#took a lot of being in denial because i do this abt every single thing i am diagnosed with to where i’m like no i can’t have it i can’t

[pawjamas]

i think i’m having a hypomanic episode ruh roh

[soleilnomoon]

zoro x female reader plss!!! caramel with macaron, fruit tart, konpeitō, milk chocolate, strawberry cake, chocolate mousse, churro, jelly bean, shortbread cookie and cinnamon roll!! and from the special menu.. cake pop, blan manje, oatmeal raisin cookie, ice cream cake, nougat, pop sicle, sugar cookie and brown sugar pound cake. sorry if its too much, i love your blog!! 💘

hi omg so sorry this took so long (i ended up rewriting it a bunch of times); anyway, it really wasn't too much at all 😊💓 thanks so much for hanging around my blog & for being patient 😌anyway, this ended up a bit longer than i meant buttt i had fun writing it <3

3.9k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; lots of angst, but also smut to make up for it ofc. zoro is relentless and a menace, reader is in denial over her feelings & a lil bratty abt it; modern au! feat. suppressed feelings, mutual pining, a rogue sanji makes an appearance, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, biting, public sex/exhibitionism, other stuff i'm sure like alcohol or smth.

corporate parties are not your cup of tea; the higher ups have a tendency of splurging unnecessarily — overpriced, tasteless meals, pretentious centerpieces on each table with floating candles that melt fairly quickly — making their events stuffy and boring. essentially, they’re useless and the bane of your existence; but you can’t get out of them, unfortunately. the only way to get through them is to drink until you can’t think straight. except, you know that if you do get that drunk, you’ll end up saying something you regret — and, you’re not trying to burn any bridges just yet. nails drumming rhythmically along the counter at the bar, you sigh softly and grab another slender champagne flute. it’s your fourth glass for the night, and while you’re definitely tipsy, you’re still relatively clear-headed.

several coworkers pass by the bar with their spouses and friends, so you smile prettily at them, hoping to look pleasant, but aloof — so they won’t bother talking to you.  when they disappear from your line of sight, your smile drops. feigning happiness is a sport that you excel in without trying; you’re not sure why you do it, but you refuse to let them see the real you. one coworker in particular, however, routinely defies your expectations and has an uncanny way of seeing through your facade; of breaking down your barriers without remorse, ripping open your chest to reveal your true feelings on things. and after every single interaction with him, he leaves you to suffer alone, an ache following afterward, making you want to break things and scream.

if you say you hate him enough times, you might actually believe it.

roronoa zoro also hates corporate parties, and only attends because sanji needs a babysitter for the night. at least, that’s what he tells himself initially, and what he continues to tell himself as his eyes drift around the room until he spots you. he watches you without realizing, a frown latching onto his face when he watches how easily you talk with others, how you actually giggle at sanji’s stupid lines, how your dress completely exposes your shoulders — the skin smooth, soft, shimmering under the golden light, highlighting the richness of your brown complexion. he keeps wondering if you bruise easily, if you’d let him see the parts of you that you continue to keep hidden. the compulsion to mark your skin in an attempt to ward off other people makes him clutch the champagne flute in his hand tightly. it nearly breaks when he slams it down onto the table.

it’s not jealousy that prompts him to get up and walk over to you, nor is it jealousy that has him standing very close and gruffly order a drink at the bar. but, maybe, just maybe, it might be something close to jealousy when he shoots sanji a sharp look that has his friend grinning triumphantly in response before asking you to dance.

in the back of your mind, you know you should decline the invitation; sanji is a notorious flirt that gets under zoro’s skin just by breathing — but zoro’s presence brings about a heat to your skin that you need to get rid of quickly. it’s almost as if he’s capable of looking into the deepest parts of you, and you don’t like it — the vulnerability that comes when you talk with him candidly almost always leaves you in a state of confusion. whether it’s annoyance, arousal, or even anger; it’s really all the same. he extracts them from you with ease and is more than smug when you give him the reactions he seeks. tonight, you refuse to play that game with him; you take sanji’s hand in yours and lead him to the dance floor — he babbles about something or another, but you aren’t paying attention.

jaw clenched, teeth harshly grinding against one another, zoro watches sanji twirl you around gracefully, your movements matching the slow tempo of the music playing in the room. you try to avoid zoro’s stare, but you can’t; it’s impossibly magnetic — hypnotizing, even; almost as if you’re the only person in the room that he wants to look at. the thought brings goosebumps to your arms, makes you stumble as you dance with sanji, and when he asks you what’s wrong, you just shake your head to wave off his worries.

