#like the joy i feel when sewing pretty clothes or walking in the forest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katsukavi · 3 years

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I wanted to make this a full fanfiction on my wattpad, but I didn’t want to disappoint everyone with the super slow updates (like my scumlord lol) so.. here’s crap I pulled out of my notes called arise, undead (“pretty obsessed” sung jin-woo x male, zombie reader) I also really like the options I have in tumblr lol. I’m a little embarrassed to add tags because I’m not sure if people will like it and stuff.. But yeah! This is the book cover I made for it here too! :D

Im having too much fun with these new stuff~ (please excuse me. this is my first long post and i love everything here—)

(spoilers)

The plot is that Jin-Woo finds an undead in the woods, tries to arise him and it does work. Now they fight together because the zombie has no memories and is literally immortal (yet dead). Near the end, they discover that MC was murdered and his body was buried in the woods yada yada. Then when Jin-Woo goes back, he has to save him. But, he has to save MC as a 15 year old while MC is a 27 year old..

(I planned that part out and I think it’s a little funny how suddenly a kid approaches you like “You’re going to die if you go somewhere. Come with me, I’m your lover from the future.”

“Ah, it’s a chuunibyou.. Sorry kid, but I need to go to work—“

“No.”

‘Alive or not, MC still looks like a zombie.. Why are you so overworked?!’)

IT WAS SUNG JIN-WOO’S FIRST TIME using his new job skills, so naturally he’d get excited in testing every single little thing about it. He just exited the purple hued portal behind him, feeling like he acquired an interesting new toy to play with. Even though he was tired from the lack of sleep, his joy kept him from passing out.

Either it was that, or the rain pouring over his head. All his excitement flushed into disappointment as his shoes got muddy from the damp forest foor and his clothes getting completely soaked in rainwater. It would be impossible to pass out with the loud thunder rumbling in the background.

He cursed with every step on his path, finding it hard to walk with the slippery and uneven soil, his vision blurry from water and dark skies and his body dragging itself against harsh rain. Unfortunately, he was also already very exhausted.

Out of all the times for a thunderstorm, why did it have to be right after the job change quest?

From behind the trees, he heard a low distorted roar—forcing him to dip his head towards it’s direction. He held a dagger in one hand, trying to make out its shape from behind the trees.

It was in a humanoid shape, making him relax just a little bit. “Is anyone there?” he questioned.

His voice seemed to reach the stranger as they left their hiding spot in the trees’ shade. The person looked to be a man wearing a formal suit, diluted blood marking over his chest and face. Even though he looked human, he didn’t seem to breathe, just limply staring at Jin-Woo with a blank and lifeless expression.

Strangely, the stranger’s (s/c) skin was pale, like blood hasn’t been pumping through his veins. But attacking a person because they looked really sick wasn’t a good thing, it’s like attacking an overworked person because they looked so dead. It was either it was too dark or the view was too blurry.

“Hello?” Jin-Woo called out one time, staying cautious from the stranger. It lunged at Jin-Woo with a raspy growl, nearly scratching his face. Jin-Woo ducked, a small scratch appearing on his face from the speed. It definitely wasn’t human.

Sung Jin-Woo was already fatigued, at a disadvantage with the location as well. He cursed, barely dodging every slash thrown at him. “Igris!” he called out, the shadow materialising from behind him. Igris grabbed the humanoid monster, a splash of mud splattering around as it was thrown.

Sung Jin-Woo stabbed it deep in the chest, not a single drop of blood spilling out as he stepped back to breathe. He put his hands on his knees, staring at the lifeless corpse as he sent Igris back. ‘It seems pretty strong.. Should I extract it?’

He took a deep breath, getting closer to the body as he raised his hand. His posture was elegant, holding a composed expression as droplets of rain streamed down his attractive face, adding to his charm. A deep and soothing voice left his mouth, sending chills to anyone who would hear it.

“Arise.”

Though unfortunately, the Shadow Monarch was greeted with nothing but silence and the sound of ambient rain. That’s odd, if it was a failed extraction then a notification would pop up to let him know or something. Was the system suddenly broken? If that’s the case, he should try again.

“Arise.. arise. ARISE!” he shouted multiple times, but a shadow didn’t get extracted. He furrowed his brows, squatting down to find out the cause of his skill suddenly breaking. “Why isn’t it working..?” he mumbled under his breath, getting closer to the body with a puzzled look on his face.

“Arise. Arise. Arise arise arise. Wake up. Rise and shine. Arise. Awake. Good morning. Arise.”

“I’m not dead yet, dimwit.”

Did the body just.. talk back to him?

“You didn’t hear anything,” Jin-Woo blurted out, getting embarrassed from the montage of Arise and synonyms he was saying to something that was alive. He stabbed the body once again, trying to kill it as he attempted once more. “Arise.”

“You don’t have to try again. I’m not dead,” the man just sat up like it was just his average tuesday, sliding out the blade from his chest, handing it to Jin-Woo and dusting off his clothes. The undead just raised his head towards the sky, watching clouds part as he lifted his palm, no more droplets landing on top of it. “Oh, the rain is clearing up.”

“Excuse me. Didn’t you just try to attack me?”

“Did I? I don’t remember,” the stranger scratched the back of his neck, looking bored as he yawned. “My name is (L/n) (M/n), age 27. And you are?”

“Sung Jin-Woo, 24.”

“Nice meeting you. Now where in the hell am I?”

/////////////////////////////

(L/N) (M/N) HAD A NASTY SCOWL on his face, plopping the sewing kit on Jin-Woo’s bed as he angrily tried to open it with one arm. Unfortunately, someone had cut off his right arm that he spent ages trying to sew back on.

“What next, my leg?” he cursed under his breath as Sung Jin-Woo opened it for him. “Wait a minute,” Jin-Woo said, sticking the end of his arm to his shoulder. “Hold this,” he said, making (M/n) keep his limb in one place as he put the thread in the needle.

“What?” The zombie still looked very angry, knitting his brows together as he held still. “I thought you needed a hand,” Jin-Woo lightly joked, trying to make (M/n)’s mood towards him a little better. The undead male gave him his signature dead stare, tightly holding his severed upper arm before speaking.

“Jin-Woo, I am dead serious here.”

He started to lightly chuckle, noticing that Sung Jin-Woo was almost finished with sewing his arm back on his body. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this.” His remark made Jin-Woo smile as he opened and closed his hand, almost as if it was brand new.

“My clothes kept getting ripped when I was E-Rank. I learned naturally.”

“The next time you rip off my limbs, please fix them too,” (M/n) said, flailing his right hand in the air with satisfaction.

“Well next time. I’m sure I’ll make you mine.”

“I doubt that.”

///////////////////////////// (now it’s just random dialogues i pulled out of my idea dump lol)

“OH HECK! There goes my leg!”

“Oh no... He’s dead! It’s not like I’m happy about it or anything~! ...Arise arise arise arise—“

“IM NOT DEAD!”

“God damn it.. Jin-Woo, could you go fetch my torso, and my arms and my legs and uh.. my head. Yes, thank you.”

“You don’t have a heartbeat and your skin is ice cold. I stabbed you 32 times. How are you still moving?”

“Dunno, ask Jesus.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE! I’M DYING.”

“You don’t breathe, (M/n).”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you want me dead or if you want me alive. Which one is it?”

“Either way is fine as long as you’re mine.”

“Gross, necrophiliac.”

“Good night, (M/n).”

“Good night, Jin-Woo..”

“Alright.. arise arise arise arise arise arise arise—“

“Once again, I am not dead.”

“You’re not useless, (M/n). Because when you die, I WILL MAKE YOU MY SHADOW.”

“HOW IS THAT SUPPOSED TO COMFORT ME?!”

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darksapphire29 · 4 years

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Imagine #5

Peter being afraid of needles.

Warnings: blood, needles, inaccurate description of wound-fixing (basically; don't copy how the reader fixes Peter cuz idk what I'm doing)

You pumped your legs harder, faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Your limbs ached with every swift movement and you had a stitch in your side. Your pursuers followed with an energy you had left in the camp.

“This way!” Peter hollered from in front of you. He turned suddenly, your exhausted brain making you nearly ram into a tree. Luckily, Peter had slowed to grab your hand. He dragged you along through a thicker and darker part of the forest. After a minute, he pulled you around behind a tree. He pressed his back into the bark, his arms wrapped over your stomach as he clutched you to his body.

The two of you stood immensely still, huffing and puffing, sweat dripping down your back.

The pirates ran right past you.

The stupid men hurried off into the woods, and when their grumbles were out of earshot, you slackened against Peter. A relieved laugh bubbled up in your chest. Peter’s chest shook behind you. His angelic giggles filled your ears, and soon you were both trembling with mirth.

Not 10 minutes earlier, that codfish Hook had somehow found his way into camp. But it didn’t matter. You and Peter and the Lost Boys were prepared and hungry for a fight. Before you ran off to play tag, half of them were bleeding on the ground. It was grand fun. It still baffled you how they ever thought they could win.

“How many… did you get?” He gasped from behind you. You were still laughing, ignoring your ever-worsening stitch.

“E-Eleven.” You turned to face him, and he was grinning, his eyes sparkling with joy. It was a rare and beautiful sight. But then, he winced, and your laugh caught in your throat.

“You alright?” You took his hand, feeling familiar tingles from his skin on yours. It gave you butterflies, but something was wrong.

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll just walk it o—” He cut himself off, collapsing into you. You caught him, you hand touching something warm and wet on his side. He cried out.

“Peter! H-Hang on, we need to get you b-back…” You looked around quickly, trying to remember where you were. You had never been to this part of the forest before. You looked back down at Peter. The side of his shirt was soaked in his blood, and some of it dripped onto the leaves.

You lowered him onto the floor, peeling back his shirt to look at it. A long line of his skin was split open, blood leaking down the sides and staining his paling skin. It wasn’t too wide, but it was deep. You guessed he had been sliced by a sword. It was a clean cut. Easy enough to fix. But that didn’t make it easy to look at. Against your wishes, you started to tear up.

“Oh my gosh…” You whimpered, staring down at the red in shock. “A-Alright. L-Let me see if I h-have anything…” You searched your pockets. Normally, you would bring supplies for something like this. You were basically Neverland’s doctor. But you hadn’t, this time.

“Peter, I-I don’t have anything!” Your hands were shaking. Peter grabbed them.

“(Y/n), it’s okay…” He croaked. He closed his eyes, frowning a little. Suddenly, he was lying on a cot, and you were kneeling beside him in your healing chambers.

“Oh, Peter, thank you.” You scrambled to your feet and ran to the cupboard. Gathering ointments and disinfectant and stitches and bandages while Peter groaned in response. You placed everything on the table beside the bed, gathering some cloth and a bowl of warm water.

“Okay. This is gonna sting, so, on three?” Peter nodded; eyes squeezed shut. You breathed out slowly. “One…” Peter’s breathing sped up a little, and your chest tightened. “Two…” You got some scissors and cut open his shirt so you could get to the wound. “Three.”

You dabbed gently on and around his cut. You swiped away any dirt and washed the cloth in water a few times when it filled with blood and grime. All the while Peter squirmed and grunted and whimpered. It broke your heart to know you were causing him this pain.

"For Neverland's sake, Peter!" You grumbled, washing out the cloth for the third time. "Were you running even... even with this?"

How could the poor boy even move with such a wound, let alone run around in the forest?

Peter shrugged while lying down, which you weren't afraid to admit looked really weird.

"What could I say?" He smirked. "You were having such a good time, after all. It was fun... you don't smile like that often." You shook your head.

"For the record, Pan, you hardly smile at all." He laughed, but his eyes showed his pain. Both physical pain and emotional.

There was one speck of dirt that wouldn’t budge, you using the corner of the cloth to try and move it. Peter squeezing the mattress, you finally got it out.

When you finished cleaning, you rinsed off the cloth again. Your hands were a little red. You gagged at the sight. There was so much of Peter's blood; on your hands, in the bowl, on his shirt, on his skin, on the cot... it worried you. And it had to be fixed up before he lost any more.

“Peter.” He groaned again, opening his eyes to look at you. There were swollen and misty. “I’m going to need to stitch it together.” Peter’s eyes widened. He recoiled into the bed.

This was always the part you and every Lost Boy hated most. You just hoped Peter wouldn’t kill you; on purpose or accidental.

You’d had stitches before, and it sucked. The only difference here was, you were all out of poppy seeds, and Peter wasn’t about to fall asleep any time soon. Besides, he was the lightest sleeper on the whole of Neverland. So, you were going to give him a needle.

He seemed to read your mind, and you saw he was trying to prepare himself. You gathered your things, dabbing disinfectant around the wound. But when you brought out the needle, he was stiff as a board. “You okay?”

“Of course.” He said a little too quickly. You giggled.

“Are you afraid of needles?” He glared at you, trying to look intimidating. You waved the needle in his face. He flinched.

“Aw, Pan, it’s alright. (Y/n) will be gentle with the scary needle.” You teased.

“Just get it over with.” He growled. Your gaze softened.

“Really, Pete. It’ll be alright. Loads of people are afraid of needles.” You tried calming him down, the playful mood dissipating faster than it appeared. Peter scoffed.

