#because someone on discord asked why they had to learn poetry in school

[strangebrainrot]

A lot of public school units just sit you in front of a poem and want you to tell them why it's good or why it's pretty, but very few tell you how to express that something is good or pretty.

Poetry does that for the world- it's a way of expressing how something is good and pretty, but if you're not taught how to read it properly, you just sit there wondering why someone just spent all that time describing a nice day.

More rambling about this under the cut, but that was the tl;dr

Poetry expresses both the situation and the emotion. Instead of "My fingers were cold as ice" I once wrote "The snowmelt in my fingers" Poetry is meant to evoke emotion through words so just using things you hear and feel every day doesn't help much, but like the word snowmelt, I have a much clearer memory of what that feels like and how different it is to ice.

Poetry is like a dialect all to itself because if you aren't taught how to read it, then you just go about your day not seeing he meaning of what's in front of you. You also don't learn how to see everything else around you in the light of something a little bit more beautiful. Sure, not all poetry is happy and sweet- hell that poem I wrote that line in earlier was actually written when I was at one of the worst points in my life a couple years ago, but even the dark things can be written in a way that is beautiful just as the light can be described in the most grotesque words imaginable.

It makes you think because it makes you see and it makes you see because it makes you think. I just think that seeing and thinking are something we could all use a little more of every now and then, don't you?

[lieutenant-amuel]

Oooh sunflower, marigold and winterberry for Valerio, please!!!

I actually didn’t plan on taking those asks, but thank you, Blue!!

Sunflower - What name(s) were you originally thinking of calling your OC?

I… don’t remember. Most of my characters got their names as a result of me scrolling through the lists of Spanish names with their meanings, so I believe I had several options for Valerio but I don’t remember them.

The thing I can say is that there was a short period when I thought of renaming him because to be fair Valerio is more an Italian name than Spanish, so it started bothering me a bit.

But it happened when Valerio existed for a very long time and his name was mentioned literally everywhere, on both fanfiction platforms, on Tumblr, on Discord, and he was one of the main characters, so changing his name would be too much trouble and I had to accept it.

Anyway, he was born in Nueva Vista that’s based on Venice or whatever, and even if it isn’t, I love the name Valerio, generally and for my character, so he’s Valerio until his last breath.

Marigold - Describe your OC in three words or less

Not necessarily adjectives/personality traits? I have something for this ask then.

***

Valerio walked down the corridor towards his classroom to prepare for the lesson. A normal day like any other, except he didn’t flinch every time Emilio was around him anymore.

He left him alone.

It was something that Valerio desired the most but something still felt wrong. He remembered every instant of his conversation with Emilio, how his eyes were filling with tears, how the words of repentance flew off the strings of his trembling voice. It was exactly what he wanted to see. The pain of someone who put him through an unbearable nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Emilio deserved it.

Emilio deserved—

Emilio—

His exultation was drowned out by a feeling of gnawing guilt as he remembered everything Matías told him. What he’d done wrapped around his neck like tentacles of the sea beast that dragged him down, back to his past to the dark bottom never touched by the sun rays.

Indecisive. Pathetic. Cruel.

He felt like a monster. There was no better word to describe him.

Valerio swung the door wide open and threw his bag on the desk as he flopped down on a chair. He carelessly took out the books as he kept gazing at his gloves. Things could be much easier if he didn’t wear them. Who would care about his scars? Who would care about how he got them? He was loved by everyone, from teachers to students, in this school. He wouldn't get anything but sympathy if they knew he was a fire victim.

But he was scared. Because the fire wasn’t the thing he hid.

Valerio put his hands together and was going to remove one of his gloves but suddenly a voice rang out in the doorway.

“Hey, Señor Álvarez!” Valerio sharply turned his head and saw Ángel, “Are you busy? I need your help with something.”

Ángel walked in without waiting for him to reply, and Señor Álvarez cleared his throat to greet his student, “Sure, Ángel. What’s up?”

Ángel sat down opposite him and dumped a bunch of papers on the desk.

“I wanna learn how to write poetry! And I need advice.”

Señor Álvarez chuckled, “But why have you decided to come to me? I think Señor Serrano knows more about poetry than I do.”

Ángel shrugged, “You were the first person that came to my mind.”

Señor Álvarez smiled a bit and took the papers Ángel handed to him.

“Can you read it, please, and tell me what you think?”

Señor Álvarez’s eyes skimmed through the lines, and Ángel carefully watched his expression to understand his thoughts but he wasn’t sure that his gentle smile really meant anything. Once he finished, he looked at Ángel who impatiently tapped his fingers as he awaited Señor Álvarez’s review.

“It’s great! You seem to know how to find the right words, plus you have no trouble with rhyming. Those are your first works, right?” Ángel nodded with an awkward smile, “In this case I’m even more impressed. The only thing I’d advise is to work on the rhythm of your poems. And I have a little trick for that. Look.”

As Señor Álvarez read Ángel’s poem out loud, he tapped his finger at every syllable. It created a smooth melody until it tripped over a long word that didn’t fit the pattern of the rest of the poem, and Ángel even winced when he heard it.

“Always read what you write out loud. It will help you expose awkward mistakes that are hiding in your head.”

Ángel nodded and took the poem to cross out the unfitting word and replace it with something else.

“Okay, maybe it’s better now,” Ángel began to read it out loud and as he followed Señor Álvarez’s advice, he tapped his finger on the desk.

It was perfect this time.

“Woohoo! It worked!” Ángel exclaimed cheerfully and looked at Señor Álvarez, “Thank you so much!”

He chuckled a bit and silently nodded.

“Can I ask you how you created this thing, Señor Álvarez?”

“One person I knew taught me. She was a great poet,” he fell silent for a moment with a sad smile, “And can I ask you why you’ve decided to start writing poetry? Your poems are very emotional. It feels like you��re writing them for someone dear to you.”

Ángel dropped his eyes, “My parents are divorced, but I keep in touch with Mamá and I want to write something special for her. But… I don’t want anyone to know it, so please, don’t tell anyone. Especially Papá and my friends.”

“You can count on me,” Señor Álvarez stuck out his little finger for a pinky swear, and Ángel laughed.

“Now I know why I’ve come to you, Señor Álvarez!”

They released each other’s fingers, and as Ángel glanced at Señor Álvarez, he suddenly felt a surge of warmth radiating from his smile. He was so encouraging and kind, and Ángel still couldn’t get used to it since those were the qualities that Señor Bravo, his previous history teacher, lacked.

Being around Señor Álvarez felt like being wrapped around a soft cozy blanket that could keep him from the cold. He knew it was weird to feel that way about his teacher but he couldn’t help it. Señor Álvarez was a lot more than just a teacher.

“Thank you for always inspiring me to do new things, Señor Álvarez,” he said as he got up from the desk, “You know, you’ve actually been doing it since the first day we’ve met.”

“Good luck with your poems, Ángel. I’m sure your mother will love them when she reads them.”

They both exchanged broad smiles, and as Ángel left the classroom, Valerio exhaled peacefully.

Warmth. Kindness. Inspiration.

Yes. Those words described him well, too.

***

Have I just spoiled Valerio’s entire arc? Perhaps.

Winterberry - Use one or more photos that encapsulates your OC's clothing style.

Oh no. I’m horrible at choosing clothes for my characters x) But something like this, I guess.

Gloves 1000000%

Something black, because this is currently his main color, and sorta elegant? I suppose I’m thinking too much about Valerio as a teacher now, but I’m really not sure what he wears casually.

And he wears a crystal necklace :D You can try to guess why.

And when he was younger, something like this? He’s a sea guy after all, and I think this is actually the closest what he wears in the 13th chapter (aka young Valerio chapter). I also can imagine him wearing something more colorful but it looks way too modern XD

Thank you again!

Flowery OC Asks

[some-stars]

a very smart person in the discord, when i asked for ideas, was like “what if jaskier met lambert at posada instead of geralt” and i started a new WIP for this AU so here, have what i have of it so far. this is NOT a fic, please don’t reblog it like it was a fic, it’s literally just a fragment bc that’s all i have the energy for tonight. but i think it’s pretty cool

--

Lambert woke up on the floor of the west hall in front of the guttering fire, head pounding the way it never did unless he’d been up to some seriously intense drinking. When his eyes focused--bringing a fresh stab of pain right between his eyebrows--he saw an empty bottle of white gull on its side on the stones next to him. Well, that explained that.

“Oh, look, he’s awake,” Eskel said--much more loudly than he needed to--from somewhere nearby. Lambert grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, without much force. This was fine; he’d been hungover before, though not this badly since he was a trainee sneaking into the kegs in the cellar. He’d be fine, eventually.

Unfortunately Eskel didn’t seem to feel like giving him time. Lambert felt his brother’s hands under his arms, hauling him up, and groaned pitifully as he swallowed hard against his surging gut. “Come on,” Eskel grumbled, “get up, you look pathetic down there.”

He squirmed ineffectually in Eskel’s grip. “Fuck off.”

“Drink this,” Geralt said, appearing out of nowhere. Usually no one could sneak up on Lambert, not even other witchers. But then, he wasn’t at his best. He narrowed his eyes and glared but took the vial Geralt offered him and forced the contents down.

