#hateful little creature almost affectionate but also spiteful

[arundolyn]

Happy birthday, Rachel Alucard, and happy Halloween!

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART ONE

Napoleon’s son with Marie Louise, his second wife, the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor Habsburg Emperor Francis II, is known by a variety of names: Napoleon II, the Eaglet, l’Aiglon, King of Rome, or Franz, Duke of Reichstadt. It seems to me this kid barely gets mentioned as a footnote in most popular biographies of Napoleon. Of course Napoleon loved kids, and was over the moon that he finally had his own legitimate child, his own son and heir. He doted on this adorable and spirited blond moppet, being super affectionate with him, playing with him, spending lots of time with him, bringing him into his study to cuddle with him as he read dispatches, or tossing him up into the air when the toddler pulled on his coat-tails.

It’s very sweet and heart-warming to read all these adorable father-son moments, but honestly it’s depressing as hell to realize the best years of the Eaglet’s life was up to the age of four.

When he parted from his father after his defeat in Russia, it was all horribly and sickeningly downhill from there.

So I was reading Octave Aubry’s biography The King of Rome: Napoleon II. It’s not a new bio by any means— it’s from 1932. But it is thoroughly researched and very well written, with lots of cites from various Viennese archives, and Jesus Christ, it is depressing. The Eaglet was physically and emotionally abused by the Habsburg side of his family and by their minions for most of his very short life, and it makes for a harrowing read.  

What did his mother do to stop it, you may ask? Unfortunately, the answer is absolutely nothing.

TW: CHILD ABUSE

So, the best that could be said about his mother, Marie Louise, was that she was a weak character. If I wanted to be more blunt, I’d say she was spineless enough to the point I wonder if she was even a vertebrate.  

She was, of course, raised to hate Napoleon as a child. But then she met him and fell in love with him. She was very eager to be loved and do everything he asked her to do, even if (as Andrew Roberts points out in his own mammoth biography of Napoleon) she wasn’t the brightest bulb. But perhaps she was a perfectly cromulent empress when war wasn’t on her doorstep and she wasn’t asked to make decisions: but once the war WAS on her doorstep and decision-making was called of her, she fell apart like wet tissue. As Aubry explains:

That it would be a capital mistake for Marie Louise and her son to leave Paris was painfully evident to everyone, even to the Empress herself. But no initiative could have been expected of her. Willing, always of the best intentions, she was a passive creature both by temperament and education. She could never be more than an instrument in the hands of others. But Hortense, who had a resolute spirit behind that bleat of hers, showed both intelligence and heart in the circumstances. She was waiting for Marie Louise when the council was over, and said to her:

‘Sister dear, you must realize that in leaving Paris you will be neutralizing the defense and so lose your crown. I observe that you are making the sacrifice with great resignation.’

The Empress replied gently, almost humbly:

‘You are right. It is not my fault— the Council has decided that way.’

She was hoping vaguely for a letter from the Emperor, a counter-order that would permit her to remain. [Aubry pg 54]

At this point Louise, after fleeing Paris, wanted to be reunited with Napoleon, but she just cried and wrung her hands, as her lady-in-waiting Mme Lannes, in cahoots with Talleyrand, poured poison into her ear about how Napoleon never loved her. Then Talleyrand conspired to have all of Louise’s stuff stolen. The soon-to-be-ex-empress continued to cry and do nothing, only to go “to her room to collapse on her knees at her bedside.”

Anyway, her father swooped in and picked her up, and Metternich arranged to have Neipperg, a dashing, managing middle-aged man in uniform (Louise definitely had a type), seduce her. Within the space of weeks, she immediately changed her tune with regards to her husband, and wanted to have nothing more to do with him. As for the Eaglet, though he ended up in Vienna, he was in the care of his beloved governess, Mme de Montesquiou, aka “Maman ‘Quiou.” He was in good hands while Maman ‘Quiou was allowed to stay with him, but she was deathly afraid of being sent away, since she knew Louise was indifferent to her child and would never do the right thing, now that she was the puppet of her father and of Metternich.

With her son whom she had not seen for three months and who was enraptured at her return, she [Marie Louise] concerned herself less and less. In spite of the caresses and the gifts that were showered upon her, Mme. de Montesquiou saw things clearly and passed her judgment. Writing to her husband who was urging her to leave Vienna she said:

“My dear, do not call it my duty to return to France. As I have already advised you, you would be putting me in the greatest embarrassment, and my conscience would trouble me all my life long… If that child has a mother, very well, I could place him in her hands and be satisfied. But she is nothing less than that: she is more indifferent to his fate than the veriest stranger in his service.”

And to an intimate she confided in disgust at what she suspected and intuited:

“I have seen painful things, and I keep seeing them every day.”  [Aubry pg 81]

Unfortunately, in 1815, Maman ‘Quiou was sent away. The Eaglet wept for two days straight, and was put into the care of a certain Countess Mitrovsky, “a creature of the Empress Maria-Ludovica and an intimate of Neipperg.” The loyal Meneval, who was also to be sent away, said good-bye to the little boy, and the change in the child’s demeanor was striking.

He was struck by the child’s earnest and melancholy air. He did not run to meet Meneval with his usual lively gestures and gay exclamations. He watched him, as he entered, with the utmost indifference. Countess Mitrovsky was with him. Every few seconds he would look at her as though in fear of a reprimand. After a few conventional phrases, Meneval took his hand and asked him if he had anything to say to his papa, for he was going soon to see him. The child looked at him sadly and went away, still silent, towards the embrasure of a distant window. Meneval bade good-bye to the Countess and Mme. Soufflot [one of the few remaining French waiting women], then, as he was leaving, stepped over to the little boy who stood watching him from the window. He bent low to bid him good-bye. And at that moment, he felt a tug at his coat and heard a trembling little voice say:

“Monsieur Meva, you will tell him that I still love him dearly.”

He was only four years old and for fourteen months he had not seen his father…

When he reached the antechamber, Meneval burst into tears. [Aubry, pgs 89-90]

Not long after this, the young King was delivered into the care of a tutor named Count Dietrichstein. The Eaglet, who was “dragged” by Countess Mitrovsky to meet Dietrichstein, refused to have anything to do with him, and Dietrichstein, while weeping, dramatically claimed to a friend “he cannot love me” as long as the last French women, even the aged nurse, were in Franz’s service. So Mme Soufflot, her daughter Fanny, and the others were banished, leaving Franz completely alone.

No more warmth about him, no more deep interest, no more deep interest, no soft hands to stroke his curls, no arms to clasp him too tight when he returned weary from a drive, no knees to spread him to let him rest, no more smiling reproofs for his shortcomings, no more love in short— real love, that is disinterested, unselfish love, love for himself and love for what he was. His mother was soon to leave him, to ascend to her throne in Parma. HIs grandfather Franz treated him kindly; but he had always sacrificed him for the interests of State and would sacrifice him again, if the Chancellor [Metternich] so ordered. As for his uncles, aunts, and cousins of Austria, however well they might treat him, however generous they might be, as certain of them were, they could not— and this was natural— help seeing in him, first of all, the son of Napoleon.

He was born with an affectionate disposition. He had loved his father infinitely. With his mother he had been tender and gentle. He had adored Mme de Montesquiou and Fanny Soufflot. Now he was compelled to close his heart. Brought up by men, raised only by men, but still too much of a child to become a man, he turned inward, escaped into the little universe he had made for himself with his memories of former days. For as young as he was, he had no hope, and he did not know there was a future. He was going to grow up that way, not unhappy if one only looks at the material content of life, but if one thinks of the needs of the heart, certainly not happy. [Aubry pgs 97-98]

Count Dietrichstein decided that he was going to stamp all the Frenchness out of the Eaglet’s mind, for he must become 100% a Habsburg. Nothing but German would be spoken to him, and when he clung to speaking French, crying that he didn’t want to be a German, that he wished to be a Frenchman, he was chastised, deprived of play and outings, and then, with the Emperor Franz’s approval, actually whipped. Yes— he was whipped. When he was only five years old, because he wouldn’t speak German.

But when even that wouldn’t work, Marie Louise sat him on her knee and told him solemnly that he must speak German to please his grandfather, which finally did the trick. Not long after this, she went to the little court in Parma. She requested for her son  to go with her, but when Metternich refused, she acquiesced meekly.

Once so light-hearted and gay, the child became timid and mistrustful, and after the departure of his friends, the French women, and would lie to protect himself. In such cases he would be punished, not harshly, but not gently either. He shrank more and more into himself, accordingly, and since the world had grown hostile, he now began to offer it only a surface of indifference. [Aubry, pg 100]

He began to act out, destroying his copy books and mutilating his toys, but would also become sensitive to injustice or cruelty, like a dog being whipped or a bird eating a worm. He was told he would no longer be called Napoleon: he was to be called Franz. When he objected, he was “promptly silenced.” He became used to the name, and from here on out he was usually called Franz.

