupid to die."

His smile looks almost fond as he takes your hands proper, dwarfing them in his larger more scared up ones. "Aye that vwe both knoww ya are huh. At any rate, I'll be stayin here til ya fully get back on ya feet. Don't vwant you tryin tae sneak awway from your job." It is the weakest excuse you have ever heard but you nod nonetheless, sink back into your bed and allow him to tell you how things went with Her Imperiousness.

The sound of his voice lulls you to sleep, or maybe it's the heavy painkillers still in your system. Whatever the cause you are soon unconscious again and Captain Cronus Ampora hesitates for a long moment before pulling the blankets up around you and pressing a cool kiss to your forehead. 

He doesn't know what he's doing. He knows in his bones he will outlive you, he will outlive your whole species. But you make him feel things. Pitch and pale in equal measure. Fuck.

(it will still be a few sweeps before you get together proper. the crew will place bets on how long it'll take before you get your heads out of your asses and realize you're both swinging the most hate filled rivalry for each other so you just need to fucking kiss already. you will dance around the subject, throw barbs at each other, throw each other to the deck of the ship and swear curses that no one should repeat. you will leave each other bruised and battered but better. pushed mutually to be better.)

(but for now? For now he crawls into the bed next to you, curls up around you like he's not gonna let anyone lay a finger on what's rightfully his.)

(and you will curl up into him, press your face into the hollow of his neck and feel the most relaxed you've felt in a good long while.)

#jackals barks #ship: space pirates <3< #okay 2 rb #non homestucks what is ur winsdom an onions- /lh

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Save Me From Myself - Leone Abbacchio

The best thing that could ever happen in my life is to become a part of the gang Passione - Or, to be more specific, a part of Buccellati’s team, filled with people with so many past issues that somehow manage to work together and support each other with everything they’ve got, despite their huge differences.

We have, from youngest to oldest, we have:

Giorno, a super cute and pure angel of a kid who is super smart and ambitious. Fugo, a super smart and caring yet hella violent kid who can’t control his temper. Narancia, ADD kiddo who behaves like a 10 year old, but is funny and has nice dance moves. Mista, hella funny guy and easy going, but can get distracted by weird things. Bruno, the mum of the group, everyone loves and looks up to him. And we have Abbacchio, who’s the oldest, acts somehow like the responsible dad of the group, yet he’s more of a very gloomy wine dad.

Of course, being a part of Bruno’s team, we already know each other’s backstories and we know how to support and protect each other when we need it, both morally and emotionally, since, after all, nobody is made of ice or stone.

But that is something that perhaps neither Abbacchio nor I chose to admit...Or maybe we already know that, but we don’t want to say it out loud, because if we do, it will make it real, and we don’t want the bad parts to be real.

When we have pair up missions, I’d usually be paired with Abbacchio, since apparently, we make quite a good team, and can’t say that I complain - He knows when to stay silent, when to make a witty or sarcastic comment, has very nice dark jokes and can be a great conversation partner, especially when it comes to music and bands.

What I realised, however, that I’m not sure everyone knows, is that Abbacchio has a dose of self-hatred so large that it would include the dose of everyone from the team...No, rather said, of all Italy.

Unfortunately, when you’re someone like me, you can easily realise when someone isn’t doing mentally and emotionally too well, and what’s worse, as an empath, you can feel it just like an arrow impaling your heart.

It’s already been about a year since Giorno joined our team and for some reason, things started taking a turn for the unexpected whenever we’d have our weekly restaurant gatherings.

It all started when Mista got himself a girlfriend, and honestly, everyone was shocked because so far, nobody actually had any kind of love life, but we were all super proud and happy for him. He has always been a fun and easy going guy, very adventurous and this charm of his unexpectedly drew interesting girls to him, and managed to get completely head over heels with one.

Three weeks later, Mista couldn’t come to the hang out because he was taking his girlfriend on a date out of the city, but we found out that Giorno, with his really cute tricks and natural innocent charm, found himself in a relationship with a flower girl, very kind and sweet. They met when she was walking her puppy and he pulled on the leash so hard that she fell, but Giorno caught her and helped her out with the puppy, and it was love at first sight.

Of course, we were all very happy for them, because obviously, Giorno deserves the best in life...

And yet, it was weird when we were so few at the table at weekend hang outs.

It didn’t take long for Bruno to fall for a beautiful singer at a jazz bar, who, he found out, always bought meals for children of the streets and bought them clothes and tried to take care of them the best she could.

And now that our Mum friend was busy with his beloved, we are told by Fugo that he also managed to find a girl who is extremely calm, patient and intelligent, just his type, and they are planning a few museum and bookshop dates, as well of some very chill hang outs in the park.

Not even a week later, it was only me, Abbacchio and Narancia at the table, but the little duck was overly enthusiastic today, and told us that he found a girl who doesn’t mind his energetic and airhead personality and wants to take HIM out on an arcade date, and he needs some dating advice so he wouldn’t screw up.

“These kids are so pure and adorable, don’t you think, Leone?” I let out an amused breath, realising that, by now, it was only I and him at the table. “Yeah...They are. they deserve it.” he nodded simply, yet he seemed to not be over with his thoughts. “You seem like you want to say something else. Do you have anything on your mind that you’d like to share?...Hold up, is that lipstick on your neck?” I ask in a gentle voice, that turned into a gasp, which made him hum as he closed his eyes and think over, trying to wipe away the lipstick from his skin. “Well, I suppose I should say it after all. I asked a girl out and we’re going on a date next weekend, so I won’t be present for our weekly hang out...Not that it would make much of a difference, considering we’re the only ones left.” hearing him say that so nonchalantly, broke my heart in very little pieces, but at the same time, I was happy for him. “Woaw, that’s great, I’m so happy for you, Abba! I hope she’s everything you wish for and that you’ll both be happy together!” I congratulated him, but he only let out an amused breath, looking away slightly. “Yeah...Thanks, I guess.” he spoke in a low voice, seemingly absent minded. “You still have something on your mind -... No, rather said, on your heart. Is it something you’d rather keep to yourself?” I ask in a softer voice, leaning a bit on the table. “I’m not sure...” he trailed on, before glancing at him, blinking but not saying anything for a while. “Well, doesn’t matter, I’m not really a talker anyway. I have to go. See you around, Kat.” he nodded at me before leaving the restaurant, leaving me alone. “Bye...” I mutter to myself, staring at the empty seat in front of me.

It was then that I was reminded just how alone I really was, even when surrounded by people that I hold dear, and in turn, hold me dear... Well, not that it really mattered now anyway, since I was truly alone now, both spiritually and physically.

I got up from my seat and started walking around the city aimlessly, not really knowing what to do. When everyone else wasn’t so busy, I’d cling on one of them, depending on the mood I had at the moment...But now?  Now I feel like nothing more than a wingless bird, or a paper plane in the wind, just trying to stay in the air.

Everywhere I looked, everyone was happy, everyone had someone that made them happy, and in turn, would make said person happy... And then I’d think at myself, and I’d find nothing more than an endless void of nothingness.

It’s true, I used to date someone too, before Giorno joined us, but...I never, even once, missed one of our hang outs.  I suppose the team, my family, for me, was always more important than a relationship that may or may not be fleeting. And...I suppose that’s why my ex kept speaking like that to me, and seeing me in such a bad light. A difference in ideals and mind views that is so radical is never going to work out.

I already miss my Family, despite of how dysfunctional we all are.

How odd.

The next weekend, I went to the restaurant at the regular time, hoping that I would see at least one of the guys... But I was merely lying to myself, or my heart, that is. My brain already knew I was going to be alone.

One week, two weeks, three weeks...

The only time I’d meet them is when we’d have to go on missions or stuff like that.

I can’t believe how fast happiness can disappear...It’s almost like it never existed in the first place. How is that fair?

Why am I the only one left alone? Am I really that much of a bad person? Am I really that bad? Or ugly? Or annoying? Or what the hell is wrong with me? And more, what the hell is wrong with my heart? Why does it hurt so much? Why do I keep feeling the need to break down and cry every night with no exception? But I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I feel the need to cry my emotions out and scream my frustrations out at the sky... Or the fact that I can’t?

For the love of God, I can’t express my emotions, I can’t feel them, or maybe I feel too many at once and they threaten to explode, hell, I don’t even understand anything anymore.

This...Is really not fair at all...

About two months into this whole mess, I found myself going out by the sea every night, drinking some red wine that Abbacchio always drank and surprisingly, wasn’t too bad for my tastes, and I would just stare at the sky and let my emotions pour out, but not without cursing myself for looking like an alcoholic.

What was different that night, however, was a very familiar voice that seemed rather irked, continued by a very pitched and nagging female voice.

It sounded like Abbacchio...But I could always be mistaken. After all, drinking a whole bottle of red wine by myself wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

They seemed to be arguing...I don’t know...I wouldn’t want to intervene in their couple affairs. Or at least, that’s what I said, until I heard a loud slapping sound, followed by a deathly silence, which is when I realised that the woman he was with slapped him.

I may not be his girlfriend, but godamn it, nobody treats my family like that...

I marched to where the sound of the woman yelling at him came from, and despite possibly being a bit wobbly, I wasn’t even sure, I glared at her, catching her wrist before she could slap him once again.

“Who the hell are you?! Who do you think you are, getting between me and my boyfriend like that?! You look like some drunk slut from the highway, we have no money for your cheap ass!” she shrieked in my face, trashing violently, but I made no hostile move, except for glaring blankly at her. “He’s my family...And I’ll be dead before I allow anyone to treat my family with such disrespect.” I spoke in a low and threatening voice, gripping her wrist tighter. “It’s fine, Katrina, I deserved it.” Abbacchio tried to defend his girlfriend, but I was having none of it. “No, it’s not fine. And you didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves to be treated like that by the person they love.” I reply simply, but that seemed to make hell break loose. “Oh my GOD! Leone, this is all your fault! Who the hell made you know such a fucking annoying chick like her who doesn’t mind her own damn business?! Screw it, I’m going home! You owe me a nice fucking date next time!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, before pushing me away and stomping in the opposite direction. “God damn it...” Abbacchio’s low voice was barely audible. “Are you okay, Abba...? Does it hurt where she slapped you? Can I heal it with my Stand?” I tried to reach out instinctively with my hands, but he slapped them away harshly, glaring at me, which made me widen my eyes in shock. “Abba...?” I was barely able to speak out. “What the fuck is your problem?! Why do you have to put your nose everywhere that doesn’t concern you? That was MY girlfriend! My date, my problem, my responsibility! ALL mine! You never stop trying to pry into others’ business, under the pretext that we’re family and you want the best for us, but have you ever thought that maybe we DON’T need OR want that?!” it was the first time he spoke so harshly and aggressive toward me, that I had to take a few steps back, away from him, then turn around to hide the tears streaming down my face. “Okay. I won’t bother you ever again. I’m sorry I’m such a bother for everyone around me. Goodbye.” I manage to speak in a shaky voice, as I started walking back towards the place where I stood previously, but I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. “W-Wait...Are you crying...?” Leone spoke in an unsure voice, as if he was somehow taken back to reality. “That shouldn’t concern you, should it? It’s none of your business and you shouldn’t pry so much into it. That IS what you said, right, Abbacchio? Who cares about poor little, annoying Katrina, after all? Nobody. Let it remain that way. Who knows, maybe you’ll have the look to completely get rid of me very soon.” I slapped his hand away, before disappearing into the night, not even bothering to hear him out anymore.

From then on, I wasn’t even able to fake my happiness, my face remaining blank and emotionless for most of the time, and I’d only stay around the team for as long the mission needed me, and then I’d just leave back home, to my little safe heaven where I could be myself... But honestly, I couldn’t even be myself there, for I wouldn’t even be able to cry out my feelings or anything of the sort, and for the most time, I’d just watch a movie or listen to music, without feeling anything at all, just wasting my time blankly.

The other guys would voice their concerns quite often and loud, since I wasn’t my usual calming, gentle and happy go lucky self anymore, and it was clear that something was wrong...Especially when I refused to stay anywhere near the silver haired man.

It wasn’t until Bruno paired me up with said man that hell broke loose in a way, and the whole drive to the assigned place was filled with awkward silence, with Abbacchio trying to make conversation by asking if I like the song that’s on or I want to change it, but I didn’t bother giving him any answer, merely looking in front of me as I drove.

By the time we got to the docks to investigate the place, I walked away from him to do my job, but he just stood there, staring into the horizon, trying to say something, but something was keeping him - Most likely his own walls he created.

“We should talk.” he finally spoke up after excruciating minutes. “Really?” I asked sarcastically, now even bothering to look at him. “What were you doing at the beach that night?” he asked after a long pause. “Strictly confidential.” I replied blankly, looking at the little dock house. “What...?!” my response seemed to shock him since I was never so harsh and direct with him, always preferring to speak with a gentler and softer way. “It’s none of your business, is it? Your words, not mine.” I explained as I got inside and looked around the place. “I didn’t mean that. Not a word I said.” he tried to say, but I cut him off fast. “Activate your Stand already, stop wasting time.” I got out, looking at him with a bored expression. “Besides, words spoken always have a meaning and consequences. Action-Reaction, like in Physics, y’know?” I pointed out, as I took a seat on one of the logs around. “Look, I know I fucked up. I lashed out at you for no reason, and I’m sorry about that. I want to make it up to you. You were right to worry about me. Anyone from the team would have done the same. I was an asshole with you, I know that. I let my feelings go out of control... I'm just that kinda guy... a worthless guy who can't see anything through to the end. I always screw it up halfway through.” he spoke now more than I’ve ever heard him before, but the way he described himself made me cringe. “Don’t...Speak like that about yourself...” I muttered, shifting my gaze from him to Moody Blues. “Huh? Even now, after I was such an asshole with you, you try to protect me? Aren’t you an angel?” he chuckled lightly, which only made me sneer. “Shut up. I’m sorry for caring about you and for not wanting you to go through what I’ve been through. But I should’ve known better. You’re 21, you already have enough experience to know what you get yourself into. I won’t say a word next time, don’t worry. I promised not to bother anyone again.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my legs to get more comfortable in my seat. “That guy really was a bastard, wasn’t he...?” he muttered with a somehow softened expression. “Don’t try to turn this around. This conversation isn’t about me and nor should you be concerned about me or my feelings in any way.” I reminded him once again, but he was always a stubborn guy. “Lately, I’ve been feeling worse and worse...I guess I just needed a distraction. I never held any feelings for that woman, nor did she for me.” he tried to justify himself, but I merely shrugged. “I don’t see how that concerns me in any way.” I scoffed in annoyance. “You’re the only one I’d trust with my feelings.” he spoke after a brief silence, but I could only laugh sardonically. “Oh, really? Really, now? Are you sure you want to say that after that night? Because, as far as I’m concerned, you want me out of your life! Why would you even bother trying to justify your actions to someone like me anyway?!” I got up, glaring at him dead on. “Look, I give you every right to be mad at me! You can go ahead and punch me or kick me or slap me or whatever, it doesn’t matter, I won’t feel anything so if it will make you feel better, lash out your anger on me, I’d deserve it anyway.” he spoke a bit louder, yet he wore his raw feelings on his sleeve. “Why...Would I do that? You, of all people, should know that I would never, in a million years, do something like that, no matter how angry I am. Are you trying to mock me...?” I narrowed my eyes at him, but he merely shook his head. “I’m trying to get you to forgive me. I’m just very bad at this whole feel-thing...Or people-thing. You already know my past and I’m pretty sure you figured by now why I act the way I act. It’s not rocket science. So just...Tell me what to do to get you to forgive me and be the way we were before. I can’t stand the idea of you hating me.” his voice became much softer and more emotional by the end of it, something uncharacteristic of him. “I don’t hate you.” I looked down, crossing my arms. “You don’t...?” he stepped forward, his face shocked. “I can’t. No matter how much I want to hate you for what you did...I can’t.” I mutter, biting my lip, averting my eyes away from him, until...”Hey...Doesn’t that look oddly enough like your girlfriend...?” I ask breathlessly as Moody Blues took the shape of the girl at the beach. “Oh, great...My hookup is a villain Stand user. Great news.” he facepalmed in anger, before he ran full speed towards me, pushing me away. “Look out!” “Wh-What...?! Leone...?!” I gasped in shock, seeing him on the ground, a really ugly wound on his torso. “Guess we have to kill her.” he chuckled weakly, as I could feel a drop of sweat run down my back. “Damn it, you idiot! You shouldn’t have done that! Why the hell would you do something like that?!” I freaked out, looking at his bleeding wound. “I’ll tell you if I make it through this.” he wore the ghost of a smile that almost challenged me. “...You always know how to irk me the wrong way, don’t you?” I grit my teeth, before I got up, activating my Stand. “I’m not a violent person, chickadee, but now you’ve done it. You really got me mad.” I growled, creating blasting shots of water and throwing them at the woman in front of me. “Awww, what is it? Were you jealous, after all? Were you after my man all this time~?” she giggled, throwing her own blasts of whatever kind of energy that was. “I have no reason to be jealous. Especially not on someone like you.” I smirk as I made molecules of water depart from the actual blast, that would glue themselves on her skin and would get absorbed into her organism. “Oh, really? Can you really afford to say that, even now, knowing that he fucked me?” she laughed condescendingly, but she had no idea what a gruesome demise she’d have. “I almost pity you, you know? You seem like the kind of person who never knew what love is...Not that I’m sympathetic to you in any way. But sure, use that as an excuse to pretend you’re not just an empty shell of yourself.” I chuckled, before snapping my fingers together, which made her explode. “Au revoir.” I flipped my hair, looking at the place she was at just a few seconds ago, before rushing to the fallen ally. “That was pretty cool.” Abbacchio smirked breathlessly. “Guess my plan worked. I tried to look cool in front of you.” I let out an amused breath, before I took off his top, focusing the water to regenerate the cells on his wound so he would heal. “It worked damn well.” he said in a lower voice, watching me heal his wound. “Next time, don’t do that. I almost had a heart attack.” I bit my lip, not daring to meet his gaze. “It’s fine...I don’t feel anything. I haven’t in a long while.” he tried to make light of the situation, but I knew. I knew the truth, but I couldn’t say anything.

