#i tried to make him resemble an aspen tree

[raven-watcher]

[original-character-championship]

Bracket A Round 1

Poll 27

Citalopram Frynne - Tal for short (@michaelburnnham) vs. Aspen Wildwanderer (@glassthelocalgremlin)

Citalopram Frynne - Tal for short

he/him

He’s my babygirl and poor little meow meow. Pasting summary from his D&D backstory doc:

Tal, formerly Citalopram Frynne, is a Reborn Wild Magic Barbarian who died alongside his former adventuring party–dubbed the Ill-Fated Four–and was restitched into a new being as an amalgam of his former party. The Four met in a randomized meeting and became an extremely tight-knit party. Though they would not use the term for themselves, they were a platonic/queerplatonic polycule; at one point in time they got matching ceremonial daggers (almost akin to an engagement practice). Sadly, the Four were ambushed by a group of soldiers and killed. Tal was then reassembled from their remaining body parts and set out to track down and kill the soldiers who ambushed the Four.

pre-incident: dwarf of average height, shoulder length reddish brown hair, tan skin, angular square face, kind eyes. full on fighter armor

post-incident: the top half of his face is still his own, from the cheekbones and bridge of the nose upwards, the bottom half is a more slender green skinned chin and mouth with fangs (from the orc party member). part of his neck and right arm is also hers. his left arm is a metal prosthetic, and the hand is the original hand of the warforged’s party member’s. his torso is his own, and his legs are that of the elven party member’s. he covers his whole body except the top half of his face, in an outfit that resembles techwear

Aspen Wildwanderer

she/they/ae

she's trans and gay. they're oh so full of trauma (once i tried to make an alphabetized list of what's wrong with them). ae's part of a found family (other members to hopefully be added soon by my friends). she contains like three different kinds of guilt. they have unwillingly granted fire powers which have made their pre-existing fire trauma worse and they're now terrified of hurting their new family (also the fire powers are part of the recent development of them being part dragon. christmas tree color schemed blorbo <3). ae even has autism. i've dragged multiple friends of mine into blorboing her. their playlist is the second longest playlist on my spotify account. sometimes i get recommended songs that might fit aer. she also has the potential to ascend to godhood as part of the endgame of the campaign.

wood elf, mid-brown skin, dark brown hair in a bun + little twin braids in the front, golden brown eyes, scar on their left cheek. 5'3 and malnourished due to living mainly on the street for the past like. 14 years. wears a dark shirt/pants, plain worn-out boots, a green cloak (recently got a new one from one of her adopted sisters), and a blue bandana around her neck (important for reasons - memory of old family) and a crescent necklace. has ruby scales on their face, a pair of ruby scaled dragon wings that they can resize at will, and a pair of ruby red horns.

[brockadoodles]

sydämellinen (warm) - m. rantanen

AN: SURPRISE BITCHES HERE’S A CHRISTMAS FIC. I wrote this little thing specifically for @hockeyboysiguess​​. So Merry Christmas in November, my dear. I hope you love it. It might be some of the softest content I’ve ever written, for a boy I don’t even go here for. So let me know what you think. 

*Also if any of the Finnish is wrong, I apologize, I don’t speak Finnish rip. 

Word Count: 2362

Warnings: None

Christmas traditions were something that you never quite understood until you weren’t at home anymore to have them. Growing up, you had never considered the things that your family did around the holidays as monumental or special traditions, oftentimes you felt boring and inadequate when asked about them. Your mom, your dad, and you, that was all you had, and the holidays seamlessly came and went each year. Sure, a tree would get decorated, there would be some sort of family dinner, but nothing felt magical or special like the holidays were always made out to be. Everything in your world felt stagnant until you met him. 

Mikko Rantanen adored everything about the holidays, it was part of growing up for him. Christmas in Finland was no debatably the largest celebration in the country all year, every year. He found extravagant light displays enticing, and the warm smell of Christmas ham comforting. To him, there was nothing more memorable than his childhood memories of Christmas with his family, the traditions held strong each year, traditions that he packed up and took with him when he moved away for his career. His Christmases changed from large family gatherings to small close-knit nights with the few teammates and friends who also didn’t go back home for the holidays, attempting at recreating that fleeting feeling of home that he desperately missed. A feeling that he hadn’t felt since he was young until he met you. 