“I am not afraid of needles.” You smiled softly. It was cute that the tough and intimidating Peter Pan was afraid of needles, but it was a pretty big needle. You weren’t about to mock his pride. Not again, anyway.

“Wanna hold my hand?” You held out your other hand for him to take. He looked away from you before he (somewhat begrudgingly) grabbed it. You smirked.

“Shut up.”

You positioned the needle over his skin, and he looked over into your eyes. His gaze steering clear of the small but sharp object.

“Ready?”

“No.” He grinned sheepishly, before it was replaced with a look of fear. He gulped, clutching your hand. Just before you pushed the needle through his skin, a vase nearby exploded. You and Peter jumped, a few shards of glass flying across the room. One of them nicked your cheek while another got your arm.

"(Y/n), I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" You shook a little, the needle still in your hand. You looked over to where the vase used to be, little pieces all over the table and ground. Some were even sticking out of the wall behind it.

Lucky for you, th vase was on the other side of the room. So aside from a scratch here and there, you were fine.

You looked back down at Peter. "Uh... yeah! Yeah, let's just finish this."

He didn’t move while you injected him. And to your relief, nothing exploded this time. He watched you with guilt in his eyes.

He fell asleep almost right away, and you went to work sewing him up. When it was done you washed the blood off his and your skin, taking off his shirt completely and putting him in a fresh one. Then, you sat in a chair with a book and waited for him to wake.

When he finally stirred, the first thing he searched for was you.

“(Y/n)?” You heard, and you put the book down.

He was looking around the room for you, eyes blinking slowly and his arms stretching above him. It was adorable.

“I’m here.” You smiled. His head turned slightly to the side, finding you. He smiled lazily.

“Come here.” You sat on the bed beside him, he not even bothering to sit up yet. Which was good, since it would ruin your human needlework. He grabbed you shirt and tried pulling you down. But he was still weak from sleep.

“Oh, stop it, Pan.” You giggled, taking his hands away. He just linked his fingers with yours. “Your still injured, and there isn’t enough room, anyway.”

Peter pouted. “You know you… want to.” He tried, but then yawned slightly. You laughed at his attempt to seduce you. He frowned.

“You’re tired. Get some rest.” You kissed his forehead, standing up to walk away. But his hand was still holding yours.

“I just was resting.” He argued, going to sit up. You quickly grabbed his shoulders.

“Don’t!” He stopped. “You’ll hurt yourself. Pop the stitches I was working on for hours.” He chuckled.

“My hero.” You ignored the sarcasm, forcing him to lie down.

“And as your hero, I am ordering you to go back to sleep.” He rolled his eyes, letting go of your hand and sighing (rather dramatically).

“Only if you stay with me.” You thought about it for a second, biting your lip. You weren’t a sound sleeper. What if you touched his stitches? Or took all the blanket? Or rolled on him? Or pushed him out of bed? Or—

“Just get in, (Y/n)!” He laughed at your thoughts, and you gave up. You climbed under the blankets next to him.

He went to roll on his side to face you, wanting to hold you. But then he winced and stopped himself. Instead, he put his arm under your neck and tucked you into his side. You laughed at the awkwardness of it all.

“Happy, now?” You giggled. He smirked at you.

“More than happy.”

***

“So, All-Powerful Pan… wanna talk about your fear of needles?”

“Shut up.”

You laughed.

#peter pan #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader #robbie kay #xreader #x reader #needle mention #what am i saying #peter is adorable #and afraid of needles #and gets a needle #and this imagine is inspired #by needle day #so yeah #needles are mentioned #once upon a time #no one deserves him #peterpan #i hate needles

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creepycatboyz · 3 years

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"Scary Monsters" Marble Hornets Tim/Brian Fanfiction

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33361528/chapters/83235640

Chapter 2: Reunited at once

Ever since he was free from the grasp of the Operator, he could properly breathe out and not having the feeling of being watched. He yearned for this feeling for years. Medication helped, but he could never shrug off the slight feeling of being watched. He absolutely hated it, as he loved to keep his privacy. He had gotten sick and tired of Jay coming back to dig through the stuff of Marble Hornets, he just wanted to forget that, especially after his best friend has gone missing after Alex and him went to film a scene.

After everything had progressively gotten worse, the lack of medication he had to fend off the Operator with, he had enough. Someone in a beige-yellow hoodie, with a badly sewed on frowny face, has been stealing his medication, and that pissed him off so bad. Tim needs them, not this random person. Eventually he confronted the person, ran after them and surely accidently killed them. He's still not over this, he goddamn killed someone! Was it technically self-defense? Probably not. At least he could've called an ambulance, but he just left with the stolen pills they left in their pocket.

It's been a month, since he packed up the little things he had and left as far as he could. A relative of his offered him a relatively big cabin, where he can stay so he can settle down and calmly search for a job. He told this member the least amount of information, as he didn't want to freak them out or call him crazy.

Smoking a cigarette, this habit having never left his mind, he calmy gazed at the surrounding trees of his cabin. He's not completely engulfed in the woods, but it would be slightly hard to find the way if you don't know it. Which Tim appreciates, as he doesn't really want to talk to people, or be disturbed while he's doing his own thing. He likes his privacy, especially after he had no feeling of being watched. Usually he would be staying as far as possible from forests, as it always reminds him of the operator, but now he grew quite fond of the nature around him. He loves to watch birds pick berries from the nearby berry bushes, sometimes other small animals run around in the evening trying to find something to eat. At times he leaves out some food, a little bit further away from his cabin so they won't come back, to feed the animals around here. If he can't currently take care of a dog, he can at least fed the wild animals around here. He still kept his old phone number, as first off, he only gave it to Brian and Jessica, but never the others. He rarely talked to them outside of filming anyways, and honestly, he doesn't want them to contact him. He's done with the Operator, done with these scary monsters that should stay childhood fears.

The calm moments that were just now, were interrupted by a loud ring from his quite old phone. It looks a bit broken, but it still does his job! He lazily threw the cigarette he was smoking on the floor and crushed it with his shoe. Curiously he walked over to his phone and answered the call.

"Hello?", his voice a bit hoarse, due to smoking just a moment ago. "This is Dove's care hospital, am I speaking to Timothy Wright?", a female voice from the other end came. He grimaced at hearing his first name but soon thought to himself: 'A hospital? Why would a hospital call me from all the other possbilities?' "Yeah, this is Tim, is there something wrong?", he asked, confused on why he was even called in the first place. "A certain Brian Thomas had you on his contacts, in case something happened to him. His family was also on the list, but we couldn't reach them." Hearing his best friends' name his heart dropped, he couldn't even believe it. His lips let out a small whimper before he tried to compose himself. "I- Uh.. I will get there. It'll take some hours 'til I get there though. Around 5 hours", as he was saying that he already began to pack up some money, pills, snacks and spare clothes. The receptionist noted that down and told him Brian is in a stable situation, but has no memory on what had happened. As soon as he heard which room he was in he said goodbye and immediately hung up. He rushed to lock his door leaving immediately.

Right as he got in his car he couldn't even properly focus on the road, due to him being so overwhelmed with emotions. He for real thought his friend was gone! He hasn't heard from him for ages and he only noticed it was off ever since he moved out after Jay tried to dig through the old recordings. He secretely saved the old tapes, Jay posted, of him and Brian, those are the only recent memories he even had of him. Childhood memories of course stayed, but with those memories he also has to look back to the Operator, who tormented him since he was little. While he was driving, he was trying so hard not to cry, mostly due to happiness, he missed him so much. He wished he noticed sooner, but he was completely trying to forget everything, anything to get away from the monster. The amount of happiness overshadowed the dread he was feeling driving closer to Tuscaloosa, his hometown, where all the trouble happened.

Arriving in Tuscaloosa gave him this familiar feeling of being watched. If the Operator felt any joy, he would be feeling it right now, seeing his victim return once again. He won't give him the satisfaction, as he swallowed the pills he had taken with him. The closer he drove to the hospital, the gaze of the Operator started to fade away and he let out a sigh of relief. He wants to get Brian out of this hellhole, where both of them can be safe, from the monster and Alex. He didn't mind Alex if he's honest, he seemed pretty neat, but after the filming of Marble Hornets, he just started acting weird. The Operator can sure do a lot of damage to people, Tim himself is a example for that, but he's slowly getting better. He hopes Alex can also get the help, but he doubts it, as Alex went as far as to attempt murder.

He parked near the hospital and as soon as he stepped out of the car, he felt nervous. What should he even say to Brian? Oh hi, I didn't realize you were missing, because my brain was in constant fear due to some tall thin monster with no face? Yeah, that sure will be believable. He shook his head and made his way towards the hospital. As he entered he went to the reception and told them he's visiting Brian Thomas as he was on his contacts if something ever happened to him. Tim already knew which room he was in as he kept repeating it on the way there in his head, but he wanted to make sure and let the receptionist know that he arrived.

Room 52. He anxiously glanced in the direction of the hall where the numbers from 50 til 60 were. He composed himself and made his way to number 52. He can do this, it's just his best friend, well he hopes they still are. Oh god, what if they aren't anymore? He still cares about him so much. As he stood in front of the door, it took him some moments to gain the courage to knock twice.

A faint 'yeah' could be heard from inside the room and he immediately started to panic. He tried to shake off the feeling, which took a bit longer than he wanted. After having his usual calm expression, he opened the door and walked in, closing the door behind him quietly. What he saw beforehim, was a Brian bandaged up everywhere where he could see him and a cast on his left arm. Confused on how he even got hurt that badly, he was speechless. His friend had a tired expression, but still the warm smile he always had. "Hey Tim, how's it goin'?", Brian spoke, his voice clear, yet a bit quiet and hoarse.

Tim walked closer to him and took a seat on the chair on Brian's right side. "Quite good actually unlike you", he teased and glanced at his bandaged up body and arm. The light haired male rolled his eyes, but still had a grin on his face. "Yeah, no clue what happened. One day I was filming with Alex for Marble Hornets, which is still a stupid name, and ta-da next thing I know I woke up in a hospital. Amnesia I guess?", he chuckled, resting his head on the hospital pillow. "Probably the meds, or you hit your head bad", the darker haired man suggested. Brian shrugged with his right shoulder, as he couldn't with his other.

"I was actually in a coma for around a month, just woke up 2 days ago, I was barely awake though. They tried to call my family, but that didn't work, so today they called you", he explained and he sounded happy about the fact that they called Tim. "I'm glad you came" The smile his best friend gave him, made his heart simply melt, he had a slight tooth gap, which he always thought was pretty adorable. "I missed you dude, I had no clue that something had happened, I wish I knew sooner", that made Tim frown, as he wished he could've been there for his friend, but he just moved away, leaving everything behind, even his best friend.

Brian chuckled and shook his head. "It's alright, you showing up is enough for me" That made Tim smile, and he leaned back into the chair. For a few moments there was an awkward silence between the two, just being in eachother's presence was enough for both of them. The thought of the Operator crept up in the dark haired man and he had to break the silence. "So, when are they going to release you?", he asked, looking at his friend. Brian thought for a moment and scratched his chin, which had a unkept beard. "Uh, maybe two weeks? At most, I would have to do check-ups at the doc though", with that he just shrugged with his one shoulder.

Okay Tim, now you have to ask him if he wants to live with you, that doesn't sound weird, but how will he explain the reason why? Brian doesn't believe in this Operator nonsense, he hasn't been affected by it, at least he couldn't tell.

"I- This is gonna sound weird and it will probably make no sense to you, but do you want to move together with me?", the best way for Tim to ask Brian is just talking to him directly. Brian stared at him for a moment and furrowed his brows, but then grinned. "I mean, it would be refreshing to finally live outside Tuscaloosa, so I wouldn't mind, I'd have to get my old stuff though" He stopped and his eyes widen, he immediately tried to sit right up, making him only groan in pain. Even that didn't stop his panicked talking. "Oh god, I hope they didn't kick me out! I haven't paid rent, in like what? 2 months!"

Oh shoot, Brian has been missing for more than 2 months, at least 6 months? Hell, he himself can't even remember. Trying to calm him down he placed his hand on his healthy shoulder rubbing it gently "Slow down, tiger, how about I check your place out and discuss it with your landlord?" The light brown haired man took calm breaths and nodded. "I should probably call them too, seems more personal" Tim thought for a moment if this was a good idea, probably? Then they would get the amount of months he had been missing... Brian would be hella confused though. "My phone's over there", while he said that he pointed towards a table with his belongings they found him with.

Tim nodded, standing up and walking towards the phone only to realize it has been completely thrashed, as if it fallen out of his pocket as he tripped or something. He inspected the phone and awkwardly turned to Brian, who was watching him in anticipation. "Your phone is completely thrashed man", that's the only thing he could say, holding up the phone that doesn't even turn on, with a completely shattered screen. Brian's face immediately became a frown. "Uhh, well. Shit, I also don't know her phone number. My brain is a complete mess..." Tim smiled and walked over to him ruffling his already messy hair, which made the other man pount slightly. "I'll just drive by there and tell the situation, m'kay? And what if I bring you some good lunch after I am done, so you can finally eat some proper food?" At the mention of food, Brian immediately got excited. "I've only been awake for a few days, but these meals are a real pain. You're the best, dude", he grinned widely.