I didn’t even realise that I stopped healing him until tears started falling down my cheeks without any means to stop.

“H-Hey, why are you crying? I was joking, don’t take me so seriously-” he tried to take that back, but I knew better. “Don’t do that...Don’t. Just don’t. I already know...I know that so much that it hurts...” I manage to speak, hiding my face with my hands, not wanting him to see me crying. “Hey, come on...No need to cry over someone like me. Your pretty face should shine with a smile all the time, not cry.” he put his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. “Don’t act so brave in front of me, it’s annoying. Not when I already know how much you’re hurting...I understand you so well...I’m just too scared to say it out loud...But lately, I couldn’t even pretend that it’s not true. That’s why...I wanted to protect you from everything bad that would make you feel even worse...” I tried to explain myself, until I felt a kiss on the top of my head. “Look, I’ll be frank. I love you. I’m done hiding. I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause you deserve better, not a depressed guy who’s stuck in the past. You deserve someone bright and caring like Buccellati who’d treat you like a princess and all that. I’m not worthy of your feelings.” he stroked my hair gently, pouring all his feelings out. “Don’t...Say that...Ever again. Look at me...You think I’m any better? Do you have any idea how lonely I’ve felt all this time since you all got too busy for your family? Do you have any idea how bad I felt without you guys around? As if before that wasn’t bad enough...Now I’ve become an even greater mess. I either cry randomly, or feel nothing at all. I don’t even know what I am or what I feel anymore...And you say you’re no good for me? Did you hit your head too or what?” I spoke out everything I had to say, not even feeling embarrassed or scared anymore. “Don’t say that...You will regret it later on. I can’t even help myself, how could I possibly support you emotionally in any way?” he asks in a self-deprecating tone. “You’re impossible...” I sigh dramatically, as I raise my head and cupping his face, I capture his purple-painted lips in a tender kiss, with enough passion to show him that I mean it, but gentle enough, almost as if afraid that either of us would break from the pent up emotions that kept overwhelming us. “Are you sure...?” he mutters, his eyes wide in surprise. “If you want another one, you can just say so.” I smirk softly, before he put one arm around me, while his other hand was on the back of my head, and he pulled me into another kiss, just as full of love. “Do I really have to ask?” he let out an amused breath. “No. I’ll just let you steal them.” I could feel the ghost of a side-smile creeping on my face as I helped him get up from the ground. “Well, mission complete. Let’s go back home now. We gotta report to our dear Capo, after all.” I intertwined my fingers with his. “There’s gonna be a lot of explaining to do. How bothersome.” he said, yes the chuckle betrayed his words. “Hey, I’ll just look at the bright side. I won’t have to sit at the restaurant table by myself anymore.” I shrugged with an innocent smile on my face. “Low blow, tesoro. Low blow.” he shook his head, yet he was smiling, just as much.

#leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio imagine #abbacchio imagine #abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio #abbacchio #jojo imagine #jojo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure part 3 #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure imagine #vento aureo #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #vento aureo x reader #vento aureo imagine #bruno buccellati #fugo pannacotta #mista guido #narancia ghirga #giorno giovanna #buccellati's team #bucci gang #gang star #gangster

[relishredshoes]

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.  (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Oracle Obscured and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you for letting us get to know you a little better.

Many readers will know you already and if they don’t I encourage them to look your works up including Teaching Miss Granger and How I learned to love teachers’ meetings

Okay, let’s jump right in.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Hmmm ... that’s kind of a weird answer for me. I wanted to choose a name that didn’t immediately indicate whether I was male or female. I’d noticed a certain freedom afforded to authors of indistinguishable gender. With no societal construct about the “nature” of the creator, the story stood on its own, without prejudice or conditioned expectations.

I brainstormed about six or seven names and then picked the one that appealed to me most. I’ve always felt drawn to the idea of oracles (those who see beyond). And I definitely felt obscured in that department. (Hell, at the time, my whole life felt obscured.)

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

I don’t know if I do. I guess if I had to pick, I’d say Hermione, as I have a tendency to be an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to work/studying. I like to be organized and plan things out. And I can be quite demanding and harsh with myself when I feel like I’m not measuring up to my own insane ideals.

But I took that openpsychometrics.org statistical quiz a while back, where you answer like a bazillion comparison questions (I did the longer version), and my highest HP match was Remus Lupin (83%). Yeah, I can see that.

Luna is my favorite character, but I don’t know if I identify with her more than anyone else.

Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general)

It used to be horror/suspense, but ... I don’t know ... I’m just not as into it anymore. Maybe it’s because the real world is horrifying enough without adding fictional monsters to the mix.

Now I mostly read classics.

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

To Kill a Mockingbird.

At what age did you start writing?

Just writing stories in general? Maybe second grade. It wasn’t a passion or anything, just something I was pretty good at. I only really did it at school, though, not so much at home. I read A LOT growing up, so I naturally imagined that I might be an author one day. I tried to write a book when I was about 13 or 14, but less than one chapter in, I decided it was too hard. (I was NOT a Hermione growing up. Planning and perseverance were not my style.)

I took a massive break from thinking after high school (the smorgasbord of medications I was on didn’t like me using my brain too much, and my plans for college went out the window when my depression become unmanageable). I didn’t really start writing again until I was about twenty-seven. That was when I found fanfiction. I consider that when I really started writing.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I found fanfiction while looking for erotica. Needless to say I discovered the motherlode, and I was hooked. Over the years, I’d written bits and pieces of my own sexy scenarios (which is what you do when you grow up without the internet and you have to depend on your imagination for all your kink requirements), but I’d never really thought about taking someone else’s “story world” and using it as my setting. For a little over a year I read/devoured all the HP fanfiction I could, and then I realized I could take all the fantasies in my head and play them out with my favorite characters.

The first story I wrote was a funny/smutty Ginny/Draco thing, and it was HORRIBLE. The story and the sex were fine, but the writing was a nightmare. I submitted it to The Restricted Section, which was the only site I knew at the time, and they vetted their stories, so I had to get approved. They wrote me back saying it needed work and I should get a beta. So I went on the forum and found one (which was rather brave of me now that I think back). The person who helped me must’ve had the patience of a saint, because he/she(?) never said a damn thing about all the mistakes and shitty-ness. Suggestions and corrections were made, and I changed some of the pronouns to names so it wouldn’t sound so repetitive. The next time I submitted it, they accepted, and I got a decent response for a first-time writer (like three or four nice reviews). No one seemed to hate it, and the reviewers said the sex was hot, so I tried again, hoping to do better.

That’s when I wrote the first chapter of Teaching Miss Granger. It started out as just a oneshot. And it got a much better response. I wanted to write more, but I became extremely depressed and lethargic, and I didn’t really do anything for the next six or seven years. (I mean nothing. Unless you consider watching every episode of Law & Order CI and SVU ten times over to be an accomplishment.)

I came back to it years later, intending to add a few chapters to TMG where they have sex, but ... it just sort of evolved into the monster that it is. I worked on it pretty much every day for about a year. I’d never stuck with ANYTHING that long in my entire life.

What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works?

I would say love or “the power of love” is probably my favorite theme. But that includes synonyms for love as well. (Like wholeness, which is the theme of Quartet.)

What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter?

None. I like other fandoms, but I don’t write for them, and I don’t usually read their fanfiction.

If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon?

I’ve never really thought about changing cannon. I mean, I change it to suit my fictional purposes (like Snape lives etc.), but I wouldn’t want to change canon for real. The deaths in HP serve a purpose, and while I find many of those deaths heartbreaking, that’s kind of the point. Hatred is bleak and destructive, and good people don’t survive wars simply because they’re good; bad things happen to good people all the time. As for changing something about the individual characters, I can’t get behind that either. The reasons people do things are multifaceted and complex and they’re colored by a lifetime of experiences I will never know or understand, so I don’t feel I can really judge. I can’t say I understand all the choices I’ve made in my own life, and there’ve been plenty of times where I had no choice at all. I can’t hold others to more rigorous standards than I myself can meet. We all have our shortcomings. (And that’s cool. Without them, there would be no growth or diversity.)

Do I have a favorite piece of fanon? Hmmm ... probably Head Boy and Head girl rooming together or having private rooms.

Oh! And uniforms.

Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet?

I used to listen to really quiet classical music while wearing headphones. Every little sound in the house distracts me, and I have to block it out. But lately I’ve just been running this old box fan that drowns out the noise.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

Crap, I don’t know if I can choose. (Plus I feel like I’ve forgotten a lot of what I’ve read.)

My friend Desert Sea is my fav Hermione/Severus writer. Out of her stories, the ones I like best are In Their Hands and At the Headmaster’s Discretion.

After a brief search of my accounts, I’ll go with:

Do Not Go Gentle by senlinyu

Another Dream by dragoon811

The Last Twenty-Four Hours of Severus Snape by CryingCinderella

Pretty much everything by Aurette

Pet Project by Caeria

Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten

All the SS/HG stuff from snapeslittleblackbuttons

There’s a Teddy Radiator story that I like a lot, but I can’t remember the name of it. (Or what it’s about.) (Yes, very helpful, I know.)

And in a category all it’s own is Farmer Granger and the Most Glorious Cock by MyWitch. (Seriously, I read this like once a month and it makes me laugh every time.)

I read a lot of Drarry too. Drarry stories I love:

Everything by bixgrl1, but especially Balance Imperfect and In Evidence of Magical Theory

Everything by lq_traintracks (even the non-Drarry stuff). The writing is amazing.

I love all the advent stories by Saras_girl.

I like all the Drarry stories I’ve read by Faithwood.

I really like RZZMG’s writing. (No particular story or pairing.)

And I just rediscovered a story I found in 2007 (the first m/m fic I ever read). It’s a Snarry, which I know isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it was excellent. Snape: the Home Fries Nazi by pir8fancier

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I enjoy a bit of both. My oneshots are all pantsed. TMG was totally pantsed. But Getting Personal and Quartet were both plotted and planned. For GP I did sort of a chapter by chapter synopsis before starting my rough draft, and for Q I went into even more detail—EVERYTHING was planned out ahead of time. The only thing that changed during the first draft was I ended up combining some of the chapters.

How does plotting affect my writing process compared to pantsing? It streamlines it. In a oneshot there’s not much to streamline; the basic story (or general idea) is all you really need. There’s not enough story to get muddled. But when I’m writing something longer, with multiple chapters, I find it’s better to know where the story is going. How deeply I go into that planning can vary. Sometimes there’s just a basic outline of the major plot points and then I fly by the seat of my pants from there. Sometimes I write out a very rough synopsis (sort of like a short and loose first draft) and then start writing as if it’s my second draft. Things inevitably get changed once I really start writing, so the planning isn’t set in stone by any means, but when I plan, the story goes in the general direction I intend without veering too far off course and there aren’t any plot holes. After I wrote TMG (with no planning) I saw that there was A LOT I could have cut or combined without affecting anything important. I learned a little more with each story I wrote, and when I got to Q, there was a lot of complicated ideas that I wanted to incorporate, and there were so many characters (and character arcs) going on that I had to plan extensively to make sure everything fit together. If I hadn’t worked it out ahead of time, it would’ve been like throwing a heap of puzzle pieces on the table but not being given a reference picture to know what it was I was working toward.

What is your writing genre of choice?

I have no idea. Plotty sex? Erotic dramady? Some of it is just straight up PWP, but I usually like to have something meaningful in there too.

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Usually the answer is whatever I’ve most recently written, as it’s the most likely to represent my current “best.” In terms of writing, I’ll go with A Brush with Magic, but Quartet is probably my best storytelling. A lot went into that (symbolism, planning, obsessive re-writes) and it holds a good deal of personal meaning to me. So, I guess I’ll go with Q due to the time and effort involved.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

The unexpected always crops up (even with all my planning), and it’s the unexpected that makes the magic.

While I had many insights into my own nature while writing Quartet, in the end I think it taught me to trust/listen to myself more.

Later, however, it brought me a very different message. While writing it, I felt a lot of tension and anxiety; I wanted to “do it right” and present my story in the best light. But after some time away, I realized I’d been so worried because I felt as if that story represented me, as if it defined me. And the pressure of being judged worthy or unworthy had been eating me alive.

But I don’t feel that way anymore. Now it’s like I wrote all my stories in another lifetime. While they all might be a snapshot of a fraction of my mind, nothing I create ever says a damn thing about who or what I truly am. Since letting go of that, I’ve found a sense of freedom around writing. I still like to express things as clearly and beautifully as I can, but it’s more a celebration of words than a search for acceptance.

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

Quartet was extremely personal to me when I wrote it, and in a lot of ways I think that made it easier to write. When I have to go strictly by imagination, I feel as if I’m missing some depth of understanding (like I’m getting the surface-level stuff, but missing the nuance). When I write from experience, it has an entirely different quality. Richer. More intimate. It’s work to write what I don’t know, but it’s easy to write the truth.

Posting, however, is an entirely different story. Other people don’t always want the truth, and if you feel like your story is an extension of you, it can hurt to have any part of it rejected.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

I think everything I’ve ever read or seen has influenced me. In terms of writing, I guess I’d say I’m inspired by beauty in all its forms. When I first started reading fanfiction, I just searched for the kinks I liked; it was all about the sex (with bonus points for having a decent plot). Then one day I read an extremely well-written PWP (I don’t remember what), and the way the author described the sex was so unlike anything I had ever read, it totally blew my mind. It was art. Exquisite art. And before that, I didn’t know sex could be art. That author didn’t just recount the characters’ actions, they painted a word masterpiece—they turned porn into poetry. THAT was what I wanted in my life. And I didn’t know it until that moment.

Books/authors that stick with me:

The Harry Potter series (obviously).

Shel Silverstein (Love the poetry, but The Giving Tree is one of my favorite books of all time.)

Dr. Seuss (Always.)

Judy Blume (I still have my copy of Are You There God it’s Me Margaret from when I was, like, 10. Tiger Eyes is my favorite of hers.)

R.L. Stine (I got hooked prior to the creation of the Goosebumps series, but I had EVERY Fear Street Book he wrote when I was in middle school.)