Mikko knew you never cared for the holidays, he realized this on your first date, a cold, snowy evening in November. He watched as you sat there in the soft candlelight, face twisting slightly at the mention of what both of you were doing for Christmas that year. When Mikko lit up at the mention of the holidays and started telling you about his traditions from home, you tried to hide your distaste. You tried to hide the sinking feeling in your stomach, the one that was pulling you down into a self-deprecating mess sitting at a far too nice restaurant with a far too expensive-looking meal in front of you, waiting for this person as wonderful as Mikko to realize that you weren’t worth sharing his traditions with. Mikko noticed though because Mikko noticed everything about you, even the things you hopelessly tried to protect him from. He noticed it all because that’s what happens when you love someone as much as Mikko fell in love with you. 

The first Christmas, you had a reasonable excuse for not seeing him. Your parents had insisted on a Christmas spent in Aspen, a three and a half-hour drive from Denver that acted as your barrier from Mikko and his Christmas traditions, something that was overwhelming so early on in your relationship. You simply packed up a bag, driving your old car through the mountains, and spent Christmas sitting in front of a fire in a far too expensive resort town, no Christmas tree in sight and nothing but an unread text from your boyfriend to keep you company. 

The second Christmas together, his schedule is what kept you apart, with the Avalanche getting the unlucky Christmas Eve game out in New York. A schedule that would have him sitting wide awake on a redeye flight after a 6-0 shutout loss back to his condo alone in Denver with a heavy and longing heart, knowing that he needed to give you space during Christmas but also desperately wanting to share his favorite holiday with his favorite person. Instead, he spent the holiday alone on his couch, his texts to you left on read and a cold cup of miso soup on his coffee table as he wished for the day to pass. 

By your third Christmas with Mikko, you knew it was time to actually spend the holiday together, to swallow your feelings and make an effort to learn the traditions of the man you had come to love over the last two years. A diamond ring sat nestled on your left hand, unfinished wedding plans for the following Summer in Finland, and a hole between you when it came to the holidays that you were finally ready to fill. 

“Mikko?” You murmured into his shoulder, your lips pressing soft and slow kisses down his skin, your legs tangled with his own, a warmth nestled between you that made your stomach fill with butterflies, even after all this time together. 

“Mhm, kultaseni?” The Finnish pet name running from his lips effortlessly, a term of endearment that made you blush every time. You kissed his shoulder once more, letting your fingers dance along the bare skin of his arm as you breathed a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Will you share your Christmas traditions with me?” 

Mikko had to take a moment to make sure he heard you correctly, to make sure that the mechanisms of his brain that were translating English into Finnish as you spoke were working as they should. When he looked down at you, he saw something in your eyes that he didn’t recognize in all the years that you had been together. He saw, for the first time, a fleck of excitement about the holidays, and he wasn’t going to be the one passing that up for anything. 

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, pressing a soft trail of kisses down your temple and lingering there for a moment, before he slowly adjusted his arm, rolling his body to hover over yours as he properly kissed you for the millionth time, but the first of that morning. The two of you stayed like that for a while, comfort nestling into your heart with each kiss that he gave, and each touch you felt. You were hopelessly, and entirely in love with Mikko Rantanen, and for the first time in your life, the idea of a Christmas tradition didn’t seem so bad. 

Mikko knew he had to start slow with the traditions, he didn’t want to give you too much and have you pull yourself back from the idea. He wanted this to be a good experience for you, and if it took giving you one minuscule detail at a time for you to re-wire the part of your brain that associated Christmas with your parents that were somehow still together, yet should have been divorced, and a lack of lights and warmth into a special time for you and him, he would. Mikko Rantanen would have made the snowmelt in Denver for you if he could, because he loved you, as much as someone is capable of loving another person. And all he wanted for Christmas was to give you one new tradition that you loved, one that could be shared with just the two of you until hopefully one day there were toddlers running around the tree. 

