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thegreatsharkleve · 4 years

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Elijah Post LFRP - Crystal data center

The Basics ––– –

Name: Elijah Post

Age: 28

Race: Midlander/Highlander

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Gay (but flirts with pretty much everyone)

Relationship Status: Sort of involved? (He will neither confirm nor deny there being a presence of embarrassingly soft feelings...)

Languages: Common, a rudimentary grasp of Doman

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Honey Blond and could definitely use a cut or a style… or a brush most days, to be perfectly honest.

Eyes: Amber – more a reddish-orange hue than yellow

Height: 5’6”

Appearance: He is an attractive enough guy: excellent jaw line, straight nose, striking eyes, long limbs, trim figure, and a charming smile. Unfortunately (for anyone who has to look at him) his fashion sense is … questionable at best. Most of his outfits consist of brightly colored, egregiously wrinkled shirts and pants that rarely make it past his ankles. He wears a lot of tacky jewelry, sunglasses inside buildings and most certainly at night, and there is a very real possibility that the only footwear he owns, besides a pair of fluffy pink slippers, are sandals – which he has, in fact, been known to wear with socks. Still, he carries himself with a lazy confidence that somehow makes his perpetual “I have just woke up in the middle of the afternoon” look seem more of an artful affectation rather than a cry for help.

One of the more notable things about him are his plethora of scars, with the most prominent being the one that runs diagonal across his face and the two sets of whorling burns along both shoulders – one creeping down over his right pectoral and the other running over the upper part of his left arm. His ring finger on his left hand is missing after the first knuckle (don’t ask about this one if you’re eating), and a long surgical scar runs vertically along his outer right forearm. Underneath his clothes are a smattering of healed bullet wounds and a few others of less identifiable origin, but you’re gonna have to buy him a couple drinks if you want to take a closer look.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Journalist – specifically a freelance field correspondent who specializes in conflict journalism and investigative reporting. When he’s between field work, he often picks up puff pieces with local papers, writing about the arts, sports, culture, etc.

Residence: No permanent listed address – currently renting a room at the Hidden Pearl in the Mists. He can usually be found sitting at the bar after he’s just rolled out of bed, having bacon twists and sake for breakfast (at 2pm).

Birthplace: Ul’Dah

Religion: Meh

Likes: Day drinking, people watching, writing, sleeping, animals, (tall men)

Dislikes: Bureaucracy, wealth disparity, national pride, bullies, snobs, being cold

Fears: Commitment, being emotionally vulnerable, people in mascot costumes

Personality: Elijah seems like a pretty easy going, even tempered guy for the most part. He has a languorous, lackadaisical disposition – meandering through life as though he never really has a place to be, and if he did, he isn’t in any particular rush to get there. With friends or with strangers he’s quick to smile or laugh or tell a joke, affable enough that people tend to trust him with pieces of themselves without noticing he offers very little of himself in return. He can come across as flippant or indifferent in conversation, and while he is rarely intentionally cruel, he has a habit of jamming his thumbs into people’s buttons. It’s very possible he is just incidentally annoying rather than consciously so. He likes to maintain plausible deniability on that front.

When working in the field Elijah becomes much more focused – he stands taller, moves with purpose, exchanging his usual countenance of a rumpled layabout for that of a seasoned professional. He has on more than one occasion put his own body on the line (and in the hospital) in combat situations, or when pursuing a lead. He will recount each scar, and his half missing finger, with a joviality that some folks find off putting given some of the more grisly details. This disregard for his own safety is likely one of the (many) reasons he has never gotten a full time reporting gig with any of Eorza’s major newspapers – that, and he has a habit of leaving journalistic impartiality at the door. It’s clear from his writing that he has a deep well of empathy for other people and admires underdogs who fight uphill battles for high minded idealism, even if he ultimately believes their sentimentality to be a little bit naive..

Relationships ––– -

Parents: His Mother has passed, but his Father is still kicking and perpetually disappointed in his son! Their relationship is… strained by not estranged?

Pets: His Chocobo Bixley – but really, that’s more of a buddy and stalwart feathered compatriot than a pet.

traits ––– -

bold your character’s answer.

extroverted / in between / introverted

disorganized / in between / organized

close minded / in between / open minded

calm / in between / anxious

disagreeable / in between / agreeable

cautious / in between / reckless

patient / in between / impatient

outspoken / in between / reserved

leader / in between / follower

empathetic / in between / apathetic

optimistic / in between / pessimistic

traditional / in between / modern

hard-working / in between / lazy

cultured / in between / uncultured

loyal / in between / disloyal

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Has been known to chain smoke.

Drugs: The spice of life is trying anything and everything twice!

Alcohol: Probably too often on that front too..

Background information/ Potential RP Hooks? ––– –

UL’DAH BORN AND RAISED: He lived most of his youth in Ul’Dah, haunting the less affluent areas of Eorzea’s grandest pile of rocks in the desert. His mother was an Ala Mhigan immigrant and his father just a simple Ul’Dah native who ran a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. His parents were very “hard work and sacrifice” types when he was growing up, giving away free meals to refugees and anyone who was hungry. They were well liked by those who knew them, veritable pillars of the community, for whatever that was worth in what was hardly a half step above a slum. His mother died a few years ago but his father still works in his run down little restaurant – lots of folks still recognize Elijah as his parent’s kid rather than for his own work. He has mixed feelings about it.

FREELANCE JOURNALIST WITH AN AXE TO GRIND: Elijah’s had work published in The Mythril Eye, The Harbor Herald, and The Raven. Because he has a reasonably good standing at these newspapers (and friendly relationships with some of the editors) he’s able to pick up the odd puff piece, op-ed, or political coverage gig in order to cover his expenses when he’s between larger assignments. In the past he has written some pretty incendiary pieces about Ul’Dah’s treatment of Ala Mhigan refugees, as well as a few pieces lambasting the noble houses of Ishgard and their complacency in the Dragonsong War and their collaboration with the corrupt Holy See, which has earned him a bit of a “reputation”. On the other hand, he is just as willing to throw himself upon the altar of journalistic tripe for a quick gil. If you have any tips or story leads you want investigated, Elijah just might be your man. If your character is involved at any of the major Eorzean papers, they might be acquainted.

CONFLICT REPORTING: Elijah has spent time in the middle of political unrest in Ishgard, covering Garlean incursions and skirmishes across the continent, and until recently he has been covering the ongoing issues in Othard. In fact, he’s only just returned from spending an extended period living with the resistance forces in Gyr Abania; and, he has some very strong opinions regarding the absolutely hacking edits The Mythril Eye made to his work before publication (without his permission). If your character was part of the fighting in Gyr Abania, Elijah might have spoken to them or went out into the field with them on occasion.

TRAVELING FOR WORK: Given the nature of his job, Elijah has visited most major cities while on assignment and has been known to interview common folks, political figures, travelers, military types -- anyone who will talk to him. If you've spoken to him in the past, your words might have ended up in print, for better or for worse (he has been punched in the face on more than one occasion, and he regrets nothing); however, he has never once burned an informant or lead that has come to him for help. He has enough of a reputation that folks (government and law enforcement sorts) might take to actively avoiding him.

OOC/Contact Information ––– –

The Player: Becks | They/Them | 30+ | Atlantic Timezone | Canadian

Looking for: Long term rp connections, short term adventures, friendship, rivalry, romance, I’m open to pretty much anything!

I’m a 30+ year old player who is a little anxious and shy when it comes to meeting new people on the internet (hence playing an extrovert to drag me out of my shell) but I’m really excited to make new friends and rp connections!! As I said, I am up for anything, including walk ups when I am out and about, and this character is on the surface level a very chill and friendly dude! I am, however, also someone who engages with a lot of mature themes -- not just swearing, drugs and alcohol, but also heavier themes (the realities of class disparity and poverty, the human cost of war, trauma, etc etc) that might not be everyone’s cup of tea. But!! I wouldn’t just throw it out there willy nilly, and I believe firmly in communication between players -- discussing boundaries and limits is very important, as well as trusting each other enough to speak up if either party is uncomfortable! I am cool with my character being injured, but please check in with me before doing anything drastic that will result in something permanent (like maiming or... y’know, death). Also I am open to rping romance (or lack of romance but the bits that go with it) though this character is currently not up for shipping adventures. Just to be clear, I am not comfortable doing that type of role play with anyone that’s under 25, sorry! I'm in my early thirties, and it would just be weird for me. We can still be pals, I promise! Please only reach out to me if you are 18+ and your character is 18+ -- I am not comfortable interacting with minors.

All art on this tumblr is probably mine unless stated otherwise! <3 Contact: Message me here on tumblr, /tell Elijah Post on Balmung, and if we become friends I am up for discord handle sharing! :D

I am open to cross-world rp and rp outside of the game as well!!

Now that I’ve got this edited how I want it... Boosts appreciated! Always looking for more active blogs to follow/be friends with!!

#lfrp balmung #lfrp crystal #ffxiv balmung #ffxiv crystal #Elijah Post #Character bio for a hot mess

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likeamourningglory · 5 years

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Chapter Seven

Pairings: BTS×Reader, Secret Yandere!×Reader

Warnings: Contains mentions of blood, death, gore, stalking, obsessive behaviour, yandere character and mature content. Please read at your own risk.

Words: 1.5k

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“Ah, back again so soon? I wish we didn’t have to keep meeting like this,” Officer Jeon sighed, standing, slim fingers fiddling with the wrist cuffs of his white button-up— crisp and impeccable, not a single wrinkle in sight, you thought. It was almost scary how put-together he looked; clean-cut to the point of intimidating.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

He didn’t sit down, hands firmly placed on either side of the table. A hulking figure looming over you, and despite the barrier, you felt small— so small under his heavy scrutiny, those judging eyes glinting with the cruel edge of justice.

You prided yourself in your strength, in matters of the mind and the heart; there were only a handful of moments in your life when you felt helpless— but this… this meticulously, painstakingly picked apart your carefully crafted illusion of control.

Your rabbit heart raced within your chest, blood rushing, roaring loud in your ears. It beat hummingbird fast, a hard thump thump thump that carved its presence into your very being, knife sharp. The hot blood in your veins were frozen with winter, the creeping frost numbing every corner in the Arctic tundra of this crushing fear.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. Not in this agonizing cold— lips blue, bones snapping like flimsy twigs. Powerless, ripped of control.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you took in a shuddering breath, shoulders trembling with the motion. You played with a loose thread at the hem of your skirt, pulling and pulling; it unraveled at the seams, falling apart at the mercy of your fingertips— a idleness borne from a restless anxiety.

“I don’t— I’m not really sure,” you muttered, syllables escaping in a shaky breath, a soft and near inaudible hush.

Officer Jeon slammed his hand down, a loud smack of an open palm against the wooden surface. The desk trembled, protesting under the abuse. You flinched back.

“You see this?” He tapped his finger solidly on an unassuming paper file, the gruesome contents splayed out like the massacred body, limbs askew, blood pooling in an ocean of red. Your gaze flickered down involuntarily, catching sight of the continuous, awful nightmare plaguing your every waking moment.

Bile rose in your throat, acid burning you from the inside out, but you only swallowed down the poison, the sour bitterness. Little tremors wracked your body, running in a cascade of spider legs down your spine. It’s like you were constantly on the vibration setting of a cellphone.

You were a fucking cellphone, you thought, hysteria bubbling inside your stomach in an overflowing cauldron— a churning, nauseating mess of bright, psychedelic colors, questionable to the eye and even more so to the mind. A mere device to be used and tossed away once defective.

“Someone was murdered at this time and place—,” Officer Jeon said, sliding a sheet of paper in front of you. Your eyes stared blankly at the swimming words, not quite processing them.

“We have CCTV cameras on this street,” he continued, flipping through the folder casually, pulling out a few printed photos. Grainy pictures of the cafe, two figures huddled close, their faces not quite discernible due to the distance and lighting.

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach— dread piling in thick, black ooze, clumping in ugly masses and clogging your arteries with disgusting dregs.

“Is this you,” he asked, already aware of the answer, cocking an expectant eyebrow. You gave a small, meek nod. “Can I get a verbal confirmation? Murder is a serious business, after all. Wouldn’t want any mix-up.”

Officer Jeon gave a grim smile that you couldn’t return, only mustering up a halfhearted smile, weak and quivering. Your breath left you in a whoosh, gaze staring down at your fisted hands.

“Yes, that’s me.”

He only hummed, unsurprised, tapping the top of his pen against the wooden surface of the table, a steady tapping that rang like a gavel in the silence— the hammering of nails sealing your coffin shut.

“And what were you doing so late at night?”

“I was meeting up with a friend.”

“At a cafe when it was well past closing time?” His voice was dubious, not only ready to poke holes through your reasonings, but to completely tear them to shreds.

“He works at the cafe, and we were planning to just hang out for a bit,” you tried to explain.

Officer Jeon released an explosive sigh, leaning back in his seat. Carding his fingers through dark curls, he stared at you, a hardness in his gaze. “Listen, three people entered this alley, but only two came out. It’s my job to catch the culprit, to catch whoever did this,” he said, gesturing at the papers. “And I’ll be honest with you— as someone who is connected to not just one murder, but two? You’re not looking so great.”

“Please, Officer— I didn’t do any of this! You have to believe me, I would never kill someone. I was only meeting up with a friend,” you insisted, tears stinging your eyes at the unfairness of it all.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t meet up with your friends anymore,” he offered with a sardonic smile, a cruel expression on his otherwise handsome face. You forced back the tears, unwilling to cry— not here, not until you were alone.

“You know what they say? What the other officers tell me?” He didn’t wait, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. “That you’re the one who killed them.”

Your breath hitched, and you immediately denied it.

“That a murderer hides behind that sweet face,” Officer Jeon continued, words a delighted croon in the face of your turmoil.

You shook your head furiously, nails digging into your skin through the material of your skirt.

“Maybe you lured that poor man into the alley.”

“No, I didn’t, I swear—.”

“What were you hoping to gain, hmm? Money? Or do you just get a sick thrill over killing someone? Of having them on your knees, begging for their lives?”

“Please—.”

“Did you like hearing him scream, Y/N? Did you like the feeling of his blood on your hands as the life slowly drained from his—.”

“I didn’t do it!” You screamed, chest heaving, hands over your ears as if they could block away those accusing words.

“He grabbed me, pulled me into the alley— I don’t know what he wanted, and I don’t want to know what he would have done. But I never even thought about killing him.” And despite your breathy voice, syllables strained under distress, there was steel in your words. “I was scared, so scared. But Yoongi saved me, and—.”

“Yoongi? Min Yoongi?”

You shut your mouth with an audible click, but nodded slowly, hesitantly. Guilt hung over you in a thundering storm cloud, and you crossed your arms over your chest, protecting yourself— from the outside world, from everything.

Officer Jeon tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face, eyes dark and dangerous. You wanted nothing more than to leave, cold and clammy in your seat. And like some divine deity was finally listening, he dismissed you.

“I think we’re done here for the day,” he said absently, a faraway tone to his voice.

You stood on shaky legs, nearly crying in relief. Muttering a farewell, you strode to the door, ready to leave and erase the proceedings from your memory when—

“Oh, and Y/N? We’ll keep in touch.”

You shuddered at those words, a warning, a threat— you bit down hard on your bottom lip at the implications. Yanking the door open, you left without a backwards glance. Head held high, you strutted out of the police station; a confidence painted on your features that didn’t mirror the broken person inside the interrogation room.

You were a strong person, you reminded yourself, hiding the quiver in your lips. You made it just around the corner before you collapsed on the ground, knees hitting the cement with a painful thud. You sat with your back against the brick of a wall, lungs struggling to take in each painful breath, panic clawing at your chest. Closing your eyes, you tried to force your breathing to slow, counting. Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

It could have been hours, it could have been a few minutes; you didn’t know how long you were sitting on the sidewalk. But it was pathetic, /you/ were pathetic. You chuckled bitterly, shaking your head. Everything was a fucking shitstorm. And just when you thought you could catch a break— that something good happened for once, meeting Yoongi, spending the day with Taehyung… inevitably, it spiraled down to this.

Everything always went wrong.

And now, you shifted the blame to poor, unsuspecting Yoongi— what kind of monster, were you. How could you do that to him?

You were going to succumb to madness, this chaos mere seconds away from driving you insane. And you didn’t know if you were strong enough to stop it.

———————————————————

Taglist: @vannilacake @blackpanther4550 @xsunnyhoseokx @amiraclerenee @nooooooooona

This is a collab with @girlmeetsliv3 @sevenincubistolemyheart @jooniescupcakes @junglekookbook @smileyoongle @seven-souls

I’ll be adding the previous chapters to my (soon to be made) masterlist soon.

#bts #bts angst #yandere bts imagine #yandere bts #yanderexreader #bts imagines #btsxreader #yandere au

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mind-reader1 · 5 years

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My Promise (Part 2/3)

A/N: This was meant to be just a sequel but it was so long that I’ve broken the sequel into the two parts. Sorry in advance!

Warnings: Angst, some cursing

Word Count: 5,015 (oof, sorry it’s so long)

Recap: Taylor made a deal with Vannu on the rooftop during the final battle with Rourke. One year and a day, that was all the time she had with Jake before she had to return to Vaanu. Shortly after their deal, she discovered she was pregnant, leaving Jake with a little girl, who he named Aurora after his forever sleeping princess, her mother. This picks up after Taylor leaves.

You can read part 1 here and part 3 here!

It had been three years since Taylor gave herself up to Vaanu, three years since she’d left him with the most precious gift of all, his daughter. It was the anniversary of her leaving, just after Aurora’s birthday, the group had planned to meet on La Huerta this year, to celebrate Taylor, normally Jake would find a babysitter, maybe ask his parents to watch her, but it didn’t feel right to leave her this year. Aurora helped him feel closer to Taylor than anyone or anything ever could, besides, she was always asking about her mom, it felt right bringing her along this year.

Aurora bounced excitedly in the co-pilot chair of Delilah, an old helmet of Jake’s sliding on her head, far too big for the little girl, but she didn’t care, she was just like her Daddy. Even had a similar outfit too, a green bomber jacket with a black sparkly T-shirt and jeans, and a pair of black spiked combat boots. She’d insisted on having an outfit just like her Daddy and so Jake obliged, he was wrapped around her tiny little finger.

“Is this where you met Mommy?” Was the very first question out of her mouth once she was in the cockpit, she knew her Dad was a pilot and knew from their friends that her Mom and Jake had met on the plane, but she still loved the princess story, easily imagining how it could be the front of a carriage.

“Yeah, it is Squirt. I was taking a nap right here.” He sat down and kicked his feet up, pretending to sleep while Aurora shook him.

“Daddy! Wake up! No naps, silly.” She giggled as he opened an eye and glanced down at her.

“Fine, I guess I’ll stay awake for you.” She cheered and watched him intently until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and fell asleep on the long flight to Costa Rica where he’d be picking up the rest of the group. Aurora slept until they landed on the island, stirring as Jake picked her up and rest her head on his shoulder, carrying her and their bags up to the hotel. He settled into the suite he had picked originally, it was dusty, unused with the exception of one or two times by him before he moved into the honeymoon suite with Taylor. He couldn’t go back to their room, for one the window had never been fixed and it was trashed, but also there were too many memories there, he thought about showing her their house where she was born, but he wasn’t sure he could face that either and it was a long journey, one she probably couldn’t handle yet.

“Daddy?” She rubbed her sleepy eyes and sat up in bed looking around.

“Hey Squirt, we’re here.” He whispered, sitting next to her and brushing her hair back from her face.

“Is this yours and Mommy’s room?” He smiled softly and laid down beside her.

“No this is my room, from before Mommy and I were together.” She nodded and settled back in beside him, cuddling her favorite princess doll. Jake rubbed her cheek until she fell asleep, fighting his own heavy eyelids, but eventually giving in, falling into a fitful sleep as he was haunted by thoughts of Taylor.

The next day Aurora was up bright and early before Jake, running around harassing their friends as they took shifts watching her so they could all drink their coffee in peace. He momentarily panicked until he heard her bubbly laughter floating down the hall before there was a soft knock and the door flew open.

“Wake up Daddy! Wake up!” She jumped on the bed before landing on him making him groan in pain. Now that she’d gotten bigger, it wasn’t as cute when she jumped on him full force.

“The little twerp is anxious and ready to go,” Zahra announced handing him a cup of coffee he gratefully took. Everyone knew that returning to the island was hardest on him, Zahra could tell he hadn’t slept well by the bags under his eyes.

“Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute.” Aurora had wanted to play on the beach and since they didn’t have any plans before their annual bonfire, later today, he decided to take her down there and relax. His favorite hammock was already set up, he settled in with a clear view of Aurora building a sandcastle. Diego slowly sidled up next to Jake and glanced down at him, asking with his eyes if he could take a seat next to him. Jake sat up and shifted over, letting him take a seat, they’d both lost their best friend, Diego was the only one who had some kind of idea of what he was going through. They sat in silence for a long time, just watching Aurora and the waves.

“How are you doing?” Diego whispered. Jake sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

“It never gets easier, it’s good having Squirt here though. She wants to know everything about her mom, asks me all sorts of questions.” Diego chuckled, he was all too familiar with the chatty nature of the little girl.