Weekend by Christopher Pike (This was the first YA thriller I ever read. *Sigh* memories. I still have my original copy, and I still read it every once in a while. The characters and plot are great.)

Stephen King (Carrie is my fav.)

Anne Rice (I’ve read all the vampire and witch books, but The Witching Hour is the only one I’ve read multiple times. Blackwood Farm is my next favorite.)

To Kill a Mockingbird

Charles Dickens (David Copperfield is my fav.)

Jane Austen (I can’t pick between Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility.)

Thomas Harris (Brilliant writing, and Hannibal might be one of the most intriguing anti-heros ever.)

Stieg Larsson (Another brilliant writer with a brilliant character.)

The Giver by Lois Lowry (I haven’t read the rest of the trilogy. And I haven’t seen the movie. I refuse to besmirch my childhood love with Hollywood’s interpretation.)

Bridge to Terabithia (This book devastated me as a child.)

Gillian Flynn (Sharp Objects is my fav.)

Liane Moriarty (I like all of her books, especially Big Little Lies. The way she plays with the timeline is masterful.)

Frank Herbert’s Dune. (I grew up on this. It’s my dad’s all-time favorite book. And, yes, we’re looking forward to the new movie.)

Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale is horrifyingly wonderful. And Atwood herself is fascinating. Watch her Masterclass if you get the chance.)

Steinbeck’s East of Eden (This might be my second favorite book.)

The Lucifer Effect by Phillip Zimbardo (This isn’t fiction, but it was the first book that really affected the way I see the world.)

Eisler’s The Chalice and the Blade (Also not fiction. If you’re interested in the divine feminine and a more egalitarian society, this is the book for you.)

Loving What Is by Byron Katie (The only self-help book that’s ever actually helped me.)

Daphne Du Maurier (I love Rebecca, but she also has a story called “The Blue Lenses” that isn’t really intended to be scary, but it freaked me the fuck out.)

The Secret History by Donna Tartt (Gorgeous writing, and the plot left me seriously disturbed.)

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey (Gah! I love this. The writing and the story and the characters and EVERYTHING!)

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (I Bradbury’s writing style, but the plot of F451 is pure horror for any book hoarder lover.)

The Lord of the Flies by William Golding (This might be my third favorite book ever. No, wait, I might like it better than East of Eden. I can’t choose!)

The Diary of Anne Frank (How in the hell could anyone read this and not be affected by it?)

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

No. This is my own private world, and I like it that way.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"?

Very. I write what I want to read. There are certain adjustments I make when I write for other people as opposed to what I do when writing strictly for myself, but nothing major. I refuse to write things I have no interest in, and I don’t write to make people happy. I write to please myself. (But it’s nice when what pleases me pleases others. It’s wonderful to share that connection.)

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

I like hearing from my readers. I don’t have a lot of time to interact, but I like talking to my audience and listening to their insights. I try to reply to all the comments I get on AO3 (it’s just too hard on FFN). And when I have free time (which isn’t often) I check my FB groups to see what’s going on. To me, the interaction kind of completes the creative cycle; it helps me set the story free and allow it to be. It really belongs to the reader once I’ve published, and it’s nice to see the ripples creativity creates.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

Unless it’s absolutely necessary, stop using the word “was.” Completely changed my writing.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

It doesn’t really happen that much, as I usually know where I’m going with my story, but there can be glitches between scenes or times when I can’t find the words for something (like ending a chapter). When that happens, I usually just leave it and come back later—I can’t force it if it won’t come.

If I really need to get it done for some reason, I read what I have over and over, adding a little bit more each time, trying out words that “sound right” and building what I need bit by bit. What I come up with isn’t always right or what I want, but at least I have something to work with. Sometimes seeing what’s wrong makes what you want more obvious.

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Yeah, just about everything Sex, depression, anxiety, personal growth, likes/dislikes, insights, interests, philosophy, all my little neuroses. Every once in a while I’ll even include some dialogue from real life.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

I’m juggling about five long stories right now (plus a couple oneshots). And I haven’t worked on any of them in ages. I don’t know what’s going on with me; I’m just not in the mood. I don’t want to say what they are, as I might never finish them. (Two are Drarry and three are Sevmione. One is a compilation of oneshots. Four of them are completely planned out and just need to be written. The unplanned Drarry was always just meant to be for myself and I doubt I’ll ever release it.)

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Yes. Enjoy the whole writing/creative process as much as possible. Try not to beat yourself up, and don’t try to force yourself to be better. You will naturally get better the more you write. Change is inevitable; allow it to happen. Read books about writing, and read good writers. Notice what brings you the most pleasure when you read and tap into that same pleasure when you write. Play with words and ideas just for fun. Watch and see what appears. There is no perfect.

If you’re writing about sex (because I get asked about that a lot), write what turns YOU on. Don’t try to be sexy. Don’t try to write what you think other people want to hear. Don’t worry about what other people think (at least in the first draft). If they don’t like it they can go read something else. But if YOU like it, it will shine through in your writing, and that will have a bigger impact on your reader than any activity you describe. Also, the physicality is only a fraction of the sexual experience. Don’t turn your sex scenes into a play-by-play. You’re not really writing about what the characters are doing so much as how what they’re doing affects them. It’s a personal experience, and the more personal you make it (the more honest and vulnerable you are as a writer) the more satisfying the story will be for your reader. Wise words! Thank-you so much for speaking with us today Oracle Obscured.

#snamione #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

[song-of-kalinaw]

BASIC INFORMATION

Human Host

Name: Lilith Selene Lair

DOB: October 16, 1996

Ethnicity: Korean-American

Eye color: Dark Brown

Hair: Black, waist length

Occupation: Socialite, Empire Heiress

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea

Demoness

Name: Lilith

DOB: [information redacted]

Origin: Garden of Eden

Entity type: Original Succubus

Eye Color: Black Onyx

Hair: Black, waist length; morphs to preference

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea; Interuniverse travel

PERSONALITY

Human Host

Lilith Selene Lair, the mute heiress to the Lair Group of Companies, has her life planned out for her even before she was conceived. But after being born with a heart problem and spending most of her childhood in the hospital with only her brother as company-- she was known in their circle as the quiet princess, not just because of her mysterious mutism but because of the timid personality she adapted after her stay in the hospital.

She can be seen mostly keeping to herself but come forums or parties organized by her family or their friends, Lilith can play quite the host with her handy tablet always ready with a funny retort or an interesting inquiry. The heiress is also fond of kids and pets, which is why on warm afternoons or in the early mornings, she'll visit the park in their gated community to watch the toddlers play or pet a dog or two.

In her free time, she mostly stays indoors in the estate library poring over books or in her sunroom, just painting landscapes or abstract art she wishes to share with her brother in the slim chance he'd remember her.

Demoness

Lilith, the mother of demons and Adam's first wife, has learned to love partying. She would internally roll her eyes and offer snide remarks at her human host whenever the latter would attend functions and formal dinners-- the elegance wasn't lost on her, but after centuries of holding court at Pandemonium, the formal parties has simply grown to bore her.

On the chance that her host would slip and unleash her, the demoness always finds her way to bars and clubs, just taking her fill of alcohol and sex; creating an underground image for the heiress. Reckless and determined to have her moments of fun, Lilith would sometimes even alter her host's appearance so she can disappear to some random country or hop in a lover's yacht and not show up for days or weeks at a time, feigning sickness with the help of her human doctor friend.

BACKSTORY

trigger warning: description of rape, cursing, violence, death disclaimer: this story was written in the point of view of lilith (the human host) and lilith (the first woman, mother of demons). God and adam was depicted here as what the writer assumes is how lilith (the first woman) saw them. please don't take offense in the story Her first memory came in a flash of light before her eyes, mere moments before she heard the beeping of machines and the antiseptic in the air fills her nostrils. She's back on her hospital bedㅡ and it feels wrong, like she shouldn't be there. Wearily, Lilith opened her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of her hospital room. The familiar surrounding easing her worries, which if she takes time to think about is actually sad on her part. She's spent more time in this ward than on her wing in their estate. A depressing thought considering it's not something any teenager can normally stay. Unfortunately for her, normal has never been part of her upbringing, which also could be the reason why its her brother, Lucien, standing by her bedside with... wait, is that blood? She reached out, earning herself a smile from her beloved brother, but when she tried to speakㅡ panic came over her body, her lips were forming words but only incoherent sounds seem to slip out. I can't speak. What's happening to me? Her panicked gaze find Lucien's, frantic tears already rolling down her cheeks. Brother, help! was what she wanted to scream but no words escaped her mouth. And amidst her confusion and panic, a voice at the back of her mind demands her to shut up. Whose subconscious tells them to shut up? Her confusion at this new development was enough to abate her tears and panic. But instead of getting an answer, not that she was expecting one, a wave of new memories washed over her. In quick succession, flashes of memories flooded her mind resulting to a terrible headache coupled with the erratic beeping of her heart monitor. It felt wrong, as if they are a memory of someone ancient and yet she's looking at them from their perspective. She saw a blazing warm light together with the sound of birds chirping and the smell of crisp summer air. There was a man with her, holding her a hand... and another, who felt like he could be their Father. Came the next memory, it was of her and their Father. Somehow they were talking about Adam and how he wanted to sleep with her. She came to their father because it felt wrong somehow. She was happy just helping around, caring for the animals and plants. But now... The memory faded into black but the unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach remains. Who owns these memories? The next memory filled her with dread. It was her Adam on top of her, forcing her to submit, telling her it was their father's wishes. They needed to reproduce, he said. The Garden needs more caretakers and it is their duty to care for all that was created by the Father. Lilith was sobbing now, feeling her skull about to crack open from the sudden tsunami of memories. Is this a dream? She couldn't quite tell. Next came another memory, this time it was of her refusing Adam's advances. It felt as if some time has passed and she's now known how to stand for herself. And there on her periphery, children. The sight of them makes her heart full right before the memory fades. Lilith's feeling all the emotions associated with the memories even when they are not her own, but she somehow feels a connection with whoever is projecting them on her. Keep watching. You'll understand. Now she's hearing voices on top of the dreams but the sense of doom in the pit of her stomach and her growing hatred for the man she knows as Adam has kept her sobbing silently on her bed. She feels Lucien give her hand a squeeze, grounding her as another wave pulls her under. This time it was Adam pushing her down and forcing her legs open with his knees. She spat at him in disgust, mustering enough force to push him off their bed while she stands over him, foot pressing on the inside of the man's thighs. "Lilith,

you witch!", he grunted as she pressed the heel of her foot harder on his thighs. Who gave this man the idea that he can control everything? They were made from the same soil, the Father gave them life as equals and yet... Another memory surfaced, this one felt heavier than all the other that came before it. She's barely aware of Lucien shaking her awake, his voice laced with worry as her heart monitor gives a series of beeps. She heard a booming voice ordering the archangels after her as she fled through the dessert, towards the only salvation she's heard of: The Red Sea. No angel of the Father will dare cross the shallow waters without fear of falling from His grace. Adam has been using her children to keep her in The Garden and do his bidding, forcing himself upon her and expecting her to just bite her tongue and part her legs like a mindless whore. But she's grown tired of protecting his ego and the children she so dearly loved. Enough is enough. She'll come back for her children just as soon as she finds them a safe place to live, away from the judging eyes of the Father and the self-centered ways of Adam. But luck was really not on her side. As soon as her feet landed on the wet loam bordering her promised salvation, three archangels loomed over her-- all of them pointed spears of heavenly fire at her tired body, ordering her to go back and serve her husband. All will be forgiven, they said. But she's no fool to believe any of their words especially when its the Father that sent them after her. The same Father that she first ran to when Adam suggested they sleep together. The same Father she expected would protect her. No. She will not turn back now and have Adam control her life for the rest of their days in The Garden. She would rather die than serve an egomaniac who sees her not as an equal but as an object created for his own wanton needs. "We'll ask one last time. Come back with us to The Garden or the Father will kill a hundred of your children for each day you spend out of Adam's sights." At this, Lilith choked on a sob. She spent years taking all she could of Adam's and the Father's demands... would it be so wrong to choose herself this one time? With a heavy heart, she turned towards the cold and calculating gaze of the archangels. If she goes back, she will suffer by Adam's side and with him as role model, it won't be long until their children start to follow him by example- and that's the last thing Lilith would want for her children. "Tell your Father that I will never take a single step inside The Garden again, nor would I like to set my eyes on Adam. My children would be better off dead than be raised by someone more obnoxious than filth.", and with this, she felt her heart broke knowing the Father heard. The memory faded into darkness but the heaviness in Lilith's heart stayed, leaving her sobbing on the bed with that sense of impending doom. She knows that wasn't the end, for whoever was showing her the memories has only grown more aggrieved. Feel my pain, pet. That voice- filled with resentment and hate. She knows she should be familiar with the story unfolding in her head but somehow she can't recall who it was about. She finds herself gasping for air in between her sobs. Lucien cradling her in his arms. "You'll be okay, Lili." But somehow she can't find comfort in his words. Not this time. With these thoughts ringing in her mind, she was once again pulled under- a crushing feeling of hatred and need for revenge pressing in around her. She was standing on the same wet loam, The Read Sea a sprawling landscape before her. But this time no angels can be seen on the horizon. It has been years since her heart broke for her children, and she mourned their deaths. She still does. But no amount of mourning can ever get the pain of a mother losing her child off her chest. She will not rest until both Adam and the Father suffer from the things they've put her through. One thing she learned from denouncing the Father was that her original protection is gone. And that The Red Sea

is where all the lascivious beings gather- a vast majority of them giving her what she needs and satiating her hunger for the pleasures of the flesh. She'd have to thank the Father for her gift to procreate as more of her children grew from the seeds these monsters produce every time they bed her. It was on one of those nights, hundreds of her children sprung out from the seed her lovers released on the earth, that he came. She heard news of his fall- the brightest angel stripped of his rank: Lucifer Morningstar. Fate has brought them together, it seems. They spent nights creating more Children of the Lilim, hushed promises exchanged in the heat of passion. He promised her revenge and delivered, getting Adam and his new wife out of The Garden after one too many tricks to go against the Father. She enjoyed her time with him, even spent millennia ruling the pits by his side. But she got bored. Thinking of new ways to punish the damned has started to grow stale. And that's when Lucien has made a summoning. Her brother summoned a demon. But why? She felt chills run through her body. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer. But of course, the entity responsible for the memories have other ideas. She's suddenly aware of herself instantly stopping from sobbing, an amused smile spreading over her lips as she pushes Lucien off her. She's aware of the motions but couldn't control any of them. Hush now, pet. I'll play nice with you, just don't do anything stupid. Without meaning to, she suddenly became aware that she's now a prisoner in her own mind. Or what used to be her mind. "Hello, Lucien." The voice that came out of her mouth was melodic, lilting in a way that makes it sound like she's about to sing a lullaby- and this made her brother smile. But I couldn't speak when I woke up. "That's right, pet. You can't. But I can." Her brother's eyes widened, "Lili... who are you talking to? Are you feeling alright?" He attempted to take her hand. "Should I call your doctor?" She wanted to scream yes- do anything to let him know of her presence. "Oh stop with your acting, boy. Don't pretend you're really concerned now when you've thought about her death countless times before." A childish giggle escapes her lips while she pulls his shirt open, displaying the pattern of blood on his pale skin. She finds his gaze then, understanding of the situation finally dawning on him. "What were you thinking summoning someone you have no idea of containing? Creative choice using your sister as host. I kind of like this youthful body." Lucien, what is she saying? You wouldn't... "Oh but he did, pet. That's why I'm here." Lucien's shoulders slumped, silent sobs wracking his body as the gravity of what he's done caught up to him. "Now, where were we? Oh right. The price for your stupidity." She claps her hands, like a child getting ready to unwrap her presents on Christmas morning. "First, your sister's voice. I'm not as heartless as you think so I'd let her play once in awhile but without her voice." She adjusts her body on the bed, mindlessly pulling at the tubes connecting her to the machines. "No soul shall hear her voice again, unless of course when it's my time to have fun with her body. A good deal, don't you think?" "Next Lucien, is the memory of something or someone you most treasure. We both know who that is." She means me. Lucien began to protest but was met with nothing bad a dismissive wave of her hand, "Now boy, who said this was a negotiation?" "You will lose her. But you will forever have the feeling of losing something you hold dear- that empty feeling in your chest that will only grow as time passes. It will consume you, dear boy. And the pits will be there once it does." And it was with these words and Lucien's pleading and guilt-stricken face, did her gaze start to darken- her consciousness getting lulled once again into slumber. You'll always look for him. And she knows she will. The worst kind of mourning after all, is when the one you lost is still alive but will never be back in your life again

no matter how much you wish for them to be.

