#The most recent developments have set my blood boiling and my heart is shattered

[introvert-celeste]

It's so insane seeing all these atrocities continuing to take place for months and there are still people who whole-heartedly support Israel.

They will see the thousands of dead and dying Palestinian civilians, their bombed out homes and their leveled city and the IDF commiting the most heinous acts, and all they will think is "Hamas did this" and "but the hostages!" Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, can excuse the deaths of over 12,000 CHILDREN, not even if there were Hamas militants hiding behind each one. The Hamas are merely an excuse that they're using to decimate Palestine and colonize it for themselves. Land and profit are the zionists' end goals, and the governments who support this are the ones who stand to benefit.

Anyway, if hell exists I hope the monsters responsible for the Palestinian genocide go there soon.

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You

Chapter 7: Love

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​

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Laying with Taemin should have been uncomfortable because a) I always slept alone, b) I had never been so (willfully) close to another person, and c) we hadn’t known each other long enough to justify my wish to stay so close forever.

When I pointed out in a whisper that we had only shared our first genuine conversation under the moon a few nights ago, I saw the outline of Taemin’s frown in the dark. His voice created small vibrations in his chest (where my head laid over his sky blue pajama shirt) when he asked, “Do you think I’ll have to love you for years before my feelings count?” 

As evidenced by the ragged breath that fell from his mouth, I hurt Taemin’s feelings without even trying. All that kept me from apologizing immediately was the fear that whatever I said might deepen his frown; so, instead of speaking, I felt around for his hand, pressed my freezing palm against his— warm— and threaded our fingers. 

“I really want to know what you think, Lei.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. 

What did I think? 

People rarely asked me, yet I tended to overthink my position on a given issue until I had exhausted every possible opinion. Maybe I was preparing for the occasion that never came— when somebody other than Lucas may value my outlook— until Taemin decided to wear my ribbon. 

Although I had thought of little other than Taemin since that night in the garden— or maybe it started that night by the lake— I had no concrete thoughts. That’s why I stuttered, “I— I don’t know. I want you to love me or like me—” 

Taemin said, “I do,” and I imagine that should have been the happiest moment of my life. 

So why wasn’t it? Why did that ache in my chest return? Why did I long for him as if he were worlds away when I was in his arms? When would this— our bond— feel real? 

“Then I want to believe you when you say that—” I didn’t pause to consider that I sounded like I was calling Taemin a liar— “but it sounds too good to be true.” 

Taemin must have realized that there was nothing he could say. We were at another impasse. Silence fell over us, and I didn’t want it to stay, so I spoke through the discomfort. 

“You have to understand who you are to me, Taemin.” Calling him an idol— stripping him of his humanity in such an intimate setting— was the worst thing to do. 

Tracing my thumb along his knuckles, trying to feel that he was real, I carefully continued, “You are somebody I’ve admired for years. Yours is a voice I cherished long before you had anything to say to me. I loved you before I met you, and—” I hoped he wouldn’t think less of me for believing, “the problem with dreams coming true is that you always wake up or the dream becomes a nightmare.”

Taemin must have been shocked by my honesty. Seconds or hours or eternities passed quietly before he said, “I think that you should learn to enjoy dreams— if that’s what we are— as they happen. I think you can ruin the night if you spend the time worrying about what could happen when the sun rises.” 

Of course, it occurred to me before that worrying achieves nothing. On some level, I always knew that I could benefit from learning to live in the moment— finding that balance between being a successful idol and being a happy person. Yet, it was as if Taemin had turned on the light with his gentle warnings that were always prefaced by the phrase, “I think,” because he was too humble to boast, “I know.” 

I already decided that I didn’t want to be lonely. 

Then, as silence fell again, I decided that I didn’t want to be incapable of appreciating beauty until it had faded out of my grasp. That’s why I lifted my head from Taemin’s chest: I wanted to admire him. I wanted to really see him clearly. 

I didn’t expect that he would be looking at me as if patiently waiting for me to return his gaze. 

Before I could sort through my thoughts, I was saying his name. “Taemin, I just really want you to be here when the sun rises.” 

If he was as shocked by the mid-night declaration as I was, he certainly didn’t show it with that radiant smile. “Okay,” was all he said before holding my head against his chest where I heard it: his heart was soaring, racing, beating for me like mine was for him.

. . . 

Interviews— although often uncomfortable— were never as unbearable as a solo artist as they were as a member of SuperM. Part of the issue was that, without my phone, I couldn’t scroll through social media to educate myself on the popular topics of gossip. 

It wasn’t so shocking when the first interviewer asked if Lucas and I were a couple. That question had been following us for years and (I guessed) the rumors about our supposed undying love were amplified by LX2’s existence. 

I was winded, however, when the rumors started to stray from Lucas. Almost daily, in my place between Ten and Mark (or English line, as the fans called us, since our knowledge of the language facilitated the American interviews), I sat with my hands clenched into tight pale fists, jaw set, as I waited to discover which member I was alleged to be sleeping with this time. 

The interview started, as they usually do, with a relatively unoffensive question: “Who from Korea do you keep in touch with while you’re on tour?”

The host was a middle-aged man— bearded and wearing glasses and a t-shirt— who twitched with every frequent sip from his coffee mug. He listened with feigned interest to the other members who answered with some variation of the fact that they stayed in contact with the members of their individual groups (except Baekhyun, who replied, “Super Junior’s Donghae,” just to watch my fists tighten in their place in the lap of my black skirt), before fixing his stare on me. 

“What about you? You’re a solo act outside of SuperM, right?” It was promising at first, the realization that he had done some research, but my hopes that maybe— finally— I was participating in a legitimate interview crashed with the following question. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Korea that you text every night, you know, just to tell him, ‘hi, I love you, I promise I’m not hooking up with any of my superstar bandmates?’”

Questions like that made my blood boil. He didn’t want to know my answer. He didn’t care who I talked to or who I loved. He just wanted to watch me squirm as he pried into my personal affairs. 

“Yes,” I said as calmly as possible, “I am a solo artist. No, I do not have a boyfriend in Korea—”

He raised his eyebrows, probably, in preparation to ask if my boyfriend was touring America with me, but I continued, “When I’m on tour, I try to find time to talk to Joy of Red Velvet or Amber Liu. If I need advice on something related to my performance, I’ll waste no time in calling Girls’ Generation’s Taeyeon.” 

Why didn’t anybody ever ask about my friendships with those girls? It seemed wrong that everyone should be so fixated on my romantic relationships — of which there had only been one that was held as our precious secret— when I would have been more than happy to share the friendships that shaped me as a person and as an artist. 

That interviewer seemed to share Baekhyun’s recently developed interest in making me as uncomfortable as possible. He asked the group, “So, was it hard to teach your new girl all of the choreography? Just how long did it take her to get it?”

In situations like that, I liked to think that I was somehow misunderstanding the question or mistaking the tone. Sometimes, that was the only way to keep myself from snapping. Sometimes, that was the only way I could sit there, legs crossed, without shattering my perfect posture and perfect smile. 

Ten’s temper was as bad as mine— worse, actually— so I didn’t fully succumb to my irritation when he rolled his eyes at the question. I didn’t acknowledge that I had a right to be uncomfortable, that the interviewer was truly being rude, until Kai leaned forward to tap Mark on the shoulder and request, “Translate, please.”

As soon as Mark translated the question, Kai replied in rapid-fire Korean that I couldn’t quite keep up with, “That’s a stupid-ass question. Lei isn’t in the group just because she’s a girl or because she’s pretty or because she’s popular. She’s here because she’s talented. And we’re not here to answer stupid questions that belittle our members.” 

We all stared at Kai as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting his lips. Ten and I, wearing twin stunned expressions, looked (along with the interviewer) for Mark to translate Kai’s answer.

“I — uh—” Mark stuttered— “Kai said, no offense— I added that part— but that question is kinda— no, really disrespectful to Lei.”

Ten agreed, jumping at the opportunity to strike the interviewer with his sass. “Yeah. For us NCT guys—” he gestured to the other NCT members— “although some of us are older, Lei is, like, our senior because she debuted first. We didn’t have to teach her anything. She teaches us.”

Mark translated Ten’s comment for the others, and Lucas and Taeyong murmured in agreement. 

I shook my head despite the affection swelling in my chest. “No, that’s not true. You guys teach me a lot.” 

The interviewer’s stare was all that kept me from saying that Taeyong taught me about leadership, integrity, and honest communication. Ten reintroduced me to the joy in dancing, which (for me) had become less of a soulful expression and more of a mechanical execution of choreography. Lucas taught me so much— too much to describe with words— but the most important lesson was to laugh like nobody is watching even though somebody was always watching. Mark reminded me that people— some people— even in the entertainment industry are good just for the sake of being good. 

