#just like ‘why would you do that to fish?’ and judging my ancestors

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I would say that the United States, as of right now, has three main food groups (aside from junk food) and those are, Italian, Mexican, and Chinese. All of which have been Americanized here to some extent but differently in different parts of the country. I find this very funny because I have heard people from Italy be indignant about what we’ve done with the stuff (and about good restaurants too!) like, sorry if you guys weren’t creative, mixing things up a bit is great. “What about (regionally popular food)?!” I know we all have those, I haven’t heard of bitches in the south eating lefse, but that’s not my point! What was my point actually? I think I was going to say that, even if we bastardize stuff a lot, I’m super glad we have, as a country, agreed that more seasoning is good. Because if this place had been like “fuck immigrant food forever, we are eating British style” I think I would die.

This country has historically treated immigrants like shit, but we do tend to cave eventually and go like “actually,

your food is really good” a kind of shallow prize I guess, but I’m glad we actually start doing it eventually because I WILL mock British food and I WILL be sad that the only good family recipes my family has from before immigrating are all desserts. Don’t get me wrong, I love sweets, but I’m pretty sure there is a reason we stopped making other stuff

Wait, I re-read this today and realized I sound like my family is British. We are not. What even are British desserts? I bet they don’t have enough cardamom. Although lefse doesn’t have cardamom and i like a lot of things without it, my point is that their holiday and special event foods probably don’t have enough! Which wouldn’t surprise me tbh because apparently the only place that went crazy for the stuff outside of where it originated seems to have been Scandinavia for some reason. At least some maps I looked at seemed to suggest it. Which rocked me to my core

[zabe-books]

First Blessings

My first night out as a woman was a misty one. The clouds had swept up Victory Street from the sea, cloaking the spires of the Palace in silver threads. With these to hide me, I flew down from my apartment, landed in the shadows of a scaffold, and donned the human figure I’d spent the last few weeks reaching for.

My true form was silver, scaled, a streak against the sky. As of late, my human flesh had seemed only a disguise, and a constricting one at that—the mantle of leadership, a heavy one, heavier for all the expectations placed on dzaxa men—but perhaps I only dwelled on that to justify why I strode out of the alley in this new shape. A woman of average height and heft, her blonde hair swept back in a long braid, her skirt and fajix crimson wool and set with shining silver scales.

It was not uncommon nor prohibited in the War District, to legally change sexes. But it was hardly understood, what it meant to be neither. What it meant to be entirely something else, to the root of your soul. And this was something I wished to keep to myself, for now.

Tonight was the Festival of First Blessing, celebrating when Dzkegé had lain the foundations of First Street and ordained the people of the War District as her worshippers. Fireworks shot in silver ribbons across the night, sailing high into the scaffolding that ringed the Palace’s foundations. Vendors vied against one another to see who might concoct the most fanciful variation of the traditional breaded whitefish—one even sold balls of fish set on toothpicks atop shaved ice. Buckler dancers twirled in rhythm to a pounding drum, tossing small, mirror-bright shields from hand to hand. I caught the beat and clapped along

I ordered lemon-chili-flavored fish on a stick, adored it, ordered another. Juice ran down my fingers. I licked them clean, then felt I must be ashamed of the doing so, then realized—no. I had nothing to be ashamed of. No one would judge me, not here, not now—not as her.

Here was a tradition sixty thousand years in the making. A celebration of my people and our place in the city-planet. A young myth, if compared to the whole age of Jadzia. To the mythical, forgotten eras when our ancestors decided to place such value in being women and being men.

My confidence grew at each step I took though the crowds, unhindered. Passer-byes nodded to me, murmuring “dzaxa,” dipping their heads in respect. But it was a quick obeisance, not the awe they gave their dragon, not the groping and name-calling they’d given me as just another nameless bright man. I quickened my pace, letting the brightness inside me fuel my speed, a crimson hand that waved the crowds apart around me. A wild laugh escaped me. How this safety seemed natural.

“Dzaxa, join us!” called another dzaxa woman, her dark skin shining with undertones like blue jade, her eyes the red of dying sunset. Nkrithi, my third-ranked Master of Accounts. “No one should be alone on a festival evening!”

I froze. Reflex, really. For too long, I’d only seen affection as a threat. But the women of Jadzia learned sisterhood in the cradle. They learned to rely on one another, to build bridges as mighty as the great crossways that linked buildings to megabuildings.

“Are you well, sister?”

Sister. The word felt like sandpaper. I would never be that, no matter what sort of human flesh I wore. She could not see the chasm between us, and to me, it seemed all the longer for that.

“Evening, beautiful.” A warm hand rested on my hip. A warm voice sent shivers down my spine. Ria smiled at the other women as she stepped into the light. “My girl’s a bit quiet. Give her some time to warm up.”

“But of course,” Nkrithi said, smiling as she met my eyes. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Thank you,” I said, fumbling for the proper words. “It…it’s my first time here.”

“Not your last, I hope.” Nkrithi’s circle unfolded, naturally as a ripple in a basin. Ria stepped in and pulled me along beside her. The scent of fresh jasmine oil rose from her hair.

Suddenly, I felt a rush of closeness to her.  I would give the world to stand beside her, and I could, in any shape I chose.

“How’d you find me?” I said, voice low, as two buckler-dancers began to juggle plates back and forth. Nkrithi and her friends clapped along with the rhythm of their pounding feet.

Ria dug an elbow in my gut. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

[the-last-cuddlebender]

I straight up check your profile daily for the southern raiders analysis you’re working on. 👀👀 where IS IT 😩

bRUH I am so excited to drop this analysis you have no idea (It’s creeping up to 22k+ I am gonna cryyyyyyyyyyyy). The only problem is that my TSR analysis and “Moon theory” are so incredibly hard to structure and articulate. I’m happy you’re so excited for it, though!!! Truly, it’s an honor. I’ll give you a taste of my madness and what’s to come, but be warned: it may be a bit hard to follow because TSR (from how I’ve come to understand it) is about the vagueness of beginnings, endings, and cycles, so there isn’t really a starting point for me to begin with. (So it may seem a tad bit like a ramble in some points that I haven’t fleshed out yet/am summarizing for this ask)

This analysis has me on trails like THIS brilliant nonsense, and I am 1000000000% here for it:

Roku: “The spirit's name is Koh, but he is very dangerous. They call him The Face Stealer.”

Katara: “We’re going to find the man who took my mother from me.”...“That’s him. That’s the monster.”

Lion Turtle: “To bend another's energy, your own spirit must be unbendable, or you will be corrupted and destroyed.”

Roku: “When you speak with him, you must be very careful to show no emotion at all. Not the slightest expression, or he will steal your face.”

Hama: “Congratulations, Katara. You’re a bloodbender.”

(If Katara had killed Yon Rha, she would be giving up her identity--her face. Not only would she have become a killer, but she would be killing what made her Katara)

Aang: “Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

Forgive him--approach him for what he is, not the faces your memories or your heart are having him wear. See him for the pathetic man he is in that moment right in front of you.

Aang’s forgiveness is seeing someone for the sum of their parts. It’s judging them and seeing through into their very soul, just like the Firebending Masters saw through Zuko being the Crown Prince and Aang being the Avatar. That meant nothing to the Masters. What did matter to them was who the boys were right there, right then, right in front of them.

“Why should I hold a grudge against you for something you did in a past life? After all, you’re a different person, now. You’ve come to me with a new face.”

But anyways...

If I can give no other take-away from my analysis and moon theory, it’s that Yin and Yang are not two entities; they are three. I think the fandom’s misunderstanding of it may be why the discourse on TSR (and Aang, Katara, and Zuko) is so black and white (pun intended lol). 

“But Yin and Yang are obviously two things. Don’t you know the symbol?” I hear some people already saying.

Wrong, sir.

It has never been just Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang have never existed as just two things.

They are Yin and Yang and Wu Wei.

(Aunt Wu has her name for a reason, and she has the mark of the wise in her hair for a reason, too...AND she is at odds with Sokka in The Fortuneteller for a reason, too!!!...but that’s for the analysis😉)

Balance isn’t good triumphing over evil. Balance is good and evil. Balance is standing on the flow between two opposites--it’s the compliment that connects them. (The koi fish live in an oasis for a reason.)

I’ll explain what Wu Wei is later in the full analysis (like many things in here), but here’s some of my evidences and proofs for the “Yin Yang trio”:

The Tibetan “Wheel of Dharma”

(I’ll also explain the Wheel and Dharma and etc. later because it has everything to do with Koh and the moon) Long story short, the wheel and its spokes are representative of the 8 steps to enlightenment and the cycle of rebirth. 

Look at the hub of the wheel. It’s a swirl made of 3 parts.

It is also a white lotus

Here’s the colored version of the wheel (as an alter):

Recognize the colors?

BLUE, WHITE (or gold, depending), & RED

These are the “THREE TREASURES” OR JEWELS.

They symbolize DHARMA, BUDDHA, & SANGHA respectively. 

KATARA, AANG, & ZUKO

water, air, & fire

T H R E E

Bato: “Ice dodging is a ceremonial test of wisdom, bravery, and trust.

Bato: “The spirits of water bear witness to these marks...”

Why does Bato say spirit(s) plural? The Ocean and the Moon are only two spirits. The Ocean can’t be two things. Right?

WRONG

Yue: “The legends say the Moon was the first waterbender. Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.”

The Moon--singular. The Tides--plural (push and pull)

Lion Turtle: “In the era before the Avatar, we bent not the elements, but the energy within our senses.”

The moon pushing and pulling the tide is the moon bending the energy of its world. 

Katara finding balance between “being too weak to do it” or “strong enough not to” is her bending the energy within herself.

It’s two solutions written as a question but said as a statement.

Yue: “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves”

THE SOUTHERN RAIDERS IS ABOUT AANG AND ZUKO LEARNING FROM KATARA. Katara had already learned from Aang and Zuko all leading up to TSR. That was her studying. TSR was her test.

TSR is Zuko’s and Aang’s studying. Sozin’s Comet is their test.

Bato: “For Sokka, the Mark of the Wise. The same mark your father earned. For Katara, the Mark of the Brave. Your courage inspires us. And for Aang, the Mark of the Trusted. You are now an honorary member of the Water Tribe.”

Aang - Wise (”you’re pretty wise for a kid”)

Katara - Brave (the same mark her mother earned)

Zuko - Trusted (”I was the first person to trust you”)

Sokka - Bato ("I am to have no part in this--you pass or fail on your own.”)

Yin and Yang are nothing without their dance. The Avatar and the Firelord mean nothing if they don’t have a world to rebuild.

The valley means nothing if there isn’t anyone to live in it.

Fighting is useless if there isn’t someone to fight for, otherwise it is “selfish and stupid”

Katara had to have a reason to return from Yon Rha. She needed to have Aang waiting for her. If she didn’t have a reason to stay, then she wouldn’t have a reason to go.

To have a reason to sleep, a person has to have a reason to wake up.

Katara: “Aang. He just took his glider and disappeared. He has this ridiculous notion that he has to save the world alone; that it's all his responsibility.”

Hakoda: “Maybe that's his way of being brave.”

(Bato: “For Katara, the Mark of the Brave. Your courage inspires us.”)

Katara: “It's not brave! It's selfish and stupid! We could be helping him! And I know the world needs him, but doesn't he know how much we need him, too? How can he just leave us behind?!”

(It was, in fact, not easy for Aang to ‘do nothing’)

Katara: “I understand why you left. I really do, and I know that you had to go, so why do I still feel this way? I'm so sad and angry...and hurt.”

Hakoda: “I love you more than anything. You and your brother are my entire world. I thought about you every day when I was gone, and every night when I went to sleep, I would lie awake missing you so much it would ache.”

(AND YUE IS ONE OF THE ONES TO SAVE AANG IN THE OCEAN FOR A REASON)

Thinking and missing: a matter of mind (who) and heart (want). 

Iroh: “Who are you? And what do you want?”

Sokka: “We need to go back. I wanna see Dad, but helping Aang is where we're needed the most.”

Mai: “I love Zuko more than I fear you.”

BUT YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT THE MOON FOR A HOT SECOND???

I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THE MOON

I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT 2 MOONS

OH

OH REALLY???

OH REALLY, ZUKO

A FEW HOURS YOU SAY?

THEN TELL ME, ZUKO

WHY IS THE SUN GOING UP

WHEN IT IS THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT A FEW HOURS LATER

AND KATARA IS SLEEPING SO YOU CAN’T TELL ME IT’S BECAUSE YOU RISE WITH THE SUN OTHERWISE SHE’D BE WIDE AWAKE DURING THE FULL MOON THAT SHE USES TO BLOODBEND NOT EVEN TWO MINUTES LATER

THIS, MY FRIENDS, IS A HARVEST MOON

WHICH IS THE LAST FULL MOON OF THE SUMMER 

(and looks off color when it rises/falls because of the angle of the rise/fall in the atmosphere...it’s normal once overhead)

AND SYMOLIZES HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF

“We’re going to find the MAN who took my mother from me.”

“That’s him. That’s the MONSTER.”

8 spokes on the wheel

Katara was 8 when Kya was killed

8 steps to enlightenment (the “Eightfold Path”)

8 phases of the moon

8 faces of Koh

“One of your previous incarnations tried to slay me! Be it 8 or 9 hundred years ago” (but time is an illusion, so hundreds mean nothing)

THE OTHER TWO MOONS THAT ARE CONSUMING MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT???:

1.) The WOLF MOON--the first full moon of the new year (a love between the wolf and the moon in the harshest winters...connection is kindof obvious lmao)

2.) THE THUNDER MOON

The Thunder Moon is the full moon of July. It is also known as the Buck Moon--for when young buck regrow their antlers.

Yue: “My hair turned white.”

Zuko: *cuts and re-grows his hair*

Aang: “I have hair?”

The Thunder Moon--the full moon of July--is also the beginning of a certain Buddhist holiday.

DHARMA DAY

WHICH CELEBRATES THE BEGINING OF BUDDHISM AND THE FIRST OF THE 8 STEPS (the first spoke of the Dharma Wheel) TOWARDS ENLIGHTENMENT

AVATAR IS ALL ABOUT CYCLES

THE SOUTHERN RAIDERS IS ALL ABOUT BREAKING THEM

I haven’t even touched Jung, Koh, Hinduism, and Buddhism yet

or the fact that Katara and Kya are the only characters in the entire series to wear moons on their clothing and that, together, they form an actual lunar phenomenon

or why the spirit oasis isn’t a complete circle

or the fact that this thing that Aang is told to chase is just like Whaletail Island:

or how important the Great Divide and the Solstice are

AND I’M JUST GETTING STARTED

BECAUSE EVERYTHING IN THE SOUTHERN RAIDERS--RIGHT DOWN TO THE SOUND DESIGN--IS ABSOLUTELY MONUMENTAL IN UNDERSTANDING THE SHOW, ITS MESSAGE, ENERGYBENDING, AND LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE

TLDR: Idk how the heck I’m going to arrange or articulate this analysis because it is WILD. Be warned: There is literally no exact beginning and ending to this analysis because the whole point of Yin and Yang is that is has no beginning or ending (...kindof...), so you’ll have to bear with me once I’m done editing it into something that’s somewhat coherent.

These are just SOME of the things I’ve been able to answer with my moon theory and analysis of The Southern Raiders as it currently stands:

Why “letting go” isn’t really letting go (as we understand it...see: Aang’s confrontation with Koh)

Why Lake Laogai and the Spirit World are symbolically the same thing.

Zuko’s advice to the bullfrog is actually a summary of the show, energybending, the origin of bending, and the definition of Aang’s “forgiveness” I stg

Why “Sokka’s instincts” are the reason Katara yells at Sokka

Believe it or not, every time Katara mentions her mother, it is at specific times for specific reasons.

^^^same thing for the moon, lack of moon, moon positioning, etc.

Katara’s mother’s necklace is more important than we realize.

Who the faces of Koh are and WHY they are there.

The true meaning of Jet’s sacrifice.

Why Jet’s episode about the dam explains the entirety of TSR as it pertains to Katara (all the way down to the little girl who runs to get her doll after the dam breaks)

Why Katara actually DID forgive Yon Rha, and the fact that she doesn’t even know it is proof that she did

^^^^^Aang’s definition of forgiveness is completely misunderstood by the fandom, and the way he “forgives” is sososo much deeper than “moving on”, and it is DEFINATELY by no means “doing  nothing” or “excusing” past actions.

The importance of lightning, Zuko, Aang, and Katara.

The absolutely monumental and not nearly talked about importance of Jeong-Jeong like holy crap.

How Katara and Azula are just as much of a Yin and Yang as Zuko and Aang but not in the way we think they are

Why Koh has the Blue Spirit’s face

Why Koh DOESN’T have the Painted Lady’s face.

Who Ni-Ni from Katara’s campfire story in The Puppetmaster is 

How and why Iroh was able to learn firebending from the Masters even though he didn’t have a partner. 

How/Why Azula had her breakdown and why she saw her mother in the mirror

Why “Leaves from the Vine” and “Four Seasons” are the same song, explain Azula’s downfall, and explain the Yin and Yang of TSR.

Why Katara and Sokka are so often mistaken for parental figures.

Why Aang’s flashbacks to the Air Nomads are so important in understanding TSR.

Why Toph and Suki disappear after the campfire in TSR.

How Hakoda, Gyatso, and Kya are all connected.

Why it is so dang important that Azula shows up in the beginning of TSR.

The importance of the Spirit Oasis.

Energybending, healing with waterbending, Aang’s trauma, and Zuko’s scar.

Why Zuko gives Katara the exact opposite advise in TSR that he gave her in the catacombs. 

How everything could be predicted and read by the moon.

WHY YIN AND YANG ARE THREE THINGS AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THREE THINGS.

HOW ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL OF THIS TIES BACK TO THE MOON AND BUDDHIST BELIEFS--AND YEAH THE MOON AND BUDDHISM AND HINDUISM ARE MORE CONNECTED IN ATLA THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.

AND HOW IT LEADS INTO OUR MODERN UNDERSTANDING OF THE SELF--BECAUSE JUNG TOOK GREAT INFLUENCE IN HIS DEVELOPING THEORY OF THE CONSCIOUS AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS FROM THE HINDU/BUDDHIST RELIGIONS 

^^^^AND ALSO THE THEORY OF THE SHADOW AND THE PERSONA 

The ocean is a deep, dark, unknown place with a lot of hidden monsters (like Yon Rah). Katara needed a light to find her monster, but she also needed somewhere she could breathe when she came back up for air.

If she didn’t have both Zuko and Aang, Katara would have drowned. 

I wasn’t kidding when I said this was a thesis, and what I’ve said and listed here isn’t even all that I have.

btw This all does line up on the traditional Yin Yang symbol we know and see in the show, but I don’t have enough space here for that lmao. That’ll be in the analysis

I hope you enjoyed this little taste, my friend, because I need to sit down for a hot second before my brain leaks out of my ears. Sorry for the ramble. I promise the analysis isn’t like this lol. This is just me trying to summarize as best as I can. 