The first thing you did together was get a tree. It was a small tree, its branches were short and stubby and it couldn’t have been more than 2 feet tall even in the pot that it was nestled in. It wasn’t the tree that Mikko would have chosen, but when he saw your eyes brighten at the ceramic pot it was planted in, the 6 feet Douglass Fir’s lining the tree farm suddenly disappeared from his line of sight.

“Are you sure this one’s okay, Mik? I don’t want to mess with the tradition.” You quietly asked, your arm wrapped tightly around his as he pushed the tree in the cart toward the car. You didn’t want to change the things that he was trying to show you, but deep down you were finding yourself longing for this to be something you created with him, memories and traditions to have together. It may have seen silly to outsiders, putting so much thought into something that should have been simple, but you were trying to let him show you the magic of Christmas that he had spent years keeping from you at your own request, and part of that process was trying to redesign the idea about Christmas that you had built in your head. 

“I love it, it’s perfect for us.” He smiled at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the black pom on your hat ticking his nose slightly as he stood back up.

The tree sat undecorated on a table by the window for nearly a week. With Mikko being gone on a road trip, you had just pushed it to the outskirts of your mind, figuring it would get done eventually. On the fifth morning that you woke up alone, you leaned over the counter as your coffee brewed, the tree sitting there on the table directly in front of you, Mikko’s good morning text replaying in your mind. You looked out the window, admiring the snow falling over the city, the grey clouds casting a shadow into your already grey and modern home. You sighed, and before you realized what you were doing, you found yourself wandering into the storage closet and pulling out a bin that you had never once touched or even looked at. 

You set your coffee down on the floor next to the tree and slowly opened the plastic container, the contents carefully wrapped in protective tissue, ornaments you knew he had collected over the years since moving to Denver. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes slowly, an image of Mikko dancing through your mind. You opened your eyes and grabbed an ornament, a small antique looking Santa, a chip on his leg from wear and tear and a black ink smudge on the bottom, 2002, presumably the year that it was bought. You carefully hung it on the tree, leaning back to admire it for a moment before reaching your hand back into the bin to grab another. This one, 1999. You took each ornament one by one, taking almost an hour to decorate this two-foot-tall tree sitting on a table against your high rise condo window, each ornament having a year written somewhere on them, leaving you to begin to wonder all of the circumstances that had led to Mikko having that specific ornament.

When all was done, the tree had ornaments but no lights, a pot instead of a tree skirt, and there was nothing sitting on top of it that resembled a star. Instead, you placed a photo of you and Mikko carefully next to the pot, one that was taken just shortly after you told him you loved him for the first time, one that to you, symbolized a new shift to your relationship, one that you were hopefully emulating by decorating this tree. 

When Mikko came home late that night, tired and ready to crawl into bed next to you after almost a week apart, he stopped in the living room when he saw the light still on. In his foggy state of mind, he didn’t even notice the tree until he was reaching to turn off the small lamp sitting next to it, pausing in a state of shock when he realized what exactly he was looking at. It wasn’t how he would have decorated it, the ornaments were in the completely wrong places, some too densely placed, and the lack of lights was a design choice that he wasn’t sure was intentional or not. But, Mikko felt his heart grow looking at it. A tree that a year ago you would have never said yes to buying, let alone decorating that you had spent time on doing yourself. Mikko turned off the light, walking into the bedroom to find you peacefully asleep on your side of the bed. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you close and pressing a soft kiss into your neck, murmuring his love for you before drifting to sleep. 

The next morning you woke up in a familiar trance, soft and needy kisses shared between you as his hands guided your hips and their movements on top of him, heavy breaths filling the space as you held each other close, making up for the lost time of that week. When you slid off of him, he pulled your face down to his one last time, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, “Minä rakastan sinua,” melting from his lips, “I love you,” in Finnish. 

“I love you, too, Mikko.” You said back, your heart full and your cheeks flushed. 

By the time Mikko emerged from the shower, you had already made coffee and were sitting on the couch reading. He came up next to you, setting a small box in front of you as he sat down. You set your book down, eyeing him curiously as he began to speak.