And I loved them for that, so I declared, “I love my members,” including (of course) Taemin, Kai, and Baekhyun (even though he was a little demon). I meant it so earnestly that I forgot to consider how my words could be perverted. 

“Yeah, but which member do you love most?” The interviewer winked. 

Gathering from my glare at his perversion of “love,” the interviewer redirected the question to the other members, asking, “So we all know it’s happening— who’s sleeping with Lei?”

Granted, I was technically sleeping with Taemin. We would never admit it in an interview, but we had fallen into the habit of falling asleep in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Maybe, then, my blush was caused by the embarrassment of a) having such an intimate aspect of my life aired publicly and b) having it questioned with so little understanding and respect. 

Before I spoke my mind, Mark said the stupidest sentence in recorded history: “Look, man, as bandmates we’re all involved with each other, but we’re not, like, involved.”

Ten started growling, “What—” before I cut my eyes away from Mark to tear into the interviewer. 

Of course, he didn’t shrink under my stare or burn from the flames flung by my narrowed eyes. It didn’t matter that he seemed to delight in my reaction; I spoke the truth not for his benefit but for mine. 

“Aside from being disgusting— the fact that you can only look at me and see my worth as some sexualized creature— it’s appalling that you spread these rumors with absolutely no regard for how it affects my image and my career. These guys—” I shrugged in reference to the other members— “are expected to priorities their relationships with their fans above all else—”

“Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous, though?” The interviewer slurped into his microphone as he took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t you think these guys should date if they want?”

Yes. Of course, I did. They deserved to do whatever would make them happy. 

“What they do is none of my concern.” The words were diplomatic, but my tone was not. “It is a problem for me, however, that this narrative painted by those, like yourself, in the media depicts me not only as a disgraced idol but— more importantly— as somebody willing to squander artistic opportunities by sleeping with everybody in a band. Learn to respect me as a woman, an idol, or a human being. Take your pick.”

My hand raised to detach the microphone from the collar of my white button-down top cut just above the navel, but it paused when he asked, “If the standards are so harsh on idols— especially women— don’t you think you’re obligated to challenge the standard?”

His question— spoken so casually as if he weren’t advocating mindlessly for the impossible— should have stunned me silent. It didn’t.

“No,” I said not because I was the perfect idol, not because I wanted to uphold that illusion in that moment, but because I was emboldened by the reality, “I am an artist, not a revolutionary.” 

Before the interviewer could challenge me further— before I could act on the pulsating desire to rip the microphone off, throw it onto the ground, and stomp it under my unnecessarily high red heels, Mom intervened with the muttered excuse that we had other events to attend. She even thanked that bastard for his time. 

I know that was her job— I knew that then— but I felt too angry, too betrayed, to look in her direction afterward. Our relationship wasn’t even remedied in the car when she returned mine and Lucas’s phone with the instruction, “Behave from now on. And brace yourselves for the incoming social media storms when that interview is broadcast.”

Lucas was so thrilled to have his phone, his true best friend, returned that he dropped his arm from its protective place around my shoulders. 

Instantly my screen lit from notifications of fans’ reactions to that interview. It must have been a live broadcast. Not quite ready to face praise or criticism, I locked my phone and shoved it into the narrow space between mine and Lucas’s body. 

With my face burning from the realization that there would be no opportunity to edit or retract any part of my outburst— not that I really wanted to— I rounded on Mark, who sat right behind me (beside Taemin who, of course, sat beside Kai). 

“What the hell was that about, Mark?” My imitation of his voice was so accurate that in the seat ahead of me, Ten threw his head back in a bitter sort of laughter. “‘We’re involved, but we’re not involved? What kind of stupid shit—”

Taemin had been smiling when I first turned around, but his expression turned to one of complete bewilderment. His understanding of the incident must have been limited by the interview’s language barrier. He whispered to Kai, “What’s wrong?”

As Kai (who had been donning a scowl that rivaled mine since his outburst) tried to explain the situation to Taemin, Mark stared at me with eyes so wide and guilty that I would have forgiven him instantly if I hadn’t spent so many years swallowing my frustration that I could no longer package my emotions back into their appropriate internal boxes. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark stuttered, “I didn’t mean to say something so stupid—”

“Well, you did!” Ten whirled around to yell at him, brows angled and ears crimson. “If that’s going to be your contribution in interviews, I’m kicking you off English line!”

Mark argued, “You can’t kick me off English line! That’s not how it works! As long as I know English, I’m on English line—” he laughed nervously and reached for my shoulder— “right, Lei?”

Usually, I probably would have laughed along with Ten before siding with Mark. Even in that moment of rage, I worried that I was being too harsh on Mark. It wasn’t really his fault that the media (and that interviewer in particular) was so problematic. Still, that concern didn’t prevent me from crossing my arms, turning around and tugging sharply out of Mark’s reach, and fixing my gaze on the back of Ten’s seat.

As if sensing that I wanted nothing more than to go deaf to Ten’s bickering and Mark’s incessant pleas for me to “please turn around” and forgive him, Taeyong tossed me a pair of earphones and an apologetic grin— if you can really call it a grin. 

Even after I plugged the headphones into my phone and tried to drown my anger in the music flooding into my ears, I rolled my eyes when Mom’s voice raised to snap, “Be quiet back there! I’m on an important call!” before saying into the receiver, “I’m back, Heechul.”

I could only vaguely hope that neither she nor Heechul would say anything loudly enough for Baekhyun, sitting in the passenger seat (one of the perks of being the leader), to hear.

Although Amber, Joy, and Taeyeon had brightened my day with their support, I didn’t feel like running to the pool with the guys when we returned to the hotel. While they were immersed in excited chatter, I beelined to the elevator, rejoicing when Baekhyun told Lucas (who must have been trying to follow me), “Give her space. If she’s anything like Momager, you don’t wanna be around while her temper is flaring.”

I wanted to be alone, but not because my temper was flaring. My furious blush had been abandoned in the car hours ago. Mostly, I was sorry for snapping at Mark— too sorry to look at him or even think of him without picturing the pained expression that settled on his face when I yelled at him— and bothered that my relationship with Taemin had been so misconstrued by that gross interviewer. 

Bothered wasn’t a strong enough word, but I don’t know how else to describe how I felt. It wasn’t quite anger; my face would have been burning still, and I would have been grinding my teeth and balling my hands into fists as I pressed my back against the cold wall. It was more like sadness (but without the pain in my chest) because tears were blurring the edges of my vision, and my lips were trembling. 

The tears weren’t quite ready to fall, so I was standing there with hands ready to catch them when he forced his way through the closing elevator doors. I don’t know if the doors were even closed before Taemin had his arms wrapped around me. 

Because I hadn’t expected him to be so close again until the moon rose, I gasped at the contact, too stunned to return the affection. It was over as soon as it started, over well before the sounding of the chime announcing that we had arrived on our floor. 

Neither of us spoke until we were inside the room, safe from prying eyes. Although we were still wearing our clothes from the day of interviews, although the sun had not yet set, Taemin sat on the bed we called ours— which was still unmade because we had to run downstairs after ignoring our first alarm that morning— and opened his arms for me. 

The version of me who crawled to him wasn’t the same person I had been for most of my life. The version of me who was comfortable with wanting Taemin, who didn’t feel weak for leaning on him— she was a good person. I wished to be her all the time. I was hurt by the outside voices that said I couldn’t be. 

Taemin didn’t ask me to explain why tears were swimming in my eyes, but I did. “I know that we can’t tell other people what we have. I don’t want to waste my breath explaining things nobody can understand anyway. But why do people who don’t even know us have to try to take what’s our and make it into something— something less than what it is?”

Taemin’s fingertips that traced the skin below the hem of my shirt were uncharacteristically cold; they made me shiver. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, “and I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry I can’t carry more of the burden for you.” 

I looked at his face and saw it in the tensing of his jaw: the frustration that he hadn’t been able to understand when I was under attack, the bitter knowledge that (even if he had known) he couldn’t have defended me without arousing suspicions that we were in a relationship. 

Unlike the Lucas rumors that, despite persisting through years of rejection, carried no real weight because they were untrue, rumors about Taemin would have been suffocating because, to some degree, they were true. How would I be able to deny an outright allegation against us? Even if my words lied, my face would convey the truth that Taemin was my first love. 