Franz still fought with Dietrichstein, who commented on his “laziness” and “ill will,” and his many quarrels with the prince, although he was happy to note in his letters to Marie Louise that it ended with “my victories.” Metternich had the boy closely followed, reports sent regularly and classified into a “ponderous file.” Meanwhile, his mother, off in Parma, when she wasn’t writing letters to her son exhorting him to pious obedience, made the feeblest attempt to defend the interests of the newly christened Franz— Franz was cut off from the succession of Parma after Metternich decided that this was in the best interests of the monarchy in Italy, Marie Louise was “readily brought into line by Neipperg, who owned her now body and soul.”

…She expressed herself as satisfied in a private letter of October, 1817:

“My son’s future has been determined. You know  that I was never ambitious for thrones or States for him, but hoped he would be the richest and most charming gentleman in Austria.”  [Aubry pg 110]

Meanwhile, Napoleon was kept on the island of St Helena, waiting for news from his son, but he heard not a word from his wife or a line from his son for six years. When he died, he was looking at Franz’s portrait, and left him many legacies, such as his books, engravings, papers, coffee service and the family house in Ajaccio, but Franz saw none of it. His mother, who was pregnant at the time with Neipperg’s son, didn’t even tell her son of his father’s death. She refused to accept Napoleon’s heart, which his will bequeathed her, because, as Aubry says, “she was more interested in the inheritance: she filed objection to the transfer of the six millions on deposit with Laffitte out of which the bequests of the Emperor were to be paid. She would not permit Marchand [Napoleon’s valet] to deliver to her at Parma Napoleon’s laces and the bracelet made of his hair.” Napoleon even begged her to take his last physician, Dr Antommarchi, into her service: she refused to even meet with him, palming the doctor off on Neipperg, who glad-handed Antommachi and pushed him out the door when he started asking too many questions about Franz.

Louise did moan about Napoleon’s suffering on St Helena while she was giving birth to Neipperg’s child, but she promptly forgot it. “She was a weak and frivolous soul. She would have grieved longer over her pet parrot, Marguerite. She even expressed astonishment that Madame Mere should have asked the British government for Napoleon’s body.” [Aubry pg 120]

One of the junior tutors named Foresti was given the task to tell the ten year old Franz that his father was dead.

The child began to weep and he wept a long time, doubtless calling up in his memory the pale face which had softened to such tenderness whenever it drew near his own. He sat down near the window, his cheeks, and his hands that covered them, wet with tears. Foresti himself was deeply moved and tried to comfort him. But the child did not hear him. [Aubry pg 122]

As Prokesch, his best friend of his short adult life, put it later:

“The prince wept for a whole day, almost without stopping. Then, suddenly, he mastered his emotions, dried his eyes, rose and paced the floor up and down. Not a word came from his lips. And several weeks passed before he alluded  to his father’s death. He felt he must keep his grief to himself.”

Meanwhile, Franz was now thinking in German, but he still rebelled against his teachers, who, for years, beat him with the ferule (a type of paddle that resembled a long and large wooden spoon, the circular head often pierced with holes, and sometimes as large as a child’s head)— his grandfather the Emperor authorized “great severity” against him when he was being “stubborn”— but this stopped when it was clear beatings no longer had any affect. Except for brief months of pleasure during summer vacations at the castle of Persenbeug where Marie Louise deigned to leave Parma, Franz, who was completely without friends, was kept in solitude. He responded by withdrawing into himself and going into a fantasy world.  

He dreamed, and gained freedom by dreaming. As a small boy he loved to play: now that he was growing up, it was still what he liked to do best. Never did child love to dream more than he: that escape from time, from responsibilities, from disappointments, that journey without end, where ideas, colors and forms mingled according to one’s fantasy! As soon as he could flee the watchful care of Foresti or of Collin, instead of working at his translations, his themes, or his arithmetic exercises, he would open the huge gilt-edged volumes given to him on his birthdays by his grandfather or the Archdukes and leaning his head on his hand, began to dream with his eyes upon the awkward, rather ridiculous illustrations of those days, in which one could see beplumed generals prancing besides their armies with spent cannonballs lying at their horses’ feet, while down in one corner an aide-de-camp would be reading an order and in the other an almoner kneeling besides a stretcher to confess a dying soldier.

Sometimes, bending low over an atlas, he would travel in spirit far out over the blue seas to the continents bordered in loud colors. One day, Matthias Collin came into the room and found him, with his cheek resting on a map. The little prince did not get up at his approach. His teacher thought he was asleep. But on going towards him, he saw the child’s eyes were wide open. The boy gave a start of surprise and blushed. He had been dreaming. Collin was more indulgent than Foresti. He did not punish him. [Aubry pg 132]

* * *

More to come in part two!

[lesbianaglaya]

Please elaborate on that The Idiot essay

Okay anon, ask and ye shall receive. Here is my manifesto on why I love The Idiot (1868-1869). Homoeroticism and me crying over Bakhtin under the cut.

Okay from here on out let me just warn you that there will be discussion of epilepsy, sexual abuse, violence against women, murder, and suicide. I never claimed it wasn’t a messed up story.

Let me start off by saying, this is not a good novel. It was written as a desperate cash grab by Dostoevsky after he and his wife Anna had had to move to Switzerland for financial reasons (they were rather continually in debt due to Dostoevsky’s gambling problem. In fact, they’d met when Fyodor hired Anna as a stenographer to help him write down The Gambler, the completion of which he’d bet all his rights to his published works on).  The four separate parts are only loosely linked by narrative threads, things don’t follow the course you would expect from a work of literature, and the protagonist of the novel’s literal schtick is that he was supposed to be “a perfectly beautiful man”. Which, yeah, great in theory but in reality people don’t want perfect protagonists. The morals of the novel tend towards Dostoevsky’s own often troubling views of religion and morality, and it is a distinctly 19th century work.

And yet, it’s still one of my favourite things I’ve ever read. Not only are there some truly insane homoerotic moments in here, but there are some brilliant moments of play with narrative voice, society novel-esque shenanigans, questions about the nature of goodness and what that really means, and, of course, one really hot moment where a woman slaps a guy who’s being a dick in the face with a riding crop.

The loose plot of the novel is that Prince Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin, the eponymous idiot (and a holy fool, or as Dostoevsky once described him, “Prince Christ”), is returning to Russia from a period of many years in Switzerland being treated for epilepsy. On the train into Petersburg he meets Rogozhin, a young man who has just inherited an enormous fortune after the death of his father. They begin talking, and Rogozhin confides in Myshkin about his love for (read: obsession with) a girl known as Nastasya Filipovna. (This seems weird doesn’t it? Just confessing your major life problems to this weird guy sitting next to you on the train? Yea that’s just what people do around Myshkin). Upon arriving in Petersburg, Myshkin goes to meet with his distant relations, the Epanchins, to get to know them and form a family connection. The rest of the novel is these characters cycling through various love (?) plots, more random inheritances, people dying of consumption, going to stay in the country for a while Just Because, and other stereotypical 19th century novel things.

What makes it unique is that each character is their own person with their own thoughts, experiences and world views and the novel is these views interacting and clashing, or as Bakhtin puts it “a plurality of consciousness, with equal rights and each with its own world”. The characters are not there to help prove any thesis or idea; instead the thesis of the novel is how these characters differing views interact with each other. Myshkin is the lens of this, making it a picture of how each different character (or world view) reacts to his inherent goodness.

Of course, that’s all very... meta. Fun to discuss, but it doesn’t necessarily make the book fun to read. That’s where Nastasya Filipovna comes in.

Nastasya Filipovna, the girl that Rogoshin is “in love with” is a young woman who was born to nobility but orphaned and then sexually abused and turned into a concubine by her guardian Totsky. At the beginning of the novel she has escaped the control of Totsky and is in the incredibly tenuous situation of being provided an income from him for not completely destroying his reputation. A marriage has been arranged by Totsky (so that he won't have to worry about her any more) between her and this one asshole Ganya, but she has not agreed to it yet and has said she will announce her decision at her name day party.