“I noticed you decorated the tree, and I have something for you, for us that we could put on it together.” He carefully unwrapped the box, a silver ornament resting neatly in it. You carefully pulled the ornament from the box, the shiny material feeling smooth in your hands until you noticed something scratchy on the sides. You turned the ornament, your eyes welling with tears when you saw what was engraved on the side. A date, the date that you said the famous three words for the first time, the same magnetic pull coming from the ornament he had made that you felt from the photograph. 

“I thought having a special ornament each year for just us could be a tradition we start together. It’s sort of like our first Christmas together, but it’s not the first that I’ve felt love for you.” He smiled. Mikko reached up and wiped your cheek tenderly, drying the tears that had fallen as he pulled you up and toward the tree. You hung the ornament on the small, imperfect tree with no lights, and as you looked out at Denver in the background, with Mikko curled around you, you felt that warmth he had always told you he felt about Christmas for the first time, a feeling that you hoped to carry with you for the rest of your life together.  

[lemongams-blog]

Curves parallels

prologue

Deep night. A pale crescent sparkles in the starry sky. A warm summer wind blew fallen leaves and small debris across the ground. There was not a soul around, thanks to which I could contemplate the empty benches that were illuminated by the lanterns.

A tall man, dressed in a long, old-fashioned raincoat, walked alone in the park. On his head was a long, wide-brimmed hat that covered the upper part of his face.

“Not a day, but a sheer disappointment,” the man growled angrily, quickening his pace.

~ Does this happen? For the whole day I could not catch even one victim. It feels like all the females are extinct. One command at a time. ~ - the man continued mentally.

Realizing that today nothing shines for him, the man turned around and headed into a dense forest thicket, which was a few tens of meters from him.

Mostly, the forest consisted of conifers, and occasionally other types of trees could be found. For example an aspen.

Suddenly, the man was able to pick up an incomprehensible noise. Sounds were heard very close, literally a few steps away. Curiosity got the better of him, and the man slowly walked to the source of the noise.

What he saw on the spot plunged him into a slight shock:

A girl was lying on the ground, leaning against a tree. Her body was covered with deep wounds that were severely bleeding. She was dressed in an incomprehensible suit, torn in several places. The girl had long, pink horns on her head. In addition, the girl had sharp teeth.

~ Pretty good prey, it will be very offensive if such a rare specimen disappears ~ - flashed through the man's head.

Smiling broadly, the man tried to lift the girl's body, but the unexpected happened.

Something sharp, at high speed, pierced his palm, causing the man to hiss and withdraw his hand. A black, thick liquid began to drain from the resulting wound. However, despite the serious injury, the wound gradually began to heal.

~ Oh shit, this shit just used magic against me ~ - flashed through the man's head.

Suddenly, the girl's eyes began to fill with tears, after which she looked at the stranger.

- P-please, p-p-help me - Stuttering said the girl, gradually losing consciousness.

~ Seriously? Damn, this is funny. A creature of low origin asks me to save her. Although, why not? All the same, this specimen is quite rare, it would be nice to study it ~ - the man thought. The decision was made in seconds.

Taking her in my arms, I walked towards my brother's mansion. If only he was not at home, otherwise we will be in trouble.

***

Morning has come. The bright rays of the sun could not penetrate the room because of the dense purple curtains. The girl opens her tired eyes. Stretching, she raised herself slightly on her elbows, after which she decided to look around.

She was lying on a huge bed covered with a soft black blanket. The room in which the girl was lying was decorated in dark purple colors. At the edges of the bed were carved dark oak nightstands with floor lamps. Opposite the bed was a wide plasma TV with a turntable, next to which was a closet filled to the brim with old cassettes.

~ Am I alive ?! Where I am?! ~ - the first thing the girl thought about. The whole body ached, and the bandaged wounds itched violently. The girl looked under the covers and found that she was absolutely NAKED.

~ What? Why am I not wearing clothes ?! ~ The girl panicked. She was so busy examining the wounds that she did not notice her savior, who was lying next to her.