I was going to tell Taemin that he didn’t have to carry any burden for me— I only wanted him to hold me like this every night to brace me for the next day— but when I looked at him, I couldn’t speak. He was dressed as Taemin the idol, and for a fleeting second, I transformed into the version of myself who couldn’t believe that he was real and in this place with me. 

“They can’t take what’s ours, though.” He linked our hands, smiled brightly, and he was real. “And that means nobody can make it less than what it is.”

Taemin pressed his forehead to mine. I imagine that he was giddy with the realization that our relationship— although unconventional and undefined (‘soulmates’ who weren’t ‘dating’)— was as significant to me as it had always been to him. I imagine that he might have kissed me if Mom hadn’t knocked on the door. 

As I leaped from the bed to answer the door, Taemin snatched something from his suitcase, slid into the bathroom, and locked the door. 

I carefully swallowed the red-hot anger I had been harboring toward Mom (since she thanked that interviewer for his time) before opening the door. She was on the phone again, but she held it away from her ear when I ushered her into the room. 

She sat perched on the edge of the still-made untouched bed, placed the phone by her side, and said, “You know, Lei, as your manager, I have to discourage you from ever repeating your behavior from that interview this morning.” 

Had I been able to find my voice as I stood there, staring down at her with tightly clenched fists, I would have wanted to spit back that I would say exactly what I said that morning every day for the rest of my life because it was true. The thing is, though, I think that kind of honesty was a once in a lifetime thing. The circumstances that prompted that outburst were a perfect storm; placed in an identical situation tomorrow, my voice might fail me. 

“But as your mother—” a bright smile overwhelmed her stern expression— “I have to say that I’m very proud of you for standing up for yourself!”

When Mom flew off the bed to throw her arms around me, I wrestled with the thought that maybe she struggled to find the balance between mom and manager as much as I struggled to find the balance between human and idol. I thought she was a good mom and a good manager, and I might have told her if she hadn’t released me to grab her phone from the bed. 

“There’s somebody else who wants to speak to you too.” 

From that mischievous glint in her eyes, I should have expected Heechul’s voice to burst through the speaker when I held the phone up to my ear. 

“KID—” he would always call me ‘kid’ no matter how old I was— “I AM SO PROUD OF YOU! NOBODY HAS EVER BEEN AS PROUD AS I AM OF YOU—”

I smiled as I held the phone away from my ear, squirming at the realization that if Heechul was congratulating me, I must have been a rogue idol.

Had anyone been paying attention to us, they would have noticed that Taemin and I walked to the pool together. Of course, we were careful not to hold hands or allow our gazes to linger, but whenever Taemin was near me, I felt that there must be some outward evidence of our bond. 

I knew that it was better that the others were too engrossed in their volleyball game (except Ten, who sat on a sun chair in a well-shaded corner) to notice us until Lucas and Kai wildly beckoned for us to join the game. Yet, although I hadn’t so much as whispered to Lucas that there was something between me and Taemin, I was always slightly disappointed when none of these people— who were my closest friends— noticed what (to me) was impossible to ignore.

Taemin, clad in black swimming trunks, dashed to Kai’s side, but I explained my reluctance to join the game. “I don’t wanna get my hair wet.” Really, though, I didn’t want to shed my denim shorts. 

As I walked to claim the seat next to Ten, Baekhyun cupped both hands around his mouth and yelled, “Lei! Bring me a drink!” and pointed to a small blue cooler. 

When I held a freezing Sprite out to him, standing a safe distance from the edge of the pool because I expected him to pull me into the water, I teased, “You should really use your manners, Baek. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ are nice words.”

He swam over to me, opened the drink, and winked. “Thanks. Ya know, you should follow your own advice and go thank Ten over there.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows at Baekhyun as he gulped the drink down in one sip. “Why?”

“Ah!” Baekhyun beamed at the can as if it contained the best drink he had ever tasted or as if it had been his first drink after months of wandering through a desert. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics, and he laughed. “Oh! Because he came up with the best plan to get Momager and Donghae— Momhae, as I call them— together!”

Miraculously, nobody turned their head at Baekhyun’s hollering. I blinked at him as if that were an adequate defense against his devilish smile and feigned ignorance as best as I could. “What?”

Knowing that he had done enough to get under my skin— he had done enough to flash his hand without showing all the tricks he held up his sleeve— Baekhyun shrugged. “Why don’t ya ask Ten about it?” He suggested before swimming back to the volleyball game, leaving the Sprite can empty at my feet. 

After tossing Baekhyun’s trash into the bin, I sat next to Ten. Pulling my sandaled feet onto the chair, I tried to study his expression to gather whether he actually knew about “Momhae.” Because he was wearing huge black sunglasses that covered most of his face, I couldn’t piece anything together.

I didn’t even know if Ten noticed me until a smirk tugged at his lips. “Like what ya see?”

I hadn’t even been looking at Ten like that, yet the suggestive lilt of his voice painted my face a pale pink. Maybe Ten couldn’t see my blush through his sunglasses, but I tore my gaze away anyway and sat back in my chair, arms crossed over my short cropped t-shirt. 

Ten lowered his glasses to delight in my reaction to his teasing. Something about that sparkle in his eyes annoyed me— emboldened me to reply, “No, not really.” 

Realizing that I wasn’t playing along with his flirtations, Ten’s jaw dropped (maybe to ask what was wrong with me), but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You shouldn’t be talking about my mom’s personal affairs with Baekhyun of all people.”

Ten only said, pitch high from confusion, “What?”

And I realized that Baekhyun tricked me into bringing Momhae up to another member. When he waved at me (just before Taemin launched the volleyball at his obnoxiously large head), I thought I could have murdered Baekhyun. 

Ten knew absolutely nothing about Mom and Donghae. He probably hadn’t considered anything about Mom’s life outside of being a manager until I opened my big mouth. Now, he was looking for me to explain my outburst, and I only had time to briefly thank God that I hadn’t mentioned Donghae’s name before Lucas plopped down onto the foot of my chair. 

I could have barked at Lucas for shaking his head like a wet dog and soaking me with pool water, but I was too grateful that he had come to dig me out of this awkward situation with Ten. Once he opened his mouth, however, I realized that Lucas was there to worsen matters. 

As if Ten wasn’t sitting right there, still staring at me, Lucas said, “Dude, Lei, I’ve been meaning to tell you since, like, the start of the tour that Taemin likes you.” 

Had I not known, I might have been as shocked as Ten, who sat up so quickly that his sunglasses fell onto the ground. “What? Taemin likes Lei?”

When my instinct was to hiss for Ten to be quiet, Lucas narrowed his eyes at me. “Wait. You’re not surprised enough. Did Taemin already tell you he likes you?”

I never stopped being surprised by how perceptive Lucas was. Usually, that trait made him a remarkable best friend because it enabled him to know when I was troubled without requiring an awkward exchange of feelings. In that moment, however, I wanted to kick Lucas for somehow knowing everything. 

I didn’t lie exactly. “I don’t think Taemin likes me.” I didn’t think; I knew.

Neither Ten (who just liked to tease everybody) nor Lucas (who just wanted to know every intimate detail of my life) was satisfied by that response. When they continued to pester me about Taemin, I had to adopt the same tone I used in the interview to scold, “Cut it out, guys. I still have to sleep in a room with him tonight and for the rest of the tour, and you’re making it weird!”

My heart was still racing after they ceased their demands for more information. I was so overwhelmed by the fact that I had almost shared my two deepest secrets— Donghae’s love for Mom (which was directly related to her true identity as the idol who never debuted) and my love for Taemin— that I retired to my room early without apologizing to Mark, which was the entire reason why I walked down to the pool in the first place.

[venomsedits]

Hii. So I decided to make an account where I can freely post all my edits, writing, and ocs. This my first post and it’s a concept edit for an oc that I recently made inspired by Ten! There are mentions of death, blood, and violence (murder) so just a warning before you read…

Akara Chakrii was born to a unique family. His mother, Achara, was a famous singer. His father, Anurak, was a prince who had a passion for dance. Both had met when his mother was scouting for new talent to join her and his father had snuck off to perform at a dance competition with Achara herself. The two had a connection that was unlike any other. Not just passion. Pure fire that coursed through their veins a lot faster than the heart pumps out blood. No one could have ever expected what would happen when they collided on the stage. Anurak had caught Achara in his arms as they found themselves twirling around the stage as he lifted her into the air, surrounded by the crimson silk of her ball gown and then it happened. Their eyes connected in that moment. Unlike in most love stories where the room freezes so all you see is each other and no one else, the entire room burst with the vibrant colors that awoke inside of them. Suddenly the faded yellow rays coming from the lights of the stage appeared as a bright gold that shone over Achara’s chiseled face to reveal how bright her emerald eyes truly were. She saw Anurak’s chocolate eyes with a swirl of honey in the irises. Soon enough their performance was over and the crowd erupted in cheers. They had given the most ardent and admired dance of the night without even realizing it.