“too much champagne,” you say, the lie rolling off your tongue with ease. sanji’s eyes narrow slightly at your explanation, but his face softens when he sees how determined you are to convince him. a gentleman through and through, he places a small kiss on the back of your hand before releasing you completely.

zoro knows that sanji’s just baiting him, and he almost falls for it. almost. he lingers by the bar, irritation morphing into something that falls out of the realm of his control, taking a solid hold of his demeanor and vision as he watches you walk over. before he can say anything, you roll your eyes and hold a hand up. “don’t give me that look.” you grab your purse and brush past him, determined to get some fresh air so you won’t continue to choke on the tension brewing between you two. he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go and follows you with swift strides.

of course, his presence bothers you, has you pause in the middle of the corridor to sigh heavily and turn around to properly look at him. maybe if you rephrase your initial statement, he might catch the hint to leave you alone. “whatever bullshit you want to tell me right now, you can save it.” your annoyance reached its peak when you realized that you’d suffocate under his gaze if you continued dancing with sanji — not that you care that the dance was interrupted, but you hate how much of a pull he has on you. “i can’t do this right now,” you say quietly, fussing with your hair, fingers tugging at a stray curl.

“you’re always saying that.” he shoots you a pointed look. it’s more than annoying, to say the least, and drives him to grab onto your arm and tug you over to the restroom in the neighboring corridor. it is every bit as luxurious and expensive looking as the ballroom you left behind; zoro momentarily locks the door behind him, to prevent others from interrupting his conversation with you. because he refuses to continue this back-and-forth nonsense that only serves to frustrate both of you to no end.

you don’t know why you didn’t pull away from him before, you also don’t know why you allowed him to corner you like this — but maybe a part of you wants to see how much further the two of you can push one another before it becomes too much. you’re already at your limit, and you suspect zoro is too, even if he doesn’t say it.

the restroom is startlingly clean, the tiled floors shiny and polished, the counters pristine, almost as if someone periodically comes by to clean every ten minutes. you don’t intend to stay in here long, but it’s refreshing to know that you can talk freely without gagging.

“you can let go of me now,” your voice is barely above a whisper, fingers shaking even when you ball them into fists. “if you have something to say,” you start once he lets go of you, “then say it. i plan on leaving the party early.” the lie is meant to light a fire under his ass, to get him to confess whatever it is that he refuses to say, to finally put you out of your misery so you can move on with your life.

he loosens the tie around his neck and leans against the wall. you try not to stare at his throat when he speaks, but you can’t help it. you curl your fingers again and sink your nails into your palms, desperately suppressing the urge to touch him.

“why do you act differently with everyone else?”

the question hangs languidly in the air, waiting for your delayed response; you open and close your mouth repeatedly, irritation returning in full force, uncomfortably prickling your neck, making it hard to think straight.

it’s purely reactionary, instinctual, when you ask in return, “why do you care?” a heavy silence stifles the air around you, brings a deep chill to your body. “it’s really none of your business, anyway.” while you wanted to keep your distance, to ensure that he wouldn’t charm his way back onto your good side, you end up moving closer to him.

before he can control his mouth, he gruffly blurts out, “says who?” his arrogance clearly knows no bounds, but instead of telling him that, you just sigh in defeat, smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, and walk to the counter so you can fix your hair in the mirror.

if he says what’s really on his mind, there’s a possibility that you might do as you always do: run away. so he swallows it back, tongue struggling to keep the words at bay, especially when you bend over like that. the fabric of your dress stretching tightly over your round ass, reminding him of why he was so intent on being by your side tonight.

already, he can feel his cock grow stiff, painfully pressing against the front of his pants as you continue to tempt him the way you normally do at all hours of the day — even when you’re not near him. and, because he’s lost all semblance of control over himself for the night, he pushes off the wall and stands behind you. rough hands glide down your curves, settle comfortably on your hips before gripping them firmly.

“i can’t tell you why i care,” he says carefully, voice lowering as he presses his hips against your ass, “but i can show you.” which, if anyone were to ask him, is the only thing he can do at this point. he’s terrible with words, even worse with stringing them together to form cohesive and straight-forward sentences when feelings are involved. you catch his eyes in the mirror, swallowing thickly as something prompts you to playfully grind your ass against his bulge. he tries to keep his base needs in check, but inevitably loses that fight as he tugs your dress upward to completely expose your ass. whatever morals you think you have are gone once his hand makes contact with your ass. the slap is loud and hard enough to make you squeal — both from the harshness of the sting and because you like the feeling a little more than you should.

“careful,” he warns, his hand massaging your skin, grabbing the fleshier part before slapping it again; this time, you let out a moan that clouds his vision all over again, where the only thing he can see or focus on is you. “you don’t want our coworkers to hear you, do you?” his words make you press your lips together tightly, your thighs rubbing against one another as an intolerable heat lowers through your body. you grip the counter to keep yourself upright, but your legs are on the verge of giving up on you entirely.

shaking your head — because no, of course you don’t want any of your coworkers to hear what you’re up to, despite the small rush that accompanies the thought of someone catching you in there with him — you give zoro a pleading look in the mirror, hoping that he’ll scrape together some semblance of mercy. he tugs on the flimsy fabric of your panties, the lace delicate and captivating — it rips without much resistance, and even though you fuss at him over it, he ignores your words. it’s less about him ripping them and more about him seeing how damp they were. you want to hate the way your body reacts to him but know that the lies you continue to tell yourself throughout the night will only catch up to you in the end.