At said name day party is where things get Crazy. She goes ham, mocking Ganya (who she knows hates her) for selling himself for the money promised in marrying her, verbally torturing Totsky, and generally saying fuck you to everyone while also tossing in a good amount of self hatred. Myshkin (whom she invited after meeting him once earlier that day for like five seconds seriously just role with it) declares quite earnestly that he thinks she is a good person and if she likes he’ll marry her amd also that he just inherited a fuck ton of money. Nastya is taken aback, and agrees to marry Myshkin. Then Rogozhin shows up (drunk, with the lads) and we find out Nastya has been planning all this. She tells Myshkin that she can’t actually marry him because he’s too innocent and she believes herself to be awful, and then asks Rogozhin for the money he promised her. Rogozhin hands over 100,000 rubles and Nastasya proceeds to toss them in the fire, tell Ganya that they’re his if he’ll reach in to get them out, and then leaves her own party with Rogozhin!!! I said this novel was batshit!!!!

Nastya through out the novel continues to be The Best Character, writing homoerotic letters to Aglaya Epanchina, who I FIRMLY choose to see as a lesbian, smoking cigars, and of course, upon hearing a man say of her “Here you simply need a whip, there’s no other way with this creature”, in return “she rushed to a young man completely unknown to her who was standing two steps away and holding a thin, braided riding crop, tore it out of his hand, and struck the offender accross the face as hard as she could”.  Iconique. Of course, her story ends tragically but we’ll get into that later.

To quickly touch on Aglaya Epanchina, because I love her, she is one of the daughters of the Epanchin family, she and Myshkin almost get married, and she ends the novel by running off with a foreigner and becoming (horrified whisper) Catholic. Anyway she and Nastya have a brief but horribly gay dicourse where Nastya confesses her love (platonic of course. That is definitely how I, a lesbian, read this) for Aglaya and Aglaya refuses to believe her. Aglaya says she wants to marry Myshkin specifically because then she wouldn’t have to be a wife and a mother and could pursue what she wants and continue to learn. Also at one point Aglaya adopts a hedgehog. That’s Lesbianism Baybee. Her ending is supposed to be tragic but I choose to believe that her marriage is a lavender marriage and she and her gay husband are having wild fun around Europe. Let me have this.

Now for what you’ve all been waiting for — more homoeroticism.

Myshkin and Rogoshin’s dynamic is, like, fully insane. After their first meeting on the train, Rogozhin says to Myshkin “Prince, I don’t know why I’ve come to love you. . . . Come and see me, Prince. We’ll take those wretched gaiters off you; I’ll dress you in a top-notch marten coat; I’ll have the best of tailcoats made for you, a white waistcoat, or whatever you like; I’ll stuff your pockets with money”. Slow down lover boy you met this man five minutes ago and you’re already trying to sugar daddy him?? It only gets worse from here.

Part II of the novel picks up six months after the name day party. Rogozhin and Myshkin have in the intervening time “often happened to spend long hours together, and there had even been several moments during their meetings that had left an all too memorable imprint upon their hearts”. Yeah. It’s also said that Rogozhin is jealous of Myshkin maybe holding some of Nastya’s affection but like. It just reads a lot like Rogozhin is torn between Nastya and Myshkin, which he is in a way because being in love with friends with Myshkin and Nastya  (lavender) marrying Myshkin (that’s not an exaggeration it’s basically out right stated that if Myshkin and Nastya married they would not have sex), would mean giving up the weird destructive obsession he and Nastya have with each other. This is supposed to imply coming to Jesus. I take it as accepting your homosexuality because Dostoevsky is dead and I can do what I want.

So Myshkin shows up at Rogozhin’s house and things are a bit awkward (Rogozhin has maybe been stalking Myshkin??) His “affectionate” smile is described “as if something had been broken, and try as he might, he was unable to glue it back together.” Anyway.

They begin actually talking and oh boy. I’ll just present these without comment.

“I’ve come to bring you peace, because you, too, are dear to me. I love you very much Parfyon. And now I’ll go and never come again. Farewell.” “‘Stay with me a little’ Parfyon said quietly, without getting up from his place and leaning his head on his right hand, ‘I haven’t seen you in a very long time.’”

“When you’re not in front of me, I feel spite for you Lev Nikolaevich. . . . Now you haven’t sat with me a quarter of an hour and all my spite is gone, and I love you like before. Stay with me a little . . .’”

“Nobody’s asking our opinion. It got decided without us. And we love differently too.”

“I didn’t want to come here! I wanted to forget everything here, tear it out of my heart!”

Not to mention the jealousy Rogozhin has for the perceived relationship between Myshkin and Nastya. Hmmmm. Anyway after all That, Rogozhin insists that he and Myshkin trade crosses, his golden one for Myshkin’s tin one.

And THEN Rogozhin proceeds to stop Myshkin from leaving again, and takes him to get his mother’s blessing, which is the same thing he did with Nastasya!!!!!! I feel insane.

After this Myshkin returns to his hotel but then Rogozhin follows him and um. Tries to stab him. With the knife that’s been built up as a phallic symbol through the whole novel. But then Myshkin falls into an epileptic fit and Rogozhin flees. Like this is deeply fucked up but What The Hell am I supposed to be thinking rn??

Anyway the next time they meet it’s in the countryside and Myshkin has fully forgiven him for the murder attempt. Indeed “struck by Rogozhin’s sudden appearance, the prince was unable to collect his thoughts for sometime, and a painful sensation rose again in his heart.”

Rogoshin has apparently not forgiven himself for trying to kill Myshkin, to which Myshkin responds “all that you went through that day I now know as well as I know my own self. What you were imagining did not and could not exist.” *jenny slate scream*

Myshkin proceeds to invite Rogozhin home with him, saying “I have some wine, we’ll drink wine, you must wish me something I myself don’t know how to wish for now, and it’s precisely you who must wish it, and I’ll wish you your fullest happiness. Or else give me back my cross! You didn’t even send it back to me the next day! You’re wearing it? Wearing it even now?” and THEN he says “I don’t want to meet my new life without you because my new life has begun! Don’t you know that my new life begins today?” and then they head home together.

Okay skipping over a bunch of stuff because 1) I havent read the novel in a year and while i know there’s more stuff in there I don’t know exactly where and I don’t want to be flipping pages for another hour and 2) this is already insanely long so. For context in the intervening time Rogozhin and Nastya do end up getting married (which everyone including the two of them kind of agree that it’s just a way for them both to kill each other/basically comit suicide. Fun!). So that’s exactly what happens, and Myshkin runs to their house, arriving too late and finding that Rogozhin has stabbed Nastya and she is dead. Thus ensues a scene that makes me so insane I cant... look here just take this:

“‘So let her lie here now, next to us, next to me and you...’

‘Yes, yes!’ the prince agreed warmly.”

And

“‘I’ll make up the bed and you can lie down... and I’ll lie down with you... and we’ll listen... because I don’t know yet man... I don’t know everything yet, man, so I’m telling you about it ahead of time, so you’ll know all about it ahead of time...’”

And

“But two people could not lie on the sofa, and he absolutely wanted to make up beds now side by side, and that way why, with great effort, he now dragged pillows of various sizesfrom both sofas all the way across the room, right up to the opening in the curtain. The bed got made up anyhow; he went over to the prince, took him tenderly and rapturously by the arm, got him to his feet, and led him to the bed”

And

“[Rogozhin was] laying the prince down on the left, better, pillows, himself on the right”

And

“‘What did you use? A knife? That same one?’

‘That same one’”

And

“The prince would reach out his trembling hand to him and quietly touch his head, his hair, stroke it and stroke his cheeks... there was nothing more he could do! . . . and pressed his face to the pale and motionless face of Rogozhin; tears flowed from his eyes onto Rogozhin’s cheeks”

And

“He quietly hastened to pass his trembling hand over his hair and cheeks, as if caressing and soothing him”

And then the cops show up and there’s a brief epilogue talking about how everything is terrible now and Myshkin goes back to Switzerland because he’s incoherent with grief. Insane.

So there’s also a lot in this novel about what is actually good, and how people react when confronted with goodness, etc. etc. but this is five pages in google docs and I need to. Stop. Anyway if you made it to the end cheers this novel is awful and insane and I love it. Dostoevsky do not interact I hate your crusty ass even if your prose makes me feel things.

[rksecretsanta2019]

Merry Christmas to @beomgyurk​                           | from @rkvok​

First Edit/Drabble: Happy Christmas Jangmi! I’m so glad I got lucky enough to have you as my giftee! I hope you’ll like this little AU~ TW: Injuries, blood, slurs, prejudice and weapons Genre: AU, Family, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending

Google Docs version

Second Edit: Happy Christmas (again~), Jangmi~

Hehehe, bet you didn’t think you’d be getting two gifts from me, hm? Truth be told, this was my first gift to you, but I though it was a little small orz. Hence the drabble I wrote for you too uwuIn any case, I hope you like both of these little presents and hope you have a wonderful Christmas~

Youtube Playlist!