Almost immediately he felt, if not quite better, at least more like he could stand up on his own. He jerked away from Eskel, and when he didn’t immediately fall back down, he felt the other two back up a little, giving him space.

“Thanks,” Lambert muttered grudgingly to Geralt, slipping the vial into a pocket to clean and reuse later.

“Now you can tell us what the fuck is going on,” Eskel said. “You never drink like that.”

It was true; for all that Lambert enjoyed a good buzz, drinking hard enough to black out--for he certainly had no memory of getting this way--left him feeling nasty afterward, vaguely unclean, head circling with bad memories. He’d learned that a long time ago.

Still. “What do you care?” he snapped. Gods, he was thirsty; the potion helped with the alcohol poisoning but didn’t do much for the side effects.

“Don’t want the first witcher to drink himself to death to be a Wolf,” Geralt said. “Wouldn’t reflect well on us.”

Lambert snorted, blackly amused. There was hardly an “us” to reflect on anymore, well or ill. It didn’t matter to anyone what he did or didn’t do, and hadn’t that been something like what he was thinking last night? Not about the Wolf school, but--

He groaned and stumbled over to a bench at the table as a few memories trickled back. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Were you two…”

“Here while you pounded back a bottle of straight gull?” Eskel asked. “Yeah, we were.”

“Fuck,” Lambert said again, and buried his face in his arms. He hadn’t meant to get so drunk, when he’d started. It had been the three of them, trading swigs of regular vodka, and then Lambert had gone and fetched the white gull, and…

Oh, hell. He’d started talking.

“So this Jaskier,” Geralt said, and he sounded almost pleased. “This is that bard you’ve been hanging around with? The one who wrote the song?”

“None of your business,” Lambert said, except he was still face down on the table, so no one paid him any attention.

“You talked about him a lot,” Eskel said. “Not that it was all intelligible, after a while. But we got a few things.”

“Soft hair,” Geralt said as Lambert warily raised his head, glaring fiercely. “Thinks he’s really clever and he actually is, which is infuriating.” He ticked each point off on his fingers.

“Spectacular cocksucker,” Eskel added, and Geralt nodded, ticking off a third finger.

“I hate you both,” Lambert growled. “I fucking hate you both so much.”

Eskel, the bastard, only chuckled. Geralt sat down across the table and looked at Lambert seriously, which was worse. “It seemed like you really miss him,” he said, and to his credit he at least seemed horrifically uncomfortable.

“Why the fuck,” Lambert said, “are you talking to me about my feelings.”

“I’m not,” Eskel said. “I’m just laughing at you. Geralt’s the one with the romantic notions.”

“Fuck off,” Geralt said easily, not even looking at Eskel. “Look, you’ve just been--you seemed, I don’t know, better. The last few years.”

“Better?” Lambert repeated. “Better than what? Dogshit?”

Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “Less goddamned miserable all the time. It’s true, isn’t it?”

Lambert had to think about it. He wasn’t in the habit of monitoring his own mood--what could possibly matter less? But he had to admit, in the years since he’d first started traveling with Jaskier, the winters had been...more bearable. Less like being imprisoned, more like something he’d started to look forward to--a respite, a chance to play around in the alchemy labs, brew something new in the distillery, enjoy some peace. He’d always hated peace, before, hated being left alone with himself at leisure to think.

This winter he hadn’t made it one full week past the first snowing-in before getting blackout drunk because he couldn’t stand to be sober and alone in his own head anymore, though. So what the fuck was different?

And why the fuck had he been talking about Jaskier, of all people, to Eskel and Geralt while drunk?

One thing, at least, was for sure. “I don’t miss him,” he said, spitting the word out. “We’re not fucking married.”

“But he does suck your cock,” Eskel said.

Lambert snorted. “He sucks everyone’s cock. Or whatever they’ve got, he’s just, you know, a big slut. Likes a good time. Sometimes I oblige.” And if he liked obliging Jaskier’s promiscuity, well, what of it? The man was attractive, and good-natured, and not a painful drag to be around like most people were. If some nights he preferred to bed down with Lambert rather than take his chances with a crowded inn, or share a bedroll when they were between towns--it wasn’t the kind of thing that made you miss someone. Missing people was for humans, not witchers.

And just like that, he remembered what had set him off drinking in the first place. He’d been wondering if Jaskier missed him, because he’d seemed strangely subdued when they’d parted in the fall for no apparent reason, and he’d concluded that of course Jaskier didn’t. He’d be in Oxenfurt now for the winter and spring, happily ensconced among his own kind, the friends he rambled on about all the time to Lambert as they rode from town to town. He’d be teaching classes, or writing poetry or music, or playing to some adoring crowd in a high-class bar full of rich students. And somehow, instead of cheering Lambert up like thinking of Jaskier’s antics usually did, the thought of Jaskier spending the winter satisfied and happy and in good company had settled in Lambert’s stomach like a writhing knot of snakes, until he’d taken to the gull to quiet it down.

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

Oh I've been waiting for this moment hihihi. so may a request a 🍰

Appearance:

Not really too much to brag about but... i’m 5’2, toned skin, medium brown hair( still have some green remnants)slim body thin waist + pretty marked hip (one of the parts of my body that i really like ) but oddly thick thighs. Dark brown eyes and small but still full lips.

Style / Aesthetic :Don't know exactly how to describe this, but most of the time I work with grunge,dark academia and vintage, but often you can see me in cotagecore and glam chic outfits. or a big mix of this

Personality:

I’m a taurus, Libra rising and Sag moon , ESFP,Love to make new friends and i can be pretty talkative...principally if we talking about art, music , cooking , animes or sports .I’m a ravenclaw ,I can be really stubborn but I'm trying to work on this, people also say i have short temper, but i can't believe this.Teasing sarcastic and flirty are some adjectives I can add to my personality description, it is actually so natural that i probably do without notice. I can be a really crackhead sometimes, especially when I'm with my friends, but mostly I try to use the reason . I can be pretty clingy to my close friends and family. Also I can be pretty random, being my friend means that you will receive some messages/ videos at 3 AM or even get a new playlist in full Tuesday :)

Hobbies and random stuff :

I love cooking / baking i actually have a “brand ” of homemade biscuits (family’s recipe), I can play volleyball and badminton and i normally do this with my friends(in the end of High school i played almost everyday ) and now i’m planing play for my university’s team. I really like to listen to music , and I'm doing this 24/7( I kind of have a server on discord just for the music bot ). I actually can speak 3 languages and I'm working on the 4th one but i’m never trust my skills before sending a text in another language !!. I can actually be both or too energetic or a totally lazy bitch. but i’m probably always up to talking/ listening. I really like flowers ( I love learning about their meaning), and poetry , also writing and reading even though I've not been doing this lately.

Fun fact my favorite color is white but 85% of my wardrobe is black .

I really like make up and i love do it , but i have so me block with eyeliners i just can't do it right

About Relationships :

My love language is Quality time, so just being able to relax next each other (friends / s/o) with no words being necessary for meIt's already enough, oh i can get a little too touchy sometimes since I really like to cuddle. I love adventures, visiting new places, shopping, nature dates, stargazing, board games/ cards nights. I really like to innovate, as long as i have a good company I think I can do almost everything.

Ahhhh Lecxi, yours matchups are the best, i just love the way you write so much ,it's a muah *chef kiss*

@lilshortcakess

A/N- This took SO long and I am SO sorry 🥲 but I hope you still enjoy it my dear!

Romantic Matchup

𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐭

So you were on Seijous girls volleyball team

And you met Oikawa because well...

Ya’ll kept practicing overtime 😅

Now we’ll just say that you wanted to practice your spikes

and for that, you would need a setter

And Oikawa wanted to practice his sets

For him to do that he would need a spiker

So ya’ll were just like “hey let's just practice together

Now every time there was practice

When everyone left

You would meet up with Oikawa so that you two could practice

This went on for a while before Oikawa decided on getting to know you on a more personal level

I mean if he was going to be practicing with you he might as well get to know you right?

So he started taking you out to eat after you two finished practicing

Sometimes he would take you to a diner

Sometimes it would just be a gas station

But either way, you two would end up just sitting and talking to each other

This is how Oikawa found out how much he actually liked you

We’ll get into why later 👀

Anyways after falling into this little routine he started to hang out with you during school hours

Damn, he was really just weaseling his way into your life, isn't he?

He would only realize he had a crush on you when Iwa pointed it out

So at this point, he was just like fuck it

YOLO am I right?

So he just casually asked you out when he took you to a gas station after practice

Romantic I know

But he was over the moon when you said yes!

And ya’ll have been dating ever since

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

He loves that you just listen to him

Like you GENUINELY listen to him

He's found that not a lot of people care what he's saying outside of volleyball

But you listen to anything and everything he talks about

And you show interest too!