[culturaldorksist]

to love me

It is Class Eleven. We are in a small, cramped makeshift classroom because our usual room is being fumigated for bed bugs. I am in a complicated relationship with a girl, who I like desperately and cloyingly as I tend to do and who doesn’t, I think, feel the same way about me. She calls me over to help her with understanding something from the textbook and looks at me for a while as I gesticulate to try and explain. “You know,” she says. “There’s something about the way your hands move. It just…feels really gay, sometimes.”

This happened five years ago.

-

A body, like being, is a little complicated to explain. For Descartes, who I immediately admired for breaking everything down and building it all back up again, there are three substances in the world: there is God who is unknowable but creates and sustains all things, there is mind, the attribute of which is thought and there is body, the attribute of which is extension. For him to prove that the body is distinct from the mind is a long, uphill battle but it is one he fights tooth and nail, even if it doesn’t make sense. The word soul flits in, eventually. There has to be something, something other than a bag of bones that will ultimately rise to the heavens or sink beneath the sea.

-

I remember playing a lot of imaginary games when I was a child. I remember being a cook, a soldier, a spy, an explorer, a villain. These were malleable times and not a lot was required to entertain myself. I didn’t really need props or costumes. In a pinch, I could curl up on the sofa with my eyes closed and imagine all sorts of things. I have been trying to remember what I thought about my own body. I don’t remember thinking about it very much. This never fails to make me nostalgic.

I also don’t remember when I began to eat so much. I always ate fast, never savouring anything. Food was a comforting thing to work my way through as I did something else. It made me feel distracted and safe. By the time I was twelve, I was fat.

I remember looking at myself in the bathroom once, at the swell of my stomach that distended even at the sides and the loose flabs of my cheeks and chest. Rolls of fat would bounce distinctly from my body as I jumped a few times, like a soul. I don’t remember if I was disgusted just yet but I wasn’t happy.

-

For the Christians, there is no rationalising about the soul. It obviously exists. Everything about the body is mired in a materiality that is not only temporary but malignant and hostile. Material existence for the Christian is a wasteland we deserve for the sinners we are where every little shred of beauty is grace: a free gift from God. Every flower, every tree.

And beautiful people? They were gifts to be given to each other, I supposed. Do not covet your neighbour’s house.

For the Christian, self hatred is a given. It is a more honest position to be in than those who have been blinded by common grace. If we see ourselves as ugly, our bodies and our surroundings, we can see the absolute necessity of giving ourselves to Christ who will take us to a new world where all things are beautiful.

This calls for a different kind of self love. A love we give ourselves through Christ. The only reason we love ourselves now is to be because Christ loves us, a love that is absolute and unconditional and, according to the Christian, the only love that is true.

-

When I was eight or nine, everyone around me transitioned from playing the sorts of games I liked, like tag or hide-and-seek, to the sorts of games I found out I wasn’t particularly good at, like football and cricket. I couldn’t coordinate my movements with what I needed to do and what I was seeing, I was slow and not particularly graceful and on top of everything, I wasn’t particularly interested. It didn’t seem fun.

I wasn’t bullied for this, not by that group of friends. But a very pragmatic system came into being. I was made to be goalie whenever possible but when everyone wanted a real game, they’d make me the referee or the umpire. I won a football through a lucky draw and it was the best one in the colony. They had to call me. I had to go. I realised very soon that being a referee was consolation. I leaned against the wall and watched. I remember wanting to cry, sometimes.

Once, for losing an eraser or something, my father told me I wasn’t to go down and play for a week. Everyone came up to the house to find out why I wasn’t there. My father explained to them and I listened from my door. “Oh,” one of them said. “Can we have the ball, then?”

-

I really hit it off with someone I matched with on Bumble. We couldn’t stop talking. She’d send me little photos from her day: oranges in the sunshine, flowers, trees and other things like that. We met soon and only ordered drinks because neither of us was very hungry and we talked for a good couple of hours. I dropped her off where she needed to go and went back thinking things went fabulously.

She became terse after that, responding almost monosyllabically. I dropped it almost immediately, not wanting to be annoying. It had to be because of my body. She had to have been absolutely disappointed by it.

-

If there is mind and body, thought and extension, I am absolutely assured about my mind. I have never been nervous about my ability to speak and write coherently, lucidly and on my best days, beautifully. I am confident in being able to be witty and appropriate. I have never been assured about my body. The best I’ve been able to hope for is that I am somehow just impressive enough on all the other counts for my body to be tolerated. For it to be ignored. For a ‘yes, but he’s alright, all things considered’.

-

It is Class Eight and a free period. Most of the class is empty, for some reason or the other, except for a small group of people. I am reading a book and occasionally participating in whatever conversation they’re having. One of them from across the room suddenly says “David, walk from here to the front of the room and back.”

I ask why.

“Just do it, you’ll see.” I look around. I haven’t been paying attention to the conversation for a while. Everyone is watching me, smiling.

I slowly get up and comply. They laugh and nod. “See, I told you,” she says. “He walks funny.”

They make me run as well, which is even funnier. I cannot for the life of me remember why I submitted to this, why this was something I was willing to do.

“It’s his hands as well, he’s so weird with them.”

-

The problem with the love of Jesus is that it is generalised. You are encouraged to reach out to Him with your specific problems through prayer and he responds through what you read from a collection of different literature, the latest of which was written two-thousand years ago by a Jewish man addressing a number of churches in what is modern-day Turkey. You can rest assured in Jesus’ unconditional love for you but He cannot delight in your condition.

He cannot admire your arms, the way you walk, the way you speak. But to seek this sort of admiration is shallow. It is, in the words of C.S. Lewis, ‘like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea’.

So you’re stuck.

-

Once in school, a friend of mine from band was telling me that I should practice more. “See, we’re not like those other guys. We’re ugly. If we don’t have skills we can’t depend on them to want us around for any other reason.” I wanted to tell him I never thought he was ugly. I didn’t. I agreed. I thought maybe he needed me to, that If I excluded myself from the class he so casually put us in, that he placed himself so absolutely into, that it would break him.

In the end, when I went home, I believed I was ugly too.

-

In college, the girl I was dating once complimented my t-shirt. “You have nice arms,” she said, and then moved on to something else.

That was two years ago. Sometimes, when I want to cry, I hold on to that memory and it makes things better.

-

Objectivity and subjectivity are important parts of this discussion. I’m sure philosophers have a lot to say about aesthetics but it is too difficult and cyclical to read through all of that. And people in science are just philosophers who’ve prohibited themselves from talking about souls. So, they give me heuristics I can actually use.

There is a golden ratio, apparently, that makes things beautiful. Things like pinecones and paintings and faces.

And the cold logic of it makes sense. A lean body, a pared down one, one not burdened by excess, one that is strong and capable is obviously an attractive one. This must be objectively true.

But there are so many other things I tend to like. The curve of someone’s neck, their arms in the sun,  their teeth, their cheeks. These bodies may not fit any sort of objective mold, they may all even be different. But I like them and am attracted to them. Can I believe that this might extend back to me too?

The problem, then, is one of empathy. Do other people think the same way I think? What is going on inside your head?

-

In college, the girl I was dating once told me: “You know, there’s a lot of things you can fix if you tried?”

“Fix?”

“Yeah, like your weird walk and your posture and things like that. I’m sure if you think about it you can do it properly.”

She has never met the group of people from Class Eight who told me the same thing. She doesn’t even know they exist.  So, this thing about my walk, it must be an objectively true thing.

This was two years ago.

-

Along with how a body looks comes what a body does: presentation. The way you hold your hands akimbo, the way you tilt to the side, the way you use gestures, the way you walk. Masculinity is essentially a bar to jump over: one that requires you to pare down anything that might portray weakness. Because, weakness is feminine and the farther you get from the edge of the binary the lower you’ve cleared the bar.

Gender is woven almost inextricably with sexual orientation. Heterosexuality is only permitted to those who do not deviate from the edge of the binary. To be homosexual is to be like a woman: weak.

I am so tired and I just want to be. My presentation has not been a conscious effort towards anything. I don’t know what it means that ‘a lot of the things I do seem really gay’. Harry Styles helped me massively. To see him with nailpolish, floral shirts and fishnets on while still being allowed to be attracted to and, almost essentially, being attractive to women reassured me. I want to dress like that sometimes. I want to be like that sometimes.

I don’t know if I’m allowed to be while still being straight. I don’t know what that makes me.

-

Empathy is complicated for people with self and body image problems. The things that plague me, the little lines of speech, the looks, being beaten up, being bullied, might seem almost incomprehensibly trivial to someone else. It’s not easy to explain whyI remember these things from as long as eight years ago and why they still haunt me. It is even often more difficult for people with body image problems of their own.

I have heard other people’s stories about their self-image and done the same thing. ‘That’s not so bad,’ I’ve thought. It is almost impossible to understand.

-

Every romantic rejection of me becomes about my body or my presentation, in my head. The way I deal with these rejections is by working wherever bodies are needed. Wherever they’ll have me.

I’m not like other guys. I’m ugly. If I don’t have skills, I can’t depend on them to want me around for any other reason.

After my breakup in college, I took up key roles in three different events that all stacked on top of each other. I was supposed to be in four places on the same day at the same hour. I nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

After that Bumble date, I took up work I didn’t need to take up, stayed longer than what I knew was healthy for me and contracted some sort of stomach infection that put me down for nearly a week.  

-

Photographs of myself terrify me. I cannot believe I look like that. That I am that big. When I look at my friends and then at myself, I am disgusted. From an odd angle, every once in a while, I think I look alright. I look passable. I put those up on every online platform and I hope for the best.

I was once on my way from my room to the bathroom. “Please put a shirt on,” a friend who I dearly love said. “Your tits are disgusting.”

In print, as words on a screen, this is shocking. As a lived experience, it is not. It is the sort of thing men say to each other.

-

Last week, I moved into a room where there is a full length mirror. It is the first full length mirror I have had the liberty to be naked in front of. I like the way my legs curve upwards into my back and how my hips dip into my stomach. In the early sunlight, I am proportionate.

This is trivial. It is, after all, just a man looking into a mirror. This is also earth shattering.

Last week, I made a tweet about wanting to wear nail polish in college. In a world where a global pandemic is baying at the doors and where human rights violations abound in every city, a heterosexual man wanting to put nail polish on and expressing this is trivial. It is also earth shattering.

-

I once complimented my mother on the dress she was wearing. I told her it looked great on her. I don’t know why, I just did. I saw her face change, I saw her smile and she told me her day was made. I don’t know if she was telling the truth. But I do know she has struggled with diet, weight-loss and cravings for a long time. It was an easy thing to say but it was also not prompted. She did not ask me for a compliment. It was freely given, like grace, like all the beautiful things in the world. And so, it mattered.

Maybe, if we work very hard, there’ll be a world where compliments between men, where validation and acceptance is normal. Maybe we can break everything down and build everything back up again. It’s only bodies, after all.

-

I am thirteen and lying in bed next to my father. It is the afternoon. He is asking me what is happening in school and I tell him about all the different activities that are happening.

“You should try theatre,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you’re tall and handsome and you have a great voice and they need people like that for theatre.” He turns away and falls asleep.

That was eight years ago.

#body image #self image #self #sexuality #fat shaming #personal #philosophy #christianity #personal essay

[bigtittyhimmler-blog]

Who Goes Nazi? Brooklyn Edition

If you’re anything like me, a twenty-something Twitter leftist with an advanced degree in the humanities, you hate absolutely everyone around you and badly want to kill them. You live in a brownstone playground of Timorese food and adult coloring books, and you want to suicide bomb the L train but leave a note blaming it on manspreading or whatever, so people don’t think you’re one of “those” random mass murderers (the bad kind). You hate having to tell people at parties that you “work in content,” and you hate the fact that they all also work in content. You hate that they all make content for outlets that are slightly cooler and more prestigious than the outlets you make content for. You hate that none of them have even fucked you for like thirteen months. You hate that you can’t even hate them for the ways in which they’re different to you, because there aren’t any. But fear not! There’s one thing you’ve got that nobody else does: you know that you’re definitely, 100% Not A Nazi.

But what about them? Imagine if the Nazis took over America and it was suddenly cool and prestigious to be a Nazi, and there were trendy Nazis on the TV the whole time, and they once again sold soap with slogans like “Dove: The White Pride Soap for Hating QTBIPOC and Not Amplifying Their Voices.” But also don’t imagine, because that’s exactly what’s happening.

 This game was invented by Dorothy Thompson in her classic 1941 Harpers essay Who Goes Nazi?, in which she presciently pointed out that intellectuals are definitely more Nazi than aristocrats, but not nearly as Nazi as union leaders. But she set her essay at some dinner party in the Hamptons or wherever, and last time I went out there I went swimming in the sea and a wave hit me and I lost my bikini top and a bunch of bros in boat shoes started laughing and pointing at me in a way that despite my white privilege I still feel was somehow like imbued with racism, and then afterwards I just stayed inside for three weeks writing content and ordering groceries online, so the setting needs to be updated. Let’s look at your group DM. Which of these Twitter creatives who live in Brooklyn would go along with it and become a Nazi? (All of them.) And who never, ever would? (Me.)

 Mr A isn’t actually in your group DM, and you’ve never encountered anyone like him irl, but you literally can’t stop talking about him, so he gets included anyway. Mr A is a short ugly loser, and he’s already a Nazi. He doesn’t even live in Brooklyn, he lives in his mother’s basement, and eats chicken tenders, and he doesn’t get laid, but in a different way to the way you don’t get laid, which has to do with patriarchy. Mr A is a Pizzagate. Mr A is a Gamergate. Mr A is a segregationist. Mr A opposes the reforms of the Emperor Diocletian (284-305). Mr A won’t shut up about the superiority of a “free silver” bimetallic monetary system over gold specie, and keeps on talking about the “gold shills” in a way that doesn’t really make sense until you realize that your own name is Goldschmidt, and yeah, he doesn’t really care about expansionary monetary policy at all, he’s talking about the Jews, and specifically you. Mr A is basically a pathetic worm whose life sucks and nobody likes him, but also he represents the whole of the repressive forces of society and he’s at the top of the social hierarchy. Everyone you’ve ever met is actually Mr A, wearing various masks. He is the source of all your problems. He must be killed, and once we kill him, we need to find more people like him to be the source of any problems we have left over.

 Mr B is in your group DM, but you also have a separate group DM with everyone else except Mr B in it. He keeps trying so hard to be nice, and says stuff like “so how is everyone’s day today” with a smiley emoji, and when you’re talking to him you get this airless feeling like you’re about to suffocate in his treacly good-natured presence. Every time you see Mr B at a party you’re afraid that he’s going to blurt out that he loves you, but you can’t keep your distance too much because he’s so clearly autistic, and you don’t want to be ableist. Anyway once in the group DM he said that while he obviously thought divining for water with Y-shaped copper rods was good and important and valid, he didn’t understand what it had to do with socialism. That made everything better, because clearly he’s a Nazi. The whole group DM expended hours of emotional labor educating him about how dowsing is part of LGBTQ+ culture and how his dismissive bro-y attitude was reactionary and gross, and eventually he posted a video of himself crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do better, because you guys were the only friends he had. This was classic white fragility, but in the end you let him stay. You just have the other DM now, where you make fun of him and it’s ok, because if the Nazis came and he had license to start being cruel and sadistic to other people, he’d definitely do it.