“You could be mine. All you have to do is follow me and we’ll make magic wherever we go. We could keep this color forever.” Anurak breathed as he cupped the side of the singer’s face with a faint smile on his face that showed off dimples in the corner of his mouth. How could Achara resist that offer? Normally she wouldn’t rush into these things but something in her heart and even her soul knew that this was what she’d been waiting for. Someone that was as passionate about music as she was. The one person that brought the familiar fire back into her life. “How could I say no? We can go wherever the music takes us. All you have to do is agree to go on this adventure with me.” Achara replied decisively as her voice rang out in the alley when they snuck away from all of the attention. After that, the pair were off and soon ended up being wed at a beautiful ceremony with both of their families or friends gathered together. Even though there were some there that hated their marriage with a passion.

So this was the romance that Akara was born from. He was a very happy child with the talent of both his parents. You could always find the small little boy in his parent’s secret dance room, copying their moves or trying to sing the beautiful languages his mother had introduced to him. These developed until his skills were an equal match for them both. His youth was spent with smiles, laughter, and special memories that only those two could give him. He went anywhere that Achara or Anurak were. If they originally told him that he would be staying in their cozy home filled with the busy life of his father’s lineage, he would jut out his bottom lip and flash his large chocolate orbs to his mother and father. His arms just barely crossed over his torso. “But I want to see the world with you! There’s no where else that I’d rather be than with my family! You’re both my home. Please celebrate my birthday with me.” Akara pleaded, urgently, at the age of 23. He had always believed that twenty four would be such a special age.

Something was off about his parents. They all seemed to be nervous and their eyes were filled with concern as they held up their hand to stop their son before he could go any further. “Not this time, Akara. There is something going on that you don’t understand yet but we will tell you when we return. That I promise to you. Your birthday celebration will be grand when we return.” Anurak’s strong and firm voice filled the room as he dipped his head solemnly. Akara had instantly caught the crack in his father’s tone so his lips parted to speak. Something inside of him practically screamed that a dark cloud would fall over the family in the next few days. Almost like a bad omen. It made goosebumps litter his skin and a shudder ran down his spine. Achara placed a kiss on her son’s forehead as she adjusted his dyed blonde hair with fading neon green streaks in it. “We love you. You’re our proudest accomplishment. Please stay safe and we will return as soon as we can. Goodbye, our raven.” His father reminded with a gaze over their shoulder as he headed towards the door.

“I love you both too. More than anything in the world. Even more than my love for music or dancing. Please be safe and hurry back! It will mean the world to me to spend my twenty fourth birthday with all of you. Goodbye, mama and papa raven.” Akara called with a wave, forcing a smile onto his face but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes. A few tears fell once his parents had left and he was alone in the house that suddenly felt so cold. His fingers gripped his sweater tightly that night. He was curled up in his bed as nightmares began to plague him until it rattled his mind. All the boy could see was flashes and he could hear the screams that pained his ears. It was all on his mind though. The faint figure of a woman clad in all black with a veil over her face appeared in front of him but splatters of dark blood appeared on her stark white skin as she whispered a warning.

Hurry and escape. Midnight is approaching.

The pure feeling of dread and immense fear was enough to make Akara’s eyes snap open as a shaky breath left his lips. He had never been so scared. What did those dreams mean? He couldn’t figure it out. His body jolted with a slight screech as the clock chimed to signal that midnight had arrived. That meant that the male had turned twenty four. Unfortunately he would be stuck there for the rest of his existence.

You see, a conspiracy had began since that wedding, that the heir of Anurak and Archara could never take the throne. Anurak’s own parents had come up with this plan. They never liked how rebellious they thought their son was even though he was just living his passion and enjoying life. He had been willing to settle down, become more serious, if that meant that he would be allowed to marry his real soulmate. So Anurak’s parents anger against him was going to be taken out on their own son. When they had left for a trip back to Thailand with faked news of a terrible nature, his parents knew that Akara would be left behind so it would be the perfect time to strike.The door to Akara’s room was thrown open and he fought with all his might. He slammed his fists, feet, or any object that he could get his hands on into his two sets of uncles. One even got busted over the head with a vase which shattered and created gashes in his skin. Akara screamed for help after he threw both of the larger men off him after using some dance moves that required elaborate kicks, busting them in the gut and jaw which was enough to send the knives clattering to the floor. “Help! Anyone! My uncles have gone crazy. Please get my grandparents or somebody that can stop them.” He yelled until his throat was sore and the air left his lungs until they were burning with an unquenchable thirst for air. His face bunched up in horror when a few figures appeared in front of him.

There stood his grandparents with knives of their own and plunged them into his heart. Even though sent sharp pains all along his body, it didn’t beat the agony of knowing that his own family betrayed him. Akara had tears filling his eyes as his lips fell open to let out one last desperate breath which caused blood to fall from his lips and spill onto the floor. It stained his mint sweater that his parents had given him. “You..you did this? I thought that family was meant to protect each other. All of you are monsters.” He choked out with a sudden fit of rage and anger boiling his blood as his body collapsed onto the floor in a swift motion. His face was pressed against the cold wood as the figure dressed in all black appeared in front of him. Her eyes were pitch black and a wicked grin carved onto her lips to show off unnaturally sharp teeth that practically dug into his lip. Akara knew exactly what the dream meant. She was there to help him make sure that his death got justice. “I’ll come back. Stronger than you and much less human. No one in this room will get away with it. Just you wait.” were the last words that Akara would speak in that life as his fingers curled around the woman’s open hand. It felt like ice but it was welcomed as black veins crept up his body.

His family had done it. They created a vengeful ghost. One like no one had ever seen. Akara’s eyes became a cloudy white when the life had drained from them and he stared holes into their soul. It struck their hearts and made them tremble so badly that they all released their weapons, stumbling out of the room until they reached the hall. Those that looked back were greeted with such a shocking sight. Akara had floated up straight as his bones cracked and groaned, rolling his head at uncomfortable angles. With every snap, you’d expect his neck to break but it barely even affected him. His clothes had changed. He was wearing a mesh gray shirt with a shining black jacket that had purple accents. Chain jewelry, cuff bracelets, a silver skull ring with devilish red eyes, another one that was intricately woven with music notes, and moon necklaces dangled from his frame. Akara barely smiled as he lifted up a peace sign that he so often used. A sign that he was going to get rid of all of them.

“Goodbye. I can’t wait for you all to see what I have planned. Be ready because Akara is coming for you.” His voice was contorted into something demonic and like a growl as he relentlessly stared at them before disappearing into thin air. That was how the infamous ghost of the Chakrii kingdom came to be.

[housewiththereddoor]