With that, Tim made his way towards Brian's old apartment, trying to find his landlady. Brian mentioned her name being Margaret something and she was really sweet. He walked around the complex and saw her name on one of the name cards on where to ring. What he didn't expect is for an old lady to open the door, huh, the worst she could do to Brian is pinch his cheeks to death he guessed. He always hated his cheeks getting pinched when they visited his grandparents, he would get very annoyed and his cheeks would be red. "Hello, are you Margaret, the landlady?", he asked, looking at her. She nodded and smiled. "Ah, yes, I am the owner of this apartment complex. Is there something you need?" Her smile was warm and welcoming, she looked like a kind soul. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, it's about a friend of mine, he rented an apartment here? Brian Thomas, tall, lanky, brown blondish hair?" he asked. At the mention of his name and then the further description her eyebrows raised. "Mr Thomas... I haven't seen him quite a while. He also hasn't been paying rent for the last... eight months or so? Is he alright?" He expected her to be angy, but he was only met with a look of concern.

Tim scratched the back of his neck. "Well, he was in a coma for a month or so and I came to visit him today, because family couldn't. I have no clue what happened to him, but he's very sorry for not being able to pay rent" The old lady scoffed and shook her head. "Tell that boy he shouldn't worry. His furniture is still in his apartment and he can still live here, but with rent. He doesn't have to pay it back, but he should properly take care of himself!" he nodded, paying close attention to every word she's saying. "I'll take care of him, as me and him will move together out of state..." As soon as those lips left his mouth, she started to talk. "Do you want me to call a move truck? My son has one, and he would be glad to help"

The dark haired man just blinked for a few moments and nodded. "Uh, sure? How much would that be, I have some spare money", he chuckled slightly. "Oh, you could fetch me some groceries from the store that is all" Well, he really struck gold with this lady, she's so nice even though, Brian hasn't paid rent in a long time. Surely they had a really good friendship, if she's so worried about him. Tim nodded and asked for the shopping list, which he got. She even wanted to give him the money for the groceries, but he avoided that, persisting that he will pay that out of his own pocket as it isn't too much. He thanked her and told her he will be back soon enough and left to get the groceries and some good food for Brian and him, as he hasn't eaten anything since he came to Tuscaloosa.

Back at the hospital, after delivering the groceries to the old lady, he handed over Brian a turkey sandwich with a sunkist soda. "You still remember my favorite sandwich and drink?", his eyes shined as he unpacked the sandwich with his one hand, immediately munching on it. He opened the can for him, which gained him a grin from his best friend. He also sat down on the chair on his right side, eating his own sandwich, which had tuna. How fast Brian was able to eat, still baffled Tim, he devoured the sandwich in less than one minute. "That was good", was the only thing Brian said, sipping on his sunkist. For the rest of the afternoon, they talked about various things, but mostly enjoyed eachothers presence. After it started to become slightly dark, Tim said goodbye, going to arrange the moving truck and all the other stuff, so everything is ready, when he's released from the hospital

#marble hornets #fanfiction #marble hornets fanfiction #tim x brian #masky #brian thomas #tim wright

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hoyaanae · 3 years

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The beautiful dialogue of Lovely Us

Ep 01

"Once people become parents, their memory begins to become biased. They always remember they are their children's most reliable parents, but often forget that they are also children loved by their own parents. When they are waiting for their children to come back home, they forget that their own parents are also waiting for their return in a similar mood."

"When I'm absent from the concert, my idol won't know or feel sad. But when I don't go back to accompany my mom to celebrate her birthday, she'll know it. I don't want to make her sad."

Ep 02

"A lot of things are good at hide and seek - the old scarf I bought last year, the new eraser, Mom's favorite sewing needle, and a feeling of heartbeat for someone. We try to find them, but in vain. Then when we give it up, they just appear somewhere unexpected - on the back of the chair, in the book, in the cotton thread, and behind my back.

Human heart beats 60 to 100 times per minute on average. That day, I failed to count my heartbeat per minute. Even the water droplets falling from the umbrella were disrupted together with me. The joy, the thrill and the butterfly in the stomach converged into the restless heartbeats. On this raining day, a girl's heart beat 101 times in a minute."

Ep 03

"Huang Chengzi, why is the starry sky beautiful? Do you think it is because of the brightest star? Of course, everyone might say "Look, the Venus" while pointing at the brightest one. However, for those stars shining together and forming the Big Dipper and Orion, don't they look beautiful? They cannot be described as a foil. Anyway, I think some stars that keep shining might be more beautiful than the brightest one however dark they are."

Ep 07

"The audio frequency of the sound when a snowflake falls on the water surface is over 50,000 Hz. Because it falls beyond human beings' hearing range, this snowy day is still so quiet that it seems I can only hear my own heartbeat and that it seems there is only me and the person in front of me on this planet with a population of 6.6 billion. I hope this world can be noiser so that I can pretend that I've never discovered this secret."

"Do you have such a feeling? People around you always tell you that you are already standing on the top of the mountain, but when clouds and mist scatter, you find there is another higher peak waiting for you. After going out, I've found there are so many people who work harder and are more excellent than me. It's just like in an originally easy marathon race, I suddenly find all the people around are sprinting. So, I must run faster. Otherwise, others will surpass me. I'm a little bit out of breath."

"At the age of 17, we all have our own secrets. We are trying to hide those secrets, but they are still going to be discovered. We are unwilling to admit those secrets, but the more we conceal them, the more conspicuous they become. We are very clear about those secrets, but eventually, we are still willing to turn them into memories. And these secrets that cannot be told, are found so similar to each other after a long time. It turns out they are all about unexpected feelings for someone."

Ep 08

"I've always been content with what I have and I'm in need of nothing. I can remember what I read and I'm surrounded by nice people. My life has always been smooth and I thought the life that had been planned was not bad for me. Just like a sailing ship, with enough food, I didn't look forward to rains and storms. I just wanted to follow the prescribed route and go back fo the safe zone of the harbor in the end. That was my perfect ending. But from the very beginning, you've been determined to brave the storm and to see the bigger world. Wind and rain can't knock you down and the waves can't overturn you. You've shown me a life course that's completely different from mine. So, since her dream is to explore this world, I just can't let her go through it alone. Zhu Jinxiao, I like you."

"At the age of 17, the first habit developed by boys is to hide their affections. They think that the probability is just 0.01, so they put on the emperor's new clothes, trying to hide their affections with magic. But affections are not that easy to hide. Even if the probability is pretty low, it will be revealed at a certain moment. So on that rainy night, while looking at her back, he found that the most obvious evidence of falling in love with her was the feeling of easement in his heart and the smile on his face when he looked at her."

Ep 09

"In the past, we always felt a year with 365 days was exceedingly long, but only when it comes to this moment do we understand that we become one year older all of a sudden. The significance of spending the Spring Festival, extending from ancient times to the present, is shining brightly like fireworks, giving us the courage to heal each other many times. And then we can have a new start. It doesn't matter that you can't eat steaming hot dishes. It doesn't matter that you perhaps don't know the secret hidden in the couplet. It doesn't matter that you listen to your grandma's nagging sometimes. Even if it takes too long on the way back, as long as there are people we care about, we won't be lonely. We will return to the home we are familiar with."

Ep 10

"Actually we never forget the happy hours with our parents in childhood. Maybe the so-called alienation is because we walk so fast while our parents are staying where they are. One meter, a hundred meters, a kilometer. The distance becomes farther and farther until we can't hear them calling us. That's why we mistakenly think love is silent. So while we are confused, our parents feel the same too. They are confused about how they can give us their deep love in a smart manner."

"Those who love hiding their feelings most in this world are fathers. They hide their inarticulate concerns in warm lights. In every precious certificate of merit, they put their unmentionable encouragement. Besides, there are many silent surprises they carefully arrange in every day when we are marching to the future. They firmly care about us with such silent fathers' love, and we firmly love them."

Ep 11

"We think that many things and many people in this world can wait til tomorrow. So when you pause it or when you turn around, you think that everything will still be the same tomorrow, or you won't even realize this hope in your mind, because you think tomorrow should be the same as today. And you think nothing will change as time flies by. But this time, the moment you let go and turned around, some things completely changed. The sun went down and before it rises again, some people will leave you forever. We always thought that there would be a big ceremony to say goodbye, so we keep waiting for a warm hug, a refreshing drink, and a heartfelt goodbye. But in the end, we realized that most goodbyes in our lives are all silent."

Ep 12

"At that silent corner in my mind, there are a number of weird illusions. For example, can I become Alice who enters the wonderland with White Rabbit? For example, can I become the little girl who enters the forest with Totoro? For example, is there some special switch in this box which can teleport me? No, none of them exist. There's no flying dragons or knights, and I'm not the heroine of some comics for girls, either. However, the only thing I'm sure about is that this escape greatly shocks my world. My palms would sweat, and my sight would be indistinct. Then my view becomes narrower and narrower until there's room for only one person in my eyes. After a long time, I know such a moment is named adventure, in which the one in your eyes is irreplaceable."

Ep 13

"In the summer of 2008, in retrospect, the most impressive thing may not be the world-famous Olympic Games, but the silly things we did because we were fearless. What is shining and unexpected is everything that is closely related to friendship. We wanted to pick the brightest stars and make the most beautiful wishes, so we became the bravest boys and girls. While crying and laughing, with the bond between each other, toward the most beautiful end of youth, we keep running all the way and never stop."

"The familiar chirping of cicadas on summer nights, the familiar bear doll who must lean by the lamb, the familiar lovely girl who frowns even when she sleeps, and the 17-year-old time wrapped by the sense of familiarity never seem to have changed. The only difference is that when I look at the familiar him, I feel a flurry and uneasiness that I have never expected."

Ep 14

"That night, it was the first time I found there's magic hidden in my mom's smile. Those feelings between adults and children which I thought are hard to express in words don't have to be spoken out. They can be understood through her smile. Indeed, adults don't often say I love you, and seldom say sorry. But it doesn't matter. Action speaks louder than explanation. There's no need to express deep feelings in words. If you stand there quietly, you can automatically receive all their love for you."

"There are many new days like today. Today, he holds my hand. Today, he holds me in his arms. Today, he carries me on his back and runs in the street in the early morning. Many days with him like today will eventually become my unforgettable past days. I'll remember days like today for a long time."

Ep 15

"In the last hundred days, I heard countless times "Hurry up to walk! Hurry up to eat! Hurry up to take the notes! And hurry up to go to the toilet." But it's strange. When you try to seize time by the forelock, it goes faster. Then after the exams, we graduated."

"I just want to be an ordinary person. I'll live on a small fruit stand in the future or continue your small shop, which makes me happy. This is life. It's my own choice and I will bear the results. Different people have different dreams. Let those extraordinary people be extraordinary. I just want to be a happy and ordinary person."

"Friendship means so much to us. It brings us close, and makes me flinch, so sometimes we just tell ourselves that as long as we're together, I can be just a friend of hers. But the taxi that I failed to catch, the phone calls that have been hung up, the time that's flying and my restless heart are telling me eagerly that in this world, both love and friendship are important. Every detail related to you is reminding me that we can't be just friends. So when it's still not too late, I have to tell you the things that I want to tell you as soon as possible. Huang Chengzi, I like you."

Ep 16

"In this world, it seems like all wishes have a guardian. Wishing wells, shooting stars, the aquarium's white whale. They're all hiding in the corners of the universe caressing the sorrow of loving someone alone. It's just that the god of happiness can't bless everyone out there. They let some people be happy and their wishes come true, and let some be sad, but they can't admit how sad they really are. The feeling of being in love is like a butterfly gently flapping its wings, that stirs up a hurricane in people's hearts. The second you realize it, then there's no escape."

"That's you when you're happy. And that's you when you're mad. Over there is the jealous you, and you when you're being naughty and pretending to cry. I was just going to draw one to start with, but every expression you have is floating around in my head, and I really love every single one of them."

"I've never been afraid of growing up. And I've never worried that growing up would be lonely. Not because I'm so strong, but because I have faith that I will never be alone. The guy who held my hand will continue to grow up closely together with me. The guy who's in my diary and I in his, will exchange even more secrets in the future. All of us have walked together through the years and will continue to walk together farther into the future. This world never lets lovely people down, and we are all lovely."

#如此可爱的我们 #Lovely Us #Lovely Us Cdrama #Cdrama #李明德 #Li Ming De #田曦薇 #Tian Xi Wei #李寅崟 #Li Ying Ying #李明源 #Li Ming Yuan #尤浩然 #You Hao Ran

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themousefromfantasyland · 3 years

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The Yule Man (4/7)

As told by ME

This was meant to be a short story, but it became too big, so I separated it in seven parts. I want to turn my blog in a space where I can share my writting every once and a while.

This is the first time I post one of my stories on a public space. This is the first time anyone besides my sister will be able to read, so I'm pretty exciting and anxious. I want honest criticism. I hope you all enjoy it.

The Solstice Morning went away as quick as it arrived. Sophia, Fritz and Thomas spent most of the day playing with the toys they had received from Santa. Mia tried her best to keep the holiday fun intact, despite the bad feelings around the household.

