#tw:parental death

[chickensarentcheap]

Personal stuff

Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday.  He’s been gone a very long time. Since I was seventeen years old. He wasn’t a perfect man. He had a lot of trauma because of Native Residential School and unfortunately, it trickled down to his kids. He wasn’t physically abusive, he didn’t drink, he didn’t have drug issues. But he was emotionally absent.  Void, even.  We weren’t allowed to show affection.  We weren’t shown it.  We were never told I love you.

He had pancreatic cancer. I was a fairly troubled teenager who caused a lot of problems.  And while I watched him suffer and waste away, I thought there was more time. That I’d get a chance to say things I needed to say.  To tell him I was sorry. That I forgive him for things that happened and were said.  

I wasted my chance. I never said the words.

And now I live with regret.

I loved my father very much.  And I wish we’d been able to talk about these things.  And understand each other.  While I know this song represents a father and son, it still hits so deeply.

****

“Oh, before they turn off all the lights I won't read you your wrongs or your rights The time has gone I'll tell you goodnight, close the door Tell you "I love you" once more The time has gone, so here it is I'm not your son, you're not my father We're just two grown men saying goodbye No need to forgive, no need to forget I know your mistakes and you know mine And while you're sleeping, I'll try to make you proud So, daddy, won't you just close your eyes? Don't be afraid, it's my turn To chase the monsters away.”

[eddies-sweethearts]

nightshade [2]

part 1 [here]

"you two really deserve each other, you know that?" the words seethe out between thin lips. "the freak and the witch".

eddie x y/n

follows the events of s4. multichapter.

tw:parental death, bullying, show level violence/horror/paranormal, cursing, smoking and drug use. dont smoke cigarettes kids, its gross.

y/n uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise description free except for clothing aesthetics. minors dni.

🌙 taglist (let me know if you want to be added!): @peachysink

You'd never been to the high school after hours before. You're not really one to hang around for extra-curriculars or put your nonexistent school spirit on display if it's not mandated. The halls have an out of place sense of calm as you walk farther away from the packed gym. Screams and the sound of the buzzer fades as you wander the dimly lit halls. It's almost enjoyable without all the jostling and angst that usually fills the space. The only sound coming from your fingers flipping locks as you let your hand drag against rows of lockers.

You'd planned to go straight home after talking with Eddie. You really weren't interested in joining his weird little club, but, the idea of sitting at home waiting for Chrissy made your stomach knot. You spent as much time as you could wandering around town. Eventually you sat behind the hardware store, smoking the joint you'd pinched from Eddie, letting the high soothe you as you eyed a faded missing poster crumpled on the asphalt. You couldn't tell who it was for, most of the details were scratched out and you supposed with a town so riddled with missing kids and odd deaths as Hawkins, it could be anyone. Could even be the one you'd made for your mom all those years ago, before she had been found.

The joint was finished, the high lingering, but, without any other way to fill up the space between then and Chrissy, your nerves started to twist again. You traced your steps back towards the school, the masses funneling into the gymnasium just as you'd gotten passed the front gate. You took a hard right away from them, searching for the distraction that'd been promised to you. Even so, you found yourself hoping the drama room would be empty as you stood outside it. There was a half hour left until the time Eddie had shouted at you and Hellfire just didn't strike you as the kind of club where promptness was all that important. Though, Eddie also didn't strike you as the kind of person who would run an after-school club so maybe you had the wrong idea about him and his friends altogether.

You enter from the back of the theatre and muse at the scene in front of you. Meandering between aisles of ripped and broken seats, the elaborate scene set on top of the stage becomes clearer. The heavy red curtains are pulled back as if a play was about to begin, and at center stage is a long table with miniature figures spread across it. Mis-matched chairs are gathered around, with one that looks like a throne seated at the head. Candles are lit, casting an eerie, intimate mood.

“Wow,” you breathe, genuinely impressed by the display. You take the steps up to the stage, fingers gliding over the table once you come to it. You pick up one of the figurines, an elf painted in greens and browns, bow strapped to his plastic back.

Without warning Eddie emerges from stage right, holding a broken cardboard box. “Y/N!” he exclaims, clearly shocked to see you.

That familiar tightness thrums through your body, screaming about how unwanted you are. It tells you that coming here was a mistake. It was just a pity invite, despite the way Eddie is looking at you.

He drops the box down on the throne seat, lips pulling into a smile larger than you'd ever seen. “I can't believe you actually came.”

You shrug, urging yourself not to smile back. “Did you make all this?” you say, mustering as much nonchalance as you can.

“Kind of, sort of. I painted them,” he says, hands holding his elbows self-consciously, which wasn’t a word you’d normally use to describe Eddie Munson.

You smile at the figurine, placing it back with care in the exact spot Eddie had put it originally. “You never disappoint, Munson.”

“I aim to please,” he bows at you, still grinning ear to ear before turning back to his box. You watch as he rummages, eyes flicking to one of the metal seats at the right hand of the throne, unsure if you should sit or make an excuse to turn and leave just as abruptly as you'd entered. You're still a whole basketball game away from when you have to be home.

“Here,” Eddie interrupts your internal debate. He's shoving a piece of paper under your nose. “Made you a character sheet.”

"Oh no, I-" you try to refuse it but Eddie is insistent, shaking it with such vigor that air wisps around your hair. “Morgana?” you remark at the name scrawled in Eddie's handwriting at the top of the sheet as you reluctantly take it into your hands. You read what you can make out, his dreadful handwriting plus your complete lack of understanding about Dungeons & Dragons making it all look like gibberish. The numbers and stats mean nothing to you but you can read that he's made you a level 6 human sorceress.

“I thought it was fitting. Oh look, these are the spells you can use.” Eddie slides around you to look over your shoulder. His hair brushes against your cheek as he points to a section of the sheet. You zone out to his enthusiasm as he explains spell slots. His energy is infectious and has you nodding along even though you don't have a clue what he is talking about. Suddenly you're aware of the hairs on his forearms, the veins that flex faintly beneath his skin when he moves to point at the sheet, and the way the stage lights above you glint off of his rings. The urge to pull out a cigarette hits you as an unfamiliar heat rises up your neck, blushing across your cheeks. You can't quite make yourself pull away. The faintest hint of aftershave and cologne surrounds you. You don't remember him smelling like that earlier.

A booming voice shouts "HELLFIIIIIIIIRE", followed by an exceptional belch. The spell breaks and you move away from Eddie as you both turn to see his friends spill into the room. With glee, Eddie runs to high-five his friends as if he hadn’t just spent the entire school day with them.

“You guys know Y/N, right?” Eddie gestures to you.

Jeff is the first to greet you, holding his hand out to shake yours. “Epic showdown during lunch today.” You nod in silence, almost tersely, unsure of what to say.

“What's um…what's she doing here Ed?” Gareth asks from the side of his mouth, brows coming together with concern

“I asked her to come, thought she could fill in for Sinclair.”

They begin to laugh as if it was the most hilarious joke they'd ever heard. Your heart sinks again in that old familiar way. You want to brush it off so you do the only thing you really can, fold your arms across your chest and give them an empty stare that you've perfected, one that makes you look disinterested but also like the last person in the room that anyone would want to piss off.

Eddie's friend, the one who's name you don't know, chokes on his laugh, looking to Eddie for help. “No offense," he adds on hurriedly, as Eddie turns his back to take his seat at the head of the table. "I just didn't think you played. Or had ever even heard of D&D.”

You nod, almost in agreement. "I don't," you say, definitively, as you step towards Eddie to hand the sheet back to him. Eddie's eyes slide to you, ignoring that paper even as you wiggle it much like he had done to you earlier. "C'mon, I'm not playing this game, I don't even like playing Monopoly."

"Too bad," Eddie grins. He looks devilish beneath the dim candlelight, with his hands clasped just beneath his chin, eyelids heavy and commanding. It's enchanting.

Your protest is interrupted as the door flies open once more. Mike and Dustin flank the sides of a girl you'd never seen before wrapped in an American flag. Eddie's expression drops immediately as he takes in the sight before him. "Absolutely not," he says, half laughing as if he'd caught the boys trying outwit him. "This is Hellfire club, not babysitting club."

You learned the girl was Lucas Sinclair's little sister from the grilling Eddie gave her. She didn't flinch for even a second under Eddie's foreboding stance, giving back every ounce of derision he tried to throw at her. "Welcome to Hellfire," he smirks, hand coming out to shake Erica's much smaller palm.

When they break apart, you pin your character sheet against Eddie's chest. "Looks like you got your extra player." A soft smile settles onto your features, one you don't immediately shake away.

"You can stay," Eddie reaches, but you're already backing away. The demonic, commanding Dungeon Master veil shifting away for just a moment.

You respond with a stiff wave before leaving out the stage door, the darkened hallway on the other side swallowing you.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

There were more cigarette butts than you'd like to admit littering the patches of grass closest to you. You had smoked them all as you sat on the front porch, waiting for Chrissy. When she finally arrived neither of you said much to the other, both waiting with held breaths until the car that dropped her off turns the corner away from your street to finally utter your cautious hellos. When you escort her into your empty home she's confronted with how familiar it all is to her. “Where's your dad?” Chrissy inquires, filling the always present silence that you've grown accustomed to.

“Working a double. Probably won't get home until tomorrow morning.” She nods an acknowledgment, a barely audible “oh”, as you rummage around the room in a haphazard attempt to tidy up.

“You want a drink or something?” you shout as you head into the bedroom, your arms full with a pile of clutter that you dump unceremoniously onto your unmade bed. On a small bookshelf in your room is the tarot deck. It had been your mother's and some of the cards are frayed but whenever you use it you felt like you were with her again.

“I'm okay,” Chrissy answers, taking a seat at the small dining table that was rarely used. You ate most of your meals alone on the couch where you could at least watch TV and fill the room with the noise and company you missed.

Sitting across from her, you begin to shuffle the deck, your hands moving smoothly as if without any thought. Her eyes flit around the room nervously like she's expecting something to pop out at her. “You sure you want to do this?” you ask her, cutting the deck in half.

Chrissy nods wordlessly, eyes following the movement of your hands, mesmerized. “I don't think it's evil,” she declares, looking up to meet your gaze. “I never thought it, or you, were either. I'm sorry that my parents freaked out that day. And then after your mom's accident…I should've spoken up when people started saying things. I'm sorry I never did.”

That was unexpected. Chrissy’s words ruminate in your mind, making you forget the cards for a moment. You straighten up, resuming your work with the deck. “It's okay,” you answer with sincerity. “It wasn't your job to stop it. People always need a freak, someone they can point to as being so fucked up that their own demented lives seem perfect. Just the way it is.”

“Yeah, but, you didn't deserve that. No one does.”

Chrissy relaxes, for the first time that day, her shoulders falling as she watches you cut the deck one last time. “Is there any particular questions you want answered? Any intention you want to set?” you ask her.

Chrissy spreads her fingers across the table, taking in a deep breath. “I just…I want to know if I'm safe. If…I'm going to be okay.”

You try not to look at her with too much concern, concentrating on her words as you pull the first card from the deck. “Ten of wands.”

“What does that mean?” she questions, sounding almost breathless.

“You're suffering, or are about to suffer, some awful burden. It's a struggle, but you know, it doesn't mean you won't come out the other end of whatever is going on.”

Chrissy stares at the image on the card, a boy with his back turned, struggling to hold up ten logs. You take her silence as permission to continue and pull the next card.

“The hanged man,” you announce, laying this card next to the first one. “You're in an uncomfortable situation, and fighting won't help you. You just have to accept whatever is coming and let it happen…but when this is paired with the wands sometimes that means you have to like have a change in careers or something. Did you pick a college yet? Maybe you should pick a different one,” you add quickly, trying to interpret the cards in the most positive light. But Chrissy just shakes her head, pointer finger running over the edge of the hanged man.

“He's going to win,” she whispers.

You're about to ask who, but the last card takes all the words from you. “The devil,” Chrissy reads before you have a chance to say anything. “You don't have to explain that one.”

“I-it doesn't always mean that,” you say, your voice stilted. It's a dark stack of cards, foreboding, but more than that, the lights in your house feel dimmer, the air heavy and sticking to your lungs. Something is wrong. “The devil represents someone or something that is toxic to you, like a bad relationship that you should reconsider. Honestly altogether, I would read this as it's time to make a big change. Jason is kind of an asshole you know, maybe you should dump him!”

The words tumble out of you quickly but Chrissy doesn't react. She doesn't seem to hear you at all. Hands spread in front of her across the table, her head is tilted up towards the ceiling, eyes clouding with white.

“Chrissy?” you say, waving your hand in front of her. “Chrissy!” you reach over, grabbing at her hand and pulling but she doesn't move.

All at once she's lifting from her seat, floating up to your ceiling and you would let out a scream if all the air hadn't been sucked out of your lungs. You're helpless, staring up at her, and at the first sound of her bones snapping you throw yourself out of the chair. On the floor, shaking as tears well up, you refuse to look back at the girl on your ceiling. Hearing the way her bones snap forces you to cover your ears and tuck into yourself. It's as if the whole house is shaking from an earthquake, lights flickering between bright brilliant white and darkness. “Stop! Stop!” you scream to no one, eyes clenching shut. A loud thump and then everything is silent. You uncurl yourself, trembling as you glance towards the table. It's toppled over, tarot cards everywhere, and Chrissy's lifeless, twisted body beside it.

You're on your feet and running out the door. You pick up your bike from where it'd been cast aside on the lawn. Throwing yourself on it, you peddle so fast your thighs and calves ache but you don't notice it. Tears blur your eyesight as you bike through backwoods and empty streets, no clear idea of where you are going, only that it is away from where you were. You're flying down an empty road when your wheel hits a pothole you hadn't seen. Tossed over the handlebars you skid against asphalt, dirt and rocks that raw your skin. Leaving your dented bike in the road you limp forward, barely making out the welcome sign at the end in front of you.

Forest Hills.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You knock at the screen door frantically. Your leg is shaking from the fall, and how fast you'd pedaled, and a throbbing pain is pushing against your head. You want to throw up and cry and be swallowed into the dirt all at the same time.

Eddie pulls the door open, still wearing his Hellfire shirt, his hair disheveled and stuck to one side of his face. His sleep laden eyes take a minute to adjust and fully recognize you. His eyes round in surprise. “Y/N?”

You hadn't thought of what to say, in fact all you'd thought was that you knew Eddie was here and that maybe you can trust him. So you knocked. You stare up into his face as his dark eyes sweep across you.

“You okay?” he surveys you, gentle as he takes your arm and pulls you into the trailer.

“Eddie, I-I…I…” you stammer, throat constricting as you choke back tears. He closes the door behind you then moves quickly to the kitchen sink where he fills a glass of water. You only realize how much you're shaking when you try to take a sip, having to hold the glass with both hands just to make it to your chapped lips.

“Is it the joint you took from me? Shit, if Rick's stash was bad--”

You shake your head, stopping Eddie mid thought. Aided by the humming glow of the kitchen light, Eddie can't stop assessing the state you're in. There is dirt smeared across your forehead, a scrape that broke the skin of your palm, and the ripped fabric at your thigh is splotched with blood. He walks passed you, turning into the bathroom to dig through a cabinet and turn on the faucet. He pokes his head back out into the small hallway. “C'mere,” he beckons and you listen, leaving the half drunk glass behind.

Taking a seat on the toilet of the cramped bathroom you let Eddie take your hand. He perches over you, half-standing, half-sitting on the edge of the sink. You stare at a piece of peeling wallpaper, numb to the sensation of the warm, wet cloth Eddie is kneading over your scraped palm. You hardly hear the sound of ripping paper as Eddie peels open a bandage. He spits out the excess paper, pulling out the bandage with his teeth, his left hand refusing to let go of yours. All you can do is stare at the peeling paper, trying desperately to control your breathing, afraid that if you let your eyes stray you'll see Chrissy stuck to the ceiling like a specter. Eddie runs his thumb across the bandage, making sure it's in place before moving to kneel in front of you.

With the same wet cloth in hand he examines the cut at your thigh. He sweeps it over your exposed skin with as much tenderness as he had shown your hand. You inhale sharply, pulling your leg back when he makes contact. “Sorry,” he murmurs, placing his hand on your calf to draw your leg back towards him. “You really banged yourself up, L/N,” he frets, cleaning the area as slowly and carefully as he can. The way he touches you is so kind that it makes you break, and you clap a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from screaming as the sobs finally burst forth.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie reaches up, rubbing at your forearm as you retreat further into your hands. Moon-shaped indents mark your forehead where your nails dig into the skin. You have half a mind to claw your skin off, to cause as much pain on the outside as you're feeling inside. The washcloth discarded, Eddie wraps his fingers around your wrists, coaxing you to release your grip. You blink at him through the tears, gulping for air through your tears. Eddie shifts, reaching behind to pull out his black bandana. He brushes it across your cheeks, wiping the tears away with one hand while the other rubs soft circles against your wrist. “Do you want to tell me what's going on?” he pleads quietly.

You sigh, wiping the remnants of snot and tears with the back of your hand. “I wish I could,” you finally say, voice quivering. “You'd never believe me.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, letting your head fall back to the wall behind you. “That bad. But I-I swear Eddie, I didn't do it. It'll be impossible to believe but I really fucking swear I didn't.”

Eddie grabs a roll of gauze from the open first aid kit he'd been working from. Carefully, he wraps the fabric around your thigh, fastening it with a piece of tape he rips off with his teeth. After he stands back up Eddie rinses out the used washcloth, wringing out the excess water before handing it over to you. You wash the dirt and tears from your face, steadying your breathes with each wipe. When you finally stand he's looking at you from where he's posted up against the doorway.

“I have to get away from here,” you say, knowing it's the truth. There's no way the cops aren't going to pin Chrissy's death on you, and in a town that already hates you, you don't see the hope of a jury of your peers coming to any other conclusion than your guilt. Your only chance is to keep running. “Do you have any cash? Enough for a bus ticket out of here?”

“Y/N…” His says your name desperately. “Whatever it is, it can't be bad enough that you have to skip town.”

“You'll find out soon enough. And then you'll hate me…probably hate yourself too for even helping me this much.” You move passed him, heading for the front door.

“Wait,” Eddie follow, putting his hand out to pull yours away from the tearing the door open. “Maybe there's something else I can do.”

Eddie usually drives like a maniac but he's taking every turn with the utmost caution. Sitting in the passenger seat, your body is beginning to give into the exhaustion. You struggle to stay awake. As you drift in and out of sleep you lose track of which direction Eddie is driving. The van is uncharacteristically quiet without Eddie's music screeching through the speakers.

“We're here,” his voice pulls you from uneasy sleep. You realize through the fog that he's parked the van in front of a house out by Lover's Lake. You've never really hung around this area so it's unfamiliar and hidden in the night's darkness. When Eddie opens the door all you hear is frogs and crickets croaking through the quiet. Your feet hit the dirt as you look around, bewildered. “Reefer Rick's,” Eddie answers your unasked question. “He's locked up, so I figured if you were worried anyone was going to come looking for you, this would be the last place they'd think to search.”

You stay rooted to your spot, watching as Eddie walks up to the front door, kicking up the welcome mat to pull out a key. He waves it at you with an accomplished smile, and you follow him as he walks down the path to the boat shed.

“It's not exactly cozy, but it's a good place to stay low while we figure out what to do next.”

“Eddie…” you start but he's putting a finger up to you, signaling for you to wait as he walks back to the van. Your voice trails as you take it all in. The soft sound of water lapping around the boat tied up in the middle soothes you. You draw yourself towards a corner, looking out the small dirty window into the darkness. Eddie re-enters, a pile of blankets in his arms.

“Here, this should be good for now,” he lays them out like a bed.

He lingers at the door, halfway between leaving and staying. “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight…I can stay.”

Yes, you think while simultaneously shaking your head no. You can’t tell if the look on his face is disappointment or relief. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“Okay, well, just don’t disappear on me okay? I’ll come back in the morning with some food, fresh bandages and stuff. I can stop over at your place if you want me to pick up clothes or I don’t know, girl stuff you might need.”

You shake your head fervently, the idea of anyone stepping foot in that house to find what’s there filling you with dread. Your poor father…the thought of him coming home, exhausted and overworked to find a dead girl, and you missing. Your eyes start to blur and you pull into yourself, gliding down the wall to sit atop Eddie’s blankets. “I’m f-fine,” you try to hide the shake in your voice, not being strong enough to look at Eddie to see if he notices. If you look at him, you’re sure to burst, again. “Thank you.”

Pulling the blankets around you and turning to your side, you miss the way Eddie’s eyes linger on you. When he finally pulls the door closed, the click of the lock causes a tightness in your chest. The dark surrounds you, nothing but the soft water, somberly lapping against the boat to interrupt your thoughts. The exhaustion fully consumes you, eventually, and you fade into sleep.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Another tight hug

{ Ayato | tw:parental death, tw:depression tw:suicide attempt }

A short character study from Ayato's pov as he deals with his parents death, receiving his vision and inspiring others to receive theirs.

{"Group IX,SUW, The Swan, No. 1" 1915 by Hilma af Klint 1862-1944 }

"Perhaps, the Kamisato Clan were born to protect the Gods."

His mother used to say, in her ever so tender tone that never failed to soothe away his aching bones after each training session with his father.

Although he never said it out loud, never once did he fully agree with that statement.

The Kamisato clan belonged to the Kamisato clan, he would think. For in his adolescent's brain, his baby sister first steps towards him during that stormy day is far more precious than any Archon's weight in pure gold.

-

"Lord Kamisato, the Kaedehara clan have arrived to pay their condolences." A servant stood behind the paper screen door, their shadow contrasting against the candle lit room.

Ayato's breath paused for a second as his newfound title sank into the pit inside his stomach.

Gathering whatever's left of his composure and self will, he answered back using the formalities he has been taught to say when this day inevitably will arrive.

The words leaving his mouth never registered for him to remember what he said.

"As you wish my lord." Their steps echoed against the wooden floor, the house quiet than it has ever been.

He shouldn't keep them waiting too much, kazuha must be worried sick by now. And despite that, and the growing numbness in his legs for sitting on them for too long, he doesn't have the heart to move a muscle.

Not when his sister's head laid in his lap, the exhaustion of all those tears catching up to her and putting her mind to rest.

While he is older than before, she is still too young to have lost them now. Ayato can't help but feel guilt eating him at the realisation that he had more time with them than she did.

As his hand comped through her hair, deep down he knew that guilt would never compare to the guilt of knowing soon she will also lose him too.

The Kamisato clan have been leaderless for a while as his father's sickness worsen, all that work piling up will be hanged upon the neck of the first person able enough to bear its responsibility.

And it just so happened that today is his 18th birthday.

To think he'd be dressed from head to toe in black for his special day.

Meeting his parents eyes, he stared into those portraits on the table in front of him. What would they say if they saw him right now?

Would they feel proud of the fact he has not shed a single tear? Or would they scold him for letting ayaka cry? Would they feel pity for him for he has not met their expectations yet.

How would their faces look if he was just a bit early snd showed them the vision he had been granted merely a night ago. That the same gods they're sworn to protect looked down upon him and saw someone worthy.

Yet that damned blue orb remains locked away in a drawer inside his study. For how can they be so cruel to grant him a vision that didn't make him any less useless in standing there and watching his father wither away.

The irony, a non healing hydro vision.

And what of his mother? Why not grant her the vision instead, for he knows fair well she's stronger than everyone in his clan combined.

Yet in the same cruel twist of fate, she passed away alongside her husband on the same night.

For pain was from the gods, but they made no error.

He looked down at his sister, the sight of her in the black kimono made her look so small. Remembering their lasts words to him that night, to protect Ayaka.

"Mother, father." His throat felt dry as he spoke, "i promise you, i will bring honour back to the Kamisato clan."

-

Three days has passed since the funeral, and in this world of politics it's more than enough for people to start raising their expectations of him.

You've grieved and you've cried, now it's time to start moving with the world alas it leaves you behind.

For the common folk, Ayato is still a poor young soul pushed into shoes too big to fill, yet for the other clans he's akin to a clueless prey, a young sparrow that'll fall before he even gets to fly.

And as he strolls the shoreside of the beach nearby the Kamisato state, Ayato wonders if their brains are as empty as the seashells littering the sand.

Maybe true anonymity was his parent's last gift for him before their depart, his father was his teacher in almost everything he has known and his mother tended to his every need and want.

Servants sometimes were in sight but never close by enough to get a read on the young Kamisato.

They might have as well had the whole world fooled that he is some sweet lost innocent soul.

And he prefers it that way, with his hands full of cards and opponents so easy to read and steer, well at least for as long as this vail of youth remains clouding their judgement of him.

The smarter ones will catch on eventually, but for now he has a golden opportunity to reshape the Kamisato clan to whatever he likes and rebuild it from the ground.

Re-establishing the Shuumatsuban to be stronger and better than before was his first step, unless he can secure his and Ayaka's safety from assassination then he can't take any risky steps to get his clan back on its feet.

Training ayaka will be his second step, although with only 24 hours in a day he will have to give up his polearm lessons and rely on his sword more.

And his third step…

Stopping in his steps, Ayato leaned down towards the ocean waves, fingertips attempting to command the water to flow and weave itself around his hand.

But to no avail, the water merly bubbles up in offence before crashing against his feet.

Stepping away before getting his whole lower half drenched, Ayato looked in annoyance at the vision strapped against his hip.

Just another responsibility to bear and another set of expectations to meet, he needed to learn how to use it to his advantage and he needed to do it quickly.

Ayato closed his eyes, constraining all of his focus on the world around him. His hand brushing against the hilt of his sword as he took in the whistling of the wind and motion of the sea.

His mind was clear and despite not having vision, he could clearly conjour an image of the world around him.

A singular petal floating in the wind, heading towards him.

Faster than the eye could see, his sword split it in half before it fell to the ground, his finger running up the sharp edge of his blade as he attemped to get the water to flow through it.

Then he felt it, a drop of water hitting the tip of his nose, then another falling against his cheek, and a third one joined by a fourth and a fifth likewise.

His heart hammered against his chest as he slowly opened his eyes, more than a hundred raindrops falling around him.

Did he-

He looked at the sky and in a cruel joke of fate, instead of the clear starry night he faced a cloudy storm.

It's raining, it's just the weather.

He didn't do it.

The crack of thunder nearby felt like roaring laughter mocking him, the flashing of lightning growing brighter than his vision the day he got it.

Electricity filled the air, goosebumps traveled up his skin as his feet refused to leave the sand despite the slowly raising water levels of the sea.

In the horizon a bigger storm approaches, electric streams traveling through the water and heading towards his direction at an alarming speed.

And for a second, he thought about not moving and letting the electrocharged sea reclaim him.

The only thought echoing in his mind was, "mom, i miss you."

…

Only for the back of his white jacket to be tugged back, his unresisting body easily pulled away by the person behind him.

"My lord are you alright?" Thoma's arms kept their grip against him in case he might slip away, his expression sick with worry and he eyed him whole for any injuries.

Ayato didn't reply, shame surfacing up his lungs and choking him.

Only letting go after the other stood on his feet, Thoma fetched thr umbrella he dropped not a second ago as he sheltred Ayato from the pouring rain despite his own clothes starting to get drenched.

"At this rate you might catch a cold, please let's go back to the estate to dry you up." Thoma continued to fret over the other, his hand guiding Ayato against his back as he ushered him back to the steady ground.

Staying silent throughout the short walk back, Ayato stopped their steps just when he Kamisato state gate was in sight.

"Thoma" he looked in his eyes, facing him fully.

"Yes my lord?"

"You're free to leave."

Slightly taken back by his words, Thoma looked confused, "what do you mean?"

Remembering who he was and where he is, Ayato quickly rephrased it " Now that the situation in Inazuma is unclear, the trouble the Kamisato Clan faces will only increase. You are someone who can see what's at stake, so if you don't want to get involved, leave early."

Not sparing him another glance, Ayato thought it was for the best as he made his way towards the estate.

Worried and surprised whispers starting getting loader as the maids began to gather to check on his sorry drenched state, rushing him to get changed inside while supressing the urge to scold him.

He didn't meet Thoma for the rest of the night, only sparing a few minutes to have dinner with Ayaka before attending to his paperwork.

…

"Achoo."

Was how he woke up from sleeping against his work table, papers and chess pieces scattered everywhere and puddle of ink dripping down into the floor.

His orders to not let anyone disturb him till morning weren't taken lightly for none seemed to check if he had actually left his study that night.

Nose tingling, another sneezed followed soon.

Maybe it's just spring allergy, it doesn't necessarily mean he has a co-

And a third, then a fourth.

His nose starting running and he could feel his face heating up.

Okay yeah he does have a cold.

Trying to spot a box of tissues amidst the mess of paperwork galore, he almost slipped on the puddle of ink as the screen door to his study was slammed open.

"My lord, about yesterday I-" The rest of Thoma's word died on his tongue as he saw Ayato's state.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he quickly grabbed the tissue he keeps in his pocket as he helped Ayato.

"You should've gone to sleep in your own room." He gave him a disappointed look as his hand went to check his forehead temperature.

Any attempt for Ayato to argue back was interrupted by a sneeze, and so he was lead back to his room in defeat.

The soft mattress felt like heaven against his tired body, it was hard not to sink back into the pillows but he had to sit upright for the promise of breakfast that Thoma went to make.

"He hasn't left yet" was the only notable observation he made.

The smell of hot food made him sit upright again, a warm tray being places on his lap.

Opening his eyes that he doesn't remember closing, Ayato was faced with…a pyro vision instead of his morning eggs on the plate.

Thoma was looking at him earnestly.

Ayato looked back, then looked at the vision, then looked back at him.

"My Father has always taught me to be a loyal and righteous man" Thoma kneeled down, "If I leave at this time, I will lose my loyalty and righteousness."

The vision in front of Ayato began to glow, bright red and ablaze.

"I would like to do my best to do my part for the young master and the young lady. You will certainly need me as a helper in the path you embark on in the future. "

And for the first time in the last week, Ayato remembered how to smile.

-

"Think of it as an extension of your body, instead of two arms you have an arm and a sword now." Ayato breathed out as he helped his sister up from the ground.

They have been training for hours, and yet the look of determination on Ayaka's face didn't weaver for a split second.

She has been taking every word and advice Ayato gave her to heart.

"Draw your opponent's attention to the area you want them to focus on." Ayato demonstrated as he drew his sword and placing his left leg ahead, "then quickly move your sword to a different area."

Quickly attempting to block her right side, Ayaka felt the tip of the wooden sword press against the left side of her neck before being pushed her back on the ground.

Having enough self discipline not to show her frustration, Ayaka took a beavy breath as she got up herself.

"Again." She wasn't giving up.

The teacher side of Ayato was proud of her but the brother side was starting to feel a bit guilty.

"How about we take a break and get some boba-"

"No." Ayaka swiftly stricted, only for Ayato to dodge to the side.

She switched the direction last second, catching him off guard.

Only for her wooden sword to pierce a water clone of him instead, Ayato having moved back as swiftly.

"Hmm." He felt a proud smile creeping up his lips, "maybe a polearm would suit you better, it certainly has further reach which would make up for your reaction time."

Shaking her head as drops of sweat landing on the ground, Ayaka disagreed. "Mother used to use a sword, i want to be just like her and you."

Ayaka has never mentioned their parents before, not since the funeral.

Ayato's grip on his sword falters.

It has been two years.

He looks at Ayaka and he sees his father's hair and eyes, yet her soul is a mirror image of their mother's fighting one.

Having taken their mother's facial features and father's cunnings, Ayato chuckles at the irony of the situation.

Misunderstanding his laughter as mocking, Ayaka becomes even more determined to prove herself and she takes a steay pose with her sword ready. "Don't hold back." She says

"I won't." Water weaves itself around his sword and under his feet, as he lunges ahead faster than a water drop hitting the ground.

And Ayaka doesn't move away, instead she steadies herself to block, not a hint of doubt in her eyes.

Rising her sword up, a rush of ice freezes over the water, cracking the wooden sword into pieces and flipping Ayato on his back.

A white vision drops against her feet, both her an Ayato look at each other for 5 seconds not saying a word.

And then she jumps down to tackle him in a hug against the ground, the happiest smile ever on her face as she repeats that she finally did it.

In that moment, Ayato knows he fulfilled his promise of keeping his sister safe.

[dxncingred]

Is that ABIGAIL COWEN on campus? Oh no, that’s ROBYN O’CONNOR. From DUBLIN, IRELAND, the 19 year old has come to study DANCE. Rumor has it she is CURIOUS and ADVENTUROUS, but NAIVE and INSECURE, which is why she is known as THE MANNEQUIN. She resides in BROADVIEW and can’t wait to graduate.

Robyn was born in Dublin, Ireland and raised by her grandparents following her mother’s death during child birth. She was given her mother’s name (Roisin) as her middle name in memory of her mum.

Her dad was never in the picture. He was a student from the US when he knocked up her mum and disappeared back to America before he could find out about the pregnancy.

Growing up, Robyn held a strong passion for dancing and ended up taking dance lesson and ending up loving ballroom among other dances.

Normally, Robyn has always been a very quiet girl (an introvert) but when she dances, she seems to just command a room and let every emotion move through her body. It a release for her.

In fact, Robyn has competed in ballroom competitions across Europe over the years and has held a couple of titles in the past for her ballroom skills.

Being the quiet shy kid, Robyn was bullied throughout school with a couple of close friends, some who ended up switching sides and leaving her behind making her small circle smaller. 

When deciding what she wanted to do about university, she ended up craving an adventure. She loves her home but she feels like she can’t grow if she stays at home which has led her to America.

Up to this point, Robyn has been pretty sheltered. She’s never had alcohol. She’s never been partying. She’s never had sex. Her life has always been around routine and being the good girl. There may be a chance she wants to be free of her former life and actually embrace this new found freedom. 

There is also a selfish part of her that has been trying to locate her dad and has tracked him to San Diego. She’s hoping to eventually meet him but she is highkey scared to actually meet him. 

[xandercarsonofficial]

Name: Xander Joseph Carson Age: 30 Birthday: May 20 Occupation: Chef/Bone Breaker for the O’Rileys Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Length of Time in Town: Lifelong, but he moved away from 19-24 Positive Traits: Loyal, Honest, Organized, Clean, Confident, Self-Assured Negative Traits: Sarcastic, Asshole, Stubborn, Standoffish, Detached Bio: tw-parental death, alludes to abuse, alludes to murder

Xander Joseph Carson was born May 20, 1991 in Santa Ysabel. His parents, Ellen and Joseph, were never the best parents around, and there were many things Xander was forced to learn to do for himself from an early age. Ellen, a waitress at a local diner who moonlit as a stripper, often found herself in a single parent situation. She and her on-again-off-again partner, Joseph, seemed to be more off than on the older Xander got, and he was frequently left alone to fend for himself while his mother danced or picked up extra shifts. Although Xander’s father wasn’t completely absentee, when he was around, his brand of love was more tough than anything. He firmly believed Xander needed to fit his own definition of a ‘man’, which truly was nothing any child should ever have had to be exposed to. There was no tenderness, no love, and no softness to be found with his father, and it shows in Xander’s demeanor and attitude (despite how hard he’s tried to remove himself from that mindset). 

Joseph Carson, although not aligned formally with any group or family in particular, was known for his ‘services’ around town. Although no one could ever truly prove that he was a hit man, everyone knew he was someone to be feared, and anyone who was anyone was aware that if you needed someone scared or shaken up, JC  (as he was known in Santa Ysabel) was the man to go to. They say everyone has a price, and truth be told it was common knowledge that JC’s price wasn’t usually very high. Generally, anyone who crossed paths with him when he was in a certain mood, paid or not, either wasn’t seen again, or reappeared in much, much worse shape than they had been when they disappeared. These were ‘talents’ and ‘values’ Xander was taught from the time he could talk, walk, and understand the basics of what his father was teaching him. Under JC’s teachings, by the age of 14, Xander Carson was considered to have the ability to kill another with his bare hands, much to his father’s pleasure and excitement. 

As a child, Xander did get love from his mother, when she was around to give it, though that wasn’t very frequently. In fact, there were days on end during which Xander did not see his mother at all, especially when she was trying to make his father jealous, and found herself staying over with some fling or man she’d picked up at the club. It was the requirement to fend for himself that first sparked Xander’s love and passion for cooking. After school, he would come home and turn on the cooking channels, listening as he did his homework and trying to recreate the dishes for his own dinner. 

Despite everything, Xander did well in school, and is obvioiusly very intelligent. The one thing that had always held him back in many ways, and prevented him from many of the opportunities he might have had otherwise, was his dislike for authority. His father’s lack of rules and respect had truly rubbed off on Xander, and although his marks were high, his attitude was sometimes intolerable, especially when his teachers hadn’t given him a valid reason to respect them- at least in his eyes. Still, he made it to graduation with a perfect 4.0 GPA. Initially, he had no plans of attending college, believing it to be too much for ‘people like him’. But, he couldn’t let go of his culinary passion. So, he took a job as a line cook and saved as much money as he could, then at the age of 19 moved away from Santa Ysabel to attend one of the most prestigious culinary schools in the country. 

Once he’d completed school, he moved back at the behest of his mother, who had fallen ill in his absence. From the time he moved back, things went downhill and seemed to continue spiraling. His mother only survived for two years following his return, and his father passed in the interim. While his mother was still alive, Xander was desperate to make money, his job in the diner’s kitchen not enough to make ends meet, and his mother’s medications getting more and more pricey. So, he was forced to turn to what he knew, what he’d been trained to know from the beginning- hits. It was then he became involved with the O’Rileys, knowing the family by name from growing up in Santa Ysabel. His position with them began as odd jobs, and Xander managed to gain their trust, prove his loyalty, and work his way up to being one of their bone breakers. And, he lives up to and exceeds expectations. 

Due to his upbringing, Xander has never had an easy time making friends or entering relationships. Though he has an incredibly high libido and has had a plethora of partners, anything long-term is foreign to him. This is in part because of his upbringing and demeanor, and partially because of his job. And perhaps, somewhere, deep down, in a part of himself he has not accepted yet, he is terrified of becoming his father. 

[doctorjennawinston]

Stats

Name: Jennavecia “Jenna” Marjorie Winston Age: 33 Birthdate: April 16 Occupation: ER Doctor at Tulsa General Hospital Sexuality: Heteroflexible Relationship Status: Single Bio under the cut! tw:pregnancy, tw:miscarriage, tw:parental death, tw:drunk driving

Jennavecia Marjorie Winston was born and raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on the West Side of town. Growing up, Jenna lived what many would describe as a charmed life, having a silver spoon in her mouth from the moment she was born. Her father, Paul Winston, was a renowned surgeon, who essentially built the surgery department at Tulsa General from the ground up. Her mother, Marjorie Taylor-Winston, was a partner in one of the biggest law firms in Tulsa. Despite growing up as a Soc on the wealthy side of town, Jenna’s parents were insistent that she grow up as humble and kind as possible. They instilled values in her that seemed uncommon for the time, not wanting her to view herself as better than anyone else simply because of her circumstance. Jenna worked hard for everything she has, and was forced to learn many tough life lessons along the way. 

Jenna had a wonderful relationship with her parents- they both loved her more than anything, and she was the apple of their eye, especially as an only child. Despite the fact that they both worked insane hours, they made certain to always make as much time for family and each other as possible, taking frequent family trips and vacations, and doing as much together as they could. Even though her parents were never necessarily absent, much of Jenna’s time as a child was spent with her nanny, the woman the Winstons hired to look after Jenna while they were at work. Jenna loved her nanny just as much as her parents, and viewed her as family- an extension of her parents in a sense. The two got along fabulously, and all was well with the world. 

Then, when Jenna was 12, tragedy struck. Paul and Marjorie were making their way back home from a Charity Event the hospital was holding, one Jenna hadn’t attended with them due to having come down with the flu, when they were involved in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. Both were killed instantly upon impact, leaving 12-year-old Jenna an orphan. The only blessing in the whole mess was that her parents had been smart- they owned their lavish home, they owned their vehicles, and had made a point of funneling as much money as possible into a trust for Jenna, should anything have ever occurred. Due to this, Jenna was placed in the custody of her nanny, who was allowed to remain permenantly in the home, to continue raising Jenna. 

Although her parents’ deaths rocked her to her core, Jennavecia did her best to remain positive, keeping the forward momentum and drive they’d instilled within her. She excelled in school, both in academics and in her extracurriculars. When Jenna was 14, she met Elijah Cane. The two wound up in a Biology class together, and became partners for the required labs. Within only a few days, Jenna was enamored with her partner, attracted to something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Within only a few weeks, the two began dating. While Elijah and Jenna were very much in love, the relationship proved to be tumultuous at best. As the old saying goes, opposites attract, and this was absolutely the case with the pair of them. Jenna was type-a, organized, driven, focused, and as put-together as could be, while Elijah played the game of life fast and loose, living on the edge and rebelling against the Soc society as much as he possibly could. Riddled with arguments, disagreements, alcohol, drug use, and very little solid commitment, the relationship was on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again for many years. 

Despite her relationship troubles, Jenna managed to graduate top of her class, and moved quickly on to college, followed by med school. Throughout this time, she and Elijah continued to go back-and-forth in their relationship. Jenna wanted her love to settle down, to work with her to build the life she’d always dreamed of. But, commitment just wasn’t something Elijah could provide. He often left Jenna alone, not coming home, being late on bills if he paid them at all, and certainly not even being willing to discuss wedding rings or bells. More than anything, Jenna wanted the life her parents had- to be so in love with her partner, to build a family, and to really settle down and into a normalized, comfortable life. At the age of 27, Jenna began to accept that Elijah Cane might never be able to provide her with any of those things. He might never be ready for the type of life she so desperately craved. So, she made the hardest decision of her life. She left him, for good. 

Heartbroken, Jenna did her best to continue pushing herself through school, focusing on her studies and throwing every bit of energy she had into making sure she was the best doctor she could be. During this time, she met James, another med student who was in many of her classes. The two began studying together, then seeing each other more frequently for non-school related meetups. While Jenna’s heart was still with Elijah Cane, her mind forced her to move on. Within a few short months, James and Jenna began dating. With James, Jenna could see the future she’d always wanted, and while she couldn’t say she was as madly in love with him as she’d been with Elijah, she did love him. He was intelligent, respectable, and serious, and he seemed like everything Jenna had ever wanted. The pair dated for three years. 

When Jenna was 30, she became pregnant with James’ child. Beyond excited, she was certain the event would open the door to the life she’d always dreamed of. But, when she told James the good news, he didn’t react as she’d expected. He became sullen, withdrawn, almost angry, and Jenna knew something was wrong. Only two months into the pregnancy, Jennavecia learned that James had been seeing someone else- someone he’d apparently fallen in love with, someone he planned to propose to, just as soon as he’d ended things with Jenna (which he’d apparently been looking to do for some time). It was then that James walked out on her, on their relationship, on their future, and on their unborn child. Heartbroken once more, Jenna struggled to cope with the stress of everything happening in her life, as well as the despair she felt at having her dream snatched from her once more. Eventually, the stress became too great, and in her third month of pregnancy, Jenna suffered a miscarriage.

She’d told no one, aside from her nanny (who still lived in the family home with her) of her pregnancy. Following the miscarriage, Jenna became extremely depressed, though she did her best to push forward, not wanting to discuss what had happened with anyone. Though, in her time of grief, it occurred to her that more than anything, the only person she wanted was Elijah Cane. Still, she did not reach out to him at that time, and to this day Elijah is unaware of what occurred between Jenna and James, aside from the fact that they broke up. About a year ago, Jenna found herself back in semi-contact with Elijah, having civil conversations and occasionally reaching out to check up on his welfare. Although he’d moved to the West Side of town, having completely rid himself of his Soc life and persona, Tulsa is small, and gossip travels fast. She’s aware of Elijah’s antics, knowing that following their breakup, he’s spiraled quite a bit. 

Jenna graduated from med school, finishing her internships and residency, just after her miscarriage. She took an open position in Tulsa General’s ER, as working Emergency had always been something she’d been interested in and driven to do. She has held her position there for nearly three years, and her life revolves primarily around her job. Still fairly withdrawn following her experiences, Jenna is polite and friendly with everyone, but has struggled to form any new connections, having many trust issues and now believing that the dream of a wedding and family she’d always held so dear to be nothing more than a pipe dream. Oh, and there’s the fact that she’s realized she is still and always has been very much in love with Elijah Cane. 

[guardedvictoria]

Name: Victoria Maricella Garcia Age: 28 Birthday: September 6 Specification: Guarded Power: Witch/Magical Abilities Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single/Unbonded

Victoria was born and raised in Austin, Texas, where she grew up living with her mother, Francesca, and her three brothers- one older and two younger. Growing up, Victoria’s family did not have much in the way of money or wealth. Her father had passed away when she was young, just after her youngest brother was born. Her parents had owned a bakery together for years, one that her mother struggled to keep open and afloat once her father was gone. The family managed, but just barely.

Throughout her life Victoria has done everything in her power to help her family and ensure their safety and comfort, but her mark as a guarded sometimes made that feeling impossible. Though her mother always talked about her mark as being something to celebrate Victoria struggled all her life to see it that way, knowing that her abilities made her and her family targets for people who wanted to hurt and destroy the guarded. Her powers and magical ability sprung forth when she was very young, and at first she struggled greatly to control them. Any time she got upset or emotional, things would happen- flying objects, shattering windows, and many other incidents left her feeling more out of place than she could describe. Due to several similar incidents, Victoria’s mother decided it was best she be homeschooled (beginning at the age of 10), in an attempt to help her learn to control her powers, and to stop the fear and judgement she often faced from her peers. 

At first this was something Victoria struggled with, because she missed having interactions with people her age, and she missed the opportunities school afforded. She felt like a freak, and not like some important person as her mother explained her to be. She couldn’t understand why she’d been chosen, believing that she was not really special in any way. But, the older she got, the more she learned to embrace and accept who she was. Through her close relationships with her brothers, and maintaining the few friendships she was able from her years at public school, Victoria began to grow into her own around age 16. 

Victoria has always been highly intelligent and studious, finding school to be a breeze and never having to put forth too much effort to achieve straight A’s. She is particularly interested in the sciences, because she finds them to be really similar to the magic she was gifted with and uses daily. Now, at 28 and having been at Brightwood for now six years, she is stronger and in a better place than she ever has been. She is now focused on finding her guardian and beginning their lives together. 

She is very intelligent, but is also opinionated. Victoria will share and express her thoughts and feelings, sometimes without being asked and at times when this may be inappropriate. She hopes to learn to better control this, but in many ways it is how she has been able to successfully stop the outbursts with her powers. Holding things in is a big detriment to her, and when she does things can easily happen or spiral out of control around her, causing her to lose her grip on herself and her abilities. She is very active sexually, but is hoping to explore more in the way of kink because she has had very generic and vanilla experiences primarily up to this point. 

[marlecne]

hey, isn’t that {MARLENE MCKINNON}? {SHE} is a {SIXTH + SLYTHERIN } and I’ve heard that they are {INTIUITIVE, BROAD-MINDED} but can also be {STUBBORN, SECRETIVE}. there’s also a rumours that they are part of the {ORDER} but who knows if that is true. they also look really similar to {YOOHYEON}, but I don’t see it myself.

Patronus: Polar-bear - Those with a polar bear as their patronus are very adaptable individuals, but stubborn. They put up strong emotional barriers and are very oriented on one aspect of their lives, such as a career or volunteer work. This can make them seem cold to others, and they can be blunt in their ways of communication. Despite this, they are very connected to everything, however small that connection may be.

Boggart: Tornado. Which is ironic regarding the fact that she has been compared to one on more than just one occasion. The first time that she had faced a boggart, she was not expecting a tornado to show up - something as powerful and unpredictable. Tornadoes can destroy everything in a second and there isn’t anything that anyone can do to stop it. That’s her fear, that things can get so twisted that nobody could ever do something about it. That she won’t be able to do something about it. And, it actually came true.

+ INTUITIVE : Possessing the ability to understand complex and emotional things. With this comes wit and the knowledge of knowing when to stop and when to start pulling out tissues.; Marlene has never let her feelings drive her- her intiution is always right and being over emotional had never seen her cup of tea anyway. ;

+ BROAD-MINDED – She has been believing in everything since a very young age,

.- STUBBORN - Her ideas are the best and she will make sure she finds a way to show the others that she’s right. She doesn’t care what it’d take to make it happen.

- SECRETIVE - While it makes her feel good that she doesn’t feel the need to share anything to anyone, it makes her more untrue to herself from time to time and feels like she puts a strand to her own self by being…too much. She needs a balance, that she sometimes forgets to find.

INTRO ; parental death TW.

born in a big family- the mckinnons are known for respect and their unique ways of doing things. marlene was the youngest of four- and the only girl. who of course brought some controversy here and there but it was all for the best of course. when she was in her third year at hogwarts- her mother died and it was the thing that bothers her still to the day.

it has been three years now but she still struggles with it sometimes; it is what brings her to the perfect self though.

despite being in slytherin in a  family where everyone was a gryffindor-she holds onto believes quiet clearly and is friendly- although yes, she does hang out with most gryffindors due growing up with so many of them.

[urlyn]

is that CAMERON MONAGHAN? nah, that’s just URIEL LYNCH. he is/are a 20 year old FAE and is/are currently a GRAVE DIGGER. they are known for being PERCEPTIVE but also VICIOUS. Word on the street is they’re HETEROSEXUAL and they run with the HARPY. They are AGAINST the cure. 

Uriel is a troubled soul and is likely the person someone instantly get bad vibes around. He used to live with his eldest sister (really his mother, but he is oblivious to this fact), but she moved out unable to deal with his rotten temper.

He was raised by his grandparents (whom he thinks were his parents). Both had lived centuries and found themselves unable to correct when he got out of hand. They never even acknowledged his psychotic tendencies.Most of his acting out done when he tried to follow his elder sister and bad things happened.   

At a young age he got great joy to cause fear into anyone or anything. Through various methods and whatever worked to his needs.Sometimes he even crossed the line and sent the things to the final fear of all - death.  He doesn’t kill people from feeding off of them, but he has in the past put them down into a grave. After being fed satisfactory to him, he would then close them up into the freshly dirt grave.

Currently Uriel is a grave digger and also goes to school to become a licensed Mortician. Because the only thing he seems to be good at centers around death. 

He enjoys stalking and chronicling everyone’s life in his brain. The patterns of human life amuses him, and his attention to detail is unsettling. He would be the person to notice when someone orders decaf instead of their regular caffeine drink.

Most of the time he’s alone, unless you count the corpses he digs the grave for as company.  He’s against the cure only because the fact it could do any sort of good. His chaotic nature makes him find this unacceptable. 

[dogbearinggifts]

I wonder how many people who treat stringent content moderation and cancel culture as civilization’s first, last, and only line of defense against a world of widespread misogyny and racism understand how many of their favorite bits of entertainment would be unacceptable by today’s standards. 

And no, I’m not talking about books written in 1884, when Mark Twain could drop the n-word more often than a hyperactive squirrel with paws coated in butter would drop an acorn and have no one bat an eye. I’m not talking about movies released in 1961, when a white actor could play a racist caricature of a Japanese landlord to widespread praise from critics. I’m talking about 2006. 

That year, Markus Zusak gave us The Book Thief, an eerily beautiful coming-of-age book set in Nazi Germany whose virtues would be drowned out by the flood of trigger warnings modern gatekeepers would attach to it. Opening with the death of Liesel’s brother (tw:death, tw:child death, tw:parental abandonment) it includes a loud, abrasive foster mother (tw:abuse, tw:child abuse, tw:verbal abuse, tw:mental abuse) who is portrayed as a headstrong protector of her family (tw:abuse apologism) and the Jew they hide in their basement (tw:white saviorism), as well as a meek foster father who kowtows to his wife’s ways (tw:domestic abuse) and teaches Liesel to roll cigarettes (tw:smoking). It’s narrated by Death (are there even enough trigger warnings for that?) who, rather than condemn characters who have embraced Hitler and Nazism, points to the bitterness, grief, and misinformation catalyzing their fervor (tw:Nazi apologism). 

For those of you readying a barrage of rebuttals to that summary, scrolling down to the comments to tell me that I stripped the book of any nuance—that’s the whole point. The Book Thief is a very nuanced story that conveys its message in shades of grey. Few characters are wholly good or wholly evil. Death is a neutral figure, condemning the horrors of war while pitying those who fight it no matter their side, portraying the nightmarish consequences of hatred while showing the reader how it is born. But since when has nuance ever mattered to someone riding high on a wave of righteous anger? 

Moving on, 2006 was also the year My Chemical Romance released The Black Parade, which sees Death (tw tw tw) telling the story of The Patient, a man whose life was filled with war, depression, political unrest, PTSD, religious guilt, self-loathing, broken relationships, and near-constant suicidal ideation—a life that ends in his thirties from heart complications due to a long, painful, emotionally draining battle with cancer. Millions of depressed kids, teens, and adults have found catharsis in the album’s raw, honest lyrics, but those same lyrics would earn the band a #CancelMCR hashtag today. To wit: 

Another contusion, my funeral jag/Here’s my resignation, I’ll serve it in drag: Mocking drag queens and men who crossdress. Using a very real expression of gender identity for shock value. Blatantly transphobic. 

Juliet loves the beast and the lust it commands/So drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands Romeo: Toxic relationship. Probably violently abusive. #DumpThePatient, lady, and #MCRStopRomanticizingAbuse. 

Wouldn’t it be grand to take a pistol by the hand?/And wouldn’t it be great if we were dead?: Oh my fucking god, they’re romanticizing suicide now? How was this album even allowed to be made? Who let this happen and how soon can we #cancel them? 

If you’ve heard the album, you know none of the above interpretations are remotely true. You’ve probably shaken your head at the Daily Mail’s infamous claim that My Chem promoted self-harm and suicide, but the sad truth is that if The Black Parade were released in today’s climate, that claim would probably be taken up by the very people who now consider themselves fans. The raw honesty that resonated with so many could easily be taken as a stamp of approval on the very suicides its songs have prevented. The anti-suicide anthem, “Famous Last Words,” could be ignored or twisted into a mockery of those who condemn suicide, and the darkly wholesome “Welcome to the Black Parade” music video would likely be taken as enticement toward teens who want to end their lives: “Look at all the cool things you’ll get to see once you’re dead and gone!” 

Again, anyone who is even a casual fan of The Black Parade knows this is a deliberately malicious misreading of the material. My Chem’s music has been gratefully embraced by LGBTQ+ kids looking for a place to belong, and the band members have been outspoken in their support. They’ve been quoted, on multiple occasions, speaking out against suicide and self-harm. We know Parade is not pro-anything except pro-keep on living. But we know this because we gave the band a chance to tell us. We assumed good intent when we listened to their music, and so their intended message came across without interference. Were Parade released today, in the era of AED (Assume the worst, Exaggerate the damage, and Demand outsized retribution), the resulting furor (and refusal to hear their objections to the rampant misinterpretations) could very well have forced My Chem to vanish into obscurity. 

And look. I’m not against content moderation wholesale. I actually think it’s done some good in the world of entertainment. Podcast hosts and book reviewers who warn audience members about triggering content allow them to avoid that content before they suffer an anxiety attack. As a librarian, I have personally and enthusiastically recommended Does the Dog Die?, a website (doesthedogdie.com) that tracks hundreds of anxiety triggers in media, to colleagues who work with kids so they can allow their students to request a different book or movie if the assigned one would cause undue distress. Trigger warnings can prevent anxiety attacks. Content moderation allows audiences to make informed choices. 

But some things are toxic in high amounts, and when it comes to content moderation, we’ve long since passed that mark. 

When trigger warnings are used not as honest labels of content, but as a means to frighten people away from material they might otherwise enjoy, trigger warnings become toxic. 

When self-appointed content moderators tell others what interpretations they should take from a piece of entertainment, rather than allowing them to come to their own conclusions, content moderation becomes toxic. 

When artists are afraid to produce their most honest work for fear their honesty will be twisted into something dark and ugly, the world of fandom becomes toxic. 

Content moderation is not bad in itself. It can actually be a valuable tool for sufferers of anxiety, PTSD, and other disorders. But when it goes hand in glove with cancel culture, it becomes a monster, keeping audiences from discovering something they might otherwise enjoy by twisting the content into something it’s not. 

By all means, tag your triggers. Warn about your content. But don’t tell your followers to expect something horrible that isn’t even there. 

[omegacoltonwest]

Name: Colton “Colt” Patrick West Age: 28 Birthday: October 3 Classification: Omega Sexuality: Homosexual Occupation: High School English/Literature Teacher Relationship Status: Single

Bio tw:parental death, tw:illness

BIO -Colton Patrick West was born October 3, 1992 in Las Vegas, Nevada. His mother, Lori Fields-West, raised him as a single mother after her mate, Colt’s father, was killed. Lori worked as an Elementary School teacher, which is where Sean learned his love and passion for teaching.  -When Colt was 2, he came down with meningitis, and the high fever he suffered due to the illness rendered him deaf.  -Growing up Deaf was challenging, especially as an Omega, though Colt and his mother remained positive, knowing that at the end of the day, it wouldn’t be a hindrance at all, provided Colt remained upbeat and continued to persevere. Neither of them have ever viewed his inability to hear as a disability. -Once things had begun to settle following Colt’s diagnosis, his mother immediately enrolled herself in Sign Language classes, which she carried over and began teaching Colt. Their communication has always been impeccable because of this, and the two are extremely close. -While Colt was mainstreamed for all of elementary and most of middle school, when he turned 12 his mother sent him to a nearby Deaf School, which is where Colt really became immersed in the Deaf community and culture.  -With his mother being a single mother, things were often financially tough for the pair, though Colt never felt as though he was missing out on anything, and never demanded or talked about wanting more. He was taught early on that money does not equal happiness, and he truly values the simple things in life. He works hard every day to remind himself to find beauty in the small things, which he succeeds at. -Since childhood, Colt has been fascinated with movies and television, as well as literature, always watching, reading, and studying any and everything he could get his hands on. Of course, Lori supported that, always doing what she could and had to in order to nurture his interests. -Since he was a teenager, Colt has been imagining and writing screenplays, though he hasn’t ever considered selling any for real, he more considers it a hobby. -Of course, reading is another huge passion/hobby of his, and something he does frequently when he is able to snag a bit of free time. -Being the son of a teacher, and as interested in reading and writing as he always has been, Colt excelled academically. And, it came as no surprise when he decided to pursue a career in teaching English following his high school and college graduations. -Although Colt worked as a freshman English Teacher for three years in Las Vegas, he decided to take some time to explore himself and his options for mates elsewhere, as he hasn’t ever really found anyone in Vegas.  -He has lived and taught in Crystal Grove for a year now, and is finally settled enough to begin exploring and putting himself out there.  -Colt is an extremely kind, genuine, and sincere person, who finds comfort in his classification as an Omega. He enjoys submission and service, and aims to make whomever he finds himself with as happy as possible.  -Though Colt has been through more than a few heats, he is not very versed sexually and hasn’t ever really come across anyone who took care of him properly.  -Due to his people pleasing tendencies, Colt often finds himself feeling tired and emotionally drained, though he always finds the strength to get through it and tries his best not to let on to his own struggles, preferring to be a source of comfort for others when they need it the most.

[nyxisadyke]

Damn that witches curse that forbids me from crying

(If you read the tags tw:parental abuse, death)

[showmemytargetarchive]

Rage

People always seem to assume that rage has to be hot, like fire. They’re wrong. Clint’s first experiences with rage were directed at his father, every time he struck or otherwise damaged the people that Clint cared about. No child should have to experience hate, certainly not against his own family, but gods did Clint hate that man. 

The epitome of his fury came the day that he found out his father was dead. Clint had only one word to say on the subject:

     Good.

In that moment, he realized that rage wasn’t always fire.

For him, rage was ice.

[fishthegenderwitch]

Triggers are so unexpected sometimes.

My dad died of cancer in May of last year. I sat with him for two whole days, reading to him, giving him water, making jokes and telling him about my life.

When I walked into that tiny room they had him stuffed away in, left to die, I couldn't believe it was him. I hadn't seen him in 6 months, but the cancer they found the previous summer, that had spread in starbursts across his whole body, wasted him away til he was just bones and skin.

I cried when I saw him. I'm crying now, telling you.

This man, who gave the world his unapologetic awesomeness, who was the most kind, genuine and funny person in my life, was going to die. His mortality was screaming at me. He taught me so many things about being myself; that being a rude, unadulterated asshat was a waste of time, and that faith and love were the most important.

So much flashed through my mind in that instant. I said his name and he woke up. He'd been in a coma until I spoke. That's all he needed.

I cried while he was alive to know it. I laughed and made jokes we'd both find funny. I read him his bible and a Scientific American magazine. I screamed at the nurses when they didn't give him morphine on time.

I fell asleep early that Sunday, two days after I'd arrived. Shortly after, I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise I'd ever seen, and realised his breathing had changed. I stood up, and walked to where he could see me, still holding his hand. I told him it was ok, that he didn't have to stick around and be in pain anymore.

He died at 9:00am on a Sunday morning in May. I cried out loud for one, loud brief moment, and stifled it, afraid to disturb the floor. I held my grief in until a few minutes ago, someone's comment about "I hope your mum gets cancer," triggered me to start crying. I haven't stopped.

I would never, ever ever in my life wish the pain my dad went through on another living person. I can only be grateful that the horrible people who say these things have NOT gone through what we have. Those of us that have lost a loved one to cancer know that it's not a thing to say, to wish upon someone else.

I very sincerely hope those people don't have to live through that, because I barely did. I also hope that the heartless people who wish pain and suffering on others grow up. Because hoping someone gets a fatal disease and dies, leaving your life emptier, is not something to lightly say to someone ever, especially over a video game.

[the-orc-and-khajiit]

"Don't chase the rabbit"

Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past.

.:Whyborn:.

The scene was dark and cast in a red orangy haze of fire and smoke as bandit marauders raided the small Khajiition village. Shouts from fellow felines, screams from women begging to be let free, and men struggling to fight off the heavily armored bandits. A young kit clutched to her brothers tunic as tears streamed down her blood and dirt clotted face. Their mother was over both of them, her tail wrapped around their waists and arms hugging them protectively as they hid behind a sheltered closet. 

The noise had quieted after a few minutes, and then a great crash sounded near by the khajiit family’s hiding spot…. All of them hushed to listen.. Muffled commands could be heard behind the door. “Check in that room.” one of them said. A bandit stepped through the mud hut door way where the closet was located… The young kit whimpered but was quickly hushed by her mother. The footsteps got closer, rustling from belongings came from the bed being flipped over. The bandits were checking every where and hope became scarce for the Khajiit family. 

The bamboo door swung open with a yell and a few bandits pulled out the kits’ mother. She fought against them, biting one on the shoulder, drawing blood. The one’s companion struck her against the head and she fell to the dirt. The kittens screamed and hissed as they were dragged out of the closet, their mother, still on the floor, struggled to get up. She cast a weak fire spell at the bandit holding them catching his attention. He ordered the other to kill her… he happily obliged, striking the woman with a blunt club killing her instantly from the impact.

Both kittens screamed and cried for the loss of their mother and also the fact that they were being taken to somewhere where death was most likely the only option.