This was the thing that made him realize that he liked you

Ok he REALLY loves your flirty nature

Just the fact that instead of getting flustered at his flirty comments

You just pop off with your own comment

He loves someone who can match his energy

He really likes that your clingy 👀

Whenever you hold him or ask him for cuddles

it just makes him feel wanted and loved

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐃𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

Ok so just addressing the elephant in the room

He loves to play volleyball with you

He calls it a good “bonding” activity

Now that THAT'S out of the way

He likes to bake with you

He has even made recipes personalized to him

For example

“Oikawa's Milk Bread Biscuits”

Yup

He took your biscuit recipe

And turned it into a milk bread

He likes to listen to music with you

I feel like he hates awkward or uncomfortable silence

So he always has SOME kind of music playing 

And finally

He loves to talk to you

Granted it's a lot of him talking and you listening

But if you're feeling down and need someone to talk to 

He's all ears

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐜

One time you and Oikawa were practicing overtime

And Iwa came into the gym and yelled at you both for “overworking yourselves”

You and Oikawa actually sell his milk bread biscuits at school

Get that coin sis 🤑

You and Oikawa just throw random pick up lines at each other

and i cant get the image of him doing finger guns at you every single time 444

He gets really mad when you start speaking a different language

Cause he cant understand you!

So sometimes you just switch languages to piss him off :)

Causing him to learn the basic phrases of the languages you can speak

𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

When Taurus and Cancer come together in a love affair, it’s usually a very good combination.

They are two positions apart within the Zodiac, and such Signs tend to share karmic ties and a deep mutual understanding.

These particular two Signs have much in common

Both prize security in a love relationship above almost all else

both tend to be nurturers

Cancer is emotionally nurturing

while Taurus loves to spoil their lover with sensual delights, gifts and good, rich meals

They’re both quite domestic and love a quiet night spent at home with their sweetie.

The Taurus-Cancer partnership tends to be a happy one due to this mutual enjoyment of the security and comfort of home.

They love a solid home base

a strong relationship

nice possessions

good food

all the comforts of domestic life.

Theirs is often the ideal family that people of other Signs strive for, with strong ties between them and a relationship that is family-oriented rather than toward the outside world.

Their only major problems arise when Taurus insists on having its own way and Cancer responds by sulking.

Taurus must understand Cancer’s emotional sensitivity, and Cancer needs rely on open, honest communication than on emotional blackmail.

The steady, reliable team they make.

Both Signs are dependable and nurturing, strongly oriented toward domestic life together.

A mutual love of home and security makes theirs an ideal long-term, family relationship.

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

𝐁𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 💋

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [1/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Zelda couldn’t look away from the words as she touched over the embossed typography.

Lilith

Dominatrix

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. 

She fingered the card, drawing her nail over its edges. It had an entirely over the top design, with a bright red background and black lettering. Despite how over-the-top she felt the graphic design was, Zelda couldn’t look away from the words as she touched over the embossed typography.

Lilith

Dominatrix

As if it had burned her, she dropped the card on her desk. On its back, the card presented the phone number and email address of the woman. Terribly gauche: madamsatan@hellfire.com.

The business card––if you could even call it that––had been slipped out of the jacket of a new book she’d purchased, and since her discovery of it, Zelda’s eyes had been drawn to it, a strange temptation pulling at her.

She’d only bought the book as a way to offer an olive branch to Hilda. If her sister weren’t so terribly awkward around any mention of sex, she would have wondered if she had been the one to slip the card into the book. No, likely the so-called dominatrix had wandered through the shop and decided that the newest bestseller would be an excellent place to advertise her business.

The sheer gall of the woman.

It had been some time since she’d engaged in any sexual relationship. Since Edward’s passing, Zelda’s world had been entirely taken up with raising Sabrina. Hilda had helped, of course, given that she was the original caretaker of Ambrose––but the bulk of Sabrina’s raising rested on her shoulders. Between that and balancing her work at the Academy, Zelda had little time to date.

And in the few times, she did date she would inevitably end up exhausted by the need to care for someone’s emotional needs on top of her family and usually wound up requesting that they never see each other again.

At least if she engaged with a sex worker, she wouldn’t have that issue.

A knock came at the door of her office, pulling her from her thoughts.

“One moment,” Zelda said, before taking the card and hastily set in the drawer of her desk. She should throw it away into the wastepaper bin, tear it up into pieces, and yet she found herself pushing the drawer shut, feeling a strange temptation dim but not entirely die away. “Come in,” she called.

The door pushed open, and her niece stood in the doorframe, bag slung over her shoulder as she stepped into the room. “How was work?”

“Busy,” Zelda sighed, rising from her chair. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Nothing happened, today?” Zelda inquired.

“Well,” Sabrina began, bouncing on the heels of her shoes. “Principle Wardwell did go on a warpath against Coach Craven. That was pretty cool.”

“Wardwell? Isn’t Hawthorne the principle there?”

“No, he left over Summer. It was in the news bulletin.”

Zelda rolled her eyes as if she cared to read that. The PTA and Parent-Teacher nights had always been Hilda’s realm of experience. There were limited choices of schooling in the area, and Baxter High had more students going off college than Riverdale. And like hell, she was sending Sabrina off to some boarding school as her parents had done with her, Edward and Hilda.

Collecting her day planner and unmarked essays, she began sliding them into her bag as she asked, “so why did your new Principle go on an alleged war party?”

“Craven said that Theo couldn’t join the men’s football team. So Roz and I complained to Wardwell, and she stormed off and immediately told him off in the middle of try-outs. It was…pretty awesome actually.”

“It’s definitely a way to make enemies,” Zelda said. “Take it from me, Sabrina. Public humiliation may force someone to obey for the moment, but they’ll look for any opportunity to enact their revenge.”

Sabrina’s lips pressed shut, her excitement dying. “I thought it was pretty great, actually. He should be called out for his actions.”

“And the best place to do that is in a formal setting,” Zelda said as she switched off the office light. Stepping into the hall, she drew the door shut and locked the door. “In a position of leadership, especially one so newly forged, it’s better to think about the long term effects of a stable work environment. Sowing discord will only turn the other teachers against her.”

“Well, the students love her,” Sabrina pointed out defiantly, missing the point.

With a sigh, Zelda drew up and rolled her shoulders. Her niece was sixteen, thinking the whole world revolved around her. Students came and went, but the teachers would remain, and if Principle Wardwell wanted to keep her job, it would be in her interest to make friends with the staff.

“How did your classes go?” she asked, deferring to a safe topic as they walked out of the university’s grounds to the parking lot. Sabrina began babbling beside her, discussing her recent marks in English and History, the study group she’d formed and then quietly toeing away from discussion of one particular class.

“Didn’t you have an exam for French today?”

Sabrina flushed, fiddling with her bag. “I…passed.”

Zelda paused, turning to look at her niece directly. “Define a pass.”

“C plus?”

Zelda bit back the flared anger as she pressed her lips together, watching as Sabrina squirmed under her scrutiny. “Perhaps I should switch to speaking French at home, then?”

“No, I hate it when you do that. Look, it barely makes up my grade, I’ll fix it up with the essay at the end of the month, and then I’ll be back to being an A-minus student.”

“Yes, well, unless you want your allowance to drop—“

“Come on! That’s hardly fair. It’s not like we live in France. I don’t even see the point in why I have to take this stupid class. ”

“Language is important, Sabrina. When you travel, you can’t just go around assuming everyone speaks English. By your age, I already spoke Italian and French fluently. By my twenties, I’d learnt Mandarin, German and Latin. Now, there are few languages that I don’t speak in one dialect or another.”

“I know, but…I don’t even know if I want to travel.”

“Of course you do,” Zelda said. “Everyone travels, or you’ll end up like your Aunt Hilda, working in a bookshop with no idea of how the world works.”

Sabrina went quiet as they arrived at the car. She climbed into the passenger seat, drawing her bag into her lap and buckled her seatbelt with a stony face.

Zelda drew in a breath, setting her own bag on the backseat before sitting down into the driver’s seat. Sabrina had always been soft for Hilda, defending her against Zelda any time she made a sniping comment towards her.

Perhaps the comment had been a little harsh. Only last night had the three of them broke out in an argument after Hilda advised that she would be permanently working at Cerberus Books and not just ‘helping out’ as she initially advised. Honestly, a retail assistant? Hilda had as fine an education as she had, and now Zelda was an academic, teaching at Greendale University, and Hilda…worked in a bookshop.

Not to mention the sudden talks of her moving out. Ambrose was still at university, in his final year of his masters, and Sabrina still had another year and a half before she was off, flying around the world before she settled on a college.

Leave? Unlikely. It was an empty threat Hilda proposed to hurt her.

They drove home in silence, with Sabrina’s growing bad mood taking up the space of the car. By the time that they arrived home. Sabrina didn’t even wait for the engine to switch off before she was unbuckling her seatbelt and running up the steps of the house.

Zelda paused, watching her niece push open the front door, likely to remain hidden in her room until summoned for dinner. She considered following up the stairs to Sabrina’s room and advising of how unacceptable her actions were, and yet the day felt heavy on her shoulders. She didn’t want another argument with Sabrina.

She didn’t want another argument. If Hilda would stop being so selfish, they could actually take the time to raise the children.

Stepping out of the car, she pulled out her bag from the backseat and then locked the doors behind her––not that it really mattered, they were so far out from any neighbours that there was a more pressing concern for a bear to get into the car, rather than a burglar.

She passed Ambrose sitting on the veranda, a book of poetry in grip and a glass of wine sitting next to him (in a tumbler, which she did take offence to, they owned perfectly suitable wine glasses).

“Auntie,” he greeted, looking up from the book. “How fairs the undergrads?”

“Fine,” she remarked. “I had the pleasure of seeing Prudence today.”

“Oh?” he remarked casually. “I had thought she’d have dropped out by now.”

“She asked about you.”

Ambrose seemed to pause, biting on the inside of his cheek before he gave a strained smile. “And should I go running into her arms again because she inquired as to how I was going?”

Zelda stared at him and watched as his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“Don’t apologise when you don’t mean it, or learn to lie better.” She paused, watching guilt wash over his face. “You should speak to her. At the very least it might bring you the much-needed closure you require to move on.” Before he could say anything further, she brushed past him, entering into the foyer of the home.

A door slammed upstairs, signalling her niece’s growing foul mood. But unlike Ambrose, who often drowned the house with music to signal his moods, a stillness followed the slammed door.

Her eyes drew up to the stairs, a part of her wanted to seek out Sabrina and apologise before she snuffed out the very desire to do so. Instead, she drew to her home office and set her bag down, drawing out her computer and essays, preparing herself for evening work to be completed after dinner.

Drawing into the kitchen, she noticed that Hilda was already at the stove, stirring around what looked to be onion and mince. At the same time, she had an assortment of diced vegetables running on another element beside it.

“Evening, sister.”

“Oh! Zelds. I thought it was you.”

“Who else would it be?” she asked, going to the cupboards to pull out the dishes. Usually, it was Sabrina’s job to set the table for dinner, but she could wash up and dry the dishes after dinner, given her impetuous mood.

“Oh, well…” Hilda spluttered, before turning to look over her shoulder. “So, what did you think of Doctor Cee’s little shop? Quite the business, hm? And the café has been busy of late!”

Zelda bit her tongue to stop the first thoughts she had from coming out. She set down the plates before looking at her sister and catching the hesitation.

“It’s…good that you’re happy,” she said, feeling other words rise in the back of her throat. She swallowed them back and smiled at her sister, hoping it came across genuine enough.

Hilda returned the smile, and it was enough to unknot the growing anxiety in her chest. Perhaps they could make it through dinner without another argument.  “And have you given the book a look, yet? It’s flying out of the store lately. A real page-turner.”

Zelda gave a small nod. She’d got as far as the first page before the card had slid out onto her desk.

Swallowing, she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, trying to not think of the words.

Dominatrix. She shivered, remembering what it was like to feel rope twist around her hands.

In her early twenties, she’d engaged in an assortment of different forms of BDSM with different partners, both on the receiving and giving end. And yet something about that embossed lettering brought a flicker to a long lost flame inside of her.

It had been…a long time—at least two years since she’d engaged in anything other than masturbation. The dating pool in Greendale and Riverdale was small enough that, inevitably, everyone knew everyone––and given her position, casual sex would only lead to complications. The last thing she needed was another man at her office, begging for a date.

Or a woman leading insistent voicemails on the landline.

But a dominatrix would be discreet. And it would just be an itch, after all.

A part of her worried. It could be a student she’d taught, trying to make extra money to pay for their education. Or it could be a number of acquaintances––someone from the board?

It could be Shirley. That thought sent a cold feeling down her spine.

“Zelds?”

She looked up, realising her sister had asked her a question. “Pardon?”

“I was just asking if you started the book.”

“Oh, just the first few pages. I’ll get to it on the weekend.”

Hilda squinted at her before stepping forward. “You’re looking a little flushed. You’re not coming down with the flu, are you? You’re always working yourself sick.”

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping away from her sister. “I’ll go tell Ambrose and Sabrina to wash-up, shall I?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose dinner will be made in a moment.”

____________

[ryuijsakamoto]

I just would like to take a moment to talk about my fave headcanons i have for all the characters

Akira:

he is the most OVER DRAMATIC bitch on this earth

he definitely did theatre at some point in his life

after his arrest he sometimes gets really nervous and has trouble conveying his words. he stumbles over them and cant convey his point well

ann and haru like to braid his hair sometimes

when he was younger he faked not being able to see so he could get glasses, it didnt work tho

so hence now he wears fashion glasses

he had braces in middle school

there is One(1) picture of middle school akira. One

he 1000000000% believes in ghosts and has since he was a child

aliens though? not real.

takes lots of selfies when he moves back and sends them to his friends often

biggest flirt but if u flirt back with him he. Dies cannot talk his face is fully red and hes hiding behind his hands

takes every opportunity to visit his friends 

claims hes not a sap but futuba swears she saw him crying over a handwritten thank you card from ‘’that one arcade kid names the kind or smth’’

Ryuji:

when he was a kid he has a fluffy mess of hair similar to akiras and it was the cutest thing ever

he needs reading glasses but no one knows because hes embarrassed by them

he likes to doodle on papers, hes not an artist but he likes to make dorky quick drawings in the corner of his paper

he has trouble focuing sometimes and likes to tap his foot silently or draw lines on paper to help him focus

calls yusuke and akira pretty boy by habit, it started as teasing but then it just became a Habit

he keeps every gift his friends give him and therye very dear to him

he has akira help him dye his hair

when one of his friends is gone / in danger he doesnt dye his hair again until he knows theyre safe

his mom sewed his purple jacket for him herself

he likes to cook and bake

he hold his bros..bro come cuddle me...he very affectionate with his friends and casually touches like hugs, hands over shoulders, etc.

sings to himself when hes alone

Ann:

she has a pretty popular instagram account

she has really bad handwriting

like ryuji, very affectionate 

she loves beanies and wears them especially in the snow

likes to make pointless arguments with ryuji sometimes, stuff like is water wet?

likes to curl her hair over breaks, thinks it looks cute

she loves to watch sappy romance and drama shows / movies

she stress eats

hates when people attack her friends on her instagram 

she has pet fish 

she picked up gardening from haru, its only a small plants and she forgets to water it sometimes but shes trying her best

Yusuke:

he is secretly a sucker for cutely decorated sweets

he had a small anime phase, not that he told madarame, but he has a box full of his old anime drawings and he will Never show them to anyone

he, like ryuji, sometimes drawes in the corners of his papers

unlike ryuji his are more detailed n not as dorky, its usually a detailed flower pattern or something of the sorts

he straightens and dyes his hair

his room? full of art pieces and posters u cannot see his original walls

he always has his phone on dnd and forgets to check it for days sometimes

he has 5 pairs of the same shirt, each one for a different occasions (they all look the same though...we dont ask why)

when he gets too worried over his art and stuff usually his friends will drag him out of his room and make him go eat with them

his friends pictures in his phones are hand-drawn little sketches he did

when hes concentrating really hard he puts his bangs into a ponytail so they dont fall in his face

so clumsy. he trips over everything

Makoto:

got through school before highschool without having to study

is not good with change

loves cute plushies and clothes

is Tired please give her a break

when Sae notices shes overexerting herself she makes sure to leave some of makotos favorite food and a small note for makoto on her bed

she just loves her sister very much

actually really likes spicy foods

u mention around her youre having trouble in school? not getting enough rest? forgot your lunch? Mom Mode Makoto activated

when shes alone she can curse up a storm

likes to play poker

is really good at talking to people and keeping up frienships

after highschool she is always busy u wanna hangout? she has 2 available days for the next 5 months

Futuba:

she has braces. she despises them

a very picky eater

sometimes she falls back into her old habits of hiding and isolating herself, when that happens shes learned to text someone and they sit outside her door and talk to her untill shes feeling better

cries easily, especially over characters and shows

has a phantom thieves fan account

when morgana and akira move away she gets a cat plushy because she misses her friends

shows everyone so many fun online things, discord? they have s discord gc because of her

akira has to remind her to drink water and fix her posture too much

wants to cosplay

shes really nervous for her first day of school but joker texts her all throughout the day even if he got in trouble for it

surprisingly a morning person

Haru:

she Runs on caffeine

likes to spoil her friends, yusuke spent all his money again? heres enough to get home and also buy a 3 course meal 

works at a plant shop even though she doesnt really need to because she loves being around plants

plays piano and cello

touch starved pls hug her PLEASE

likes to fish

cutest laugh please protect her

also dabbled in acting, though hers was more classical stuff like shakespear

she loves golf and swimming

knows how to fight and will do so if needed

she bullet journals

Akechi (in general + if he got to stay with the pt):

actually doesnt have a strong opinion on pancakes, just was really feeling like eating pancakes that day when he overheard morgana

he loves the praise he gets but the spotlight is exhausting

shido told him long hair didnt look good on him once so now he refuses to cut it out of spite

loves to watch gordan ramsey, thinks its hilarious

Bottles up his emotions like crazy

actually really caring towards his friends, always checking up on them and making sure theyre taking care of themselves

loves shit talking his dad, esp with ryuji haru and yusuke who join him and shit talk their own father figures

he wears colored contacts

writes poetry, no one knows this though

cannot back down from a bet, tell him that he wont eat that spoonful of wasabi? hes choking it down with tears but at least he proved you wrong

kinda very incredibly petty

a big fan of mythology, he looked into it after getting his loki persona

loves movie dates with the phantom theives

[madiiko12]

new york’s very own madison ‘madi’ ko was spotted on broadway street in chanel sneakers . your resemblance to kim chungha is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-first birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being obsessive , but also ambitious . i guess being a virgo explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be glittery eyes, dangling earrings, & chanel draped in pearls.  ( cisfemale & she/her) + ( kale, 20 , she/her , est. )

hi honeybuns !! im back and with child. there is a brief mention of an ed under the cut but i block it off with a tw start & end.    if you’d like to plot pls leave a like and i can dm you or hit you up on discord !! my discord is kale#3079  

BACKSTORY

haneul madison ko was born september 18, 1999 to two immigrant parents from S.K. her birth name is haneul, but she went by the name madison since it was easier to pronounce + madi began to almost detest her culture??

it was just that growing up she would sometimes get bullied for looking different at her school, for the way her packed lunches smelled/looked, the way people would stare if she spoke korean to her parents, how other kids would make fun of her english since she didn’t pick up on vocab/grammar as quickly since she didn’t practice at home with her parents. she just became SO insecure about it that she rejected her culture. she wouldn’t bring her mom’s food to school, if her mom ever forced her to take it she’d throw it away  and choose to starve instead. she wouldn’t speak korean back to her parents in public, barely even in private (which reeaaallly upset her parents). this also REALLY destroyed her korean language skills. she can understand still, but she can barely hold a basic conversation anymore.

as she grew up, and continued this sense of distancing herself from her culture, she ultimately distanced herself from her family. which left her feeling -  - alone often, even though it was all due to her own choices. in this loneliness, she found her escape in music. she would wear headphones constantly through the halls, in car rides, in her room when her parents yelled at her to turn the music down. she just loved music. she saved up the money her parents gave her whenever she worked at the nail salon (her parents owned it!!) to thrift an old keyboard. she became self-taught by trying to copy melodies of songs she’d listen to, thrifting piano lesson books, staying after school with the music teacher learning to play. sometimes she’d even skip lunch to sit in the chorus room with her choir director and play.

it’s not that she had a LACK of friends growing up, maybe just that she lacked a best friend. she had a lot of friends, but no one that she felt so connected to in the way she felt connected to music. perhaps, she was addicted to her loneliness.

she spent a lot of time playing the piano and dabbling in writing music that her grades started to fall (not that she was ever the BEST student) and her parents literally took away her piano. they said it was a waste of time because they wanted her to focus on doing well, so she could get into a good university, and then live a good life. music was just a distraction

but that didnt work

she would sneak out into the city to go to concerts and poetry readings. she’d sneak out and go to indie songwriters scenes while her parents thought she was at the library with one of her school friends

This underground scene had her full heart!! she was surrounded by likeminded people who just lived for music. she was hearing all of these incredible people who were all looking for their start. maybe not looking for anything at than just to sing their songs. tbh i think this was the point she was happiest. she was completely enveloped in music, just for the sake of music. There wasn’t any pressure, just music. Just the songs. she was wide eyed looking at this whole underground scene of artists. So maybe some plots from these underground charas?!

she’d perform some songs at karaoke nights and the indie sessions, and a producer took a keen interest in one of her songs. basically im kind of stealing halsey’s career start, but she posted a song Came in Close on SoundCloud and just blew up overnight. in the morning, she woke up to a record label asking her to fly to LA for a meeting.

and thus, Madison Ko began a career as Madi Ko where she’d release her debut album, Honey, a few months later. (DISCOGRAPHY HERE). her music is very 80s synth inspired!

new album that is most definitely CRJ’S EMOTION is coming soon...

PERSONALITY

right off the bat, madi is an absolute firecracker!! she’s loud, bursting with personality, has a lack of inhibitions that CHAOTICALLY mixes with her spontaneity

part of this is projecting her insecurities. she felt lonely as a child but doesn’t want to be seen as that to the world. it’s not so much a persona but an exaggeration of who she was. 

she likes to show off her glam bc it, once again, hides her insecurities. 

she just kind of is dramatic anymore

like everything about her

her persona as Madi Ko, upcoming popstar underdog, is like DUNKED in glitter, over the top stages and sets, draped in couture. basically her stages/outfits/dances/mvs are like Chungha’s but with Pale Waves and Carly Rae Jepsen VC. ex: 1, 2, 3, 4

also bc im obsessed with chungha’s famous diamond wink, IT’S GONNA BE MADI’S THING TOO. so basically madi has trended on twt a few times bc of her signature diamond wink bc she effing glues rhinestones and glitter under her eyes for performances !! she said fuck corneas !! ex: 1, 2, 3      ....god chungha is magical

so while madi is like a brand hypebeast n never shuts up, she can also get,,, easily annoyed. and heavily perceives ppl on first impressions despite that being the reason she felt misunderstood a lot growing up. 

definitely argumentative!!! will blow up arguments for no reason n then later questions why she made it such a big deal but cant own up to her mistakes

when she decides she doesnt like you, SHE DOESNT LIKE YOU. it’s done. bridge is burned, she’s not keen on second chances

fame has definitely given her a bit of an ego problem --- she’s a bit more aggressive, self-obsessed while intrinsically insecure, is too busy flaunting her material possessions and trendy life that she can...lose touch of reality. basically most of her high school friends cant stand her. HC that her high school bf broke up with her bc she was no longer was the madison ko he knew!!! so if anyone wants to be that ex lmk !!! she’s written songs about them!!!

definitely the type of girl who is so hype at a party, dancing in fallen confetti, standing on the fireplace mantle, but then midway realizes she’s lonely. sad at a party. 

ED TW STARTS!!!!!

....

she kind of always had body image issues growing up, but it was very off and on, but once she got signed and being by surrounded by cameras became normal she formed a full fledged ED. she’s passed out at concerts a few times bc of her ED, but they always brush it off as “not enough rest” or “she wasnt feeling well that day but pushed to perform anyway as to not disappoint the fans”

so feel free for ur muses to point it out !! she’ll get really defensive like “i eat i just work out a lot” and yeah it’s true she works out a lot but she...doesn’t really eat

it’s also one of the causes of her irritability ...

.....

END ED TW!!!!

idk why this is so long

always up for mischief! 

does love a good prank. asks weird hypotheticals 

is not scared of an ouija board

will get wasted off a few shots and drunk madi is UNSTOPPABLE 

one time drunk madi cried bc her siamese cat (MOCHI !!!) wouldn’t ever get to go to school and would never know chemistry..... the dramatics.....

she is sensitive and despises it. she does everything she can to not come across as sensitive

however, she’s so obsessive. so deep in feeling. when she feels something she FEELS it. when she is mad it boils through her. when she is in love it is all she knows. when she is sad it covers her like sweaters and blankets on rainy days. she doesn’t know how to half-feel. everything she feels stops her in her tracks.

HOWEVER she’s the most obsessive with her own insecurities — so in relationships she’s kind of known for tapping out early. she just gets scared and the fleetingness of her career and that she’s at her very core, lonely and disappointed in herself, makes her want to run away thinking that letting down her walls and being vulnerable could only be disappointing for her SO. so maybe she ghosted ur chara or gave some lame excuse

Kind of obsessed with how she’s perceived

terrified that at any moment her career could be thrown away, her deemed irrelevant, and she goes back to being Madison Ko, daughter of nail techs in Koreatown. and then her parents would have been right all along, music was a waste of time.

she’s just my little fallen angel who flew to the sun (fame) and it constantly eats away at her girlhood, at her heart.

anyways this is all i got rn <3 come love me sorry i kind of didn’t shut up this is long

WANTED CONNECTIONS

an ex from before she was famous who broke up with her because of how she changed!! PLEASE i have ideas for this. plus,,, you get a lot of songs about ur chara!!! could be from high school, maybe someone in the music scene she frequented before she was signed, anything!!

anothr ex/fwb/undefined relationship i’d love is one when she was first famous who just introduced her to everything. something like a whirlwind that was exciting and magical. she’s written songs about this person.

exes in general. 

hookups/fwb

romantic plots. pls i have songs who need meaning. friends to lovers, one sided (either way), slowburn, ANYTHING. love cruel summer plots, anything lover by tswift

PR relationships -- would LOVE one where she falls in love with the other despite how clearly defined they made their relationship

love triangles in general just get me going

best friend!!!! the one’s who know how the other feels just by looking at each other. they have countless sleepovers. tell each other everything. cry together on bathroom floors. pregame together. 

ex friends. for whatever reason -- maybe madi did smth shitty, maybe they did. maybe there was backstabbing, maybe madi sacrificed friendship for a career, maybe she made moves on their romantic partner/interest despite being fully aware. idk. gimme

People she knew from the underground/indie scene before they were famous!! they’d have bonded over their love for music, little indie dreams kind of vibe. just imagine a group of dreamers !! Would love if they made some kind of pact!!!

party friends

collabs !!

pranks. mischief. gimme

enemies. gotta cook up some drama, yknow

GIRL GANG. god i just want this so bad like make a girls dream come true

[romanroths]

howdy. my name is mar, i’m 23, i’m out here in est, i go by she/her. this is my emo fuck, roman rothschild as titus. i don’t have a connections page set up yet so fjslkfj. just like this badboi and i’ll come hit you up. so mf excited to be here! feel free to add me on discord @ nyc's salad rat#9307

the basics.

skeleton: titus name: roman alexander rothschild age: 22 faceclaim: nick robinson  gender: cismale  pronouns: he/him degree: chemistry 

the start.

his mother and father were only seventeen when roman was born, freshly out of high school. it would be a lie to dub the pregnancy as anything other than a massive accident, born out of the incessant desire to be known and seen by someone else at that age, right down to your core. what better way to do that then to let them in fully, spreading yourself open so wide that maybe someone might like even the ugly bits of you? maybe they loved each other, but maybe they didn’t. roman never did quite figure it out. they must have at least liked one another to some extent to stick it out, to produce two more lives after him. augustus and lucretia. they weren’t many things but they were consistent. 

new money. how very fitzgerald for a boy from england. how very ironic it is with a name like rothschild. roman’s mother had always claimed they came from royalty, that their blood was tinged with blue. that always seemed like bullshit as far as roman himself was concerned. just because things sounded important did not always mean that they were. but then, one day they were important. fortune has a funny way of finding the most entitled. childhood was almost painfully boring. no traumatic stories or wondrous tales. he was born in bath, and was raised in a flat that was under furnished and a bit small, but cozy nonetheless. he loved it there, and even after moving into their cavernous home in london when the money trickled in, felt more at home in bath amongst the olden architecture. the city was ancient, just like his soul. most of his youth was spent under the sky, devouring books by natural light, a quiet and calm boy who hardly ever even scraped a knee. his mother had resigned herself to looking after roman once he was born, dashing her dreams of being a grand actress for wiping the spit off of roman’s chin. maybe that’s why she harbored a hair of resentment for him. his father went forth to achieve his mba, specializing in computer sciences. he’d later go on to invent some very important, very complicated anti-virus system that ensured the protection of your pc. it was bought and then patented by apple on roman’s eleventh birthday. money was no longer an object. 

graduating to a higher social bracket proved to be more difficult than roman had anticipated. his mother had no issue in the matter, almost immediately swapping her dulled coats and modest silver for furs and diamonds. his father seemed relieved somehow, even if he spent even more time away than before. (though, it was later revealed that this was no longer due to work but due to the twenty-five year old secretary that seduced him. the family functions on a very, don’t ask, don’t tell basis. they all still pretend they don’t know.) even his siblings seemed more taken with their situation, getting lost in harrod’s with his mother, fetching treats they never used to be able to afford and filling their rooms with fun and frill. only roman was miserable. he longed for home. the nosiness of their street caused him to spend the night gaping at his ceiling, tears brimming his eyes. no matter how badly he willed it, he could no longer remember what the air in bath smelled of. he could no longer make out what the local bakery’s hot cross buns tasted like. all the money in the world could not cure his seemingly terminal case of homesickness. 

the preparatory school he attended was a buffet of different flavors of the rich and very posh. some who were even actually were related to the crown, and not in the naive sort of way his mother had claimed. most of them seemed to speak a language of their own, already so determined of their futures. future parliament members just like their parents, or perhaps diplomats. there were even a few children of celebrities, who roman discovered either had a thirst for the crafts of their parents or absolutely abhorred it. there was no middle ground with the children conceived by artists. 

during this period of solitude, roman as we know today was formed. once a sweet and relatively shy boy, he became a scribble of snark, sarcasm, and wit. it was not meant in malice, like many of his classmates and peers thought, but simply his sense of humor, outlook, and demeanor. anyone who was willing enough to befriend him, found him to be composed surprisingly of boyish grins and mischief. he was not the block of ice people made him out to be. all one had to do was offer him the warmth of their trust for him to melt. 

the skill that permitted him into imperium happened somewhat accidentally. worried that their eldest son was falling into a depression, his parents had him seated with a psychologist at fifteen. unbeknownst to him, his mother had stolen the journal he faithfully confided in and presented it to the spidery woman responsible for unspooling the tangle of roman’s thoughts. while she did find some of the contents troubling, most of all she was impressed with the nature in which the boy wrote. a penchant for words, able to bewitch the page and to turn it into the picture perfect image of whatever he envisioned in his brain. poetic and dark, like a brewing storm. she encouraged him to follow this talent, to untether it from his moments of melancholy and allow it to speak for stories. which is what he did. by seventeen he had published two books of poetry, and was working on a murder mystery story, involving two reunited lovers piecing together the murder of a recently deceased childhood friend. despite the fact that the works that he had published were done so anonymously, ashcroft was able to uncover the truth. and so as he entered university, he was accepted with much prestige into imperium. the one and only place that roman felt as though he might belong. that he might actually be happy.

until octavia’s death, of course. 

roman had loved tragedies until he had become one. that all he was now, tragedy with a heartbeat. was it better to love and have it taken from you? or was it better to have not loved at all? all he knows is that he was certain his heart had endured enough when she’d left the first time, he did not know what egregious sin he’d committed to lose her the second time. there was no peace for him anymore. nothing could quell the rainstorm in his soul. not even the things that used to work. laying out in the library with leather books in hand, walking around campus with the rest of the club and laughter in their voice, coffees with too much sugar, the first snowfall. all of it, devoid of anything but misery. ache. death. the only cure would have come in the form of her, octavia’s nimble fingers in his hair. missing her was so jarring, he felt that it was only a matter of time before he too would join her. 

as naive as it was, roman felt grateful for the ghostly visits. first he’d chalked it up to insanity. what else could it be? at least now he could see her, he could hear her, beyond the times when he pulled up videos of her on his phone while the sounds and sights of her were snuffed out by the sounds of his own wailing. he’d rather a shadow of her presence than nothing at all. 

rage came next. he wanted it to be lysander. needed it to be. lysander was responsible for all dissolution of his happiness. it was lysander who had seduced away the one person he’d ever loved. clearly it had to be lysander who had selfishly expelled her from the world too. it felt easier to condense his hatred to one person… roman wasn’t sure if there was enough space left in him to hate anyone else. but to learn this was wrong? roman had no idea what to make of it. it caused him to wet his sheets each night with sweat, to carve bloody moon imprints onto his palms. he felt ravenous for revenge. 

the brain.

[ based off loosely off of: camille preaker, theodore laurie, ponyboy curtis, & draco malfoy ]

+ romantic: it’s no secret that ro is a massive romantic. anyone who saw him interact with octavia could see it clear as day. he genuinely enjoyed the little things in a relationship many thought organically lessened with the hands of time. however, he continued to be spontaneous, attentive, and sweet. he continued with love notes, and presenting flowers whenever he could. even in the way he looked at his love seemed to be veiled in something ancient, something innate like he’d always known her in all of his lives. roman’s romanticism did not stop at tiv, though. it leaked into his poetry, as intense wafts of emotions always seem to steal our words. but there is even a romantic manner in which he treats his friends. he’s a little bit of your boyfriend when you’re close enough friends, to be perfectly honest. the boy has a earnest love for making those he cares for feel looked after. not all loves are amorous in nature, but that does not mean they are not to be cultivated with the same dedication to magic as the one he shared with his beloved. 

+ empathetic: sometimes a negative, mostly a positive roman has the unbearable burden of a heart too large for his mind. he sees whispers of goodness in every person (save for fucking lysander) even if he does not want to. if someone is under duress, or is wallowing in some sort of pain, roman’s instinct is to alleviate their plight. sometimes it comes begrudgingly, as though someone is holding a gun to his temple to execute such a task. not even a hint of a smile dressing his face, but he does it nonetheless, knowing he may be robbed of his sleep if not. but for his friends, he’d gladly die doing right by their hearts. 

+ noble: perhaps roman is of aristocratic blood after all, because roman is the most noble of them all. he’s not quite sure when the moral compass forged itself into his soul, and when it began to guide nearly all of his actions, but one day he woke up and was highly aware of the importance of sticking to one’s words. once he adopts something as the decent thing to do, he has a hard time shaking it. it shackles him. it ensnares him to do the right thing each time. for this reason, he’s been in trouble a few times for sticking his nose where it doesn’t necessarily belong, getting into tiffs with moronic bullies who pick on others or sleazy men with wandering hands. sometimes he wishes he could just mind his own fucking business. it certainly may have prevented him a black eye or two. 

- cynical: you could almost say that from the moment that roman kissed octavia, he could taste the doom on her lips. he certainly did not anticipate her grim ending, but he always knew she was too good for him. too beautiful, too happy, too perfect. just as her fickle gaze wanders, so shall she. but, this frame of mind was not unique to just this singular circumstance, it was roman’s entire mantra. all good in life would be expunged from him eventually. one must always anticipate the worst, and be pleasantly surprised when things pan out. for example, he’s a writer and yet he studies chemistry. why? because he’s afraid that his writing isn’t as good as he believes and will need a fall back. as of now, his fallback is pharmaceutical school. he finds happy endings in movies to be unbelievable. how is it realistic that everyone ends up happier than ever? bullshit. no fucking way. 

- self-destructive: (tw: drug/alcohol mention) he drenches himself in gasoline with the cynicism, but he lights the match by participating in self-destructive behavior. drinking and drugs become a regular part of ro’s life when he’s lounging in a pool of his own pain. he finds it best to numb it, to muffle the screams of doubt in his head with sharp shops of bourbon and snowy lines of cocaine. besides, he always tells himself it may make him a more interesting writer. what’s life without a little scandal, anyway? 

- aloof: despite having a pure heart, roman has a difficult time expressing himself. with page and pen, he manages to do so, but in person? to unlatch your cage of ribs and let someone inside? to watch the softness in your eyes when you admit a secret, or a snippet of deep affection? his shrink had chalked it up to the fact his parents never told him that they loved him. awkward kisses on the head on birthdays and maybe a stiff hug or two in between, but roman himself has always had a painfully hard time coming across as soft as he truly was, no matter how hard he tries. 

the quirks. 

has a tattoo of joan of arc on the left side of his ribcage. that sounds poetic but he also has a tattoo of the lochness monster with sunglasses on that he got while drunk in mexico one summer break.

presses flowers. usually he presses them to make bookmarks. leaves his favorite ones in his favorite books at the library for people to enjoy. if you ask him directly if he’s behind this random kindness though, he’ll tell you to fuck off.

has a pet goldfish that he’s successfully kept alive for six whole fucking years. her name is peaches. i think he’d fully lose it if peaches kicks it sometime soon too.

incredibly gifted when it comes to billiards. is known to drive further out of town to new bars to hustle people for money.

very much a “here’s my other headphone, let’s stare out the window together depressively” when on buses and train with his friends.

if you listen really hard in the library at like 8 pm, you will find him softly cry into the last book octavia checked out. come say hi, pals!

has very conflicting senses of style. likes clean lines and pristinely clean shirts and slacks which he then pairs with his most worn out chucks, and most lived in sweaters. if his shoes are clean and tidy then he has to be in a leather blazer. has this man ever brushed his hair in his life? absolutely not, but literally nothing he owns will ever appear wrinkled.

only has one pin on his leather messenger bag: “eat the rich” it says, as if he and literally most of his friends don’t consist of “the rich.”

his favorite book is love in a time of cholera

is a bit sentimental. he’s the type to keep movie tickets and receipts from good days he’s had with friends. he has them all in a big box, and when things are too heavy to bear he likes to sift through it all and remember all the pieces in time where things didn’t feel so ghastly. 

carries around a disposable camera. roman’s too lazy to get into actual film, but he likes the concept of physical photos, so he’ll usually have his wallet, keys, a book, and the shitty camera stuffed into his coat at all times. please note that his keys have an obnoxious amount of keychains for a man of his age. his favorite one is a koala whose eyes pop out when you squeeze it, gifted to him by his little sister. keeps a photo of his sister, octavia, and his best friend in his wallet, always.

he still hasn’t finished his book. needless to say, his publisher is really fucking pissed. every time someone brings it up, he says, “it’s almost done.” it’s not. not even close.

always always always makes wishes in fountains. keeps coins on him just for that purpose. and no, he never does reveal what he actually wishes for. 

the letter.

tivi, 

the other day i read somewhere that drowning is relatively quick. between the midst of the panic and terror, the average person only has between thirty to sixty seconds before they involuntarily suck in a mouthful of water. the pain of this process is supposed to be so severe, that you pass out. but just before you do, the lack of oxygen sends you into a state of euphoria. you feel nothing but the swath of water’s gentle embrace. it blankets your thoughts, and the water’s clasp around you is meant to bring you comfort, the same way babies like pools. it feels maternal, safe. i used to think love was like that. both terror and elation ribboned and sandwiched down into a single person. it was morbid, to compare death and love, i know that now. but perhaps my self conscious was always preparing me for this. the death of you. the death of my heart. the death of all things colored and pure in this life, all of which is to be buried with you and our child. do you think our baby would have liked pools? 

the pain is visceral. i can feel it, heavy and harsh in my lungs. in the crevices of my bones. in my arms, where the warmth of you lacks. i can even fucking taste it, even the bitter burn of scotch turning to ash in my mouth. no one knows how to approach this, or what to say to me. i keep receiving tight-lipped looks of people awash with pity and sympathy. you always hated when i cried. i did that a lot, didn’t i? a stupid fucking commercial about a father taking his daughter to ballet class and suddenly i’ve got my fists balled up hot and tight, and my eyes are at the ceiling trying to evaporate the ocean in my face. you were the only one i felt safe enough to be a complete an utter wreck in front of. but don’t worry, your headstone will get regular updates of my too loud, too long series of sobs. i’ll be forever faithful. 

i found ten synonyms in the thesaurus for “miss.” pine for, long to see, ache for, feel the loss of, regret the absence of, yearn for, feel nostalgic for, long for, need. none of them seem to fit this all consuming rot that you left behind in my heart. nonetheless, each of these substitute meanings live inside me. when i walk, i can feel them all shifting around, clashing around my insides, against one another, like bits of a snow-globe. except none of this feels glittery. i know it sounds childish, but before the day begins, and just as the misery begins to sink in, my first instinct is always to reach for my phone and call you to tell you about it. there was always honey to be found in your words. god, i fucking miss you.  

i have much to thank you for. it’d be naive to believe i could shrink all of it down into a single page, but i’ll try my best to do you justice. thank you for your patience, that of a saint at times. thank you for allowing me the great honor of your affection. thank you for every shard of laughter you extended to me. thank you for never calling me out on being a fucking awful dancer when i most certainly was. thank you for being the shepherd to my darkest secrets. [ REDACTED SECRET, BAYBEEEE ]  thank you for existing in my life, and washing my world with worth. i wish i could forget it now, but i’m afraid i’ll be chasing this, you, for the rest of forever. at least i have something to chase, i guess. thank you, thank you, thank you. 

tiv, wherever you are… please know that i love you and have loved you from the very moment we met. i would have died for you, but i don’t know if i can live like this for you. i feel carved out, hollow. you took with you every glimmer of light i had left. it’s too dark now… and enough of the prose for a second, i keep crying so god damn much i can barely see. like literally, i think fucking going blind too now. great. guess it really is dark now, huh baby? you would have hated this joke. 

come back. even just for a little while. i love you. i love you, i love you. should have said it more. 

i love you. 

forever yours, 

ro

the extras. 

pinterest board

spotify playlist

thank you for reading all of this if you did lol.

[flightsrsk]

hello hello all !!! my name is riley and this is my actual trash son maverick, aka the flight risk !!! i am so so hyped to get the ball rollin on this, so check out info on my kid under ze cut !!

warning: this got rlly mcfreaking long and i am so sorry fjdklsjs i am incapable of writing a short intro post

unfortunately i will not be able to be around for the official opening bc i’m on vacation w my fam and godparents, but i will try and intermittently read intros and chat to you guys about plots !!!! PLS feel free to bombard me through IMs or through discord if any plot sparks ur interest or u think mav could fit well in one of ur plots!!! :’)

THE BASICS

Name: Maverick Hobbes Braxton

Age: Twenty-one

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/Him

Major & year: Philosophy, Third year

Faceclaim: Alex Fitzalan

Occupation: N/A

THE FLIGHT RISK

Maverick Braxton, as you might see, is an enigma—or rather, has evolved into one, slowly: a transformation that begun with his first breath. In his early years, the stage had been set for him, line by line. Act One: attend prep schools, excel in classes. Act Two: attend Covington, take center stage—you know, all of the things his older brother, Richard had accomplished with ease, just one year prior to all of his expectations. It was simple, really: a blueprint laid out ahead of him, with little to nothing in his way.

The only problem was that Maverick didn’t exactly see the point in choosing that path, that stage, that story. To him, it wasn’t challenging.

That, and the fact that the life laid out in front of him offered him absolutely nothing.

A series of banal expectations, unfair comparisons, and heartbreaking betrayals, and the traditional life of the Braxton child was thrown out the window—at least, in his brain, it was. See, Maverick Braxton, while independent, coy, and arrogant, isn’t stupid. He knows if he pleases his parents just enough, they’ll still distribute his trust fund and still bail him out of legal trouble when he inevitably tiptoes too far down the delicate line between ambition and rebellion. Perhaps it’s a bit selfish, but what does he owe to a family who paid him no attention, who never asked of his well-being, his own ambitions, his personal dreams?

He’s the kind of person to drive down the highway, windows rolled all the way down, cigarette lit—not because he necessarily likes the taste of nicotine, but because he likes the way the smoke creates clouds that obscure reality. He’ll surprise you in class when he interjects with a sarcastic but surprisingly salient point before throwing up his hood and retreating to the back corner for the rest of class. He’s the kind of person to start reading a book, flipping incessantly through the pages, both impatient by the pace of the plot, yet put it down before he reaches the final pages because he doesn’t want to be disappointed by the ending. He’s the kind of artist who rarely finishes a sketch, the writer who is never satisfied by a poem—for fear, of course, by deep-rooted insecurities that nothing that he will ever do will be enough.

A once-broken heart had taken time to mend, even though it seems ice-cold and whole from the outside. It’s why he has commitment issues: he doesn’t want to be burned again. He plays off his flirtatious bit as a personality trait, someone who is bored by the prospect of being tied down—and yet those who share his bed might consider him Covington’s most surprisingly deep pillow-talker.

An enigma, you see—one who doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to truly understand, truly a Flight Risk.

BIOGRAPHY:

( You can read his full biography here! Still in the process of editing it a bit, but below are some important bullet points! )

Maverick was born the second of three children to the Braxton family—and as per usual with the Braxton children, he was born into a life filled to the absolute brim of expectation.

His father, a playwright, his mother, an actress. His brother, a theatre prodigy—what part did that leave him to play? The assumed expectations were to follow in his mother and brothers’ footsteps and take center stage; he excelled, for a while, but Maverick always felt lost.

Neighbors and family friends would always ask if he had measured up, in each and every shape and form: it was like the entire universe had a scoreboard with their names titling each section, and Maverick was always playing catch-up, never knowing where the finish line was.

For a while, he stuck to the script that was given to him: study, succeed, repeat. He tried to understand the ins and outs of his father’s work, of masterful acting techniques, trying to make a large enough splash to where his family would even notice the work he put into his life. Surprise: it didn’t.

It took him seventeen years to truly understand that his role in life was not exactly the story his parents had laid out for him, but rather, his sibling, instead.

Downcast emotions transformed quickly into cynicism. What used to make him feel sad now fueled a blue fire within Maverick’s chest, one that felt wronged by the system he was placed in: a complete first-world problem, but it was then and there when he decided to take advantage of his situation, given that he had spent his entire life dedicated to a part he wouldn’t play.

Hypocritical as he was, he still enjoyed the fruits of his parents’ work, cashing the unlimited checks with his name on them, as if it was some sort of sick version of love.

One piece of recognition that Maverick finally earned was an acceptance to Covington—and even that couldn’t be tainted by his brother’s success or his legacy status.

At Covington, Maverick has both lost and found his footing, multiple times. He’s quit acting, quit studying theater, in favor of a topic that stimulates his brain more than reading lines and

PERSONALITY:

Maverick Braxton is certainly a paradox. He’s charismatic, funny, and has a witty sense of humor –– and is generally appreciated by his peers because he’s able to move conversation and discussion without making topics seem dry.

Despite his apparent inferiority to his sibling, the Braxton family still breeds the cream of the crop. He’s certainly a bit arrogant sometimes, given that he’s intelligent, innovative, and clever, and wants to be recognized for it –– however, even if he might not show it on the outside, he appreciates a good challenger. He thinks it keeps his wit sharp, and of course, his ego would never show it, but he does appreciate learning from people. After all, his passion in philosophy, his current area of study, makes him certainly interested in how the world works.

Those who happen to get to know Maverick outside of the surface-level stuff, outside the initial cockiness and flirtatious front he puts on will know that he’s actually quite thoughtful. His lonely childhood has made him extremely loyal to those who have shown him similar trust and friendship –– he would never turn his back on them.

He asks probing questions, is a good listener –– perhaps because he’s interested in human decision making, but is also because he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally –– though he wants to.

Deep down, what almost no one knows is that he’s really quite soft. He passes his curiosity off as wanting to understand people, when really it’s a mechanism for hoping someone asks him questions in return, to give him the time of day he wished his parents ( and the rest of the goddamned universe ) had given him.

Despite his theatre prowess, he isn’t actually a particularly good liar. Those who spend enough time around him can hear his tone of voice incline slightly and see him scratch his brow.

AESTHETICS:

coffee-stained mugs, walking with headphones in but nothing playing, untied shoelaces, black hoodies, a cheeky smirk, small books in his back pocket, writing in the margins, unfinished poems, quoting old authors on a daily basis, incessant eye-rolling, pen ink stains, an unmade bed, mismatched socks, floral ties, empty bottles of liquor, rose thorn pricks, old worn poetry books, polished dress shoes, calloused fingers, unlit cigarettes between teeth.

HEADCANONS:

Funnily enough, Maverick’s name means ‘independent, a noncomformist’, which is exactly the path that he has taken to stray away from his family’s expectations.

He does have one strong connection to his family, though: his grandmother, on his father’s side. She understands the pressure he undergoes, who saw the pressure Maverick’s father endured to obtain the success he has. She is one of the only reasons that Maverick has not just jetted off to take on his own adventure. He loves her dearly, and wishes that her empathy and wisdom would rub off on the rest of his family.

Maverick has some form of synesthesia, which allows him to remember a lot more than the average person. He associates colors, smells, sounds, to words –– and allows him to efficiently study any subjects he doesn’t have immediate passion for.

In the privacy of his own bedroom, he sometimes writes poetry and sketches his thoughts and muses –– when he knows he’s in complete privacy. Faces and features that appear in his sketchbooks are often those he’s thinking of often, those who intrigue him. He’s actually quite good a sketching, maybe not quite as good at writing poetry.

His room is spotless –– evidence that he is a bit of a control freak sometimes. It shows that during his adolescence, he reveled in the parts of his life that he could control and perfect.

tw drugs. He more than dabbles in drug use, smoking marijuana maybe every other day, while partaking in harder drugs like cocaine and adderall and others probably once a week. He feels like he’s in control of his use, but it may start to get the best of him. end tw.

Maverick is left-handed. He hates that he gets pen ink stains when he draws, writes poetry, takes notes. His left palm is probably perennially covered with ink.

Though he’s often wearing headphones ( airpods, of course, the nerve of this rich kid ), half the time, nothing’s playing. Sometimes he forgets to press play on his phone, sometimes he purposely likes listening to decision-making and conversations of strangers. it lets him think about the nature of mankind.

Maverick’s favorite philosopher is Albert Camus, known for his work that heavily developed the idea of absurdism ( much to do with the meaning of life, and human inability to discern an answer ).

Maverick’s preferred method of transportation is his skateboard. he loved it first because his parents hated it: pushing himself around on a board like that would get him injured—besides, why not just take the car to school, the driver had been paid for anyway? It was his first taste of rebellion. Now at Covington, where skateboarding is far more efficient than walking across campus, it comes in handy when he sees someone he’d rather not stop and chat to.

Maverick could die with a poetry book nestled on his chest—it’s the one thing he got out of the impressive book collection his family owned. There was something daunting and beautiful about the way poems would transform metaphors into something fantastical, like the emotions were clearly there, but the words were skirting the issue. Kind of like how his parents would never really tell him they loved him.

Maverick often has headphones in when he walks to class. not particularly because he’s actually listening to music or a podcast, but rather because he’d just … rather not be bothered to stop and talk to people.

Maverick loves to draw. He’s mostly self-taught, with a bit of mentorship from his high school art teacher. Evidenced by the rest of his fleeting personality, he rarely finishes a sketch or painting. He claims he never has time to finish them, but the number of crumbled-up, half-finished sketches in his trash bin might say otherwise.

PLOTS

** see my wanted plots tag here too! // and my plots page here !!

* FIRST LOVE / OPEN.

It wouldn’t be easy to make Maverick feel like even more of a disappointment than he already had with his parents, his family—but your muse proved this feeling wrong. He loved them, more than he’d ever loved anything before. In the midst of confusion about where he belonged, he felt safe with your muse; he’d do anything for them. Things ended, he felt betrayed ( though the break-up could have easily been due to a fault of his ), and the split made him the one who now struggles fully with commitment. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken again. See: this entire pinterest board.

but also if u give me this ……………… i’ll name my firstborn after u

* BEST FRIEND / OPEN.

Those who go through similar childhood traumas are often able to understand each other –– that was how it worked with Maverick and your muse, at least. They’re thick as thieves — and have likely seen the ups and downs of Maverick’s life in real time.

* CHILDHOOD FRIENDS / OPEN.

Self explanatory—and also probably knows about the pressures the Braxton family imposes on their children.

* EX-FRIENDS / OPEN.

Friends who were close, close no longer. Maverick’s a real piece of work, and an asshole, too—there are myriad possibilities for why Maverick could have pushed them away. He wouldn’t openly admit that he misses being around your muse, but he certainly would feel a bit of guilt given that they’re no longer the closest of friends.

* MOMENT OF WEAKNESS / OPEN.

Your muse, in whatever unfortunate setting, saw a glimpse of Maverick’s soft side that hardly ever makes an appearance. He’s not going to let them tell the world about his vulnerabilities, though. Not a chance.

* DISLIKED / OPEN.

Maverick is sarcastic, cold, and sometimes emotionless. It’s not surprising that not everyone gets along with the middle Braxton. The possibilities are endless—throw in some sexual tension and I’d actually fall at ur feet.

* PREVIOUS ROOMMATES / OPEN.

Your muse, at one point, probably knew Maverick better than everyone else at Covington. They overheard some of his phone calls with his parents, saw his notes for how he was to achieve his life goals, heard him crying in the middle of the night when he thought your muse was asleep. They could be extremely close now, as in one of the few people Maverick opens up to, or could be distant friends who know about one anothers’ struggles. The possibilities are endless, tbh.

+ ANYTHING LEGITIMATELY ……… IF U THINK THERE’S POSSIBILITY FOR SOMETHING COOL W MAV AND UR MUSE. SIGN ME THE F UP. THANKS.