***Disclaimer: My points are always subject to change since I am still researching. These are the facts as I’ve found and applied them to the evidences I’ve noted from in the show. I’m always open for friendly discussion or any directions to better sources on Buddhism/Tao/Jung!***

[yiangchen]

What do you think that Sokka and Katara’s childhood in the SWT might have been like before Kya died and Hakoda left?

Oof, this is actually a hard question to answer. I'm not sure.

However, I imagine that it must have been fairly happy. Before the raid and Kya's death, Sokka and Katara are shown laughing and having a snowball fight. Even though we're never shown on screen, it can be assumed that Hakoda and Kya were deeply in love and Sokka and Katara had two parents that loved them as well as Kanna, Bato and the rest of the village. The village was small, even if you include the men that left for the war, so they were kind of like one big family. There probably weren't any kids aside from Sokka and Katara though. The little ones we see at the beginning of the series were likely not even born before Kya's death. I guess it's possible that there were a few teenagers then who had grown up and started families by the time the series starts, but they wouldn't have been anywhere near Sokka and Katara's ages.

That said, they were likely each other's only friend, and judging from their snowball fight, they seemed carefree and innocent, as children should be. Kya hadn't died yet, so Katara hadn't needed to fill her role yet, and Hakoda hadn't left for the war yet, so Sokka hadn't needed to fill his role yet. In the series, Katara is often called out for not being able to let loose and have fun and Sokka is often called out for being too stubborn about sticking to a schedule, but I think that before their mother's death and their father leaving for the war, they were probably all about having fun and maybe even getting into trouble. The shenanigans that Katara and Sokka must have gotten into together!! I can see them always doing things they shouldn't be doing and just being menaces in general, which exasperates Hakoda nonstop, but Kya just sits back and watches with amusement. My heart hurts just thinking about it actually. They were probably the happiest little family, and then in one day, it was taken from them. Stolen from them. Just like that. I hate Yon Rha so fucking much.

Anyway, it seems like Katara was closest with Kya and Sokka with Hakoda, so I imagine that when Katara and Sokka weren't pulling pranks together or doing other things that would get them in trouble, Katara spent a lot of time with their mother and Sokka with their father. They were likely home schooled as well. The village wasn't large enough for there to be a building set aside for formal schooling. They were probably taught by Kanna and the other village elders as well. I'm sure they were raised on stories and myths of their people. I can see the whole village snuggled up around the fire at night as the elders talk about the lives of their ancestors and Tui and La.

Stories of the SWT waterbenders were probably left out, however, as fear had driven most not to talk about why Katara was the only one left, which would explain why she knows so little about waterbending and Sokka refers to it as magic water.

Now that I'm thinking about all this, I would kill for a fic all about Kya and Hakoda's lives before they got married and how they fell in love and when they started a family and the fleeting years that they had before tragedy struck. Maybe even the years after Kya's death and Hakoda's leaving for the war, all the way up until the start of the series when Katara and Sokka are on that boat fishing. I would devour a fic like that.

[scripttorture]

Hello! I've browsed this blog a bit and came across the idea that torturers often develop mental illness because of their repeated exposure to the violence/trauma of seeing another person in pain, which I'd never considered before. A) Do you believe torturers can therefore be a type of victim as well, depending on the circumstances, and therefore deserving of compassion/therapy? B) Can you point me to more information about this/what kinds of mental illnesses develop in torturers? (1/2)

C) Do you think it's possible for a mass murderer/torturer character to have a realistic, satisfying redemption arc? Do you know any media that's pulled it off believably? Thank you so much for taking the time to read/answer this if you do! And for this excellent resource!

-

The most accessible sources that cover this are O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work (good grounding, start with him), Rejali’s Torture and Democracy and the appendices to Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth where he describes treating two torturers.

 The most current research is about 600 pages of print on demand untranslated French. If you’re fluent in French (I am not and lock down etc has got in the way of me getting this translated) Sironi Comment devient-on tortionnaire?

 Broadly speaking the symptoms appear to be the same as those survivors and witnesses develop.

 And I will go into this in more depth later but keep in mind there is not anywhere near enough research on torturers for us to be entirely sure about most of this. I’m working with the best information we have right now.

 The other two questions are subjective and sort of complicated. By definition a lot of this is going to be my opinion because well that’s what you’re asking for.

 I think we need to be really careful about describing torturers as ‘victims’.

 Yes they’re put in this situation by social structures beyond their control. It is not their fault that they weren’t given training or support in their job. It’s also not their fault that we have this global message that violence is effective or that so many workplaces are unnecessarily pressured/stressful. Most of the time they are drawn in to abusing others because of the social groups and structures within the organisation they join.

 Oversight (with a drive to eradicate torture), funding, training and clear consistent messages about the right way to handle difficult situations would probably prevent most cases of torture.

 This does not change the fact that on an individual level each of them chose to hurt other people.

 Some of them will have made that choice understanding there was a threat to their own safety if they did not. Some of them will have made that choice just because it was what everyone else was doing. Some of them genuinely believe what they did was the ‘right’ decision at the time.

 They still made that choice. And given that we have records of people in similar positions refusing, even when it put them at risk of attack or death, I don’t have a lot of sympathy with the choice torturers made.

 The fact I’m a pacifist factors into this. Consider my biases.

 Torturers typically show a very low understanding of the impact their actions have had on other people.

 They might regret their actions but this is typically framed in a very self-centred way. They usually don’t express more then cursory regard for the victims. They regret it because they’re suffering now, because they have nightmares, because they can’t keep a job. And oh it’s all so unfair.

 I don’t know why this is the case. But it’s a feature Sironi described in interviews about her work. And I’ve seen it over and over again in interviews with torturers.

 Yes torturers suffer. The symptoms they develop are terrible and have a lasting impact on their lives. They typically can’t hold down jobs and struggle to re-integrate into society in any meaningful fashion.

 And yes I believe they should be treated. I believe that anyone with a disease or condition which requires treatment should have access to care and treatment. Whoever they are. Whatever they did.

 I believe that as fellow human beings torturers are entitled to a degree of compassion. When I say that torture and mistreatment are wrong I mean it. My position doesn’t change just because the theoretical victim is a former torturer.

 I do not think that treatment and compassion should be dependant on a person being suitably victimised. For me the only thing it depends on is their need and their humanity. In the literal physical sense of them being a human.

 But we tend to think of ‘victim’ as a simple category that doesn’t overlap with mass murderers.

 And I don’t believe the position of torturers is that simple.

 Especially when so few of them are charged. Torture trials are rare. Convictions are rare. And sentences are short.

 And their victims deserve justice too.

 I feel conflicted about calling torturers ‘victims’ because of this complex reality. And because in fiction we have a tendency to focus on the torturers prioritising their voices over the survivors. I feel like presenting torturers as simple victims of society could risk adding to that.

 For me the focus has always got to be the survivors.

 And I think all of this feeds into how we handle redemption arcs.

 I don’t think that writing redemption arcs for villains, even torturers or mass murderers is ‘wrong’. In fact I think that it can be a really good idea. Showing how toxic the environments these people are in is a good thing. Puncturing the way it’s romanticised is a good thing. And showing a way out of it, even if it’s imagined, is not a bad thing.

 But if we’re going to do that in our stories then I think we need to think about what redemption means and in whose eyes the character is redeemed.

 There’s also a small problem: we don’t really know what recovery for torturers looks like.

 There isn’t enough research on them. Partly because of lack of interest but partly because the low conviction rates means sample sizes are small. We’re talking about a limited number of individuals who are jailed and we can’t really ‘prove’ that individuals who weren’t convicted were torturers. We don’t really know what the long term outcomes are, what treatments might be effective or- Much of anything.

 Studies on torturers are typically based on very small numbers of individuals. (For a long time Fanon’s work was the only example of a mental health professional talking about torturers specifically. He saw two of them.) They are not statistically sound. And a lot of resources were simply journalists or mental health professionals compiling notes on the handful of individuals they talked to.

 Everything I say about torturers is based on things like interviews, a handful of studies that have flaws and anecdotal evidence. Unfortunately as of right now it’s the best we’ve got.

 Personally I don’t think there’s enough research on torture generally. Or enough attempts to collate relevant research from other fields. But that’s a rant for another day.

 Let’s get back to that central question: what does redemption mean?

 I think that it’s pretty easy to write a character changing for the better. You can build up the character’s level of insight into what they’re doing/did over the course of the story. You can show them choosing to stop. You can show them shifting to oppose their former allies.

 But bundled up in the idea of a redemption arc is this: is it enough? And who is it enough for?

 I don’t think survivors should be obliged to forgive former torturers. I also don’t think they’re likely to interact positively.

 I’ve talked about this now and again when asked about the difference between legally defined torture and abuse. Because of the organised and widespread nature of legally defined torture there are usually communities of survivors. And communities that are collectively moving through a recovery process because even those people who weren’t directly attacked are likely to be witnesses, carers and relatives or friends of survivors.

 These things echo down generations.

 Cyprus gained independence from the British in 1960, my father is too young to have any real memory of the violence during the colonial period. But he referenced it in arguments with my English mother during my childhood. There are people throughout China today who won’t buy anything Japanese because of Japanese war crimes there during World War 2. There are people who won’t eat fish from the Black Sea, because the bodies of their ancestors were thrown into that sea during a genocide over a hundred years ago.

 I know that as a both a Greek Cypriot and an English person there are people all over the world who will not want anything to do with me based on what my people have done to theirs. And the fact I wasn’t alive at the time does not really factor into it.

 What I’m trying to illustrate here is that this is much bigger, broader and more complex then individual acts of forgiveness.

 Survivors are a highly varied group of individuals. And each torturer can have thousands or tens of thousands of victims. Expecting each impacted individual, and any witnesses and all their family members and friends, to forgive these people is… let’s say ‘unlikely’.

 So does redemption require forgiveness from the wounded party? Is there any possible action that can atone for the sheer scale of these atrocities?

 If we play a simple number game causing this level of harm can be achieved in months or years, but saving the equivalent number of lives takes decades of skilled, dedicated work. If we look at concepts like wergild or jail as ‘paying your debt to society’ then how do we measure something like torture where the numbers are so big?

 I haven’t seen a piece of fiction seriously tackle these questions. But then again I also haven’t actively looked for that fiction.

 I feel like a lot of fictional redemption arcs judge a character to be sufficiently redeemed based on audience sympathy and the main cast forgiving the character. They don’t typically go on to broaden the scope of the narrative and question whether any one else impacted by the former villain’s actions also sees the character as redeemed.

 One of my stories has a former torturer as a major character and I think they are a sympathetic character in many ways. I think that my readers would empathise with them through a lot of the story (which takes place decades after they stopped torturing).

 They’re a mentor figure to some of the younger cast members. They’ve acted as a protector to them and taught the younger generation a lot about the minority culture they themselves are from. And they do genuinely care about these people that they helped to raise, consistently sacrificing to protect these ‘kids’. (The ‘kids’ are 30s-20s at the time of the story.)

 But they’re also incredibly self centred. They don’t really interact with or have a lot of sympathy for the people they hurt. And while this particular family loves and forgives them society at large views them as a monster. Albeit one that is now leashed.

 Is this a redemption story? Is this character redeemed? I genuinely don’t know. In fact that’s part of my interest in writing the story: trying to work out if there is a point, as this character grows, develops and helps others, when I believe they’ve done ‘enough’.

 I think that redemption means different things for different people. A satisfying redemption story is different for different people. And if we can disagree so strongly about it with much simpler, smaller scale crimes then where does that leave us with torture?

 There isn’t a simple answer or a one-size-fits-all writing solution. There can’t be.

 My approach is to try and use the story to see if I can find an answer. Even if it’s only a limited one. For me the story itself is a forum for exploring human complexity and difficult ethical questions.

 I don’t think we have a good solution for how to deal with these people in reality yet. But I do hold out hope that a good solution is possible. Fiction is an arena where we can safely explore possible solutions.

 I guess in the end I’m not sure if there’s any story or arc that will work for everyone. I don’t think there are any hard rules for writing anything and I don’t think there’s ever a way to please everyone.

 Redemption and forgiveness are complicated topics. I think we do a much better job when we engage with that complexity then when we assume a character just has to do a, b and c in order to achieve it.

 When you consider someone to be truly redeemed is an ethical question that I can’t answer for you. I don’t think I should. The chances are you’ll know when you think your character has done enough.

 Just be open to the fact that it won’t be enough for everyone. Consider reflecting that with the characters, because that can make for truly powerful moments.

 In Midnight’s Children Shiva never forgives Saleem, even though Saleem isn’t responsible for Shiva ‘losing’ his life and family because they were both infants at the time. And damn there are a lot of flaws in the movie adaptation but that scene between them in the jail, when Saleem throws that in Shiva’s face hits hard. It shows us so much about both characters.

 And I think that’s a better way to approach it then trying to figure out if a character is redeemed yet: figuring out how they’ve progressed, how others respond to that progression and why.

 I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 26

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 26 - Photograph

From the South Third Ring Road overpass, turn right and cross a small road covered by empress trees to reach Shenjiayuan.

The fragments of low-rise buildings and the chaotic street stalls on both sides of the street were standoffish in such a modern city. However, this was one of the country's famous antique marketplaces, and tens of thousands of people came here every day with lots of money to spend, risking being baked by the sun and getting heatstroke by lingering around each of the stalls, hoping to find one or two hidden treasures stashed away in a corner somewhere. It was an industry gaining some traction. There were many speculators, collectors, tourists, calligraphers, painters, and even gamblers among them. They firmly believe that a city thousands of years old hid unknown wealth somewhere. It was this mentality that gave them a similar look; intoxicated and wild-eyed with a long outstretched tongue, drooling over the crude high antique imitations on the stalls.

This was the place where Lin Yan made countless memories when he was a teenager. The middle school he went to was nearby. After school, he often came here alone with his schoolbag on his back. Back then, there weren't as many people. There was a very polluted river nearby that hadn't been turned into a landfill yet. The air was always filled with the smell of stinky salted fish. The vendors who set up stalls hadn't yet learned to casually laze about while sneaking glances at the faces of customers to judge how much money they could cheat out of them.

The old days were like rolls of yellowed newspapers. A young man in a light blue school uniform walked through it, exchanging his pocket money for a piece of colored glaze from the late Qing Dynasty. He squatted in front of a stall to sift through the options. The old man at the stall was smoking a cigarette while telling the story of Liulichang in the late Qing Dynasty. Lin Yan didn't know why he was only interested in street stalls when kids his age were saving up to buy posters of celebrities. Just like when they were gushing over the Belgian chocolates their relatives brought home, he was still obsessed for years with the pot full of honey hard candy the old lady in front of the school had.

The wood, rice paper, and the dusty rusticity of the old objects held a taste of time, and teenage Lin Yan couldn't help but be immersed in it. Like a lone fish in the stream.

The sun was shining on the ground at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Lin Yan carried a bulging bag in his left hand and a cup of roasted sencha milk tea in his right. He paced slowly in the crowd, the grass green V-neck T-shirt and cotton calf-length pants standing out. He didn't know why antique hunters liked to wear black, the dust on their clothes making them look like they had just crawled out of the ground.

"Here, it's weirdly hot. Do you want a sip?" Lin Yan shook the milk tea, the ice cube hitting the wall of the cup with a soft thud. Onlookers thought he was talking to the air when actually there was an invisible person next to him helping take off some of the weight of the bag. That mean, even though Lin Yan was carrying a lot of things, it didn't take much effort.

Xiao Yu lowered his head and took a sip where Lin Yan had touched. He bit on the straw a few times and turned his head.

Lin Yan wanted to laugh a little, and brought the cup back to the corner of his mouth.

A-Yan said that Xiao Yu might remember more following him around, so Lin Yan took him to the antique market after breakfast, hoping that something from his own time period might bring something back. Who would've guessed that, after going through all these stalls, lots of purchases were made but there was no progress with the ghost's memory. Lin Yan glanced at the bag in his hand. It was stuffed with clothes bought from a well-known Hanfu store in Shenjiayuan. They were well-made and expensive. Most people only bought them to complete a Hanfu set for their collection. For Lin Yan to buy these kinds of clothes on a daily errand, that was really a rare sight. Even the clerk couldn't help but do a double take.

Xiao Yu didn't understand the time they were currently living in, so he stood his ground and refused to adapt his style to the times. Lin Yan rolled his eyes and glared at him bitterly. He thought, you're the boss here making me throw away my money while I'm just your servant who follows behind you and pays.

Right after they left one store, before he could recover from the purchase, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped when he passed a woodworking shop. Lin Yan looked at the store’s gorgeous decorations and pieces of pearwood and red sandalwood furniture, whining that he really couldn't afford this stuff. Xiao Yu ignored him and dragged him inside. Thirty minutes later, Lin Yan swiped his card to check out under the watchful eye of the clerk and bought a beautiful Tongzhi wood guqin.

"Oh great ancestor, what more do you want?" Lin Yan tucked the order slip from the woodworking shop into his pocket and glared daggers at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu shook his head nonchalantly.

There were more people on the street. Some of them didn't know the treasures that they had found, and they couldn't hide their excitement, sneaking a peek at what they have just bought. Some of them had grim faces, looking like they had been ripped off. There were also groups of foreign tourists wearing Lei Feng hats gathered at the roadside to buy shadow puppets. Occasionally, they turned around and curiously look at the antique city, which was built in the traditional Chinese-style.

In the market area to the south, there were large ancient buildings imitating Ming and Qing style architecture. The bustling narrow street seemed like scene straight out of the Water Margin. The wooden window on the second floor were pushed up, supported by a short stick. Looking up, he could see customers sipping tea. The shopkeeper was a short man, busily carrying a large teapot back and forth.

The narrow street lead to a large emerald-green stall covered with plastic tarps to offer shade from the sun. Lin Yan and Xiao Yu walked under the shadow of the tarps when they heard a familiar voice yelling loudly.

"Look at how green the colour is and how good the water head* is! You won't be able to find another one at this price anywhere in Shenjiayuan!" The peddler selling jade pieces had a round belly, one foot on the stool, holding up a transparent fortune bracelet, spittle flying everywhere. The plainly dressed middle-aged woman in front of the stall looked hesitant. She took the bracelet and took another look at it.

*(T/N: Water head [水头] refers to how light shines through jade. Kind of like how the light would look if it were shining through water. There's a list of transparencies if you want to look at how jade is graded, but basically the best jade has a vivid colour with even transparency across the whole piece.)

"It's too expensive, lower the price a bit." The woman said sincerely.

"It's so green, so transparent, I can't go any lower. Miss, if you want a lower price, it'll affect my livelihood. Don't waste my time." The peddler grabbed the bracelet, his eyes bulging.