Joshua Warner Ate A Frog In Bio-Chem

Word Count: 2,041

~~~

When something even slightly out of the ordinary happens in a small town, it becomes the topic of conversation for a very long time. It is therefore no great surprise that when Anthony Warner suspected his wife of being unfaithful and beat her to death on the living room rug, every man and woman in Caledon, Ontario knew his name.

However, high school is quite a different dynamic, and the fresh young minds of William C. Riley Catholic Secondary School were far more interested in Anthony’s son, Joshua, who had built up his own reputation.

In freshman year, he was known as the kid who stole bras out of the ladies’ change room while his female classmates were in gym class. When the vice principal and Phys Ed department head broke into his locker, they were met with an avalanche of bras and panties in various different shades of pink. The perverted episode was hot gossip up until Joshua entered his sophomore year, which was when he, as most of his peers would say, “really out-creeped himself”.

The popular assumption among staff and students was that Joshua was quite a dull, vacant boy judging by his poor grades and his non-existent participation in the classroom (or in any other interactive setting for that matter). However, if little else sparked his interest, Joshua had quite the passion for the field of scientific development; it was the only subject in which he had a passing grade. He had always been very curious in his youth, if not a little naively so, and he loved putting that curiosity to the test whenever he got the chance.

His enthusiasm for science derived also in part from his admiration of Mr. Jacobi, who was the head of the school science department, and by whom Joshua had had the good fortune of being taught for the past two years. There was something about Mr. Jacobi that demanded respect He was a no-nonsense man who demonstrated a seemingly unlimited knowledge for the subject he taught; two qualities that even Joshua, with his generally apathetic nature, could appreciate.

It was frog dissection day in fourth period bio-chemistry, as was evident by the putrid stench of formaldehyde assaulted the entire science wing, as well as all surrounding corridors. Most of Josh’s peers walked into class that day feeling either dreadful repulsion or juvenile excitement, but Joshua was perhaps the most excited of them all. He had gotten little sleep the night before, and had awoken earlier that morning with an idea for an experiment in his head. Twenty dead frog corpses were slapped onto twenty different trays, and all the necessary excavating tools were administered to each student. He waited patiently until his partner, a pretty and studious girl named Amy who was far too popular to be standing next to him, was preoccupied with recording observations in her lab report, and then he seized his chance.

Taking in hand the thin metal scalpel they had used to open the frog’s abdomen, Joshua began to saw at the mummified ankle of his lifeless little friend until it was severed. For a moment, he held the detached extremity and examined it with the eyes of a skilled biologist while he considered his next move.

His lab partner looked up just in time to see him pop the slimy webbed foot in his mouth, which provoked a verbal response somewhere along the lines of “what the fuck are you doing?”

Mr. Jacobi, who had previously been doing a rather poor job supervising from his desk, now looked up and scanned the room for what could have caused one of his model students to use the dreaded F word. When he pieced together what had taken place, Joshua was sent to the principal’s office, where he was given a three day suspension. Mr. Jacobi also demanded that he return to the class after school for an additional punishment. Joshua didn’t mind though; his experiment had been a roaring success.

When he re-entered the odorous classroom after the final bell, he found that his teacher’s face was quite difficult to read; his true emotions were covered a mask of indifference that was quite reminiscent of Josh’s own resting expression. Joshua passed by him and walked instinctively to his own desk at the centre of the room. Mr. Jacobi shut the door behind him.

It took the middle-aged man about ten seconds to stride across the room towards Joshua, and within the same motion, he struck the boy across the face with such force that he was sent backwards into a row of desks. Papers went flying and a rack of test tubes shattered on the floor.  Joshua propped himself up on the desktops as he fought to find his footing in a startled daze. Mr. Jacobi advanced on him once more, but this time he let his words do the abusing:

“When are you gonna shape up, Warner?”

“I - I’m sorry sir.”

His tone was as flat and lifeless as ever, but his feelings were that of shock from being hit by his teacher, and the shame one feels when they’ve let down their hero.

“Oh, save it. You think you’re some big hot shot pulling these disgusting little stunts, but I’ve taught here a long time, kiddo. I’ve seen about a hundred creeps like you slouch in and out of these doors in that time. I know what you’re all about; no real interests, no ambition. The world just bores the shit out of you, doesn’t it, Warner? Until one day you start committing petty thefts and lighting old ladies on fire just to feel a buzz. I know what your father was all about too, and you can tell him I said hello when you wind up in the nuthouse with the rest of the whackjobs; I’m sure they’ll let you eat plenty of frogs in there”.

“I do have ambition, sir,” was the only thing Joshua could think to respond.  “I’m not gonna be like my father. I’m gonna be a biology teacher, just like you.”

Mr. Jacobi barked with cold, cruel laughter.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

Joshua winced like he had been slapped again. He’d never heard a teacher use the F-word before. Mr. Jacobi continued:

“Let me tell you where you’ll be. You see, I don’t even think you’ll make it as far as your father did. He was an angry bastard, wasn’t he? But you’re not angry. Oh no, not you; you’re just an empty vessel. The lights are on but ain’t nobody home. I think that in five years they’ll find you dead in a ditch somewhere with a needle sticking out of your arm, and you know what? I don’t think I’d mind very much at all. No Siree, because that’s what happens to all the little low-life shits that I teach, and every time I sit down with my morning paper and see one of your names in the obituaries, my coffee always tastes a little bit sweeter.”

Joshua fought the swell of hot tears that threatened to stream down his face, and he hated himself for having to do so. In fact, he hated a lot of things in that moment; his hands had clenched into tight fists, and he was having trouble fighting off a wave of full body tremors. Suddenly he didn’t love Mr. Jacobi anymore. Suddenly his brain was boiling over with white hot mercury rage, and if he didn’t do something soon the results would be explosive.

Mr. Jacobi seemed satisfied with his verbal tirade, and with a few final words, the man Joshua had looked up to like a father turned his back on him.

“Now, you’re going to clean up this broken glass, and then you’re going to get the fuck out of my classroom.”

Joshua followed silently behind as his teacher strode back to his desk, for in that moment he saw an opportunity. As his teacher bent down to grab a brush and dustpan out of the bottom drawer, he tore a Bunsen burner from its fuse on the nearest desk, and before he could second guess himself, he brought the rusted metal instrument down hard against the side of Mr. Jacobi’s skull.

His teacher’s body hit the floor hard enough that Joshua was almost pulled from his blind rage. He gave his head a shake and smashed the burner against Mr. Jacobi’s head a second time, and a third, and then three more times. The connection of hard blunt object to temple, and the sickening ‘thwack’ that accompanied it, was deliciously cathartic. It felt like a release. His mind was buzzing, but one thought stood out above a hundred others:

This is how Papa felt.

With every blow his anger subsided, until eventually he dropped the dented Bunsen burner and admired his work. Kneeling in front of the battered man, he could see that Mr. Jacobi was still breathing, but he imagined he wouldn’t be for very much longer. Steady streams of blood ran down his face and skull from various different wounds. Joshua was calculating the likelihood that he would be placed in the same prison block as his father when he was struck with a profound inspiration. As he stared at his biology teacher’s limp form, he realized that he was no longer regarding him as an authority figure who he had once admired, but rather as another potential scientific experiment. He examined the man’s aging but muscular build; strong limbs wrapped in thick skin that was tanned golden-brown from a recent spring break in the Bahamas. Oh yes, he’d do just nicely. Joshua made a few more mental preparations before pulling a switchblade from his back pocket. It had belonged to his father, and Josh had kept it on him at all times since he went away. If he had learned anything from Anthony Warner, it was that sometimes, people deserve to get what’s coming to them, and you had to be ready in case you were the one who had to give it.

He flicked open the blade and began cutting away at Mr. Jacobi’s arm.

The spurt of blood on his fingers felt warm and inviting. He could feel it sinking into his pores and revitalizing him like a powerful elixir. The knife glided effortlessly through his skin, and the more he cut, the more blood spilled between the lifelines on his palms and down to his wrists. His heart was hammering inside his chest and his thoughts were dancing behind his dilated pupils. The crotch of his uniform grey slacks strained with the force of his growing erection. This was nothing like the incisions he had made on frogs and pig fetuses, what with their tiny dead bodies all cold and stiff with formaldehyde. This was something brand new and exhilarating, and he knew exactly what came next. When he had cut away a satisfactory section of his teacher’s forearm, he dropped the knife and brought the bloody chunk of flesh to his lips. As he placed it on his tongue, he felt a tremor move down his neck to the base of his spine. The texture and warmth as he chewed was so incredibly sustaining that he knew he’d never taste anything the same way again.

Oh, how very wrong the man had been; he was a scientist, for in this divine moment of experimentation, he had never felt more alive. But perhaps, just maybe, it was something else as well; something a bit more primal than the desire to observe and hypothesize. Perhaps he could revel in an entirely new passion, one that allowed him to appreciate how pure and gratifying it felt to hunt, and feed.

By the time the custodian on-duty made his after school rounds and saw what was taking place, Andrew Jacobi was very much deceased. Not long after, police arrived at the scene. Before two burly police officials could tear the boy away from his kill, the biology teacher’s left forearm and a third of his face had been entirely stripped of its flesh, and Joshua Warner had arrived at the firm decision never to go back to frogs.

[giroshane]

Hard Mode Questions: Rosario

So me and my dnd friends decided to do all these questions to help develop our player characters! I of course did my one and only Genderfluid Druid, my boi, my Rosario. (note: pronouns swap every question bc. you know. genderfluid). 