you almost ask him what he’s done with your ruined panties but get distracted when you feel his hand dip in between your thighs, thick fingers grazing your folds, arousal coating his fingertips immediately. a shudder passes through you, and you do your best to stifle another moan, mouth straining as your lips continue to firmly press together out of spite. you refuse to let him break down your walls any further than he has, and he refuses to let you take the easy way out. his touch is light, exacting — stroking up and down your slit slowly, coaxing more noises out of you, making it increasingly difficult to keep quiet. when you press your thighs together, he grunts in disapproval and pushes your legs apart. his fingers resume their ministrations, lazily rubbing your pussy as your breathing grows uneven; that ache returns in full force, a slow building crescendo that has you gripping the counter even harder.

your pride prevents you from calling out his name, but your body freely reacts to his touch, much to your feigned displeasure. somehow, you forget just how perceptive he is, so when zoro tells you to turn around and sit on the counter, you don’t think much of it. if anything, your body is on autopilot — his proximity brings a haziness that warps your logic, turning you into a marionette that can only be commanded by him. you don’t bother hiding from him — not really, anyway — but you do turn your face, unable to handle the intense way he looks at you. something compels him to bring your hand to his face and he press his lips against your wrist, leaving behind a soft kiss, one that disrupts all of your plans for the night, the ones where you completely deny any and all attraction to the man in front of you.

chest heaving and blinking slowly you watch as he runs his hands along your thighs, seemingly admiring the plush skin there. a small shiver travels through you when he pulls you to the edge of the counter, but rather than fight your urges, you grab onto his tie and pull him closer to you. surprise briefly flashes over his face, halting his movements, giving you the opportunity to kiss him without restraint. your lips are soft against his, pliable and inviting when he parts them with his tongue. greed consumes him once he swallows your soft whimpers, silencing them with practiced swipes of his tongue, a possessiveness burning through him as his kisses turn fervent and reckless.

a different kind of haziness surrounds your mind, but you don’t stop kissing him — and have no intention to, until a lightheaded feeling spreads. if he had it his way, he’d kiss you all the time — at work, outside, in private — but he knows that there’s a possibility of you keeping your distance when you realize that you like him as much as he likes you. it’s a powerful thought, really, and you try not to think about it, even when he looks at you tenderly like that, hunger dancing around the edge, guiding him to pull away and kneel in front of you. his lips latch on to the patch of skin near your knee, kissing and licking a dangerous path up along the inner part of your thighs. zoro leaves behind kisses and small bite marks that have you moaning shamelessly; when you realize, you slap a hand over your mouth and grip the counter with your free one.

he tuts under his breath at your insistence, shoots you a cheeky grin, and swipes his tongue against your pussy. your hips jerk forward, and he swears he hears you squeak out something like zoro, please. so he does it again, and again, and again. by the time he’s set an indecent rhythm and pace, his face is buried between your thighs, mouth and tongue feasting on your pussy like it’s the one meal he’s decided to eat for the rest of his life. he’s really not much of a foodie — as that’s sanji’s area of expertise for some reason — but, he will say that he’s never experienced this sort of hunger before. your teeth sink down onto the fleshy part of your palm, your cries muffled but still loud enough for him to hear.

in order to tame that part of you, he slips a thick finger inside of you, plunging it in and out, your pussy clenching around it tightly. he watches the way you fight against your desire, watches how you struggle to keep quiet, and flicks his tongue against your sensitive clit. it’s when he decides to slide an additional finger inside of your needy hole, that he speaks again — voice gravelly and husky, making your toes curl. “don’t cover your mouth, i want to hear you.” his words make you choke, and he goes back to ruining your life in the best way possible, giving your pussy sloppy tongue kisses as he scissors his fingers inside of you. you want to curse and yell at him, want to tell him off for how good he’s making you feel. but when he sucks on your clit roughly, a sinister jolt barrels through you, making you buck your hips wildly and drop your hand from your mouth at last. you use it to grab onto his hair for support, riding his face shamelessly.

because that’s what you are right now; a shameless, pitiful mess.

you could blame him for it, but you’re just as much at fault as he is. zoro doesn’t let up, however, driven by lust and other impractical things; he curls his fingers inside of you and you let out a throaty moan, one that bounces around the solid walls of the restroom. if anyone decides to pass by, they’ll definitely hear you. he smirks at that, pride swelling in his chest as he enjoys the way you fall apart around him. your nearly out of breath by the time your orgasm finds you, hips rolling forward, chasing the high that zoro keeps baiting you with. he pulls his fingers out, swaps them with his tongue and slurps your pussy obnoxiously — loud enough to make your body flush, to make you cry out repeatedly, tears pooling around your eyes. so you yank his hair hard, pull him away, too sensitive to take any more. he laughs at that, at your feeble attempts to gaining the upper hand, but you lost as soon as you let him touch you.

your arousal drips down his lips and chin, his tongue darting out to lick his fingers in front of you.

“oh my god,” you say shakily, voice lowered; you watch him in shock as he stands up again. you know you’ll never hear the end of it, but your hands fly out to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. zoro lets out a quiet groan the moment your hand wraps around his thick length. you’ve always imagined what it would feel like to touch him like this, to have his pre-cum dribble onto your fingers with each stroke of your hand. you pause to lick your fingers, moaning softly before you stroke him again. you grip a little too tight and he narrows his eyes at you, wraps a hand around your throat, and squeezes, fingers digging into your skin roughly.

