#of the untimely death of the person i’ve built my life around)

[thirtyskeletons]

once again 3 am spiraling in my childhood bedroom. there’s this girl on twitter that’s friends with someone i follow from college so hee posts tend to pop up every so often. and like 2 months ago hee boyfriend who was the love of her life was brutally stabbed and killed in front of her and he died in her arms. in the same city that i live in. waiting for the bus in brooklyn. and i do not know this person but from what i’ve seen from her posts and posts about her, they were really truly in love, and it just makes me so angry about the unfairness of the world. things like this make me feel like happiness is never fated to last, and all good things must end, and death and grief and tragedy will always win. it’s hard not to feel that way about the state of the world in general. i know i can’t let despair win and i have to keep fighting because nothing will get better if i don’t but it’s just so hard

[rhetoricalrogue]

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "You have no proof"

Continuing @fictober-event with the AU of the AU of the AU @alittlestarling and I are up to our eyebrows in, this time focusing on my son Vincent.

Running and fighting. Fighting and running. Catch a few fitful hours of unrestful sleep, then repeat. It seemed that was all Vincent had been doing these past few months. First, there was the running and fighting that had been expected of him when he had been conscripted into Empress Celene’s army, then the running when a templar on their side had turned on their unit – Vincent was still healing from the many arrow wounds he’d received when the smite had hit him from behind, the barrier he had put up to protect the solders on their side crashing down at the worst possible moment – and then running from where he had dragged himself, almost near death, to heal and recover back to his side of the army out of fear that they would think he had abandoned his post and hunt him down to drag him back or worse, give him the Brand and use him as an example of battlemages who thought they could take advantage of chaos on the battlefield to make a run from the Circle.

There had been a brief respite from the fighting as he traveled back east, the days of interrogation he’d undergone to prove that he spoke the truth about what had happened that day finally paying off. Vincent knew that his noble birth was one of the main reasons he had been allowed to return to Ostwick, injured in the line of duty – if conscription into a war not of his making nor even in his homeland could ever be called duty – and he wasn’t going to argue with his commanding officers once they signed the paperwork for his release back to the Circle. He’d set a hard pace from the Exalted Plains to Jader, worry that word of his untimely death – once they couldn’t find a body, the army had been quick to declare him killed in action – had already reached those he cared for.

Maker, if Roz ever thought he was dead, it would gut him to think of putting her through unnecessary grief and agony, no matter how brief.

Travel back home was on a decent pace, then he heard word of a contingent of mages traveling to Haven, which was decidedly closer than boarding a ship to sail from Jader back home. Vincent’s mind was made up when he heard that there were mages from Ostwick in the company and joining up with them was far more preferable than sailing across the Waking Sea.

Vincent and boats went together just as well as oil and water.

And then the unthinkable happened. He hadn’t even been anywhere close to Haven when word got out of the explosion, rumors quick to jump to the conclusion that mages had been at the root of the calamity and had taken a page out of the apostate from Kirkwall a year or so ago and blown up the Divine to enact change. Vincent was fortunate that his physical build wasn’t what one stereotypically thought of when they pictured a mage, and he used that to his advantage to flee. Templars were suddenly everywhere, killing on sight. Whatever brief rest he had from running and fighting was well over, and Vincent found himself hiding among pockets of mages similarly running for their lives in the wilds of Ferelden. He lost count of the days, catching sleep when he could and helping as many mages as possible while looking out for himself. It was selfish and he would feel guilty later but running, even if running meant leaving people behind, was the only way that he would possibly ever make it back home again.

Back home, and back to Rosalind. The image of her was seared into his mind and it was one bright thing he had to cling to. He would be damned if he had survived everything that had been thrown at him so far only to succumb to a templar’s blade before he could see her in person again.

Who knew how many days later, Vincent found himself close to Redcliffe. There were rumors that the village was a safe haven for mages everywhere and it was the closest thing to hope that he’d felt since leaving Orlais. He didn’t know how much further it was, but there were abandoned crofter’s cottages dotting the landscape that he dared to take shelter in. He couldn’t risk lighting fires in the hearth, but fitfully sleeping with a roof over his head instead of out in the open was a welcome relief.

And then the demons came. The most direct route to Redcliffe was cut off and Vincent found himself running from shrieking monsters that he had only encountered during his Harrowing. The only positive was that the demons didn’t discriminate between mage, templar, or regular civilian, so if he were really looking to put a positive spin on an otherwise absolute shitshow, he told himself that there were fewer templars trying to kill him in the area.

He came across a group of mages one evening and they readily welcomed him into the shelter of the woods they had named the Witchwood. He listened halfheartedly at their more radical ideas, silently resolving to abandon them for the preferred safety of the nearby crossroads once daylight broke, when he heard someone call him by name.

“Enchanter Trevelyan?”

The light was dim in the cavern, but he didn’t need it to recognize one of his favorite pupils. “Noemi?” He made to get up from where he had sat on the floor but didn’t even make it to his knees before the fourteen-year-old girl flung herself in his direction. He muffled a pained grunt as her arms wrapped just a little too tightly around his shoulder, the last of his injuries having to heal on their own as he used whatever magic reserves he had to fight off daily attacks instead of tending to himself. “How are you here?”

“How are you here? They told us you were dead!” Vincent froze. Oh no.

“Noemi, who else is here with you? Did you come with the people going to the Conclave?”

She wiped at her face, her tears making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. “No. I ran when the Circle fell.”

His eyes widened. “What?” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders in his hands and focused on her. “Tell me everything. Where’s Roz? Is she here?” Maker, please, he begged, his pulse roaring in his ears. I’ve never been a devout man, but please, let her be safe.

“We were heading to dinner after lessons when she took me and a few of the little ones aside and told us to head to the greenhouses for a special project. She said that she would be there as soon as she could, but there was something that she had to do first. Then all at once, there was a lot of yelling and fire and…” she swallowed. “The last I saw of her was when she was running to the greenhouses. She told me to take the little ones and run.”

He couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, the last you saw of her?”

“Ser Barnabas grabbed her by the hair and hit her with a smite.” Noemi’s lips trembled. “She screamed for me to run, so I ran. I ran and I ran and I haven’t stopped running.”

No. No, he refused to believe she was dead. “Did you see her fall?”

“No, but…” She scrubbed at her face. “We were all scared of Ser Barnabas, you know that. You know how much he liked to threaten hitting us. I didn’t see it, but Vincent, I think she’s dead.”

Vincent shook his head and sat back against the cavern wall. There was something building in his chest, a wail that wanted to break free and rip past his throat. “You have no proof though,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as to not scare her. “You thought I was dead, but here I am. Roz is strong, and she’s clever. She had to have made it out of there alive. We have to hold onto the hope that she made it and she’s somewhere out in the world, just like we are.”

He took one look at Noemi and knew that she didn’t believe him, yet she nodded. “Okay.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow morning. There’s a town, Redcliffe. Have you heard of it?”

Noemi shrank back from him. “No, you can’t make me go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was there. I took as many of the little ones as I could find after we scattered and we got on a boat. The older instructors said that Redcliffe was safe, but something in that town feels wrong. I made sure that the little ones were looked after, but then I snuck out in the middle of the night to find somewhere safer. I thought that I could go back, take the children with me to wherever I found, but…” she spread her hands as if to silently express the chaos around them. “They’re safer where they’re at for now, but I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me go back.”

Vincent winced as she huddled at his side, her entire body shaking. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go there, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her, his mind whirring, desperately trying to focus on Noemi instead of the great yawning grief that threatened to swallow him whole. “Have you heard of the Crossroads? I don’t think it’s very far from here, we can make our way to that in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “And look for Roz?”

Vincent squeezed his eyes tightly. There was no way that she was dead; she was such a fixture in his life, a lifeline even in the most peaceful of times. He loved her so completely that he was certain that he would have felt something, some sort of connection that tied his heart to hers sever, should she be truly gone.

He ran his hand soothingly over his former pupil’s back while trying to speak over the lump of unshed tears that had built in his throat. “Yes. And just you wait. We’ll find her.”

Maker, how he almost believed that.

[ryansaiditposts]

The Lore of Folklore:

The Real Story Behind the Characters of Taylor Swift’s Folklore

 

 

We are all familiar with Taylor Swift’s record breaking, surprise quarantine love child, Folklore. Even more so in the Swiftie fanbase, we are familiar with the proverbial “love triangle” established in “Cardigan”, “August”, and “Betty”. What if I told you that I believe the entire album is centered around just these characters at different stages in life with Taylor’s story woven in? Also, what if I said that Taylor/Rebecca were an allegory? Not to mention the complexity of “Hoax” being a combination of all the characters in one? Of course, you would probably ask me for clarification, and that is the intention of the next few paragraphs. These characters reveal certain patterns of behavior, call and responses, and self-referential phrases that map out a much bigger story to tell. The trio of songs mentioned above were just the starting point.

 

To give you an overview of where we will be going, I want to give you the songs as they relate to each character. These will then be fleshed out to connect them in the way I hear and see Folklore play out. The songs and respective characters are as follows:

 

Betty- Cardigan, Mirrorball, and Exile (featuring James)

James- Betty, This Is Me Trying, and Exile (featuring Betty)

Augustine- August, The 1, and Illicit Affairs

Taylor- Seven, Invisible String, Mad Woman, Epiphany

Taylor/Rebecca- The Last Great American Dynasty, My Tears Ricochet, Peace

All Characters- Hoax

 

The genius of this album is that the struggles and identifiers of these characters can sometimes be interchangeable. That is what creates the magic, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. There is more than one perspective to these stories, but this is all what I heard from Inez.

 

The 1 (Augustine)-

I have been sitting with this song for a while. I began to wonder why, for lyrics that for all intents and purposes were sad, did I not get sad listening to this song. Sure, it’s about loss and what could have been, but it’s mere conjecture. Almost like a love that never really existed outside of the storyteller’s imagination. A film that was never made, if you will. Then it hit me, “you weren’t mine to lose”. Augustine simply imagined what it would have been like if the man she did not end up with could have been the one. Betty and James DID have a relationship and the theme of this “film” is repeated in the stories told throughout this album. She would have not gotten the chance to have the movie kind of romance if he had not chosen to be with her. Rose flowing with his chosen family.

 If one thing had been different, could everything be different today? Had he not already been in love with another woman, could we have been the greatest love story ever told? Something also struck me as odd. She called out him meeting some woman on the internet and taking her home. Knowing he has a tendency to stray, there could be a superficial level of jealousy. Imagining that he’s cheating on Betty, but disappointed that it isn’t with her. Not because she’s necessarily a bad person, but I think that as we will see later on in this breakdown, Augustine struggles with conventional relationship types and ties herself to sinking ships for the tragedy of it all.

 

Cardigan (Betty)-

So, not to rehash lore we are already incredibly familiar with, but this song is clearly Betty knowing that James is going to run back to her after straying the path. Cool, amazing, fierce. However, there is language here that suggests this is not the same instance as him showing up to the party. I believe that James has a very toxic pattern resulting from his wondering eye and Betty just has a bad case of loving him. At least, for a while. Betty likes the fact that she is able to show James who he really is when all is said and done, and being someone who has struggled with confidence, she doesn’t want to let this love go too soon. Even if she should. More on that in a bit.

 

Betty says, “Chase two girls, lose The 1”. We all assumed that she was referring to herself, but knowing that she was almost waiting for his return, it’s very possible that she intended to forgive him even before he asked. She had scars from years of not being enough and she may have even been bullied as indicated by this and him seeing in her what others could not when he was present in the relationship. That feeling of “what if” made sure she would not completely walk away. When you are young they assume you know nothing. Well, knowing something does not mean you know everything and I think she stayed long enough to find that out the hard way. Peter does lose Wendy because he cannot grow up.

 

The Last Great American Dynasty (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Taylor owns the previous home of Rebecca Harkness in Rhode Island. This beachside mansion has all the salt air and cliffsides to scream off of that anyone would want. Rebecca has a big reputation as a maneater who just isn’t ladylike and mild mannered enough. Sound familiar? Taylor Swift has been demonized, ridiculed, and made infamous based solely off of complete speculation. Rebecca faced the same fate as a middle-class divorcee who was cast as a gold digger after the Standard Oil estate. Truth is, both of these women were just in search of love that could last. Under circumstances far beyond their control these things ended so loudly that there was no right to privacy while they grieved or attempted to make sense of it all. Worse? They were blamed in a blameless situation.

 

Taylor makes her identity known to mirror Rebecca’s at the end of the story. So, what’s the connection to the album as a whole? Bill grew up in the area that the rest of them would eventually be in later on. Cliffside and salt air, the characters revisit these scenes and similar ones several times throughout the story. They lived at a different time here, years later. In fact, in terms of the house itself, it sat quietly for 50 years until Taylor would acquire it. She then marks her entrance to the rest of these stories as she then will later touch on points of her life leading up to Holiday House.

 

Exile (Betty and James)-

 

Communication is key. However, Betty and James eventually resented the back-and-forth nature of their relationship. He believed that she would always forgive him as she had always set that precedent each time before in their relationship. Although they always knew they walked a very thin line, they always felt like the other person would become better to them if they loved hard enough. Each had their demons, though. Between James cheating nature and drinking problem, he could become withdrawn and combative. Betty loved James so much that she gave him second, third and hundredth chances and even excused his more aggressive behaviors in a Streetcar Named Desire type loyalty. Until the branch broke that they were balancing on.

 

For someone like James, being left as a result of bad behavior can often be skewed as a betrayal in and of itself. Her leaving could have only been a result of her not telling him how to be a better partner. On the flip side, Betty was not clear in her signals of being fed up with his actions, but allowing him back time and again. The blame game ensues and each call out each other’s faults too little, too late. They have, in fact, seen this “film” before. They kept the hope that the cinematic love they were both obsessed with would eventually play out if they wanted it enough, but did not put in the work or self-reflect enough to make it so.

 

My Tears Ricochet (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Of course, it’s about a certain sellout record executive of her previous label who did not even have the decency to let her own her masters. I will not be bringing his name into it because he does not deserve to even be thought about. However, I think Taylor does an expert job of exploring the anger stage of grief and death that Rebecca and Bill would have had to face in his untimely death as well. The allegory dips in and out of this song to further establish the mirror effect of these two women and their fears/perception. Taylor calls out her own inability to leave with grace. Rebecca was left to burn at the stake after Bill died with no one to defend her either. While it is not his choice to have died, grieving does bring about emotions of abandonment when still panning out. Much like Taylor felt when the label she trusted acted like they had never met and that she had not given them her all to gift them any kind of notoriety.

 

Gathering stones is beachside activity, but when, so is collecting jewelry. This in a metaphorical sense could allude to also gathering dirt and receipts when it all falls down. This line has quite an impact in the context of a business transaction and the marriage of a rich couple. Toward the end, each woman speaks as though they have gone to the cliffside and screamed into the open air. Rebecca challenges the masses to go for her heart in same way the public felt she had gone for Bill’s, but knows that she would be missed all the same. Each woman is directly calling out their naysayers and bullies telling them they know they’re drunk on pain and negating the good they had done before tragedy. These fake people have both built them up and torn them down in times it benefitted them the most.

 

Mirrorball (Betty)-

 

As I previously mentioned, Betty struggles with self-confidence (relatable content). This song takes a deeper dive into Betty’s desire to be noticed by James in the way she needs him to and to show him that she knows him better than anyone else does. When he does not pay attention, she breaks into a million pieces. Although her friends consistently tell her that the end is imminent, she has committed herself to changing the narrative. She’s walking the tightrope, another call out to the thin line they feel they have always walked in regards to one another.

The insecurity is palpable in the self-deprecating “I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try”.  Remembering from their teenage years, Augustine, a natural beauty, is able to draw men in with a sense of sensuality and a carefree demeanor. She doesn’t have to get too invested in relationships because she only chooses men that are in high risk, low reward circumstances. On the outside, it seems like she has all the confidence in the world and that is intimidating to someone like Betty who does not exude the same assuredness and has been burned by trusting unnecessarily before. In spite of this, Betty is still a believer in true love even if James has given her no indication there is reason to believe.

 

Seven (Taylor)-

 

Little Tay on her Pennsylvania farm just discovering her own voice and the meaning of friendship. Making her own tales of time gone by and recounting the origin story of a girl who makes “too much” noise any time she wants. Also, quite possibly the REAL queer-canon of the album. Taylor was close to someone who she has not seen for a while, a girl. She remembers the feeling more than anything and a certain protectiveness that she felt for this person who was having to hide in the closet. Labels did not matter and love was love in this scenario. She wants them to know their story and the care she felt for them is not forgotten and still a source of inspiration for her life in present day. Think “hope ur ok” by Olivia Rodrigo.

 

This song explores Taylor’s fierce feminism and activism into adulthood. The unwavering support she gives to the underdogs and why Rebecca’s story resonates with her so much. She was the wild child the world tried to tame with constant expectation. The subject of Seven that she befriended reminded her that there are beautiful things out there and grounded her in a way to keep looking for meaningful connections and to respect the stories of each person she meets to gain perspective.

 

August (Augustine)-

 

Somewhere on the beaches just outside this small Rhode Island town, Augustine was manifesting a relationship that she knew had a slim to none chance with James. Despite her hopes and efforts, August came and went. James dreamed of Betty with Augustine in his arms, but wanted is cake and to eat it too as a seventeen-year-old boy. The thrill of it all enticed him to give his summer to Augustine instead. Particularly because she was willing to pursue him in the way she did. However, much like the surface level pining found in The 1, she just wished she could write her name on his back in a performative ownership move as if to say finders keepers.

This superficial relationship was hallmarked in sex and lust by being spent tipsy and wrapped and in bedsheets. It wasn’t shameful or tawdry to two kids, but would show it’s truth one single time before becoming a feeling both would continue to chase. The shaky and electrifying experience of sharing firsts and secrets though “Never Have I Ever” and the charged nature of “Are you sure?” feeling like a pact. Until guilt set in for James, there was only excitement and both were forever changed. One by the hope of it all, and the other by the excitement.

 

This Is Me Trying (James)-

 

Years after the first thrill and eventual heartbreak, James has never found direction. He fell behind the classmates that moved on with their lives and ended up here. Still in their same hometown, he is a shell of a man grappling with depression and alcoholism. He’s in Betty’s doorway once again in her front porch light begging for forgiveness. He even matched Betty’s previous speech pattern in “Mirrorball” by saying “I just wanted you to know…” as if to respond to her finally because he sees her after it’s all been said and done. He pulled the rusted, vintage car that once made him so cool off the road to the same cliffside that they once made out in front of. This represents the edge that they all seem to stand at one point or another to contemplate their mistakes. He calls out his own substance abuse and aggression (which we talked about in Exile as well).

 

He wants to continue his same party lifestyle, but feels like an open wound because his bad behavior has finally caught up to him. All he thinks about are his own shortcomings, especially now that he is left alone with them. Betty once again gets compared to a film in a reel on the one screen they have in this small town. Now, only a memory instead of a reality. The defensiveness from being what he perceived as betrayal has subsided and he is left to face the cages he mentally put himself into and the fear that he was not as good of a man as he tried to project to others around him. Betty being the product of his transgressions since she is left broken and resentful toward him now.

 

Illicit Affairs (Augustine)-

 

Augustine finally pulls back the layers on why she continues to try to recapture the feeling that James gave her at a mere sixteen years old. Someone displaying all the confidence in the world may have had less than Betty in actuality. It was all a misconception. Instead, Augustine feels that her looks and sex are what she has to offer and by giving herself away, she hopes to capture lightning in a bottle one of these times. She recreates the same structure of what she had with James only to meet the same disappointment.

 

The beautiful setting of the beach house gives way to the parking lot behind the mall in a way. In some twisted way, James brokenness recognized Augustine’s and she had never been seen in real way before that and then not again after. James thought Betty’s level headedness would fix him and did not want to have to face himself via Augustine since they understood each other in the worst way. Like I said, that first taste left her living for the hope of it all and it was simply a dwindling mercurial high. A drug, though, that could work a hundred times over.

 

Invisible String (Taylor)-

 

Taylor’s stories are often on this album the only ones with direct references to actual places. This one references Centennial Park and Los Angeles. This is the story of Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn (William Bowery to some). This in and of itself is a modern day, currently in the making folktale. The idea of an invisible force bringing the two together to tell a great love story just like Taylor had always imagined. Here she self-references her own part in contributing to the media circus surrounding breakups and dating and owning her growth in those situations.

 

Allowing herself to live in the moment, she talks about the colors and touches of humanity this relationship has brought her. A deeper appreciation of the present and making memories that will one day make beautiful stories to tell for both themselves and for others that once tried to taint her narratives on hearsay. This is her story in her words and an expression of gratitude. Hell was the journey, but it brought her heaven.

 

Mad Woman (Taylor)-

 

This one is about the other one and his soon to be ex-wife. The one the masters were sold to. Shares a name with a two wheeled ankle destroyer and will also not be mentioned by me.  This is a slight reference to her Rebecca allegory in the sense that character assassination played a big part in that story, but not enough to say it’s a direct correlation. Although, it is interesting to note that they are hunting all of the witches even if you aren’t one.

 

Taylor gets raw about the cheating nature of the man in question whether it is in business or in relationships and how he should be called out for it. There’s a hardship in feminism, though. She watches as a woman who knows she is in the wrong defend the thief instead of the robbed. It explores the right to be mad when lied to or stolen from, particularly when you’re willing to go on record with false statements if they serve a certain narrative. Undeniably, this moment will go down in infamy for generations to come. In a word, folklore.

 

Epiphany (Taylor)-

 

Paying homage to her grandfather, Taylor sets a scene as a war rages on. Keeping your helmet to keep your life is a good direct correlation to mask mandates that swept the country as COVID-19 developed. The horrors of watching someone die for things that may have arguably been avoided sets the anguish apart in this song to any other she has done. This is the world in a life and death lens and nothing else. Trying to make sense of what she and the rest of us are seeing when it did not have to be this way.

 

The most hard hitting look at medical staff and the precarious position they stood in for both instances is found in the bridge. They watch to make sure someone is breathing. They stand in the face of danger and are contained to one place while a threat is posed but serve unselfishly and risk falling like the people around them in the hopes of reaching a breaking point or a point of clarity in the chaos. On a metaphorical level, this song establishes a very important piece of perspective for us to hold onto long after this virus is contained lest we forget.

 

Betty (James)-

 

The first injustice and a look into the dramatics of young love. We now at least get to know why James loves Betty so much and humanize him a little more for the things he’s been dealing with internally since a young age. He comes off a lot more charming here even if unsure. Possibly a reason why he leans on liquid courage later on, James is actually a bit shy in group interactions. This also causes him to avoid confrontation if it can be helped or talking about his feelings. He also has a tendency to fear loneliness as a result so he’s easily convinced to go along for the ride even if it isn’t the right decision.

 

However, here, he nervously plans for weeks to gather up the courage to ask for a second chance. From what we can gather, he was likely forgiven in this instance which made him more comfortable than before to do so again and again. The cycle started here with this grand gesture, but post-cheating, the damage was likely already done since he had gotten a taste of the thrill. Betty would serve as a constant, but she would not stand alone.

 

Peace (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Taylor knows she will likely always be speculated on, but she loves intensely even if no one else believes. Here, you can see her sympathy and understanding of someone like Rebecca who no one ever even considered that she may actually love her late husband. All she can ever hope for is that the person she dedicates herself to can recognize how invested she really is and can handle the storm that comes with that. She talks with her own pack of friends being wild and rowdy much like Rebecca, but hopes he never sees that as a sign of disrespect. It’s just who she is.

 

Everyone DID think the love was for show, but they knew nothing of what happened behind closed doors. Does a woman pace rocks staring out at the midnight sea who isn’t missing someone? I don’t think so. Painting dreamscapes on the wall referring to the home they share together. The very same place that tied Rebecca and Taylor’s stories together in the first place. I think Taylor learned to embrace the madness before the rest of Rebecca’s story became hers and stopped apologizing for being so loud but remembered to continue to let love in.

 

Hoax (Everyone)-

 

Every time I listen to this song, I hear a different character speaking to me. Then I realized each one was just taking turns. This one is a bit different so I’m going to break it down by character:

 

Betty- He had drawn stars around her scars, but the way he made her feel was just as bad as the pain they caused. She believed him each time he said never again. She let him back in time and again to be hurt in the same way, but nobody else would have done for her if he could just be the things he promised to be. She was bound to him even though he never came through.

 

James- He knows exactly what he’s done and that he cannot fix it now. He knows that she possesses a love for him that will never die, but that is unrealistic after a certain point. He resigns himself to having to miss her forever. The hero has effectively died, so the movie has lost a purpose in plot. He tried, but did not succeed.

 

Augustine- She had a plan for them. No matter the means in which to get it, she wanted him to love her the way he did Betty. She used slight of hand and a little convincing to lead him to her. It left her aching for more when she knew that would never come back. August slipped away and there was no winning. Winter came and the ground was frozen.

 

Rebecca- She stood out there screaming for a reason why she had to be left alone in the life that was supposed to be theirs. I don’t think she ever quite got past that feeling of abandonment and just needed anything to believe in. This beautiful mansion had become a kingdom come undone. Bill’s heart had given out like a broken drum.

 

Taylor- When you sign a record deal at such a young age and a man who has always taken care of you in that time suddenly becomes your biggest enemy, it can certainly feel like a total heartbreak. The hoax was making her believe that even if all was said and done he would at least have her back. He most certainly did not. She screams at the sun (now eclipsed) on the cliffside while he listens to her stolen lullabies. The part of herself that remains in New York being her life’s work.

 

Please let me know if you have anything to add! Any new perspectives I may have missed? I would love to further this conversation and find new ways to explore the Folklorian Wilderness!

 

-Ryan Freeman

[strvngcrs]

『 adam brody. forty. cis male. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that DANIEL ABRAMS from FAIR LANE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -BROODING & -EVASIVE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool HORROR AUTHOR and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +DEBONAIR & +ELOQUENT. i hope i see them around again! 

classically rolls in ridiculously late bc i forgot i had to work last night & then proceeded to sleep in today wooo !!  good afternoon ghouls, it’s ya girl maia, finally here to deliver the definition of hot mess with good intentions.

GENERAL

FULL NAME.    daniel elijah abrams.

NICKNAMES.    dan, danny.

AGE & BIRTHDATE.    40 years old ; may 4, 1980.

GENDER & PRONOUNS.    cis male ; he/him.

ORIENTATION.    heterosexual.

MARITAL STATUS.    estranged.

RELIGION.    jewish ( non-practicing ).

OCCUPATION.    horror author.

INSPIRATION.     bill denbrough ( it ), donnie darko ( donnie darko ), lucas scott ( one tree hill ), stephen king.

PHYSICAL

HAIR COLOUR.    black.

EYE COLOUR.    dark brown.

BUILD.    athletic.

MARKS.     freckles scarcely spread across his entire body.

TATTOOS.    none.

PIERCINGS.    none.

HEIGHT.    5'11".

FACECLAIM.    adam brody.

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC.    taurus.

ALIGNMENT.    chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS.    ravenclaw.

LABEL.    the arcane.

POSITIVE TRAITS.    cheeky, debonair, driven, eloquent, resilient, solicitous.

NEGATIVE TRAITS.    brooding, evasive, inquisitive, sarcastic, stoic, stubborn.

HOBBIES.    smokes like a chimney while writing until he forgets what day of the week it is, dabbles in hunting & fishing (thanks @ his dad), labels all crime / thriller genres as ‘predictable’ but continues to watch them, obsesses over & relentlessly criticizes his own work, drinks heavily & passionately plays moonlight sonata or fur elise as if he’s betoven’s disciple.

BACKGROUND

PLACE OF BIRTH.    california.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.    mapleview, north carolina.

NATIONALITY.    american.

ETHNICITY.    ashkenazi jewish.

PARENTS.   judith miller & mr abrams.

SIBLINGS.    mia miller.

BIRTH ORDER.    eldest.

CHILDREN.    penelope abrams.

EDUCATION.     university of california, los angeles; bachelor of arts in english.

LANGUAGES.    english, some spanish & french.

HISTORY

EARLY LIFE.    born to THE judith miller and some newspaper editor, daniel was raised by the latter and notoriously abandoned by the former. well, not completely abandoned - there’s an old shoebox containing a few letters as proof - but that was the only source of communication in their otherwise absent relationship. while little danny boy didn’t fully understand why he couldn’t see his mother, he sought out an alternative solution by watching her movies. his father wasn’t aware, at first, and dan created this extravagant fantasy of the person he thought she was based on the roles she played. however, once papa abrams found out his son was watching these movies (which were probably not fit for children in the first place lmao oop), he begrudgingly revealed the bitter truth. being forced to come to terms with the fact that his own mother willingly abandoned him with his father, daniel didn’t fully understand what it meant; he couldn’t properly process why. the hurt of absent mother was expressed more out of anger, feeling as though there must have been something wrong with him. there were fewer and fewer letters sent to judith until he gave up altogether and thus, dan’s out of control behavior was born.

TEENAGE FEVER.    SUICIDE MENTION TW.  he struggled in school. his emotions betrayed him. instead of relishing a happy childhood, daniel found himself pushing everyone away, getting into fights, sneaking out late at night to run around the city streets with his friends and get into all sorts of trouble with them. he couldn’t count on his hands how many times the police picked him up and brought him to his dad’s doorstep. it only got worse once one of his best friends was found dead, written off as a suicide, though it didn’t add up in dan’s eyes and seemed so much more sinister. the young man was nearly deemed to be a lost cause, until he discovered his passion for writing. 

                                  language arts or literature was the last thing anyone would ever think to group with daniel abrams. but his english teacher noticed how well he could articulate his thoughts and feelings on paper, and submitted one of his pieces to a writing contest, which earned dan the win and a cash prize. bewildered by a talent he hadn’t even realized was in him, daniel embraced it. he started writing in a journal ( which he kept safely tucked away beneath the mattress of his bed ), documenting every feeling and thought as a way to express his emotions in a more productive manner. this talent earned him a full ride scholarship to ucla with a major in literature and plans of diving into some sort or creative writing career or perhaps becoming an english teacher, to follow in the footsteps of his high school teacher who he came to idolize.

                                  mere days into his freshman year, however, his high school sweetheart showed up in the middle of the night at his dorm with a positive pregnancy test. it was then the chaotic world as he knew it turned a new leaf, revealing a silver lining in the form of their daughter, penelope, who daniel hadn’t a clue, just yet, would save him. and so a shotgun wedding was quickly planned around the pair, both families either completely supportive or in utter disbelief. it was quick, it was cheap(ish), and it was stressful as all heck. but they were young, and in love, and were looking forward to starting a family together, despite it being a little earlier than initially planned.

“ADULT”HOOD.    fast forward five years, and they’re signing divorce papers. fortunately, it wasn’t messy. the two had simply grown apart as they matured in their respective ways, and remaining together was only causing a rift to develop between the two. the last thing they wanted, for the sake of their daughter, was built up resentment to tear the little family apart. his wife, who daniel initially thought to be the love of his life, blossomed into an absolute goddess; she was ambitious and knew exactly what she wanted. daniel, on the other hand, was still somewhat caught up in his ‘bad boy’ habits of drinking excessively and his career was still pretty up in the air. the two just didn’t compliment each others’ lifestyles anymore.

                                   daniel moved out but remained in california, settling for a bachelor’s apartment where he was able to have penelope every weekend. during this time, he finally cracked down and worked on finishing a novel he’d started years prior. within a year, he found a publisher who took interest in his grotesque works, and by the time daniel was twenty seven, his first bestseller hit the shelves, changing his life for the better with the ability to provide for his daughter without stress of landing another odd job ever again.

                                   as his fame increased, so did his desire to slink back into the shadows away from the limelight. at first, he enjoyed the wholesome book signings by day and grungy celebratory benders by night. but it grew old pretty fast and he certainly didn’t want to end up as another washed up shmuck. so, on a whim, daniel decided to move out of california completely, removing himself from the toxic lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to and shacking up on a beautiful piece of land in the rocky mountains of north carolina. the serenity and scenery certainly aided in his inspiration, as well as his unacknowledged lowkey addictions slowly being rehabilitated from his bloodstream.

OLD YELLER.    now, in his utmost prime at forty years old, he’s written numerous cult classics, a few of which have successful movie adaptations. he was lucky enough to land himself in a second marriage, though.... that one is now deteriorating as well because he literally doesn’t know how to maintain a healthy relationship. he received full custody of his daughter when she was sixteen, under the unfortunate circumstance of her mother’s untimely death. although they’d been separated for nearly twenty years, daniel was still very much affected by the loss, more so empathetically for penelope. he’s still hooked on the drink, though he’s definitely calmed down quite a bit from when he was a young buck. basically a messy, depressy old soul who uses sarcasm to deflect his true feelings.

CONNECTIONS

ESTRANGED WIFE.    first marriage was a bust, and the second is turning out to be no better. they haven’t hit rock bottom just yet, in his opinion (which would be finalizing a divorce lmao), and he’s unsure if they should work things out or not but also really.......doesn’t wanna go through the process of another divorce. plus he likes her and deep down adores their bickering. the reason(s) why things started falling apart between them can be discussed of course. lowkey debating on whippin this up as a big official wc but.... if anybody already here would like to snag it, i would 100% mclove it.

COLLABORATORS.    literally anyone he’s worked with over the years, whether they be fellow authors, publishers/publicists, journalists, screenplay writers, etc. yeehooo the possibilities are endless !!

FOLLOWERS.    anyone hooked on his books, whether devout fans from his early beginnings or people who newly discovered his fictional writings.

FORMER CLASSMATES.    could be from high school or university, but he was in california for the better part of his life aka not a mapleview native. former friends to foes & anything in between. dan’s that one kid who spiked the punch bowl at all the dances and years later probably snuck in party favors to snort off the bathroom sink during their high school reunion lmao whew !!

ANYTHING.    literally anything. i’m my groggy state of mind on my lack of creativity rn so please, i’m beggin. if daniel can enrich your characters’ lives in any way, shape, or form, hit me up and we’ll hatch a plan.

[master-of-the-opera-house]

(Franz Ferdinand as a teenager, presumably late 1870s. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek on their wedding day, 1900. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek, undated. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie Chotek, early 1910s.)

As anyone who bothers knows, ever since my trip to Sarajevo, I rediscovered the Archduke whose assassination caused WWI and shaped the modern world as we know it. But I want to take a day in this month (April is Autism Acceptance Month, after all) to say something that I've noticed in my attempts to uncover Franz Ferdinand's story.

First off, I'd like to say that we probably can’t accurately, flat-out diagnose historical figures. Simply because what we have left of them often doesn't tell the whole story, and also because we wouldn't know, first-hand, what they were experiencing. And also because we're not professionals; this isn’t exactly the same as self-diagnosis. But I also acknowledge that science and medicine has come a long way, and many things that historical figures were going through could possibly fit the criteria for certain disabilities and/or illnesses as we know them today. It's something people have discussed about multiple historical figures, but so far, I've yet to see anyone entertain the notion of Franz Ferdinand POSSIBLY being neurodivergent. Maybe it's because we tend to attach neurodiversity or disability to masters as a way to explain their genius (another suitcase to unpack another day). But the thing about neurodiversity - and autism, specifically, in this case - is that anyone can be neurodivergent/autistic. Even royal victims of assassinations whose deaths mean more to history than their lives.

((That being said, most of this post is going to be based on my own experiences as an autistic person, because I can’t speak for the experiences of other autistic people that may apply. If anyone else has anything to add please feel free to drop me an ask or a message, I’d love to discuss this!))

One of the things I've noticed in almost all of Franz Ferdinand's photographs ((images/slide before cut)) is that he's always got his hands clasped together like that. I guess it can be brushed off as something someone who is unsure of what to do with their hands in photographs might do, but I haven't really seen anyone do it quite as much as him. I do speculate he might've been stimming - a common experience in autistic people. Stimming is a repetitive action that brings comfort or relief to the individual. I think it’s notable how he always reverted back to this pose or action as seen from how these photographs were clearly taken at different points in his life, perhaps indicating that he might have found something comforting about it. Interlacing or rubbing one's fingers/hands together is quite a common form of stimming, and can be quite subtle - which would make sense for someone who probably couldn't resort to a more overt action for it being seen as improper or unseemly as someone who came from both royal circles, and a more repressive time.

These excerpts recount a few details from his childhood, particularly, picking up strong interests, being fond of the rituals and routine of religion, and struggling in school. These strong interests - special interests, to those on the spectrum - will be further explored later. Autistic people tend to find solace in routine, and I think it is of no secret that autistic children may have trouble in school, especially if the environment isn't suited to their needs (education for upper-class children in the past was especially tedious), or if the content covered isn't in line with their special interests. In Franz Ferdinand's case, these interests would comprise of hunting, architecture and history, at which he would excel in contrast to nearly everything else taught to him, and which he would pursue as an adult. I think it's also worth noting, as per the last piece of text in the second slide, that this inaptitude for just sitting down and studying was something that followed him well into adulthood. This was in spite of contemporaries observing that he was otherwise intelligent and able to approach problems from different perspectives: yet another common autistic trait.

This following set of excerpts I find especially fascinating, because I think they're almost transparent about how his interests go beyond 'neurotypical hobbies’, simply because of how “obsessive” he appeared about them, centering his life around them ((organising a world tour with one of its main purposes being to hunt, for instance, or planning family trips around his hunting)) and investing a lot of resources into them as the books discuss. He's also said to be fond of collecting things extensively here, assorted things that pique his interest (yet another interest that manifested itself from his childhood), which is also pretty common amongst autistic people who may grow very attached to certain items.

This next set of excerpts stings of the struggles of being neurodivergent, and hit the closest to home for me. The first three pieces of text consist of people's perceptions of him: 'mad', 'insane', and 'strange' seem to be the most frequent accusations (so frequent, in fact, that there’s a significant portion on it on his wikipedia page which I have not seen with other historical figures), which is..... Telling, especially from a time in which mental health isn't really understood. They're what people conclude about someone who doesn't quite behave in the way they're used to, even if there's often a good reason why said people behave in such different ways. The way neurodivergent people often behave, for a lack of understanding of social cues, sensory sensitivity, to name a few possible reasons. One of the most common accusations of his personality, of course, were of his explosive temper and generally temperamental disposition. Whilst I do think those were definitely his personal shortcomings, I also do think some of his infamous outbursts may have really been meltdowns, explaining their unpredictability, especially to people who didn’t know what his triggers were ((and, regrettably, we don’t have many clues in that area either because such things were simply not watched out for and thus not recorded)). He was visibly very uncomfortable in social settings, too, as seen from these quotes, and certainly didn't pick up on how to win favour in them, which I think a lot of autistic people ((stereotypically, but not always inaccurately)) have difficulty with. You can see more of this in the 6th and 7th excerpts, where his beloved wife Sophie figured out a set of social cues that worked for him and guided him in such interactions throughout their relationship. He very much returned the affection, so much so that he was rather possessive or obsessive about her, blowing up at any offenses directed at her, defending her where her position would not allow it and ultimately further sacrificing his reputation for his love. Needless to say, such behaviour (again!) wasn’t understood by those around him, though he loved her boundlessly and probably didn’t care, and vice versa. Sometimes, it led to other inappropriate or unwelcomed acts on his part as observed in the 9th piece of text, but ‘Franzi’ and ‘Soph’ made it work anyways, which is more than what can be said about many of their contemporaries.

Another thing I’m pointing out on this post is his rather black-and-white view of the world, as demonstrated in the rather unpleasant ((but admittedly quite funny in its tactlessness)) quote in the last excerpt. Oftentimes, autistic people can find it hard to grasp nuances, categorising things into 'good' or 'bad'. I think that's certainly how he saw the world and the people around him, leading to rather strong opinions in both the private and political sphere that, needless to say, wasn't a very popular trait of his, being very generous towards people he favoured and outrightly hostile to people he didn’t. One thing these slides don't address are records of sensory sensitivity, many of which can be found in his ((rather extensive)) travel diaries whenever he'd pay special attention to how a certain place smelt weird or was really noisy. All that being said, I don't think it was a surprise Franz Ferdinand wasn't a very well-liked person at all, shunned in life and unmourned in death, simply because people didn't have the resources to understand where his differences and shortcomings were stemming from. I just wish he had it better than to go to his grave with such a tainted reputation. But I guess this is also the best I can give him now, to try to understand his story through different lenses, something he was known to do in his own life. After all, difference is something we're both accustomed to. And I'm glad he managed to find fulfilment, especially from the family he built, even in spite of all the struggles thrown at him, in spite of his untimely end, because hey, that's the least he deserved. 🌈♾️

(All text images are taken from the books The Assassination of the Archduke by Greg King and Sue Woolmans, and The Archduke and the Assassin by Lavender Cassels.)

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 5

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says, and Madara has had nightmares about this man saying that, this man who has, despite all odds, become something very much like a friend over the last year.

Madara dreams of it, sometimes: imagines Tobirama dull-eyed, as he’s gotten more and more in the year since Hashirama’s disappearance, imagines him standing there patiently, having waited to informed Madara of his ensuing death because the bastard is polite enough that he wouldn’t want to leave a co-worker hanging like that but already holding his sword aimed the wrong way round.

It’s the same place every time: he’s always standing and waiting for Madara at the edge of the forest, and that’s the place where it ends, where the sword goes in and cuts off the younger man’s life before its time.

The dream never changes in that respect – it’s never at Tobirama’s home, or in the office of the Hokage, because he’d never leave a mess for someone else to clean up like that. He’d have already cleaned up his precious labs and locked away the more dangerous inventions that he couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy; already have tidied up his desk and finished the paperwork for the next two weeks in advance; already ensured that no one from Konoha would be lingering around to see – considerate, that’s what Tobirama was, always thinking about the big picture, thinking about how one thing might affect others, but never really caring about the emotional impact any of it would have.

It’s always at the edge of the forest.

Always at the same place, too, a place Madara knows by now too well: just beyond the western gatehouse, where Konoha spills over from clearing into woods – trees a bit too thick for the age they seem to be, the light dappled from shining in through their branches and leaves, the ground well-covered in grass and weeds and bushes.

The last place Tobirama saw that which that he loved the most, walking away from him.

That’s where he’ll do it. Madara’s sure of it.

That’s why Madara is here, now, making the proposal that he is. He has to do something, his very nature rebelling at the thought of simply accepting Tobirama’s untimely death as a foregone conclusion, and this plan is the only thing he can think of to make those dreams go away.

(He can’t let it happen like that. Not – not after watching Izuna die, after losing the only brother he had left; not after knowing that Tobirama is all that’s left of Hashirama, that he’d be losing what little is left of him, too. Not after working with Tobirama this past year, in the time before that; not since he snapped out of that horrible madness brought about by Izuna’s loss and realized that Tobirama is more than just a brother-killer, realized that he’s brilliant and devoted and meticulous, terrible with people and flat in affect even in private, possessed of a wicked sense of humor that he tends to hide more often than not – no.

No. Madara can’t let him just die like that. He can’t.)

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says again, and his eyes are far too wide with surprise to be dull right now. “You’re proposing that we what?!”

“Have sex,” Madara says, not entirely understanding what the problem is. “For the sake of the village, of course.”

“Of course,” Tobirama says, his voice a little strangled. “Of course…would you like to explain your logic? I think I might be missing a few crucial steps.”

Madara is not, by nature, a subtle man, and while there’s probably a better way to say it, he’s not one to mince around a delicate subject. Not when there’s this much at stake.

“This village needs you as Hokage,” he explains. “It needs your expertise, your attention to detail, you management skills, your diplomacy…and just as it needs you most, you’re deteriorating.”

Tobirama’s back straightens in offense. “I have never let Konoha down!”

“No, you haven’t. Not once, not even when you probably should,” Madara says dryly. “I meant a personal deterioration. You barely eat, you sleep poorly, your bathing schedule has gotten erratic –”

Admittedly, it’s only gone down to the level a normal person would consider more than reasonable, but for a neat-freak half-fish like Tobirama, that’s shockingly seldom.

Tobirama holds up his hands, still looking bewildered. It’s a rather amusing expression on his normally impassive face. “I admit all that. But – why – no, how, exactly, would having sex solve the – ah – underlying issue? Which I know you’re aware of?”

Neither of them mention Hashirama’s death during daylight hours. It’s better for both of them that way.

Madara shrugs. “Touka said the only thing that would help you with your particular issue is another brother for you to treasure. Now, I can’t get you that short of time travel or resurrecting your parents –”

“Please don’t ever make that suggestion again. I don’t mind resurrecting the dead, but I don’t have any desire to see either of my parents again, much less for the purpose of breeding them.”

Hmm, fair enough. Madara concedes that that suggestion sounds a lot more creepy once he thinks it through a bit more.

He certainly wouldn’t want to see his parents again, even putting aside the, er, breeding business.

“– so a lover will have to do as the next best thing,” Madara concludes, deciding to ignore Tobirama’s unhelpful interjection. “You need someone to hold onto to tide you through your loss and a lover is the best sort of distraction for that sort of thing. It’s sometimes used as a solution to the curse of hatred, and given that your particular, uh, issue is more akin to the one suffered by Uchiha rather than Senju, I don’t see why there’s isn’t every reason that it would work for you as well.”

Tobirama stares at him. His eyes are wide to the point of being vaguely owlish.

“I’m not suggesting that it’ll fix the issue!” Madara adds quickly, realizing that Tobirama might be offended. One couldn’t replace a beloved brother with a bit of sex, after all, and he’d never suggest as much. If this wasn’t the only thing he’d been able to think of, he wouldn’t have suggested it at all, but – it is. And he’s desperate. “Especially since we’re not, you know, actually lovers. I’m perfectly happy to admit that we barely stand each other at the best of times. But sometimes having the semblance of something can help, even in the absence of the real thing.”

“I…see,” Tobirama says, his face finally abandoning the shocked expression and settling back into normal contemplative lines. “Essentially, you’re suggesting that if we simulate the behavior of lovers, the effects of having a lover might apply regardless of the actual feelings involved and it will…function as a stopgap, essentially?”

“Exactly!”

This is why Madara enjoys working with Tobirama, even though he’s a sharp-tongued bastard with no sense of limits – whatever one can say about the man, one must admit he’s quick on the uptake and very unlikely to reject any idea out of hand, no matter how bizarre.

“Hn. Dare I ask why, exactly, you’re volunteering yourself for this task?”

“Well, I can hardly volunteer anyone else for it without it coming across as extremely unfortunate,” Madara points out, quite reasonably in his view. “Also, having spent the last year of my life cooped up in as very small office trying to establish a village with you, I can now state definitively that you hate humanity. Previous to this, I only suspected as much – but now I’m certain of it.”

Tobirama scowls at him. “I do not hate humanity.”

Madara snorts. “Fine. You hate vast swathes of humanity. In a village currently consisting of, at minimum, representatives of every reputable shinobi family in Fire Country, aka the sort of people you might conceivably get along with, the sum total of people you actually like – as opposed to are willing to tolerate in order to achieve your goals – is a list limited to: your students, three of your close cousins, me, and that weird shark-person ambassador from Kiri, and the last one only because of those truly awful fish puns that for some bizarre reason you find amusing.”

“Hoshigaki’s fish puns are amusing.”

“No one got that joke about the clam except for you.”

“It’s not a clam, it’s a freshwater mussel, and I told you, the scientific name of that subspecies is Anodonta imbicilis –”

“And that’s why he was calling the Inuzuka representative a muscle-bound imbecile, yes, I got it after you explained it. It just wasn’t funny. Jokes that someone has to explain are not funny. Listen, if you’re willing to risk the almost inevitable assassination attempt, I can call him instead –”

“She. Not he.”

Madara stops. “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“Impossible!”

Hoshigaki was built like a bookcase, a walking rectangle with arms like tree trunks. It hadn’t even occurred to Madara that conventional gender definitions might apply.

Do sharks even have genders?

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “As you’re not wrong in that she would feel obligated to at least attempt to kill me on behalf of her village, and, perhaps more importantly, is married with children –”

Hoshigaki? Married? With children?!

Madara’s going to have nightmares about swarms of baby sharks with legs, he just knows it.

“– let’s not call her. Not that I’ve agreed to your ridiculous idea at all.”

Madara crosses his arms and scowls at the intractable bastard.

“It’s not like I’m suggesting we do this for fun,” he says. “We’re not in love, of all ridiculous things, and I highly doubt we’re ever going to be more than people who have managed to be able to work together efficiently. But the village needs you, and you clearly need someone. Might as well be me.”

Tobirama scowls.

Madara really didn’t want to have to play dirty, but clearly it’s necessary. He was quite serious about being willing to do anything to save Tobirama’s life, and he wasn’t talking about sacrificing his body.

“Hashirama wouldn’t want you to just fade away like this.”

Tobirama flinches.

“And you know he’d be happy about anything that got us to spend more time together outside of work that isn’t sparring or training…”

“I can’t believe you’re using my brother to convince me to sleep with you.”

“For the good of the village! Besides, it’s going to work.”

Tobirama makes a face, but Madara has no doubt: he knows Tobirama’s weakness, now, and he’s merciless in exploiting it.

(No wonder the Senju make a practice of not telling other people their principles; it’s a weakness just asking to be abused, like an Uchiha making too clear who his most precious people were.)

Sure, Madara’s aware that it’s in bad taste to invoke the name of the man who was, for all practical purposes, his soulmate in order to bed the man’s younger brother – but Hashirama is gone, and anyway, he’s sure it’s what he would have wanted, if it meant Tobirama lived a little longer.

It’s entirely virtuous what he’s doing. Entirely. There’s not an iota of selfishness in it.

“One day you’re going to pull that line of reasoning and I’m going to turn you down just to see the surprise on your face,” Tobirama says, standing up. “Very well, come along.”

Madara blinks, having expected to have to argue about this for at least another hour. “Come – where?”

“To bed, of course. Your plan is ridiculous, but if we’re going to try it, we should test our compatibility now. If we don’t have that, there’s no point at all.”

Entirely virtuous, Madara reminds himself a few hours later, staring up at the ceiling and unsure if he’s blessing or cursing his entirely unconscious decision to activate his Sharingan at some point, burning the images of white skin beaded with sweat and swollen red lips and heavily lidded eyes in a head thrown back in silent pleasure into his mind forever. It’s entirely virtuous. Giving Tobirama something to live for is the best thing for the village, and this will help. That’s all that’s going on: the only person I could have loved was Hashirama, and he’s gone – this is just a physical thing, a sacrifice that I’m making. Nothing more.

It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him or anything.

[hines2goldenboy]

Nipsey’s Homegoing.

I should start by saying that I’ve always had a habit of turning in my homework assignments late, but with that being said it’s been a year and nine days since they laid Nipsey Hussle to rest. I am proud yet devastated still to say that I witnessed the event during the burial of Nipsey at Angelus Funeral Home which is why it took me a year to write this essay on the series of events that have taken place post-burial and burial due to disbelief and observing the “Nayborhood” of which young creatives and artists of African Americans and Spanish American descent called Leimert Park. Since then the Los Angeles community, especially the Crenshaw, Leimert Park community has taken initiative to make sure his legacy is remembered in the same magnitude as when the sudden death of Tupac Shakur passed. 

It all started with a staph infection on my right index finger. I was at Ten Goose Boxing gym around the Van Nuys area and what I thought to be a callus was a staph infection. I called the ambulance and the paramedics said fuck me to me…. “We only help with real emergencies'' quotes the paramedic. I wanted to say “fuck you!” but due to my overly polite and gentleman-like nature, I decided not to say that towards the young man. I was in excruciating pain to the point where I could barely go to sleep at night, and it was going on for a week straight! Yeah in all reality fuck that paramedic and word of advice never put on boxing gloves that someone before you use without tape on your hands. There is a side of me that understands that everybody has a job but also that's where the nativity part as well. The part that doesn't want to question the authority of someone more qualified in a specific field or area of knowledge that I am not, but then again withholding the rebellious nature quote on quote smart ass tendencies of mine might have saved me from a traumatic experience, and more than likely saved my life. The situation itself was a tragedy for the ones who grew up in the Crenshaw community, and the ones who lackluster in the leadership and entrepreneurship of the young mogul who was only thirty-three during his untimely death Nipsey Hussle. 

I was living on 69th and Crenshaw during the time of his pre-execution. During that time I was homeless and had no other place to go. Luckily for me, I found a nice and stable living condition suited for me. The only thing I had to do was share a room with a young man by the name of Tyrik, in which afterward we ended up splitting ways on a bad note. Hey, you win some and you most certainly lose some. I’m still learning as I go but then again my learning experiences since I’ve started living in Los Angeles have mostly been a learning experience. Some filled with heartbreaking remembrances from the past. As I decided that I wasn’t going to lie around in my misery any longer I finally made the trip to Dignity Hospital. At the time I wasn’t driving in terrible L.A traffic so I usually take the Metro buses and trains almost everywhere I go, occasionally an I take an Uber depending on how much money I have because in my personal opinion it’s been really hard to maintain employment plus I never really been an expert on saving money. I spend it as it touches my fingertips. As I was riding the bus down Crenshaw I saw a group of people in the Crenshaw & Slauson shopping district as well as Leimert Park. At first, I was wondering what could be going on today but then again I paid it no mind because yet again I was in pain. After I left the hospital bandage up I went explore DTLA ( Downtown Los Angeles) until 7 o'clock then I made my way back home. I stopped at a McDonalds to get some water and I overheard a group of people stating that Nipsey Hussle has been killed. I couldn’t come to believe it to be true the first time I heard it so I asked the clique who was standing next to me y at the soda machine. I asked the young lady from the group if it was true if Nipsey had been killed and she told me “ yeah Nipsey got shot earlier today”. I couldn't believe what I heard. The feeling was similar to when Malcolm X was assassinated. It was like they killed Malcolm. I couldn’t believe it. It was a sad walk home. When I got the channel was on the news and broadcasters weren’t wasting time to tell the breaking news Nipsey Hussle was shot and killed in his store. It was such a tragedy for me to watch. A man business mogul was shot and killed in the same community he was trying to uplift. I was deeply saddened by this. During the next following day, there was a memorial site built in his name on the corner of Crenshaw & Slauson. I saw art & graffiti murals, bottles of empty Hennessy, and fans wrote letters to the late rapper. I would say it was peaceful to get together. I have spoken with motivational speaker 19 keys and some notable NOI members like Rizza Islam. I left the memorial and walked home because it was right down the street from where I was staying. When I got back home my roommate asked me if I was alright. I responded comically and said, of course, I’m alright why? That's when he told me there were just shooting at the memorial site.

 The next following day the neighborhood had certain sensitivity in the air. I talked to a woman who told me that some people in the Rolling 60’s gang who are affiliated with Nipsey were looking for the executioner who was soon to be identified as a now 30-year-old gang member Eric Holder who was arrested by authorities after a two-day manhunt. She told me to be on high alert because they were on a search for him. The next following day it was reported that several of his family members were murdered at various times as acts of retaliation. When first hearing about this tragedy I can admit that I was heartbroken due to the perspective of the unbreakable black on black violence. Although Nipsey Hussle had a beautiful viewing and memorial his death is one of many in this longtime epidemic of black on black crime. A cycle that seems never-ending. I would like to take the time to learn something from the falling of Nipsey Hussle. If there's one thing I learned it's that community coming together is necessary for advancement. Whether that be for the development of the inner city or the inner being. Ermias death did not go in vain due to a man pulling the trigger. In the end he finally brought back to the district where all started. It brought life to what it's about to become to Crenshaw. Change.

[light-of-valentia]

The Time I Saw Teach Cry

Claude x Byleth, h/C

A/n: I had an idea for my first lengthy-ish writing on here, so please enjoy!! This will come in two parts; I will be publishing the second as soon as possible, and possibly merging them into one post.

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT FOR GOLDEN DEER ROUTE MOON OF THE BLOOD WOLVES, POST-REMIRE CALAMITY!!!

More A/N: I haven’t played a whole lot past this scene, but there was something about it that I feel could be expanded on. Sooo...here I am to expand it! Some of the dialogue towards the beginning has been slightly reworded from the in-game dialogue so as to keep the spirit of the game- I of course do not take credit for these concepts! Please enjoy!!! -Admin Belle

~~~~~

After a long and gruesome day of battle, Byleth found herself sitting on a lonesome bench underneath the towering upper limits of the reception hall. Releasing an unsteady breath from the depths of her lungs, her eyes traced along the geometric faces in the walls that surrounded her, their patterns eliciting themselves in callous repetition, as her mind wandered through a darkness she had become well-acquainted with. Looking death in its eye was nothing new to her, but being the onlooker as an ally tore down their guise to unveil their own take on death was completely new. Who was she to bask in the blissful ignorance formed by the walls of the church as the innocent souls of the people she once knew met an untimely end?

‘I could have done something about this had Rhea investigated sooner,’ she told herself, ‘but really, I should have taken on the initiative to investigate such a clear issue in such an otherwise peaceful place. If only I had just taken the time to check things out for myself sooner, they wouldn’t be dead, and my students would have never had to witness such a gruesome experiment of life and death. They’re so young and inexperienced, and being forced to witness the fear and desperation of innocent lives being sucked away from those people as a result of their own inability to respond fast enough has surely taken its toll upon the students...”

As Byleth continued to tread the overgrown shadows of her memory, she heard a pair of footsteps approach, her mind snapping back to reality as the easy clacking of footsteps against the chilled stone floor echoed through the hall.

“Hey, Teach, what’s up? You looked like you had your head in the clouds there for a minute.”

Byleth looked up and met a forest green gaze that matched her own air of worry. “Ah, good evening Claude. Do you need to speak with me?”

Claude moved his hand to scratch at his nape and shifted his weight to a more nonchalant posture as Byleth raised herself from where she sat to meet his stature. “Well,” he began, “I suppose you could say that. I’ve gotta admit, today’s assignment really wasn’t my favorite of the ones we’ve done.” Byleth offered a slow nod in mutuality as Claude continued, “I guess standing here and pretending to be unaffected won’t do anyone much good though, will it? It’s plain to see- that was absolutely terrible to behold. It’s always hard to see innocents die.”

As she softened her expression with a sympathetic half-smile, Byleth shifted her visual focus from the man’s face to something beyond his left shoulder. “I’m sorry, Claude. If I had been strong enough, no one would have had to die.”

“Hey,” the brunet began as he reached for Byleth’s palm, enveloping it in his own with a calm yet firm grip, “all you can do is keep smiling. Keep marching. That’s part of a leader’s job. You can’t give in to despair. Not just for me or you,” he continued as Byleth readjusted her focus to look him between the eyes once more, “but for all of us in the Golden Deer house. We have to keep smiling so the others can move forward too. As long as we don’t show that we’re disheartened, they’ll know they can make it too. Isn’t that what matters?”

Issuing another nod at the man’s words, she retained her halfhearted smile as Claude released her calloused hand from his grasp. Before tilting her head once more to conceal her eyes, the schemer managed to catch a glance into her eyes, detecting an air of wistfulness that made itself an anomaly within the normally placid atmosphere he found within them. “You’re such a wonderful leader, Claude,” Byleth said, breaking the silence that had begun to settle in. “It pleases me that you wish well for your comrades, but if you need to, please make sure to take some time for yourself.”

Claude looked back at her quizzically, folding his arms over his chest as his inquisitive nature started to get the better of him. “I could say the same to you, Teach. You’re always working so hard for all of us; even on your days off, you just never seem to be at rest.”

“Well, it’s my job to look after all of you. I don’t mind it at all.”

Claude furrowed his brow in seeming irritation at his professor’s deflection. “Are you sure you’re alright, teach? I can tell that something about you is off right now, and I’d much rather you just tell me than have to pry for it myself.”

“Claude, you need not worry about me,” Byleth responded. She could tell that Claude’s pervasive intuition had seen right through her guise, though she was still determined to put up a strong front for the younger male. “I am fully capable of handling myself, though I do appreciate your concern. Please, allow yourself to take a break if you must; you may be our house leader, but you are still a student just like any other with the needs of such.”

“You’re a part of this class too, you know. Just like I’m a house leader and a student, our class wouldn’t be a class without a teacher to teach it.”

“And, as your teacher, it’s my job to ensure that all of my students are well in both their academics, their performance, and emotionally. I struggle to believe that there is nothing going on beneath all of your antics, Claude.”

“Teach, I-” The brunet opened his mouth to retort once more, but Byleth ignored his gesture and kept talking, her eyes filling with more hurt as each word meandered across her lips.

“Again, your concern for others really is admirable. You always leap at the opportunity to assist the class in lessons and on the battlefield, yet you never seem to let anyone into your own mind. I worry that someday when you need help like you never have before, that you will refuse the aid of anyone that offers and let yourself drown in your own sorrow whilst putting on a front for others.”

Suddenly, a mist of emotions clouded the forest hues that had been previously studying Byleth’s lips, as if he was watching her words form a taut string that reached out and tied itself around his heart. “Teach…” Claude began, his tone beginning to drip with dejection, “I told you that everything will be ok if we just keep smiling. Why can’t you just trust me?”

Byleth, taken aback by such a question, put on a face of seriousness and looked at the male in front of her straight between his eyes. “Claude, you know I trust you. Why else would I put you at the front of the battlefield to lead on the other students? You’re so quick-witted and you’re a master tactician, I-”

“You know I’m not talking about the battlefield right now,” Claude softly spoke, disappointedly interrupting his beloved professor. “Look, I’m gonna cut the garbage and be blunt. I hate forcing my personal issues upon other people. You also hate putting your problems on other people. You may try to fool me, but like it or not, I can tell that you’re hurting. I know that you trust me with a bow in my hand, and I know I’ve told you not to trust me outside the realm of academia, but I need you to disregard that right now.” He used his spare hand to tilt his professor’s head so that her eyes could meet his own.

Attempting to guide her gaze through the translucent fog that settled itself within Claude’s irises, Byleth felt a surge of emotions surface themselves, as for in that distinct moment in time, a bolt of intuition struck between the two. It felt as if they each were able to peer straight into the soul of the other, obtaining an unfiltered glimpse of everything that they hid behind the walls that they built. If only for that moment alone, Byleth felt as though she could understand Claude better than she understood her own still-beatless heart, and he could understand her the same. However, just as suddenly as the insight arrived, it disappeared, leaving each of them staring once again at walls that had been fortified over years of self-reliance, having only the echoic memory to found a decision off of.

“You must listen to your own words,” Byleth softly spoke, tossing aside the blanket of unsteady silence that otherwise threatened to strip them of their impressions. “‘Pretending to be unaffected won’t do anyone much good’ is exactly correct. However, you must remember that ‘anyone’ includes you just as it includes Hilda, Lorenz, Marianne, Ignatz, Raphael, Lysithea, Leonie, myself, or anyone else.” The salty tang of tears threatened to show themselves as Byleth put forth her best effort into maintaining her composure.

Unpredictably releasing a bitter frustration that he had been harboring, Claude slipped his hand away from the warm touch of Byleth’s. “Look, I’ve told you a million times in a million ways but I guess I still need to be more straightforward,” he dejectedly began to spit his words, “Unless you are willing to stop talking in your imprecise circles and just talk to me, I just can’t tell you what’s wrong. Quite honestly, I don’t think you’re going to right now. I want you to understand that if you’re so adamant about wanting to help me, then you need to take the first step.”

Byleth fell silent, whatever tears her still heart could produce starting to surface themselves before she blinked them back.

“I swear on whatever goddess is out there, Teach, I have my reasons. I just need you to trust me. Right now I’m not the leader of the Golden Deer House, or any other student. I’m just Claude.”

Byleth moved her lips so as to speak, but almost as if Sothis herself silenced her herself, she found herself speechless. The rest of her visage was as placid as always, but her eyes glimmered with   discrepancy as wistfulness and isolation fought gracefully across the flecks of teal and blue iris that normally flickered with the flame of a hardened mercenary.

Claude contemplated offering her his hand once more to decryptify the inner workings of the enigmatic teal-haired woman before him, but weighing the possible consequences he saw within her pleading eyes against what he knew was normally true of her, he decided against it. Before Byleth could usher another word from her lips, which trembled ever so slightly, Claude took a short curtsy and looked distantly but caringly into the glazed eyes of his professor. “As much as I would really love to stay here and talk, a judgement call says that perhaps now would not be the best time to continue this. The hour grows late, and you have a class to teach tomorrow.”

With a bit of hesitation, Claude somewhat withdrew the promise he had made to himself, and he took Byleth’s hand again in his own and held it up ever so slightly. “You’re like me, Teach. An outsider. I know better than anyone how hard it is to really trust other people.” Like a dejected puppy, he angled his head so slightly away from her and cast a longing, lonely gaze straight into her soul. “Remire was awful, but I can tell that isn’t the only thing eating you up right now. Pleading you any more right now would be like asking a lost child to describe happy memories of their parents.”

Claude took a single step away from Byleth before stopping at hearing a tiny sniffle. “Wait, Claude, don’t leave yet, I’ll talk-”

Turning his body back around and drawing her hand upwards so as to lay a kiss upon it, he instead placed his lips at a tender distance where Byleth felt the gentle breath of the charming male. “Teach, you’re hurting me. I gotta go, I can’t take any more of this right now.”

Now withdrawing himself and walking slowly away, Byleth released a tiny sob as Claude stopped once more in his tracks, ten meters away and facing away from her. “Goodnight, teach. See you tomorrow.” And with that, he walked away and out of the reception hall, leaving Byleth alone once more with nothing but her spiraling thoughts and the sounds of her sniffles, as even Sothis knew to leave the tealette alone for the time being as the tealette walked her own way out, footsteps rippling across the icy stone floor like the first raindrops of a storm upon a pond.

A/N: thanks for reading this!! i swear i will come out with the part two to this soon :o this took me a reallly long time to complete so sorry for the lack of content for a few days >n< if you enjoyed this and want to see more writing sooner, please like/reblog this bc seeing people enjoy my work motivates me to make more of it :3 -admin belle

(2,118 words)

[mercutial]

A More Wholesome Take on Victor Vallakovich

Hey guys! I hadn't found any deeper interpretations that made Victor out to be particularly wholesome, so here's the version I'm using in my campaign.

I've read u/guildsbounty's post on Victor, and while I love it because it fits in so well with the gothic horror themes, my party had already become friendly with Victor and he had already been established as a mild-mannered guy who didn't really have an aversion to people in general, mostly just timidity.

I've borrowed elements from u/MandyMod's fleshed out version of the Vallakovich household - the parts about Vargas and Lydia neglecting Victor emotionally for pretty much his entire life.

Background

Vargas has avoided contact with Victor out of fear of being abusive like his own father was to him, and Lydia is no more than a brainwashed peanut. They don’t really bother socializing him with people outside of the household either... so Victor has been deprived of healthy human relationships. To pass the time, he read all of the books in his father’s library, which were mostly old histories and a few on philosophy, passed down from his great-grandfather. 

Cats

In lieu of human relationships, Victor has always loved cats. Cats are the closest thing he's had to companionship. He understands their need for space, their fickleness, and he loves it when he can finally earn their affection.

His first cat he found as a stray kitten and named it Twinkle, because as a child he read a book that talked about stars in the night sky, and how they “twinkled”. Being a Barovian, he had never seen a clear night sky before. So he named his cat after the sight he wished he could see, out in the free and open world beyond the mists.

However, Twinkle met an untimely end. (You can decide whether this is caused by the Wachter boys, either accidentally or intentionally, or if Twinkle was killed by an accident or rabid dog or something.) Victor was devastated. He refused to bury Twinkle, keeping the cat’s decaying body in a chest in his room until a maid noticed the smell and freaked out, prompting his parents to make him bury Twinkle in the garden. Later he went and dug up the grave in secret and took the body back to the attic. He never buried it, even after the body rotted away, leaving only the skeleton, which he kept hidden in an old toy chest.

He had read in a book somewhere of a mage who had been able to raise animals and people from the dead. Surely that was possible? Some of the travelers who came through Vallaki from were capable of magic. Driven by the promise of possibilities, he acquired spellbooks and books about magery, scouring them for knowledge. His two focuses: magic to raise the dead, and teleportation out of Barovia.

Magic

Eventually through numerous trials and errors, he figured out how to perform simple raisings. Despite the fact that Twinkle was now a mere skeleton, when Victor attempted to raise Twinkle, it was an undeniable success. The little feline skeleton picked itself up off the ground, turned to face him, and rubbed up against his leg just as it had always done. He was overjoyed.

His teleportation experiments weren’t so successful, however. The incomplete diagrams that he had acquired were not enough for him to complete a working teleportation circle. No matter what he did, the countless circles he drew in chalk, in ashes, in blood all remained inert.

Stella

Around a year and a half before the campaign started, Lady Wachter began to push her agenda of attempting to wed Stella to Victor, likely due to her husband’s recent death. Victor and Stella had met a few times in the past, but neither had really been made to interact. But now Lady Wachter began bringing Stella over for tea, “accidentally” bumping into Victor the few times he was out and about, and insisting that she and the Vallakoviches leave the two alone to talk on their own.

At first, Victor was resistant to the forced interactions. He had always been shy around people, and occasionally mocked or at least stared at, and so always tried to limit his time with other people as much as possible. But for whatever reason, Stella seemed to take a genuine interest in him. She was a cheerful and polite person, and her well-mannered inquiries into Victor’s daily life and activities grew on him over time. When eventually asked about why he spent so much time indoors in the attic, he dropped his hedging and timidly hinted at his “experiments”. 

To his surprise, she wasn’t put off. In fact, when he admitted that he wanted to find a way to cross the mists, Stella’s eyes grew wide in fascination. Uncharacteristically, she immediately began bombarding him with more questions about what he was doing, how he was doing it, what he had tried. Flustered, he offered to show her.

And so the two of them began to work together on the experiments in earnest. After swearing her to secrecy, Victor brought Stella up to speed on everything he had found – not difficult as she proved to be a quick learner. Lady Wachter and the Vallakoviches were curious at first as to why their children were spending so much time together, but the Vallakoviches quickly lost interest, and Fiona decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Soon it felt to Victor as if progress had more than doubled; Stella’s fresh inquiries and perspective revealed a couple of the faulty assumptions that Victor had subconsciously incorporated into his calculations.

Then at last, a breakthrough! One day, one of their circles came to life and zapped a test mouse away. However, Victor and Stella soon realized there was still some kind of issue with the circle. The various inanimate objects and mice that they zapped through only came back in pieces, and even then only occasionally came back at all. 

The two didn’t give up, however. At this point, several months into their pursuit, they were not only energized by their recent successes, but had also grown close. Perhaps, Victor hoped, as real friends… or perhaps even something more?

He had never really felt this close to anyone before – not his parents, not the servants, and certainly not the other townspeople. In contrast he found himself actually wanting to see Stella again, looking forward to hearing her lively voice, seeing her bright smile at the front door. He had always suspected that the love spoken of in his history books and novels might have a basis in reality, but he had never really felt it to be true until now. His parents’ loveless mess of a marriage, built upon the farce of a happy town they had created, had never come close to the ideal. But what he felt when he saw Stella… perhaps that was what the books meant. And perhaps the shining looks she gave him, the smiles and knowing winks they traded in their parents’ presence, the little inside jokes they had started to develop… perhaps that meant she felt the same way.

They had also begun to open up about things other than their experiments. He learned what she thought of her family – her concerns about her mother, her loving but somewhat antagonistic relationship with her jokester brothers. And he poured out his heart about his parents – how he wondered, after all he’d read in his books, whether something could have been different between him and them.

At one point they made several modifications to their most recent iteration of the teleportation circle. They were no longer receiving body parts of unfortunate mice and rats in return, but they were also fairly certain that the bodies weren’t being vaporized. Perhaps, perhaps they were really sending them elsewhere? But there was no good way to tell. Unless…

The Accident

Stella offered to send herself through the circle. Victor objected vehemently. Hadn’t she seen what happened to some of the things they sent through? It was their first full-scale argument, and it ended in tears and Stella storming back to her house.

Later that night, Victor was awakened by a sound on the stairs. He made it quietly to the door just in time to see someone slipping into the attic. Following, he discovered the intruder was Stella – activating the teleportation circle and stepping into it.

It all happened so quickly. One moment Stella was setting foot into the circle, the next thing Victor saw a blur of fur and realized one of his cats had darted into it as well… and then a flash of light blinded him.

In hindsight, it was lucky that Stella hadn’t been shredded to pieces, sent far away, or ended up with cat-like features or fur. But her mental state was just about as impossible to explain, and Victor was in no state to explain it. Lady Wachter was furious. She immediately took Stella home and locked her away while threatening the Vallakoviches with all manner of consequences she could safely threaten, and all Victor could do was watch miserably, numbly, in utter shame. Couldn’t he have stopped her if he’d just been a little faster? If he hadn’t lingered on the stairs? He should have known, he should have kept the attic door locked. In fact, he never should have introduced her to magic.

Victor had always been reclusive, but after the incident, he often shut himself away for days on end. Tray after tray of uneaten food sat by his door.

Eventually he went back to his attic and his books, but with a new objective in mind: restoring Stella Wachter.

During the Campaign

Stella is the only person who has ever shown that she truly likes Victor. He would feel numb about his parents dying, but if Stella died, he would probably lose all will to live. So she’s basically all he has left. If the party befriends him, he’ll likely ask them to help him find a scroll of Greater Restoration and/or someone who can cast it on Stella (e.g. Rictavio.)

However, even if the party manages to free Stella and find a scroll/caster, Victor will be nervous about restoring her to sanity. He’s afraid that she’ll be angry and blame him for her condition, and she’ll end up hating him… like everyone else in his life. To that end, he’s unsure if he should have someone perform a Greater Restoration on her at all.

And the way Stella is now (if she’s freed and gets to spend time with Victor), at least she’s very affectionate with him. She likes him a lot and wants to be with him all the time. If her sanity was restored, would she still feel that way? He doubts that. Why would anyone like him so much anyway?

Somewhere in the pit of his heart he feels that her former affection towards him was a fluke, or worse, fake. He knows that keeping her from being restored is selfish, but he also justifies it by arguing that it’s far crueler to force someone to understand the bleak world than it is to have them live in blissful ignorance. He feels that she’s probably happier being the way she is now. He feels like he would be. 

–––––

So that’s it! Hope this was an interesting take on Victor and gives you a few ideas for how to run him in your campaigns. In mine, it led to an interesting (though a little frustrating) roleplaying scenario between Victor and the party when he started getting cold feet about using Greater Restoration on Stella. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to expand on!

[exclusivelyirondad]

More Endgame thoughts (and spoilers) ahead.  A lot has been said already, but I’ve been adding to this since April 30th, and I needed to express the thoughts and feelings that many others share with me in my own words.  

It seems like everyone's just ghosted, like they just saw the movie and peaced-out.  Maybe they felt a sense of relief when the ax finally did fall, but the fandom seems to be divided.  I'm coping quite well--I'm not an emotional wreck (although I was when leaving the theater, and I’ve cried a few times since), but I also know that this wound hasn't closed; it's all been very slow.  Maybe the majority who remain weren't very old at all when the first Iron Man came out, and thus aren't as attached to the Original 6.  Maybe Marvel intended their younger audience to experience the Uncle Ben Effect for Peter.  I was thinking that they wouldn't need to develop Peter's character down that route; I was thinking they'd have new plans for him, since he already had that under his belt when we were introduced to him.  I've written extensively on my beliefs about one’s need for a consistent father figure, and while I am relieved that Happy might be stepping up to that role, Tony's removal is still unnecessary to a lot of us.  It's not the only way to develop Peter's character, and certainly not the only way to remove a character from the spotlight.  Death rarely has meaning in real life, but in stories it *can* mean something.  I think Death should be used sparingly for this reason.  Where a character Can Live, Can Thrive, Can Participate, they should be free to do so.  Tony’s story wasn't by any stretch Finished, and his next line after Cap's assertion about Tony’s alleged cowardice (which the latter proved wrong in the first Avengers movie after taking that missile through the wormhole) stated that he would rather just "cut the wire."  To cut the wire, so that you can go home, so that you don't have to trade lives, is a much more coherent, much more sensible end.  To have Tony live up (down) to the sacrificial standard is to step backwards--the opposite of progress, to our informed understanding.    

But venting my negativity, and seeing others vent theirs, sort of eases the pain, and in some cases gives me hope.  The lack of consistency between timelines and directors' decisions is, ironically, a really big hope-booster.  After hearing a couple friends' and family's qualms with the film in-person, I've gotten just a bit of closure, but it's not on the level of actual counsel as we didn't *keep* talking about it.  We, very briefly, exchanged a preview-version of our interpretation and then were done with it.  I felt I needed to find someone, somewhere, who shares my perspective.  It was validating to talk to them about plotholes and such, because (ironically, as terrible as this sounds), it made his death look more, to me, the way in which I was already seeing it: not cheapened, not short of brilliant and beautifully-performed, but *less necessary.*  

I began contemplating ways around his death.  The writers cannot play the 'Fate'-card at any point because they are in charge of every detail--Carol conveniently getting blasted off-planet, Wanda & Thor being temporarily decomissioned--all the way down to the fact that [A] the burden of the stones could have been shared by everyone on the field (the strongest among them taking hold of the stones first) as they did in GOTG1, and [B] Tony & the others simply did not use the stones independently or in smaller dosages.  But, in the end, we have two mortal, human deaths for the price of a restored universe in Earth-199999/616, which isn't ultimately so bad on the surface.  They could have transitioned to the next heroes in celebration, the graffiti in commemoration of the retired heroes and a welcome to any who would rise in their place. 

While I remain wary of criticizing Endgame just because it didn't go "my way," I also know that we have a lot of well-supported arguments stocked-up to affirm our case that Tony's death was an *overall* less-than-satisfactory decision.  Besides, it's just a part of being in a fandom to criticize the media we consume--it helps to develop communication skills and independent thinking.  Since Infinity War, I was erring on the hope that "Tony Lives," not so much because I was preparing for the worst but because it just seemed the intuitive way to go.  And let's be honest, nobody in the theater who had been following the franchise for more than a few movies was surprised that any number of the Original 6 would be sacrificed.  So, Endgame failed even to accomplish any Shock they might have hoped for.  

I also feel as if a lot of people are perhaps expressing that they enjoyed Endgame while not acknowledging latent feelings that deeper digging into the plot might produce.  Fans are perfectly within their right to enjoy the movie, but our objections to it are less on the level of personal opinions and more on the level of actual critique based in objective standards of narrative and character development.

It almost feels deliberate, doesn't it?  Like they *knew* what they had before writing over it with something worse.  Like they *knew* the value of Found Family.  Like we really were baited, and aren't just imagining a problem.  And *this* is why that ending landed us in the Bad Timeline.  We were baited with Found Family and it was snatched away from us.  If Happy's bond with Peter isn't as satisfying for the audience (trust me when I say that I very much support it, have high hopes for it, trust in Happy's steadfast character, and *do* recognize the progress in having him, May, and the remaining Ironfamily be there for Peter instead of the lesson being, "Grow up and be alone,") it won't be because he isn't an attractive superhero billionaire, it'll be because Peter's bond with Tony is still fresh, and was, indeed, beautiful, and *could have* been complete before it was untimely cut short.  He was already dealing with loss when we met him in Civil War.  What more can you teach him through that?  

There's not really a way for us to "fix" this, being that it's Canon now, and the rest of the MCU henceforth will follow This timeline.  This isn't just one movie that they have a chance to fix in the long-run with another, this is the final chapter--the most important one which will be solidified in movies to come.  We're essentially cut-off and locked-in from here onward.  

If we were to rewrite the world before 2023, we’d certainly be limited.  To bring another Tony back wouldn't be a solution--it's not the same Tony (in much the same way that reuniting with an alternate Spider-Man or stranding our Peter in a new universe would feel eerie and unsatisfactory).  This isn’t to suggest that any ending with an alternate Tony taking the other’s place cannot be written in a satisfactory way; just that the grief would still be ever-present for *this* Tony.  If anything, another time heist where everyone keeps their memories seems more appropriate.  Still, to go back in time, by the theory used in Endgame, only creates a new timeline, unless we collapse and merge the one where he died.  Even a timeline *very* similar to the one through which we were led is still unique, and has its own Tony Stark.  We might be able to salvage the other time-janked plotholes (Loki's escape, Nat and Gamorra's soul releasing Redskull, Thanos & Company departing their original timeline and going a different route, ultimately being destroyed, Steve rewriting the past and possibly erasing an entire generation, just to name a few), but that's still pretty far-fetched.  At the end of the day, all that's left is to either Accept or Depart from Canon.  RDJ is irreplaceable, after all, and tragically, as far as we know, his rendition of Tony Stark is finished.  Although, I suppose any time you take a character into your own hands, it creates a new timeline for them--it's just that minor changes and major changes have different impacts, and the fans who previously felt free to manipulate minor details without having to leave the world altogether will now have a much more difficult time doing so without “becoming a dirty, no-good necromancer” (as my conscience likes to call me any time I even *think* about bringing Tony back in my own way.)  The "secretly alive/A.I." theories are an okay solution given our alternatives, but it doesn't seem like that's where the story is going.  

But so much happened in that movie, and likely will in future movies, that makes his death "essential," and I'm upset about that, too, because they're sloppily tacking on "purpose" retroactively.  They want, so badly, for it to be meaningful, and not useless, but the way that it happened kinda leaves it in a sour limbo, as if the event, itself, were a corpse being strung up and made to dance like a marionette.  Like, no matter how many meaningful strings they connect back to it from this point onward, it's still going to register as an unnecessary loss to those of us who were paying attention, to those of us who didn't want him to die, and to those of us who don't put stock in death, itself.  Tony Stark *would* have still been a hero if he had learned how to pass on the torch (without dying.)  He would have still been *himself.*  You can grow, change, shed your flaws, learn new tricks, without losing your identity or role in the world.  While his willingness to sacrifice himself was, indeed, a heroic trait, it shouldn’t have been one that ultimately killed him--there was another beautiful lesson just ahead of him, one which would have allowed him to rely on others to take up the mantle so that he could care for the new adventure he’d built with Pepper and the Ironfamily.  

When you have a character like this in your hands, you're no longer just writers, you're gods.  You have responsibilities.  (I'm not used to speaking this freely, saying such extreme things.  I know I'm all over the place.)  These characters have been with us for so long that they may as well be real.  I wouldn't doubt that those involved in Endgame's creation put a lot of planning into it, but even with planning you can still miss out on Perspective.  Why didn't these questions win out during the Devil's Advocate phase of the writing process?  Was there even a Devil's Advocate phase?  What were their aims when creating it?  To draw it to a close, to make room for new heroes, perhaps to leave just as big an impact as Infinity War.  Far From Home is supposed to close this phase of the MCU (not Endgame), so we still have a bit of a wait.  Did they want to appeal only to newer fans?  It wouldn't be a problem if the feelings of older fans weren't sacrificed for that.  I'm not even sure if Tony's death is what newer fans were interested to see.  What if Marvel deliberately Twists the Knife?  *What if their role for us is to see that any qualms we have with Tony's death are a reflection of our selfishness toward a man who just wanted peace?*  (Of course, what a lot of us wanted for him was the same--peace, but without the insinuation that the only way out for him is by killing him off.)  Did they mourn his death when killing him? Did the decision affect them to the point that it was difficult (and not just in terms of knowing there would be people upset by the decision, getting between them and the bottom line)?  

I don't think they should put the onus on the fans who loved him--I think, for all the therapy he did not receive, for the lack of a True Happy Ending, and for all the people who became his family, the onus should be on those who gave him pain to take it away.  If you are god-enough to impart pain and death, you are god-enough to remove it.  We cannot act powerless against Fate when we write a character like this into the world.  While some people rail at God for taking their loved ones away, I guess my grief-process is stunted because I have real people to criticize.  But, again, that's still me putting the onus on myself.  I don't think I'll be here forever; certainly, I do view these characters with a healthy eye, but they're not exactly a Small part of my world, either.  

The mention of the Multiverse in the new FFH trailer may even deal with the responsibility on Peter's part not to selfishly venture into alternate realities (Mysterio's illusion tricks in the comics + the False Voice scene from Bambi II, anyone?)  It may even be the case that we, the fans, are being pressured to feel similarly, being that Robert has completed his contract with Marvel.  Of course, none of us are asking that he stay, merely wishing that his rendition of Tony had a better ending.  I think our society has decided that growing up means more than gaining knowledge and skills--it means "getting rid of our vital connections after a certain age."  This is not, to any extent, ideal, but it is expected, and it is perceived as "growth" when forced upon a young person in a story.  Individualism is a toxic side-effect spurred by various factors in our current system (economic, legal, and religious history, leading to our current ideological climate, at least for those in positions of power).  

If any criticisms could hold weight, it might still be worth noting their counterpart: /"Tony created his own enemies, even invited them--it's Peter's turn to make better choices."/  Apart from the complete inaccuracy of the opening phrase (just rewatch the films; I'm not expanding on this one), is that really what his creators were planning from the start, or did they just salvage pieces of past films like a patchy fan theory and write it in after the fact?  (Point in case: JKR.)  I'm not usually so feisty, but this is Tony Stark I defend.  

/"It's heroic to sacrifice oneself for the greater good," "It's time for the young to grow up and face responsibility."/  All of these messages, though, are misplaced to me.  They don't have to involve the taking of lives.  In our world, they often do, but there is no *intrinsic* value to using death as a vehicle.  The Ancient One was wrong.  Death has only intrinsic *negative* value--as with any hardship, it can bring about positives but is not, in itself, a positive.  When dealing with this philosophy it is important to distinguish chance from purpose.  I cannot help but feel that I am alone because I've outgrown the ideology of those who glorify and romanticize struggle and war.  A peaceful ending is progress compared with our reality; a bitter ending should remain in the past.  Do they think they are bypassing this problem by the ending they chose for Tony?  /"Your new heroes can have a better ending than he did,"/ it might be suggested (while still getting their Death in.)  I disagree, since that isn't progress For That Character.  

/"Death is not always fair, not always reasonable."/  A bit patronizing, that (not hearing it from Tony, of course, as he was merely preparing for the possibility of his own death, but as one of the Ultimate Lessons they needed to tie to it.)  What's the target audience, 13 to 46?  Somewhere in that range, plus the exceptions older and younger?  Not really news to the majority.  So what is its purpose?  Why close a story like that?  

/"Having Tony survive would've taken away a heroic ending from him."/  It's important to acknowledge there are multiple kinds of heroism capable of being expressed--we've known from Iron Man 1 that Tony was willing to sacrifice himself for one cause or another, but for him to finally see the value in allowing others to share the burden would've made for just as powerful and necessary a message.  It would have been subtle; not many fans would emotionally pick up on it at first and many would openly criticize it, but those who are paying attention would recognize a new kind of heroism was being performed.  This movie wouldn’t have been for those who only jumped in recently, anyway--there’s so much that’s been built up to over the past 21 movies for which there wasn’t time enough to cover.  The ending to Captain Marvel had a similar effect--the inner strength which men often overlook is expressed through Danvers' willingness to do what is truly necessary, rather than what has been deemed "heroic," and the creators of superhero movies would do well to follow the trajectory of changes in audience values.  "Superhero burnout" may come to pass but not because people will grow weary of superheroes or the hope and sense of victory they bring, but because of the glorification of war and fighting.  

It is a comfort to know that Robert and Tom are still friends, and will be making at least one more movie together.  It is a comfort to know that a lot of the Tony Stark we saw came straight from RDJ, so a good portion of him lives.  Still, I instinctively know this feeling isn't going to leave for a while, especially since, a few weeks after Infinity War, I had a little meltdown.  On top of this, we will be brought through Peter's own grief in his next movie--he, too, is fictional but should not be abandoned.  I feel as if I cannot move on until I see Far From Home, and maybe that, too, is Marvel's intention.  

[seancamerons]

Degrassi (all seasons) for the ask list!

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get? Mostly my notps, but matlingsworth was a huge waste of my time with them interacting and breaking up every five minutes in seasons 13 and 14 and camaya because like they want her to wind up never dating again after him and he died and their relationship was pretty brief but it did have a huge effect on maya’s psyche when he committed suicide. but that wasn’t enough for some camstans. they wanted maya to basicially grieve forever. alot of jiberty stans have that ideology too (and i did enjoy them but i never felt that way) but not to make excuses but liberty and jt had a rich history before his untimely death where as camaya was like a brief blip in time. i know it doesn’t matter how long you knew someone but their relationship wasn’t as deep as people make it out to be. cam was clearly leaning on maya who was blissfully unaware of the depths of his depression. she projects those feelings onto miles her next boyfriend until she was forced to snap out of it.  i see it as wildly unhealthy. 

I placed the rest under a cut for the sake of my dash. 

also the ideologies of some sellie shippers who happen to abhor emma and lastly PARCY. i can multiship like the next guy but parcy just plain sucks and people are wild about it. i never understood the appeal you had to change peter’s entire character to even make it remotely work and even then it’s still fucked. he called her hopeless at her worst. he couldn’t handle her at her worst. he didn’t deserve to have her at her best. And of course eclare was toxic as all get out but people view them as this uber romantic thing when it’s wildly not that way and then even their biggest stans turned their back on the ship when they kept seeing eli despite the fact he had already graduated forcing eclare down our goddamn throats. 

Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP? seig even though it was shortlived and yes i only and always thought gracevas work to me as just friends. romantically it’s one sided according to canon. in the beginning it was a big almost but throwing in that crush on zig as confusing and infuriating it was, grace and zoe were built on a good foundation of friendship and even though romance wasn’t in the cards for them canonically their friendship did prevail. i think that says a lot to me. 

 Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? already answered this. 

Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP? already answered that one. 

Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you? absolutely camaya and eclare and hmm

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated? a loooong time ago (i’m a fandom oldhead) i used to hang out at a little board called db and another called tod and we used to have debate threads where we’d debate ships. it was an odd time. however i never chose sides in the huge craig/manny/ashley triangle + ellie. so like most of the fandom, manny and craig were universally hated and ashley and craig was cherished but i didn’t like either of them. one user my dear friend kelsea was so adamant about cranny and made such compelling arguments for them that i ended up falling in love with cranny. however, during my latest rewatch i’m kinda back to disliking cranny. my indifference would’ve paid off had i not read into those threads haha. however i still hate crellie it’s like a straight darco craig is like waiting for rain in the drought useless and disappointing and also determental to ellie’s development but if there was any ship that fandom made me enjoy it would also have to be janny. janny is so universally loved and i FINALLY see the light in them and the appeal. 

Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now? hmm lets see alot of things about emma i guess which is kind of shocking i know. 

Have you received anon hate? yes a few times What about? my unpopular opinions and once i wrote this thing that was like personal experience and yeah maybe i had no business saying something hit close to home and someone was like you deserved to get r*ped. that was back in the day. thankfully it hasn’t happened a whole lot but anon hate does suck. 

Most disliked character(s)? peter, ellie and then the ones that everyone hates for obvious reasons like Dean the rapist, Albert the absuive father of Craig and derek (need I say more?) Why? how much time do you have?

Most disliked arc? Why? Already answered this one. 

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? I’m old enough to start liking some of the parents, Mama Guthrie comes to mind. 

Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why? already answered this

Unpopular opinion about XXX character? I’m not a super hater I swear but my opinions on Ellie post graduation are pretty awful. She turns into the girl she would’ve hated in high school. Let’s be real. Ellie’s pathetic pining for Craig was nauseating when he didn’t recipocate or has a serious relationship. 

Unpopular opinion about your fandom? Idk I guess the culture of pin pointing who is without shame and who should be shamed. that’s argraviting, like the treatment of maya and zig as both a ship and seperate characters pre-season 3 of next class was embarrassing. 

Unpopular opinion about the manga/show? Oh my god I have so many unpop opinions. I prefer dtng era degrassi they’re my bread and butter. 

If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? I wish Semma was endgame. There I said it. 

Instead of Spemma happening I would’ve made Sean come back. 

Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or biased? Not at all. I hate this ideology. 

What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom? Complaint culture and the ideology that everything and everyone must be perfect to enjoy. When the social justice end infiltrated fandom it became the police of fandom saying this person is problematic or this ship is bad because xyz. Characters are flawed to better relate to their audience, it doesn’t matter because some characters are inherently good even though they made mistakes just like you. Just because their fictional doesn’t mean they all have to be perfect. It’s a shame when people pedestal their faves and make them above critiquing and analyzing their actions. 

What is the purest ship in the fandom? Hmm no ship is super pure but early sanya with their goddamn stickerbooks was super pure. A lot ships start off super pure, Sean and Emma early on were super pure too. Also I always thought Shiny is super pure from the next class years.

What are your thoughts on crack ships? I don’t know people can ship what they want, there’s always fanfiction however I don’t really see a point to it because you’ll never see them in action. However I did crackship Emma and Jay and they had their moments even if it was never a canon thing. I can’t crackship to save my life. 

Popular character you hate? Ellie Nash

Unpopular character you love? Alex Nunez!

Would you recommend Degrassi to a friend? Why or why not? All in all I would recommend and have recommended watching degrassi to anyone and everyone at least once. There’s something for everyone because there’s such diversity and awesome and relatable moments that someone could pick from the show and go, “i’ve been there but look at me now.” or “i struggle with this, i’m not alone”. sometimes it could make you laugh, and sometimes it’s super melodramatic but it’s at times really good. I mean it was around for nearly 30 years in some capacity they must’ve done something right. i knew people who used to watch it in school as an educational program.

 How would you end Degrassi/Would you change the ending of Degrassi? I think they should have a reunion film or a mini/limited series where everyone comes back kind of like Backtrack (a fanfiction I wrote) which is basically adult character Degrassi centered around their life after high school and university and and end Emma walking/driving Jack on Jack’s first day going to school to make it go full circle kinda. Corny huh?

Most shippable character?  spinner mason! 

  Least shippable character? sean cameron because i only ship him with emma hardy har har.

omg omg i did it! thank you so much for the questions. :)

[watchingtheroad]

No Secrets Between Us

A late submission for ‘Deceit’ day of @capri-month, inspired by this quote. 

Post-canon kings in love. 

——————

Laurent kept a diary, carefully hidden. Auguste had given it to him for this tenth birthday, with a handwritten note inside:

a place for your extraordinary thoughts, little brother. free your mind. fill these pages.

all my love,

auguste

Laurent had placed it inside the drawer of his bedside table, only to find it again after Auguste’s untimely death. He clutched the note to his chest, tears trailing down his cheeks, and vowed to write to his brother every day.

Sometimes entries were brief. Other times they were long, detailed. Painful.

Angry. Heartfelt.

Incriminating.

As he got older, he wrote to Auguste less, because things were happening too quickly, and it was no longer safe to divulge information. It wasn’t safe to have the diary at all, to be seen with it or let its value be known. Laurent never kept it in the same place twice. His uncle’s spies were everywhere and their fingers were sticky.

Still, Laurent did his best to do as Auguste had said: To free his mind of the thoughts trapped in his head.

The plotting and paranoia.

The awful things he endured.

His grief.

For Auguste was still the only person he had...

——————

Damen discovered the diary while searching for something else.

It was bound by leather dyed the vibrant blue of Veretian banners, and small for his hand, with crinkled papers sticking out around its edges. There was a golden clasp meant to hold everything inside, undone.

Damen could not help if it had fallen open in front of his eyes. Laurent should be more mindful of his things.

There was a twinge of guilt in his gut, overridden by extreme curiosity as he thumbed its pages. They were sturdy, but worn at the corners, used. Damen turned to a random place near the cover and skimmed a few entries.

In some ways, they were all the same, written in Laurent’s own hand, neater as time passed. Letters to Auguste...

Brother, I’m sorry I haven’t visited you. I hope you aren’t disappointed in me. I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud. It’s just too hard right now.

Brother, I miss you more today than yesterday. I’m afraid this pain will never lessen.  

Brother, I have appointed Jord to my guard. You trusted him. I’m hoping I can trust him as well.

Brother, I’m doing my best to carry out my duties as you and Father would’ve wanted, but I’m afraid the people will never love me as they loved you. The Council will never respect me as they respected you. 

Uncle doubts me. 

So do I.

Brother, I am alone. I am heartbroken. I am angry. Why did this happen? 

I can’t be King. I can’t do this without you.

Brother, I am tired. These people make me feel like I have a hole in the middle of me. The walls of this palace are suffocating. They are listening. They are watching and waiting for me to fail. I cannot trust anyone. 

Not even Uncle.

Damen’s heart clenched in his chest, aching in pain for Laurent then flaring in anger for the Regent. Damen would kill him a million times over if he could.

He would take his time. He would make it quick. It was less than the Regent deserved.

What Laurent deserved was to be loved.

To be protected.  

To be happy.

Damen knew it was wrong to continue this, sneaking glimpses into the depths of Laurent’s most private thoughts—to his brother, of all people—without his permission. He would hate it.

Damen couldn’t stop.

He had to see.

Did Laurent speak of him? Had his letters changed?

He turned the pages, searching until—

Brother, they brought me Damianos last night. I will make him suffer for what he did to you, just as I promised.

Brother, I’m in over my head. I wish I could talk with you one more time. I know I’ve said that before.

Brother, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. It sickens me that I feel this way, but I don’t know how to stop—

“What’s that you’re reading?” Laurent asked, appearing suddenly in the entryway. His voice was deepened in secrecy, startling. There was no telling how long he had been standing there.

The diary slipped from Damen’s fingers, and Laurent laughed, amending, “What’s that you’ve dropped?”

“Nothing,” Damen lied, heart pounding, “It was on the desk, I—”

He was caught, frozen.

“Damianos, you’ve been snooping,” Laurent said with false, teasing disappointment. “I’m shocked.”

Laurent walked to him, each step deliberate, graceful, and bent to pick it up. Disbelieving, “I left it out?”

“I know that’s not a proper excuse,” Damen said, lowering his gaze in contrition. He felt his stomach sink. There was no curiosity left to mask his guilt. “I’m sorry, Laurent. I should never have betrayed your trust, I—”

“Damianos, please,” Laurent stopped him, taking Damen’s hand and squeezing it gently, holding the diary in his other. Damen looked at their joined fingers, the golden cuffs that adorned their wrists, then to Laurent.

He was smiling.

“There are no secrets between us, my King. You know that. Let’s see where you were.”

“We don’t have to—”

Laurent’s smile turned incredibly fond, knowing, as he skimmed the pages where the diary had been open when it fell.

“Of course you’ve skipped to the end. All these are about you.”

Damen’s curiosity was returning. “Are they?”

“‘Brother, I’m sorry’” Laurent read, “‘I never meant for this to happen. It sickens me that I feel this way, but I don’t know how to stop.’”

Damen recognized it as the place he left off. Laurent was letting him finish.

“‘When you were taken from me, I swore I’d never make myself vulnerable to that kind of pain again, but he has slipped beneath my skin and buried himself in my bones. I need him. I’m so sorry.’”

He turned the page, and his smile fell further.

“‘Brother, I nearly lost him today. It reminded me, briefly, painfully, of how it felt to lose you. Kastor did not deserve him. Things are even now. Brother for brother. Damianos must wake up. Paschal says he will. I don’t know how I’ll survive if he doesn’t.’”

Breathing was difficult. Laurent turned the page again. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“‘Brother, I’m on a ship to Lentos. Damianos has invited me to spend the week at his summer palace. At our summer palace, I suppose.’”

Laurent’s cheeks flushed at his own words, all this time later, and it thrilled Damen, memories stirring something deep within his chest.

It was theirs. They should go back soon.

“‘I know there are other things to be done, but I haven’t seen him in some time, and I miss him every second we’re apart. I’m both excited and very nervous. What if I’ve forgotten how to be with him?’”

“You didn’t forget,” Damen said, unable to stop himself from pulling Laurent in close, arms winding around his waist. He was warm all over, tingling with satisfaction.

“I could never forget,” Laurent said, holding the diary between them. He turned the page, and his eyes softened. “One more. I think this will be your favorite.”

He paused for the sole purpose of being dramatic.

Damen stifled the impulse to urge him on. This was a precious moment, and Damen was at its mercy.

“‘Brother, I always told you I would not warm to women, and now I think you will see that I truly meant it. Damianos and I will be married tomorrow. Not out of obligation, convenience, or alliance. A true marriage, built on love, trust, and commitment. I never dreamt I’d have one, but I love him more with every breath I take. My deepest regret is that you will not be there to see us. I hope we have your blessing. He is more than I will ever deserve.’”

When he was finished, Damen stared at him, speechless. It was, indisputably, his favorite. Laurent closed the diary and tossed it back on the desk, wrapping his arms around Damen’s neck.

He tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “You thought I’d be angry with you?”

“Yes,” Damen said. “I read your diary without your permission.”

“So you did,” Laurent said. “I’ll forgive you for a kiss.”

Damen pressed their lips together softly, sweetly—

“How was that?”

“One more, I think,” Laurent said, contemplative. “Maybe two.”

Damen kissed him again, then moved his mouth from lips to jaw, then to neck, lingering. Muffled by porcelain skin, overwhelmed by feeling, he said, “I’m so sorry, Laurent.”

Damen tightened his arms around him, wishing, impossibly, to erase the pain of Laurent’s past, to lighten all the darkness within the pages of that diary. He hoped, over time, that he had.

“Don’t be,” Laurent said. “My life began again when I met you, Damen. I’m happy because of you.”

“You were right. I liked the last one best,” Damen admitted after a moment spent holding each other in silence. Then, whispered, “I love you. More with every breath I take.”

Laurent chuckled, meeting his eyes. “First the snooping, now you’re stealing my lines. What’s next?”

“I could apologize again?” Damen suggested.

“I think you should,” Laurent said, easing closer. “I’ll decide when you’ve adequately made it up to me. It could take some time.”

“Good,” Damen said, kissing him once. “I want to earn it.”

Laurent nipped at his bottom lip, smile turning devious.

“Oh, you will.”

+

[viampythonissam]

Intro, continued...

It was then I became obsessed with death and the occult, desperately trying to make contact with my grandfather through anything possible. Being clairaudient, I was expecting to hear a message from my grandfather all throughtout the whole funeral and mourning period, but to no avail. So in my desparation, I went into research, and stumbled upon things such as the ouija, seances, and many more. I even considered dabbling into necromancy, just in order to hear from him again. His death broke me so much that I was for the most time wishing I were dead too. I had suicidal thoughts but somehow something has prevented me from attempting. It could be I'm too chicken to hurt myself (getting hurt by other things besides self-infliction doesn't scare me though) or the thought of my mother crying over my dead body is another thing that would crush my heart.

I started questioning my religious beliefs then. We were Roman Catholics, and we go to church, but not too often. I am very religious though when I was a child, having been schooled in a private Catholic school, and I know all the prayers by heart; but it all changed. I felt resentment for praying so hard but never getting answered. That everything happens for a reason. A reason still so vague to me to this day, which I continue to believe was the same reason of the breaking apart of this family and eventual downfall. The family is in ruins, and the family home is crumbling apart. My father's only brother, my uncle Aldrin, died a little over two years after my grandfather; and his widow and only child, my cousin, was estranged ever since then, because of inheritance issues. My father decided to sell the house, my childhood home because of this; splitting the family fortune already so that we can all go off our separate ways and stop the bickering. The only thing that's keeping him from doing so is my grandmother who is still so attached to the house built by my grandfather.

At 16, I eventually traversed my way into the craft, dabbling on it. There was a kind of pull into these mystics that appealed to someone like me. Was it power? Was it danger? Mystery, perhaps? Or maybe I just got all too familiar with the unknown for me to be comfortable chasing after it? This craft, shunned by my faith since the dawn of time and even killed tons of people because of it, felt like home to me; learning it felt like retracing my steps back from where I came from. There was a sense of calm, relief, and freedom learning the ways of the earth, elements, and spirits and those who came before. Its unrestrictive nature was a stark contrast to the repressive and dominating teachings of the Catholic scriptures. Wherein Christianity demands a million things to do and not to do to save your soul, the craft only ever wanted you to do anything you want, just as long you harm none, even yourself. I have a lot of arguments to make against my old faith, that's why I consider myself an agnostic in all fairness. That's a topic for another day.

When I got to college at 17, I applied for nursing school under my father's wishes. It was in my misfortune to be enrolled in a school with a toxic environment of sorts: unhealthy clinic hours, unreasonable school workload, toxic Christian classmates who bombarded me everyday with bible verses and inviting me to join Sunday worship thingies. I am very respectful of other's beliefs and opinions but I really have a bone to pick with the Born Agains because upon knowing I am interested in dark movies and occult, they've started telling me that the Devil has a grip on my soul and that I should stop it so that my soul can be saved. They're even worse than the Mormons and Witnesses who knock on your door at certain days. I'd just ignore it and they'll go but BAs will stop at nothing to guiltify me of being possessed and that I need deliverance. It was also the time my parents went to Australia for work because of the failing finances due to to my late grandfather's hospital expenses, my uncle meeting his untimely demise, and my uncle's greedy widow who already demanded their inheritance even though my grandmother was still alive. My best friends of highschool also attended different schools and pursued different career pathways which left me feeling more isolated and unsure of myself. These issues fed my undiagnosed depression and relapse of suicidal thoughts all throughout my 4 years in nursing school. It was a mix of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of disappointments, achievements, first-time experiences, full independence. All without a proper support system. Nevertheless, I grew wiser while treading the craft, and for the first time since I lost my grandfather, I felt safe and sound and complete.

Then I met my elementary school sweetheart again in my final year and we became a couple. He was a sweet guy, smart and responsible. We had our similarities, our quirks, but we also had differences. I was already quite a learned witch, studying tarot and palmistry as my supposed-to-be expertise, when he told me how he wanted to be baptised as a Born Again (he and his family are Roman Catholics as well). He told me how he was deeply affected by the one time he went to a worship service of his friend's church. This struck a chord in me, a subtle reference to my beliefs. At the time, I have fully believed he is the man I'm gonna settle for, the one I'm gonna marry. He's everything I have hoped for then: he's finished school, on his way to a very decent career on a ship as a marine engineer. He's from a good family as well. Well-mannered, and not to mention that we've got a pretty long history way back when we we're 10 or so. He even made a subtle proposal of a civil marriage before he hops on board the ship. I know it was betrayal of myself, but I love this man so much so, I am ready to submit myself to him.

Worst decision of my life. I started to try and mingle with Christians so I may understand just why I needed to be saved. I joined worship services and sang with them against my own beliefs. I taught myself to be like them just so I could fit in, so that I may have friends. In return, they've burned all my books and tarot decks. Even my Slipknot t-shirt that my grandmother bought me was not spared from the Christian pyre. Said that it's to release me from the grip of the Devil. They even did deliverance to me. For a while I thought I was given a new lease on life and that this is the only right thing to do. I was easily convinced since it was the most trying time of my life so far: I was killing myself reviewing for the nursing licensure exams, my parents are already coming to get us and live away in Australia for good, my bf and I hit rock bottom and broke up (the girl who is the 3rd party confessed to me that they're having an affair, and that she was so guilty she can't sleep at night knowing we are good friends and they're doing this behind my back, also I've noticed red flags about him that made me doubt him a bit. I factored everything and the dots connected like a damn constellation so I've called it quits), and I was caught in an identity crisis because of inner turmoil. Maybe it was a time of personal upheaval and the mix of situations was too much for me to handle. Maybe it was a good thing though that I never got baptised because my life just got much more complicated after that.

So I did pass the licensures, ex and I never got together again, I went to live to Australia, but I never recovered from the inner turmoil thing; which made me spiral down again the depression lane, this time in its dangerous, ugliest and darkest recesses. I was fighting with my parents which I never did before, I was angry all the time. I started drinking then and I was exhausted all the time I just want to sleep. All the activities I've enjoyed before like sketching, playing the piano, afternoon strolls, and cooking for the family, I've totally lost interest in. My health deteriorated and I cut off and isolated myself from my friends overseas, ignoring their messages and emails. I tried to cope up by immersing myself in Christian songs and scriptures but it was not enough. I was still empty and numb. I was like a zombie, waking up just enough not to get late for work, then go home after, eat unhealthily, play video games, chug a bottle or two of beer, surf the net for worthless and trivial things, and sleep very late, like around 3 to 5 am, only to wake up again a few hours later for work. This was a vicious daily cycle that went on for 4 years. The only reprieve I had was my video games, and my sombre playlist, just enough to block the deafening screams of suicidal thoughts and ideations before I go to sleep. There was also a time I was going home from my internship waiting for the train home, that I thought of just jumping on the train tracks to end the struggle and pain. I was more than ready to attempt as I felt braver now. That was the time I lost all fear for death. Hell, I was ready to buy a rope at Bunnings too as well. But at the back of my head, the same sad picture of my mother crying over my dead body stops me from doing such thing. They said the deliverance was supposed to stop these things, but guess what? It was it that brought it back. It was supposed to keep the demons away, but it did the opposite, and felt so trapped in a cage of deceit and lies. I was supposed to be saved, but why did it felt like I was dying?

It was then I pondered over everything that's happened in my life so far. Where did I fall, where did I stand tall, where did I pick myself up? I thought long and hard enough and decided to start off where it began to crumble: back home. Retracing my steps back to Manila, now 25, I found my old stuff in my old room, before things happened. It reminded me of my simple life and my freedom and innocence. Back when I had complete control of my life. Back when I was the master of my fate. I let the people around me convince me that the man from the sky take the wheel, and it damn well crashed. A head-on collision with a destructive force. I decided to go back to my roots, the one where I felt best. And embracing it tighter than ever and promising to never betray it anymore for any reason.

My ex is now preparing to marry his girlfriend of 3 years. We met accidentally and forgave him already. I'm happy for him and that hopefully his happiness continue on. My old friends are still my friends, but there's already a notable gap between which I do not intend to close at all anymore. I do have new friends now and I keep a healthy distance from them whilst making a worthwhile connection. I am now preparing to enter med school in August and become a surgeon someday. The old house is in shambles, and I realized that a house is not a home, but the family that lives in it. I miss my parents and that my family will always come first, but I am happy to be more independent now and live by myself while studying medicine. Things are well between me and my cousin (my late uncle's child) and that I have forgiven his mother already for the hurt and trouble that they caused us. We see each other as he visits me and grandmother here at the old house every 2 months. When BAs, Mormons, and other religions try to do bible study to me, I am now assertive to tell them that I am agnostic and that I am firm in my beliefs. I am now recovering from my self-destructive ways and more optimistic and living healthier. Love is around, but it felt to me that I have lots to undertake first before I commit myself to someone again. I have backlogged so much that my time has to be devoted to the craft, my family and myself first before anything else. I am trying hard to pick up all the pieces and it seems things are finally going back in its right place. And the craft, after all these years, welcomed me back with open arms without any questions, like a mother does to her child. The sun, moon and the stars never shone brighter before, the day I returned home and answered its longing call.

Now. I have to let this off my chest now once and for all. Pleasure. Why is it a sin to pursue whatever makes you happy? Why must you endure pain just so you can be saved? Isn't that a crooked logic? Why must you be averse to your own will just so you get into a good place in the afterlife? I am only human, I am flawed, but it isn't my fault because I was born and created this way. Why must I be punished for something that is natural for me? If being free and happy costs me a one-way ticket to Hell, then I'd best be off. If my witchcraft, which teaches the opposite of your tyrannic religion, is a surefire way to deliver me there, then I'll make sure I will be a remarkable witch and enjoy my lifetime, and be very ecstatic to march down the fiery highway to Hell after I am gone. But I will never again submit myself to a narcissistic, psychopathic religion who has to kill millions of innocent people, and shun and humiliate people who think in contrast, just to justify and preach the existence of their god and its scriptures. My argument does not end with this and I will not back down anymore in defending my faith.

The craft is my world, and nature is my home. I am a daughter of those who came before, of those who are truly enlightened, of those you can never ever kill. I am a witch, and you can never take that away from me again.

*** Sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading, if you did. I hope you had something to take from my story and may it help you with whatever is botheringvor troubling you right now.

May the journey of life be kind to us all. Blessed be! ❤

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

of faults and fissures, part one

Find it on Ao3 here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11206920/chapters/25031505

In the aftermath of the Daxamite Invasion, Lena Luthor thinks it’s time she came clean to her best friend about her role in it.

Some changes to canon- Kara did date Mon-el, but there was no huge declaration of love or anything like that when she put him in the pod. She took him back but wasn’t really into the relationship, slowly coming to the realization that she’d simply gone along with it because she felt like she owed it to him to not leave him alone the way she’d been abandoned by Kal-El. Basically, it was a pity-dating thing she was planning to break off before the untimely Daxamite invasion. And, oh yeah- she definitely does not give him her mother’s necklace. Lena’s under the impression Kara was genuinely dating him, though, so three cheers for the angst up ahead.

The first time Kara Danvers really sees Lena Luthor, she’s taken aback by just how small the other woman actually is.

Outside of work, stripped of her impeccable updos, perfect makeup, and six-inch heels, Lena Luthor is downright tiny.

She’s standing right on the Dr. Who-themed doormat that Winn had purchased for her last Christmas, dressed in a loose, oversized sweater, well-worn jeans, and honest-to-goodness scuffed sneakers.

To her credit, Kara manages to keep the gaping and stuttering to a minimum as she ushers her unexpected houseguest into the living room. Lena perches carefully on the couch, tucking her dark hair behind her ear as she smiles hesitantly up at her, and Kara instantly decides that she likes this look best for the typically designer-dressed C.E.O.

With her hair down and her face free of makeup, Lena looks younger than she ever has, appearing more like the untroubled twenty-something year old she should be and less like a woman carrying the weight of her entire family’s sins the way Atlas had shouldered the weight of the sky.

It’s still there, the invisible weight that never seems to allow Lena to sit perfectly straight for more than a few minutes at a time- she always retreats into herself ever so often, hunches inwards like she’s afraid to take up any space at all- but here, now, it’s less.

Like the burden has eased, somehow, or she’s found the strength to actually push back instead of simply allowing it crush her completely.

Kara knows a thing or two about guilt- surviving an entire planet’s destruction is bound to leave some scars, no matter how well the wounds may have healed over time- and Lena all but wears hers like a noose.

Lena virtually encourages the people of National City and beyond to treat her as their own personal whipping boy in Lex’s stead, and it’s something that’s disturbed Kara since their very first meeting, when she’d peered into her green eyes, emerald pools of desperation flickering with the barest hints of hope in their depths, and recognized a bit of herself shining back.

She’d been lost like that too, once.

The Phantom Zone had kept her trapped in the endlessly repeating memory of Krypton’s death for close to a quarter of a decade.

If it hadn’t been for the Danvers, if it hadn’t been for Alex…

She shudders at the thought and silently offers thanks to Rao for those blessings.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asks, already moving towards the kitchen on autopilot. “I’ve got tea, coffee, juice… Though, mind, the tea is bottled and store-bought…”

“Really?” Lena teases, and Kara falls a little bit in love with the faint, little laugh she hears behind her.

Kara tosses a sheepish grin in Lena’s direction as she pulls open the fridge. “It’s raspberry Snapple. Don’t judge me- I know it’s 90% sugar, but their slogan doesn’t lie, it really is the best stuff on Earth.”

Lena’s eyes widen comically at the sight of the large plastic bottle Kara sets down on the coffee table along with a pair of mugs. “I didn’t realize Snapple came in quart-sized bottles.”

“Neither did I, until I stopped by the convenience store down the road from my sister’s apartment in search of ibuprofen and ice packs after she went and got her ribs bruised,” Kara says, fondness fairly oozing from her voice as she pours a liberal helping into both glasses. “It’s the only place that I’ve ever seen stock bottles this size, but hey, I’m not complaining.”

A cautious sip brings a bright smile to the brunette’s face. “Neither am I. This is great!”

Kara’s jaw drops open in horror as she clutches her chest, clearly affronted. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried Snapple before! It’s literally in almost every vending machine in National City!”

Lena ducks her head in shame, a weak chuckle issuing from the back of her throat. “I’ve seen it around, of course, but… We-e-ell,“ she says, drawing out the ‘e’ for several seconds as a blush begins to spread across her cheeks, “I just… I never…”

Her face clouds over as the silence between them goes from teasing to strained, something Kara notes as tendrils of apprehension begin to wrap around her heart and squeeze.

Lena can barely bring herself to finish the sentence.

“Lillian was always very conscious about my eating habits,” she finally mumbles, tongue nearly tripping over the words in her haste to get them out.

The slack-jawed expression on Kara’s face is burned away by a look of pure anger and fierce protectiveness as the implications behind Lena’s words sink in.

For a moment, Lena thinks, Kara looks very much like the Kryptonian whose presence she has found herself entertaining more and more on her office balcony. She pulls herself free from that particular train of thought with a vehement shake of her head.

No, Kara couldn’t possibly be Supergirl. Kara would never keep something as big as that a secret from her, would she?

The tiniest trickle of doubt bleeds into her veins as a tiny voice in her head snidely reminds her of her last name.

You’re a Luthor, the voice sing-songs almost triumphantly, sounding far too much like her brother for her to not be unsettled, why wouldn’t she?

“Lena?”

She looks up and shoots the other woman a practiced, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. It’s just so easy to get lost in my own head sometimes. I just came over to see how you were doing, after… Everything.”

God, she can’t even bring herself to say it.

The Daxamite Invasion.

The one she had ultimately kickstarted.

The one she had helped managed to avert- at the cost of her best friend’s boyfriend, not to mention the innocent lives already lost in the first few waves of attack.

And it was all because Lena was too stupid to see past the façade that Rhea had so easily manipulated her into believing.

The price of Lena Luthor’s loyalty always had been and likely always would be love.

Love that she’d never had the time to get from her birth mother, love that had been wrenched away by her brother’s madness and the shame of being his sister, love that she’d never received from the woman she’d called family for over two decades…

Rhea had seen that easily, seen past Lena’s hardened shield of capable businesswoman right down to the unwanted orphan girl she was underneath.

Rhea had seen that easily, and just like everyone else in her life except for her secretary and the woman sitting in front of her, she’d used it against her.

“I’m fine, Lena, really. You didn’t have to come all the way here just to check up on me.” Kara actually laughs, then, and the sound of it pulls the breath from Lena’s lungs in a way that isn’t tingly, or endearing, or any of the other adjectives she’d come to associate with the feelings that Kara’s laughter usually induced.

How could she be so happy sitting across from the woman who had robbed her of someone she’d cared about?

“I-I…” Lena’s fingers tighten around the glass in her hand as she struggles to keep her tears at bay.

Spit it out, she rages, mentally shouting at herself. Tell her the fucking truth already. You came here for a reason.

“It was my fault.”

She closes her eyes before she continues, unable to maintain Kara’s unwavering gaze. “I built the portal the Daxamites used to get to Earth. I helped their queen transport her armies here. I built the device that irradiated the atmosphere with lead and poisoned all the Daxamites, including Mike- I mean, Mon-El. I did this.”

The words fall flat between them, landing somewhere in the invisible, gaping chasm that now somehow clearly splits the room apart.

“It was my fault,” she repeats, a little louder this time, as though an increase in volume could help her words make the leap over the miles stretched out between them, miles she hates but knows she’ll never make a move to cross.

Because she deserves this.

She deserves whatever look of hatred or betrayal or accusation that’s surely filling Kara Danvers’ eyes right now at her confession.

She deserves whatever words are going to come spilling out of Kara Danvers’ mouth at any second, probably laced with anger and disgust, all of which will be justified.

But again, for the umpteenth time in the past seventy-two hours, Lena Luthor finds herself mistaken about the people she thought she knew best.

She gets only silence.

Pure, pin-drop silence.

Lena doesn’t dare open her eyes to look at the woman sitting on the couch across from hers- and even if she wanted to, at this point, she’s not sure she even can.

Everything seems to be catching up to her now, at the worst possible time for the shock of it all to wear off and finally let her feel something other than the numbness that she’d managed to reach with surprisingly little aid from alcohol.

The world is shaking- or maybe she’s the one shaking- but either way, she can’t bring her limbs to move or her eyes to open or her lungs to breathe.

She can’t bring herself to do anything at all but sit there and silently beg the universe to simply let her disappear.

to be continued…

let me know what you think ;)

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: ‘I Am Still Alive’

"I don't know how to be properly afraid yet... "I don't know how to tell the difference between one kind of fear and the next. The fear that makes you fast." (Cooper)

But for fiction with only one substantial character, I AM STILL ALIVE is nevertheless beautifully written.

Marshall's work has a consistent voice and honors a long and distant tradition of plain-spoken novel-writing that pulls the most exquisite from the most naive: "My body's a bit broken, but it doesn't mean I'm a broken person" (p. 127), "In this moment, I am that empty girl, the girl who can do whatever she has to" (p. 211), "I haven't seen a human being in weeks — months — but I've gotten good at watching" (p. 278). Jess is strong. She cracks and nearly breaks, on multiple occasions. Death and fear and the cold nearly take her life more than she can count. But she perseveres. For herself. For the memory of her family. For revenge. And so much more. The strength and fascination one finds with this character is due as much her endurance as with her abject willingness to admit her faults and to acknowledge each and every untimely brush with the end: "I think I am going to die here" (p. 82).

Book Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[i-belong-in-space]

Xiah: A Character Bio

Name: Xiah Asterion

Appears in: Lacuna, Sky Children, Whispering Gods, Soliloquy of Seasons, La Vie en Bleu, Beasts in the Stars, Wild Earth

Character Summary:

Star Sign: Sagittarius

Personality Type: ENTP, -A/-T

Physical description: Xiah has the soft features of the Ezri, an alien race that landed on Earth before he was born. Many find him beautiful and captivating with strange non-human features, one of which are his black eyes and the way they catch unsuspecting people in their depths. Most Ezri’s hair is a deep black like their eyes, mirroring the universe they were born from. But Xiah dyes his hair a light brown and is continuously morphing his appearance in piercings and tattoos in defiance of the Ezri way. He’s very tall as his race decrees, with long elegant limbs. He moves with a catlike grace and uses his sexuality to his benefit. He’s very aware of his effect on people.

Breakdown: Xiah is the universe’s ultimate playboy. Born from two Ezri parents who raised him to suppress his natural Ezri abilities, Xiah struggles with his identity and covers that struggle up with everything that makes him forget and feel good; promiscuity, alcohol, and a restless need to keep moving through the skies. He’s got a fiery temper, and nothing ever keeps his attention for long. He spent most of his childhood wondering about his ability to read the thoughts of his own people, and the fact that he could manipulate energy at his will. He eventually smothers those abilities (except in situations that would benefit him) in favor of appearing more human. He grows up working on starships with his father and eventually procures a ship of his own to start his wild journeys across the universe, a smuggler under the guise of a merchant. Xiah tends to get himself into the worst of situations, but he always gets out, and with a new lover who usually wants revenge on him. It makes traveling the skies a little more tricky...and interesting.

Sexuality: The Ezri don’t put emphasis on sexuality, but in Earth’s modern culture, he would be seen as pansexual. If someone catches his eye, he has no qualms in pursuing regardless of sex, gender, or race.

Relationships:

Mikas Ikeda (romantic)

Details: Xiah meets Mikas on the planet of Aurora through a band of Mikas’ friends. He becomes their pilot, or personal chauffeur as he sees it, helping them to get where they need to go in their adventures. He sees Mikas as a human who shares some of his own struggles in the emotional department. Both rough and tumble and cold in love, they don’t see eye to eye in the beginning. In fact, they often get into physical struggles of control and mistrust, but eventually come to terms that perhaps there’s more between them than mere intimidation. They share a restlessness and a need for new experiences and eventually form a bond over that.

Miel “Blue” Vauquelin (nemesis)

Details: Xiah sees Blue as a ghost from Mikas’ past. In his pursuit of Mikas, he continuously runs into the roadblock that is Blue and holds that against him. It’s never a smooth meeting between these two, but they’re forced to stomach one another’s company for Mikas’ sake.

Caden Maddox (friend)

Details: Caden to Xiah is a mystery, as the boy is to most people. But Caden is one of his own, someone searching for himself. But where Xiah is hesitant to know himself, Caden is eager and will do anything to uncover the truth about his past and his identity. In a way, Xiah respects Caden for his boldness, honesty, and perseverance.

Senka Idalia (friend)

Details: Senka , a fellow Ezri, is one of the reasons he agrees to tote Caden and his friends around the universe without much gain for himself. He sees someone trying desperately to find the source of their people and in a small part of himself, he wants the same. He would never admit this of course, but knowing where he came from is a yearning in his heart.

Attis Whitewater (romantic)

Details: Attis is a wild, beautiful human to Xiah. He meets Attis on a small backcountry planet, Ceres- the agricultural workhorse of the universe. As with most of his more meaningful relationships, Xiah has a rough start with opinionated, fiery Attis, but they eventually grow very close. Attis forms a deep attachment to Xiah that he’s never really ready to commit to. At this point in his life, he doesn’t have the capacity to commit to a boy who will never leave his home planet though he cares deeply for him.

Bion (friend)

Details: The sister of his first love, Remi. Bion is a spirited woman and they grow close in their youth with Remi as their median. After Remi’s passing, they become like sister and brother and keep his memory alive between them. Xiah often visits Bion in the progressing years, meetings that are often emotionally charged. 

Remi (romantic)

Details: The great love of Xiah’s life, a constant reminder of his own inadequacy. He meets Remi on the planet of Vesta, where Xiah feels more at home than anywhere else in the universe. He loves the wild rawness of the planet, and eventually loves those same attributes in Remi. He learns the value of life through Remi and remains captivated by him even after his untimely death which Xiah wholly blames himself for. He lives many years in silent torment over this romantic link and every relationship thereafter seems overshadowed and tarnished by it.

Pella (romantic)

Details: Pella is a dangerous Nyxian aristocrat who holds Xiah prisoner upon their first meeting. It might be the fact that Xiah may have insulted and stolen from Pella, but Pella is no angel in any sense. It’s ingrained into the minds of Nyxians that all foreigners who aren’t native to the planet Nyx are enemies, sent to their dark planet to fester and ruin it. With that mindset, he has no qualms taking Xiah prisoner, but becomes intrigued by Xiah’s outlandish, roguish ways as the weeks go by. The two become lovers and when Xiah does find his escape, there’s hell to pay if he ever sees Pella’s face again.

Excerpt: “Hello,” the Ezri greeted. He had brought a towel with him and he wiped at his face, cleaning away the grime, all the while smiling at Senka, his eyes sweeping over him curiously, “I’m Xiah.”

Senka nodded politely and passed his name to the other quietly and Xiah smiled wider, slinging his towel over his shoulder. His energy startled Senka, so different was it from any other he had felt, even Caden with his human blood composed himself better than this careless creature. And yet Xiah’s blood was pure and old, no humanity resided in him.

“Were you looking for something in particular? I felt you from miles away.”

“I was merely walking,” Senka answered stiffly, letting his hood fall back and regarding the other carefully. Xiah shrugged, clearly unconvinced. Nonetheless, he gestured behind him with an exaggerated sweep of his arm towards a cluster of domed buildings.

“That’s my unit there,” Xiah turned back to him with a proud grin, “I’m working on repairs to a few vessels in the back. Are you interested in ships?” He said the last bit as if he knew what Senka was after, and he probably did, despite Senka’s best efforts at keeping this stranger from his deepest thoughts.

“Are those your ships?” Senka wondered aloud, allowing his gaze to travel back to the domed building Xiah had come from.

“Built them myself,” Xiah agreed with a sharp nod, “even the Mechi around here have a hard time keeping up with me. I’ve been putting ships together since I was a kid. My fath--”

“There are more of us here?” Senka interrupted abruptly, his heart racing at the prospect of a generation of his own people here, safe, and thriving. Xiah smiled slyly and nodded again.

They’re shielding themselves like you, my friend.

“Come, I’ll show you,” Xiah waved him on and began walking back towards the launch site. Senka hesitated only briefly, considering this odd stranger. He was Ezri and no matter his wild appearance and mannerisms, he was part of the web, part of what Senka was trying to save, and that last thought was what had him following behind Xiah.

When they entered the nearest building, Senka was assaulted by a strange metallic scent and the stench of things burning. All around him were a number of ships, single pods and multi-passenger vessels, in various states of repair.

On the launch pad in the center of the dome sat a single passenger ship, its protective coating glistening prettily in the light, ready for take off through the large open dome above them. A woman in a figure hugging gray jumpsuit was standing on the pad near the ship, hands on her well defined hips.

“Xiah, where have you been?” she asked testily as he stealthily hopped onto the launch pad and approached her.

Senka watched with a mixture of surprise and distaste as Xiah pulled the human woman closer by the hips and kissed her roughly on the mouth. The woman laughed throatily when he released her and she gave him a sidelong, amused glance as she pulled on a helmet over her light hair. Xiah zipped up her suit where her generous bosom had been spilling out and then spun her by the shoulders, pushing her playfully towards the ship. The woman stepped into the pod and strapped herself in before giving Xiah a thumbs up as the door sealed shut with a hiss, the tinted glass hiding her from view.

Xiah jumped down from the launch pad and stood back, watching with a wide grin as the ship launched through the domed ceiling with considerably less noise and smoke than the old ships from Earth. Senka watched the ship disappear, a dark dwindling shape in the morning sky, leaving the atmosphere at a dizzying speed, before he turned back to Xiah with a questioning tilt of his head.

“Is she your keta?” Senka asked skeptically and was even more surprised when Xiah laughed loudly at his words.

“She’s someone I fuck when I’m bored,” Xiah responded somewhat crudely, shrugging at the frown on Senka’s face, “a prostitute who loves to travel. I let her take my pods up free of charge. Well… without a charge to her card, anyway,” he laughed and moved towards an alcove across the room where an oversized drafting table had been affixed to the wall. Scattered maps and what appeared to be plans for new ships littered the surface of the table and the space below. Xiah sat down, brushing the paper aside, and Senka watched in fascination as his slender hands began to sketch across a clean sheet of paper.

If you would like to know more about the series this character is from, stay tuned to this writeblr. I’m going to put up many more character bios and short stories, or stop by my website https://amdailybooks.com/ for more info and many freebies/short stories that will be popping up soon! I’m always up for asks and will talk nonstop about these beloved babies.

(art is copyrighted and made for the Lacuna series <3)