The first day of Yule was always the most important one for children. More than Santa's presents, a huge part of the tradition was Yulesing. Mr. Hayek couldn't take them with him, and with his wife all day is her room, Mia knew the responsibility was now hers.

She and the children were quick to get dressed. This year Chris wanted to come along.

Mia waited for him on the other side of the door, with an umbrella in hands and her hat already on her head. Excitement took the best out of the children. They wore wooden masks of goats and boars. They pretended to scare each other, while caring for bags of last year toys.

When he walked out of the bedroom, she couldn't take in.

"What do you think?" He asked them anxious.

The beard had been carefully shaved. His red hair had been brushed as better as he could. The waistcoat made her realized his body was more muscular and bulkier that she thought. Somehow his boyish face looked sharper and more mature without the beard.

"So, what do you think?" He said still anxious.

"You look great." Was all she could say.

Sophia came forward.

"This means she thinks you are hot."

He blushed.

Mia almost strangled her right there.

The snow fell with all grace and magic of a holiday card. On their sleigh they dashed through the town dressed in white. In costumes, the children played pranks and practical jokes in iced alleys. Some knocked on the doors of families with children and exchanged used toys. That was the case for the Hayek children.

Mia looked around. So much sheer joy and chaotic fun. Snow castles and angels and blinding snowball fights. By chance she found Chris playing with the other children as if one of them. He raced through the town as a boy in the nursery. Each sight made his heartbeat faster, each sensation made his smile larger.

For a moment she forgot her worries. Yule had arrived after all.

The days passed. Mia dragged Chris through Arnsberg. Both found a new common ground that made them enjoy more the company of each other. Both walked upon the line between truth and make believe. Their time together was finite, but they acted as if they have all time left in the world. They acted as if they had all the answers in their lives, as if they knew how this story ends. They acted as the people they always dreamed to be.

Mia showed Chris all the wonders of the urban life. Her heart squeezed every time she gazed at his eyes, at how the town made them glisten.

She took him to clubs, cafés, and galleries. She remembered dancing so close to him one night. The music sounded so loud, yet all they remember hearing was each other's heartbeat.

"The food in this place is great, but it isn't even half as good as the one from that hotel we stayed in Lichthafen City." Chris began saying. "Speaking of that, I can hardly wait to spend our summer vacation there."

"I only want you to stop playing with the sand. You filled our room with sand the last time." Mia bickered with him.

"Oh, but I love playing in the sand, collecting seashells, feeling the sun."

I don't know if it was Mia's or Chris' own idea. They talked to one another as if they had a life together outside of the Yule days. It certainly helped ease his fear of the ominous nothingness. In their conversations, they had a past, they had a future. He existed as much as her.

In the last days of Yule, Mia bought various sewing books. Chris borrowed several fashion history books from the library and brought fashion magazines.

They spend the day sewing, cutting. Experimented with fabrics, fashion, and types of clothes.

"How can you be better than me on this?" He said staring at the shirt she had sewed from a fabric she found around the house.

"I think I found a new talent." She laughed. "If I continue with this who knows I can do in the future."

He gazed upon all poems she had written. All scattered over the conservatory. He found them good. To Mia his opinion didn't really mattered. He thought of everything she did as good.

From the Yule Log, only ashes were left. The grandfather clock on the corner stroked eighteen o'clock.

Chris felt his world shattering. He looked at Mia. With all care in the world, he took her hand in his and said:

"Can you go with me this time."

They left the mansion hand by hand. Sophia, Thomas, and Fritz gave him a big warm farewell hug. Mrs. Hayek shoot them unkind glares.

Chris looked at Mia waiting how she would react.

"She doesn't like that her unmarried daughter is spends time with the magical homeless guy." Mia joked.

He led her outside, and they walked together nearer the edge of the forest. The snow started to fall. The wind blew as if celebrating Chris' departure.

In the middle of the way Chris stopped.

"I don't want to go."

The wind became violent. Howls came from deep inside the darkness. Something dragged Chris into the empty.

Mia grabbed his hand.

"Please, I don't want to go. Please!" He cried in pure desperation. His scream echoed everywhere.

Mia lost her strength.

"I'll be here next year. I'll wait for you."

The wind pulled him into the dark, back to complete inexistence. No one stood there beside her.

#christmas #holiday season #yuletide #my writting #writters on tumblr #my story #The Yule Man

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clockworkarchives · 3 years

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Freak Show

They told me I was a family-oriented man, that I'd put my love for them above everything else, above my ambitions, my pride, my life and even my own humanity. I’d give them my all, it’s why I strived to survive... I did the best I could to keep myself alive during the civil war because I missed them... so, so much. Not a single day that I didn’t dream of seeing my four daughters and my beautiful wife again. That’s why I worked hard to put up my own business once I got home from the war, a circus! Full of fun, smiles and excitement! The exact opposite of things that you would see during war. I’ve studied medicine and human biology for a great chunk of my life but even with my passion in the subject, I still really see myself as an entertainer, a shower of great and bizarre things! And with the success of my new circus, I have gained the attention of many and made a living out of it. I have even caught the attention of the man I’ve wanted to meet for a long time... Mr. George H. Wellington, a well-known man of great riches and influence in America! He accepted my invitation and came to my circus for great entertainment and a special exclusive tour of my most exotic collection of living creatures!

The night has begun and the show’s over. An ocean of applause began raging as we made our last bow for tonight. For the audience and performers, the show has ended, but for me and an exclusive customer, the real show is only about to begin. Behind the thick red curtain and across the river of props and thespians, lie a door that would lead to an exclusive tent made especially for those who are deemed worthy. Mr. Wellington is already amused as he walks his fat belly through the halls that leads to the tent, halls that are decorated with framed exotic insects harvested from the jungles of the Amazon and the deep forests of the Philippines. His face is painted with glee as he smiles wide exposing his yellow rotting teeth, he scratches his armpit right before he touches the frames even after knowingly well that I pleaded him not to. As we reach the end of the hallway through another red thick curtain, an exhibit neatly prepared to showcase all of the creatures one by one is presented before him. Mr. Wellington exclaimed in joy and we continued the tour. He rushed on ahead walking hastily while looking through the glass windows of each container for each creature. One by one, he examined each exotic being, from albino tigers from India to some of the largest snakes ever seen. But as we go deeper, he then notices a reoccurring theme... “Why does some of you creatures only lie around with their partners and children? While the others, you showcase them to me in their most predatorial state? It bores me if I keep on seeing the same form of what you call ‘entertainment’ in this exclusive tour!”. He said with a demanding tone of voice, similar to a child-like whine, even my daughters did not whine like what this predator does. So, I lead him to the every end of the exhibit where the finale awaits! There stands before him, a large rectangular object hidden under a massive white cloth, behind it, a creature so rare, that it has only been seen by one person in the entire world, me. Mr. Wellington is thrilled to be the second person to have seen a creature this rare! So, I lead him to a special seat over-looking the eighteen-foot cage and he sweated profoundly and exhausted himself climbing up the stairs. He sits down, slightly mad about the climb but his excitement riled back up when he heard the roaring moans of multiple creatures inside the massive cage, and without any more delay, my assistants pulled the cloth off revealing my greatest... creation! I looked back to Mr. Wellington and saw the fear and disgust in his face, the very reaction I hoped to see from him. With a wide sinister smile in my face, I uttered the words “Force, bloodshed and fire...” Mr. Wellington looked at me confused and scared, asking me why did I said those words. “Those are the actions that you and your men used to kill and rape my family Mr. Wellington...” I answered as I looked into his eyes while smiling, putting both of my hands on my cane. He stood up and tripped while trying to run away, I knew with his massive over-weighted body that he would barely be able to run after getting exhausted from climbing up the stairs. He lies on the floor and turns around to see me walk to his side. He breaths heavily while crying and begged to me for his life, but I feel only rage and satisfaction while I look at him with his nose dripping out snot, his body sweating out a river, hands and knees shaking and hearing his groaning as he tries to pull back his tears and begged for mercy. I told him that mercy was never present when they tried to take my home by force while I was away, mercy was never present when they used my daughters for their sexual pleasures and mercy was never in their minds when they burned my house and family down only to build a mansion on it for his own convenience, and just like then, mercy is not present here. He struggles to get up and I kicked him down and he fell over and into the cage. There, he met his fellow monsters, people who were once humans, only now they are mushed and sewed together into one heap of twisted flesh, walking on three pairs of arms with faces spreading across its body. Mr. Wellington recognized the faces as some of his colleagues, the very same ones that helped him put up his pretty little mansion, and used my wife and daughters for their own amusement. I have intentionally starved the creature and dosed him with all sorts of strengthening and hyperstimulation drugs so that it will be prepared for my final and exclusive show... Vengeance.

I really am a family-oriented man, I would give anything for my family... my ambitions, my pride, my life... and even my own humanity.

#ClockworkArchives #FreakShow #ShortStory #Horror

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jonryatrash · 7 years

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Jonrya Reread: Jon II & III, Arya II

When I initially made the schedule for the reread, I didn’t quite think about maintaining the chronology of the books, so I’m correcting a little for that here. Last week, I posted a meta about the exchange of Needle in Jon II here, so for further musings on that, you can go there. This week, I’m drawing on a few things from Jon II, but the focus will probably be more on Jon III and Arya II, which are sequential.

All the Tears

Man, Jon and Arya at least spend the first five chapters of AGOT in tears at one point or another. Every time I turned the page, tears. In Jon I, Jon cries when he flees the hall after speaking with Benjen. In Arya I, Arya cries when she flees her sewing lessons after being teased and shamed. So let’s follow up with some examples from Jon II, Jon III, and Arya II:

“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. - Jon II, AGOT

After receiving word that Bran’s woken up:

He realized he was crying. And then, through the tears, he found the sense in the words, and raised his head. -Jon III, AGOT

And then Arya, after the incident at supper in the small hall:

When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry. - Arya II, AGOT.

Of course, I’m sure they’re not the only ones to cry in the early chapters of the book, but it just struck me that every time I turn around, Jon and Arya are crying about something. It parallels nicely for them, and I think it does give insight into how they’re moved by emotion. Jon especially gets called out for being brooding (and maybe the tv series only emphasizes this), but he seems quite in touch with his emotions, in both sadness and joy.

Tormented

What I loathe about rereading the early Jon and Arya chapters is witnessing just how cruel people are to Jon and Arya, who are children. Adults, who should no better, (and kids, too, of course) just say shitty or downright horrible things to these two.

In Jon II, it’s Catelyn. No real surprise there. And I get it. She was shamed by having Ned bring home his bastard and she’s grieving in Jon II over Bran. But she’s also a damn adult. The things that really get me:

He was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

“Yes?” he said.

“It should have been you,” she told him. -Jon II, AGOT

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. The thing that gets me most isn’t even that she wished Jon would fall out of a tower and be inches from death. That’s inhumane, sure, but not the thing that makes me grieve so much for Jon here. In 14, almost 15 years, Catelyn never even called him by his name to his face. That’s next level cruelty, never acknowledging his full humanity. Even Tyrion Lannister, who has literally just met Jon in Jon I, calls Jon by his name in Jon III. My frustration over this is never ending because so many of the adults in this series don’t act like damn adults.

And Arya. She gets it from both adults and her own sister and sister’s friend in Arya II.

Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.”

It was her [Arya’s] fault, everything bad that had happened. Sansa said so, and Jeyne too.

“Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

At this point, I expect the cruelty from Sansa and Jeyne. Ned surprised me though. It’s not that it’s biting cruel, but that it’s defeat. We know that Arya wants to be some kind of lady, but she’s been given impossible standards to meet. That Ned just outright says that she’s never going to make it? That stings a little. What’s even more upsetting is that Arya is trying in two instances in this chapter to perform ladyship.

“I’m not hungry.” Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies. “May I be excused, please?” she recited stiffly.

Then later:

The next morning, as they broke their fast, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked for her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously, but Father nodded.

Arya can’t catch a break. She tries, and she’s always either denied or thought to have an ulterior motive. If this is how it was for a whole nine years on top of the Sansa-is-perfect nonsense, it’s no wonder Arya could never be a lady. No one gave her a damn chance.

Loneliness

Surrounded by so many people, and Jon and Arya are still terribly lonely and outcast. For Jon:

Jon followed the rest back to the armory, walking alone. He often walked alone here. -Jon III, AGOT

Afterward he sought out Ghost in the loneliness of his cell, and buried his face in his thick white fur. -Jon III, AGOT

“It’s better that I’m by myself,” Jon said stubbornly. “The rest of them are scared of Ghost.” -Jon III, AGOT

I don’t doubt that others are afraid of Ghost, but I don’t believe Jon is just all cool with being alone. He makes that pretty clear.

And Arya:

No one talked to Arya. She didn’t care. She liked it that way. -Arya II, AGOT

Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. -Arya II, AGOT

I don’t believe Arya didn’t care for a minute. Arya has proved herself, and particularly in her reflections of Winterfell and her family, an incredibly social little girl. GRRM spends several paragraphs talking about how Arya interacted with people at Winterfell. I do think she feels isolated, and without friends. And I think that Arya also tries to put on a brave face and pretend it doesn’t bother her. Here, I think she’s pulling a Jon: Everyone is afraid of Ghost; it’s okay I’m alone vs. I hate everyone and happy to be alone. Later in the chapter she even admits to feeling alone.