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

Rosario doesn’t have any siblings. The only aunt who is remotely close in age, is about 7 or 8 years older than him. He’s met Tía Yolanda a few times, but she has trouble interacting with children (she’s autistic) and her quiet nature didn’t mesh well with his rambunctious tendencies. He hasn’t seen her in years now (he debated visiting her while he was in the Capital, where she was studying, but...well...then the Calamity happened. He doesn’t know if she OR Tío Emilio, also in the Capital, are even alive. He tries not to think about it--or about how he should have asked at Cranleigh...but the fear of the worst was too strong). However, were they to reunite I think they’d actually be closer. He’s grown a bit in terms of maturity and sensitivity. I can totally see them infodumping to each other all the time (once he becomes accustomed to her passion for...taxidermy).

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like? Rosario doesn’t have a mother! NEXT. Dad #1 is Si. And Rosario absolutely admires and respects him. And Si of course unconditionally loves his child. He always knows how to make Rosario laugh (puns…). The biggest contention between them is that both have a pretty nasty stubborn streak which can make them butt heads, especially since Si is the more authoritative parent. And sometimes Rosario will put her father on a pedestal, as a result of Si’s status as The Most Famous Bounty Hunter in the Desert. Even now, that pedestal contributes to Rosario’s own self-loathing and shame over her believed “inadequacies”, especially without Si around to break down the pedestal.

What is was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Dad #2 is Odell. Rosario also loves and respects him, but it is of course in a different way. Odell is the more doting of the two parents, but sometimes this translates to smothering. Nonetheless, he has Rosario’s best interests heart and always puts his child’s safety before anything else. Odell always knows how to soothe Rosario when he’s upset, and Rosario has many fond memories of Odell singing to him to help him fall asleep whenever he had a bad nightmare.

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know? Yes. It was a devastating blow to Rosario’s self-confidence and self-esteem, and shattered her belief in her own abilities; as well as being, in general, traumatizing. And absolutely no one knows.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets? Some kind of seed probably. It’s variable, they could be anything from flower seeds to vegetable seeds to a handful of beans. Sometimes Rosario will just roll them around in his hand if he’s bored; a few times he’s had seeds actually sprout in his pants. Usually a bit of spending gold, for little things, probably a stitch marker or two, and some hair ties.

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams? In the nicest dreams, Rosario is in a forest. That’s the most common theme, but she could be doing any number of things, or any number of things could be happening. Rosario always has her full hearing. Her favorite dreams, though, are always in the desert. The sun beating down on her back, and she’s often chasing some kind of shy desert animal. She’s free.

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares? Violence, in the worst ones. Usually some kind of violence that Rosario can’t escape, no matter how hard he tries. It can vary in method, but it’s almost always head trauma. The kind that leaves him spinning, disoriented, with no control and no hope. The worst is when it’s a mace, he can see it so clearly that it haunts him even when he wakes up. And it’s always in the same place in Cartowitt. There’s also a nightmare that’s more of a memory, and it’s not necessarily a nightmare, but Rosario always classifies it as one. He’s standing in the burnt wreckage of his home out in the desert. The sun is high, there is no wind. Everything is calm, though some remains of the house are still smouldering. Rosario used to panic, but he’s had this dream so often now that he simply sits and...not really meditates, but is quiet. When he was about 12 or so his papa made some kind of error covering his tracks after some kind of bounty; a gang of orcs looking for revenge followed him home. The protection spells surrounding the property gave them enough time to gather most sentimental items, food, water, etc. and hide in the bunker, built and magically reinforced under the home for this express purpose. They hid in terrified silence for hours as the orcs raided and ransacked the home--and, when they (thankfully) couldn’t find their intended victims, set it on fire. Since there was no way to contact help, Rosario and his parents spent a better part of a week in the bunker while the fire raged. Everyone emerged unscathed, but it was a defining moment for Rosario: it was the moment he fully realized the dangers of the desert, and the danger his papa faced day in and day out. It was also the first and only time he ever saw his parents honest to god fight (in the aftermath of this event). In the dream, this is the moment where the fire finally died down enough that the metal hatch to the bunker was cool enough to touch, and the family could safely emerge. Rosario can never bring himself to turn back and watch his fathers come out of the bunker. Actually, now that I think about it, fire is also a common theme. Everything he cares about going up in flames. Sometimes himself. Lately there’s some kind of blaring noise that goes along with the raging fire before he wakes up in a cold sweat, with an ache in his neck and chest. I wonder now if choosing the spell Flame Blade was the best idea.

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target? Not a gun, but Si trained Rosario to use the hand-crossbows he uses in an emergency. Unfortunately Rosario did not inherit her papa’s knack for sharpshooting, so she has no particular draw to it. Her first targets were little balls of dried clay set up on rocks. It took a while for Si to convince her that shooting a cactus wouldn’t actually kill the cactus.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up? Arguably it’s lower than what it was. Si often brought in enough money for them to be considered lower middle class, I suppose? Rosario was never hungry but sometimes there were dry periods where he couldn’t always get the clothes or toys (or eventually plants) he might have wanted. Now he could be considered homeless (though he really isn’t, if he reached out to his parents), or at least poor. He has trouble holding onto what little money he does have--he has been getting better at that though now that he’s a part of this ragtag group with an actual mission that requires necessities (like armor)--mostly because he’s learned how to be self-sufficient in the wilds. Can’t afford food? He saw a wild patch of onions in a clearing on his way into town. Can’t afford a bed? He has a couple blankets and he knows how to essentially make a nest/hammock in the branches of a tree. He doesn’t see himself as one, but I imagine the rest of civilized society would see him as a total bum.

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing? As promiscuous as Rosario tends to be, she actually prefers more clothing! Something she’s kind of had ingrained in her since leaving the desert is the notion that she’s...well, weird. Even for a tiefling. The red skin, ram horns, the snake-scale patches on her skin, the tail, the clawed feet (and displaced toes), the glowing eyes, the sharp teeth, they all make her distinctly Other. As such she’s actually fairly self-conscious--she doesn’t even trust when other people flirt with her--she has to be the initiator or she thinks it’s a trick or joke. All this boils down to the fact that she’s far more comfortable with more clothing than less, lol. A way to hide the more undesirable parts of herself (scales, tail, etc.)

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been? [REDACTED].

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been? In the morning, as a child, he would wake up, and lie in bed, and feel so calm that he’d almost fall back asleep. He’d listen to the birds in the nests he built outside his window, and in the otherwise quiet he’d always say he’d be listening to his plants grow.

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way? I suppose it depends on the carnage. But in general? Not at all. She’s very used to pricking herself on thorns or getting bitten or scratched by cranky animals. She’s of course very concerned if others are bleeding, but by this point she’s a good judge of when a wound is actually serious or not.

Does your character remember names or faces easier? Neither, to be honest. But if it comes down to it Rosario is better at faces. He’s better with visuals than words.

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Not really. To her, the best things in life are free. Or, are usually free. Money has become important in the more recent weeks, causing her to try and obtain more, but she’s never been obsessed with it at all.

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success? Oh happiness all the way. Rosario has always believed that you can have happiness without success. After all, happiness can come from the little things: the breeze in your hair, watching a hummingbird flit from flower to flower, nurturing a plant and helping it grow. Rosario doesn’t consider himself very successful at anything at all, and yet he finds happiness every day.

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child? I honestly don’t think she had one. Like, she had some toy dolls and the like that she would use when playing but she wasn’t particularly attached to them (considering one time she ripped off the head of one of them and attached a flower in its place, thus creating the plant monster-anti-hero Flower Face). However, she Did have a blanket that Tía Carmen knitted for her when she was born that she was ridiculously attached to. She was so upset when she wore it down to tatters that Tía Carmen decided to teach her to knit so she could make her own blankets. She rarely has enough yarn nowadays, but she loves making anything she can--knitting is soothing and helps calm her down, especially if she’s feeling too hyperactive or bored.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others? Ambition, if only because it’s something he...lacks. Even though he has long-term life goals in mind…he has trouble actually focusing on them, especially right now.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before? Gender dysphoria and general poor self-esteem. Rosario doesn’t see herself as someone anyone wants to hang around with for too long. The rest of the party she just views as a fluke, and they grate against each other enough--getting agitated with Wilhelm and Memor, Fox pushing her into a panic attack (even if it was an accident), Sky’s general...apathy, weirding out Elaris by infodumping on him (and then the recent incident with the alcohol), her habit of complaining that she knows is annoying and sometimes makes her hypocritical--that she’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop and them to leave her. This notion has destroyed any relationships before they even have the chance to start: Rosario doesn’t let anything go past a one night stand with a stranger. She never believes they want anything more than that and the idea of someone knowing her body intimately and continuing to know her intimately (or at all) after the fact is terrifying to her. She’s too scared to put that kind of trust in somebody right now.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism? Rosario doesn’t compare himself to others simply because he already knows the truth (or thinks he does): that he just...doesn’t compare at all. His flaws stand out so starkly to him that he can’t see his own strengths, just the strengths of others, so he doesn’t bother trying to measure up because he believes he can’t. Might as well just be his weird, shitty self because they’ll abandon him eventually.

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others? If there is no one clear to blame, Rosario will always blame herself. She blames herself for [REDACTED]; she blames herself for the criticisms she draws from her companions (even if it’s something she can’t control, like her appearance); she blames herself when spells or attacks fail; she blames herself for not reaching out to her parents (which...is her fault but is also the result of trauma); hell, she blames herself for not saving Kyle the Train Wizard. Despite him being a bad guy, he had a change of heart and she had the opportunity to try and save him, and she didn’t take it, and even if he sacrificed himself for them she still blames herself. To be fair, she also takes the blame for things that are legitimately her fault (standing directly in front of the Doom Train, for instance), but she also tends to blame herself for things she has/had no control over.

What does your character like in other people? Kindness, first and foremost. Not just to him, but to other people, and to nature. I would also say confidence is a biggie, since he has so much trouble with it. He admires it in other people. He honestly admires people who have a grasp of what they’re doing in their lives--people who are more stable than he is.

What does your character dislike in other people? I know this is a bit obvious, but cruelty, plain and simple. Especially if it’s without cause--which is why Rosario tends to protest if the rest of the party are killing someone who doesn’t really need to die. She has seen and been at the hands of cruelty, and personally she still can’t believe someone could just...Be Like That. It horrifies her, more than anything else, the darkest things a person is capable of.

How quick is your character to trust someone else? Fairly easy, in certain regards. There has to be a degree of trust when you’re sleeping with someone, right? He tends to trust easy at face value, though that can change depending on the situation. However, in regards to trusting someone else with his secrets, his fears, himself? It takes a good long while, and a healthy amount of respect (which is why Hemlock got a sizable confession from him in Portsmouth; if it had been someone else with him he would have clammed up completely, even while visibly breaking down). Elaris is only just beginning to chip at the surface. I should say this, just because Rosario doesn’t trust deeply very easily, he is incredibly loyal to those he’s felt earned it (i.e. the rest of the party and Hemlock).

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person? Rosario can be a bit oblivious sometimes, so usually it takes a while for her to suspect someone (I’m fairly certain she was the last person in the group to realize the old lady they rescued was, in fact, The Clove; she didn’t suspect the alchemist in Hadad of ripping her off until after the fact). With people she’s close to, this does change--she actually comes to suspect them quite easier. Usually because she’s holding them to higher standards now that she knows them--but it’s also an internal suspicion. Usually unfounded, but Rosario tends to note the little grievances other party members have of her. She very easily suspects her friends of wanting her gone.

How does your character behave around children? Rosario loves kids! You know how people will shun punks but kids love the brightly colored mohawks and spiked jackets and shit? It’s the same thing with Rosario and his horns and tail! He’ll play keep away with his tail with them, or he’ll let them touch his horns. He doesn’t mind being a bit of a jungle-gym haha. He’ll lay down his life for a child (and...he kind of has hasn’t he? Back in Wolfwater and all). He may pretend that he doesn’t care for them or that he likes animals better (and...he still kind of does, just a little) but it’s very easy for a kid to melt his heart. Children are his secret weakness, honestly. If a kid runs up to him and asks him for money, he’ll give it; or if they ask for a playmate, or for help, for almost anything, Rosario is...weak lol.

How does your character normally deal with confrontation? He would usually prefer the most peaceful option--but he has fairly strong convictions, and a stubborn streak a mile wide. He is more likely to get defensive than he is to play mediator or peacemaker. It also depends on the context of the confrontation; Rosario will Avoid certain confrontations as if his life depends on it. But again, he’s more likely to get defensive than actually run.

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation? Rosario tries to save it for last resort--if everything could be resolved diplomatically Rosario would be a much happier tiefling. However, if you press all her buttons just right she will let loose on you; she was not afraid to get in the Diamond’s face back in Hadad, infuriated that the Diamond didn’t even seem to acknowledge her and her friends as people.

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true? For a long while Rosario wanted to become a dancer; he voraciously picked up on any kind of dancing he could get people to teach him--even belly-dancing over his teen years! At the time, he viewed his passion for greenery and gardening and animal care as just a hobby. He was even hoping to go to the same bard school Tía Selena went to, since she’s the best dancer he knew. But that all changed after a rare visit from Tío Hector when Rosario was about 14. Rosario actually really only met him on this one occasion, since Hector’s such a drifter that it’s incredibly hard to pin him down. Hector specializes in street magic, busking in different places with impressive tricks to earn money. When visiting he used this kind of magic to make flowers bloom in Rosario’s hair, or make them appear and disappear and all sorts of tricks. Rosario was absolutely mesmerized. From that visit onward he vowed he’d learn any magic he could get his grubby hands on. This eventually evolved into wanting to become a Druid as he learned about them in particular. So, technically no--but Rosario still loves dancing! He’s just had a switcheroo--dancing is now just a hobby, and his passion for nature is now at the forefront.

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting? Very similar to 23, she finds cruelty absolutely abhorrent, in whatever form it takes--animal abuse, people abuse (slavery, beating, etc.), hell, even what is arguably plant abuse (deforestation). It’s disgusting to her that people cannot respect and love this world and its inhabitants.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable. He’s back in the desert, not far from his home. A cluster of cacti and underbrush surround him. He’s knitting--it’s been a long day of, well, whatever--and he wants to unwind. A couple of baby snakes are nestled in his lap, their mother close by sunbathing with a few more babies. One baby is curled around his horn. He’ll be able to watch the sunset from here.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable. In a situation where she has no control over anything whatsoever. She can’t escape, she can’t fight. Someone or something’s bearing down on her. She can’t win.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve? Rosario can get defensive, but more often than not he’s self-deprecating. If someone criticizes him he’s more likely to acknowledge it and own it. “Oh, they’re criticizing my abilities. That’s fair, I’m terrible.” Ever since [REDACTED] he doesn’t believe that he’ll ever improve--not really, no matter how hard he tries. Nor does he believe that he’ll ever recover from that trauma--a part of him doesn’t think he deserves to.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method? She’ll try different things. Back in the Desert, getting stuck on one possible solution could mean life or death. You have to be willing to try new methods or think outside the box in order to survive. One time while camping she got caught in a sandstorm. She managed to take shelter behind some boulders but in the powerful winds her tent got blown away. When trying to make a new tent out of blankets didn’t pan out, she decided to go the way of the sidewinder rattlesnake (fittingly enough, her father’s namesake), and burrow herself into the sand to keep cool and take shelter from the blistering sun. While she did get sand everywhere, she didn’t die of heatstroke, so there’s that.

How does your character behave around people they like? Caring and helpful! He wants the people he likes to be okay, plain and simple. Now if it’s like as in like like (lol) he’s a mess. He’s still caring and helpful, but he also tends to be far too praising and is far more likely to stumble over his words.

How does your character behave around people they dislike? He’s more scathing in his words; his sarcasm is brutal and biting. He doesn’t respect them and he’ll make that abundantly clear. He’s not one to hide his true feelings.

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status? Her honor, or what little she has of it. She doesn’t give a fuck about status. She doesn’t really care about honor either--except when it comes to her family. She believes herself a disgrace to her family name, but god forbid anyone insult her family. She will defend their honor to the grave.

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat? He’s a stubborn ram. He’ll try removing the problem/threat until he knows for a fact he can’t (and even then, he may keep going. He still hasn’t learned…). Especially if someone else’s life is at risk. He’ll remove that problem/threat if it kills him, if it means protecting someone else.

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)? Many, many times. Rosario has a deep respect for nature, but she also loves interacting with it. It’s become a bit of a Steve Irwin situation: if an animal bites her, she knows that it’s likely her fault because she got in its face. She did get upset the first time an animal bit her--a bird pecked her fingers, thinking she had food; but not because of the pain, but because then Plata tried to crush the bird. Plata is Si’s horse. She’s very fast and notoriously touchy. Si didn’t stop getting kicked for years after he got her. There was a big fear that she’d hurt Rosario, to the extent that Si learned Speak With Animals solely to explain to her the situation and very clearly state that if she harmed a hair on his child’s head he would see to it personally that she got sent to the glue factory (or…the Dungeons and Dragons equivalent). He didn’t need to worry though. Plata became as protective over Rosario as a guard dog. She protected her as if Rosario was her foal. Rosario is the only person in the world Plata has not tried to kick (she has nibbled her though, when she gets exasperated or irritated).