"I wanted to buy it for my daughter as a birthday gift. It's too expensive. It'd be a pity if she dropped it. Give me the lowest you can go."

"Here." The peddler rolled his eyes. He took out his calculator, punched in a few numbers, and showed it to the woman in front of him, "Is this all right? I can't go any lower!"

Lin Yan couldn't help but lean over and glance at the numbers on the screen. He let out a laugh.

The peddler squinted at him.

Lin Yan shook his head. He took the bracelet and said to the woman: "Don't buy this, he's fooling you."

"Hey, hey, what are you trying to say? I'm running an honest business here. If you don't believe me, go around and ask. . ."

Lin Yan smirked. He put the roasted sencha tea cup on the stall and held the bracelet at a different angle. The curved surface reflected the light from the plastic roof. He said to the woman buying the bracelet: "Look at the blurred edges of the reflection. If you look closely, you can see that there are very fine meshes on the surface." Lin Yan raised the bracelet to let the light through. "There is purple fluorescence inside, indicating that the reason this bracelet is so transparent because of acid washing and a glue filling."

"Also, notice how the green is only sitting on the surface and doesn't reach the middle. That means it was dyed after the fact. This thing is worth one or two hundred yuan. Don't buy it."

The peddler's nose and eyes scrunched up. At first glance, they looked like a dried walnut.

"Oh." The middle-aged woman hurriedly stuffed an envelope containing the money back into her bag, repeatedly thanking Lin Yan.

When she left, the peddler huffed. Pissed, he turned his head away, not looking at Lin Yan. Even his swollen belly seemed to be flatter than before.

"What else should I do when I notice that someone with money on the street?"

Lin Yan roughly flicked the peddler's forehead: "Everyone here has money. It's embarrassing to lie like this, there's no skill in it."

Several surrounding stalls burst out laughing. The peddler rolled his eyes back to normal. He grabbed Lin Yan’s milk tea and poured a few mouthfuls out of the plastic lid. He muttered while he crunched on the ice cubes: “I don't fool people in this business. It's not my fault their eyesight is poor. No refunds is the standard."

This much was true. Antique jade sales rely on good eyesight. Figuring out which store has more genuine products than fake depends on the customer. They can't return them either so the shop doesn't have to admit they were fakes. Lin Yan clicked his tongue: "These people don't know what to look for. You're just trying to make your father think you're good at this job."

The peddler rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in a bad position and couldn't say anything.

Lin Yan had been a frequent visitor to this antique market since he was a child. Since choosing his major in university, he preferred to come to the small stalls to practice his appraisal skills when he had nothing else to do. See what was selling for a high price but was bought for a low price. He was also kind and helped others pick out the best items, so many peddlers knew him. For example, Lin Yan first met this guy's father, a very honest old man. He even took out the receipt with the price he paid for it when he bargained with customers. Unfortunately, when Lin Yan graduated from high school, the old man fell ill and his son took over the business. and this was the leeching peddler in from of him.

Lin Yan wasn't polite with him. When he walked around the stall, he took out a copper box from under the table. Inside were piles of Ming and Qing paperweights. These objects were all family heirlooms that the original stall owner received from nearby residents’ homes when he was young. Lin Yan had just remembered this box of objects then dragged Xiao Yu over to look at them. Brass mirrors, jade bracelets, thumb rings, snuff boxes, tobacco pipes; Xiao Yu looked over them all and just shook his head. Lin Yan threw the last piece back into the box and patted the dust on his clothes, a little frustrated.

"That box has been there for ages and no one's ever touched it. What are you looking at it for?" The peddler kept squinting at him and was too curious not to ask about it.

"Looking for Ming Dynasty artifacts for my classes." Lin Yan actually didn't know what he was looking for. He moved on and put the box back.

"Ming Dynasty?" The peddler didn't care about the bracelet anymore. "Old man Liu has lots stashed away."

"No, no, no. . ." Lin Yan hurriedly refused, but he thought about it and sighed, "Forget it. I've been shopping all day and haven't gone there. I'll give it a try."

"Don't say the wrong thing. Good luck." The peddler made a face.

The shop run by old man Liu was quite famous in Shenjiayuan. Not just because he was the only antique peddler to sell only sell antique pictures, but also because he was notoriously grumpy. Every day, he'd leave the shop and hang up his old camera in the park to make money. Whenever he went to the shop to buy something, the owner was never there. Walking down the street, he ran into him wearing an old Mao suit, cursing and waving around. His thin mantis-like face was slanted and a pair of glasses rested on his nose at an angle. Sometimes the lens' were shattered like cobwebs, and sometimes the lens' weren't there at all.

His shop sells old photographs of the old city, hung densely from the floor to the ceiling. Because old photographs were difficult to reprint, they were also very expensive. The sub districts of Qianmen, Dashilan, old gardens in the setting sun in 1872, passers-by in long gowns with thin faces and numb eyes. The TV station came to interview him, but only half the program was filmed. From photographers to reporters, old man Liu chewed them all out without exception. The interview never went anywhere, and the shop still didn't have any business. The old man still walked around outside with his camera everyday.

The shop was in the northwest corner of Shenjiayuan and its location was considered unlucky. There was a symbol meant to ward off evil spirits designed by a famous Feng Shui master hung on the door. Xiao Yu couldn't enter and stood at the door waiting for Lin Yan.

Lin Yan looked at the ominous storefront. For the first time, he felt reluctant to part with Xiao Yu.

Unsurprisingly, Old Man Liu wasn't in the shop. A seven or eight-year-old girl in a red jacket was facing away from him. She was pointing at a photo on the wall and muttering something. When she heard someone enter the door, she turned back and grinned at Lin Yan.

Lin Yan was a little surprised. This little girl was his neighbor. Although he didn’t know where she lived, he often saw her running around in the yard downstairs in a dirty red dress. Sometimes when Lin Yan went out to buy dinner at night, he saw her playing with cats in the yard, no one coming to bring her home. He hadn't seen her often in the past month and he didn't expect to see her here.

Was it possible she was related to that strange old man? No wonder no one cared about her playing outside everyday, Lin Yan thought.

"Why are you here by yourself?" Lin Yan knelt down and asked her in a soft voice.

The little girl was lean, her eyes staring straight at Lin Yan, grinning silently. Lin Yan suddenly felt that the little girl’s smile probably made people feel uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to call it a smile, but just a casual grin. The corners of her mouth were upturned but her eyes were dull. Wearing such an old jacket in summer, she seemed to be left behind by the times, like the rest of the photos in the room.

Lin Yan hesitated on whether he leave and wait outside for the strange old man.

"What the hell you XX, I XXXX. . ." Lin Yan was distracted, and suddenly there was a thud. Old man Liu hugging his broken camera fell through the front door. He fell on all fours in an extremely embarrassed posture, landing on the only part of the floor that had sunlight hitting it.

"A-Are you okay?" Lin Yan rushed over to help. Unexpectedly, the old man gave him a sour look. He rolled over and sat on the ground, patting the dirt on his knees, and continued his tirade of curses towards the door relentlessly. Lin Yan stood awkwardly off to the side, neither leaving nor staying.

The old man felt he had cursed enough. He grunted and got to his feet. When he turned his head and saw Lin Yan, his eyes widened like he had discovered a whole new world, and said with a quacking voice: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy something." Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Shouldn't that be the first thing the shop owner thinks of when he sees a customer in the store?

"Leave. What is there to buy? Young people are clueless." The old man held his stern gaze and walked around behind the counter, irritated: "Why are you still standing there? You have no business being here!"

Lin Yan didn't want to talk nonsense with the old man, so he pat his back and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" The old man yelled. Lin Yan had just reached the door and was so frightened by the voice that he came to a halt.

"You look good, I'll take a picture of you." The old man suddenly walked out from behind the counter with his camera in hand. He grabbed Lin Yan by the collar and pulled him into the room. After couple of pushes, he stood beside the little girl. He squatted down involuntarily, and the shutter sounded with a few clicks. The old man's furrowed face appeared from behind the camera and he smacked his lips with satisfaction.

After the shutter, several photos appeared from the top of the camera. The old man took one in his hand and glanced at it. He pulled one out and shoved it at Lin Yan: "You take it."

Lin Yan was shown the strength of this old man. He turned his face angrily, trying to walk out, rubbing his shoulder: "I don't want to."

"Take it!" The old man yelled in Lin Yan's ear, making his ears ring.

Lin Yan took it and glanced speechlessly. He saw that in the black-and-white picture he stood like a wooden pole, staring expressionlessly at the wall. The background was dimmed, and the entire thing looked like a horror picture people would share online.

What's wrong with. . .

Lin Yan eyes widened and a nerve in his head popped. He couldn't help taking a step back, looking at himself in the photo. When he looked at the spot where he was standing when the picture was taken, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

The little girl who took the picture with him just now wasn't in the photo. He was the only person in the black and white background straight out of a horror movie.

Lin Yan hesitantly looked up. The girl in red was standing where he stood, wearing an out-of-date ragged jacket, grinning at him biting her fingernail.

"Hehe, hehe." The old man held up the camera to his crooked eyes and a piece of the lens fell to the ground. "Perfect, great picture."

Lin Yan crawled out of the house.

The sun was bitterly hot and the bustling street was swarming with people. Xiao Yu was standing casually by the doorway. Lin Yan couldn't say a word, swallowing hard. He rushed over and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Prince Papers Prt. 2

This is legitimately just becoming a game to ‘see how many times I can reference A Brief History of Durin’s Line in each part;.  The record is currently 3.  Also, I’m not entirely sure ink burns or would stain like I have it do in this piece, but its funny, sooo....  

Part 2.  Kili needs to be taught how to do royal paperwork and Dori’s apprentice is assigned the task.  Little does the apprentice know what this involves.  Part 1 HERE

TAGS:  @elvish-sky​ @ladylouoflothlorien​

MASTERLIST

OC Used:  Lorelei

Word Count:  1,3330

Warning(s):  Ink gets spilled into someone’s eye and stains their eye.