 Ms C is one of those women who doesn’t like other women, and you know this about her because you can’t fucking stand the bitch. Plus she says stuff that’s really not ok, even though it costs nothing to have empathy and be kind. You’ve personally heard her use the D-word, the H-slur, and the L-pejorative, all while laughing and holding a glass of white wine by the stem, like she doesn’t need to consider the harm this does to others, just because she’s “funny” and “an artist.” She’s the Cool Chick. She makes nude self-portraits (the bad, skinny kind), and she’d throw you under the bus in a second for male attention and approval. She’d definitely go Nazi. But the worst thing about her is that she has the impudence to be bisexual and Asian, which makes it really hard to call her out. But then you realized that all Asian people are collectively responsible for the long history of anti-Blackness and misogynoir in their communities, and you’re thinking of holding her collectively responsible for the Rape of Nanking too, once you’re certain she’s a sushi Asian and not the dim sum kind.

 Ms D’s boyfriend works in finance, or like accountancy or something, or I think I heard he was a musician? Maybe a drummer or possibly he used to bartend at a place where they had live music. Anyway they definitely have vanilla cishet sex in the missionary position and you can’t stop thinking about it, his body, her body, naked, moving, breathing, together, almost silent, tender, disgusting. She says she’s a socialist but doesn’t devote every minute of her waking life to getting mad about people online. This means she’s just vaguely following a trend, and if the trend were being a Nazi (which it is), she’d be a Nazi (which she therefore is). You can’t imagine yourself actually hitting her but it’d definitely be punching up to maybe poison her food?

 Mr E used to be a comrade, but then he did a tweet that got 38.6k RT’s and now he’s moved to Los Angeles to spend his whole time in writers’ rooms. Last you heard he was pitching an animated show for adults about a snail with borderline personality disorder. It hasn’t even been greenlit yet, but you’re already thinking about all the ways in which it will be a missed opportunity and do harm and perpetuate tropes. Mr E will definitely turn out to have been a Nazi, and then you can start an anonymous petition to get the show cancelled so he has to move back to New York. Once he’s back you can send him a long email about how much it sucks his career burned out and how (even though you won’t say it in public) sometimes people do actually take the social-justice thing too far. That way he’ll be a comrade again, which is good, because we believe in rehabilitating people who have a genuine change of heart.

 Mr F probably thinks he’s better than you. He’s a union organizer. So are you (you added “#Unionize” to your Twitter name), but his union stuff involves workers who aren’t in tech, content, or grad school, and he probably thinks that makes him more in touch with “the real workers,” who he probably thinks are just a bunch of cis white males in a factory, who are probably all racist and probably have thick, heavy dicks that intrude on your mind in a kinda #MeToo way a lot of the time. He talks about class, and you agree that class is important because you’re not a lib (you support Bernie, you just want him to Do Better). But from the way he says it you’re certain he doesn’t acknowledge all he/him lesbians as part of the working class. He’s trying to save a tiny sector of the workers from a necessary and important socio-economic shift that will impoverish them and make their lives worse, and that’s what being a Nazi is. This is why his union needs to stop dragging their heels, change all of their rules and priorities, and let you get him fired.

 Ms G (me) will never go Nazi, because she is beautiful and kind and pure, and has all the good opinions instead of the bad ones. Because of this she’s allowed to do things that other people can’t do. She can totally fail to understand what having an authoritarian personality actually means, and construct a version of the Who Goes Nazi? essay in which the people who go Nazi are just people who are already right wing, having confused politics with personality, probably because she herself has no personality other than her politics. She can minimize, ignore, or even encourage the infliction of actual suffering when it happens to the wrong kind of people. She can write that “nothing that terrible has really happened” since the publication of Mark Fisher’s Exiting the Vampire Castle, even though Mark Fisher himself is mysteriously not around to appreciate that fact. She can do some shit with threatening to leak an unedited draft that I don’t even want to go into. She knows that the Nazis don’t come promising hatred but promising to be your friend, but it’s ok because she doesn’t really have any friends, just mufos. She’s doing great. She’s building a better, kinder world. She will never, ever be the Nazis.

[facepalming-since-chernobyl]

I have a crazy idea! how about you write a one shot about the dream kara has about monel?! consider this a prompt (it doesn't have to be in s5 you just inspired me btw I love you)

Did we get this far just to feel your hate?

In which Lena I’m Not Villain Luthor leaves Kara behind in the Fortress, broken and tortured, without a chance of escape. But fortunately, there are people who truly care about Kara Zor-El. Even when they are centuries away.

You can find this fic on AO3 (x) For my wifey @zrnas

***

When the portal disappeared, Kara put a trembling hand on her chest, twisting the material of her suit.

Lena used her.

She could feel her racing heart, beating like a drum, almost like it wanted to jump out of her chest.

Lena manipulated her.

She took a shaky, shallow breath. And another. And another. And another, faster and faster.

Lena turned the Fortress - the last remaining shred of her home - against her.

Her chest tightened painfully with every shaky breath.

Lena stole Myriad.

A hot wave of tiredness washed over her and she finally fell to her knees.

Lena caged her in a box made of Kryptonite and ice.

The walls of her jail were closing in. Suffocating her. It was so difficult to take a breath.

Lena left her here… for what? Not for death, but for the feeling of the needles piercing every inch of her skin?

She choked on her tears, feeling absolutely helpless. She was trapped for Rao knew how long. Was she going to die here?

Lena. Her dear best friend. The good person.

Kara reached for her neck and took out a thin chain with a ring hanging on it.

Lena was going to make the biggest mistake and it was all Kara’s fault.

With her last ounce of strength Kara broke the chain.

Her fault.

She put the ring on her finger.

HER. FAULT.

The darkness embraced her just before she hit the ground.

*

It looked exactly like she remembered.

A peaceful sea of gold grass caressed by gentle wind. A serene sunny day with a view of Saturn on the cloudless blue sky.  

She was wearing the same white dress. Her hair was longer and a little curly and no bangs were covering her forehead.

It looked exactly like he remembered it, too.

“Hey, didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

His deep, cheerful voice that she missed so dearly every day reached her from behind.

She slowly turned and there he was, in the same wrinkled white shirt, with her mother’s necklace hanging around his neck and a few days’ shade on his face - just like in the good, happy times before she’d sent him away.

“Winn told me to-” his smile faded when he looked at her.

In a second he crossed the distance between them and gently cupped her wet face into his hands.

“What happened,” he asked softly, fear replaced the happiness in his voice.

Kara opened her mouth. Nothing but a pained sob escaped her mouth, and new tears fell.

“Hey, hey.” He wiped them away and kissed her forehead. “I’m here, everything is going to be okay.”

Was it really going to be okay? she thought, clutching his shirt and hiding her face in his shoulder, as he firmly held her to his chest.

*

“It’s not your fault.”

They were at their favorite spot near the lake.

She was sitting between his legs, with her head on his shoulder, playing with the necklace. Mon-El’s cheek was lying on her head and his arms were around her, like he wanted to shield her from the world.

She didn’t know how long she was crying into his shirt - they realized in the beginning that time in their dream world didn’t matter. Sometimes their meetings felt like days passed. Sometimes they felt like minutes, with one of them disappearing suddenly, woken up in the real world.

For now, Kara was grateful she was still there, absorbing the warmth of his body.

“I lied to her, Mon-El,” she whispered and trembled, as she remembered Lena’s face twisted with hatred and fury. “I betrayed her trust and -”

Mon-El growled.

“Babe, you don’t owe your identity to anyone,” he said in a strained voice that was weirdly comforting. “You kept it secret because you were not ready to tell her. But in the end you did, and she repaid you with more lies and manipulation. You can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions. Nothing you did gives her the rights to torture you with Kryptonite.”

“But, she is hurt and… and...” she bit her lip.

He sighed, raised his head and gently turned her head, so they could look into each other’s eyes.

All he saw was pain and uncertainty.

All she saw was honesty and love.

“You were hurt too, when you realized I lied about my past,” he said softly. “And you forgave me in the end, because-” he didn’t finish.

“Because I loved you,” she sighed and he brushed her cheek.

The tightness in her chest loosened a little.

“You forgave me, because you were, and still are a good person, Kara.” He kissed her hair. ”And nothing will change that.”

“Lena is a good person too,” she mumbled and put her head on his shoulder again.

Mon-El clenched his teeth, but didn’t say a thing.

Good people don’t lie, manipulate and hurt others because they are butthurt. Good people don’t put their friends into cages made of Kryptonite and torture them. Good people don’t steal things that can make people zombies - he thought, but said nothing.

For now, Kara didn’t need words of truth. She needed support.

“If she is a good person, then she will understand. You will reach her… soul,” he said softly, praying he was sounding plausible.

Because he was pretty sure that the sick fucking Luthor bitch had no soul.

Kara took a deep breath, broke their embrace and kneeled in front of him.

This time she was the one who cupped his face.

The kiss was short, but sweet.

“I love you,” she whispered, still a little embarrassed by the words, even if she said them so many times.

Mon-El smiled.

“You know what?” he said.

“Hmm?” she smiled back, waiting for the words that he was supposed to say.

“I walked in on Imra and Garth again,” he finished sadly, with sparks of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Kara choked on the air she was (not really) breathing.

“Not funny, it’s the fifth time this month,” he pouted. “And I’m not even counting their nightly rendezvous in Garth’s room and you know the walls on the Legion ships are really thin, right?”

Kara snorted.

“And today! Here I was happily walking into the kitchen, lost in my thoughts, totally not prepared to see my Legion mates sucking their faces off on a table.”

Kara laughed again.

“How am I supposed to prepare any food on that table now, huh? I’m traumatized,” he complained but all Kara managed was more hysterical laughing.

When she finally calmed down, she put her forehead on his, and sighed happily, lost in the moment, not thinking about anything.

Mon-El closed his eyes and smiled.

He wanted to tell her so many things. About getting closer to catching Brainiac. About Winn mastering flying with his Legion ring. About new members of the Legion..

About how much he missed her and hoped they could meet again in the near future.

But now was not the time. Not when she was lying unconscious on the Fortress’ floor, poisoned by Kryptonite.

“You need to wake up, Supergirl.”

Kara raised her head and looked at him.

Her comets shone with determination.

“You need to wake up and fight.”

She kissed him for the last time.

“Wake up,” he whispered.

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

*

Kara woke up cold, stiff and dizzy. She felt Kryptonite running through her veins, hurting her, torturing her, making her weak.

But she slowly got up and stood on shaky legs.

The green barrier was still around her.

She was Kara Zor-El.

She was Supergirl.

Kara clenched her fist.

And this shit was not going to stop her.

With a cry she punched the barrier.

It shattered into pieces.

*

In the dream world, Mon-El smiled, holding the necklace.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered and looked at the sky.

And he prayed.

For Kara to be strong enough to get through it without losing her heart. Without losing her innocence, optimism and faith in people.

For Kara to be able to save the Luthor woman without Lena tainting and corrupting her soul.

And if not…

He prayed for Kara to understand that some people didn’t deserve to be saved.

*

Did you ever hear what I told you?

Did you ever read what I wrote you?

Did you ever listen to what we played?

Did you ever let in what the world said?

Did we get this far just to feel your hate?

Did we play to become only pawns in the game?

How blind can you be, don't you see?

You chose the long road but we'll be waiting

Bye bye beautiful

#karamel #my fics #wifeeeey

[cecaeliana]

            CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS

long post below the cut

001. When is their birthday?

February 2nd ( or, dependant on the Mal, roughly four or five days after Mal’s birthday )

002. Do they do anything to celebrate their birthday?

Usually, there’s a party. But it used to be that this party was held in competition with Mal’s birthday party, so was vying for guests and needed the most numbers, but now she’s not doing that, she’d settle for a gathering of her closest friends (her crew) and maybe she’ll give herself a whole day off work, if someone can talk her into it.

003. Does your character like coffee better, or tea?

Coffee, it’s all they had on the Isle so she never really got accustomed to tea.

004. Do they prefer being alone or with others?

She prefers to have a crowd around her, people to talk to and show off in front of, but when it comes down to it, she’d always prefer to spend her time with a couple of close friends rather than a huge group.

005. Are they in good health?

Relatively. Uma is a fairly healthy individual, especially once the barrier comes down, because then she has access to her own divine nature and that protects her from most things that would get to a normal human. She is, however, like most Isle kids, somewhat small for her age from the early malnutrition and lack of expose to sunlight. So, better than most.

006. What sense do they most rely on?

Sight is probably the most important, in terms of relying on it to get things done, but touch is something she relies on for comfort especially. and when she’s in her cecaelia form her tentacles are more receptive to touch, as with an octopus. they help her navigate, especially underwater.  

007. Is your character an optimist or a pessimist?

Uma is a realist, first and foremost. Or that’s what she’d say, she’s actually pretty optimistic.

008. What is their favorite fairy tale?

Cliche as it is, the original version of the little mermaid, where the mermaid’s feet cause her physical pain and then the prince marries someone else so she throws herself into the sea, still in human form, and turns to sea foam. Yep, that one.

009. Do they believe in happy endings?

No, because there’s no such thing as a happy ending. Endings are sad, that’s how endings work. And if you reach a point where you feel like you’re going to live ‘happily ever after’ you have to remember, there’s always more work to be done and eventually one of you will outlive the other.

010. Do they believe in love at first sight?

Not really. Love has to be allowed to grow. You can’t love someone you don’t know. Because then you’re just in love with the idea of them and all the messy bits underneath are just going to put you off.

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

About as subtly as a brick through a window. Uma is never subtle, so she’d likely approach them and ask them out, or maybe she’d try and get some info out of them first about things they like.

012. What makes your character embarrassed?

Being reminded of Mal’s nickname.

013. Have they ever been bullied or teased?

Yes. So much. the Shrimpy nickname stuck. And people clung to the idea that Maleficent was ruler of the Isle and therefore Mal could do no wrong, so if Mal wanted them to ostracise Uma and call her names, then they would, for fear of suffering the same fate.  

014. Detail one secret shame your character feels.

She feels ashamed that the whole of the Isle wasn’t always her priority. She always knew she wanted to get her crew off the Isle, but that was as far as her plan went and she’s ashamed of the thought that if she’d gotten the trident and bargained her way off the Isle with her crew at the end of Book 3, she’d have left and not looked back just like the Core 4 did.

015. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

Both. She’ll insult you to take your guard down and then punch you. Insults thrown whilst fighting are just par for the course with Uma.

016. What is their choice of weapon?

Sword. Or, against a magical opponent, magic.

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

So much of the time. Way too much of the time. She’s trying to be better, but sometimes her first instinct is still to do something violent to get her point across and make people listen to her.

018. Your character wakes up to find that war has been declared. What do they do?

Gather her people around her, and then probably go out and fight. It would depend on the war and the nature of it. If it’s a landgrab from another kingdom, she might not bother, but if it’s a magical being attacking with intent to destroy the kingdom, she’ll get involved.

019. If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

She kind of already has superpowers, so if she had to add something on top of what she already has, she’d probably take the ability to control plants so she can make crops grow on the Isle. If she had to lose all her powers and retain just one she would probably choose to retain shapeshifting.

020. What are their hobbies?

What’s a hobby? Uh, no, she enjoys singing, swimming and sailing. They might not necessarily be hobbies, but they’re the closest she gets.

021. How do they display affection?

Touches. Little touches on the arm, a hand in the hair. She likes to touch the people she cares for. Also protectiveness, so standing in front of them, throwing her arm in front of them. Joking around with people, rolling her eyes, punching them lightly in the shoulder.

022. What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

The sunlight filtering through the clouds as the disappeared when the barrier was brought down, filling the Isle with light like it had never seen before. or. Harry’s eyes.

023. What do they consider beautiful in others physically?

She considers most people beautiful in their own right. But soft hair and pretty eyes are very nice. A strong jaw.

024. What do they consider ugly in others physically?

This is really hard. Uh, completely bald heads maybe? I honestly don’t know.

025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise?

Loyalty. Fierceness. Freedom of Spirit. Confidence.

026. What do they consider ugly in others personality-wise?

Self-depreciation/Self-hatred. Dishonesty. Bigotry in any form. Bullying.

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness?

she doesn’t know, or isn’t sure what exactly would make her perfectly happy. but she feels happiest surrounded by her crew and out on the water. so probably at the wheel of her ship, with her crew around her, safe in the knowledge that the isle is functioning, is growing, is a safe and happy place to live. that her work is done.