“behave,” is all he says before you nod and loosen your grip; although, that’s not nearly enough for him. zoro runs his tongue along your lips, teeth grazing as he rubs his cock in between your folds, enjoying the way your slick arousal sticks to his skin. and somewhere in between him giving you open-mouthed kisses — scorching and sensual, bringing you further under his spell — that he slides his cock into your aching hole, slowly filling you up. his name falls off your tongue prettily, legs wrapping around his waist just as he thrusts forward. he keeps his hand around your throat, holding you steady as he pulls out and slams back into you again. the pace he sets has you squeezing around his cock mercilessly, hips snapping against yours as your back arches. you babble incoherently against his lips and each thrust has you grinding your pussy against him, thighs quivering, as sweat trickles down your back.

it must be pure possession that drives him to bury his cock into your puffy cunt aggressively, his moans turning you on even more. he does eventually let go of your neck, his lips kissing the skin there, your inhale sharp, making you pant lightly. all the teasing is a bit much, and when he sucks on the skin right beneath your earlobe, you buck your hips forward, meeting each of his messy thrusts, thoroughly enjoying the way his heavy balls slap against your ass. your fingers thread through his hair, nails clawing at his scalp as you pull him to you for another bruising kiss. his strokes get shorter, his soul nearly leaving through the tip of his cock when you clench around him like that, which invigorates him somehow, making him pound into you and fuck you harder.

“ah, z-zoro, wait, wait,” you try pleading with him as he leaves kisses on your jaw, but he knows why you’re asking him to slow down — because you’re at the precipice again, and you don’t know if you can handle another intense orgasm. so, he does what makes the most sense and keeps his hips close to yours, angling to fuck you deeper, his thrusts hard, almost as if he’s punishing you for being so bratty earlier. not that he’s really complaining, he likes that side of you — likes the way you constantly bump heads with him, likes how you try very hard to not like him. and now look at you: whimpering, tears staining your cheeks, cunt fluttering around him, squeezing hard enough to keep him there permanently.

he bites down on your shoulder, a moan pushing past his lips when you cum again, wetness causing your pussy to squelch loudly, the noise lewd, bringing another flush to your skin. you hate how much you like the sound, and equally hate that zoro’s left noticeable marks on your skin, almost as if he wants to display your salacious behavior for the world to see. the warmth that you thought you stamped out, swirls back in your chest, making you cling to him.

he keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm that finds him shortly after. before he can let his lust drive him further, zoro pulls out and cums onto your pussy and the inner parts of your thighs. your dress gets stained in the interim and even though you’ll fuss at him for it later, you just ignore it for now. he kisses you a little more gently this time, like you’re something precious — which brings an additional, semi-permanent warmth to your body — and enjoys the feel of your mouth against his, wanting to savor and bottle up the moment to keep him company late at night. eventually, he presses his lips to your ear, whispers something tragically romantic, that startles both you and him, one he’ll possibly deny later — but you know and heard him loud and clear. you’ll hold onto those words, tuck them somewhere safe and far away from your irritating logic, where you can recall them whenever you please.

and maybe, just maybe, one of these days you’ll stop fighting yourself long enough to admit to your feelings.

[aks3raao1]

You know, there's a thing with characters that foil each other and serve as the "good" and "bad" respectively (Toga/Himiko, Tenko/Izuku, Nagito/Hajime, Ryoko/Hajime, Atsushi/Akutagawa) but that trope felt rather annoying to write, especially in the world I am trying to write about (ALTERNATIVE's world is basically MHA X BSD but like. 1000 times more fucked up and the Specialised are always prejudiced against. A terrible lot).

The title itself, ALTERNATIVE is to symbolise Romila's POV of "infinite choices and paths present for every being" and how she starts off the story with a decisive line of,

"Many people ask me if this could have been avoided. They beg for me to tell them that things could have been better. There are others too, who try to justify that this was the only way for things to have been. If you ask me, both are living in states of denial. One can't accept the stupidity of humanity for disregarding common sense for violence and prejudices. Another can't accept humanity's choice for having better circumstances if the one with the power chose to."

The thing is, the running theme is that the story is a bittersweet one, despite there not being many deaths of the main characters, but there was always a junction where you can see it could have been avoided, that there was an "alternative" for things to have gotten better, especially in the first book.

Another reason for the title is that it's basically an "ALTERNATIVE" to this world of ours, where super powers and stuff like those exist.

The subtitles of both the books (Myriad of Colours, Colour of Death) signifies Romila's power, "Aura Tracker" which lets her view people's aura as colours (Myriad of Colours is to signify the different kinds of people she meets, Colour of Death is about what affects her the most (death) and how she's constantly seeing that colour everywhere, especially now that it's war).

The thing about ALTERNATIVES is that Romila could have chosen to be a doormat (like Koldin tends to be at the beginning (his rp self is like THAT due to circumstances different to ALTERNATIVE's actual storyline. Also because Hack's a nicer person to be around than Romila is) in order to nOt hAvE cOnFliCt™) to not get into conflict and put up a super nice persona for people but she didn't. She decided to focus on hanging onto her reasons for doing what she does and using it to create a caustic personality to shield herself because she knows that she will regret being a doormat (Her Despair takes the form of Koldin Hopkins).