Translation(s):  None

~~~~

Demon Eyes

"Done."  The relieved word had me jumping in my seat as I turned away from the window to look at the dark-haired Dwarrow across from me.  He propped his stubbled chin on his hand as he sighed again.  "Are we done?"

I shook my head, leaning across the table to snag the scattered mess of papers.  "We haven't even started yet, Prince Kili."  I replied, tapping the papers a few times on the table to even them out.  

Prince Kili looked at me with an expression of mingled horror and disbelief.  "Haven't even started yet?  What are you talking about?"  He gasped out, and I watched him solemnly.

"Copy out a line of your choosing from that book over there."  I ordered, choosing not to comment on his protests, pointing over to a thick tome leaning on the window.  It just happened to be A Brief History of Durin's Line: Volume 234.  

Prince Kili made a face, leaning over to grab the book and drop it on the table with a loud thump.  My eyes widened at the disrespectful treatment of the book and I shot the Prince a disapproving  look.  He just smirked, raising an eyebrow.  "Oh, so you're one of those people."  He murmured, and I frowned, wondering what he meant.

"Excuse me?"  I questioned, making him chuckle in amusement as he flipped through the pages of the tome.

"You're one of those people who treat books like they're babies."  He said flippantly, his gaze settling on a page.  "Now, what do I write this on and with what?  Do I get to do it in blood?"  He asked, brown eyes sparkling as they flickered up to meet mine while I grimaced in disgust, rummaging around the pile of papers for a blank one.

"Absolutely not, that's both disgusting and unsanitary."  I responded, locating a blank sheaf of paper and handing it to him.  "You'll use the ink and quill located on the bookshelf behind you."  

"Ah.  You're also one of those people who doesn't like to have a little fun."  He grumbled, standing up and trodding over to the bookshelf to grab the eagle feather quill and bottle of ink.  

I didn't bother to respond to him, ignoring the indignation rising within me.  Who did he think he was to judge me like that?  In all honesty, he reminded me of one his ancestors--a cheeky young lad by the name of Karkul the Foolish--who died a rather unfortunate death by choking on a piece of jerky.  The event of which was most graphically described in A Brief History of Durin's Line: Volume 188.

Prince Kili settled himself back in his chair, fished a knife out of his pocket and proceeded to try and pry off the lid of the ink bottle.  My eyes widened with horror as I caught sight of his actions.

He didn't know that the ink bottle was finicky and--

The cork came out of the ink bottle with a loud pop, and Prince Kili jolted back.  The ink went sloshing everywhere, including all over me.

"For the love of Mahal--"  I hissed, my hands flying up to cover my now-burning eyes.  The pain made me lose all forms of politeness.  "YOU'VE BLINDED ME YOU STUPID DWARROW!"

I heard footsteps and a warm hand clasped gently around my wrist and tugged on it.  I kept my eyes screwed tightly shut against the burning agony the ink had caused.  "I'm sorry, I didn't know that the ink would spill everywhere... Are you okay?"  I heard Prince Kili ask, his voice dripping with concern.

"No..."  I whimpered, feeling tears well up in my eyes as they smarted.  "The ink got in my eyes and it burns..."

"I'll take you to Oin.  He'll know what to do, okay?"  Prince Kili suggested worriedly, moving his hand from my wrist to grab my elbow.  "Just follow me."

He tugged gently on my arm, leading me forwards through the bookshelves.  I listened intently to the sound of our footsteps, noting the change in pitch as we exited the library and entered one of Erebor's many corridors.  

Time seemed to pass quickly by, and within moments, I was seated on a bed in the Healing chambers of Erebor.  Oin bustled around by my side, while Prince Kili held my hand.  

"Now, I don't think you'll have any permanent blindness from the ink, but I'll have to wash it all out to see..."  Oin muttered, and I jumped as his fingers pried open my eye.  "Now just hold still as I wash out your eyes."  

I gulped as I felt the water spray up into my eye, trying hard not to blink.  Prince Kili squeezed my hand gently and strangely, I found reassurance in the small action.  

Oin quickly repeated the action with my other eye, then released me.  "Now, open your eyes."  He ordered, and I slowly did as he asked.  Shapes and colours blurred around me, but as I blinked, everything came into focus.

"I can see!"  I exclaimed excitedly, looking around.  My gaze found Oin standing before me, an expression of shock covering his features.  "Is something wrong?"  I asked hesitantly, wondering if I wasn't supposed to be able to see.  A quote from A Brief History of Durin's Line: Volume 203 popped into my head.  "...and the infamous Prince Dain VII--Mahal bless the noble hairs of his noble beard--was unluckily struck over the head during a battle and believed to be blind until his noble eyes opened one day and he found himself cured..."  A rather stupid tale in my mind.  The author was much too fond of the word 'noble'.

"Well, no...  It's just that the ink has stained your eyes a bit..."  He murmured, taking a step closer to peer into my eyes.  

"What do you mean, 'a bit'?"  I asked, raising an eyebrow.  Prince Kili came to stand beside Oin, his eyes blown wide with amazement.

"Mahal...  That's weird."  He breathed, and anxiety began to rise within me.  

"Can someone bring me a mirror?"  I pleaded, fidgeting my hands in my lap.  

Oin nodded and hurried away to grab a small, hand-held mirror.  I raised it up and gasped in horror at what I saw.  The whites of my eyes had been completely stained pitch-black by the ink, making me look like some sort of green-eyed demon.  "For the love of all things golden, I look like a demon!"  I exclaimed, tears beginning to well in my eyes.  Looking worriedly over at Oin, I gave him a pleading look.  "Please tell me it isn't permanent..."

He shook his head, allowing me to let out a sigh of relief.  Wiping at the wetness on my cheeks, I was surprised to see black stains of my fingers.  Looking back in the mirror, I saw black trails down my cheeks.  "Even my tears are black!"  I cried, watching as more black tears began to find their way down my face.  "Could this get any worse?"  I wailed, laying aside the mirror to put my head in my hands.

"There there, Miss Lorelei.  It's just the ink staining your tears.  It'll all have disappeared within a few days, don't worry.  Although, I'm not entirely sure why a horse would make things any better"  Oin tried to soothe, his expression puzzled.  

Prince Kili came up to lay a gentle hand on my back.  "Don't cry, Miss Lory."  He murmured quietly, and I looked tearfully up into his smiling face.  "We can have some fun together before the ink goes away."

Dori's words floated into my head as I looked up into the mischievous expression of the dark-haired Prince.  Remember Lorelei, your time with him is strictly professional.  No funny business.  I know Prince Kili can be quite persuasive in getting people to help him in his antics.

But what could Prince Kili possibly use my unusual appearance for anyways?  

[santalsaburablog]

Adventures of Santal. Chapter 1: The girl who survived.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away

Heroes create the times.

The story begins! On the beautiful Twi'lek planet Ryloth, a young Twi'lek lethana, Elina, is raising the daughter of her friend, who, along with her husband, was killed on a starship in an attack by mercenaries. Baby Santal lives carefree and happy. But no one suspects that it has a great destiny in store for it. Only time will tell.

— Santal! There is no answer.

— Santa-a-al! there is no answer.

Elina was walking up and down near the house and shouting:

The woman went through all the rooms once more , then suddenly it dawned on her, and Elina quickly went in the direction that her brain suggested, hoping that her instincts were not deceiving her.

"Of course I forgot about the backyard. What were you doing there? In

front of Elina sat a little girl with dark hair tied in two ponytails. Judging by the condition of her clothes, the little girl had time to Tinker in the ground.

"I'm sorry, aunt. I watched the flowers and didn't hear them. After all, what beauty surrounds us!

Elina was touched and calmed down. Why be angry with a child for such nonsense? Thank you for thinking about flowers and nature, and not about something indecent. And so, let him think about the world around him. In General, her ward loved life in all its manifestations.

"Santal, let's go." I need to get you cleaned up. We'll be having lunch soon.

An hour later, the two women, the big one and the little one, were sitting at the table. Letanka this day rasstaralas and prepared a favorite meal of the pupil.

"So go with her, — thought Elina. "She's not doing this out of spite. Just likes to touch and explore everything. But Santal is only three years old, in six months — four. I try my best to raise her, because she is, poor thing, the daughter of my late friend. I still remember that story. Her family was attacked by hunters. And Santal managed to survive. I just don't know how. Later, when the case was resolved, the mercenaries were not caught, and they wanted to send the girl to an orphanage. But my husband and I didn't allow it. Especially since I'm infertile myself. And I want children. Nobi's husband is a farmer, and I'm a homemaker. We live modestly, but everyone is happy."

Three and a half years ago.

The New hope starship, commissioned by the Shang couple, had just come out of hyperspace. Thirty-year-old Adira Shan lay exhausted after giving birth. Her husband, Bastian, was holding a newborn, long-awaited first child.

"It's a girl.

— Santal, — Adira said.

"Why Santal?" my husband was surprised.

"Your ancestor's name was SATEL. Looks like it, doesn't it?

— Exactly. Perfect. Bastian happily circled the room with his daughter, and then gave his wife to feed.

"She will be the most beautiful and intelligent Jedi in the world, — the woman said with love and tenderness as she watched the baby drink breast milk.

"That's right. You'll see. As the child grows up, we will give it to the temple. In three years somewhere.

"I want her to stay longer." You can ask. And we would have taught her everything.

"You know the rules. Must not.

Adira sighed, thinking how unfair this was.

"Do you remember how we met?"

— Yes. We were younglings then. I was coming from training, and you were coming from the library. Our heads collided. The conversation started in just a minute. They became friends, and then, when they grew up, they got married.

— Many memories. You can't remember everything. Oh, well. We're about to land on Ryloth. Soon we will hug with friends, show the baby and…

Bastian's thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected explosion. The man quickly ran to the sensors.

"What is it?"

— The enemy spaceship! We are shooting back urgently! They seem to be mercenaries!

And the starship seemed to be lying in wait. Waiting for the right boat to come out. On it a girl with a red tail on her head commanded:

— Aim for the engines! Don't let them land!

The shelling started. The enemy ship had good weapons: it included a laser turret mounted on top for space combat and crushing asteroids that got in the way, a pair of heavy laser cannons that could cause deadly damage to the enemy even faster, and an ion cannon that was used to immobilize cargo ships. As for the "New hope", there were improved armor, hyperdrive and power volleys of two guns.

Unfortunately, on this day, the victory was won by an enemy ship, which took the loser on Board. The leader of the bounty hunter gang quickly drew his Blaster.

— Begin.

Meanwhile, Bastian and Adira drew their swords.

— Adira, protect Santal! I'll try to deal with the mercenaries. There must be three of them.

The Jedi, using the Force, realized that the hunters were divided. Question: who will he run into? As Bastian passed through the corridors, he heard voices. One is female, the other is male. As the man approached the door, a short, fish-faced man jumped out and scurried back when he saw the Jedi.

— What's the big idea! Open it quickly, I won't hit you!

Suddenly, a second wickway man came up behind him and started shooting.

"Well,well. What do we have here? "no," he said.

Bastian was a master at deflecting shots, even when the bullet hit him squarely in the arm. The hunter fell, and the Jedi saw that a red-tailed girl was standing behind him, who also started firing at him. And then fishface jumped in from behind. As a result, the girl shot the unfortunate man. Advertising: Hide

— Great, " she grinned. "Bane, we did it.

The gang leader, who had been watching from afar, approached the trio.

— Well. Look for the second one. The customer gave clear instructions: destroy the dynasty, every last one of them!

Meanwhile, Adira was bundling up her daughter, preparing to escape in a secret escape pod. Of course, the mercenaries all blew up, but one was overlooked because it was disguised.

"Santal, all my gift to you, I'm sorry. Only hope to save your life. I hope Bastian doesn't let you down.

A shot rang out.

"Hello, honey." Duros pointed the Blaster at the woman.

The Jedi activated the sword and held it out in front of the hunter.

— Stay back! What did you do to my husband?!

— The same thing I'm going to do to you now!

Adira ran further and further, deflecting the shots, which was difficult, especially since one arm was occupied, and she herself was weakened after giving birth. So it was quickly backed into a corner. All four of them.

— Well, that's it.

— No. Not all. The Jedi gathered herself and pushed the hunters aside as she ran forward to the capsule.

But then there was a roar of four Blaster shots. Adira had just rounded the corner when a burst of energy from one of the weapons hit her in the stomach.

"Hooray! Hey, who got hit? — shouted the fishheads.

Red-tailed Aurra laughed.

— No matter. We must return to the starship immediately. It remains only to destroy the ship, ' ordered the duro, well knowing that this did petroliana.

Or so he thought. In General, it was unclear who was hit. Bane decided to cover up the discussion, because who cares? It's like setting off an explosion.

Adira waited until the footsteps had subsided, then rose quietly, holding her hand tightly to her abdomen, hoping to stop the hemorrhage a little. Finally, with great difficulty, she managed to put the baby in a compact capsule. Adira was mentally prepared for death. She's seriously injured anyway, and soon the ship will explode.

How cruel and unfair the world is sometimes! Just as you're making serious plans, the next moment something terrible happens and everything changes. Or you realize that you are dying and that the dream is already out of reach.

"Hush, daughter. Don't cry, don't be shy. Grief will leave you. I lullaby my last I will always be with you.

Adira kissed her daughter one last time, laid her on the pillow, closed the door, and pressed the button. And just in time, because fifteen seconds later the ship was engulfed in an explosion. The last thing Santal's mother hoped for was that Her little girl would be saved and taken care of.

***

"They are the chosen ones of the force. And it is our duty to remember that we will also leave in due time. We are creatures of Light, but our bodies are not eternal vessels. And we'll all be here in time. Please be silent for a minute to remember and move on. We must live for the sake of the living Jedi. They will live in us forever, " Grand master Yoda concluded.

Since there were no bodies, the Jedi order and their companions were standing in the open air, with two fires burning. Some even cried.

"Bastian was my best friend, — qui-gon said.

"And mine, too," Windu said.

"How pathetic. So young, — it was heard from all sides of the phrase in this way.

"It looks like the legendary Jedi dynasty has ended forever," Ki-ADI-Mundi said.

"Are you sure?" Yoda asked. "I can smell the excitement of The force. Maybe there is hope, and someone survived. It is impossible to foresee our future. Bastian and Adira are dead, but the dynasty is alive. Bye.

"Do you think someone survived?" But there was no one there.

— Maybe — Yes. Or maybe not. And this gives me hope.

As the Jedi reasoned, in the distance, one of the senators, Palpatine, thought: «Perfectly. So the Shang dynasty is gone. No one can stop me."

Present time

And Santal lived quietly in a foster home. She knew the history of her real parents very well. She was repeatedly told about them. The girl sometimes missed her family, even though she didn't tell anyone. The only thing left of my mother is her Padawan scythe, which she managed to pass on as a souvenir.

Santal desperately wanted to know the truth about the tragedy that happened over Ryloth. How it really was. What if they weren't mercenaries? What if the parents managed to escape? Etc., etc. And so nothing.

In General, the girl began to notice strange things lately. Santal always felt that something was going to happen. Or no, it's not. She always felt the presence of someone or something. It was as if someone was telling her, guiding her, keeping her on her way. Santal found a logical explanation for this: it is the parents who help. They're right next to her.

And so the carefree and fun life of Santal Shan went on. But there was no sign that she would soon be the one to change the order of things in the galaxy.

A new life was about to begin.

[space-blue]

Portrait of an Artist in Love

9th competition win. It's a love letter to the world of Love Death + Robot's "Good Hunting" episode.

There is a motto within our guild:

'Your client is your Art.'

It dictates our rules, weaves itself into our practices, shapes our pride, and though our clients are made to understand its impact, the phrase itself is not spoken to outsiders. It is a tenet, a pillar of our teachings, an invisible chain around our wrists. A chain I wonder if inspector Merig has come to tug.

'You are a popular biomata craftsman and a respected guild member, Dr. Parahi,' he says, clearly fishing for a reaction. 'A true artist among steamwrights, I'm told.'

'Inspector, what is this visit about?'

'Just a few questions, if you please. Are you aware of the series of murders that have happened in the Kublai and Kodenshi districts?'

I smile tightly. So, this is about her after all.

'I do read the papers. Even if I didn't, the guild keeps us appraised of such... events as might disturb our work.'

'When did you first become aware of the killings?'

'After the one that happened at the Proctor's party. Since that was only a district over, everyone here was made aware of the case. No one knew then that it was serial.'

'We still don't know for sure,' the inspector says, pulling photographs out of a battered folder, 'but they all have a few things in common.'

He pushes the glossy black and white photographs forward. I find myself oddly surprised. The content might be gruesome, but the police department has a talented photographer on their payroll. All the bodies are angled to showcase the gaping injuries. They lay sprawled in pools of grey, blood diluted in hydrofill, I suppose.

'They were all either augmented or full biomata. They are all missing parts. A lot of parts.'

'Oh, please. Are you suggesting a guild member is behind this? Me, even? No self respecting craftsman would destroy someone else's work like that. Particularly not in such a barbaric fashion.'

'No, rest assured,' inspector Merig says, placating, 'we've already sorted things with your guild concerning alibis. At least in your case.'

Nothing in our code states that we should not try to help the police. There is, however, no incentive for me to volunteer information, and so I stare at him in expectant silence.

'Do you ever work on automata, Dr. Parahi?'

'Never. All of my work is meant for live grafting.'

I wave a hand to encompass the atelier space all around us. The copper and ivory limbs showcased at the forefront all are to exhibit taste and designs. The hands made of tantalum, titanium and tungsten, laid out on the cabinet to our left, are where the craftsmanship is on display. It is all a front, a showroom, as it were, despite the small workbench. That one is for clients in need of repairs or simple cosmetics. There is no automata on display or in use. It would constitute false advertisement in such a curated room.

'Would one be able to craft an automata out of parts taken from such victims?'

I feel a shiver run down my spine at the question. Surely, the real one will soon follow. It takes some effort to maintain the appearance of nonchalance, to not trigger the whirring of my knee joints with an anxious shift, to ignore the weight of the stare of my ancestors, perched in their gilded frames on the wall at my back. Six generations of steamwrights silently judging the last practising scion of their house, readying his lies.

'Of course,' I say, inclining my head with a smile, a show of scholarly indulgence. 'Depending on what they wanted to build. If needed, you could smelt and reforge to fit–well, depending on the material. The only thing you cannot transfer or reuse are the tubing and the cores. The engine needs are completely different, and automata don't require hydrofill. Anyone savvy enough can do this. It is not even considered guild work.'

'What about building biomata with them?'

Here it is... And what can I say? It is another tenet of ours that you should never deny a client the components they bring you. Our work is... a communion, a shared vision. A concept I highly doubt officer Merig would ever understand or appreciate. I look at him studiously as I mull over my answer, though there is nothing of interest to look at. He is what is derogatorily referred to in the milieu as a "meatbag". There is no Art to him. Not even a glimmer of cosmetic copper-gold, ivory or amber, not a whisper of inner mechanism, no murmur of churning steam.

'Obviously it can be done,' I answer, keeping up with the affable professor persona. 'People often inherit parts from deceased relatives and have legacy work done to integrate them. This would not be very different, except the guild is usually involved in the original disassembling process.'

'Could you tell the parts were taken by force, if someone presented them to you?'

'Not necessarily,' I reply, lying through my teeth. In for a copper, in for a silver: 'There are shunts that can be activated to section off limbs cleanly. If these were used, the limb would look as neat as if I'd taken it off the donor myself.'

I tap a ringed finger at one of the photographs, one of the more gruesome ones, as one of the parts removed was the insulation polysheet around the steam core.

'Providing materials has always been a popular way to offset the cost of the operations for our clients. However some of these parts you simply can't smelt or play pretend with. Anyone within the guild would know and call the police. This looks more like trophies to me, it's so pointless otherwise.'

Inspector Merig strokes his bearded chin. Though he appears to be considering my point, his lack of surprise makes me think the idea is not new to him.

'Could someone be out there,' he asks, 'someone not from the guild, enhancing themselves, or someone else, with the parts taken from the killings?'

I smile indulgently at this.

'Inspector Merig. Surely you realise setting a steam core engine inside a living being is nothing like automata work? You need to be a talented surgeon for the client to even survive. The creation of a biomata is Art in its truest form, combining medicine, metallurgy, jewellery, design, engineering, fine tuning more precise than clockwork, and the mastery of the gods' greatest gift: steam. Most of the processes involved are guild secrets too. If someone is out there trying to fiddle with an existing biomata without the proper training...' I tap my chin, thinking, hoping to sell it. 'It's possible... At least they could try. But the guild would take it about just as well as if the imperial botanists heard someone was growing Telura on their roof garden.'

Inspector Merig snorts at the comparison.

'Still, why come to me? Surely all of this could have been explained to you at the guildhall?'

'You came highly recommended. Most popular in the district, I was told.' Merig waves his gloved hand to encompass the shop and its shining collection of limbs and skeletal constructs. 'Certainly looks like it to me.'

There is a certain quality to the man's expression. The way his jaw is set, the tension around his eyes. It is a cousin to the apprehension I see in so many faces lying down on my workbench. A sort of uncertainty. It occurs to me then that maybe Inspector Meatbag here has been given a case in which he will forever be out of his depth. Maybe it's a test, maybe it's a punishment. All it means for me is opportunity.

'Ah, you want help identifying the makers of the missing pieces?'

'Yes. I hope you might also be able to tell me if you've seen any such parts in recent months.'

'I certainly can do that,' I offer, 'but the best person to consult remains the creator of the parts themselves.'

'That might not be possible. You see, all the parts we could trace back to a steamwright led back to a certain Dr. Asiheu, who has been missing for some time.'

'Wait a second... You mean several of the victims were clients of the same steamwright?'

Inspector Merig nods gravely as he spreads more pictures of close-ups on the table and takes notes as I systematically fail to remember ever seeing anything relevant, but offer several names for him to go and consult. It is my honest opinion that the woman first killed in Kodenshi had her work done by someone from the Eastern branch. By the time the Inspector rises again, shakes my hand and heads out with promises of 'being in touch', I am mentally exhausted. I lean against the locked door and lowered blinds, catching up on breath I've never run out of. In the darkened shop I make my way back to the table. I push the lever, one my grand-father so distastefully hid in the branch of a candelabra, and watch the slab of carved stone shift to reveal the staircase to the actual workshop, the one with my tools, the operating workbench and steam reactor.

I can almost feel it at my wrists, the invisible pull Linia has on me, my greatest work of Art.

She lays sprawled on the workbench, like a sultry painter's muse. We have another saying, more informal, that states that a client is never closer to perfection than when the world starts to doubt their humanity. She unfurls herself, titanium plates slithering over carved mother-of-pearl, tantalum rib cage pressing darkly against translucent syndermis, revealing the hydropump's viscous throbbing and the soft glow of her steam core, nestled under her heart. I reach out, brushing strands of hair back from her angular face, fingers gliding over the grooves and embossments etched as verdant jungle ferns across the planes of her brass temples.

'You heard.'

'I did,’ she murmurs against my palm. ‘They’ll never find Asiheu... But it seems I now own you as much as you own me.'

'You owned me from the start,' I say, chiding, and watch her eyes crease in her characteristic smile, the very same she gave me when she first came to me, a mangled toy with very little figure left to her, and figure, in steamwright lingo, refers to meat. Hers was a jigsaw of swollen, septic flesh, patch-worked with steel junk. She had no left arm, her jaw springs were slack and rusting, her hydropump was overheating her innards... She was a mess, a mockery of the Art. A malicious garage job.

'Who did this to you?' I asked.

She'd smiled with her eyes alone–blue eyes like windows into fields of ice that never thawed–arced into cold crescents. She lifted a sack and laid it across the counter between us, the mouth of it parting to reveal the bronze glimmer of joints, rubber fingertips and polycarbon tendons. I'd sealed my fate right then, by hastily gathering up the strings of the bag and reaching to the lever that would lock the atelier's door.

'Come. We can talk once I've given you some first aid.'

I'd seen the blood on the metal-composite fingers. I knew then, and every time thereafter, but she'd offered herself to me in full–this monster, this killer–to be my creation, if only I would make her perfect with the spoils of her vendetta.

And I was ever the perfectionist...

~~ September 2020 – Theme : Steampunk

[rottenxroses]

1. What is you middle name?

Rose

2. How old are you?

28

3. When is your birthday?

August 9th 1991

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Leo ♌️. Leo moon, Leo sun, Gemini rising

5. What is your favorite color?

Pink, black, purple

6. What’s your lucky number?

4

7. Do you have any pets?

Yes! And old man cat and fish. Lol

8. Where are you from?

New York

9. How tall are you?

5”7

10. What shoe size are you?

10

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

6 🤷🏻‍♀️ not a shoe person

12. What was your last dream about?

I don’t remember 😅

13. What talents do you have?

Raising a baby? That takes talent! Lol

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I trust in my gut

15. Favorite song?

At the moment, I have so many. I’m on a Fleetwood Mac kick lately

16. Favorite movie?

The shape of water

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

My husband 🥰

18. Do you want children?

Currently have 1, maybe in the future

19. Do you want a church wedding?

Didn’t have my wedding in a church, so not really?

20. Are you religious?

Not to sure anymore.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

MULTIPLE TIMES. And not just for me but other people.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

I don’t kiss and tell 😏

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

Nah. Introvert

24. Baths or showers?

Shower

25. What color socks are you wearing?

None! Because I’m wearing sandles

26. Have you ever been famous?

Locally yes! When I uh....got arrested with my family...dm me for deets!

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

Noooooo.

28. What type of music do you like?

Rock, classic rock, metal, nu metal, alternative rock, 70s, 80s, 90s. Some stuff, except rap and country.

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

No, I’ve been chunky dumping 😏

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

On my left in a ball. Lol

32. How big is your house?

BIG. There’s a lot of us.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

Toast and coffee

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

Yup! I don’t really like it...felt too good.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

Yes! I got awards in grade school and in high school for my archery.

36. Favorite clean word?

🤷🏻‍♀️

37. Favorite swear word?

Shit, bitch...

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

Sleep?? What’s that?

39. Do you have any scars?

Many

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Then it wouldnt be a secret then would it?

41. Are you a good liar?

When I have to be.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

Nope, learning that the hard way now.

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

3-4? Idk

44. Do you have a strong accent?

No. Lol I don’t have the typical “New Yorker” accent. I live upstate in the woods

45. What is your favorite accent?

Russian 🤤

46. What is your personality type?

Shy and conceded? Lmao I don’t know?

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

All my killstar clothes 😭

48. Can you curl your tongue?

I can do many things with my tongue 👅

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

Innie?

50. Left or right handed?

Right

51. Are you scared of spiders?

Depends on the size

52. Favorite food?

Sushi 🍣

53. Favorite foreign food?

....sushi.

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

A little of both, it’s hard to clean up after a baby when they’re constantly destroying everything you love

55. Most used phrased?

“Are you serious?” “No! Bad!” “No don’t touch that” “let’s change your booty hole (diaper)”

56. Most used word?

No. Lmao

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

30-45 mins

58. Do you have much of an ego?

😳

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Suck

60. Do you talk to yourself?

All the time, that’s why I take meds!

61. Do you sing to yourself?

Yes!

62. Are you a good singer?

Nope!

63. Biggest Fear?

Heights, and death to my family

64. Are you a gossip?

😈

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

It was a show, black mirror? And there was a pig involved 😳 still don’t like talking about that

66. Do you like long or short hair?

Long

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

Nah chill. America sucks

68. Favorite school subject?

Art!

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

Introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

Nope

71. What makes you nervous?

Everything 😪

72. Are you scared of the dark?

No, I’m scared of what’s IN the dark.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

Nah, let them look stupid.

74. Are you ticklish?

Not really

75. Have you ever started a rumor?

Nope

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Yes. I’m mommy. Lmao

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Psh. Ok.

78. Have you ever done drugs?

PSH OK

79. Who was your first real crush?

John Pedrosa, and he broke my heart, at a lovely age of 13 😂

80. How many piercings do you have?

14

81. Can you roll your Rs?“

Rrrrrrrrr

82. How fast can you type?

Pretty fast, worked with computers for 5 years

83. How fast can you run?

Not fast at all. Lol

84. What color is your hair?

Blondish??

85. What color is your eyes?

Blue/green/ yellow

86. What are you allergic to?

I don’t know anymore

87. Do you keep a journal?

Yes, and I only write when I’m raging. So it’s a slam journal

88. What do your parents do?

My dad is out of my life so idk, my mom sells cars

89. Do you like your age?

Nope, because it’s catching up with me. Lmao

90. What makes you angry?

Childish shit, don’t have time or patience

91. Do you like your own name?

Yeah sure. Lmao

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

It’s a surprise!

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

I have a boy, I wish for a girl next

94. What are you strengths?

Being Mommy, making people uncomfortable, making people laugh,

95. What are your weaknesses?

My husband, he’s so spoiled I can never say no. Lmao

96. How did you get your name?

After Mariah Carey lol

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Not at all, they were very poor Italians.

98. Do you have any scars?

You asked this already??

99. Color of your bedspread?

Black

100. Color of your room?

Beige

[starfaring-princelotor]

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 2: To Create A Name

-

Summary: With new companions comes new information you were unaware of before.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and blood.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: Click here to learn more about fairies.

1 . 2 .

-

“I didn’t know pirates can read.”

“Aye, fancy that, eh? Learn something new with every rising sun,” you closed your book then fully turned your attention to the man leering over your shoulder, “I didn’t know that incubus’ can be nosy, little whelps, and yet, here we are, mate.”

Lance, he said his name was. Young faced with an offended scrunched up frown because of your comment, he seemed fresh to the battles of blades. And of insults. Rule number one when growing up under the honorable tutelage of your aged seafarer captain: whatever you do, do it well. May he rest in peace, the poor fool who took a cannonball to the gut. 

“Hey! I’m not nosy!” came his witty reply, accompanied by a muttered grumble.

You took that as his white flag.

“Pirate.” 

“Aye, capitain?”

Shiro said nothing else, only gave you that good old “stop picking on the soldiers” look. You shrugged in response. He stated that he needed to stop by his neighboring guilds and request assistance from a few specific set of people. And thus, along with you and a few others who gathered at Altea, Shiro created a small group of warriors for this expedition. 

There was Ulaz, a powerful necromancer who channeled spirit energy from the dead to do his bidding. Attractive mercenary with those glowing eyes and pointed ears, leader of the Blue Tail Guild. Then that one golem from the deep mountains, what was her name? Shay of the Yellow Eyes faction? Those fancy jewels embedded in her rocky exterior were tempting, but you were sure she could pack a punch if you tried to use your five-finger discount. And, last but not least, a dryad ghost who calls himself Rolo, belonging to the Green Claw Guild. His skills with traveling between planes of existence at ease would be most useful for scouting. 

Right now, the only one left was meant to be meeting at this farm on the outskirts of a small, unnamed village. Someone from the Red Teeth Guild, supposedly the one King Alfor led until his untimely demise. Her name was Hira, one of the Alteans who was tasked with defending the royal family. Keyword: was. She gave up that title and dedicated her life to hunting monsters with vengeance, more importantly the dragon that razed Altea to the ground. Though she lacked the magical abilities passed down by her ancestors, she made up for it in pure strength as a berserker. 

“- He is ready, Shiro. I have seen the boy fight alongside Lance, they both would make worthy comrades in battle.”

You could sense the pride and ushering tone in, who you assumed, was Hira. Off in the distance, the two boys mentioned were tending to a bull peacefully. Out here, it was easy to fall into the dull sense of a domestic life. A farm, crops to harvest, animals to feed. Making pasteurized cheese from only the freshest of milk. A humble existence, not one meant for the explorative type of people. Much too docile, too vulnerable.

“No, Hira. They are just boys. If we were hunting wild boars, yes, I would bring both Keith and Lance along, but this mission is too dangerous for the inexperienced,” Shiro argued, voice muffled behind the bales of hay, “I’m not putting their blood on my hands. Are you willing to?”

A pregnant pause, only to be interrupted by the peppered clucks of chickens nearby.

“Altea needs soldiers, Shiro.”

“Children are not soldiers, Hira. I’m done discussing this. Are you with us or not?”

“Fine. But keep your Galra scum on a leash. This war still isn’t over and I won’t forget what happened a decade ago,” she spat with spite lacing each syllable in her words, “His kind shouldn’t even be joining this party.”

“No one would forget, but his skills are invaluable if we’re going after a dragon that uses quintessence as an energy source. Our mission is to kill it so a repeat of the past doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

Part of you wanted to say you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t, it was just convenient that your hearing was much more enhanced than the average being. And, judging by the pupiless stare of Ulaz, you knew he heard them, too. That slightest, almost barely noticeable twitch in his ears gave him away. 

“That bull is going to charge them. Watch,” Rolo informed, also watching the spectacle of Keith and Lance’s shenanigans.

As if able to predict the future, Keith must’ve patted the animal a little too hard, which irritated the beast. He started hoofing the grass, gave one loud baying screech, before shoving both of them away in a disgruntled thrash. Don’t run, you thought, but it was instinct to flee when something once neutral becomes aggressive. Pity that Keith fellow was wearing red, though. 

“Useful trick ye got there. Ever thought about trying yer hand as a fortune teller? Could swindle a few fish for quite a bit o’ gold,” you chuckled, recalling the time you did such a thing yourself. 

“Huh. Wonder if Nyma would be up for that gimmick after this hunt.”

“This hunt...it is such a small group. Can we really fight a dragon?” Shay’s inquisitive voice openly asked, “I have heard rumors and stories of such feats only being accomplished by massive armies, yet we are of only 10 bodies.”

“We are not going to kill a dragon. Shiro needs us to find it first before requesting for support from Altea. Perhaps the kingdom’s allies can send reinforcements as well.” Ulaz spoke of Shiro as an old friend, an old comrade in arms, and oddly enough, that fact was reassuring, “We can not trek through enemy territory with siege weapons and cannons. Not yet.”

Not until we know what we are going against. 

“Can you build, pirate?”

“Can a shark bite?” you immediately retorted, but judging by the blank look on his face, he didn’t understand the reference, “Aye, aye, I can build. Bless me with a keg o’ gunpowder and I’ll gift ye bombs strong enough to take out me other leg.” 

Shay giggled, Rolo smiled, and even Ulaz found the dark joke a little humorous. 

-

There was something stifling about traveling by foot through the thicket of the woods. You would take the open sea and the ship over mangled trees and looming leaves any day. Rolo, however, was in his element. It seemed like the vines were reaching towards him to give an odd embrace from the trees themselves. Was it just you or did that trunk have a face carved out in it? Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time reading that book of yours. 

[Not every spirit is malicious. Some belong to those children who ventured too far, unguarded and blind to the dangers lurking deep within. Be careful if you hear echoed giggling of the young. Faes are master tricksters. Under no circumstance should you ever answer their question, lest you wish to be swept up and vanished into thin air. Avoid rings of mushrooms at all cost.]

Below was a quickly drawn image of cap mushrooms formed in a circle. There seemed to be a child-like figure with butterfly wings attached on its back. You came to realize then, while sitting around the campfire and partaking your turn for watch, that the creatures of the land vastly differ than those of the sea. You expected this, of course, but something in the back of your head had one question buzzing in your skull: how far could you flee if you came across such beasts?

Shuffling off to the side alerted you of Shay awakening. Slowly, she emerged from her tent as the fire danced, making those gems glimmer even more beautifully in the night. 

“Are you well, p-pirate?” she asked albeit hesitantly stuttering on the title.

With a nod of confirmation, you shut your book quietly just as she took a seat across from you. She seemed to be lost in thought, curious even, and it amused you greatly to see her glance away when you caught her stare. Then, her gaze stayed locked on the very interesting rock by your wooden leg. 

“Lass, does this ol’ thing give you the willies?” you tapped your leg, already quite used to not feeling anything come from the action, “It t’aint rigged with explosives, ye can trust me word on that.”

Now, she quickly snapped her wide eyes up at you, “No, no, not at all! I mean, it’s a little...I have seen such things before. But that is not why I was - forgive me - for staring.”

“Eh?”

“Your name. The captain calls you ‘pirate’ and you were introduced to us as so. I have never met someone who doesn’t have a name,” Shay rubbed her hands together unsurely, wondering if her question came out too personal, “ I - does it bother...do you have a name that you wish to be called instead?”

Cute and utterly kind by a default. You liked that about her.

“Would ye like to hear a story, mate? A story of the Name-Stealing witch of the sea?”

At that, her attention was completely enraptured by the flourish wave of your hand and the quill you pulled from your coat sleeve like magic. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than crafting bombs, it would be telling stories embellished in exciting lore and haunting truths. Or lies. That was left to be decided by the listeners. 

“Aye, among those who were unfortunately marooned on desolate islands, legends say that the nights following an empty sky, there be but a single bottle floating to the shore. No matter where, it always held a single piece of parchment and quill. You nay see her on the bank, or hear her whisper, but some say she stands afloat as a speck on the horizon. And some say...she will grant ye solace if ye but write yer name on that there paper.”

You now pulled out a rolled-up sheet from your other sleeve, earning a gasp of surprise from your audience. Well, your one audience.

“I came across her one fateful night. There’s a rule among us pirate folk: those who fall behind are left behind. Ye carry yer own weight to survive out there and me weight was just a little too heavy,” cue you knocking on your wooden leg, “I was starved and alone with nothing but me ‘n me pistol. Good ol’ trusty Kretch. Once the taste of sand could no longer sustain me, nor the grass, nor the leaves of the palms, I had to decide if I wanted a quick death to be my end.”

Concern. Of course she was concerned to hear those dreadfully haunting words. 

“But she came to me one night, offering me nothing but a bottle. I told meself, if there were a chance to live, I’d take it without thought. And I did. I wrote me name, but oh, what a fool I was. There I lay, death washing upon the shore, and she came to me. She took it with a kiss, so I may never speak it again. She took that parchment so I may never write it again. And when I woke on a different bank, and when those kind souls helped poor little ol’ me, and when they asked who I was…”

You crumpled the paper then immediately tossed it into the fire, the blaze quickly sparking a green flame in a show of bedazzlement.

“...I couldn’t remember it.”

At the end, Shay was practically sitting on the edge of her log with wide-eyed awe. Couldn’t remember your own name? The very idea seemed appalling and completely impossible. Not even magic can do that...right? 

“But why? What could a sea witch want with a name? Was she born without one and chose to steal names, collect them, to satisfy her own cruel jealousy? Or was she searching for hers? She may still be out there yet, Shay, ready to make a deal with those desperate enough to survive. Perhaps she even haunts those in the forests or the caves…”

“No! I want to keep my name, I - “ she shook her head to get the jitters out, clearly displeased with the thought of losing something so important, “Can you get it back? Your name?”

“Many have tried, but all have failed or perished in the pursuit,” you paused, letting a slow, sneaky grin spread on your lips, “Unless...ye have more than one name to go by.”

“More than one?”

“Aye. That’s why ‘tis important to make a name fer yerself. And that’s why Shiro calls me pirate, fer me own safety, eh? Not even she can steal a title like that.”

“Can...stealing a name kill someone? Do you think she can kill a dragon if she took its name?” Shay questioned more for herself than for you, “It’s scary to think about…”

“Ah, but then ask yerself, do ye want t’forget the dragon? Pain is the world’s cruelest teacher, but I cannot imagine waking one day and not remembering how me family died by the dragon’s fire,” you explained before tilting your head in thought, “Were ye there, lass? When the dragon attacked?”

She shook her head no, “I wasn’t, but my people helped with saving the injured who were buried under the wreckage. Many were worried about the royal families and of the prince and princess as well.” 

Now it was your turn to lean in, intent on catching every word she shared.

“It is tragic that Queen Mellanor passed at Allura’s birth. Even more that her father was killed by the ally he trusted. We weren’t able to find Prince Lotor nor Emperor Zarkon, assuming they had fled as soon as the attack had started. It was horrible, hearing the survivors share their woes. I wish it hadn’t happened. Even a few Galra citizens living in Altea were affected, but…”

Here, she began fidgeting with her hands nervously then lowered her voice down a pitch as if the forest have ears of their own.

“When we uncovered Galra citizens, they were herded off into the castle...and they never came out.”

Somehow, Shay’s story was much more frightening than yours. Not only because you believe her, but you also believe that the fate of those Galra was likely leading to an unhappy ending. 

“I think - “

A rustle, one against the wind, and your head snapped in the direction of the noise. 

“Shh - wait, I hear - “ and before you could finish your sentence, a blunt force punched you in the face, sending you flying off your seat to knock into an allies tent. 

You heard Shay let out a yell, a battle cry and a way to warn everyone that an intruder was here. A cacophony of noises rose in volume, people scrambling to attack a wisping shadow in failure, for the punches came too quick and too powerful. A whirlwind of purple light trailed by each landed blow and, tried as you might, every shot from your pistol did nothing against the flurry of that damn bludgeoning weapon. 

“Rise!” Ulaz shouted and, instantly, a cooling spell fell over you, releasing you from the bruising pain of your crushed rib. 

You owe him a drink for that one. 

“Form up on me! Shields up!” Shiro ordered, equipping his own shield to cover his front, but it was already too late. 

By the time the chaos settled and the dust came down, the attacker had Hira’s throat in a deadly grasp while holding her body up in the air. Metal claws were cutting into her skin, drawing a line of blood, just to emphasize how serious she is close to dying. One wrong move, and her life would be forfeit. You waited with held breath on a command, anything from Shiro, but nothing came in one, two, three seconds.

Then, Shiro’s eyes widened at the person standing across from his infantry.

“Sendak?”

[writingonthemoon]

Old Clothes Part 6

Masterlist

Word Count: 2846

Warnings: Mentions of death and survivors guilt

Author’s Note: God, guys, I feel so bad about this.  I don’t even actually know when part 5 was posted, but no matter what, I feel awful.  I lost my direction for the story for a little and I’ve been… struggling with some things recently.  But I’m back.  Don’t know how consistent I will be or how this is all going to play out, but I figure y’all are here to help a little with that.  So, enjoy the first part of Old Clothes of 2020.

Old clothes would help you to stick out in a crowd.  Seldom if the correct outfit was chosen, but there were always those instances. A single mistake, one misstep while dressing, and you’re outed, done for.  But there were assurances one could take. The chest buried under the motley coats in the attic was always a good place to start, but one must be wary of their findings.  Games of dress-up weren’t the same as hiding in plain sight.  My mother burned the chest once I had found it.

     Was I supposed to be in the attic that day?  Yes, I was.  But I wasn’t supposed to go beyond the wicker basket that held my mother’s sewing supplies.  I’d seen something, though, something that was amiss in the dusty space. Rays of golden sunlight shone upon an old chest beneath the round window. Plumes of dust floated into the sun as old folds of fabrics fell to the ground at the cause of my curiosity. A lock caused my childish curse to come forth as my eyes laid sight upon the blockade. My gut commanded an attempt anyway, just to be sure.

     The hinges cried with age as my fingers pried the lid away from the box. The contents were all mismatched and random, but all were surprising to me. None of these items should be with us. There were books and letters and keepsakes that were supposed to have been burned years prior. Ribbons from the old country were neatly rolled and placed in boxes along with the jewellery from generations ago. It was like a glimpse into times long before the Davenports became what they were.

     My pockets sagged as an array of artefacts found their way inside. The steps of my mother sent my heart racing and I jumped away from the box. The lid slammed shut and my lungs sharply collapsed in a violent cough at the dusty cloud that filled the atmosphere. A lie was lost in a maze on the way to my lips and I was caught red-handed.

     The scraping of the box on the floor still echoed from time to time, when my mind was at its quietest and there was no better time to ruin my false sense of security. My skin prickles with searing heat and during the summer, I can only hope for a rainstorm to cool the pain. She forced me to watch. Forced me to watch the consequences of another mistake I had made. All those ties back to our family, gone. The memories from my parents’ previous lives, gone. Everything and every one of the items still in there vanished into the night sky in flakes of ash. Except for the stowaways that were in my pillowcase.

     My pocket held many small things. A crumpled sketch of London was dated back to 1743 when America was still a colony and pleased about it. My gran must’ve drawn it. She was always the artist of the family, so my father said. There were some stamps contained in a small coin purse that jingled as it swayed from side to side. They were from the Stamp Act and dated the day of the Boston Tea Party! Incredible detail was put into the small drawings. Tiny notebooks were chock-full of random notes and ideas and appointments and thoughts, different handwritings on each page muddling the narrative further.

     The other pocket held one item that turned multitudinous. An ornate tiara lay resting in blue silk. When could that have been from? Why was it here? Pressed flowers were held between thin wax pages. Delicate strings of pearls twisted and curled among the contents. Stubs of charcoal were wrapped in tissue from burns before. I guess the charcoal tradition was older than I thought. And a golden ring, whose one side had been flattened and carved, was carefully stowed in a smaller box inside the first. Initials were worn away from decades of existence and I had no clue who this had come from. All I knew was that it was important.

     I could feel a nervous and surprised energy radiate off of Sean. He’d heard of me already. Word travels fast between the boys, it seemed, “Huh, Odette?” He nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. My hands found their way into my pockets and I twirled the ring around my finger, my mind mulling over the ancestors that it could’ve once belonged to. “Pretty name. That’s from that show or whatever with the birds and stuff, right?”

     "Swan Lake?“ My tone was a mix of surprises. One that he forgot the name of the ballet and the second that he had even heard of it. "You know Swan Lake?”

     "Now, don’t act oh so surprised, Miss Odette. We Newsies know ‘bout more than all youse people.“ He gestured to my outfit as if making the point I was wealthy in some way.

     I floundered for a moment, my mouth opening and closing like a fish in the Fraser, "You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. My deepest apologies to you.”

     "Nah, I understand where it’s comin’ from. Just don’t do it again, you here? Else you ain’t 'llowed here anymore.“ The tone he used was almost threatening, but I could tell by the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that it was a joke.

     I shrugged, a grin spreading across my face like butter on bread, "I suppose I should keep my belongs on my person for a quick getaway whenever I’m here. Just in case I cause a revolution.”

     Spot took a step closer to me. The smell of rain and mud wafted off him and I could hear his breathing, “I wouldn’t doubt a lady like you causin’ trouble.”

     "Well, I am British. That can cause quite a controversy when I voice my opinion on this country’s state of affairs, even if I grew up here.“ An exaggerated frown made its way to my face, "Though many of the crazy old men that run this country say a woman shouldn’t have those sorts of opinions.”

     A voice from up the stairs startled me and I jumped, looking up to see a boy standing there, “You a reporta?” Almighty forces of the universe, the boy was practically naked! I know I was intruding on the home at night, but his undershirt looked as if it had been worn as his only shirt. Coordination between his suspenders and blue bandana weren’t helping his case either. And the way he eyed me, stared me down as if choosing how to fight me best.

     Spot moved to stand between the boy and me, “Now, Myron, don’t be lookin’ for a fight.”

     "No, Sean. It’s fine.“ I placed my hand on his shoulder and lightly applied pressure to move him, "He has every right to ask questions as the others do.” My gaze locked with Myron’s, the tension growing with an impending silence, “What does it matter to you if I’m a reporter or not, Myron? Unless you have something to hide, my presence shouldn’t bother you in the slightest.”

     "So you are a reporta.“ The whites of his eyes flickered as they rolled and he mosied down the creaking steps. He was only the slightest bit taller than I was, but I was hardly intimidated. I had faced worse in much more stressful situations.

     "No, you misunderstand. I said if I were a reporter, not that I am a reporter. I wasn’t quite clear though, so I can understand your confusion.”

     "Ay, no, you said it don’t matter whether or not you a reporta. And I should only be bothered if I’m hidin’ somethin’.“ He stood before me, a dirty musk his cologne and arms crossed in defiance, "Now, I ain’t hidin’ nothin’, but I don’t much like reportas.”

     "That’s a bold opinion of an entire career. Might I know why?“

     "They’re never lookin’ out for the little guy. Never caring about anything but the story that’ll make their name get out into the world. An’ once they’re done with you, you’re dirt.” His face was in mine now, our noses just brushing, giving me a good look at his face. Dirt coated his face, filling crevasses created from scars. They were in strange patterns, the markings. And they were so pale too, his flesh like marbling. I looked into his eyes and saw my pain staring back at me. It was too much for such a short lifetime.

     I raised my hand slowly, the sight of it in his peripheral causing a flinch as if I were to strike him across the face. My fingers lightly met his cheek, which was burning to my cold skin. He pressed into my palm, savouring the gentle human touch. “Oh, little darling, what did they do to you?”

His walls crumbled at my words, every emotion flowing over the rubble, “They’re gone 'cause a me. An’ those bums in their clean shirts and with all their money, they treated me like a criminal.” Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice, “I swear the fire wasn’t my fault, but I know that they were.”

     "Why would it be your fault?“

     Myron wiped at his eyes, hoping the tears would go away, but new ones replaced the old and started running down his face in a race to the ground, "I-I was stuck an’ they came back in for me. All I remember is being pulled from underneath the ceiling and her holding me as she moved me to the exit.” He sniffed as he stuttered and choked on his words, “But they-they didn’t come out after me. I swore I could see them through that door I was pushed outta. They was so close.”

     "Who did you lose, little darling?“ Myron shook his head in response, knowing the words will only make his state worse, "Was it your parents?” He nodded vigorously, turning away from me. “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. It will never be your fault.”

     "B-bu-but it was. It still is.“

     "No. It was the fire, not you.” My hand came to rest on his shoulder and I turned him back to me. I gave him a soft, understanding smile, one I would’ve wished to have been presented to me when I was coming to terms with my losses. A little bit of pressure from my hand moved the fragile boy to the staircase, where I sat beside him with my arm around his shoulders. The boys around us watched on before I moved my head to send them away. The two didn’t question anything and left without words.

     "Have you mourned?“ I asked out of the silence. I could feel his confusion at the idea, "I hadn’t mourned when I lost my family. I suppose I’m still avoiding it.” I stared at my shoes as I thought of all my adventures, all my distractions from the truth.

     "You lost your folks?“

     "Not just them. I lost my brother and sister too that day.”

     "What happened? If you don’t mind.“

     "Not at all. We moved a lot when I was younger, going from place to place, never settling for too long. During one of those moves, I got separated in the woods. I searched for hours and hours, all through the night and into the morning. All I could find was some of the family heirlooms scattered on the ground in a clearing. No sign of them or the rest of our belongings. They had just vanished.” I felt awful lying about my past to this boy, but it was difficult to explain the immortality when it’s to be a secret.

     "Boy, that is awful.“ There was a sad chuckle as he spoke, which I returned as an agreement. "So, you’re an orphan like the lot of us and you’re still a reporta?” He turned his head and looked at me, some form of shock and respect on his sad face.

     "I am not a reporter.“ I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed cleaned the tears from his face. I wasn’t too attached to the fabric. I had stolen it from a man’s coat pocket when I 'accidentally’ fell into him while on the trolley. I swiftly left after the incident, escaping my mark and the fact I hadn’t paid for the transportation.

     "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Press.”

     I rolled my eyes at the boy, “My name is Odette.”

     "Nah, Imma still call you Press. It’s your Newsie name. The lot of us have all got 'em. You should too.“

     "Oh, I’m one of you now? Why’s that?”

     "I dunno. Just feels like you get us. Understand our side an’ all. And, hey,“ I could feel his tough-guy façade being put back on, "Brooklyn is the best neighbourhood in all a New York. Who wouldn’t wanna be one of us?” Myron’s walls were back up, but I could feel that they were a little shorter, not as strong. That’s progress.

     "I couldn’t think of anyone if you gave me all of Time to think.“ I laughed, bumping his shoulder. This kid, I don’t know what it was about him, but he felt like my own. He felt like my responsibility, almost as if I had adopted him.

     "Exactly.”

     "You should get to sleep. You’ve got a day and a half ahead of you.“ I motioned up the staircase with my head, indicating exactly what I meant.

     "What about you?” He asked as I stood up, eyes following me.

     I shrugged a little, looking into their common room of sorts, “I’m going to make sure everyone else is resting as well.” I looked back at him, “I guess I’m never not going to be a big sister.” A small giggle escaped me against my better judgement. I pressed a kiss to the boy’s slightly damp and dirty hair, ruffling it up before walking away from him. “Go sleep, Myron.”

     "I’ll see you in the morning?“ The look of hope he gave me reminded me of my little Elijah and my heart hurt just a little. That was why he mattered all of a sudden. He was another version of my brother.

     I nodded, "Bright and early.” He grinned at my response and ran up to the rooms as I went to herd the stragglers upstairs. Surprisingly, it was only Sean sitting by the fire, watching it with an intense stare. I stood and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. It only felt right since he was the leader.

     "I ain’t never seen Myron cry, you know.“ Spot broke the silence. I moved to sit across from him as he continued, "Not when he first came here, not even when he gets hurt. Never. Then you show up, Odette,” his eyes met mine, the fire reflecting in his dark irises, “and it’s like he’s a whole other person. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence, 'cause the way you handled that and acted like a mother to a kid you ain’t never met is suspicious. And I ain’t fond of suspicious people.”

     "It’s a gift of mine, I suppose.“ I looked to the fire, faint images of my past projecting themselves on my mind’s eye, "When you’ve seen what I’ve seen and lost everything, you get good at recognizing it in others.” I met Sean’s gaze again, “And when you get good at seeing it, people get good at letting it out.”

     "I dunno, you’re seventeen. How can you have had so much happen to you in those years?“

     "How can there be so many Newsies like you all in such a small area? The world isn’t inherently good, Sean. I learnt that the hard way and all too early.” I leaned back and the two of us had a game of wills, a contest of resilience. For what felt like hours, we held one another’s gaze, waiting for the other to give in. “You should go to sleep, Sean. These kids are counting on you.”

     "Some of them are counting on you too, now.“

     "But you’ll stay with them,” I admitted, refusing to let any form of guilt creep up on me.

     He nodded thoughtfully at my response before rising and moving silently to the stairs. I heard him stop for a moment, a pause in his thinking and planning. “Thank you, Odette. Thank you for helpin’ him.”

     "He needed it. He deserved it.“ At my reply, he mounted the steps, leaving me to watch the fire die out the darkness from the streets outside slowly seeped into the dwelling. I was left with my inner-monologue as my eyelids grew heavy and my mind went blank in exhaustion. Sleep came after a futile attempt to stay awake. For only a few hours was I a willing casualty in the battle for rest. To others, it looked peaceful, how I slept. But the inner machinations of my mind always had other plans.

[askyancy]

That ask meme thingys

I dont’s wants to spam the main thing so we’s repostin it  Here’s a link to the original  https://askyancy.tumblr.com/post/188857885461/get-to-know-me-uncomfortably-well

1. What is you middle name? Daniel 2. How old are you? 30 3. When is your birthday? June 28  - 4:15pm 4. What is your zodiac sign? Cancer 5. What is your favorite color? Blood Red 6. What’s your lucky number? 4 7. Do you have any pets? Not anymore. But I’s used to have a cat fer like 15 seconds? Her name was Flancy 8. Where are you from? Ohio! 9. How tall are you? 5′10 10. What shoe size are you? 10 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 7 buts they’s keep em locked away from me 12. What was your last dream about? I hads a nightmare.. ah.. somet’in about escapin and upsettin de guards with someone handsome..or beautiful..or both I dont remembers 13. What talents do you have? I can sing I s’poses!  14. Are you psychic in any way? Psh no 15. Favorite song? I dont wanna be free Popular - Wicked 16. Favorite movie? Robin Hood Men In Tights 17. Who would be your ideal partner? Oh  er I er- I dunno... someone... someone who gets me youse know? 18. Do you want children? I er... n-no.. I mean yeah I do’s but.. I aints a good father 19. Do you want a church wedding? I don’ts think the church woulds want someone like me in der. Nah somewhere on a beach or somet’ins 20. Are you religious? Uhm.. not reallys.. God aint done a lot fer someone like me ya know? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? A few times yeah. Lot o long stories there aheh.. maybe anoder time! 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nah course not..... not at aaaaaallls.... not once! Totally not in prison cos I broke any o dem law things...  23. Have you ever met any celebrities? I er.. not reallys?  24. Baths or showers? Shower! I could shower fer hours! aint payin no water bill so why nots! 25. What color socks are you wearing? White ones.. all we gets in here 26. Have you ever been famous? Ey er actually supposedlys I was on the tumblr fandom thingy once! That was nice! 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Me- ah ..nah.. I wouldnt wants all that. Nah.. nice quiet life in prison is fer me! 28. What type of music do you like? Musicals mostly! I er posted  lil mini playlist recently youse might be able to find it! 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Eh.. aheh... I er... yeah... ahaheh... I’ll leave that up to youses for youses imaginations~ 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 16 31. What position do you usually sleep in? Lil spoons! 32. How big is your house? I means it’s pretty big! Prison gotta house a lotta roomies youse know? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Dey serves us dry cereals or oatmeal 34. Have you ever fired a gun? Shotgun,  Franchi SPAS-12  12 gauge. 6 shots in total. 3 fatal shots. 1 miss 35. Have you ever tried archery? Nah I aint goods at no stringy thingys theys get all tangled 36. Favorite clean word? Bourgeoisie  37. Favorite swear word? The U bomb 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 6 days 39. Do you have any scars? Ah, couple on my left hand from a knife, one on my right leg from a bullet and I gots a …few more on my back but ah.. I donts like to talks about those ones. Youse understand. 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? If I knews if I had a secret Admoirer it wouldnts be a secret no mores! 41. Are you a good liar? ah no.. I got a lotta tells 42. Are you a good judge of character? terrible! But ah! I always trys to make amends youse know? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Ah a few, can do my dayds, New Joysey, Bahstan and New Yoyrk 44. Do you have a strong accent? Peoples always be tellin me I do 45. What is your favorite accent? I likes dem scottish types... ah and dat ole southern drawls good a good tingle to its! 46. What is your personality type? .... I er... I dunnos... Nice??? but like... tough guys too? Youse make that call 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? My shoeses! Dese is Itallian! 48. Can you curl your tongue? yeth 49. Are you an innie or an outie? I’m an innie! Prison life is where I lives int no outtie life fer me! 50. Left or right handed? I’s actually ambidestrous! 51. Are you scared of spiders? n...no...... why is der one near by? Youse gotta get it! 52. Favorite food? Gumbo. period. 53. Favorite foreign food? Probably one o dose indian curries! 54. Are you a clean or messy person? I likes to keep a clean cell  55. Most used phrased? Youses know? 56. Most used word? Youses 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 5-10 minutes... unless its a show day then I takes like 3 hours. Gotta look poifect  58. Do you have much of an ego? Peoples be tellin’ me lately that I’m an ego nows but I dont gets it. I aint tryna be above anyones else ya know? I’s just out here tryna be me 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? I licks them ;P 60. Do you talk to yourself? Me nah... Why’s would I talk to myselfs? Not like I dont gots a whole gang to talks to. Not like I’m locked aways from them right now whiles in Solitary... Not likes I fill the silence in ‘ere with false conversations ....  61. Do you sing to yourself? Always! thoughs there aint much privacy in ‘ere so’s a lot o people get to hear it too 62. Are you a good singer? Peoples tells me so! But I’s still got a lot to works on 63. Biggest Fear? .......... Abandonment  64. Are you a gossip? What? Nah... I woulds never betray someone like that. Only cruel cold hearts sons o bitches do’s that. Oh! Dat reminds me youse should hear what I heard about Shithole Hank the other day. So gets this --- 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Chicago! Best thing! 66. Do you like long or short hair? Short hair! Slides better through the fingers! 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Wells I coulds but youse might call it cheatin but here goes https://youtu.be/MSvJ9SN8THE?t=34s 68. Favorite school subject? Theatre o course! 69. Extrovert or Introvert? I er I’m an introvert actually 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Sadlys no... Always wanted to go see one o dem coral reefs wid de fishes! 71. What makes you nervous? ....the...the Ward’n 72. Are you scared of the dark? All dese nooks n crannies deys dayrk down there I gets used to it But afraid o de Dayrk..... de Dayrk scares me... 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Only if its a common t’ing and theys not notice it on there own! 74. Are you ticklish? Yes but dont go tellin nobodys! 75. Have you ever started a rumor? Me! No! Course not! Startin’ rumors is the lowest o de low... spreadin em dough? I heards this one that Tiny once ate a guards arm.. like..de whole t’ing. I’d honestly say dat wasn’t true but... I mean.. it’s Tiny... Dey’s strong and terrifyin if youse get on their bad side! 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Me nah... I ain’ts authoritive like  77. Have you ever drank underage? No. and I don’ts endorse it eithers 78. Have you ever done drugs? No. We’s very against that at Happy Trails. We’s is about rehabilitation. 79. Who was your first real crush? Ah nice guy in my high school called Illinois buts then..everyone had a crush on him. I wonder how his adventurin craze is doin him 80. How many piercings do you have? Ah just my ears 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ rr....rrrrrlbllr... RRBLRLBLRRGRLR...... RRRRRRRRRRR there we gos 82. How fast can you type? I dunno’s how fast do I’s respond to youses akses 83. How fast can you run? Only ever got caught once! and dey cheated with bullets 84. What color is your hair? Black and dark as night babye~ 85. What color is your eyes? Brown like the muddy pools of-.... er.... chocolate? 86. What are you allergic to? Rabbits and kidney beans...and hard labor 87. Do you keep a journal? Yeah but dats fer my eyes only capiche!? 88. What do your parents do? Nothin anymore.....  Me Dayd always thoughts he was so good. always mocking me n stuff.. Thought he was all big bein a dental surgeon! And mom! Oh mom was just as bayd. Thinkin she was all better than me! Providin me with cuddles n loves and hugs n stuff tellin me to chase my dreams WELL WHOS DREAMIN NOW MA! Youse aint nursin nobody no mores! 89. Do you like your age? I dont like dat its gettin older 90. What makes you angry? Not a lotta t’ings but if youse be disrespectin mah fam’ly youse is gonna get it! 91. Do you like your own name? Yeah I likes it. had it a while now and it suits me youse know? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? ah... Not reallys I means.. thats a joint decision youse know? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? ah... thats up to the kid to decide when they’s ready 94. What are you strengths? I’s a good team member me thinks? 95. What are your weaknesses? I er... I gots a lot o’ flaws... 96. How did you get your name? ah wells it started with the nickname fancy pants and den dey took the first letter of my old name, a dead name i donts use it no mores, and it became Yancy Pants and den got shortened ta just Yancy 97. Were your ancestors royalty? Mine? psh.. nah! youse kiddin? For all I knows my ancestor was a pirate or somet’in 98. Do you have any scars? I gots -wait... I answered dis one already! 99. Color of your bedspread? Dark blue with some nice white sheets! 100. Color of your room? Grey... like every other wall in dis place