Thoughts of One Another

Jon III and Arya II begin a long saga of Jonrya Arya and Jon thinking about one another. And not just a little bit. There are extended insights into their thoughts on their family, and always Jon and Arya think of one another last.

So one thing to say before delving into their thoughts of each other when they’re apart. In Jon II, we get Jon and Arya finishing each other’s sentences.

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.

Arya seemed puzzles at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:

The repetition is telling, especially for such a short interaction. These two are in tune with one another. I might also add that having someone finish your sentence is often thought of romantically. It comes with a lot of time and intimacy (not even sexual, as in the case of Jon and Arya at this point).

But now that they’re apart, we get this.

And Arya...he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had...yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. - Jon III, AGOT.

In that section, Jon spends no more than 19 words thinking about any individual sibling, except Arya. For Arya, Jon spends more than 19 words just describing her. He’d give anything to be with Arya. Not his brothers or Sansa, not his father. Arya.

And for Arya:

She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her... - Arya II, AGOT

Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. - Arya II, AGOT

For Arya, both Jon and Winterfell are equal alternatives. Being with Jon is just as good as being at home. And the fact that books later, Jon tells Mance to bring Arya home to him? Both Jon and Arya think of Jon as being home to Arya.

Foreshadowing

What sticks out to me most in these chapters is how much GRRM gives away in terms of foreshadowing for the later books. In part, that’s why I believe that all the little Jonrya moments in the early books are still meant to culminate into canon Jonrya eventually.

But for now, the little giveaways to Arya’s and Jon’s individual plots, respectively:

“I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities...” - Jon II, AGOT

“Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos..” - Arya II, AGOT

He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildings and ward the realm against the Others.... - Jon II, AGOT

I have so many other things to say about these chapters, but I’m going to stop there. I know a lot of other people will pick up for them, and I’m also hoarding quotes for more individual, thematic analyses when I have a decent amount amassed.

I do, however, expect to have a meta about Jon and Arya and their Winterfell arc soon. Winterfell sets the stage, and there’s three chapters that really tell us so much about what Jon and Arya are fighting for.

#SuppleAsSin #NeedleHeart #jonrya #jon x arya #arya x jon #asoiaf meta #my asoiaf meta #jonrya reread meta

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crystallineaffluence · 7 years

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✨✨ OCs!!!!! HECK YEAH ✨✨ #1 - 🌳 Sycamore 🌳. He is a male plant/tree nymph (perhaps a dryad?), who is pansexual, androgynous-presenting, immortal (but looks around 19/20), and around 5'7" in height. He has plant-based abilities, including flowers growing in his hair + on the ground if he walks barefoot on earth, speeding up the growth of plants/trees and ripening of fruit with focus, and a vast knowledge of plant/nature. He doesn't /technically/ have an ethnicity, but if he did, it'd be black + asian, and he can speak English, Latin and Japanese. He really enjoys sewing/needlework and making blankets/clothes, as well as caring for plants and animals, painting/drawing, and playing instruments (acoustic guitar, shakuhachi, shamisen) as well as singing/humming. He wears his hair in a long braid, and when it isn't tied up, it hangs near his ankles and is an absolute pain to brush and take care of. Sycamore lives deep within a very large (unspecified) forest and is the guardian of a large stretch of it - keeping watch over the residents, guiding those who wind up lost, and protecting it from hunters and people who wish to do harm. He personally inhabits an abandoned cottage full of various plants - potted, growing through cracks, climbing up the walls, and also a large tree sitting in the middle of the house, sticking up through the roof. In personality, he's relatively sweet and cheerful with a positive outlook on life, however he has a lot of shyness to him and a significant amount of social withdrawal, considering he lives in a forest away from society for the most part. He's rather innocent when it comes to human nature (aside from those who harm nature) and pretty trusting, which can be a bit of a downfall. Aside from that, he has a whimsical, philosophical personality and a little bit of wisdom about life, morals, happiness, etc. Overall though, he's a major sweetie with a big heart. #2 - 👻 Aleksander Oktavius Matthias Titus Eklund, or for short, Gunner Eklund 👻. He is a male human-turned-poltergeist, who is bisexual/pansexual, permanently 20, Swedish, and about 6'2". He too has abilities, but poltergeist-related ones - involving but not limited to interacting with humans/objects, floating, and possession of weak-willed / allowing individuals. He speaks fluent Swedish and English. He's interested in punk rock aesthetic/fashion and music, playing the keytar/keyboard/synth, halloween (including haunted houses and horror movies/events), skateboarding, piercings, and pulling pranks/tricks. He really enjoys teasing, mocking, scaring and tricking people, playing around with them with mind games and practical jokes and occasionally crossing the line. He doesn't really have a home and drifts around, chilling and pretty much haunting his friends and band members because he has nowhere else to really live. He may not really look it, but personality-wise he's rather mischievous and a major trickster, taking delight in teasing and poking fun at others to get a reaction and attention. He's rather witty and cocky with a significant amount of stubbornness and attitude, which when combined with some hubris, caused his downfall in terms of his death (cornered by some gang members and shot four times and stabbed several times before being left for dead). Gunner does have a decent level of intelligence, but his cockiness and laziness tends to overshadow it. He likes to rebel against authority, and isn't really focused on flirting but if he has an interest in a person, he will show it. #3 - 👹 Kólasi Gehenna 👹. He is a male pitbull Cerberus-humanoid hybrid who is gay, around 25, Greek, and around 6'4". He has no abilities or powers, but has habits relating to his canine genes including growling when annoyed, using his short tail to express excitement/joy/frustration, enjoying dog treats and liking his ears being scratched. He isn't very animalistic though further than this and is otherwise relatively human in his personality. He speaks fluent English and Greek (Doric). Kólasi too is interested in punk rock aesthetic/fashion and music, playing the electric guitar (in a separate band to Gunner and the same one as Sekhmet) and enjoying going to concerts and shows. He also has a fondness for riding his motorcycle around, going to gay bars/night clubs and drinking a lot, playing baseball, and engaging in risky activities. He always carries around a baseball bat to smash unimportant things up, for protection, and due to his love of baseball. In personality, he's very confident, enthusiastic and exciteable, lacking a bit of common sense, He's not too intelligent but he's friendly and warm to people he likes, frequently taking his friends out to have fun and go drinking/riding/watching concerts. His brash and hotheaded confidence clashes with Gunner's own cocky wit and arrogance, causing them to frequently 'lock horns' and fight a lot whenever they're around eachother, not limited to but mostly involving fistfights and throwing insults. Kólasi is a generally nice guy when people get close to him though, and isn't really as scary as his initial appearance and hellish lineage suggests. #4 - 💙 Sekhmet Leon 💙. She is a female Sphinx-humanoid hybrid who is bisexual, around 23, Egyptian, and about 5'10. She neither has any abilities/powers, but does have a couple of feline attributes, such as her tail expressing her emotions, her reaction to catnip being the same as to if she were to smoke/consume cannabis, and her ears moving around/twitching. She speaks fluent English, Arabic, and has strong knowledge of hieroglyphics. Sekhmet, like Kólasi and Gunner, has a deep love of punk rock aesthetic/fashion and music, playing the bass guitar in the same band as Kólasi and visiting concerts regularly. She often tags along with Kólasi's club/bar-hopping to keep an eye on him and often driving him home in her car when he gets incredibly drunk. Alongside this, she also has a love of literature and poetry, as well as puzzles and riddles, and an adoration of piercings and tattoos - her prize tattoo being two detailed wing tattoos down the length of her back which were extremely costly. She and Kólasi are rather close, almost like siblings, including a playful rivalry between the two with bickering and trying to annoy/one-up eachother. Personality-wise, Sekhmet is intelligent, coy, cunning and sly, but with good intentions. She has a lot of common sense, and often feels like a mother surrounded by hyperactive toddlers when it comes to her friends, but she deeply cares about them all the same, but occasionally can be condescending without meaning to. She has a tendency to be rather flirty, whether it's to get her own way or just because she's interested, and mostly with girls but often guys too. She's good at keeping her cool and staying relaxed, as well as a rational thinker, but can look down upon people if they have significant emotional responses to things she barely reacts to. ------------------------------------------------------------------- So, here are my babies! I love them so much!!!! 💕

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

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Have you read Robin Mckinley's The Outlaws of Sherwood? And if so what where your thoughts?

MY BUDDY.

I HAVE.

Right so I think I’ve mentioned my overwhelming obsession with Robin McKinley’s writing once or twice. And I love Outlaws of Sherwood! This is a Good Ask!

All right, so for those of you who haven’t read the Outlaws of Sherwood and don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s Robin Hood. The basic premise is that Robin accidentally kills someone of a higher status than him and, in the process of hiding him from the Sheriff’s men, his best friends Much (the son of a miller) and Marian (the daughter of a Saxon nobleman) convince him that someone has to take a stand against the regime. As such, people who are being taxed to death or who have had their homes taken leave with him and hide out in Sherwood Forest. As the plot progresses, their gang grows, and the standard robbing-of-rich-feeding-of-poor proceeds, Guy of Gisborne shows up, and so it goes.

The major difference between this and most Robin Hood interpretations is that (*gasp*) Maid Marian has a real personality! She’s a fucking firecracker! She’s an expert markswoman--Marian is the legendary archer of the Outlaws, and goes to contests in a green hood under Robin’s name. Marian is a tactician and a fighter and a woodsman AND she teaches all the men how to sew a goddamn shirt. MARIAN IS THE TOTAL PACKAGE. She and Robin bicker all the time and she nips it right in the bud when he gets stupid and overprotective and there’s this stunning scene where Marian and Robin are sitting together under a tree and Marian falls asleep on him and Robin just like “my arm is going numb and there’s a tree root digging into my hip but if I sat here for the rest of my life I would be happy, I want to marry this woman under any circumstances if she’d take me.” And honestly same. Anyway. I digress.

All right, so here’s My Thoughts about Outlaws of Sherwood, and they can basically be summed up as “what a good” but also as “this is such a good way to balance the realistic and the hopeful in this story.” Because like, okay, Robin Hood is a popular story to retell, but, especially in more recent versions, they get really...determined to be ‘realistic,’ which turns into some pretty profoundly grim stuff. BBC did a Robin Hood show a while back and I passionately hated it--Robin was a womanizing nobleman who treated his manservant Much very poorly, Marian had a REAL WEIRD love triangle with Robin, who was kind of a dick, and Guy of Gisborne, who was a presumptuous pushy pseudo-rapist, and the Merry Men were a nominal saving grace until Marian was murdered at the end of the first season. At that point, I just fucking bailed and googled how it ended--spoiler, it ends with Robin, after a fuckbuddies relationship with a villain, being poisoned and dying while Nottingham burns. And here’s why I had an issue with that: Robin Hood, most basically, is the product of a society that was just dead exhausted by the Crusades and the class division between the Normans and the Saxons and the general state of the world that they went “What if someone had the option to not be us” and it was a thing of HOPE. The idea of Robin as a chivalrous outlaw and Much as a loyal friend and Marian as a charming maiden just rebellious enough to ally herself with someone outside the law started as a story about hope. A story about the potential to do something to save the people being crushed under the weight of a nobility that didn’t give a good goddamn about them. A story about the idea that someone might care about them.

BBC’s asshole Robin and indecisive (and fridged) Marian and browbeaten Merry Men aren’t loyal to that idea. Nottingham being burned to the ground as Robin dies just says “rebellion is pointless and the little people will always be victims of the system no matter what anyone does.”

B U T. You know what is loyal to that idea, that core of hope? OUTLAWS OF SHERWOOD. Robin is the cynic, here, the pragmatic influence to Much’s ready optimism and Marian’s fire-bright idealism, but even Robin...he loves his people, even if he doesn’t love the dream. He would rather live to fight tomorrow than die a martyr, but when a young man in ridiculous red clothes shows up lost and alone in Sherwood Forest, Robin can’t help but care about him. Much is a devoted friend, not just to Robin but to all the Outlaws, and the one whose idealism bears up under the worst the world has to throw at it. Marian is proud and fierce and the one who turns dreams and love into real action.

You wanna know why Outlaws is my favorite Robin Hood retelling? Because it walks the line between honesty (life as an outlaw sucks! they’re hungry and cold and they’re horribly wounded in the last battle against Gisborne! Robin is scared and/or exasperated 99% of the time and the other 1% is pretty much that one scene with Marian!) and joy. Outlaws loves its characters and its story and its hopes and its dreams, genuinely enjoys the hell out of itself, and that means that it feels like Robin Hood. I don’t like stories tangled up in their own shadows and darknesses, I like stories that can balance the darkness with some light. And that’s what Outlaws of Sherwood feels like. It feels like a forest--the shadows are deep and green and frightening, and the sunlight is so, so bright.

#outlaws of sherwood #robin hood #robin mckinley #i love this book so much my dude i'm sorry this has been so disordered and weepy #i just live for stories that are about the radical idea of human courage and kindness and hope #i live for that shit man #and outlaws is such a primo example #and of course my queer little heart loves marian more than life itself #so like #there's also that #book rec #anonymous #asked and answered

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deathbyvalentine · 7 years

Text

Prompt Collection

Crash Landing an Airship

In hindsight, knocking out the pilot had been a bad move. A worse move had been locking the co-pilot in a cupboard. Preplanning had never quite been Alexi’s strong point. Unfortunately, neither had piloting.

“Right.” They murmured to themselves, looking at the dizzying array of dials, buttons and levers, and failing to see a manual anywhere. “Flying. Piece of cake. Birds can do it. Why shouldn’t I?” Cautiously, he pressed the lime-green button, wincing as a grinding sound surfaced from somewhere deep below the decks. A needle swung wildly as a slight but certain smell of burning appeared. Was it just them, or was the ground getting closer?

My Shelter, My Prison, My Home.

Rose spent a lot of time gazing out of windows. Whenever she tired of sewing, or piano playing, or reading in front of the fire, she drifted to the window, where she could sit for hours. It was a pretty, if unremarkable view. The manor was way off the main road, and surrounded simply by gardens, forest, or lawns. You couldn’t even see the boundary fence, and even if you could, you would simply see the rolling, almost purple moors. Rose had never stepped foot on those moors. She had never even stepped foot on one of the lawns. She had never been beyond the walls of this house.

Not that she wanted to. Her mother had told her about the dangers that lay beyond. Freezing wind and rain. Animals with sharp teeth. People who were nothing more than plague carriers. No, she was already sick, and far too fragile to deal with the cruelty of the world.

But still, she looked. She especially liked looking out on rainy nights, where the wind drove downpours against the glass until she could barely hear herself think. Where the fire flickered and jumped in its grate, casting patterns on the walls. And where it was hard to make out anything but her own pale face gazing back at her in the window.

It was on a night like this, something extraordinary happened. Jane Eyre was lying forgotten on her lap, her hand holding her place. She looked spectre-like, framed in the window-seat, in nothing but her nightgown, red curls streaming down her back as if drowned. She didn’t move from her vigil, even as servants restoked the fire and whisked away untouched tea.

There was a light in the forest. She had thought it was a reflection at first, but nothing within the room could produce that white light. It glimmered and jumped, occasionally blocked by the tree trunks, but never disappearing entirely. She was transfixed, no, more than that. It was a longing she felt, deep within her fragile bones, as if something was calling to her. For the first time in her short life, she wished for more. It was this wish that lead her to slip down to the servant’s quarters, lifting the heavy iron key off it’s hook to unlock the backdoor. She did not put on shoes, she did not find a jacket. She stepped into the driving rain, marvelling at the feeling of cold water on her virgin skin. Even discomfort can feel like a miracle if it’s new. She made her way across the lawn, avoiding the bright spots of light cast by the watching house, dashing, causing splatters of mud to paint her legs. And still, that light, calling. Though it turned out not to be a light at all, but rather a creature who shone like the moon, but not like the sun. He leaned against the tree, as if he had been waiting for her there always. His teeth were sharp as he smiled, and his eyes were black. And in his hand, he held a fruit with red skin.

He offered it, casually, the promise of one prison for another. She knew she should never eat fae fruit, to ignore all tricks or pleas. But this was not a trick, it was an offer, and she may be naive, but she was no fool. She took it from him, and bit deeply, letting the sweet juice drip down her chin with the rain.

Slayers: My Last Morning In Hospital

The light seemed different, somehow. Softer, gentler. He marvelled at it, as well as the beauty of the dust motes dancing gently. He was a cliche, and he didn’t care. He thought he would never seen another morning again. His bloods had came back normal. As had his MRIs and CAT scans. As had every test they had thought to check. Even when he wasn’t actively dying, he always had had some deficiency or irregularity. Now, well, he was the epitome of health. He didn’t even need glasses anymore. They were calling it a miracle. He didn’t disagree. Nobody had known who the young doctor was. And when he mentioned the snake, they just murmured things about hallucinations and fever dreams. He could still feel the snake bite, even if the marks had healed. He could still picture the handsome face, even if he’d only gazed at it for a moment. He knew it was real. It seemed realer than the last few years had been. Perhaps the only real thing he had ever experienced. He dressed himself, ignoring the fussing of his father. The scars on his skin were gone too, from countless surgeries. They all seemed to chose to ignore this as doctors signed off on his paperwork, and shook his hand, discharging him. Nobody believed it would be the last time. But there was an air of hope there had never been before, the vain ambition that perhaps magic really did exist, and good things did happen to good people. He walked unsupported to the car, and the cold air on his skin had never felt better. This felt a little like freedom. Like a weight had been lifted. Gratitude flowed through him like honey, sweetening and tinting everything he thought of or looked upon.

His mind though, kept circling back to the feeling of a hand on his, and a smile so warm it could light up a room...

Sybil

Paris was a distraction at least. Her grief for her father was still like a fresh wound, and yes, she had some degree of homesickness, but when you had a city like Paris at your feet, you would be foolish to refuse it. There was always something to do. Always a bar or cafe opening, or a new theatre production. And the strangers here were so kind, a mile away from the standoffishness of the Midwestern Americans she had grown up amongst. Always ready with a kind word, always pouring her another drink, buying her the prettiest things. It was near overwhelming at times.

And yet, she found herself often discontented with no explanation why. Perhaps it was the single bad review taking root in her mind, polluting all it came across. But she still felt moments of joy with her new friends. Moments of profound contentness that robbed her of breath.

Sybil wondered if perhaps she did not do very well on her own. She relied on her sister an inordinate amount throughout their childhood, and she wasn’t sure if she knew what it was like to stand on her own two feet. Whenever she was alone in the morning light, that was when the darkness set in.

Luckily, she had so many good friends that seemed to not mind taking care of her a jot. How lucky she was.

Susurration

The trees were not silent. They chattered and whispered about the little, insignificant thing creeping through between them, footsteps barely making a sound. In the distance, a campfire flickered, and occasionally snatches of laughter and song made it this far into the trees, making the small thing pause. “What do you think she’s doing?” Elm whispered, glancing up at Oak as the thing used one of it’s branches to hide behind. One of it’s branches drooped considerably since lightning had struck it several years back. “Hm. That thing she’s carrying is called a knife.” Oak was wise. Oak had been a child at the dawn of this forest, and knew almost everything about what came through it. It could even tell humans apart, which was rare. “What does it do?” “It kills, dear child. She must be hunting.” Oak watched where her gaze wandered. “Hunting those others I suspect.” Elm rustled, causing the thing to look up, and frown, blonde hair blowing over her eyes. Her eyes were the colour of the spring grass, and almost pretty. “Do humans usually hunt other humans?” Oak thought, and thought. And remembered. “She passed by a few weeks hence. Her and another, one with a beard. And other, one they both sat on. That had four legs. A horse I believe. And the other humans struck them, and took their horse, and their bags. And struck the bearded one so his sap fed the earth below him. We were very grateful, though she made the most upsetting noises.” “Ah.” Elm watched as the small thing became even smaller, shifting into the darkness of the forest, and getting closer to the fire. “Will the earth be fed again tonight?” “I suspect so. Though how much, who knows?” The trees sighed.

The Neverland Lagoons

Peter’s favourite part of Neverland changed by the hour, if not the second, but it frequently was the Neverland Lagoons. It was always sunny here, the light reflecting and bouncing off the ripping water. There were always flowers growing from the gaps in the rocks. There was just enough of a breeze to cool skin hot and bothered after playtime, and it was just warm enough that wet clothes would dry quickly. Fairies dashed about the place, trying not to get their little wings wet in the water, as drying them out always made them cross. And then the were the mermaids themselves. Often about a dozen, sometimes less, sometimes more, in every shape, size, and colour. Their tails glittered like precious jewels in as many shades. Peter adored them, and they adored him, flirting and playing at every opportunity. They bore the other Lost Boys well enough, but he was their favourite, much to his pride.

And he had his favourites amongst them, when he remembered to. One of the ones that endured was, of course, Ariel. He had been fascinated by her red hair, vibrant and clashing against the clear blue of the water. She had let him brush it, only wincing a little when he tugged at the knots. She was fascinated by objects humans had that mermaids didn’t. He brought her hats and shoes, studying her face, looking for the delight that made her more radiant than the sun. She was beautiful of course, as most mermaids were, but she was also nice, which most mermaids weren’t.

She wasn’t quite from around here, he knew. Sometimes that was the way it went. Bits came through, if he let them, though of course very little could get into Neverland without his say so. He was sad, when she left, for as long as he remembered her. He hoped whatever story she was from deserved her.

Call Sign Nisus The camp fire was blazing fiercely, spitting sparks into the sky and crackling as if to remind them all it was here. The company were sprawled around it, gazing upwards at the sparkling stars, sharing cigarettes, and talking absolute shit, as most of their downtime was spent doing. Nisus had somehow managed to acquire a bottle of something that smelt of cloves, and it was already half empty. He was very almost drunk, again, not an unusual development when he had been given clearance. He was leaning heavily against his partner, though his feet were planted in a healer’s lap. He was happy, as he often was. His mouth was made for smiling, his voice made for laughter. He was rarely serious, a blessing and a curse when fate had put a gun in his hand.

He was in his element, surrounded by those he loved, and telling stories. Nobody could ever tell which bits of his stories were real, if any, and which were fake. He would never admit to lying, cheerfully being shameless with reckless abandon. Despite barely ever having seen a real war, he seemed to have more heroics than the rest of the company put together, somehow, better shooting skills, faster reflexes. Odd that. His mentor pushed his head playfully as he teased her, fondness dripping from every word. They made a right pair, her no-nonsense attitude bouncing off his, well, nonsense near constantly. They fit together somehow though, like part of a jigsaw, like anchor and ship, like weapon and sheath.

As soon as I saw the exhibit, I knew I'd owned these things before.

The museum was cool and quiet, the floors shining marble. The hoards of children had faded away with the hours of the school-day, and now, an hour before closing, the rooms had the feel of a sanctuary. People moved from room to room like ghosts, leaving no trace of themselves behind, and only the softest murmuring echoes.

They were two such people, Albie with his golden hair falling about his shoulders, the evening sun sometimes catching it and giving it the appearance of flame, Brennon with his dark dark eyes. Their arms were linked, though they sometimes fell into holding hands. They whispered to each other. Brennon preferred art galleries to museums, but it had been Albie’s turn to pick their date venue. Albie had a fascination for all things ancient.

They were in the Greek section when it happened, though to the outside observer it looked like nothing happened at all. Albie stopped in front of a case, and with a shaking hand, placed his palm against the glass. “Albie?” Brennon peered up at his taller lover. “Is something wrong?” “These things are mine.” Albie’s voice shook with the effort of keeping it controlled, low. Inside the case was a cloak pin, a handful of game counters, and a water vessel. The small white card said these things had been buried with a warrior who had died in some ancient and forgotten battle.

“What are you talking about?” “No. Not all mine.” He removed his hand from the glass, and his eyes were a million miles away. “The cloak pin was his.”

“Who’s?”

He said it so bluntly, like it meant nothing at all, like his words couldn’t hope to hurt. “My eromenos.” His voice curled differently around that word, but somehow it had never sounded more like him. They left the museum in silence. ****************************** Albie did not sleep well that night, in their small and comfortable flat. They had barely spoken that night, curled up in front of the TV, Brennon sneaking glances at his lover. His eyes were often unfocused, his elegant fingers turning a pen between them over and over again. And now, in bed, he was tossing this way and that, his skin glistening with sweat. Brennon dare not wake him up, from cowardice or care. He woke naturally after countless hours, and spoke of dust and blood and the ever beating sun. Brennon could do nothing but hold him.

He looked up signs of psychosis online, of delusions and hallucinations, but none of them fit. Albie only talked about it when the moment struck him, and often seemed frustrated that he couldn’t provide more details. And then there was the museum visits. He went back every week, and sat in front of the case, often but not always refusing Brennon’s company. Smaller details appeared, wine splattered on the doorway, small pieces of food left by windows, worry beads appearing in jewellery boxes. Albie was becoming somebody he did not recognise, but was somehow still not unlike himself. ***************************************** He dared ask the question one night, when they were laying in bed, side by side, a soft breeze being invited in from the open window, bringing in distant sounds of chatter and cars. Albie had never looked more beautiful, the half-light painting him almost divine. Brennon’s heart ached for the love of him, and for the knowledge he was not the love of his many lives. “What was he like?” Albie opened his eyes, surprised. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, thinking. Brennon wondered if he was about to get up and leave, lick his centuries old wounds. But he didn’t. He replied. “He was quicker than I ever was. He won all our races. He used to laugh, a lot, and he was never serious. His hands were always dirty.” He breathed out a laugh, closing his eyes again, pained. “He was the best swimmer, but the horses didn’t like him a bit. He died, minutes before I did, a spear through his chest. He had looked so... Confused. Like he couldn’t conceive of a world where the Gods did not save him. He was not alone. I couldn’t either.” Albie’s hands played with Brennon’s fingers. “You are not him. And I’m trying to forgive you for that.” Outside, the breeze from the river faded, and soon, the chatter and the cars would cease as the city decided to finally sleep.

Liminal Places

The garage open at three am, surrounded by darkness, the neon glow an invitation to passing travellers. Empty, the only life the bored cashier, who likely wouldn’t notice if his customers were zombies.

The road, surrounded by huddling trees, watching over the cars that come and go. You could lay in the middle of the road for minutes and not be in the slightest bit of danger. The sporadic streetlights drown out all but the brightest stars.

There’s the mega-stores, named Walmart or Costco. Windowless, temple-like testaments to capitalism, everything in excess. Nothing feels quite real, nothing feels permanent.

The cemetery is an old one, but it endures. You can feel the presences here, the veil tearing at the edges from age. The stone is crumbling with the bones beneath it, and one day, this too shall be nothing but vines and leaves.

She had always been walking, following the coastline, in the moonlight. + Gumusservi (Turkish, n.): the glimmering that moonlight makes on water.

Harry knelt in bed, folded arms resting on the window-ledge as he stared out towards the tranquil sea. It was a starry night, only a few dark clouds gathering by the mountains to the east, and the wind was soft and low. Today had been an active day, full of games, cycling and catching interesting things in the craggy rockpools left by low tide. His parents had expected him to fall asleep instantly when they kissed his forehead goodnight. But he was awake, the awakest he had perhaps ever been. Because something strange was happening outside. As you looked towards the gentle curve of the shore, there was a glowing. Steady, constant, alluring. It was calling to him, not with sound, but with a need that his nine year old mind had never known the likes of.

So he walked past his slumbering parents, and past the fishtank bubbling in the darkened living room. He picked up a flashlight from the emergency box kept under the sink, and twisted the heavy backdoor key in it’s lock, tugging the door open with only a small creak. The wind blew sand over his feet as he followed the boardwalk down the slight slope, the conspiratorial whispering of the sea only growing louder.

He wasn’t afraid - it was not as dark as it could be. The moon cast down silver, and the stars glimmered, and his torch kept his feet steady. He wasn’t surprised when he got there, that the light she was giving off was also silver. She was as much a part of this place as the moon, the stars, and the reflections of both. Nor did she seem surprised to find a small boy standing in front of her in a batman t-shirt and sneakers clutching a small bear. He shivered, once, the breeze bringing his skin up in the finest of goosebumps. She had a kindly face, beautiful. Hair fell to her shoulders in waves, her mouth turning down just a little at the corners. Her dress fell to cover bare feet, and bracelets encircled her thick wrists. She crouched down to look him in the eye. “Hello Harry.” Her voice was barely audible over the sea. “Would you like to hear a story?” He nodded, holding his bear close, and moving to sit cross legged on the still-warm sand. She made a noise of approval, and turned to stare out at the horizon. “Once upon a time, a long long time ago, when I was nothing but a green, foolish girl, I fell in love with the sea.” She paused, so long Harry was unsure if she would continue. “You wouldn’t understand of course. Too young. Too young to know what love can do to you. Child, I could not sleep. I could not eat. All I could do was walk by this shore, and kiss the salt water that touched the sand. I added my own salt to the water, and collected the glass made into precious jewels.” Here, she reached a hand into the folds of the dress, and produced a handful of the worthless seaglass. She let it fall through her fingers, though it never hit the sand.

“I did not know the sea was cruel. I did not know she was unforgiving and jealous. So when she appeared to me, dream like, I embraced her, as she embraced me. I felt my lungs go cold, and I was drowning in her. She likes keeping what loves her.” She crouched down again, and her hands were cold when she tilted his face up. She didn’t seem quite so beautiful now - she seemed terrible. Her hair hung, damp and dripping. “I love her still.” His heart ached with some unknown sorrow. He didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t like how it tasted. “Harry, I like giving her gifts. To keep her looking at me, you know? To keep her close.” The wind didn’t seem so warm anymore, and suddenly he understood. He understood how the waves that seemed so calm now, could break bones, could drown bodies. He understood how the place where he played in the afternoon sun could also be a place of death and despair. He understood death with all of his nine years of life.

And he was up and bolting, leaving the woman with her hair blowing about her pale face by her love. When he glanced back over his shoulder, she was whispering to the water. caressing it with her fingers. By the time he was in bed, duvet pulled up over his head, teddy safely clasped in his arms, he could almost tell himself it was a bad dream. He could almost believe it.

But the thing was, when he woke in the morning, the still light filtering in from the skylight, things were not as they should be. For on his beside cabinet, sea glass glittered, surrounded by sand.

She gave me a human molar, wrapped in a bloody silk handkerchief. + Gemas (Indonesian, n.): a feeling of love/affection, arising from someone/something being so cute, that compels you to squeeze them until they squeal/cry.

She worried about her sister. She watched her endlessly, fascinated and repulsed by her in equal measure. The love she felt for the smaller girl was equalled only by her fear.

Frankly, there was something odd about her, even as a baby. Vanessa never cried. She lay, quietly, watching everything with her big blue eyes, and seeming to understand. Daisy adored her from the moment she held her in her arms, every inch the proud big sister. And as they grew up, she ended up more often than not, the proud mother. And once Daisy was sixteen, and their mother lost interest completely, lost to her own mind, she took on the role with confidence.

It really started when Vanessa became a teenager. When her smiles seemed to come more easily, her fingernails always painted pristinely. She became obsessed with her appearance - not out of pride, or of vanity, but what seemed to be a mystification that she had a body at all. She could spend hours in front of a mirror, staring, poking at her cheeks and lips. Daisy wondered what she was seeing.

Daisy tended towards the opposite. She preferred all the mirrors in their house to be covered, so there was no chance of her catching a glance of herself. She could think of nothing worse than contemplating herself at length. After all - what was she but a collection of inadequacies? She needed no reminder.

Vanessa was not popular at school - she was avoided. She spent much of her time on her own, going on long walks, coming home with colourfully stained fingers from squeezing flower petals between them. Daisy found berries in her pockets, uneaten but stored. This happened frequently.

The first was found in a field, surrounded by frost touched grass and the first wildflowers of spring. Her mouth was purple, her hair tangled about her face. She was missing her shoes, three teeth, and a notebook. Her watch remained on her wrist, her pearls on her ears. The second had been missing two teeth, and a handful of gel pens. Daisy stopped reading the news after that.

Vanessa didn’t know them, and seemed disinterested when Daisy enquired. She lay on the bed on her stomach, legs kicking as she flicked through a glossy magazine, gazing at the perfect girls inside. She barely even glanced up. She perked up when Daisy offered to brush her hair, and purred like a kitten when she did so. It shone like spun gold, and Daisy wondered if she had ever seen something as beautiful.

She didn’t always understand the feedback teachers gave on parents evening. They said Vanessa’s social skills were lacking, that she didn’t empathise with characters in the books they were reading. They said she could be cruel, when she wanted to be. Daisy nodded, and bit her tongue. They didn’t see the way her younger sister would hold her when she cried. How when a boy had said something mean to her in the street, she had charged right up to him, fearless, powerful. And how, when she had been worried about yet another bill, head in hands as she clutched at the envelope, Vanessa had presented her with a handkerchief full of teeth.

“For the tooth fairy.” She said, eyes wide, and innocent.

He laid flowers on his own grave. Same day every year.

Perhaps it was a morbid tradition. Perhaps it was unhealthy. But in a way, it was comforting. He had died, once. He had been buried in the soil he now let fall through his fingers. He had come back too, but that seemed less important somehow.

He had died frightened, and alone, but not in much pain. He had been buried with enough family to fill a few pews, but few friends to share memories with. His grave was inscribed by something he wouldn’t have picked, but something he he didn’t hate. The cemetery had been one of his favourite places when he was alive. It was quiet, with hedges for birds to twitter in, and a church with history and crumbling walls. He wasn’t sure he believed in a God, but if he was anywhere, he was here.

He left flowers here because he thought someone ought to remember his death. Now he was alive again, albeit it with a much less active heart and certain more cannibalistic tendencies, nobody seemed to want to remember the time he wasn’t. And much less do anything about the causes of death. It was easier to go back to normal. Whatever normal was.

He chose lilies because roses were cliches and too expensive. He liked their smell, and the way the pollen left marks on everything it touched. But he also liked the weeds that popped up all around his tombstone, incorrigible, unable to be destroyed.

Slayers, ‘Correspondence’

They were emails, but they felt like letters. Whenever he received one, he almost could feel the weight. They felt important. They felt necessary. This wasn’t like the chatrooms he used to run, where everything he said about himself was skimming the surface, but had the pretence of intimacy. This was real. This was an honesty he had only ever shared with Asclepius.

And some things Asclepius hadn’t even heard from his mouth, since it was about him, as so many things seemed to be. Talking about how much he loved him with someone that wouldn’t pour scorn at his door. Talking about how he loved even the frightening parts. Talking about how love could feel like heartbreak.

Lydia was a marvel, and for the first time, he felt like he was seeing private glimpses of a person she didn’t allow many access to. He treasured every piece of information she shared, and prayed whatever sentence he typed next would not be the thing that broke this spell they both seemed to be under.

He realised, currently, there was very little he would not do for Lydia. And very little he would not do for the God she loved. And that frightened him even as it filled him with a sense of deep, ferocious love.

DUD: Black Ships

They bit their tongue, and kept their silence. They were damn near mute as well as blind. The amount of time they spent screaming inside their own head, instead of even whispering outloud. They were their own worst enemy, their only friend, their only company.

Who was it that had stolen their tongue? Where exactly had they lost their voice?

If they were honest, they knew the answer. They had started to lose it in the black ship. Not completely, not at the beginning. That would come later, in astropath training, beaten and bled out of them, until they could only just remember how to say their name.

But the process had begun the first time they had answered back, and the pain didn’t stop, the attacker didn’t back off until Cal reached into their mind and made them. There would be no relenting here, no mercy, no restraint. It was kill or be killed, and Cal couldn’t win every battle. So they began to avoid starting them.

Baris would have been proud, had he been here. He had always been saying how they needed to watch their mouth, and now here they were, barely breathing without considering it first. The thing was though, as their voice faded, so did their memories. Baris may have been proud - but Cal didn’t know that.

DUD: Oh Captain, My Captain

Cal fundementally did not understand Merwaldians. They were weird. They eat real food. They cared an astronomical amount about tea. They wore impractical jackets and used impractical forks. Their ships contained far too much brass, and not enough technical displays. They had manners. Feudal worlds remained to be a mystery.

And George, well George was even more of a mystery. George had a contained sense of fun that Cal didn’t understand. Sometimes it stirred something at the edge of their mind, but they suppressed it instantly. The problem was, that Cal didn’t always know when she was joking. When her orders were meant in jest, or when they were meant to decide for themselves. It put them on edge, as did her kindness. The way she seemed to look at them with pity. Kindness didn’t exist for people like Cal. So she was either afraid of them, or wanted something. Or both. Probably both.

Waldeinsamkeit (German, n.): mysterious feeling of solitude when alone in the woods.

You were never alone in the woods. Rationalise it by thinking of it in turns of creatures - there were insects creeping on bark or underfoot, birds fluttering and twitching, perhaps even a deer, passing through, disturbing little.

Don’t think about the presence all around you, watching, disturbed. It’s interested, so far. Tread carefully as you walk in it’s domain. Do not eat it’s fruit, do not kill it’s prey. Do be wild. Do bare your teeth. Do grind your hands into the earth, do stamp your feet as though your legs were thunder. Make yourself welcome here, make this as much yours guest. Do not act cautiously.

Soon, you’ll feel something curl around your heart, and you won’t be alone even in your own head. The breath in your chest will be shared. The blood in your veins will be shared. Don’t be concerned - you’re treading on borrowed ground.

Janteloven (Norwegian/Danish, n.): a set of rules which discourages individualism in communities.

Anna was an awkward little thing, her smock a little too big, a little too worn. Her sandals too were ill-fitting. Her ankles were splattered with dust from the road, her wrists a little red from rubbing at them. She stuck out, in short, because of her aggressive mundanity. People could excuse breaking from the norm if it was to succeed, not if it was to fail.

Nobody gossiped about her. Nobody whispered about her activities, or admired her skills. She could fade into the background without even trying, and that afforded her a certain amount of freedom. For instance, she could go beyond the Fence.

The elders said that beyond the Fence lay terrible beasts with dripping teeth and grasping claws. They said that there were cliffs as high as mountains, with raging seas crashing against them. They said that the fields you could see at the border were full of poisonous flowers that would cause a rash so painful you would claw your own flesh clean off.

Anna had been desperate enough to risk it. Perhaps with scars she would be noticed, perhaps with death she would be remembered. So she waited until the village was at Conclave, and slipped off over the Fence, and into the field of sweet looking grass and flowers.

She did not burst into flames, she did not burst into rashes. Instead, she stood in the evening sun, drenched in gold. She held out her palms as though she could catch it. She crushed some grass beneath her feet, and the scent of it filled the air. She felt a gladness coat her heart, and for the first time, she was glad she was invisible. Nobody else had been painted and golden.

Baraka (ةكر ب) (Arabic, n.): a gift of spiritual energy or ‘sanctifying power’.

He pushed it into my hands, the glowing ball that hummed innocently. It was warm, and he cupped his hands around mine as it lit us up. “Take it.” I loved him when he was like this. Intense, showing his cracks. Nobody else saw this. It was all mine. “I can’t.” I found my voice was a whisper. “It’s yours anyway.” He closed my fingers around it. “I am so tired. I want to see the world with fresh eyes again. With you.” His godhead flickered, distressed. “It’s my gift, freely given.”

I knew what to do, my dreams had told me in advance. The visions too were his gift. I pressed the light to my heart, and it sunk through my skin, and took shelter within my flesh. My veins lit up with fire, every part of me aching with divinity. I would be a goddess of light, of love, of sacrifice. He watched me, my fire reflecting in his eyes, and he smiled. He was nothing now, when he was everything before. I loved him still. I loved him always.

Orc Clients

She didn’t get many. Mostly soldiers making their way through from other places, curious about the ways of the League. Mostly they were interested in chatter, in someone to show them around, in drinking companions. The first time she was ever hired by an Orc, she had to admit she was intimidated. Her family, well, were traditionalists in their view. Orcs were easily angered, brutes, not very bright.

The Orc that hired her had lounged on her sofa, wine in hand, and talked with her about books for hours, more intelligently than many of the human clients she had. Weeks later, some pamphlets written by Orcs had arrived, with a beautifully written note thanking her for her time. The fear had faded a little, after that. Now her heart only jumped when they seemed to be getting angry, when the voices of their ancestors started echoing through their head.

She still kept her boot knife close, put it that way.

After Dark

Pain crackled along her right side, electric and hot. Slowly, slowly, she was coming around. The smell of blood was sickly in the air, and it took her a moment to realise it was hers. It dripped down from a wound near her temple, and she was currently unable to wiggle her fingers. Fuck. How long exactly had she been out? She shifted, and some of the plaster and brick shifted, sending up a small cloud of dust. And upstairs, she heard something move. Shit. Evidently, the bastards had back up. She thought she had put down the vampires, but like rats, there were always more living in the walls. And she was bloody, and injured. A smile flickered across her face, almost like relief. At least she could go down fighting. It would finally be over, all of it. She forced herself to her feet, fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to make her vomit, staggering to lean across the wall with her good side to gain her balance back. From the sounds upstairs, she guessed there were at least two more. Her right arm hung useless at her side as she fumbled for a stake in her left. She crept to the stairs, black creeping into the edges of her vision, and not just from the darkness already in the house. The voices in the hallway carried down. Men, well, vampire men. Not quite the same thing. "Who the fuck cleared them out this quick-" "Not a good clean up though." "Mossy, maybe -" The voices cut off as she finally made it to the top of the stairs. She could barely see. But she could see enough to make out that the two men standing there were almost definitely not vampires. Shit. Had she dragged civvies into this somehow? That wasn't good. She opened her mouth to think of some excuse, any excuse, but instead the room tilted sideways, and she felt an arm suddenly propping her upright.

"Okay, right, I think we found our killer. Let's get her to the car, patch her up -"

Silver

They always said that silver could kill a werewolf. Folklore, I thought. But then I saw the way the moonlight gleamed in your eyes before you left for the darkness, and I started believing.

Dawnish Nobles

They kept trying to tempt her over. Commenting on how quickly she would past a test of mettle. How good she looked with a greatsword. How her poetry could fit in with ease, how many houses would crowd to have her, how she would suit nobility.

It was almost tempting.

But the thought of noble chastity, of marriage and love and tragedy repulsed her like nothing else. Why would she pursue One True Love when she could have a hundred joyful flings that didn’t end in agony? Why would she invite this sort of pain into her life? Why would anyone?

Tick Tock + Dreams

Peter didn’t always dream. Neverland was his dream after all. When he did dream, Neverland reflected it, with rain or wind or monsters. As of late, he had been dreaming of his mother. A flash of gold, a crashing cracking sound as the world fell to pieces.

He kept waiting for himself to forget. He forgot so very much, he wanted to forget this too. He was sick of waiting to stop missing her. He had only known her two days, and he loved her still, and lost her still. Life was not fair, not in the slightest, and every time he remembered that, it crashed down on him with all the force of a tidal wave.

He kept a door in the Neverland tree open for her. Just in case.

#prompts #drabbles #prose #finally fucking done with these #now to do a hundred more weeeeeee

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mountainashfae · 7 years

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rowan, aelin, harmon, mialee, max!

well dang this’ll be a long one, lemme toss it under a cut lmfao

So much time went into all this asdgfhuykm

I legit spent several hours doing this

[ OC Meme ]

Full Name: Rowan ThornbrookGender and Sexuality: Male, demiromantic asexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: half-elf (drow)Birthplace and Birthdate: (equivalent of) October 19, Capitol city of RiverinGuilty Pleasures: late night forest walks, baking fruit desserts (only guilty if the fruits he’s baking with are out of season), sleeping inPhobias: dusty, enclosed spaces (think crypt), being inside a burning building, he’s also got a healthy dose of fear and anxiety over talking in social situations What They Would Be Famous For: Baking Skills, or, ya know, becoming king of RiverinWhat They Would Get Arrested For: being involved with a barfight (bc trying to stop it)OC You Ship Them With: not mine but SOLOMON WITHERSPOONOC Most Likely To Murder Them: uhhh good question none of mineFavorite Movie/Book Genre: does cooking count? No? He’s a fan of realistic fiction.Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: the one where the animal companion dies/gets left behindTalents and/or Powers: he can bake, sew, farm a bit, and is skilled with the sword and shieldWhy Someone Might Love Them: He cares for the wellbeing of pretty much everyone he meets and is just overall a sweet guy also have you tasted his peach tarts??Why Someone Might Hate Them: He can be a spoil-sport and is Lawful and also boiled peanuts apparently.How They Change: Rowan so far in canon started out being a bit stiff and felt like he was weighted by expectations put on him, but through meeting Nazha and then later the rest of the party he’s begun to feel like that weight wasn’t quite so heavy and has been able to truly open up and enjoy life without those expectations and also the judgement of him being half-elfWhy You Love Them: Rowan is that character that I have projected so much on to the point that he’s basically my namesake and just working on character development for him, in character and out of character, brings me such joy. He’s also in a way the reason I have such great friends. Also??? Weather and crop based expletive substitutions and phrases.

Full Name: Aelin ThornbrookGender and Sexuality: Female, pansexualPronouns: she/herEthnicity/Species: half-elf (drow)Birthplace and Birthdate: (equivalent of) August 8, Capitol city of RiverinGuilty Pleasures: the occasional glass of wine, sleeping in (but hours longer than her brother), spending hours playing the flute and ignoring responsibilities, skinny dipping at midnightPhobias: getting lost, losing track of time (both things that happen often), losing the last reminder of his family that she ownsWhat They Would Be Famous For: Her skill in divination, solving the mystery of the group of bandits who assassinated her family!!What They Would Get Arrested For: Probably getting drunk and flirting/getting involved with somebody she shouldn’t and making some sort of skirmish happenOC You Ship Them With: No one currentyOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Any of those faux loversFavorite Movie/Book Genre: MysteryLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: any seemingly forced hetero romance. Make it seem natural at leastTalents and/or Powers: divination and drow magic, fluteplayingWhy Someone Might Love Them: She’s an extrovert and tries to get along with most people, is really honest and will help just about anybody. Also she’s such a beauty.Why Someone Might Hate Them: She’s flirtatious at times but has also never been serious about a relationship n her life. Rather nonchalant about everything and never seems serious everHow They Change: She needs some actual character devWhy You Love Them: She’s the opposite of Rowan, and where the rest of my projecting went that didn’t go to him. I can’t really put the reason into words but it’s a strong feeling.

Full Name: Harmon AveryGender and Sexuality: demigirl, probably graysexualPronouns: they/sheEthnicity/Species: Halfling!!! (lightfoot)Birthplace and Birthdate: idfk about where but it’d be whatever the equivalent of December 5th is.Guilty Pleasures: straight up eating a raw lemonPhobias: heights, being late, missing out on any information, important or notWhat They Would Be Famous For: probably something to do with juice-making or for being a halfling with a large pet snakeWhat They Would Get Arrested For: Sneaking said snake into someplace he’s not allowed, or maybe stealing citrusOC You Ship Them With: nobody currentlyOC Most Likely To Murder Them: -shrug bc no character dev-Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Murder MysteryLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: that “it was the servant all along” cliche. It ruins the mysteryTalents and/or Powers: Ranger magic, skill with a bow, extremely good with snakes, can EAT A LEMON RAWWhy Someone Might Love Them: They’re small and share their juice and citrus with people, they have a snakeWhy Someone Might Hate Them: They have a snake, they’re extremely impatient, and they have no problem giving you the sourest juice possibleHow They Change: gotta get some character dev firstWhy You Love Them: They’re a character that I literally got the idea from in a dream, what else could I say other than they are literally the Halfing of my dreams?

I had to do about 90% of the base character dev right here and there is a LOT more to do. Harmon is still In Development

Full Name: Cauder Mel Toraviel Mialee (Mialee Toraviel)Gender and Sexuality: nonbinary, and idk? Let’s say pan until we know for surePronouns: they/themEthnicity/Species: Sun Elf/Cunning Hob mix!Birthplace and Birthdate: uhhhh no exact town name at the moment but they were in the southwest of Mitria on the equivalent of October 27thGuilty Pleasures: expensive foods, especially chocolates, buying anything expensive for themself tbh (they dont hang on to money long), not having to hide their tail in their clothingPhobias: GETTING CAUGHT IN A LIEWhat They Would Be Famous For: Their illusions and skillWhat They Would Get Arrested For: Their illusions and skill, also all the cons they pull with said illusions and skillsOC You Ship Them With: I platonically sibling ship them with Kit because those two have the best sibling dynamicOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Any of the people they have conned in the past because Mia made off great and bouncedFavorite Movie/Book Genre: Does mythology count? Because they love mythology. Also any nonfiction text on magic, mostly for inspiration purposesLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: are there any cliches in mythology and magic texts? Other than inaccuracies I guessTalents and/or Powers: Favored Soul sorcery, lotsa skill in illusions and disguises, pretty good as improvWhy Someone Might Love Them: They’re a real stinker but in a good way if you’re not on their bad side and they love to show off their skills for others and they adore childrenWhy Someone Might Hate Them: If they see you as an audience they will literally lie to your face to get what they want and feel no remorse. Is that their actual face? Their actual name and class?? Who knows!How They Change: Mialee “Master of Hiding Literally Everything About Myself” Toraviel opened up to a Partner in Crime aka new adoptive brother and a sassmaster sorcerer hob and loves them very much whether they realize it or notWhy You Love Them: They’re such a fun and different character to play compared to Rowan, and everything about them makes me smile. I get to play around with aspects of their hob heritage with Theo and it’s so fun to do and to learn about hobs. I get to do everything that I love about D&D through them.

Full Name: Maxwell FuntGender and Sexuality: Male, aroacePronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: Human, I wrote Illuskan on his character sheet but idfk what that translates toBirthplace and Birthdate: equivalent of August 30, in a small town called Rodan which got burned to the groundGuilty Pleasures: stealing shoes that are loaned to him, actually getting a lead on that fey artifact he’s supposed to be looking for!!Phobias: dragons, the mere thought of being enslaved again, most heavily social situations, loud yelling (especially aimed at him)What They Would Be Famous For: busting up that one slave caravan?? idk my dude he doesn’t like the spotlightWhat They Would Get Arrested For: breaking into some building to check out a fey artifact because it might be the one he’s looking forOC You Ship Them With: nobody my dude he’s not interestedOC Most Likely To Murder Them: those guys in the slave caravan who he blastedFavorite Movie/Book Genre: He seems like he’d be the horror kinda kid but no, he likes fantasy and refuses to finish a book if he suspects a bad endingLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Any kind where a main/well-liked character diesTalents and/or Powers: Pact of the Chain Warlock with an Archfey patron, newly acquired roller skating skillWhy Someone Might Love Them: He’s got some sass and he’s surprisingly still in excitable kid on the inside. That part of him is pretty cute when it comes out.Why Someone Might Hate Them: He just, Doesn’t Like People and will admit to trusting his fey weasel more than any one person. He also doesn’t like conflict and will scoot if possibleHow They Change: Max “I trust the Fey more than I trust any person or god” Funt has begun to trust others and is acting more like the child he still is. Don’t get me wrong he’s still irreparably scarred but bits of what can is healingWhy You Love Them:Max was conceptualized on the same day as Rowan in the same way (aka random generators), so he’s got a special place in my heart from that. It’s also the characters that have the worst backstories that I end up loving the most, partially because I’ve ruined their lives enough in backstory and it’s my job now to give them nothing but good. Also that Dunks Meta of the experiment sessions just being our Dunks characters playing D&D makes his concept so much more fun. Because that means Rowan is playing this boy.

#dunks n dergs #dungeons drive-ins & dives #D&D #ask meme #wowza that took forever!!!!#thank you so much for making me do this character dev

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