- Oh, you already woke up baby? - asked the man lying next to him. He put his hand under his head and looked at the frightened girl. With a soft squeak, the girl pulled the blanket over herself to cover herself. Pulling off the covers, she saw that the stranger was also naked. In embarrassment, the girl closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

- Sorry, sorry, I didn't want to! the girl said loudly, blushing. The stranger laughed, then said:

- Who are you with us? And do not shout so loudly, otherwise we will have problems.

- Sorry, I honestly don't remember how I got here. Why am I without clothes, and so are you? Everything is so confusing. After all .. After all, there was nothing between us? - rattled the girl, blushing more and more.

“I am your wonderful savior, and now you have to repay me with something,” the stranger said in a satisfied voice, imagining how well this morning could start.

- What? I'm not on ... - the girl did not have time to finish, as a tall man dressed in silk pajamas burst into the room. On his "face" glasses were visible. The girl huddled in the corner of the room with a blanket and only now noticed that both were missing any facial features.

- Offender, how many times have I told you not to bring your girlfriends here! You deprive me of healthy sleep and nerves! And if I have bruises under my eyes ?! the man shouted eccentrically, waving his arms.

- If you don't leave the room right now, bruises under the "eyes" will appear very soon - My husband said, ina with a note of irritation - And it was not I who yelled, but she - Offender pointed his finger at the girl, which made her huddled in the corner even more.

- I saved this cutie yesterday as a hero, by the way - Boasting he said. - Now get out, she must repay me.

- Did you save her? Really? You are not even able to save yourself. You usually think of only one thing.

After these words, Trender approached the girl, which made her pressed against the wall.

- Horns? Fangs? So are you a demon? - asked the mod.

- No! I am human. I'm sure of that. They did something to me. - Answered the girl - Maybe I will be of some use to you?

- Well, what can you do? - Offender asked with a malicious smile.

- I can be useful as a maid, or a servant. - The girl answered.

- And the idea is not bad, in this house except me no one cleaned for a long time. But the decision must be made only when everyone is awake.

***

The Slenderman lay in his bed, enjoying a restful sleep. Hearing a loud cry, he realized that Offender had brought another "girlfriend". Getting out of bed, he went to the wardrobe, where he put on his funeral suit, and then went out into the corridor.

Meanwhile, screams and curses came from Offender's room.

~ How I hate it ~ - the Faceless mentally boiled and entered the room. In the room, he found several bloody spots, pieces of torn cloth, and a naked Offender trying to take the girl in a blanket away from Trender. Seeing her brother, they let the girl go, and she, in turn, fell to the floor.

- What did I say about your victims in this house? - said the man in a serious voice, approaching the girl. The girl herself began to back away. Slender was about to rip her head off with his clawed hand. However, something held back his hand, preventing him from striking.

- Vile demon - the Faceless said with disgust. This was followed by a strong blow with a vector, from which the girl flew into the wall.

- I'm not a demon! No! I cannot be a demon - she grumbled, gradually rising from the floor.

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- What about your horns? And the fangs? And what was holding my hand back? I don't think that other creatures can do that - the monster said with a laugh. Offender pulled on his cloak and stood between the girl and the monster.

“Hey brother, this is my sweetheart, so I’m taking care of her. Better get out of here, otherwise you will get in full.

- If you want to get serious wounds, then I will help - Faceless answered aggressively, throwing his jacket on the floor.

As you might expect, a fight broke out between the brothers. While they were fighting, Trender took the girl in his arms and carried her to his room.

While the girl was waiting behind the screen, Trender sewed suitable clothes for her. He sewed the girl an unusual blue dress with a corset. He gave the dress to the girl, after which she got dressed and left. Appreciating his impeccable work, he approached the girl and began to tighten the corset.

“So, you’ll clean the whole house, cook for us, and clean up Offender’s garden. - At that moment, the brothers burst into the room with beatings and small smudges of black liquid resembling blood

- We made a decision: I will give you a probationary period a week. If you can do it, you will live, and if not, then I will kill you. Personally. Now go and make breakfast for four. And cook more - said the Faceless.

- Yes sir - answered the girl. She was heading towards the exit of the room when she was suddenly stopped by Offender.