028. What makes them laugh out loud?

she’s actually quite fond of laughing and she never tries to hide her laughter if it’s something funny. so, sarcastic comments, jokes, people doing stupid stuff, people saying stupid stuff, people falling down or getting hurt (but not seriously injured)

029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

it’s quite a sarcastic humour, she’ll make lots of sarcastic or sassy comments.

030. Do they believe in the afterlife?

it’s hard not to believe in the afterlife when your great-uncle is literally the lord of the dead. she knows about the underworld and the afterlife and she knows it’s a very real, very literal thing.

031. Are they superstitious about anything?

don’t kill albatrosses. don’t do it. but otherwise, no, not hugely superstitious.

032. Does your character believe in ghosts?

yes.

033. Do they keep their promises?

as a sea witch, she has to keep her promises. a promise is a soul debt. uma takes promises very seriously.

034. What’s their view of lying?

she hates lying. she hates being lied to. she would always prefer the honest truth, even if it hurts. she does, occasionally tell white lies like “i’m fine”, but about anything more important than that, it’s a no-no.

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by?

if you want something, you have to work for it. no-one gets anything for free.

036. How honorable is your character?

fairly honourable. but she isn’t above trying underhanded tricks to get what she wants.

037. If your character saw someone drop a large sum of money and knew that they could probably take it without anyone noticing, what would they do?

probably take it. depending on who’d dropped it. if it was someone she knew, she’d probably return it. but finder’s keepers is the isle way of life.

038. What bad habits do they have?

not sleeping. swearing. speaking with her mouth full. skipping meals accidentally.

039. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

damnatio memoriae. completely erasing someone’s existence from the world.

040. What is their obsession?

the isle of the lost and turning it into a liveable place. she is a workaholic.

041. Are they comfortable with technology?

pretty comfortable, but she prefers the old fashioned methods like letter writing and taking notes by hand than using a tablet or laptop.

042. What is their greatest achievement?

the barrier being brought down. while she’s not technically responsible, it was her plan and her actions that helped to change mal’s mind, so she’s taking credit.

043. What will they stand up for?

the little guy. the underdog. she’s a huge proponent for those in need, those less fortunate. she’ll stand up for freedom and fair treatment.

044. What disgusts them?

people in positions of power that use them to improve their own lives instead of helping other people. sexism. racism. classism. homophobia. etc.

045. Does your character have any chronic medical conditions?

mild depression.

046. How do they handle getting sick?

she powers through it, pretending like she isn’t sick at all.

047. What was the last medical problem your character had?

malnutrition as a result of living on a garbage island for years.

048. Do they have any allergies?

not that she knows of

049. How does your character feel about growing old?

the length of her lifespan makes growing old seem like something of a non-issue for her. she’s more concerned about other people growing old around her while she remains relatively unchanged.

050. How does your character feel about their own mortality?

given that she’s almost immortal, it’s not something she has to consider now that she’s free from the influence of the barrier. but she hopes that by the time it comes around, she’s done something worthy of getting into elysium.

051. If they knew they would die tomorrow, what would they do today?

make a list of all the jobs that still need doing and give it to someone she trusts to carry on her work.  

052. What is your character’s worst flaw?

her pride and inability to compromise. she’s incredibly stubborn about her plans, possibly to her own detriment. her need to always be in control.

053. What is your character’s greatest strength?

her compassion and her ability to see the world for what it could be instead of what it is.

054. Does your character want power or authority of any kind?

yes. it’s important to her to have power and authority always. it’s why she’s self-titled queen of the isle, it’s why she’s the captain. she struggles with relinquishing control and with trusting other people.

055. Is your character an introvert or an extrovert?

an extrovert.

056. Has your character ever struck someone in anger?

yes. though with time she comes to regret the action, she has definitely lashed out at both friends and enemies in blind anger.

057. Has your character ever killed anyone?

yes.

058. What is your character’s idea of a perfect day?

uma’s idea of a perfect day is a day out at sea with her crew, sailing the world and singing sea shanties and having a good time together away from other authority or people who hate them. just them, free and happy.

059. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up?

what’s my name? is her favourite phrase, use to keep her crew in line, to boost herself up, and to make sure everyone knows who she is and that she’s in charge.   ( descriptor ) party, table for one (pity, loser, etc). picked up from her time in the shop. we ride with the tide! her crew’s mantra. a reminder that they will always be moving forwards.

060. What is your character’s attitude toward education and learning?

she enjoys learning, but she finds most educators boring or pointless. she’s much rather teach herself stuff. but she also wants everyone to receive a good education.

061. Does your character prefer adventure or safety and security?

adventure! she wants to see everything and travel the world and go on wild adventures.

062. What sort of legacy does your character wish to leave behind?

a good one. a big one. she wants to be remembered, but she wants to be remembered for helping people, for doing something good for the world and her people.

063. How well does your character handle difficult people?

it depends on the kind of difficult, but pretty well, usually. she will always assess a situation first, but she’s very good at adapting to whatever is needed from her in the moment.

064. In what ways does your character annoy others?

she’s demanding and controlling. so she annoys people by constantly needs to reassert the fact that she’s in charge, and she’s the most important person in the room.

065. Is your character better at leading or following? Which do they prefer?

leading, always. uma hates following, she can’t stand it.

066. Does your character prefer city life or being out in nature?

being out in nature, specifically, the ocean.

067. Does your character believe in fate or destiny?

she knows that the fates exist, that some parts of your story are prewritten, but she’d like to think she could change it on a whim, that she isn’t tied to anything specific.

068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

very. she feels responsible for a lot. seeing people in need triggers it more than anything, seeing someone hurt or hungry is something she can’t stand.

069. What about your character is heroic?

a lot. she fights for what she wants, she fights for other people, especially those who maybe can’t fight for themselves.

070. What about your character is cowardly?

she doesn’t like getting too involved in her own emotions. especially the good ones and she doesn’t want to lose people, so she distances herself from them to avoid getting hurt.

071. How kind is your character?

fairly kind. she struggles with it sometimes because she’s never been taught kindness, but she’s trying.

072. In a Dungeons & Dragons game, which class would your character be? (wizard, fighter, bard, priest, ranger, etc.)

a druid, but a water druid specifically.

073. In a novel, what plot role would your character fill? (hero, anti-hero, sidekick, villain, etc.)

anti-hero. she’s a hero, but her methods aren’t heroic.

074. What is your character’s favorite game?

she doesn’t really play games. also she’d be a pretty bad sport at any game she didn’t win, so maybe uma is banned from game nights and doesn’t have a favourite.

075. Is your character ticklish?

not really, thanks to shape-shifting any part of her that was ticklish now isn’t.

076. How do they express anger?

loudly. it takes over her whole body, she goes tense and snappy, she gets loud and shouty, and even though she doesn’t like it and would like to change, she can get physically violent.

077. How often do they cry? Over what?

pretty much never. she tries her hardest not to cry. but she’s more likely to cry over very emotional things rather than pain. so she’s more likely to cry because a loved one got hurt, or because of her own feelings than anything else.

078. How emotionally stable is your character?

she’d like to think that she’s emotionally stable, but she can actually be quite volatile, she’s just very good at hiding her mood swings.

079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others?

very, ursula spent uma’s entire childhood teaching her about how people convey emotion through their bodies as well as their words and voices. she’s very good at discerning emotions.

080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions?

she’d hope pretty difficult. she does her best not to fall into any of the usual traps, but she still has certain tells, so for someone who knows her, it becomes pretty easy.

081. Is your character religious?

a complex question, because she knows that gods exist as she herself is related to them, so she has to believe in gods, she can’t deny their existence, but she also knows that they’re not the omnipotent, omniscient beings they’re made out to be, they’re flawed and selfish and she gave up on asking for their help.

082. What are your character’s sleeping preferences?

sleep. any sleep. she actually doesn’t sleep very much, she can stay awake for days at a time and when she does sleep it’s only really in short bursts.

083. What is the first thing they say and/or do when they wake up?

check how long she’s been asleep for and what time of day it is, to calculate how long she has before other people are awake, or to see how much time she’s lost.

084. Describe your character in one word.

Hero.

085. Describe your character in three words.

Revolutionary. Stubborn. Ambitious.

086. How would your character describe themself in one word?

Queen.

087. How would your character describe themself in three words?

Queen. Captain. Witch.

088. Is your character quiet or loud?

Loud. So very loud.

089. How vocally expressive is your character?

very. she’s always ready to talk or argue her point. and she’ll always tell you exactly what she thinks.

090. How bodily expressive is your character?

in the middle. most of the time her body language is closed off, but she does like to show off.

091. What type of music does your character like?

she’s not really had much chance to listen to music yet, but female singers are her clear favourite.

092. What emotion does your character evoke in others?

loyalty, for the people who are with her. anger, in those that aren’t. fear.

093. What is your character’s goal in life?

to free her people and to make their lives better, to make their homes liveable and their land usable.

094. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to know.

economics. the law. how to be good.

095. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to do.

dance. hold her temper. bench press a car.

096. How do they move and carry themselves? What energy do they project?

uma is very confident in her movement. she walks with her head up and as if she expects everyone else to move out of her way (she does). she doesn’t make herself smaller or back down. she’s always an intimidating presence.

097. How well do they adapt to change?

uma is very adaptable. she’s very good at adapting, but that doesn’t mean she always likes it. if it’s a change she’s campaigned for, she’s all for it, but otherwise? she’s going to need serious convincing.

098. Does your character like animals?

yes. especially sea animals.

099. Do they talk to inanimate objects?

other than maybe swearing if she’s bumped into something? probably not.

100. Does your character dream? If so, what do they dream about?

she does dream, she often dreams about her crew, or her ship, or the depths of the ocean.

#⤪ GOT A LOT FARTHER BY WORKING A LOT HARDER | headcanon. ⤨

[seadivine-moved]

@menxgerie​ asked all the character development questions

yes, below the cut are 100 character development questions. 

001. When is their birthday?

February 2nd ( or, dependant on the Mal, roughly four or five days after Mal’s birthday )

002. Do they do anything to celebrate their birthday?

Usually, there’s a party. But it used to be that this party was held in competition with Mal’s birthday party, so was vying for guests and needed the most numbers, but now she’s not doing that, she’d settle for a gathering of her closest friends (her crew) and maybe she’ll give herself a whole day off work, if someone can talk her into it.

003. Does your character like coffee better, or tea?

Coffee, it’s all they had on the Isle so she never really got accustomed to tea. 

004. Do they prefer being alone or with others?

She prefers to have a crowd around her, people to talk to and show off in front of, but when it comes down to it, she’d always prefer to spend her time with a couple of close friends rather than a huge group. 

005. Are they in good health?

Relatively. Uma is a fairly healthy individual, especially once the barrier comes down, because then she has access to her own divine nature and that protects her from most things that would get to a normal human. She is, however, like most Isle kids, somewhat small for her age from the early malnutrition and lack of expose to sunlight. So, better than most. 

006. What sense do they most rely on?

Sight is probably the most important, in terms of relying on it to get things done, but touch is something she relies on for comfort especially. and when she’s in her cecaelia form her tentacles are more receptive to touch, as with an octopus. they help her navigate, especially underwater.  

007. Is your character an optimist or a pessimist?

Uma is a realist, first and foremost. Or that’s what she’d say, she’s actually pretty optimistic. 

008. What is their favorite fairy tale?

Cliche as it is, the original version of the little mermaid, where the mermaid’s feet cause her physical pain and then the prince marries someone else so she throws herself into the sea, still in human form, and turns to sea foam. Yep, that one. 

009. Do they believe in happy endings?

No, because there’s no such thing as a happy ending. Endings are sad, that’s how endings work. And if you reach a point where you feel like you’re going to live ‘happily ever after’ you have to remember, there’s always more work to be done and eventually one of you will outlive the other. 

010. Do they believe in love at first sight?

Not really. Love has to be allowed to grow. You can’t love someone you don’t know. Because then you’re just in love with the idea of them and all the messy bits underneath are just going to put you off. 

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

About as subtly as a brick through a window. Uma is never subtle, so she’d likely approach them and ask them out, or maybe she’d try and get some info out of them first about things they like. 

012. What makes your character embarrassed?

Being reminded of Mal’s nickname. 

013. Have they ever been bullied or teased?

Yes. So much. the Shrimpy nickname stuck. And people clung to the idea that Maleficent was ruler of the Isle and therefore Mal could do no wrong, so if Mal wanted them to ostracise Uma and call her names, then they would, for fear of suffering the same fate.  

014. Detail one secret shame your character feels.

She feels ashamed that the whole of the Isle wasn’t always her priority. She always knew she wanted to get her crew off the Isle, but that was as far as her plan went and she’s ashamed of the thought that if she’d gotten the trident and bargained her way off the Isle with her crew at the end of Book 3, she’d have left and not looked back just like the Core 4 did. 

015. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

Both. She’ll insult you to take your guard down and then punch you. Insults thrown whilst fighting are just par for the course with Uma. 

016. What is their choice of weapon?

Sword. Or, against a magical opponent, magic. 

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

So much of the time. Way too much of the time. She’s trying to be better, but sometimes her first instinct is still to do something violent to get her point across and make people listen to her. 

018. Your character wakes up to find that war has been declared. What do they do?

Gather her people around her, and then probably go out and fight. It would depend on the war and the nature of it. If it’s a landgrab from another kingdom, she might not bother, but if it’s a magical being attacking with intent to destroy the kingdom, she’ll get involved. 

019. If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

She kind of already has superpowers, so if she had to add something on top of what she already has, she’d probably take the ability to control plants so she can make crops grow on the Isle. If she had to lose all her powers and retain just one she would probably choose to retain shapeshifting. 

020. What are their hobbies?

What’s a hobby? Uh, no, she enjoys singing, swimming and sailing. They might not necessarily be hobbies, but they’re the closest she gets. 

021. How do they display affection?

Touches. Little touches on the arm, a hand in the hair. She likes to touch the people she cares for. Also protectiveness, so standing in front of them, throwing her arm in front of them. Joking around with people, rolling her eyes, punching them lightly in the shoulder. 

022. What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

The sunlight filtering through the clouds as the disappeared when the barrier was brought down, filling the Isle with light like it had never seen before. or. Harry’s eyes. 

023. What do they consider beautiful in others physically?

She considers most people beautiful in their own right. But soft hair and pretty eyes are very nice. A strong jaw. 

024. What do they consider ugly in others physically?

This is really hard. Uh, completely bald heads maybe? I honestly don’t know. 

025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise?

Loyalty. Fierceness. Freedom of Spirit. Confidence. 

026. What do they consider ugly in others personality-wise?

Self-depreciation/Self-hatred. Dishonesty. Bigotry in any form. Bullying. 

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness?

she doesn’t know, or isn’t sure what exactly would make her perfectly happy. but she feels happiest surrounded by her crew and out on the water. so probably at the wheel of her ship, with her crew around her, safe in the knowledge that the isle is functioning, is growing, is a safe and happy place to live. that her work is done. 

028. What makes them laugh out loud?

she’s actually quite fond of laughing and she never tries to hide her laughter if it’s something funny. so, sarcastic comments, jokes, people doing stupid stuff, people saying stupid stuff, people falling down or getting hurt (but not seriously injured)

029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

it’s quite a sarcastic humour, she’ll make lots of sarcastic or sassy comments. 

030. Do they believe in the afterlife?

it’s hard not to believe in the afterlife when your great-uncle is literally the lord of the dead. she knows about the underworld and the afterlife and she knows it’s a very real, very literal thing. 

031. Are they superstitious about anything?

don’t kill albatrosses. don’t do it. but otherwise, no, not hugely superstitious. 

032. Does your character believe in ghosts?

yes. 

033. Do they keep their promises?

as a sea witch, she has to keep her promises. a promise is a soul debt. uma takes promises very seriously. 

034. What’s their view of lying?

she hates lying. she hates being lied to. she would always prefer the honest truth, even if it hurts. she does, occasionally tell white lies like “i’m fine”, but about anything more important than that, it’s a no-no. 