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How To Be A Queen [Part 3]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone. 

Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism and subtle physical abuse. 

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How To Be A Queen

The hairbrush caught a knot in my hair, making me spit something out that was between a hiss and a curse at no one in particular. Anju looked flustered in the mirror and held up the hairbrush in alarm, “I’m so sorry, Princess Zelda!”

I smiled politely, trying to ease her, “It’s okay, Anju. Don’t worry.” I handed her a smaller hairbrush to work out the knot. Tonight was the winter solstice celebration. It was mainly an old tradition to praise the goddesses and thank them for the year’s harvest. That was what most of Hyrule was celebrating for at least. The palace used it as an excuse to show off an air of influence and socialize between politicians, so it was a big night for me. The first annual event where I was to be seen as royal influence versus being a mere girl. I was of age now and as I scrutinized myself in the mirror I realized that I wasn’t just being judged by the ministers, but also by myself.

I heard the door to my quarters open and someone speak into the foyer, “The seamstress is here. Should I let her in, Anju?” It was Link. I felt the corners of my mouth quirk upwards without realizing it.

“Uhh,” Anju looked from my hair to somewhere I couldn’t see from my seat, “I suppose, Link, but it will be another half hour or so before Zelda’s remotely ready for the gown.” I wondered how much Anju spoke to Link. I knew they were at least acquaintances by hearing them in the hall. Perhaps they were more than that?

“Princess? What are you smiling about?” Anju mused as she continued with my hair. She was separating it into parts now, I’m guessing there will be a braid involved. I wasn’t smiling at anything in particular other than the fact that I had a secret. Or some form of a secret. It felt nice knowing Link was at least semi-comfortable with speaking with me over the last couple days. Though, if someone else was present he’d revert to his past stoic self, but it was nice regardless. I mean, it’s his job to be there of course. It wasn’t like he was my confidant. My sly smile rested, I suppose I don’t have one of those.

“Nothing,” I replied, and busied myself with my newly done nails. They were a soft white for the festival, and I was excited to show them off. Physically being there tonight made me a nervous wreck, but I didn’t hate the glitz and glimmer. Although, being woken up at the light of dawn hairstyling did put a damper on my mood. I reached out for a cup of tea on my dresser, it was long past cold but I drank it anyway.

“Oh, okay,” Anju said slowly as she twisted my hair tightly behind my head, “You know what your father said, Highness.” I winced as she put in a bobby pin, one out of many I’m sure. Looks like it will be some sort of bun? She continued, “You aren’t suppose ‘ta smile or something in front of those big wigs.” I noticed her drawl coming through, didn’t she tell me her parents own a ranch?

What she said was partially true. I pursed my lips. A common phrase I heard during much of my childhood was “Royalty reflects the state”. It was one of Father’s favorite quotes and one of my most hated. I remembered my hands being smacked with a ruler for laughing too loudly, and not long after for crying too loudly. To read from my manners and philosophy courses, Hyrulian princesses were to express “softly” and when “appropriate”. I know for a fact that the instances of appropriate were explained, but Hylia knows I am still as lost as a fish in a desert. The ancestors who were painted on the murals with stoic expressions weren’t the same as the woman I grew into. I wasn’t a puppet, but I was a daughter who valued her father’s pride. My resolve was built on that.

I heard a mass of fabric being pushed through the doorway and two girls walked in. I recognized them as being from Mrs. Bea’s shop. They curtsied and while looking through the mirror I greeted them, “Good afternoon, ladies! I’m afraid I can’t greet you properly as I’m a little tied up at the moment.” I heard them giggle. I watched as Anju meticulously combed over my hair for any stray hairs. She kept my long bangs loose yet purposely placed and curled. The back was put up into an intricate bun, I couldn’t quite see the small details. Anju breathed out as if she was holding her breath, “I do believe I’m done, Princess Zelda.” It was an effortlessly beautiful look and I was grateful.

She dusted my cheeks with blush and painted my lashes, all I could do is smile in the mirror. Again, I loved the glitz and glamor. “Thank you so much, Anju. This is perfect,” I turned and looked at her. She was obviously tired and I could tell.

“Anju, you should be with your family today,” I said. I didn’t even realize how much time I was taking from her today until now.

“Oh, no, I can’t. What if your hair comes undone?” Anju was beginning to fret.

“No, no I insist. Please, you can take my carriage,” I reached for a spare paper and my ink pen.

“Princess, I can’t! I wouldn’t be back until night,” she tried to stop me, “There would be no point in telling the head mistress that I’ll be absent tomorrow. She’d never allow it.”

I pushed the note in her hand, “Then she can answer to me! No sense in you being here when you have a family waiting on you.”

She looked beside herself. I almost felt bad until she smiled, “Is this an order, Your Highness?”

“I’m afraid so, Anju,” I grinned. Anju rushed over and brought me into an embrace, “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Zelda!” I almost fell over, but hugged her back regardless. My heart filled was warmth, “Now, hurry out of here.”

Anju bid her goodbyes and left.

“Your gown, Miss?” One of the girls said.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry,” I gulped. This is probably the worst part.

The two girls brought over the first skirt and I stepped into it. The brunette girl laced the back. It was a strapless dress, I remember. The next step was strapping the pockets to my waist, the skirts that go over it will have discreet slits in them that will give me easy access. Also, a good hideaway when the chill seeps in as the night goes on. They say it may snow tonight. The next layer was thick to give the overall dress volume and shape. It was the main layer meant for warmth as well.

“Now you’re corset, Highness. Let me know when it’s tight enough,” the ginger girl hummed as she wrapped the bodice around me. I took a deep breath, “Okay.”

I felt her wrangle the laces in and out like an art. I swallowed, there wasn’t a way to physically prepare yourself, it was all mental. Then, then the first tug. Oh, Hylia, this girl was stronger than I thought. A breath flew out of me. A second tug, “Oh, goddesses.”

“Too much?”

My mouth gaped like a fish. I couldn’t speak. What do they feed her to have this grip?

“Yeah, too much,” the brunette said, watching my face, “Her eyes are going to pop out, Courtney.”

“Oh, dear,” the assumed Courtney muttered and loosened the laces slightly and then tied them. It wasn’t by much, but I could breathe… kind of. But I won’t be doing cardio tonight, so there’s some hope that I won’t suffocate and see tomorrow morning.

“You know, Your Highness, Courtney is the best corset lacer in all of Castletown,” the brunette said.

“Some say all of Hyrule,” Courtney added, “Aunt Bea said you needed a little help.”

Oh, of course. “Why,” I felt my eyebrow twitched, “Thank you, ladies. I appreciate that help.” These little…

“Now let’s get that dress on,” one of them said and they brought it over my head. I felt one of them tie the laces to the last layer. It was ivory, to match the petticoats. The sleeves were a white sequenced lace that were more of less faux. They draped gracefully off my shoulders. The dress was overall strapless, help up by the many layers and felt sturdy. Embroidered on my bodice and hem was a simple pink and red flower. It was simple but enhancing. Mrs. Bea was a sour woman, but had talent blessed by the goddesses themselves to make dresses like this. I must have been so entranced by the gown that I didn’t notice the two girls leave. I grabbed a white shawl to cover my bare arms and two white heels were left at the foot of my bed. I stepped into them shakily. My calves will be steel by the end of tonight.

Before I left the room, I glanced at my desk. I was missing something.

On a mannequin head laid a gold crown with a bright red jewel in the center. I strode up to it, feeling my feet conform to the shape of the pointed heels. I equipped a pair of white, elbow length gloves before reaching to my inheritance. The crown was heavy and slightly pushed down Anju’s handiwork, but it fit perfectly on my head as it did my mother and my grandmother. I wasn’t sure if it looked quite right, but it will have to do.

I walked out with a cheat sheet of the lords in my pocket. The hallway was empty except for one.

“Are you ready- Oh,” he looked down at me, looking almost bewildered. Maybe it was the heels.

Link would be accompanying me during the festival, at request of Uncle, and wore a tuxedo to blend in with the rest of the party. He kept a sword strapped to his waist, which wasn’t too out there. Many lords wore a decorative sword for whatever reason. The different being that Link would actually be able to use his, but hopefully it wouldn’t be needed. A light blush heated my neck. His hair was brushed back and I would have assumed he was a lord’s son he I hadn’t known any better.

He was looking at me dubiously. “Um,” I started, “Do I have something on my face?”

“No!” He was quick to answer and seemed embarrassed, “No, you actually look…”

I waited and was about to speak before he beat me, “I was going to say. You look like a queen.”

He spoke quickly and didn’t look me in the eye, but I felt a warmth bloom in my chest.

“Thank you, you look very nice as well,” I felt myself smile, not really meaning to. I’m supposed to be like a statue today, but Link was besting me. Do I really look like a queen?

Link held out his arm, “I think your father wants to talk to you beforehand. Are you ready?”

Probably about the speech, I mused to myself. I had it memorized frontwards and back. It sounded foreign to my tongue, but Father preferred it. To say I wasn’t exhilarated to give it in front of 100 or so politicians was an understatement.

“No, but I will never be. Let’s go,” I took his arm – Oh, Hylia. Give me strength, why am I surprised a soldier has muscles? I heard him chuckle softly. I forced unnecessary thoughts away and continued towards the staircase alongside my guard.

Once we arrived at Father’s study, Link dropped his arm and waited outside. I found my father standing near the fireplace with a drink in his hand, he wasn’t looking forward to this either. His study was large and lined from books. It was enormous. A large family portrait hung over the fireplace, painted when I was small. “Father?”

He turned towards me and paused, blinking for a moment. “You look like your mother,” it came out almost in a whisper.

“Are you alright?” I asked, somewhat overwhelmed by the comment.

He rubbed his eyes. From the light of the fire, he appeared older, “Yes, Zelda. I’m fine, simply reminiscing.”

“Okay,” I said, waiting for him to continue. He wore his crown tonight. I’ve always wondered how heavy his was.

“Our guests,” he began, his voice catching up, “Should be filing in as we speak. Once they do at 6:00 on the dime we will enter the foyer at the top of the staircase together. I will introduce you and you will do your short speech. Then,” he sighed, “the night will finally begin.”

“And it will end soon, I hope,” I mused in response.

“And that is something you keep to yourself, Zelda.” Father crossed the room to meet me, “All I need you to do tonight it remember everything your instructors and I have been telling you these last few months. You should be prepared. You know the politicians and their leanings. Make them lean towards you, Zelda. Everyone will be paying attention to the princess tonight.”

I gulped and thumbed the paper in my pocket. Great pep talk.

“That being said,” he held out his arm, “Are you ready?”

No, of course not. Why does everyone keep asking me that? “Yes, Father,” I offered a small smile and took his arm. His pocket watch said 5:58. I feel queasy.

As we walked out, I heard Link follow well behind us. For whatever reason I felt more comfortable when he was beside me. I suppose I felt relaxed, as if I didn’t fear disappointing him. My father was a whole new playing field. Father nitpicked and judged. Even now I felt him checking my posture and despite knowing I was upright I made a point to stand taller. Word by word, I recited my introductory speech over. Typically, the King gives it and this was kind of a big deal. My father gave word to the guards by the doors and a footman scurried in front of us.

“Attention,” the little man had a booming voice, I could hear the party inside the Gold Ballroom go quiet. “Now presenting, King Daphnes of Hyrule and Princess Zelda of Hyrule.” Oh, I feel sick.

My father tugged my arm as we walked in, almost to say “Don’t screw up.” We approached the banister of the staircase and I suddenly couldn’t feel my toes. The ballroom was massive and I thought the entire room could feel my heart beat out of my chest.

“Greetings, all,” Father spoke loudly. It came naturally to him, “Allow me to present to you, my daughter, Princess Zelda of Hyrule.” There was a short applause.

Oh, Hylia. I felt my father release my arm and step away. So many important people are looking at me. My breath shortened and the corset didn’t allow much breathing room in the first place. I stood stoutly and grasped the banister.

“Good evening and happy solstice to you all,” my voice wasn’t stable, “This past harvest season has fed this great country and with each passing season the great goddesses bless us.” These words weren’t mine. They felt like putty in my mouth. Come on, Zelda, swallow your pride. “With this celebration, we give praise to our goddesses for bestowing us with the plenty they have given.” It wasn’t us, it was people like Anju’s family. I paused, swallowing and catching a breath that has evaded me. Oh, fuck it. “However, we should also give reverence to the very people that uphold the backbone of Hyrule.”

And like that I was off script. I could feel Father’s eyes burning into my back. I am not my ancestors.

“The farmers, the ranchers, those that served us today have allowed us to take part in the goddesses blessings. As we enjoy our pleasantries tonight, let us keep in mind the ones who gave us this privilege. Thank you for being here and please enjoy the winter solstice festival.” I almost cringed. Why did I do that? What am I? Mad? I completely made half of that up just to push my own ideas. That was not reflecting the state. Thankfully, the music commenced and the celebration resumed. I turned to find my father already walking down the staircase. Very bad sign. Very, very bad sign. A princess going down into a party alone was bad taste. Again, I swallowed my pride and motioned for it until I saw Link. He offered his arm without looking at me.

I hate to say it, but I almost cried. “Thank you,” I whispered. He didn’t say anything as he descended, but he didn’t need to. I grasped tightly to his arm because the last thing I needed was to topple down the stairs in these heels. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Ah, Princess!” I heard a familiar voice say.

Just ahead of the staircase was an old lord I was quite familiar with.

“Why if it isn’t Lord Guildford,” I offered a smile, praying it was the same that had the royal stamp of approval. He smiled and those puppy dog eyes were back. I felt like leave my side and I already mourned his presence. I think I considered him an ally at this point. At least he never told me I walked or spoke incorrectly.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, Highness,” he help up a small bowl, “But my delicious bread pudding made the cut.”

“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that,” I said. Keeping a neutral expression was harder than I thought. It was so… unnatural.

“Well, it wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” and with the most genuine voice he said, “Thank you, Princess Zelda.”

My heart stirred.

“By the way,” he took a bite of the pudding, “Are you feeling well? You seem down.”

My eyebrows raised, so it did look as unnatural as it felt. “I feel perfectly fine, my lord, but I do appreciate the concern.” He hummed in understanding, “Ah, well. I do miss that bright smile. I hope whatever troubling you finds its way out of your life.”

A waiter came over and offered a glass of milkwine. I took it and held it in my hand. I didn’t plan on drinking tonight, but my hands needed something to fidget with.

“You know,” the lord continued and leaned in, “Between you and I.” His voice lowered and a craned my neck to listen, “This lifestyle can break the strongest men. No matter the etiquette they tell us or the rules they make, we are all ‘faking it until we make it’ if you will.”

I suppressed a smile as he elaborated, “It took years for me to learn that great leaders build their own castles, not depend on ones built for them. Understanding one’s own principles and keeping steadfast to them makes for great Kings and Queens.” He finished and leaned back with a sly smile.

“Alas, I’m only a senile old man after all! Excuse me, Your Highness,” he bowed, “I must spread word of the present pudding.”

I watched him leave. Maybe Old Grog Guildford had his own chest of secrets too and I deeply appreciated him sharing. I mulled over his words and found myself resonate with them. They were far different than what I had been told in my life, but I found that I finally had another avenue I could explore.

“Princess Zelda!” a posh voice brought me from my thoughts. Snapping back to reality, I recognize a man by the name of Lord Budreau. He was renounced speech training and I had seen him briefly for a lesson or two. Instantaneously he launched into a lecture about his thoughts on the varying accents across Hyrule. Recently he visited the Hebra region and studied their many dialects.

An hour of politics and discussing flew by. The former wasn’t what you would expect. In short, it was gossip in order to sway me to be sympathetic to their causes. And what were those causes, you may ask? Allow me to demonstrate with the main topic: Lord Hoagland’s eldest daughter, Margaret, is betrothed to Lord Lentz. However, Margaret does not want to marry Lord Lentz because (shocker) Lord Lentz is old. In his 60’s to be precise. According to “outside sources”, Lord Hoagland doesn’t even want Margaret to marry the old lord, but is following his wife’s wishes. His wife, Lady Hoagland, doesn’t want her daughter to marry a merchant like she did and regret it later on (ouch).

The last 15 minutes have been filled with flamboyant dancing, which I didn’t hate. The part I resented was the small conversation. The song playing required a waltz with constantly switching partners. It suited me just fine. It left little room for run on discussions and I was introduced to new people efficiently. I was swung into my new partner and my hands quickly found their places on the man’s shoulders.

“Hello, Your Highness. Surprised to see you hear,” Link said, amused.

“Goddesses, Link, what are you doing out here?” I wasn’t mad, it was nice to express freely.

“General Nohansen wanted me to blend in more. How are you holding up?”

“Just barely. I didn’t know you danced,” I said as he spun me into a twirl. He cocked his head slightly, “You don’t know a lot about me, Zelda.” We released each other and moved on to the next person before I could inquire about more.

The song ended before long and a much slower temp took its place.

“Your Highness,” a man approached me. I didn’t recognize him. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hester Ibauna.” Right. Lord Ibauna. I remember his name on the list. It was the same man with an army of mistresses. He was middle aged and from what I’ve heard pulled strings with emotion to get what he wanted. “May I have this dance?”

“Absolutely, Lord Ibauna,” I began, “How could I say no?”

We followed in unison with the crowd. He was a good dancer. He moved with grace and was noticeably checking my movements. There were exchanges of small talk.

“Princess Zelda,” Ibauna made a point to catch my eyes, “Did you know this song was composed by a hopeless romantic.”

I did, but I was curious to where he was going. “No, is that true?”

“Indeed, Highness.”

I pursed my lips, maybe it was a random fact he knew. The dance led us from one end of the room to the other. I felt his arm tighten around my waist. “Please stop me if I’m overstepping, but I’ve been wondering,” Ibauna laughed deeply to himself, “Since you are beyond of age, what are your marriage prospects?”

“I beg your pardon?” My feet stopped and another couple nearly bumped into us.

He tried pulling me out of the crowd of dancing couples, but I persisted. “Now, Princess, let’s not be rash,” Ibauna started, glancing around, but not outwardly flustered. “What of my prospects interest you?” I answered, pushing down my anger. He smiled slyly, “If you give me invitation, I would love to introduce myself to you on a more personal level.” It was a small movement at my waist that prompted me to bring my backhand to his cheek.

The slap resonated through the room and Hester Ibauna gawked at me.

“How… how dare you!” He cried out, attracting even more attention. I felt smaller now as he loomed over me, “How dare you touch me!” My lip wobbled. The music in the room slowed to a halt, not unlike dancing. Suddenly a woman ran up, bickering and complaining in a now silent room. I recognized her immediately as Lady Ibauna. I could barely hear what she managed to get out. My breathing intensified. “I… I never,” I felt like passing out. I felt a hand push me back. Link appeared and stood between me and the disgruntled couple. Link must have said something because they settled for angry whispers.

“Zelda,” Father sharply called my name. My head swiveled in his direction and my heart stopped. It was like I was some disgusting creature meant to be gawked at. Everyone stared. I’ve never wanted to disappear so much. To feel lonely in a room of people was a feeling I would wish on nobody. Watching as my father moved out of the room, I knew I was meant to follow… but goddesses did I want to run away. I don’t want my title. I never did anything to earn it. My hands felt clammy and my thoughts ran wildly as I tried to busy myself by fidgeting with my shawl. Each step was loud and it’s sound filled my ears. I wasn’t able to look into anyone’s eyes.