- Baby, so what should we call you? - he asked.

- My name is 4.13.1.5.6.19.19, but you can call me Gladess.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Me, do me next ;)

Send me your URL and I’ll tell you

My Opinion on;

Character in general: The first stage of the forging process is the hardest. It starts as simple bar stock. Then it is heated and hammered until the first faint shape of the sword it will become one day can be seen.Zarek was the offspring of Ares and one of his many mistresses, a mortal. The woman wanted the divinity but not the offspring of the union, and before he drew his first breath, before he had lungs with which to do so, she tried to rid herself of him. Clearly, she did not succeed. Once he was born, she abandoned him to the windswept crags his soul would come to resemble. This too, failed to kill him, and he was taken as a slave. Having survived infancy, it’s impossible to say that his masters knew what they had in their hands but they misused the dark eyed boy. Kept him locked away only to be taken out when it suits.

The Blade is then quenched. This rapid cooling process realigns the properties of the sword, toughening and strengthening it.

Whipping boy. Scorned and disregarded. Unloved and abused. What should have produced a short and pained life ended up creating a tall, broad and hard man. They hadn’t expected his mind to be voracious, quick to learn and quick to judge. They hadn’t expected that every scar and mark on his body would be a stone for him to climb up on. From child to soldier, he excelled at martial prowess, earning him a reputation that could only be whispered in the dark.

The process repeats itself: 

Heat. He sacrifices body for freedom. Long limbs. Stinging sweat. An aura of calm as screams rise up around him. The world slowly spinning as blades and shields clashed. Always moving. Always rending. A force of nature that could not be stood against. Conquest.

Hammer. Isolation. Groups gathered in camp nursing battle wounds, sharing their measures of food and drink. The ribald talk of soldiers who survived the day. They stop laughing as he walks by. All eyes on him, wary. They do not trust. They do not welcome. Their fear can be tasted in the wind.

Quench. Red hair spills down her shoulders. This girl who becomes a princess. They have known each since they were young. His valour has earned her, he’s bought her through oceans of blood. Her eyes look to him, she smiles.  He is not moved by this, but it’s… expected. She sees a soldier. He sees the world ablaze. Through the smoke of would be pyres he doesn’t see betrayal. Why settle for a General, when you can become a queen? She didn’t know his birthright. She didn’t know the man she murdered would rise up as a demi-god. He still spills her blood in the wedding bed, and her new husband’s too.The Process repeats itself.Heat. Different geography, same story. Only he is a mercenary now, fighting for the highest bidder. Always only one step ahead. He has learned what he is through his only friend, a being that is called Sin. The God-killer. They make a pair, don’t they. Leaving decimation in their red-stained wake. But still. While he cannot deny he enjoys himself, there is something that haunts him. A hatred black as his soul is stained. His father has not forgotten. And his father fears…even a god cannot undo prophecy.Hammer: This thousand years later and Ares can clearly see the mistake he has made, allowing the boy to live. To become a man. To become a demi-god. And so he plots and he strikes from shadows, for what good that does him. The old god does not think as fast, doesn’t hunger as deeply. Though sharp, his teeth are yellowed with age and changing belief while his son’s legacy only grows.Quench: Another woman. More red hair and dark eyes and lips that would rival Aphrodite’s if such thing would not call down the wrath of Olympus. She, too, is a child of the divine, unlike the last. She, too, has ambitions. He takes her to his bed, it is expected and he has never shirked duty, his chains might be broken but they’ve never been cast completely off. Ares comes to her, and makes pretty promises. A new place among the gods for the cost of one insignificant life. She takes the bargain. He barely survives. Wreaks his vengeance but…perhaps his father succeeded in a different way. What little good there might have still been, what hope he might have sheltered carefully in the heart she cut out of his back… is crushed. Nothing left for him to cling to. The Process repeats itself.Heat. He stares out over the water choked with green and haunted by moss covered Cyprus trees ~a bitter joke, isn’t it? Named for the country of his father’s longest kept lover.  He is alone. Has been for yet another thousand years. Takes company when it suits him. Pays. Leaves. Stone and steel do not need or know softness. His scars are enough. The air is thick, the heat steals breath and he bares his teeth. Because something dares tread his domain.