                            ~Bonds Beneath the Waves~

A sweet melody penetrates the air, a song of death disguised as a lullaby. As predicted, the boat deviates from its course, towards the young maiden on the rocks. She smiles, already knowing she has her prey with her grasp, her sky blue tail flickering slightly in anticipation. Her voice lilts higher and louder, carried by the wind to the sailor with a vacant smile on his face. Just a little more and…

Her song is suddenly cut short to be replaced with an inhuman shriek of shock and anger as a wave of water suddenly cascades over her. The hapless seaman forgotten, Yoona twists to where she knows the unwelcome surprise came from, her suspicions confirmed as she meets a pair of mischievous brown eyes which suddenly dart out of sight in a flicker of red and black. Without a second’s hesitation, she dives into the sea, intent on making the younger merman pay.

“MOONBOK!”

The only answer is a victorious cackle, her cousin sparing her a shit-eating grin as she chases him. His ornate tail kicks up sand and water in his attempt to buffer Yoona enough to make his escape. Because despite his playful attitude, Moonbok knows that once his cousin gets her hands on him, it’s all over. His father and uncle (who didn’t like him to begin with) would end him, if Yoona didn’t beat them to it. Still, he looks back again, that grin back on his face as he beholds Yoona’s expression.

“Maneater, maneater~! Noona is a maneat-uaaaaaghhhh?!?!”

Moonbok’s taunts are cut short as his tail gets tangled in a patch of seaweed he’d missed while teasing the older mermaid. With a panicked noise, he only manages to entangle himself further before Yoona catches up with him. And as Moonbok had feared, her retribution is swift and merciless.

The older girl tackles him with enough force to propel him out of the seaweed, one of her arms lock around his torso while the other scrabbles to seize whatever part of him she can reach. (Moonbok has no doubt it would be his throat.) But while his cousin has the element of surprise to her advantage, he has his strength; though he looks small and delicate, he is far more powerful than he appears. He fiercely wriggles and grapples with her, smacking his tail (gently) against Yoona’s until he manages to free himself and the chase begins again. They scatter fish and other merpeople in their wake, both of them ignoring the annoyed looks and chiding comments.

“You’d think the children of nobility would behave better than this!”

Alas, the chase ultimately ends in Yoona’s victory as she manages to use her agility to her advantage, popping up in front of her cousin and pinning him to the seabed before he can do anything more than let out a startled yelp. Having finally subdued the younger, she delivers a swift whap of her tail to his, rolling her eyes at the over-dramatic wail that’s his response.

“Oh get over yourself, I didn’t hit you that hard!”

Moonbok lets out another put on whine, unable to suppress his grin despite the situation. Gently, but insistently, he wriggles and whines until Yoona relents and releases him, a smile on her own face at last. Giving himself the once-over and shaking his tail out, which turns his lower half a blur of black and red that makes Yoona laugh, Moonbok affectionately bumps foreheads with her, his grin gone from mischievous to warm and soft.

“Sorry, noona. But if Uncle had found out you’d been luring more humans to the rocks…” he trails away, making sympathetic face in response to Yoona’s disgruntled expression. Even if Yoona’s father mistrusted and hated humans, he still forbade leading them to their deaths for no discernible reason. As expected of the Elder of their clan.

“I just wanted to sing…” Yoona mumbles, a pout on her face. At her Moonbok’s raised eyebrow and ‘are you for real?’ look, she snorts and gently shoves his shoulder.

Alright, so she did want to make the humans suffer and pay for their misdeeds against their family, their kind and Mother Ocean herself. A hand encircling her wrist drags Yoona from her dark thoughts and she meets her cousin’s eyes again, seeing that while his expression is still its usual soft and gentle one, though also laced with concern.

The upset must have been showing on her face. She sighs and shakes her head before pulling him into a hug and running a hand through his black-green tresses.

“You’re a good boy, Bokkie…” she murmurs softly, releasing him from the hold and signalling for him to turn around and sit on the slab of rock beneath them. Once Moonbok has sunken down onto it, she drifts behind him, beginning to braid his hair, trying to restore some semblance of order to him before they returned to their families and the inevitable lecture that would be awaiting the both of them.

“They’re not so bad, you know. Humans. Yes, some of them are can be awful, but most of them are kind and treat the ocean well. Believe me noona, I’ve seen it when I go to the surface. I know you and uncle hate them, but…” Yoona lets Moonbok chatter on, a sad smile on her face.

Her cousin is so naive and innocent when it came to the surface world.

She’s terrified he’ll pay for it with his life someday.

                                   ~~~

Yoona’s fears almost come true within the next moon when she sees Moonbok being dragged from the ocean screaming and thrashing, torso covered in wounds. And his tail, his beautiful tail, impaled by a harpoon. Yoona can only stare in horror at first while Moonbok’s sister screams hysterically, and it’s not until her cousin is hoisted from the water completely does she react, racing to the surface. As her head breaks the water, she sees Moonbok’s seemingly lifeless body being pulled aboard a fishing vessel, jeers and disgusting comments coming from the sailors on board.

(The ’nicest’ comment is one musing about selling ‘fishboy’ to an aquarium. The rest Yoona blocks out as best she can)

Gritting her teeth, Yoona throws her head back, singing louder than she’s ever done before, determined to save Moonbok by any means necessary. It takes a few moments, but finally she entrances them, leading to the boat to the sharpest outcrop of rocks she can find. As the boat crashes onto the rocks and break, startling the humans out of their trance and into a panic, Yoona darts towards it, pure fury propelling her forward.

She leaps out of the water and onto the rapidly disintegrating deck, sparing the terrified and doomed men nothing more than an inhuman screech of rage, wrapping her arms tightly around Moonbok. The boat is pushed even harder onto the rocks, water crashing onto the deck and sweeping men to their deaths. Yoona leaves them to their fate, clutching Moonbok tightly and using her tail to propel them both back into the sea, to safety.

To where she prays her cousin can be saved.

                                       ~~~

It takes all of the magical knowledge their grandfather possesses and all of the healing abilities Moonbok’s father has amassed, but they claw the young merman back from the brink of death. When she hears the news, Yoona breaks down in her father’s arms, sobbing and thanking the gods for their mercy. It still takes a week for her cousin to awaken fully from the magically induced healing sleep he’d been under and in that time, Yoona learns that Moonbok had been attempting to free a school of fish from being captured and in the process had been harpooned under the belief that he too was a rare fish. Yoona curses the humans once more, these evil creatures that polluted her home and tried to take her cousin from her just as they had taken her mother all those years ago.

When she finally has permission to visit Moonbok, tears falls again as she beholds him lying on his bed, angry scars across his torso and his tail; once a mesmerizing gradient of black and red, marred by silver scales, indicating where the harpoon had pierced him. At her sob, Moonbok looks over and laughs weakly.

“Ah…. Noona’s crying. Uncle is gonna end me for sure this time.” he teases, pulling himself upright with a hiss of pain and in spite of Yoona’s protests. When Yoona only reaches for his hand, Moonbok lets out an unhappy noise and pulls her into as tight a hug as he can bear. (Which isn’t very tight, but it’s as warm and affectionate as ever, which is what really matters.)

“I thought you were… I didn’t think… I should have reacted faster, I’m so sorry, Bokkie.” Yoona whispers disjointedly as Moonbok withdraws from the hug to lie back down with a suppressed whine. Tilting his head to look at her, Moonbok shakes his own in response, trying and failing to look stern.

“Stop that, Noona. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I wasn’t careful enough and got caught, simple as.” The tone is matter of fact, leaving no room for argument. “What happened, happened. We can’t change it. Let these scars serve as proof of me being an idiot.” His lips quick into a smile. “Besides, I think my tail looks kinda cool now, right? I mean, I won’t be rushing out to get it wounded again, but don’t you think the new scales add a nice touch?”

And despite herself, Yoona laughs and not long after, Moonbok joins in, the sound causing her heart to soar.

He would be alright. Somehow she just knows it. And even if he got back into trouble; either with humans on their family, he’d still have her love and support.

No matter what.

[bitofthisandthat]

HEADCANONS || ERIS [General hc list.]

Originally housed on the main sidebar links for reference purposes, these headcanons/ideas were built between 2013-2015, some are based from rp interactions with other roleplayers, others are my originals. ALWAYS up for new development, these relationships are not set in stone.

PANTHEON

All the Gods/Goddesses from every culture are just Clans. They can interact with each other and their cultures. HOWEVER, there are laws and agreements between their territories, and if one God/ddess breaks the law or agreement, they can be called to “High God’s Court” and be dealt with the council of their “peers”. Eris has already been called to it many times…as well as other deities, throughout the centuries. In fact, Mortals get confused when they see one God/dess from another culture working, consorting, or warring with another God/dess’ culture. That’s why many of the stories are the same.