Now Koldin could have certainly put his hatred for society at the forefront and taken a caustic personality but instead chooses to be nice. Because he doesn't want to become as hurtful as the rest, that's how he wants to disentangle himself from society. However he, like Romila (who just took standing up for herself to extremes), takes this to the extremes causing him to gain the personality of a nice boy™.

However this also goes into why they made the choices they did (which is what Romila realises during the Mansion of Death arc), because for Romila, she didn't really have the psychology for actually becoming a doormat (because a) Her mom wouldn't have it b) She hated to be called weak c) She didn't have anyone to fall back to after the inevitable consequences of being a doormat d) She felt that if she were to live with monsters, then it's easier to blend in by being one (this comes useful to her when she infiltrates into the Government) e) She saw doormats getting suicidal which frightened her) or not becoming fully caustic (since her standing up for herself wasn't. Liked. By. Anyone. And seen as aggressive and she basically went, "Well if they see me as bad, I will show them BAD" which led to her breakdown causing the incidents at the Mansion Of Death (especially a twisted hatred against Koldin for extremely understandable reasons).

For Koldin, being meek and peaceful had let him get by in the streets and his skills to difuse fights had come in handy. Later when Dr. Hopkins took him in, he was well. A member of the Radicals who were known to be extremely merciless towards the Specialised (he had defected but Koldin had a REALLY good reason to be wary) so he figured if he stayed nice, he wouldn't be kicked out of the house and Dr. Hopkins being Dr. Hopkins just assumed that it was his normal and that behaviour carried into school. He figured that it was a horrifying thing to be aggressive and then saw how Romila got treated and decided that yep, he was right, that confirmed his world view alright and it was more reason to be super nice. While Romila saw Koldin as a person who everyone took advantage of (a thing she hated. To be exploited just like that) and went, yep that confirmed hers and it was more reason to be super angry.

However the thing is that, Romila was chided for being anything, which caused her to just give up to be peaceful (because what would she do? Anything she tried to do got her scolded) while Koldin (thankfully) found a support system. It really goes to show the difference a good friend can do.....

As it is, when I first began writing this, the most obvious choice presented itself to me. Koldin is the "hope" and Romila is the "despair" (on the protagonist, deutergonist side) but that seemed stupid and boring as it wouldn't make sense. Since I am trying to make a point of showing with how Romila's world view gradually changes from "there are wrong and right choices" to the fact that it doesn't have to be rigid and that *now* she wouldn't be hurt if she used what her vulnerable side wanted (a world free of prejudices and unnecessary cruelty) with the talents she had. That kindness mixed with her usual personality won't literally kill her.

And for Koldin, being a doormat means that he got taken advantage of a lot by different people and since he refused to actually stand up for himself ("Ah...aha......it seems that I can't..." "Can't what?" "Feel angry for myself......it's always anger that comes from the ones I love being hurt" "Then love yourself too, you will feel angry again" ~ Koldin's conversation with his inverted self in the Labyrinth) he got. Taken advantage of. By virtually everyone. However he decided that if being nice would keep him keep his self and his name self then it would be fine. He did not want to be the source of grief (his actual parents tossed him out because of his Specialisation). The Mansion Of Death actually causes him to snap for that reason, because Romila literally puts him in a torture dream "for the greater good" and then proceeds to kill his dear friend. One thing Koldin HATED. Killing friends. (Due to them being run over by a car, which led to his paralysed left arm)

Now on the other side, their respective friends:

Romila:

Luja: Cynical and annoyed by people's stupidity but not to caustic extents and she wants to be a scientist and isn't haunted by the possibility of dying.

Kratanos: Full of anger and hatred against the world but not entirely blinded by it and is focused to using that anger for reformation of the world (she becomes a therapist later, to help people)

They both have her caustic parts but they also let themselves embrace another side which makes them her "balance".

Koldin:

Anand: Believes that there's no requirement for violence unless it's absolutely necessary.

Karishma: Figures it's a better idea to just listen to rules but doesn't hesitate to break them if she sees that they are bs

They both have his peacefulness, but don't hesitate to do what they think they should do, which makes them his "balance".

The point is that, the case of choosing alternatives isn't possible with a tunnel vision. Even so, there are choices that literally can't be made due to the individual and circumstances. Sometimes the choice is to choose more than one choice. Well, that's one dramatic storyline......

It reminds me of DDLC side stories since everyone has a bit of the other person's solutions and more of a opposite personality (don't take this the wrong way, there are many stories like that and it's honestly a favourite to think abt but it's just that DDLC does it well especially since it's only a school environment). Tbh, I like dramatic storylines that rlly dig deep into a character's perspective (reasons why I'm in love with Hack and Axel in particular). My whole thing is that I'd rather read a story with interesting and in depth characters than one where only the plot is good so I say you made the great call of the century with Koldin and Romila's characters.