Hammer: She was small. A nuisance at best. He doesn’t want her here. Doesn’t want anyone. But she is a helpless child, one who can barely speak a civilized tongue and he’s moved to pity. Warns her away, promises to lead her back to her sunlight and her vibrant riot of colour and people. Life’s funny that way, makes other plans when he isn’t looking, and she touches him. And he’s cursed, isn’t he…because he can’t, no matter how hard he tries, get rid of her. They make a wager, and they try to kill each other. She doesn’t succeed…and he’s disturbed because for once…neither can he. But she is mortal, and he has time. Nothing else but. He doesn’t feel the constricting webs of fate until it is too late.Quench: She loves him. Regardless of how he feels. And there’s the rub. He does. He...feels. Has very definite opinions about this that don’t become clear until she dies in his arms and he keeps her there, cradling her small body. He grieves, perhaps, for the first time in all of his life. But, with her first new breath, reborn in the same place that was her grave, his eyes narrow. His path is set. The blade is carefully sharpened, edges ground to a fine point and honed. Now, it is finished. Ready to be wielded by anyone who has the strength and courage to command it.That is what his father has always known, the glimmer the god of war has tried over aeons to destroy, piece by piece.Zarek only obeys himself.

How they play them: I love Z. And I have absolutely no idea why. He’s a little arrogant. A lot abrasive. He is stubborn, infuriating, sometimes callous. His actions and thoughts are questionable at best, almost evil at his worst. But there’s something compelling too, if you look deep enough, past the facade he puts up and wishes the whole world to see. Hints of what could have been, if it had turned out differently. If he’d been nurtured instead of scorned. Ghosts that whisper that he wasn’t always this way, and might not always be. And over the year I’ve been privileged to play with Zarek, he’s actually changed. Slowly, subtle enough that it can be overlooked if you aren’t paying attention. He’s compromised. Given ground. He’s not soft by any means but he’s learning. Growing. And that is maybe an author/mun’s hardest won accolade. The ability to show this and still keep the character recognizable and alive.The Mun: My Other is a shy and reclusive little thing. Very few people get to see her the way I do, and fewer still get a chance to play with her. But you know what? She cares. Whether you’re my mutual or someone I’ve mentioned in passing, she reads and enjoys from afar, and she’s very quietly cheering us all on. In a month, I will have known K-mun for a year. We talk every day, from morning until night. Sometimes we’re quiet and only type a few things between hours. Sometimes we can’t type and read fast enough and overlap several conversations at once. She is absolutely one of my best friends and she is family. I well and truly love her, if that isn’t obvious. I hate that she lives so far away and I have to sometimes stop myself from sending her random messages at 2am. She’s gracious enough not to have complained. This meme reply is actually more a love letter to her and her character, in case it wasn’t obvious.

Do I:

RP with them: For Beth, it was literally love at first sight. I tried to warn her. I told her no. She didn’t listen, and I am glad she didn’t. I am sure that there are days Kmun sits with her phone or with laptop and wishes, for once, that ….how was that put me by someone else…? Ah yes, slightly paraphrased for language: 

“I’m sure he’s magnificent, but could you get off him for five whole seconds so we can have an adult conversation?”Want to RP with them:  Why is this even a thing. That is a stupid question, as evidenced by not only Beth and Zarek, but also Seren and Riley, and Aspen and Riley. And Sin and Isk. And Sin and Beth. And Aylen and Sully and you know what, I should just come clean and say that we are practically inseparable. And in a month, who knows, we might have another 219861785 other muse-pairs.

What is my;

Overall Opinion:  I want to point out that she is a multi-muse blog {says so RIGHT in her name for the folks playing at home}. That she can keep that many characters distinct and relevant and I don’t think she gets the credit she deserves for that. I don’t think I tell her enough that she makes my day, that I love her muses, that I love her writing. I will follow her anywhere.And if all ends tomorrow, if she never writes another word again, I will continue to love her and her worlds and her stories.

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty