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Like a current, they rippled through her body; the electrifying words pulsed through her until she couldn't grasp onto them any longer. In a detonation of passion, she finally let them go. "bitch da fuck did you just say 'bout my OTP?"

From the best-selling book, ‘Fuck Off I’m Reading Fanfic’

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#KILL ME BEFORE THE PAIN SETTLES IN

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Uma Childhood Prompt

@aristeil  

For you, my Dear. 

  When Uma was younger, younger than her current chubby-cheeked and small-handed self, she’d spend her nights listening to her mother. Now, other children got stories or songs, or maybe a rant about horrid princesses and beasts - it was the Isle after all - but Uma wasn’t as lucky. 

  She’d sit there on her stained, miserable bed, under her beaten, fish-smelling blanket, and with her itty-bitty little ears and her big eyes, she’d try to concentrate on everything her mom said.

  Her mom would tell her in great, horrific detail about a vicious mermaid who tricked her, and a violent mortal who pretended to be in love with her; only to stab her in the heart - both figuratively and literally. She’d spit, and scream, and shake the very foundation of the shop until Uma was diving under the flimsy blankets for protection.

  Uma wasn’t sure why she listened to her mother rage on about regret, and hate, and death. Maybe she had wanted approval? A rub on the head? She didn't care about the tentacles; she’d have given anything for a hug.

  Now, despite what a certain gang of privileged tyrants says, Uma isn’t an idiot. She doubts her mother can ever be as sweet as she says she was in her past. 

  She’s seen firsthand how much her mother cares about her when she’d almost died several times from her mother being too lazy to feed her. She knows how much her mother values her from how she was put to work for meals at the age of four. She’s aware of how much her mother loves her from all the times she’s called Uma a wretched mistake.

  She’d cry if they weren’t waiting for her to; so she laughs instead. 

  So, because of this, and because of that, Uma grew up fast. She learned how to cook on her own, how to fight on her own, how to stand up for herself - on her own. 

  Looking back, Uma is glad that she had, since all her problems had started when she hadn’t wanted to be alone anymore. 

  So one hot day, a week after she turned six, she walked straight to the park instead of hanging by the trees and tried to make an ally.

  (“There are no such things as friends you fool!” Her mother bellows, smacking her straight against her cheek. She hits the ground hard but doesn’t make a sound. “Use your head or I’ll boil it!”)

  Her plan was Ill-made and on-the-whim. She knew was being stupid and unreasonable: but she was a kid, she wanted to act like one.

  The kids are playing on the broken tires and wobbly wood constructions. They are playing pretend, whining about who gets to be the villain while who’s stuck being the hero. It’s so new and old, that she feels comfortable and nervous. 

  (Later she finds out that that’s called being excited, far into the future when she finally gets to go to school)

  Uma doesn’t know what to do, or who to talk to, so she approached the first person who catches her eye. A little girl with narrow eyes, and purple hair. She’d been standing in the middle of the sandbox, talking quickly and confidently. 

So Uma marched straight to her, ready to show her how capable she was. Ready to prove herself to someone. She was already picturing how they would rule. How their names would look so cool graffitied side-by-side.

She felt herself smile. 

  It wasn’t supposed to be like how it ended up, she knows that much. She’d wanted a partner when she’d approached her. She hadn’t wanted to be alone, understand? She was tired of being alone.

  So ducks underneath a crumbling roof, trying to get shrimp out of her hair. She wasn’t crying - the juice was in her eyes - making them red. She sat down, pulling her legs closer and curling into herself. This isn't weakness, she’s just recharging. 

  She slammed her hands against her ears and scrunches her eyes closed, (”Are you listening to me, wimp? Listen or I’ll make you!”) blocking out the laughing, the pointing.

  Out of everything that Mal had said, about the restaurant, Uma’s clothes, her mom, even Uma herself, that wench had only been right about one thing.

Mal really is the cruelest of them all. 

Wasn’t able to edit, apologies 

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31. Or- instead of making them scream, or cry- have them completely silent. I’ve always found characters that die silently in fear, anger, or hopelessness much more misery-inducing. 

When a character you have an emotional bond with is completely mute in a wretched awareness that it’s over, it hurts all the more. 

32. Have them die for someone they dislike or visibly hate. Isn’t it terrible when an Anti-Hero or rival die for a character they don’t personally care about but understand that they need to do so anyway?

How to make a character's death sadder

 Don’t have them die of old age after a long, fulfilling life. Many people don’t even think of this as sad (note that this can still work if you have enough of the other factors).

 Leave one of their major goals unfinished. The more enthusiastic they are about completing the goal, the sadder.

 Give them strong relationships with other characters.

 Make them fight against whatever is causing their death. Their ultimate loss is sadder if they struggle.

 Kill them in the middle of their character arc.

 Don’t describe their funeral in detail. Maybe it’s just me, but I find that long descriptions of funerals kill the sadness.

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You and me both ;)

Reblog if you still care about Rise Of The Guardians

I was obsess with Rotg 😍😍