Eris hates Aphrodite with her whole being because she is like her in many ways, but unlike Aphrodite, Eris feels that SHE is the truthful one and Aphrodite is not. Love, romance, and attraction is a trick of nature that no one can master.

Eris KNOWS that her own tricks are dirty-played or unfair, but at least they could be solved, if you are smart, creative or tough enough. That makes her better than Aphrodite, Athena, Hera, and all the others…

…She thinks that the Gods/Goddesses are actually a bunch of  hypocrites. Eris believes she is the only TRUTHFUL one. That’s why all the Gods hate her—No one appreciates the ugly truth—

Secretly relates to her “daddy” Zeus, on the preferring the company of mortals over her own kind…and longs for his attention and love. However, he is preoccupied with his own dramas and the dramas of the other more “appropriate” children. Eris gets shuffled away, the most forgotten/despised member of the Olympian Family.

When Eris was small, Zeus was very attentive to her, and quite the doting father. She was spoilt and given lots of love and attention. When the Fates and Time started to give away what she would become, that’s when he started to spend less attention on her; pulling away and ignoring her. When she was the Gods’ equivalent of a teenager she became completely outcast-ed. She had started showing her abilities and tendencies, although not full blown. Zeus has a very stained love for Eris, as if he’s afraid to be a father to her, and due to his duty to the Pantheon he feels that he can’t show her attention. He rules over her as the others, but his punishments on her seem confusing.

Pan (GREEK) was a past friend and fling, though she avidly denies it now.The two had much in common in the way that they were treated. However, Pan was eventually accepted, and she was not.

They both have wicked humor and imaginations, and cheered the other through their oddities.

Pan is one of the Pantheon that is not ashamed to be on good terms with Eris. Even if he disagrees with some of her methods, he understands her. Because as the [ Nature, magic beings, paranormal, and Fertility God ] he knows not everything is easily explained and put into a neat little box.

Dionysius is one of her other closer connections. Mostly the wildness mixed with refinery that they both enjoy. Like Eris, he sees life as one big game to try all that there is. He holds no grudges, and is one of the most avant gaurde and forgiving Gods in her Pantheon. She has had long conversations with him about wine, refinement, music, and other cultural things. They both adore the theater and the bizarre. The two of them take part in many of his parties together, both his classy affairs as well as his secretive bloodlust events, that often end in craziness and other debauchery. If Eris needs to explode to someone without judgement, she goes to him, even before Persephone at times. Mostly, because he enjoys her drama and understands her Chaos.

Hestia comforted her many times as a little “child” and gave her motherly-attention regardless of Eris being shunned. She is the only one she remembers CLEARLY telling her she “loved her to pieces, no matter what.”

Persephone could care less that Eris is considered a villain—and truthfully is closest to Eris than the other Gods. (Hestia, Pan, Dionysius)

The two share a quiet yet deep, eternal friendship. Persephone herself rebells. She loves her husband, the God of Death, even when her mother and the other Gods disapproved. She has no problem being open about caring for Eris as well.

They are very close and affectionate, and often appear together in tandem; overly expressive and speaking openly and adoringly.

Eris was not happy when her Uncle married Persephone, but came around to it faster than everyone else. Now, even Hades is on better terms with Eris because of it, and the three of them share time in Underworld, together.

Persephone shocks Eris with her random dark comments, coming from the Goddess of Spring and Innocence, it sounds bizarre to Eris, and cracks her up.

POWERS & WEAKNESSES

Her transformation to a hideous giant volcano skinned-sea dragon-spidery-monster is her last resort in gaining control over a foe. She almost never has to reveal this “ugly” side of herself to defeat her enemies, and when she does have to transform into “Spite Itself” she HATES it. Not because it’s an ugly form, but because it is admitting that her foe is strong enough to FORCE her to transform into it. As vain as she is, she equates power and strength with worth, so becoming hideous to win a battle is not a problem. It’s admitting she had to up the ante.

Her split form is only a short-term; (doppelganger) and still a part of her, not a separate entity. She can use it as well as her shape-shifting for a set time. It wears her out more than shape shifting, especially if she is holds it for too many days in a row.

She can shape-shift into and any size and being, that much is known. But she cannot hold its form if she is ‘called out’. If an opponent suspects her disguise is in fact, Eris, and they call her out, she has to show herself. When she took her male form to work alongside Ares, she had to isolate and refurbish herself without him knowing. However, she can remain in disguise for up to a year, but then she must hibernate in Tartarus to recuperate. All of her creatures must remain in Tartarus with her, since all of her monsters can’t function without her fully aware.

“Calling her out” in general will force her to expose herself and face her caller as she is. She must answer prayers, incantations and parlays as well. And although she can’t invade other people’s prayers unless they specifically ask for “Eris” or “Discordia” or “Strife” she can hear or feel the gist of their intent. However, if you sing, chant, or speak aloud your desires, even if they are NOT meant for her to hear…she can act on it—and possibly mess with your request if she wishes.

If she feels vulnerable or exposed in ANY way she will enact rage and violence to counter-balance it.

Hounds, Dogs, and other Canines are not welcome around her. They always alert others to her whereabouts, and howl when they know she’s nearby, so they really tick her off. She retreats immediately if they sound her arrival…especially when she is “in disguise”. If their howls are persistent enough, they call Hades’ 3 headed guard dog, Cerberus and he can hunt her down, and hurt her. He also keeps her out of the Elysian Fields. Ironic, since her twin Brother adores wolves and war-hounds, as does her other war sibling, Enyo.

Although she can never break a vow, and she can never force someone to think/do what she wants, she is not shy from tricking other Gods or beings into doing other things for her, if her target is off limits. She is honorable, but if she desires a result, she will find the loopholes.

POLITICS AND WAR

Generally, Eris is an Anarchist but she also enjoys politics that shake up the world and cause disorder—be it for destruction or change. If a politician or ruler is too perfect, too controlling, too arrogant, she does all that she can to destroy all that they are, including their land and people they rule over. She stalks dictators, secret societies, and politicians that start off with good intent but become corrupted very carefully—they are her MAIN targets for destroying. She wants no hand in a Leader that makes their people mindless. She needs rebellion and wild minds to work with. If you rebel, you are her charge.

Eris had a hand in both Atlantis and Pompeii’s destruction. Both were destroyed for purely POLITICAL reasons, and nothing personal. Pompeii was ruined because Roman Senate members docked there regularly, and many of their backers funded Pompeii as well. Eris was against this particular Roma campaign, and several of its propositions, and gleefully influenced forces of nature to work against the land. She managed to play both sides, all the while convincing politicians that they were safe in Rome, Pompeii and Capri. She was glad to see it go. Atlantis was downed because the politicians and people in power there were starting to overstep their contracts and vows with Eris, and several of the water-ruled Gods and Goddesses. As a Goddess of Chaos she disapproved of their need for order, control, and perfection, and found their outright arrogance offensive. She doesn’t care if mortals offend the Gods, she enjoys THAT. But when the Atlantians began to act as if they would rule over all of the Mediterranean people and force them to be stiff, mindless and ‘perfect’ they had to go. They hoarded too much power, magic, and knowledge to be considered safe. Much of the magic they hoarded was Eris’s, ironically.

PERSONAL and HOME

Eris has an affinity toward mortals with supernatural capabilities—sorcery, psychics, mediums, ‘ghost-busters’, soothsayers… especially children. She’ll forgo most of her bad behavior in their presence out of some private code that only she follows/knows.

Eris loves books, scrolls, libraries, research facilities, labs, anything that she can dive into. The Imaginative as well as the Factual world give her clues into how to better know the very place and people she deals with. (In destroying, manipulating, and also admiring.) She knows she has an advantage over other God/desses that are the patrons of the Arts/Intellects/etc…Because they have to be clear and unbiased, creating those venues for the world. ERIS can enjoy knowledge and arts at leisure like the rest of the world, but still have a great advantage because she can process it almost instantly, and keep her wild opinions, which are many.

Eris, like all the Gods, prefers the finer things in life. When it comes to gowns, fabrics, jewelry, and luxury, she is spoiled. When it comes to jewelry and ornate gowns, they are worn at special events, gatherings, or private meetings with other supernaturals. When dealing with mortals and demis, she appears in her usual billowing gown. But no matter what she wears, she can still shape shift, with it on. She refuses to wear shoes 90% of the time because her feet remain ‘clean’ and soft anyhow. She also wants to feel the substances she shifts into better.

Her palace is hidden from all mortals who make it to Tartarus, except for the mortal she trusts to see it. The dead and Immortals can see her Palace, it is hidden beneath the sands, and she can raise it like a giant city from under the surreal night-mare like landscape that everyone sees. It is ornate, highly carved and lush, but clean, and symmetrical and artistic in many ways. It is lit by a series of crystals and fires that never burn out, but change color depending on the mood of their mistress. The walls and doors open in warps and twists, reflective of Eris’s body. The servants are not seen, they are like ghosts that tend to her palace; they are always trapped within a dimension where they never interact or touch their mistress or her guests. They are a part of the underworld, men and women that are punished by Hades, and sent to her. Their crimes are of the insane or particularly twisted nature. Now, they are drones to their queen.

Food and drink that is consumed in Tartarus will NOT bind you there for eternity like Hades’s main realm.

Her Library, Theater, Mystic room, and Museum all house any work or artifact that was inspired by her on Earth through history. It is massive, and like the rest of Tartarus, every expansive and space changing to house it all.

Tartarus, like so many things connected to Eris, change to the moods and whims of its Mistress. If she is sad, it is gray and empty. If she is happy, it is colorful and vibrant…etc.

MIND

THERE ARE 2 SIDES OF ERIS…

The Eris that has an inner code, and will not break it, no mater how wicked she can get. The damaged, angry Eris that will not harm those whom she sees a little of herself with a shared strife or pain. Almost an overprotective MILF (lol)

And the true, vengeful destructive Eris that ruins everything she touches, with no reason other than to create chaos. She will cause war and struggle for the sake of Discord. Proudly assuming her position as a Goddess of such a power, and taking out her jealousies and pettiness on those that cross her.

This constant war within HER makes her a ‘stable’ form of Chaos itself.

Eris may touch, flirt, and get into your personal space, but if you touch or grab at her without her permission, she will retaliate. She enjoys the chase and the hunt, and will tease, but it is up to her if you get to ‘try.’

Vivid colors in nature and fabric entice her. She is drawn and eye-catching scenery and the arts. But she inspires the surreal, dream-filled, metaphysical, crazed, bizarre, circus-like, and theatrical. She may not be a Goddess of the arts, but she has inspired a few creatives, inventors, and philosophers throughout history/future-tense. Always, with a side effect of madness.

NEVER call the Pantheon a “myth”. She will retaliate.

If you defeat her, she will not forget you or leave you be. You’ve got her attention and attraction forever. If you LOSE to her, it’s as if you never existed.

Eris has immense difficulty conceiving children the natural way, and creating monsters, golems, sirens, creatures etc. are the closest she can come to ‘mothering’ something. IN fact she has miscarried countless times over the millennia, able to conceive  but not hold it, her inner Chaos being too dangerous for herself and the fetus. If she ever conceived and the child survived, it would have to be due to some intervention from the Pantheon (or another Pantheon). The many, many children she managed to conceive (Both Gods and monsters alike) were created on her own through intense Chaos and rage. The stress and Strife was so concentrated at that moment, she pushed out hordes and spawns of daemons. Her singular God and Goddess children were special, made through meditative purpose and proper stellar alignment. In special cases (found only in shipping AUs) the children born outside of Zeus or her own essence, can ONLY survive if conceived by another celestial or immortal. Mortals can not impregnate her at all.  If Eris morphs into a male form, the woman used will not likely survive the child borne to her. 

She has miscarried several times over the…centuries/eons. It is not lost to her black heart; she mourns it deeply and when brought up by another, she denies everything sentimental or dangerous connected to it. 

AU/ FUTURE-TENSE

Eris is beginning to feel the agony attached to immortality. The Dark Ages and the Renaissance are a playground for her, but time is becoming a burden—philosophies are changing rapidly and slowly closing in on her. She can adapt, and can change her games with the times and go worldwide under different identities, but she’s becoming more like a “myth or fable” and not the real thing, and it’s making her frantic.

Eris felt the “period of adjustment” that all immortals, Gods, Monsters, etc. felt when the times changed and they became less known and called upon. However, when the “Age of Reason” began, she relived a renaissance of sorts—feeding off of the non-belief and science-only minded. Because they merely explained away paranormal, metaphysical, supernatural, and mystical occurrences as myths, political fodder or scientific coincidences she was free. Eris took advantage of the disbelief in this, and, to some degree, this time period. Because no one believed in the ‘old ways’ she was able to be unleashed, like a rabid animal, causing more strife, chaos and war like none before because of it. She learned that Disbelief is not a curse for the Supernatural, but a free ride to be as bad as she wanted to be. (Although times are changing again…)

Although she ages herself in public under her Human disguise, from child to middle-aged adult to elderly, once she reaches a certain point where she is ‘done’ with that location…she finds a way to disappear, and rejuvenates herself; starting over from scratch. It’s like a cast-off skin on a snake.

This occurs outside from her Ancient-Medieval period of activity;

[ 1700 ADE- early 1920’s ADE ]

Eris being a shape-shifter and identity changer throughout time, she was most attracted to the selfish powers of the rich and/or elite. Not because she is a snob (which she is, make no mistake about that) but because she saw their secret, ‘exclusive clubs’, vanity and abuse of power and wished to dismantle it. She found the best way to get ‘in’ was to disguise herself as a desirable pawn, and allow the powerful human to think that she was merely a toy for their amusement. Once in, she systematically broke down their structures. Once used up, like a parasite or black widow she disposed of their pathetic human life, setting up the scene as if it were accidental or natural. Truth be told, they did die of natural causes; weary and tired from their own wicked lives and having a Destruction Goddess in disguise bleeding out their soul day by day. However, once the scene was ended, she moved on, assumed another identity and changed locations to try this “black widow” method again. Sometimes no, because doing something too often looses appeal for her.

A note that despite what people think, she is AGAINST abusers of power. She is an anarchist by nature, and sees the Pyramid of Life a bull**** concept. IE: Dictators and caste systems are a NO NO. She was inspired by this method of sensual inner-destruction because of past broken hearts and revenge notions—acting out as a jilted lover. But, it developed into a practical and effective means of taking down fools from the most ‘harmless’ and pleasurable ways possible. None suspect until she is done and gone. She ended this method around the time Humans became more adept at solving crimes and over-populating, making it more difficult to hide or remain in disguise.

I HATE LOVE

She engages in omni-sexual behavior, is very lustful, and has many obsessions, but she knows that no one to truly love her for her. In the cases where she HAS found a rare, true love (romantic), she braces herself and waits for moment when tragedy or betrayal tears them apart. She hates herself when she is in love, furious that she has allowed herself to fall into such a trap. While she sinks deeper into love, she tends to forget that; but if small squabbles arise, she immediately snaps into paranoia.

Aside from her personal opinions on love, she IS the opposite of its message and power, so she has a natural instinct to move away from it, and loathe romance eternally. Despite this, it’s important to note that Eris STILL feels romance and attachment to people. She just can’t fall into true love at the same ease as other beings, but when she does fall in love, it is deeper, purer and more profound than what lighter beings feel. Because love is so difficult for her kind, when love is found it is MUCH more precious and passionate. That is why she goes into deep, unstoppable rage and scorn when rejected or betrayed.

Seeing her parents’ ( Zeus and Hera) marriage just cements her own theories that love is torment.

Eris acts proud and insulting when cornered with the prospect of true emotions between her and another; proving her heart is extremely immature and fragile. She is always willing to test out the waters, as her nature is to be unabashed and shameless, but she keeps an escape route just in case it turns out to be “humiliating or false.”

MALE SELF

Eris’s male FC is: Jonathan Rhys Meyers during Tudors/Dracula

Instead of Female Eris’s water/smoke like form when de-materializing, as a male it is sharper, more electric-like.

Perhaps this is the testosterone working, or it is evidence who his father is, Zeus.

Eris as a male is more prone to lose his temper, but is less sarcastic. He is more straight-forward, and no-nonsense. But his wit is still sharp as female Eris.

He has the same flirtatious tendencies and double-crossing inclinations, although he is less likely to stay the course if it’s failing. ( Unlike female Eris, that is more likely to hold on to a prospect failed or not. ) If Male Eris feels that his target is not cooperating, he is more likely to lash out in temper, and then go off to find someone that will take his offers.

MISCELLANEOUS

Her natural scent is a blend of Dragon’s Blood, Anise, (Apple blossoms with an undercurrent of honey when aroused), fire charr and the ocean after a storm.

Blood: is violet/indigo, looking like ink with star flecks when poured out. As a simple cut, the star attribute is NOT seen…when cut it fades away almost instantly, her flesh closing up. She doesn’t scar or maim unless she is attacked by magic/supernatural forces. Any bruising or biting that marks her flesh only holds if the inflictor is immortal as well. When her blood is dried out (from a spill) it becomes like a hard stone; the star quality is not seen, save if you hold the piece up to the light.

Tears: Are clear like most, but with starry-like flecks, (evidence to who her mother is) like her blood. These tears are brightest in dark, but fadeout like falling ones when dried. Ichor is like molten golden or star dust in all Gods, but it is braided, interlaced into her darker colored blood. When severely injured, there is a gorgeous blend of metallic molten gold and indigo night sky spilled out of her. Too bad it mean her physical disaster.

Besides the Adder…Vipers, Scorpions—-

Octopuses, Lionfish, Spiders, Vultures, Bats, Raccoons, Minks/Weasels, and felines are her favorite animals.

Is a Scorpio, the most ‘true’ example of the sign. But she doesn’t know her exact birthday, as all the Gods do not keep track of exact days. They merely remember the month and star alignment to which they were born, but nothing else. She only knows she was born between late October and early November.

[delicrieux]

RIVALS  [ peter quill x reader ] 0.1

a/n; i wrote a ficaroony because i love peter quill and he deserves more appreciation and also every problem in this story would be solved if the two would just express their feelings /sobbing

summary: Some things are just obvious from an early age: you and Peter were meant to get along no better than a cat and a dog. And not the modern spin on a cat’s and a dog’s relationship either (none of that Disney fun-loving BS). No, we’re talking about that good old fashioned thirst for blood, spite and rivalry.Only that your situation really was Disney like. Which is ironic, since you’ve been raised to spit in anyone’s face that even mentions the name ‘Starlord’.

words;  2,427

warnings: a bit of swearing

0.2 MASTERLIST KO-FI. WRITTING CHALLENGE!

i need your help!

The current state of the ship and its crew can be described in one word: bored.

Whiskey. In Terra it’s high noon but no one really counts space hours so why the hell not? Peter Quill sits idly drinking by his cluttered table, trying to drone out the occasional buzzing and clatter and the piercing sound of squeaky metal by clogging all of his senses with alcohol. There isn’t a particular reason to indulge in daytime drinking festivities, but there simply isn’t anything better to do so he had helped himself to a glass a little while ago. He has finished three in total. Now he sits silent, his mind sometimes drifting out of these cramped walls of his beloved spaceship, branching further and further into the unseen horizon and onto a lonely planet that is just waiting to be looted. His fingers tap of the table and he shakes his head again: that stupid fucking clanking!

Gamora’s lips tighten into a thin line as she continues to keep a close eye on the ship’s monitor, making sure it steers in the right direction. Which really is just a waste of time since it seems like the whole Galaxy has taken a day off: no sudden storms, no space police, not even an asteroid astray. The captain’s chair, though comfortable, grows stiff after a while of not moving. Her arms fold over her chest and she shifts from leg to leg. Her eyes drift back and forth from the processor to the map dully, as if trying to find any bit of excitement in the task. Or anything, really. She shuts her eyes painfully. The clanking is more annoying than usual, that’s for sure.

But where is it coming from? Too close, the only human-like figures think in union. Rocket had dismantled and re-made his makeshift bomb for possibly the tenth time (in counting!), and while yes, he has the silent pleasure in knowing he’s getting on the crews nerves, not even this activity can satisfy the impeccable feeling of absolutely NOTHING happening. He figured making an explosive out of a hairdryer will surely occupy his mind for at least until something interesting happens, but so far not even a message from anyone (the message really doesn’t have to involve cash or danger. A simple ‘hello’ from a long lost friend sounds more exciting than this). And so he sits and fidgets with spare parts, his mood never spiking from ‘mildly entertained’.

No one really knows what Groot is up to, but from the occasional exclamation of his name echoing from somewhere in the ship, the crew breaths out a sigh of relief: Groot is still here. Maybe it’s not even a sigh; they just take a collective breath since the air-conditioning is broken.

Suddenly, a big red dot appears on the map and approaches at an alarming rate. Gamora blinks, jumping from her seat and slamming her palms on either side of the map monitor, surprised that on such a lazy day there is something moving their way at an incredibly fast pace. Her eyes bore into the distance; in the blankness and the occasional shimmer of faraway stars she notes the object swirl and fall from her field of vision. She narrows her eyes – is it a ship?... Her further questions are cut short by the beeping. This calls for the whole crew’s attention.

0.82 Yellow Stripe is requesting to dock.

“Oh no,” Gamora barely surpasses a jerk as Peter’s voice ring just in her ear, “no no no.” in one swift move she is nudged out of the way, “Where is the deny-cancel-delete-forget it ever happened button?”

“Friend of yours?” Rocket inquires. Peter snorts.

“More like arch-nemesis.” He mumbles, about to press the big red button as in ‘No, go away’, but Gamora beats him to it and with all her force pushes the friendly green one that simply states ‘Invitation accepted!’.

“The hell did you do that for?!”

She stares at him, her palm refusing to leave the safety of the green glossy surface in case Peter decides to claw at her fingers, “Look, nothing has been happening. Zip. Nada. If your arch-nemesis, as you put it, decided to suddenly drop by something has to be going on. Something we’re not aware of.” Silence. “People like that don’t just pay a visit out of the blue.”

“Yeah, or maybe she just came to finally murder me.”

Gamora smiles, though it’s hardly affectionate. Her eyes sweep the weapons stocked in one of the closer lockers, Rocket holding his hairdryer-explosive and lastly Groot curiously sticking his head out through the door to see what the commotions is about. Finally, she returns to Peter, “I think we got you covered.” The chilling tone of her voice leaves no room to argue and the ship falls quiet. Peter finishes his glass. Gamora loosens her grip on the button as a heavy ‘dunk’ rattles the whole spaceship. Groot and Rocket tip-toe closer just in case of combat.

This continues for a while. The air tension filled, growing in anticipation and curiosity with every new sound the 0.82 makes as it docks. A cloud of cold smoke leaks from the doorway Groot entered minutes ago and the team shares a look – is this really happening? Rocket tightens his grip on the explosive, though seeing as Peter seems anything but alarmed, disturbed, or in any other way ready for danger with the capital D, he merely raises a brow and slumps his shoulders. The way this is panning out, it seems no fight is going to break out. Rocket’s previous excitement on testing out the bomb grows bitter and he curses under his breath. If anyone heard him, no one said a thing.

“Jesus Christ!” A female voice rings out from the other room, riddled with disgust and Peter can’t help the smirk that grows on his lips. He raises his glass to take a triumphant sip but remembers it’s empty. Awkwardly he sets it down on the console, ignoring the amused look Gamora sends him.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Boots with a metal hilt, the only girl in the crew notes as her arms fold over her chest and she stares impatiently at the doorway, trying to paint the picture of this arch-nemesis. She is pretty sure Peter was joking when he said so, but still, knowing him and his pelvic magic she might just be another pissed off ex- girlfriend. These thoughts plague her and she is even more curious than before. Something falls in the other room and another yelp escapes the captain of the small yellow ship. Finally, the short statue of the mystery woman appears in the doorway—

Human, is all Gamora registers as she takes in the delicate glow of the shorter woman’s skin in the bleak lighting of Peter’s spaceship. A bead of sweat runs from her temple and gets lost somewhere near her jaw. And an angry human at that. Her face is scrunched; gloved fingers soon dig into her thick black rimmed googles and slide them off. Pair of (color) eyes meet hers for the briefest of moments she looks at Peter, “You are sick.”

“Healthy, actually.”

“You have serious issues, Peter. Did any of you see the engine room? Docks? No one? No one bothered to shine a LED light? Seems like a Picasso painting—“ Peter clears his throat loudly.

“(Title).” He addresses her. The woman, now dubbed as (Title), contemplates on whether to continue to describe her recent appalling findings or skip them entirely and never put on her goggles again. Her expression falls neutral and before Peter can say anything else, she leans onto the doorway and lowers her voice.

“Quill.”

His shoulders slump, “C’mon, it’s not that hard. Starlord.”

“No fucking way am I calling you that.”

|*|

When the initial disgust melted off you found yourself almost comfortable being in such a…unique spaceship. Unique is the only nice way you could put it without offending Peters feelings too much. Introductions flew by in a flash, one moment you were casually calling Peter everything your mind could come up with instead of Starlord, and the next you were pulled closer by the curious raccoon and his tree friend. The two of them flashed you a smile: Rocket and Groot! For a moment you were surprised that they have a higher mental capacity than a goldfish. You had yet to meet people/aliens/creatures that tolerate Peter and can form a coherent sentence. Lastly you shook hands with Gamora, another reality grasping companion that is female and hasn’t slept with Peter. That trivia earned a pleasant ‘Oh!’ from you. With that you moved on.