How does your character treat people in service jobs? Rosario is very respectful and polite! He understands they are just trying to make a living, which is usually why he won’t rob them or even try to haggle. However, that changes if (and only if) they’re mean to him out of turn.

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first? Rosario isn’t sure if she deserves to be alive, so. She absolutely believes she must earn what she wants, in whatever way that means, be it education, money, good deeds, etc. She’s a staunch believer in karma--if you do good things, good things should come back to you.

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them? I wouldn’t say necessarily a parental figure, but when Rosario finally joined a Druid commune to get proper basic training, the chief of the commune, Sybil, looked out for him. She gave him space when he needed it and never pried into his past (during a time where even asking about his ear made him shut down and panic). She also kept him focused and encouraged him in his pursuits. I would say that he was actually doing fairly well (mentally/emotionally) under her tutelage until she sent him out into the world. He did well for a while…then relapsed.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them? Rosario counts all plants under her care as dependents. In a way they’re little pieces of encouragement: I can keep these little guys alive, that means I’m good for one thing, at least. Also when she was younger there was a den of snakes near her home; she took care of the mother to the point that the mother trusted her around her babies just fine. Rosario always made sure Hera (what she named the mother snake) and all her children were protected and fed.

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it? Rosario can say “I love you” very easily without meaning it--it often slips out in “the heat of the moment”s and such. He’s also used to saying it platonically/familially, so hearing him say it is a common occurrence among friends and family. Romantically is a whole other ball game however. It’ll take a lot of effort to earn that one. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them? Hopefully a painless, endless nothingness. Just...ceasing to exist. Void. It sounds nice, honestly, not scary. The process of dying, however, terrifies her.

[thewrosper]

Psychological Impact of Lockdown & Conflict on Kashmiri Children

Armed conflict in Kashmir has a detrimental effect on all the inhabitants of the valley but children, undoubtedly, fall in the most vulnerable category. Some of the immediate targets in the life of a child who is exposed to an environment of conflict are the health aspects, which are, in my opinion, the most significant ones for a child to develop into a productive adult. Firstly, and at the physical level, the health of our kids is crippled by the armed conflict; with over 300 children killed merely since 2003, thousands maimed forever and numerous blinded. The pattern clearly shows how children were direct targets of state violence, as part of its stated offensive to curb the uprising in the state.Secondly, if by chance the child survives, he is inflicted by those silent, torturous weapons! Yes! I am talking about the silent, but excruciating mental scars. With each passing day, the conflict in Kashmir is developing negatively from bad to worse and excessive use of armed forces, torture and of course injustice are the factors to blame. Children, being young and unaware, have been and remain one of the worst affected social groups in the ongoing conflict. While adults are busy surviving, schools and playgrounds that were supposed to be the places for children to play, are damaged and more often than not, taken over by the forces. Another aspect is that in a state afflicted with conflict, child rights are violated on a massive scale and it passes as “almost normal.” Thousands of children in Kashmir are affected and that too, beyond any healing. At a tender age, they are confronted with physical harm, violence, danger, fear and loss. At the time when they were supposed to learn the first Kalimas, they learn the Dua’as of Maghfira. When they were supposed to play with toy guns, they witness real guns that have killed their families before they could know them. Paranoia grips their tender psyche and just when they reach a barely teen age, they are forced to rebel. It’s a vicious circle of exploitation. The impact of the ongoing conflict on Kashmiri children has received a little or, let’s say, no attention so far. While parents want and try their best to provide a safe and secure atmosphere for their children to grow up in, unfortunately, in Kashmir, they have to bury the hatchet of wanting to see their children flourish.Thousands of Kashmiri children have already lost their childhood to the turmoil and the violence. And with each bullet and each tear gas shellfire,the number only keeps mounting. George Orwell once said “War is peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is strength.” That is precisely what is happening in Kashmir. The effects of war are so severe that over the years it has affected generations of children so harshly, twisted their thought process, their emotional and psychological capabilities so severely, that this troubled state of oppression and war crimes has become the new normal for our young ones.The conflict has mentally disabled generations of children and young people beyond any repair for the rest of their lives. The consequences are endless, but to name a few, hundreds, even thousands of children are exposed to high levels of stress which results in disorders such as Hysteria, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Acute Stress Reactions, Anxiety, Psychosis and Depression. Coping strategies, unfortunately, are not many. And children forced to grow up before they earlier had to, render to substance abuse to calm their senses down superficially or even choosing a more lethal path- that of armed rebellion. Again, a never ending circle that only has one end- Death. I believe that Kashmiri children suffer from direct alterations in their personalities, identities and behaviors every day. Each gun shot fired brings them a step closer to PTSD. Each banging on the door increases their count of nightmares. Each window pane broken shatters their idea of living in a peaceful society. Each night protest makes their insomnia more severe, each security raid, each dead body witnessed sinks their mental health further.If we examine, our children, barely after their toddling age, have “HUM KYA CHAHTAY? AZAADI!” on the tip of their tongues. Bring me one single child from the valley who doesn’t have the slogan memorized and I’ll be damned! Even though our children don’t know the actual meaning of what they are saying, yet, they imitate what is reverberating from each nook and corner. Initially, in imitation, a child, barely in his pre-teens, would simply go out and join the crowd and say, “Everyone is on the street and pelting stones, even my friends are doing the same, thus, I did the same.” What maybe enjoyed as a light day of a strike call and happily accepted absence from school, used up in throwing stones for fun, or at times, to even release the young fury in their tender minds, is actually a price heavily paid to the boiling pot of conflict in disguise. We are sacrificing both our, and the peace of mind of our children, sacrificing our jobs, our earning, the education of our children. We are, moreover, sacrificing our lives. Our children might not have inherited our culture or our religion, but they sure have inherited the conflict. In their minds, the songs of freedom are playing, as you read these words, on loop. However, contrary to what one might assume, the songs are filled with tunes, rather, blasts of gunshots and hues of blood. One similar song reverberates in my mind as I’m writing this… “IN SPRING THE FLOWERS BLOOM; OURS DIE.” The children of this Paradise on earth feel cramped, shut in a hovel, and imprisoned in their own minds wherein insolent doubts and fears make up the bars of the prison. Lastly, I would once again say that our children are facing the brunt of this conflict. They have lost their childhood, their innocence, their hopes and even their ability to dream. Worse is, they will continue to be victimized until an unanimous and peaceful resolution is not passed to settle the Kashmir issue down. Now, let’s approach the idea of what can be done. I know many of us bring the facts to the surface but most of us don’t actually do much afterwards. The solving of the conflict is long term. What can be done immediately? That’s precisely the question we are working upon. JKCCS (Jammu & Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society) has advocated for human rights in Jammu and Kashmir for nearly two decades. Its area of concern covers the whole conflict. Right from arbitrary detentions to ceasefire line killing to take encounters and so on. As a coalition of civil rights groups, Its work is to speak truth to power and confront the State and its violence. It believes in collective unity and our aims of making the Valley of Jammu and Kashmir a better place for the people residing here, striving hard to work towards providing all the internationally guaranteed civil, political, economic, social and cultural rights including the right to self-determination remains our basic agenda. As far as the children of the valley are concerned, JKCCS recently released a report titled “Terrorized: Impact of Violence on the Children of Jammu and Kashmir”. The report is the assessment of the violence against children in Jammu and Kashmir in the last fifteen years i.e. (2003 to 2017) and gives data on killings, arrests, mass violence, sexual violence perpetrated against children. The report provides statistics, graphs, figures, and the analysis of killings of children in the last fifteen years (2003 to 2017) in various incidents of violence in Jammu and Kashmir. The report lays bare that there are no legal and normative processes or practices protecting children’s rights in Jammu and Kashmir as hundreds of minors have been booked under the repressive Public Safety Act (PSA), with total disregard to the fact of their being children. We do understand that children are the building blocks of our society and they need to have a childhood of peace and tranquility. Not one spent under the shadow of guns and grenades. We need scaled-up responses to improve psycho-social well being of our young ones before further generations. I would conclude this with a quote, Benjamin Sáenz once said, ‘The heart can get really cold if all you’ve known is winter.’ The conflict has set somber clouds of grief over our skies and it doesn’t look like either us, our children will witness spring anytime soon, but the least we could do is to stop our hearts from freezing and becoming indifferent to the suffering of our own people and get united against these perpetual war crimes and child abuses. We need to do our service to our state. A long overdue, service. As I conclude this, I hear the noise of security helicopters hovering in the night sky above me. Patrolling for us? Patrolling us? No one really knows. Author studies Law and is a founding member of MASHEK, an NGO for the children of conflict. Article written by Ovais Karni. He can be contacted on Twitter @OvaisKarni This is an independent opinion article. The Wrosper is not responsible for the content of the article. Read the full article