What you thought before getting into it is rlly how every great character arc starts. You focus on one, somewhat forget the other one until you review every single character for inspiration and then BAM! PARALLELS! It's really admirable how, even in this messed up world of specializations, you didn't purely focus on the plot bc it honestly sounds interesting enough to just stick around for Romila's life and journey. You could have ended it all with just that, but no, you smacked Koldin in there and said "be my interesting on par character that can kick Romila's gut" and IT WORKED SPECTACULARLY!!!

I really love ur writing and hoping to one day read (and maybe print out) every story you've ever written bc GODDAMNIT I NEED THE FEELING OF THOSE WORDS ON WORN PAPER WITH AN ARTISTIC COVER AND AN AMAZINGLY HEAVY WEIGHT

Aka, paperback. Bc that's how I like to roll and that's how good I think it is. 1000% worthy of a bestseller

[pens-swords-stuff]

WAIT WAIT WAIT please PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT VANESSA!!!! do you have like a mood board or anything for her? like----- where can i get a description of what she looks like/read about her bc i just saw the last ask you did and read abt vanessa and i LOVE HER i think i got a crush immediately.................... im fr gonna Sob omg.

OKAY FIRST OF ALL @yeraswifey!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I wasn’t actually sure whether people read these ask games, and Vanessa is one of my newer characters that I’m sometimes concerned about so this?? honestly made my day!! this is one of the nicest things people have said to me and I’M THE ONE GOING TO CRY

So to answer some of your questions… Here’s what she looks like! Her face claim is Kassi Smith. The only other detail I would mention about her looks is that she’s about 5′7″, but she’s always wearing heels so she can look taller.

She does have an aesthetic board on pinterest here. I have to warn you though, it’s a really bad aesthetic board — one of my worst ones. I know exactly what her aesthetic is, but I haven’t managed to find the right search terms for it yet. Her pinterest board is in dire need of reconstruction, and it’ll happen at some point, so everything here is subject to change.

She also has a playlist!

So I’m really sorry in advance, because this post is going to end up long. It’s not very often I get asked to talk about an OC, and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth. Also, she’s a part of two main WIPs I have right now, and she definitely differs in them so I’m just going to give you a rundown of both if that’s ok!

Of course, if you have any questions about her, definitely let me know! I’ll be happy to answer them.

General Vanessa facts

Here’s a couple personality paragraphs I wrote for her when I first conceptualized her:

Fiercely independent and ultimately self-serving, Vanessa exists on her own terms no matter what anyone else tells her. She breezes in and out of everything as she pleases, often finding a person or a hobby of the month due to her fickle nature. Commitment is an unfamiliar concept to her, and there is very little that she returns to regularly — feeling trapped or obligated is not something she takes to kindly. She’s power-hungry and ambitious, Notoriously shallow and indulgent, Vanessa can often be found partaking in activities that shouldn’t be mentioned in respectable conversations. She’s rather flirtatious, though she’s very careful to not reveal too much or let people in too close. Aside from a few exceptions Vanessa is very guarded, preferring the casual relationships that she’s not expected to maintain. As much as Vanessa pretends to not care, pretends that life right now is exactly what she wants, she wants to care and there’s something missing. After five centuries or so of immortality, she’s far too jaded to become involved in anything temporary — romantic or otherwise.

So that was the very first draft of her personality. She largely hasn’t changed, except I would say that she’s even more confident in herself than before, she’s more capable, and is perfectly content with her fickle lifestyle — in the newer versions of For Queen and Country, she does have a purpose and isn’t just aimlessly wandering like she was originally.

Vanessa is characterized by her utter confidence in herself, her mastery at manipulation, playful-but-deadly personality, and her intense avoidance of commitment.

She’s a very social person who can fit in anywhere, so she has a very wide network of friends and acquaintances, but she is very careful about not revealing too much about herself to people. As a general rule, she’s very independent and dislikes being tied down by anything, including romantic partners or friends. The only person she’s consistently there for and relies on is her adopted brother, Alistair (written by the amazing @decantae). He’s her best friend and confidant, and they make a fantastic team.

FQAC!Vanessa

For Queen and Country is an urban fantasy story about how the existence of supernatural creatures exist, and what happens when the human public finds out.

So in For Queen and Country, Vanessa is a vampire. She was born in Scotland several centuries ago, and was turned when she was about 34-ish to fight in a vampire war at the time. That was where she met Alistair, and when he offered her an out from the life of an immortal soldier, she took it without hesitation and they’ve been together ever since. Additionally, her surname Queen comes from Alistair as well. Although they’re close, Vanessa gets bored really easily, so while Alistair has settled down in London, Vanessa is off doing who-knows-what all over the world. She comes back to visit every 5-200 years or so though, to stay with Alistair for a while.

Her original plot in FQAC was that she was traumatized from falling in love with a human who died from disease during an epidemic. This was the cause of her commitment-phobia, and her preference for casual, physical relationships over close intimate ones. When she meets a lady fae, she would have to learn how to deal with romantic feelings that went deeper than just sexual attraction, and her subplot was mainly her freaking out and being in denial about feelings.

Now that FQAC’s plot is more focused on how Alistair’s relationship with Blake develops (his love interest, and another OC of mine) and how they work together to fight for the rights of the supernatural, her current plot is now a bit different. Here, rather than just vacationing and running away from her problems, Vanessa is actively networking with and investigating vampire societies and other supernatural creature societies all over the world. This might include a lot of shady underground stuff. Her role in the plot is now providing valuable global intel, and being an annoying sister. Although I know in my heart that if Vanessa ever does end up with anyone, it’ll be with a woman, at this point I’m not sure if she’ll have a romantic subplot because I feel like she’s completely content with being single forever.

Post-Script!Vanessa

So Post-Script is another story about Alistair and Blake — this time in a Harry Potter AU where Voldemort succeeded in killing Harry and never died.

In this WIP, Vanessa is Alistair’s adopted sister once again, except this time Alistair is a pureblood from a notable family, while Vanessa is muggleborn. She essentially plays the part of a pureblood extremely well, and if people dare to point it out, she has enough blackmail material on them to ruin them. In this universe, Vanessa is a natural legilimens. Not only is she adept at the spell of delving into someone’s mind, she’s a natural mind reader (who cannot turn it off, mind you). So she knows a lot of dirty secrets.

In Post-Script, Vanessa’s outward job is a socialite who is on the Death Eater’s sdie, but she’s actually a spy actively working against Voldemort. She’s also involved in the criminal underworld of the Wizarding Society. She doesn’t actively do traditional criminal things, but she has a lot of shady contacts, and enough blackmail material and insider knowledge to effectively navigate her way.

So yeah, if I had to sum up Vanessa:

If she had to be summarized in a trope, it would be femme fatale

She doesn’t trust anyone but Alistair, and has considerable leverage with people she suspects might turn against her via information she’s gained in various ways.

She’s easily bored, so to fix that she plays with fire.

She may seem like an out-of-control slut, but reality is she is a slut that is very under control.

She’s confident and knows exactly who she is, and can utilize that to a deadly degree.

She hates commitment and refuses to get into any serious relationships.

Vanessa likes playing with her food, so to speak. She really enjoys messing with people and getting into their heads — especially if it’s an enemy.

[tkmuses-archived]

   His relationship with Richie had always been difficult to describe, especially considering the fact that neither of them were keen to do it. He’d known the guy his entire life, or at least as far back as he could remember. No matter how hard he tried, he could never really pinpoint exactly when they met. They’d been a pair, an insufferable pair at best, but a pair through and through. Every one of his fondest memories included Richie, but most of the awful ones did too. It was funny, he couldn’t really remember why he’d hated Derry so much, or what was so bad about it, but the little chill he got whenever he thought about it was enough to let him know there was a reason. Richie was the same way too. They’d all left as soon as they could. He and Richie had taken up in New York, gotten a place in Queens together. That was when things had really changed. Not just for them but the whole group. 

   The Losers Club, that was what they’d called themselves. Up until College, they’d been inseparable, but now they were struggling to find time for each other. He didn’t really talk to Bev that much anymore. She was all the way up in Oregon, and it wasn’t like she got to come out to visit them much. Ben was pretty far away too. He’d gotten into USC School of Architecture, and he’d insisted it was because it was one of the best, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion it was because it was the closest to Oregon. Bill was busy too; in school. He wanted to be a writer or something, and it made sense-- he’d always had a knack for the creative side of things. They talked often enough, and he saw him the most out of everyone too, but it wasn’t like it had been before. Stan was off being, well, Stan. They’d always joked about him being too mature for his age, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he was married, working some boring accounting job. They talked about as much as he and Bill, but  he was pretty sure it was only because he wanted to check up on Richie. God knew Richie would never tell the truth about how his life was going. And Mike? Mike had never gotten out of Derry like they’d all sworn to do. He felt bad for him, really, but not everyone had what it took to get of a small town where no one ever left. The only thing that hadn’t changed was Richie. 

   He had his inkling why Richie hadn’t left him yet, but he also had an inkling that Richie would never really admit to it. Eddie knew it was hypocritical to hold it against him, it wasn’t like he was rushing to spill his guts either, but still. Richie had a big mouth, couldn’t shut up was more like it-- if anyone was going to fuck up and let it out it would’ve been him. Not Eddie, careful and calculated Eddie. Maybe Derry was to blame. You could leave, but those small town ideologies never left you or something. It had to be that, he would think to himself as he listened to Richie’s sets. Countless jokes about women, and girlfriends and shit that Richie knew nothing about. He’d never said it in so many words, but he knew there was a reason Richie was single-- and it wasn’t because he was an unlovable dick. He recited those jokes with a lifelessness in his eyes that could only be explained by the ideologies a bigoted small town had instilled within him. Richie Tozier wasn’t gay-- no one in the comedy scene was. 

   Eddie had always let it slide. He wasn’t going to push him into admitting anything, and if those stupid jokes made him feel better about himself, he’d be a shitty friend for trying to take that from him. Eddie was a good friend, always supporting him. He’d come to every one of his stupid shows, sat there in the front audience every night Richie went on. He laughed at his jokes, even the ones that weren’t funny, and he didn’t hesitate to tell people to fuck off when they got bold enough to boo him. Eddie WAS a good friend. That’s what made tonight so wrong. He fucking knew Richie didn’t like Myra. It wasn’t even remotely a surprise. But he also knew why, and it was no fault of hers. He’d thought taking Myra to a show might bridge the gap between her and Richie, but Richie had taken every possible chance to rip on her. They weren’t sly either, they were brutal, and Myra was smart enough to know they were about her. She already didn’t like Richie, so WHY was he doing this? Anger? Distaste? Jealousy? He didn’t get to be jealous. 

   He’d sent Myra to her apartment, with much frustration too. She’d begged and begged him to go with, even gotten to the point of crying, but he knew this wasn’t something that could be pushed aside. He and Richie needed to talk. After a good twenty minutes of arguing, she’d left, and somehow that made Eddie feel worse. At least with Myra there, he could be angry. Alone now, standing in front of the comedy club, he was left with his own thoughts and feelings, and he wasn’t just angry, he was hurt. Though he waited for Richie to finish his set, he couldn’t bear to go back inside. No matter how pissed he was, he knew Rich would be tanking in there, and he hated seeing that. It always left him in a fucked up frame of mind. He’d been there, countless nights after a set went bad, telling him it was tough to get into the comedy scene, that his jokes were funny and it was just the wrong crowd-- whatever it took to validate him. Again, the betrayal of tonight gutted him, stung like a slap in the face. Richie knew what he was doing, the kind of problems it would cause for Myra. Maybe that was his plan all along. If he sabotaged their relationship he wouldn’t be spending so much time away from him, right? Selfish asshole.

   His thoughts were a fucking mess by the time people started pouring out of the comedy club. With his back tight against the brick of the exterior, his eyes scanned the crowd and suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see him anymore. His anxiety was overwhelming him, forming knots in his stomach and making his fingers and toes tingle. Absentmindedly, he fumbled around in his pocket for his inhaler. At this point he wasn’t even sure he really needed it. Of course, he did, but he couldn’t deny the crutch it had become. Any minor inconvenience and he found himself reaching for it. After two puffs, he put it back into his pocket, taking a few deep breaths of the cold night air. He shifted back and forth on his feet, considering how bad it would be if he just took off instead of confronting Richie. He was a coward, and he’d only ever been slightly afraid to admit it. He wasn’t sure really, what kept him from disappearing into the crowd. If he left now, he’d never have to talk about it. He could let it go... and yet, he had a feeling nothing would be the same between them again. He needed to get ahead of this, figure it out before things spiralled out of control. 

   Eventually, the crowd dispersed, some people walking off, some people calling cabs. A few people took a spot on the wall across from him to have a quick smoke before they left, and habitually he moved further away from them. He found himself checking his watch more and more frequently as he waited. Maybe Richie wasn’t coming. Knowing him he’d probably pussied out and taken a back exit. Bringing his palms up to his face, he rubbed his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. The anxiety he’d felt looking for him hadn’t gone away, only manifested into something worse. He took a few deep breaths before dropping his hands to his side. He’d wait another ten minutes, and if Richie didn’t come, he’d leave. Ten minutes passed, and Eddie told himself he’d wait another 20.. another 30. 

   A few of the comics from the night came out sporadically, laughing, talking abt what had landed and what hadn’t. Every time he heard the door open and shut his eyes snapped up to see who it was, and in true Richie fashion he’d decided to be the last to leave. Their eyes locked, and Eddies suspicions were confirmed. Things were not going to be the same again. His fingers fidgeted at his side, his mouth twitching as both men silently prodded the other to speak first. With a strange surge of confidence, Eddie found himself stepping forward, “What the fuck, man?” His question hadn’t come out nearly as angry as he’d wanted it to, just sad. Because that’s what he was; Sad. Sad that whatever... this... was, was about to end. “I mean... come on, Eds. She’s the worst,” Richie shrugged in response, that crooked fucking smile forming. Normally he would’ve found it endearing. Right now it was just pissing him off. Shaking his head, he made a noise of disapproval, “Uh-uh, you don’t get to joke your way out of this one, Richie. Not this time.” Richie threw his hands up in exasperation, “What!? It’s true! You want me to lie about it?” Eddie raised his brows, a breath of frustration coming out through his nostrils, “Why not? You’re good at it right? You’ve been lying to yourself for the last ten years.” Almost immediately, Eddie regretted what he’d said, and if he hadn’t, the look on Richie’s face would have made him.

   He wanted to apologize, but he knew if he did, he’d never have the nerve finish this conversation. They’d go back to their apartment and act like everything was normal, even though it wasn’t. This whole damn friendship wasn’t normal, because it wasn’t one. They didn’t want to be friends, they wanted to be a whole lot more. The only reason they weren’t was because Richie was always going to be in denial. “You don’t get to talk about her like that because you’re jealous. You don’t get to treat her like shit because you’re too scared to tell me how you really feel.” Did Richie REALLY think Myra was his first choice? She wasn’t. He’d been waiting for Richie to make his move since that game of Truth or Dare at their first college party. But he hadn’t, and Eddie was so tired of waiting. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, because you’ve got no one else to blame.”