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by?

if you want something, you have to work for it. no-one gets anything for free. 

036. How honorable is your character? 

fairly honourable. but she isn’t above trying underhanded tricks to get what she wants. 

037. If your character saw someone drop a large sum of money and knew that they could probably take it without anyone noticing, what would they do?

probably take it. depending on who’d dropped it. if it was someone she knew, she’d probably return it. but finder’s keepers is the isle way of life. 

038. What bad habits do they have?

not sleeping. swearing. speaking with her mouth full. skipping meals accidentally. 

039. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

damnatio memoriae. completely erasing someone’s existence from the world. 

040. What is their obsession?

the isle of the lost and turning it into a liveable place. she is a workaholic. 

041. Are they comfortable with technology?

pretty comfortable, but she prefers the old fashioned methods like letter writing and taking notes by hand than using a tablet or laptop. 

042. What is their greatest achievement?

the barrier being brought down. while she’s not technically responsible, it was her plan and her actions that helped to change mal’s mind, so she’s taking credit. 

043. What will they stand up for?

the little guy. the underdog. she’s a huge proponent for those in need, those less fortunate. she’ll stand up for freedom and fair treatment. 

044. What disgusts them?

people in positions of power that use them to improve their own lives instead of helping other people. sexism. racism. classism. homophobia. etc. 

045. Does your character have any chronic medical conditions?

mild depression. 

046. How do they handle getting sick?

she powers through it, pretending like she isn’t sick at all. 

047. What was the last medical problem your character had?

malnutrition as a result of living on a garbage island for years. 

048. Do they have any allergies?

not that she knows of 

049. How does your character feel about growing old?

the length of her lifespan makes growing old seem like something of a non-issue for her. she’s more concerned about other people growing old around her while she remains relatively unchanged. 

050. How does your character feel about their own mortality?

given that she’s almost immortal, it’s not something she has to consider now that she’s free from the influence of the barrier. but she hopes that by the time it comes around, she’s done something worthy of getting into elysium. 

051. If they knew they would die tomorrow, what would they do today?

make a list of all the jobs that still need doing and give it to someone she trusts to carry on her work.  

052. What is your character’s worst flaw?

her pride and inability to compromise. she’s incredibly stubborn about her plans, possibly to her own detriment. her need to always be in control. 

053. What is your character’s greatest strength?

her compassion and her ability to see the world for what it could be instead of what it is. 

054. Does your character want power or authority of any kind?

yes. it’s important to her to have power and authority always. it’s why she’s self-titled queen of the isle, it’s why she’s the captain. she struggles with relinquishing control and with trusting other people. 

055. Is your character an introvert or an extrovert?

an extrovert. 

056. Has your character ever struck someone in anger?

yes. though with time she comes to regret the action, she has definitely lashed out at both friends and enemies in blind anger. 

057. Has your character ever killed anyone?

yes.

058. What is your character’s idea of a perfect day?

uma’s idea of a perfect day is a day out at sea with her crew, sailing the world and singing sea shanties and having a good time together away from other authority or people who hate them. just them, free and happy. 

059. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up?

what’s my name? is her favourite phrase, use to keep her crew in line, to boost herself up, and to make sure everyone knows who she is and that she’s in charge.   ( descriptor ) party, table for one (pity, loser, etc). picked up from her time in the shop.  we ride with the tide! her crew’s mantra. a reminder that they will always be moving forwards. 

060. What is your character’s attitude toward education and learning?

she enjoys learning, but she finds most educators boring or pointless. she’s much rather teach herself stuff.  but she also wants everyone to receive a good education. 

061. Does your character prefer adventure or safety and security?

adventure! she wants to see everything and travel the world and go on wild adventures. 

062. What sort of legacy does your character wish to leave behind?

a good one. a big one. she wants to be remembered, but she wants to be remembered for helping people, for doing something good for the world and her people. 

063. How well does your character handle difficult people?

it depends on the kind of difficult, but pretty well, usually. she will always assess a situation first, but she’s very good at adapting to whatever is needed from her in the moment. 

064. In what ways does your character annoy others?

she’s demanding and controlling. so she annoys people by constantly needs to reassert the fact that she’s in charge, and she’s the most important person in the room. 

065. Is your character better at leading or following? Which do they prefer?

leading, always. uma hates following, she can’t stand it. 

066. Does your character prefer city life or being out in nature?

being out in nature, specifically, the ocean. 

067. Does your character believe in fate or destiny?

she knows that the fates exist, that some parts of your story are prewritten, but she’d like to think she could change it on a whim, that she isn’t tied to anything specific. 

068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

very. she feels responsible for a lot. seeing people in need triggers it more than anything, seeing someone hurt or hungry is something she can’t stand. 

069. What about your character is heroic?

a lot. she fights for what she wants, she fights for other people, especially those who maybe can’t fight for themselves. 

070. What about your character is cowardly?

she doesn’t like getting too involved in her own emotions. especially the good ones and she doesn’t want to lose people, so she distances herself from them to avoid getting hurt. 

071. How kind is your character?

fairly kind. she struggles with it sometimes because she’s never been taught kindness, but she’s trying. 

072. In a Dungeons & Dragons game, which class would your character be? (wizard, fighter, bard, priest, ranger, etc.)

a druid, but a water druid specifically. 

073. In a novel, what plot role would your character fill? (hero, anti-hero, sidekick, villain, etc.)

anti-hero. she’s a hero, but her methods aren’t heroic. 

074. What is your character’s favorite game?

she doesn’t really play games. also she’d be a pretty bad sport at any game she didn’t win, so maybe uma is banned from game nights and doesn’t have a favourite. 

075. Is your character ticklish?

not really, thanks to shape-shifting any part of her that was ticklish now isn’t. 

076. How do they express anger?

loudly. it takes over her whole body, she goes tense and snappy, she gets loud and shouty, and even though she doesn’t like it and would like to change, she can get physically violent. 

077. How often do they cry? Over what?

pretty much never. she tries her hardest not to cry. but she’s more likely to cry over very emotional things rather than pain. so she’s more likely to cry because a loved one got hurt, or because of her own feelings than anything else. 

078. How emotionally stable is your character?

she’d like to think that she’s emotionally stable, but she can actually be quite volatile, she’s just very good at hiding her mood swings. 

079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others?

very, ursula spent uma’s entire childhood teaching her about how people convey emotion through their bodies as well as their words and voices. she’s very good at discerning emotions. 

080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions?

she’d hope pretty difficult. she does her best not to fall into any of the usual traps, but she still has certain tells, so for someone who knows her, it becomes pretty easy. 

081. Is your character religious?

a complex question, because she knows that gods exist as she herself is related to them, so she has to believe in gods, she can’t deny their existence, but she also knows that they’re not the omnipotent, omniscient beings they’re made out to be, they’re flawed and selfish and she gave up on asking for their help. 

082. What are your character’s sleeping preferences?

sleep. any sleep. she actually doesn’t sleep very much, she can stay awake for days at a time and when she does sleep it’s only really in short bursts. 

083. What is the first thing they say and/or do when they wake up?

check how long she’s been asleep for and what time of day it is, to calculate how long she has before other people are awake, or to see how much time she’s lost. 

084. Describe your character in one word.

Hero.

085. Describe your character in three words.

Revolutionary. Stubborn. Ambitious.

086. How would your character describe themself in one word?

Queen. 

087. How would your character describe themself in three words?

Queen. Captain. Witch. 

088. Is your character quiet or loud?

Loud. So very loud. 

089. How vocally expressive is your character?

very. she’s always ready to talk or argue her point. and she’ll always tell you exactly what she thinks. 

090. How bodily expressive is your character?

in the middle. most of the time her body language is closed off, but she does like to show off. 

091. What type of music does your character like?

she’s not really had much chance to listen to music yet, but female singers are her clear favourite. 

092. What emotion does your character evoke in others?

loyalty, for the people who are with her. anger, in those that aren’t. fear. 

093. What is your character’s goal in life?

to free her people and to make their lives better, to make their homes liveable and their land usable. 

094. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to know.

economics. the law. how to be good. 

095. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to do.

dance. hold her temper. bench press a car. 

096. How do they move and carry themselves? What energy do they project?

uma is very confident in her movement. she walks with her head up and as if she expects everyone else to move out of her way (she does). she doesn’t make herself smaller or back down. she’s always an intimidating presence. 

097. How well do they adapt to change?

uma is very adaptable. she’s very good at adapting, but that doesn’t mean she always likes it. if it’s a change she’s campaigned for, she’s all for it, but otherwise? she’s going to need serious convincing.

098. Does your character like animals?

yes. especially sea animals.

099. Do they talk to inanimate objects?

other than maybe swearing if she’s bumped into something? probably not. 

100. Does your character dream? If so, what do they dream about?

she does dream, she often dreams about her crew, or her ship, or the depths of the ocean. 

#headcanon | as long as i'm leader of this lost isle. #meta tag #menxgerie #tagging cass bc I FUCKIN DID IT

[talesfromtheindigoghost]

Good Intentions: Entry 3

Do you want to know the funniest part of all of this?

I’ve actually tried going to therapy to get help processing all of this. The more I think about it, the less traumatic and bizarre it sounds but that pretense just falls to pieces once I start talking about it out loud. That’s kind of the point of getting help, though, isn’t it?

The view from my patio isn’t as dazzling or profound as what I assume is heaven but I still love to watch the sun rise over the woods and bring its light and warmth to whatever might be wandering around the yard. Squirrels, raccoons, possums… plenty of feral cats, sometimes even deer, if I’m really lucky.

A fat, orange tabby cautiously peeks her head out from the window of the modest shed I helped build a few years back. I watched her squeeze through, despite it barely being ajar, amazed at how her drooping belly seems to pour out like dough out of a can of biscuits. I can’t help but smile as she turned and lets out a noise and, one by one, her four children slink out of the window and follow her to the food and water I’ve made a habit of leaving out every day.

I’ve done this since as long as I can remember, for as long as stray cats have wandered near. One of the times I had to go through all of that, the thing that used to be me managed to wander into the garage before I got back. That’s where I used to leave the food and water for the animals. I think seeing what it had done to that poor little kitten really messed with me, and what really pushed me into giving therapy a chance.

She was nice, and to be honest, I still consider going back but I always got the feeling she thought I was making everything up. To be fair, of course, I wouldn’t believe it either. Hell, I go through it, and I hardly believe any of it is real. Maybe the funniest part wasn’t that I went to therapy, but that I told the truth when I did.

Sort of.

I wondered to myself; how do you really explain this to someone? How could I possibly convey the sensation of dying to someone who’s never died before? In what way could I ever tell someone that by that point in my life I had already successfully killed myself more than thirty times?

The answer, it turns out, was a lot easier than I expected. I told the truth, but dressed it up as… creativity, for lack of a better term. My deaths became attempts, my journeys became colorful metaphors for how I was feeling. Weird how just being honest can be such a relief sometimes.

The things that used to be me became reflections.

She had explained to me, after I had broken down and confessed how guilty I felt over the death of that kitten, that it hadn’t been my fault at all. That there was no way I could have possibly known that the kitten was sleeping under the hood of my car when I started it. That was the only way I could think to describe what I had seen without making it sound like I was some monster that had a psychotic break and mutilated an innocent baby cat.

The best I could do, she suggested, was to forgive myself for an unfortunate accident and that I could learn from the experience to take steps to ensure it didn’t happen again. That’s why I started putting food in the shed instead of the garage. Sure, it’s not as close and convenient, but I do have this perfect view to watch them live their happy kitty lives.

It was great advice, actually. I don’t know what I would ever do if one of my reflections were to hurt something other than myself ever again.

I started being more mindful in my attempts to resolve my situation. She helped me realize that I can take precautions without sacrificing my unique needs. Of course, as far as she knew I was just some suicidal weirdo struggling to make it through every day who uses far too colorful language.

I can see the kittens circling their mother excitedly. They’re just as that age where they should be learning to eat on their own but they would still much rather get a good knead of milk. I close my eyes, hoping to hear their mewling carried on the wind blowing in over the trees. I catch the scent of trees and mud, of black licorice.

I’m glad I survived.

It took me over thirty trips to wherever the hell I go when it happens, but I do find myself glad to be back every time now. A shiver runs through me as the breeze hits me a little colder than expected, roughly reminding me that I’m still in my pajamas. I think it bothers the guys at the gate when I show up wearing something dumb.

The red dude looked offended enough to puke the one time I had arrived wearing a “WHO FARTED?” t-shirt and cargo shorts. I’m not even sure if they can die over there but I could’ve swore he was about to have a stroke. These pajamas weren’t funny or anything, I just liked the cow print on the pants. I forgot to ask what they thought, damn it.

Maybe that’s just the euphoria of the sunrise talking.

I look back only a few hours ago and I remember weeping, beating on my own forehead in frustration while I tried to talk myself out of another suicide attempt only to turn around and cry harder as I forced myself into it. I felt the bottom of my stomach sink into the abyss before vanishing entirely as I tightened the rope and doubted myself, wondering if it was all one psychotic delusion, sweet talking myself into finally dying so I can–

I realize, quite suddenly, that I’ve gone there and back again fifty times now. I hate it just as much as I hated it the first time, but I need answers. I demand answers. I want to know why this is happening, even if it takes an eternity of passive aggressive visits to their front gate. I give my soda can an experimental shake, just to confirm it’s empty, before cautiously inhaling as it passes my nose on its way across the deck and off the side into the recycling bin down below. I thought I smelled licorice again.

Maybe I should get myself a cake. That feels right. What do you have written on a cake like that? Happy 50th? Congratulations? I could always just wait another month and call it a birthday cake but then I couldn’t really do anything too morbid without bumming someone out. I wonder if the things that used to be me go well with ice cream?

My mind recoils imagining the sensation of a thick rope of black licorice hardening as it touches the ice cream. Cold and hard, like trying to chew into gummi bears just as you take them out of the freezer. The kind of strong, resistant type of chew that leaves your jaw tired and aching to the point where it’s hard to focus on the flavor. Still, I always eat it anyway. The thick, sickening scent of black licorice causes a sensation that feels like a growling stomach.

I try to distract myself by going back inside after one last loving glance towards Mama and her band of mischief makers. I try not to think about the feel of black blood filling my mouth, consuming my entire world with its overwhelming presence. Even as I strip, I fight against its call. I fight to ignore it as it knocks on my front door, as the knocks turn to pounds.

I can’t tell if I actually smell it or if I simply want to. The water is too hot, nearly burning me as I stand with my head under the shower, hoping and hoping the pain will force me to forget that delicious scent for a moment.

“It’s okay to cry when you’re overwhelmed.”

A quick, painful slap across the shower valve shoves me abruptly from the boiling pot into the ice bucket. A sob bursts out of me from the sudden shock, and I feel the immediate pain of relief as I let myself cry under the cold water.

I cry, and I cry. I cry so hard I almost throw up but there’s nothing inside of me but bile and woe. My now shivering hand fumbles with the valve, regretting the impulsive decision to freeze myself out under ice cold water and carefully bringing it back to a more comfortable warmth. I feel it all. I felt the scalding flow turn to icy knives and then finally into comfort.

I hate the clarity of it all. My thoughts are clear, thorough, even as I stand here bawling my eyes out in a desperate struggle to understand the existence I’ve been cursed with. I can feel the sadness and despair pulling me into an unknowable abyss abandoned by any and everything that can possibly existence. Uncertainty tears away at the very foundations of my mind as I wail and sob, begging the universe for some kind of final answer.

My heart aches with lost love. I find myself lost in a sea of emotions over the pain of rejection. I scream and curse her name, that horrible, vile woman who left me. I pine for her beauty and touch, a deep and powerful bloodlust growing in the hateful depths of my broken heart. I’m determined to make her regret what she’s done, even if it costs me my life.

My cries grow heavier, angrier, and the boiling acid of my hatred burns through the walls of my soul and drips corrosively onto my bones. I grind my teeth, craving the sensations of her delicate flesh submitting to my bite that I may consume her as I so rightfully deserve to.

The cloying stench of black licorice and its profane, irresistible temptations flood my world and swallow my very being. I’m not sure when I stopped crying but I���m far more alarmed by the violent, growling grunts exploding out of my body as I start trying to break a hole in the wall with my forehead again and again.