A footman opened the door and I walked through it just in time to see Father walk further down the hall. I followed, it felt like I was about to be sacrificed. My home never felt more winding and colder than it did now. I wrapped my shawl around me to give me comfort. I wasn’t going to cry.

Before I realized it, I entered Father’s study once more. Unlike two hours before, I was officially a failure. My throat was dry and scratchy. This is it, Zelda. You had a good run, old girl, but now you’re time is up. A glass slammed onto his wooden desk and I looked up to see him filling it with a strong smelling milkwine. He didn’t say anything and took a deep drink. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Zelda,” he said, pausing to scrutinize, “I cannot fathom what on Hyrule you’ve been thinking tonight.”

I didn’t know what to say. Something inside me told me he was right. I went against his expectations and this was the consequence.

“Perhaps I was too easy on you as a child,” he started, “It is obvious to me now that you lack obedience to the throne. A place you will sit in far too soon.” His hand that wasn’t holding his drank ran through his graying hair. “Child,” he spoke again, “The only reason you are here is to serve your country and serve your country well.”

Surely, not. I lifted my eyes to his and my tongue found words, “Father, please you-”

“No!” His voice was booming my eyes widened, “You listen to me!” Father gripped my forearm, I cried out.

I fell silent, a wave of shock and fear fell over me. No one had ever yelled at me in this manner, much less my own father. I couldn’t breathe, all I could do is stare at his reddened face as he opened his mouth once more.

“You are Zelda of Hyrule and you will always be Zelda of Hyrule! Your identity is tied to this family forever and you will deal with it. I will not let your selfishness taint the fabric of the family legacy. Zelda, your immaturity will be the downfall of this kingdom!” He was like an angry bull. A beat red face and heavy breathing. My very being shook. I felt like a little girl again watching as Mother fell ill and being utterly helpless. I was helpless when Father fell into a black hole of alcoholism. And I was helpless now.

At last, after what seemed like forever, he let go of me and turned away as if repulsed with the person who dared grace his presence. His daughter, he couldn’t even face his own daughter.

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, “I’m sorry.” I could feel my knees give out from under me and soon I was engulfed in my own ivory skirts. My face was wet, and I realized I’ve been crying. Selfish.

“Get her to her quarters and don’t let anyone see the state she’s in,” Father wasn’t talking to me anymore. I didn’t hear whoever he was speaking to enter the room after my father left, but I could feel someone kneel before me.

“Zelda.”

I breathed in a couple shaky breaths, “Go away, Link.” Goddesses, I sounded pathetic.

“Zelda, please.”

My eyes burned from the makeup, “Can you take me to my room?”

“If you allow me to. Yes,” he was looking at my expectantly. I whispered a word of affirmation and let him help me up. Cringing at the blisters on my feet, I reached down to take off my shoes only to be stopped by the flurry of skirts.

“I’ll get it,” Link knelt and moved my skirts to the side. I was too beside myself to be embarrassed and sighed a sigh of relief when they were removed. He held them to his side and asked if I needed help walking. I shook my head.

Though he didn’t express it, he looked unnerved. As we meandered through the halls, he didn’t say anything. Either he was quiet because he heard what Father said or he was being quiet to avoid causing attention. Both seemed plausible, but it did seem that Father returned to the celebration to remediate the damage I caused. If my father wasn’t in the area, not many lingered for long, especially on a holiday.

After a long and quiet journey, we reached our destination. Link waited by the door, “I’ll stay out here, okay?” I nodded, not really trusting myself to speak. He rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ll also turn away anyone who might ask too much about… tonight.” My eyes stung, “Thank you.” I went to close the door.

“If you need anything, let me know. I mean it, Zelda.”

Hylia, who is this man and where was the one that you gave me two years ago? Not that I was complaining. In reality, it touched me that he would tell me that. I gave a weak smile in response and closed the door.

Finally alone with my thoughts, I realized something that lit my cheeks aflame. I needed his help. I opened the door to find Link just beside the door. A tuxedo should be the uniform now. “Link,” I whispered. He seemed startled. “I need your help.”

Link stood up straighter than he did when I found him. “With what?”

I looked up and down the hall, completely inconspicuously and waved him in.

“What?”

“Come in,” I checked the hall again.

“In what?”

I stared at him. He stared back confused. “My room, Link. Come in my room.”

“Why?”

“Shh! No questions!”

Reluctantly, he hurried in with my berating. I closed the door quickly behind him. Link looked flustered and then I realized a good reason why. There was a man in my room. Not just a man, it was Link. He was meant to protect me, nothing else. Plus, he wasn’t unattractive. Oh, Hylia, he was probably thinking of worse things than I intended. “Um,” my face heated up again, “I just needed one thing.”

“What is it?” He looked nervous.

“I can’t reach the laces to my dress.” Now I felt dumb.

“Is that it?”

“Yes?”

He seemed to be put at ease. I couldn’t help to be somewhat insulted. Without further ado, I turned around and pulled my hair aside, “They’re sort of tucked away at the top.” I felt his fingers brush my back as he pulled them out. They were warm and a nice contrast to the cold air. Link needed a little direction in the beginning but seemed to get the hang of it.

“Your dress was nice tonight.”

“Thanks. The seamstress who made it was Mother’s favorite.”

Silence.

“Hey, Link?”

“Yeah?”

“How much did you hear back there?” I played with my hair as I felt him hesitate with the taunt laces. “Enough,” he replied and I hummed in consideration. “Do you want me to get the underneath part too?”

Oh, my corset. I felt the main dress being brushed away. “If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he mumbled, “I don’t event know how you got into this thing.”

“Where did you live before joining?” I asked without really thinking. “Before I joined the Royal Guard?” I could hear him smile, “I lived near Hateno village.”

“That’s far. With your family?” I was curious. “Well,” he wrestled with loosening to laces. It was harder with corsets, “My dad left when I was young and my mom got sick and passed away when I turned 15.”

Zelda, you idiot. I turned my head, trying my best to look at him,“I apologize. I didn’t mean to-“

“You’re okay, Zelda, it’s not like you were supposed to know,” he laughed at my fretting. “Anyway, my little sister lives with an aunt not far from there. It’s not all bad. I still go back when I can.” He stayed silent for a moment and then said, “I’m sorry for tonight.”

“You don’t have to apologize for something I did,” I insisted.

“No, but I could have stopped him from doing whatever caused you to lash out,” Link tugged harshly at the corset, “So, I’m sorry. I wasn’t doing my job.”

I bit my lip. “Well, it’s over. No sense in worrying about the past.”

Then, like a woman possessed, I flipped around. Holding up my bodice with my arms clutched to my chest. “Link,” I sternly said, “I want to leave.”

I faced his chest and had to shuffle back to look up at him awkwardly. “You want to do what?”

“Leave the castle.”

“What?” He was bewildered.

“I would like to leave the castle,” I repeated to him. Stating it as if his question was completely out of left field. Link looked at me pointedly, “And go where? You have no idea what kind of crazy goes on in Castle Town, much less outside the walls.”

I felt my face heat up. “Well, well I…” I don’t. I have no idea what I’d do once I left the castle. Sure, I knew where the basics were. The Marketplace was along main street and there was that bakery on the east side. Other than that, there was no internal compass that told me where to go or what to do. I frowned hard. “Look, I’m not saying you have to join me. But you’re always with me so I thought I’d at least tell you.”

“Zelda,” he was staring at me hard now, “I’m your personal guard. It’ll be my neck if I lose you.”

“So!” I pouted, “I’ll sneak away. I’ll even leave a note.”

“Note or not, I swore an oath.”

“Link,” I said, feeling my voice grow shaky, “I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you do,” he scrambled, “You were born here. You’re the princess.”

“That doesn’t mean I belong!” My voice was raised and it shocked me. I had no right to be getting angry at him. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault.”

He sat down on my bed and stared down at the floor before looking at me once more.

“What if… what if I go with you?”

[toothsy]

Get to know me

My friend : *comes to me randomly* HEY

Me: *jumps* geez you scared me..

My friend : You have a blog on tumblr, right ?

Me : uh... yeah ? I don’t wanna talk about what I write on it plea-

My friend : NONONO that’s not what I want to talk about. Knowing you, you probably didn’t say anything about yourself on your blog :

Me : well-

My friend : SO - I found this *show me the post* - and - hope u do it.

Me : *shrugs* fine

(Just letting you know how I found this -)

A/N : I know I don’t have a lot of followers and probably no one wanna know who I am but I just wanted to do it

And my friends wanted me to do it too, so uh, here it goes

1. What is you middle name? Don’t have one ?

2. How old are you? 14- I’m 15 in December 2 though

3. When is your birthday? December 2

4. What is your zodiac sign? Sagittarius heh

5. What is your favorite color? Hmm, would say blue or green

6. What’s your lucky number? Hmm... would say 13 ?

7. Do you have any pets? Okay hum... 11 dogs - and 3 fish

8. Where are you from? Canada, Quebec to be more specific...

9. How tall are you? Okay please... don’t - laugh at me for this... but I’m 4’9. Which is totally small ugh

10. What shoe size are you? 36-5.5, something like that

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 2

12. What was your last dream about? It was pretty weird - but it was just me drinking coffee until my sister came in and said I forgot to put cream in it and then I said ‘’but I like black coffee’’

13. What talents do you have? I draw, I write, I play piano, lil bit of guitar and trumpet , dunno if I should call myself talented though

14. Are you psychic in any way? No ? I don’t know ?

15. Favorite song? Hmm, I wouldn’t say I have a favorite one, but I’m listening to Billie Eilish a lot

16. Favorite movie? Aaargagsgaga, Jurassic Park, since I’m 4 so...

17. Who would be your ideal partner? *shrugs* honestly I don’t even care about the personality of the person (I mean, except if the person is really an asshole) as long as they’re here for me

And laugh at my terrible puns.

18. Do you want children? Hell no, well at least really not right now. Some kids really gets on my nerves honestly ;;’ and one of my worst phobia is too much pain so -

19. Do you want a church wedding? Heh, not really into that stuff, but it could change, depends I guess.

20. Are you religious? Not really

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Well - of course -

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nah never, I’m a cool person honestly xd

23. Have you ever met any celebrities? No but would love to

24. Baths or showers? I really like both, it depends I guess

25. What color socks are you wearing? Black uwu

26. Have you ever been famous? hahahHA no

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Huh, I’m scared of being overwhelmed by people so maybe not xd

28. What type of music do you like? Depends, I like calm and rock music, weird huh

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No ?

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 3, I feel like if I don’t hug something while sleeping - I just don’t sleep well, and yes , I also sleep with a plushie ‘cuz of this

31. What position do you usually sleep in? Lateral safety position

32. How big is your house? *shrugs* big enough for 4 people

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Rice Krispies, believe it or not, I love them. This and milk obviously

34. Have you ever fired a gun? No

35. Have you ever tried archery? Neither

36. Favorite clean word? Geez ? Dunno

37. Favorite swear word? Fuck, I’m saying this a lot and also, in Quebec there’s some swear words that came from religion - which I say them a lot too

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 1 complete day I guess

39. Do you have any scars? Yep, on my arms

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? Nop, who would be a secret admirer for a loser like me ? x)

41. Are you a good liar? Nop that’s why I never lie

42. Are you a good judge of character? Not really

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? English accent and french accent (because french from France And from Quebec have different accents)

44. Do you have a strong accent? Not really

45. What is your favorite accent? British accent didndkdnnd

46. What is your personality type? Mine ? Would say a really nervous but acts like a chill person every time, never sleeps, always do puns and not funny jokes and ... I’m tomboy.

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? Oh- would say shoes for running for now

48. Can you curl your tongue? Yep

49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie

50. Left or right handed? Right handed

51. Are you scared of spiders? Nop !! I love them, I want a tarantula when I’ll be older

52. Favorite food? Sushis and shrimps

53. Favorite foreign food? Hmmm dunno

54. Are you a clean or messy person? Messy

55. Most used phrased? ‘’Aw shit, here we go again’’

56. Most used word? Geez, shit, aw, oh, welp, heh.

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? Not too long, I don’t put makeup or anything, just anything baggy and then we’re outta here

58. Do you have much of an ego? Nop, actually, I don’t have one at all xd

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? ... definitely weird questions for people like me but I suck.

60. Do you talk to yourself? When I’m angry xd

61. Do you sing to yourself? Nop

62. Are you a good singer? Dunno, it’s not too bad but not great either

63. Biggest Fear? Hmm height

64. Are you a gossip? Nah

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Don’t like drama :v

66. Do you like long or short hair? For me I prefer short hair, but I like both for the others

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? No but I can tell you a part of the book 50 shades of- *my friend slaps my head* ow

68. Favorite school subject? English and music

69. Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nop and will probably never

71. What makes you nervous? People coming into my room without permissions, people talking shit about me, my dad, but nothing else x)

72. Are you scared of the dark? Nop

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? I do it just to be funny when I know it’s in a good time to do it, but never for anything else

74. Are you ticklish? Yes, really

75. Have you ever started a rumor? Nop and would never. I had a lot of rumors about me in my old school and it’s definitely not pleasant so I’ll never do that

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Nop

77. Have you ever drank underage? Yes - a - lot. Sorry :’v

78. Have you ever done drugs? Nop and would never

79. Who was your first real crush? Huh... real crush ? I had small crushes but never real ones... except Bakugo.. *cough* sorry

80. How many piercings do you have? Only on my ears and never put earrings ah

81. Can you roll your Rs?“ Nah

82. How fast can you type? Pretty fast

83. How fast can you run? Not fast

84. What color is your hair? Blond, naturally blond (hate that color tho.)

85. What color is your eyes? Blue

86. What are you allergic to? Nothing right now

87. Do you keep a journal? Nop

88. What do your parents do? Right now they fight, but huh. Nothing

Oh- jobs, idk

89. Do you like your age? I’ll be in paradise once I’ll be in 15, since I’ll finally start my driving lessons

90. What makes you angry? People not accepting the others and being close minded (my dad most)

91. Do you like your own name? No, I would like an unisex one like Max

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Huuuh, don’t want kids. But it would be Maxine for a girl and Jay/Jeff for a guy

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? Doesn’t matter, as long as they’re my kid right ?

94. What are you strengths? Hmm, dunno, would be my endurance ?

95. What are your weaknesses? Social skills lmao

96. How did you get your name? ?? My parents - oh

For my user I just took Tooth put an sy to make it look ‘cute’, I’m sure it’s not tho

97. Were your ancestors royalty? Don’t think so

98. Do you have any scars? Yes... I think it was already asked ? On my arms.

99. Color of your bedspread? Blue

100. Color of your room? White walls

——————-

Anyway, hope you like it uwu

[angelstraightfr0mhell]

Get to know me unconditionally well

So @eatmyshiftsticky tagged me to do this cause they're super cool. Okay let's go, buckle up.

1. What is your middle name? 

It's a name

2. How old are you? 

59283958 years old

3. When is your birthday? 

August 19th

4. What is your zodiac sign? 

Leo

5. What is your favourite colour? 

Black and purple

6. What’s your lucky number?

I don't believe in luck

7. Do you have any pets?

I have one whole cat

8. Where are you from? 

Missouri 

9. How tall are you?

5'5" ish I think

10. What shoe size are you? 

Uh like and 8 and a half

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 

A few but I only wear like 3 pairs

12. What was your last dream about? 

I had a dream the other night that I was running through a field with the boys while "falling for you" by Colbie Caillat was playing

13. What talents do you have? 

I can make a bed and do laundry really well.

14. Are you psychic in any way? 

Actually yes (ask me about it if you'd like me to elaborate)

15. Favourite song? 

Oh damn, right now probably Strawberry Shortcake by Melanie Martinez because fuck men saying women can't wear whatever the fuck they want.

16. Favourite movie? 

Lilo and Stitch

17. Who would be your ideal partner? 

Someone who would help me commit a crime then hide the evidence

18. Do you want children? 

Hell to the NO

19. Do you want a church wedding? 

I would burst into flames if I walked into a church

20. Are you religious? 

Hell no

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 

Too many times

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 

Not yet

23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 

Not to my knowledge

24. Baths or showers?

BOTH

25. What color socks are you wearing? 

invisible ones

26. Have you ever been famous? 

When I was in high school everyone knew me as "Sean's baby sister" if that counts for something

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 

Never. I like my privacy

28. What type of music do you like? 

Most things except country, trash rap, and garbage pop

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 

I have actually

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 

3, one giant body pillow, one for me, and one for me love

31. What position do you usually sleep in? 

Any and all positions, I move around way too much

32. How big is your house? 

Not very, it's got like 3 bedrooms, a bathroom, living room and kitchen. And a spooky basement.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 

What's breakfast?

34. Have you ever fired a gun? 

Once or twice

35. Have you ever tried archery? 

Not that I recall

36. Favourite clean word? 

Bleach

37. Favorite swear word? 

FUCKING HELL

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 

like 3 days

39. Do you have any scars? 

I have several

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 

Not to me knowledge

41. Are you a good liar? 

Depends on the lie

42. Are you a good judge of character? 

Oh hell yeah I am

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 

Yes, badly

44. Do you have a strong accent? 

I don't think I do, I'm from southeast missouri so it's like not super southern but has that twang. And I put emphasis on certain syllables apparently

45. What is your favourite accent? 

All accents are good accents

46. What is your personality type? 

Too much

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 

I don't even know. All my clothes come from antique and thrift shops so there's literally nothing of monetary value there

48. Can you curl your tongue? 

Not that I'm aware of

49. Are you an innie or an outie? 

Wouldn't you like to know

50. Left or right-handed? 

Righty

51. Are you scared of spiders? 

Nope. I'm the designated spider killer at work, literally any time there is a spider at work I'm the one that has to kill it.

52. Favourite food? 

PASTA

53. Favourite foreign food?

isn't all food foreign?

54. Are you a clean or messy person? 

Am neat freak

55. Most used phrase? 

"Builds character"

56. Most used word? 

FUCK

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 

Anywhere between 20 minutes to an hour or so

58. Do you have much of an ego? 

Not that I know of

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 

I don't really eat lollipops

60. Do you talk to yourself? 

Yeah, way too much

61. Do you sing to yourself? 

Uh yeah, someone's got to

62. Are you a good singer? 

HAHAHAHAHAH no

63. Biggest Fear? 

Losing the person I love most

64. Are you a gossip? 

I am a human, I guess

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 

Age of Adaline

66. Do you like long or short hair? 

Either is fine with me

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 

Bitch bye

68. Favourite school subject? 

If music doesn't count then science

69. Extrovert or Introvert? 

Extroverted introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 

Never ever

71. What makes you nervous? 

When you have a new guest down for a color and they come in with dark hair and say they wanna be platinum (hashtag hairstylist probs)

72. Are you scared of the dark? 

Not really anymkre

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 

Sometimes but not always

74. Are you ticklish? 

Sometimes

75. Have you ever started a rumour? 

I'm sure I have

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 

Yeah actually

77. Have you ever drank underage? 

Uh yeah, everyone has and if they say they haven't then they're lying

78. Have you ever done drugs? 

Sure have

79. Who was your first real crush?

This boy named Cody in kindergarten. I made him a necklace and he gave me a card

80. How many piercings do you have? 

Technically 3

81. Can you roll your R’s?

I can

82. How fast can you type? 

A decent speed

83. How fast can you run? 

I use to be one of the fastest runners in freshman gym class but I suck now

84. What colour is your hair?

Naturally it's a dark brown, artificially I'm a blonde

85. What color is your eyes? 

Green around my pupils and blue around the green

86. What are you allergic to? 

I'm intolerant to fish.

87. Do you keep a journal? 

I do for my tarot readings and witchy things 

88. What do your parents do? 

Mind your business

89. Do you like your age? 

Sure

90. What makes you angry? 

Close minded people

91. Do you like your own name? 

Eh

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

I've thought about dog names for when I finally have time for a dog

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

I just want a dog, I don't care about gender

94. What are you strengths? 

I can drink an entire big bottle of wine and still be okay

95. What are your weaknesses?

I cannot have more than one and a half entire big bottles of wine and be okay

96. How did you get your name? 

It was the only one my parents could agree on

97. Were your ancestors royalty? 

They're dead, why's it matter?

98. Do you have any scars?

See question number whatever this was before

99. Colour of your bedspread? 

Is red

100. Colour of your room? 

Is grey

Tagging: @satans-helper @mountainofthesunn @sammyscherub @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade @saywecanart @rubyknoby @jeordinevankiszka @sparrowof-thedawn