There is one particular room in ‘Starlords’ spaceship you always fancied, even after the two of you broke apart. It doesn’t have a name, nor do many go down here as you realized with a quick look through your googles. The walls are made of thick glass that opens the view of the whole universe, a lone boardwalk being the only surface that can hold your and his weight. Your feet teeter over the edge and you look down: the black abyss of space illuminates the edges of your shoes. The buzzing of the motors fills the silence. It’s always silent when you go down here. The occasional footsteps from up above draw you out your thoughts of the good old days when you hated Peter’s guts less and he tolerated you more. History is a tricky thing: whilst it is important, it’s unchangeable. Your parting of ways was inevitable, especially because of his eccentric taste and your strict morale code clashing fiercely on many occasions that almost led to either your or his death. Neither of you felt badly about it.

Except now, maybe. You aren’t sure yourself. You had taken off your gloves and left on a table near a whiskey bottle that much you recall. Your bare fingers grip the metal edge you sit on, shoulder slumped, deep in thought. Through the crown of your lashes you gaze at him – he is staring straight ahead, relaxed, slightly dazed perhaps, as the verbal fight the two of you engaged in long forgotten. A soft blue light illuminates his features and you trace them carefully, trying to remember each detail with striking precision and faintly searching for the boy you knew that long ago. Same home planet, taken by the Yondu Ravager Clan and raised by it too. In the back of your mind you make a side-by side of little Peter, dressed in his pirate gear and trying to operate a gun you had constructed under the strict eye of your kidnappers, and the young adult that sits within arms-length. You find no resemblance between the two. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they are completely different people. Then again, the last time you saw him was roughly five years ago, maybe even more.

Disappointment. Is that what you are feeling? Emotions mix and blur, just like the vast outside creeping behind these large windows. You swing your feet, a childish habit, and Peter snorts with an amused shake of his head, “Strange for you to shut your mouth for once.” You don’t take offence to that. You don’t take offence to anything, but don’t reply either. You tilt your head downwards again and stare at your feet, an action he notes and raises a curious brow, “Yo, (Title), you okay?” He asks lighthearted, leaning in just enough to be close but still minding your personal space.

It feels different somehow. When you first landed this, all of this, was an unpleasant mystery and you were beyond irritated to have made such a long and tiring trip to see a person you didn’t even want to talk to. Now, here, in the secure company of just the two of you the mood shifted drastically: from annoyance it went to heavy mixed feelings you don’t want nor are ready to voice. So instead you shrug and crack a smile. “Not really. Seeing you again is never pleasant.” There’s a tad of truth to every joke, as there is to lie, and while yes, seeing Peter again has raised some long forgotten spikes of emphatic brother-sister feelings, your sudden change from playful to serious isn’t entirely to do with him. He waits for you to continue and you are almost surprised that he doesn’t crack a stupid one-liner as a failed jab at your brooding. “I bet you know that I didn’t come here because I miss you.”

Ouch, he wants to say, but doesn’t. He nods. You continue, still not lifting your head up, “Finding you was…tough. Save me the story of running away and what-not, I don’t care. I didn’t come here to relish in old memories.” Yet you explicitly asked him to talk here, in your favorite place, despite anywhere being okay. You ignore this fact and any that fallow along with it and swing your legs again as if that would help you focus. “You have a good team. Not good good, but, you know…Good.” Your throat runs dry and a spike of nervousness sparks in your chest, going all the way to your fingertips. You gaze into his eyes, feeling your heart jump when your gazes connect in the dim lighting, “I need your help.”

The weight of your words is heavy, and though your request is quiet and reserved he knows you’re desperate. You would go to someone else, to anyone else, instead of him if it was whimsical or within your power. A spurge of pride. He can’t help but smirk. You frown, “Yeah yeah, c’mon, laugh it out, you won’t let me hear the end of this yada yada, I know.” You wave him off.

“I’m going to hold this against you forever.”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” The blankness returns to your face and he knows you’re back to being serious, “Do you…Do you remember the Carnic incident?”

“You mean when you ‘accidentally’ blew up a model spaceship? Of course I remember. It’s on my highlight reel.” He ponders for a minute how this is relevant, “You we’re banned from—“

“-Entering Terra territory.” You finished for him, the same heaviness returning to your voice as it grew quiet again. A note of pain strikes your features and Peter leans out taken aback. Turning away from him you are quick to compose yourself.

“My mom died. I want to say goodbye.”

TBH

[melonoverlord]

New asks for Biddy

Which parent do they look the most like?

She’s definitely her mother’s daughter, and takes a lot after her. She has one photo of her mom when she was young and she looks almost exactly like Biddy.

Is there a name they were almost given (either by their parents or during character creation)?

Her parents always intended for her to be Biddy first, and then found Bridgette as a name that would act as a full name. And it was perfect that she came out Iddy Biddy.

What were they like as a kid (if they’re currently a child, what would they be like as a teen)?

Bridgette turns from a savage kid to an even more savage teen. Although she’s the youngest, she acts as the voice of reason for her own eventual super team (which consists of her, Ezra, Sarita, and one or two surprise youngsters ;)) and is not afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit while expecting to be called out on her own bullshit. However, Biddy still remains very kind when it comes to people she loves.

What’s their drinking tolerance and what kind of drunk are they?

She has a fairly high constitution for being a Chi du Soma and because of her power of growing, but because her natural body is so small, she’s about the mid range of tolerance. She can have about 3 drinks before she gets drunk, and she’s a very loud but surprisingly affectionate drunk. When she’s older she’s the first one to loudly tell the others how much she loves them.

Where do they like to be touched?

She is very particular with who she lets touch her, with right now solely being Bailey, but depending if particularly Louis and Ashi get closer to her (and Daniel when the ultimate big brother to rival Bailey comes to the Library), she will let them give her head pats and hold her hand. It’s very small and can hold many uwus. She also likes to feel tall without using her chi, so she is a big proponent of climbing onto people’s backs.

What’s their favorite position (top/bottom/switch/pillow princess/etc.)

N/A

What are their kinks?

N/A

How do they feel about adrenaline (roller coasters, extreme sports, etc.)?

She’s one of those kids who will cry in line all the way until she’s strapped down in a rollercoaster, but as soon as it takes off, she will be screaming with joy at the top of her lungs. She’s a mix of a scaredy cat in anticipation but once it’s happening, she loves it.

What is their fight or flight response?

Considering Bridgette will want to push Dahlia down the stairs when she arrives, she’s very fighty. Don’t let this little girl hold a grudge against you. She will kill you.

What’s their pain tolerance?

People with Chi du Soma tend to have a higher constitution, so Biddy can take a couple of hefty hits before she’s out. She’s also a creature made out of spite and will have to be dragged out of any fight she gets in because she knows what she’s talking about. However, this is assuming that she will be allowed in a fight before she’s fifteen.

What character archetype are they the most like (the Innocent, the Hero, etc.)

The Explorer. She wants to find the truth in the world and know everything there is to discover. Because if she finds the truth of everything, then surely she’ll always be right.

What TV-Tropes trope would they be?

Cute Bruiser would probably be the best to fit her. She’s small, she’s adorable, she will also commit acts of violence if you upset her.

What John Mulaney quote/bit do they most embody?

She’s the whole “I was over on the bench” bit, but she’s John Mulaney’s dad and Ezra’s John Mulaney. And Sarita made a salad with craisins.

With the exception of love interests and immediate family, who are they closest to?

She considers Bailey her family, so outside of him, although she claims to hate Ezra because he’s… Ezra, deep deep down he’s her best friend. She’s fond of Ashi, but sometimes she thinks that Ashi hates her because they both got that resting bitch face. In a perfect world, Biddy and Sari combined make the perfect mini Ashi.

What is their moral alignment? What would have to happen for it to shift?

Lawful Neutral. You better be doing the objective best or you’re a thot.

Are they a morning person? What are they like before 8am?

She’s a morning person, but begrudgingly. Her natural alarm clock wakes her up at 7am but she’s grumpy that her body tells her she has to be up that early. Usually she just draws until it’s time to wake Bailey up to tell him to feed her breakfast.

What are they like when they’re tired?

When tired, any place is now Biddy’s bed. The floor? Biddy’s bed. Your lap? Biddy’s bed? Underneath the sink? Biddy’s bed. She will curl up on any surface big enough to hold her and just sleep. It’s made for some very panicked Bailey moments running around trying to figure out just where the hell she dozed off now.

What are they like in arguments?

Something that Biddy needs to work on is that in arguments she gets physical, hitting, kicking, and in extreme cases, just biting or licking her opponent until they back down. She’s a very angry little girl.

What is their dominant hand?

Right

Out of 10, how happy are they? How happy do they think they are?

Biddy’s got a fairly high self esteem because she’s got a pretty black and white morality, but she still gets sad from time to time because she misses her family and is an extremely jealous person who holds grudges like no other. Therefore, she’d rest at a solid 7/10.