It wasn’t until this moment that I remembered that I’ve never been in a relationship before.

I don’t recognize any of these thoughts.

Nor do I recognize the dead thing shambling through my bathroom door, a thing that used to be someone, shrieking out its black, bloody hatred through a grey, blackened maw of fleshy mush.

This one isn’t mine.

--

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#horror #cw: suicide mention #cw: gore #psychological horror #writing

[palerdin]

The Siege

It all began one bleary morning. Mairèad was coming off the usual bender she went on when she returned to Stormwind from any type of travel and didn’t have to worry about conserving rum. Her trip had been a productive one, one that ended with Mairèad’s coffers much fuller and her body exhausted from marathon romps with Krogu, who hadn’t left her bed for a good five days straight. The seas had been fine during the trip back from Kalimdor as well, and the skies fair. The Burning Legion was defeated, the world was pulling itself back together around the wound in Silithus (or so she heard, still not going near the damned thing with a thousand foot pole), and all was well and right.

The sun was too bright that morning, sending stabs of agony through Mairèad’s head, but she smiled anyway, still coasting off the goodness of her trip, and staving off the rest of her hangover with magic and ice water and plans for a pastry. The latter was what got her in trouble; she could have remained blissfully ignorant for days, had she not disembarked, still adjusting her belt and scabbard around her waist, not really watching where she was going until she careened head-on into a Kaldorei.

“Oh! ‘Scuse me!” she chirped good-naturedly but felt her smile fade as she saw the victim of her clumsiness: statuesque and elegant, but covered in ash and tears and wearing a haunted expression. He mumbled something in Darnassian, not even looking at Mairèad, and staggered onward. Beyond him, Mairèad could see more and more of them: Kaldorei refugees, wailing and sobbing, healing each other’s wounds, all burnt or ashy or coughing or something in between.

It took Mairèad what felt like hours to finally piece together the story of Teldrassil’s burning, and when she had, the pastry seemed unimportant. Most things seemed unimportant, really. The banshee queen had done genocide, right when the world was finally supposed to see the peace for which it had been fighting for millennia. The summons to fight must have come not hours after Mairèad had left port Ratchet, and the fighting and horror were so unevenly matched and through so quickly that she didn’t even hear of them until the battle was lost.

When the horror had sufficiently sunk in, something else struck Mairèad that she might not have otherwise considered, had she not just spent five days making lazy love to an orc. Before the thought was fully formed, she paid for a portal to Dalaran and scribbled a hasty note that she shoved in the faction neutral mailbox she and Krogu used to write each other.

Krogu,

I don’t know if you heard about Teldrassil. I can’t imagine you didn’t. Please tell me you’re alright. Please tell me you didn’t help burn it. That’s all I need to know. I don’t care if you fought, I don’t care if you killed, that’s war, but please, please be alright, please don’t have that genocide on your conscience.

I’m fine. & slightly drunk.

Love you,

Mair

Stormwind now buzzed with war preparations, more than it had even when the Legion’s ships tore the sky open and dotted Azeroth’s landscapes. Rumors flew about where and when the counterstrike would be, but they soon coalesced into a solid truth: the Alliance would take back Lordaeron.

Mairèad, Kul Tiran at her most legitimate, had no true sentiment for the kingdom beyond that it was the home of her adopted family, a foothold for the Alliance, and the heart of all the labors of the Silver Hand and Argent Crusade. Still, the idea of taking out the banshee queen held universal appeal, and she found herself aboard one of the navy’s ships, trekking northward and overcrowded with those eager to fight.

She’d combed the crowd for any familiar faces, but the volunteers to fight in Lordaeron were too numerous, and all for different reasons. Nearly every human wanted to take the kingdom back, a healthy number claiming some sort of heritage there. The Gilneans, both cursed and uncursed, saw an opportunity to take from the banshee queen what she took from them, and the few Kaldorei well enough to join in the fight felt the same way. Others rode the ships out of a sense of loyalty to the Alliance, and still others in a mindset of moral correctness. They all seemed in good, determined spirits, or at least seemed optimistic about the battle. They had the element of surprise; surely they’d take back the city.

Mairèad felt less certain. The whole affair had the air of a trap, not just the battle itself, but the fact of Undercity’s involvement. She’d never been there, being alive and all, but she’d heard that it was a twisting labyrinth of sewage and rot, accessible only through old drain pipes and guarded lifts. Though she wouldn’t be in the Undercity herself, she couldn’t imagine that its invaders would escape with their lives.

But good odds or bad, they arrived north of the city and pressed down through Brill to the front gates under the command of King Genn Greymane and, eventually, King Anduin Wrynn. The battle was intense, far more than battles against the Legion had been, not least because the faces glaring back at her from the other side mirrored her own. Few wore expressions of virulent hatred; most were furious, afraid, determined, sad.

The Horde, unlike the Legion, still clung to some shreds of humanity.

Even as their enormous war machine rolled out across the battlefield, crushing fallen soldiers beneath it. Even as magic and arrows and blood flew. Even as the commanders’ voices grew hoarse and cracked with effort. Even then, the Horde weren’t mindlessly evil, following their very nature to destroy. Even then, they were soldiers, as much as Mairèad was.

As much, she realized, as Krogu likely was.

And once she realized that, she saw him in every orc that charged at her, every face glaring back through a halo of Light or a haze of fire. And it was more than that. She started to recognize faces, not by name but by familiarity, from Light’s Hope. Tauren and Blood Elves both; she couldn’t have called their names if she wanted to, but she felt sure that she’d exchanged smiles with one or two, sharpened her Orcish with another. They called upon the same Light she did, and the expressions of doubt and horror on their faces matched the one on her own.

Had any on the battlefield experienced this sort of thing before? Mairèad couldn’t imagine so. The Horde and Alliance had, she knew, tenuously worked together in Northrend, but things had been tense. She couldn’t recall a time when they hadn’t at least been separate, not until the Legion arrived, not until their world was in more danger than any but the oldest among them had seen. And now, Mairèad knew she wasn’t the only one struggling to strike against those with whom she’d so recently shared bonds.

She almost couldn’t help herself when she held up her shield to block the blow of a Troll charging at her; he must have been twice her height, but he also seemed impressed that she was able to throw him off with her Light-enhanced strength. He seemed even more impressed, behind his carved mask, when she remarked, “Hell of a day for it, too, is it not?” in Orcish.

Impressed, and amused. “Ya,” he answered with a chuckle, bringing another blow toward her side, as though they were sparring partners. “Where ya from? Ya Orcish sound like a Blood Elf’s.”

Mairèad snorted, stomping her foot and grinning as the Troll leapt away from her consecration. “It is funny, because in Common, I sound like a peasant!” she answered.

The Troll spun his staff about in a complicated gesture and seemed about to reply when an arrow flew from behind Mairèad and caught him in the neck. Mairèad staggered back, watching as he fell, one hand reaching towards her but soon growing still. “...fuck,” she whispered, rooted to the ground. What was she doing here? What were any of them doing here?

Now all she could think of was finding Krogu, if he was even at the battle. “Please don’t be here, please don’t be here,” she murmured, pushing forward. All of the Orcs she encountered were tall and taller, even the ones with hair the same hue as hers. Krogu had a good nearly two feet on her, but he was scrawny for one of his race, and none of the Orcs Mairèad faced stood an inch below seven feet.

And then--

There he was, she was sure of it, the features she’d memorized with her lips and fingers coated in blood, the mouth that whispered her name so sweetly bared in a snarl. She started to call out to him when the world in front of her exploded in clouds of sickly green--Blight.

Mairèad stumbled and coughed; around her, the armies began to scream in pain and horror, and not just the Alliance armies. “She’s blightin’ her own soldiers!” someone yelled, and Mairèad choked from something besides the wretched disease.

Paladins, especially those who bear shields, are not known for their rational decisions or for running away from danger. Mairèad let out a war yell and ran forward, into the sickening cloud, towards where she’d seen Krogu before the explosion.

She didn’t know how long it had been when she finally woke up again, woke with a cough that made her ribs ache and a pounding headache and her skin pink and raw and healing from chemical burns. She didn’t know what day it was, but Chadley was there, and he told her that he’d stopped her from charging in “like a complete idiot.” That the grace of the Light was the only reason they’d survived. That the Horde had been driven from Capital City, but it was a hollow victory, since Sylvanas had flooded the city with Blight as she fled.

No one had news on the casualties among the Horde. It was hard to say, as Sylvanas had raised so many of those she killed with the Blight, as so many were left in the ruins of the city that was destroyed out of nothing but spite.

Mairèad was bed-bound for the next several days, per orders of the medic who’d bandaged and healed her the rest of the way, after Lorcan and Chadley had stabilized her back in Brill. She’d fought it at first, but when she’d dropped to her knees in pain after just a few steps, she surrendered to her body’s pleas for healing. Her mind and heart still raced, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere on her own for a while.

So she held the letter in her hand, unsent, for nearly a week after the battle, hoping that her delay wouldn’t cause the kind of panic she felt.

Krogu,

Please tell me you’re alright, please don’t be blighted. I saw you there, I wanted to say something, but then fucking Sylvanas--

I’m alright. Mostly. I did something stupid and got myself fucked right up for my trouble. I’ll be alright once I’ve rested up.

Just please tell me you’re alright. Please. Please.

I love you.

Mair

#world of warcraft #wyrmrest accord #battle for lordaeron #mair and krogu #writing #chadley's in here too #feeeeeeelings

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Monster Prom Verse ;

This is Brian's default, canon verse. A bunch of legal adult monster high schoolers doing their best at living their worst life. Crazy parties, drugs, crime, murder, and hormones are an every day part of life at Spooky High where everyone is trying to avoid the worst fate ever. Going to Monster Prom alone. But mostly it's a story about the rag-tag elites of the school taking immense pleasure in destroying the school, pranking each other and generally never attending class.

Brian is pretty good friends with the other main cast members (Other three PCs + 6 love interests) in spite of his own misgivings about getting close with people. Strangers he doesn’t tend to do too well with. Takes to them about as well as oil to water if his friends aren’t also around. When sending in asks - this is the default verse I answer for. If you want one of Brian’s other verses when it comes to interaction be sure to check out his verse page.

Main Verse Tag: HERE Main Ship Tag:  💀 Gross Ghouls ❌ Dirty Devils 😈

The Story So Far...

Five years ago Brian woke face up in the desert just outside Reno, Nevada. No name. No Memories. No Friends or Family to speak of. He spent more than a few long weeks aimlessly wandering the Death Valley basin before ultimately making his way to the monster realm.

Once getting there, Brian was actually able to take stock of his current situation and realize that several things were lacking. Not only did he have no memories of a before... he also learned that while most people assume he is a zombie or ghoul on sight... those descriptions did not seem to fit him physically. He has no idea who is. Or what he is. Furthermore... interacting with the world via touch seemed nearly impossible... or at the very least intermittent. At the moment Brian is VERY scared that eventually whatever force made him will reclaim him once again. So he keeps others out of his life as best he can to limit his feeling of loss when it does happen.

As such – Brian is intensely Private and never talks about himself. Hardly anyone knows he even has a pet Barghest (Ugly), or even where he lives. He recently, for the very first time let a friend come over and so far that is the extent of it.

Not much is known about what happened to Brian in the span of time before becoming a Freshmen at Monstopolis' Spooky High because Brian doesn't talk about it.

What is known is that he came to the school barely one step above a wild animal. A constant whirlwind of violence. Fighting nearly everyone that looked at him even remotely funny and then some. His one claim to fame is a particularly brutal fight with a werebear that he somehow managed to win through a combination of raw strength and cunning. He still wears the scars from the werebear's claws across his chest to this day.

In the midst of his Freshmen year, Vicky Schmidt (@lady-grey-vicky-blue​) decided for better or worse, she was going to make this boy her friend. Through sheer willpower and persistence – in spite of all the anger, hatred, and aggression Brian threw her way – Vicky succeeded. Much to the surprise of her large group of friends. Needless to say, she made sure Brian integrated with that friend group just fine. Brian is grateful to Vicky for opening up his life to include more than just aimless violence and they have a very close brother/sister relationship. It is a well-known fact that anyone who messes with Vicky gets treated to the absolute worst side of Brian.

He is fairly protective of the rest of his friend group as well. They all might mess with each other ceaselessly – however the moment anyone else outside the group attempts to do the same you'd better believe the perpetrator is in for a rough time.

Brian also enjoys a close bond with Oz (@loveyourfears​ /@shadow-of-fear-and-doubt​ ) of a platonic nature. One of the only people that Brian can actually stand moments of inactivity with. Whether it is staring up into the void and stars or sharing a weekly beer together at Oz's place. 

However nearly everyone at Spooky High knows that Damien LaVey (@hellrager​) and Brian (after an initial rough start most likely) have been partners in crime pretty much since they've met. They hit it off strong and have kept it going throughout highschool with no signs of stopping. Both have a thirst for violence and mayhem in the worst way. They regularly take great pleasure in destroying large portions of the school and terrorizing the other students. Damien has taken his place at the top of the school “food chain” with Brian as his loyal second. They've gone on to start taking on parts of the city and directly antagonizing the cops for greater challenges – when they aren't constantly challenging each other that is.

There's more than a few rumors however that the demon and the ghoul have more than just an intense bromance for the ages going on. Gossip, that the two of them vehemently deny, about them being romantically linked – or secretly lusting after each other. Brian fully blames (@loveyourfears​) for the spreading of these “baseless” rumors. The truth however, there is something more between them and literally everyone but the pair of idiots can see it. Each for their own reasons denying the thing they mutually want.

Recently they've hit a turning point in their relationship that's brought them even closer together than they were before. Which is a terrifying prospect for Brian... although he can no longer deny to himself that he is in love with the demon prince. Yet his own fears due to his circumstances prevent him from acting on anything .... much to the dismay of everyone around them. The implications scare him. Regardless – he knows what they have is special. Something real he wants to hold onto.  

Not that the situation with Damien was his only brush with romance...

By the end of first year Vicky had introduced Brian to Vera Oberlin (@a-poisonous-gamble​) and he begun working for her crime syndicate. This is no secret in spite of them trying to keep it mostly quiet. Most people just assume Brian is the muscle anyway – although in reality he quickly worked his way up the ranks to being one of her lieutenants and main confidants.

Some time along the way the pair of them developed a brief romantic and turbulent relationship that only a few of their mutual friends, if anyone, knows about. However it never seemed to affect their professional relationship. Brian realizes now that their relationship outside of work was mutually toxic and quite frankly a distraction from his love for Damien what he really wanted – although he's glad they have a more functional friendship than they did a romance. Although he still wonders sometimes if Vera is as over the past as he is...

During this time he got introduced to Vera's younger sister Valerie (@purpleshopkeep​) and got assigned by Vera to play body guard. A task he ended up taking more seriously as time went on and the more he got to know the young, mischievous catfolk. Naturally he was in a constant state of exasperation due to her antics and thirst for trouble – often keeping his hands full hauling her ass unwillingly out of trouble on his “nights off”. He's taken to watching out for her now like she was his own sister and he's taken on at times a bit of a fatherly role in her life.

They have recently had a falling out due to a prank that Damien and himself played on her in attempt to get her with a girl she liked. Something that's hilariously hypocritical considering the state of things between himself and Damien. Valerie having been hurt by these events is now no longer speaking to Brian. As such he has asked that someone else be assigned to watching Valerie for the sake of her comfort... although in spite of himself he finds that he's doing what he can for her from the shadows ...without getting paid for it. It appears though... that reconciliation might be around the corner....

Side Verse Tags Side Verses to my main verse are ship specific. Vera w/ @a-poisonous-gamble​: 🐍 love me cancerously like a salt sore soaked in the sea // vera/brian Verse where Brian and Vera never broke up permanently. They are that on again off again couple always seeming to be in some state of turbulence yet can’t stay away from each other.  

Liam w/ @lioncovrt​ : TBA

#what if i told you that the world was gonna end // 𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖 #this post will be updated regularly to keep up with Brian's shit #Just figured it's easier for new people to catch up with what's going on on this blog