“She’s a good mix of both of you, you’re doing an amazing job, Jake. Tay would be so proud of you.” Jake nodded and swallowed hard fighting back tears, Aurora had filled most of the void in his heart, but there was always still a little piece missing that she just couldn’t fill, that no one could. He hadn’t even tried dating again despite his friends and family pushing him to do so. He wasn’t ready, and he didn’t want to bring a bunch of strange women around Aurora, he didn’t want to confuse her and he would never let someone take Taylor’s place as her mom.

“She’s perfect.” Jake sighed and looked up at his little girl, frowning when he saw her talking, she wasn’t one to talk to herself or have imaginary friends. She pretended to talk to her stuffed animals and dolls, but that was it. Jake stood up and took a step closer, it was then he saw the translucent figure, sitting across from her, shifting with the moving light as she talked to it.

“Aurora!” He’d recognize that figure anywhere, he raced down the sand toward her as fast as his legs could move, almost tripping a few times where it was so thick.

“Jake?” Diego stood behind him and didn’t realize what the problem was until he saw the figure that had sent Jake into a panic, Diego scrambled out of the hammock to get back to the hotel and warn the others. Aurora turned to look back at her dad confused, he never used her name unless she was in trouble or he was scared about something.

“Daddy! This is-“

“I know who it is Baby, get away from it.” He scooped her up in his arms and warily watched the figure, it seemed smaller, Aurora’s size, and it was visibly upset as Jake backed away.

“Daddy stop! That’s my brother.” She beat on his chest and Jake stopped, frowning in confusion at her.

“No sweetie, that’s not possible. Mommy had to leave when you were just a little itty bitty baby. There’s no way you have a brother.” Jake fought back tears but they spilled anyways, he would have loved to have a son, someone for Aurora to grow up with and play with, but that wasn’t possible.

“Yes, it is Daddy!” She fought him tooth and nail but Jake refused to let go, he turned back and watched as another translucent figure appeared beside the other, this one was much larger and scooped the other up in a protective manner, similar to how Jake held Aurora. He couldn’t believe his eyes, Vaanu had never separated like that, this was cruel, even for Vaanu. He couldn’t look away though, he took a step closer, and then another, and then another. He felt drawn into it, the closer he got the more connected he felt, the more he could feel his heart finally mending, it was then he realized the larger figure was female. He squinted and took a few more steps, he was only a few feet from it now, the others gathered at the edge of the beach watching this unfold.

“Taylor?” The thing shimmered and began shifting again, Jake stumbled back, keeping Aurora hidden from view as he watched the things manifest into people starting with the feet. The child was whole first and Jake was staring at the spitting image of himself, the child’s bright blue eyes were clearly Taylor’s though, there was no mistaking it. Jake was frozen as he watched the other person manifest completely, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Taylor was standing there holding a toddler about Aurora’s age, and there was no denying that he was Jake’s son.

“Princess?” Jake stammered out. She nodded and began crying, Jake rushed forward with Aurora still in his arms and slammed into her, pulling her close as he cried into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent, never wanting to let go.

“Daddy you’re squishing me!” Aurora whined, forcing Jake to let go. He set Aurora down and she scrambled behind his legs, staring up at the beautiful woman in front of her. The little boy had said he was her brother, but that would make the pretty lady her mom. She’d only ever seen one picture of her and so Aurora wasn’t sure.

“Is it really you? How?”

“I have so much to tell you, Jake. First, there’s someone you guys need to meet. Jake, Aurora,” Taylor smiled at the suddenly shy little girl behind Jake’s legs, in awe of how beautiful she was, “this is Michael Lucas McKenzie, your son, and your brother.” Jake felt dizzy and light-headed, he had a son, Taylor was standing in front of them with their son. He was forced back to reality as the little boy reached out for him.

“Daddy?” Jake began crying again and took the little boy from Taylor’s arms, squeezing him tight as the boy latched onto his neck, he already loved him so much that it scared Jake.

“Daddy is that Mommy?” Aurora whispered, tugging on his pants leg.

“Yeah, Sweetie. I’m your Mommy. You probably don’t remember me, you were so little when I left. You’re beautiful though, just like I remember. I missed you so much.” Taylor cried, squatting down in front of the little girl who cautiously walked up to her, looking back to Jake unsure. He nodded, encouraging her but the little girl didn’t move.

“Why don’t you tell her how we met Princess, that’s her favorite story.” Taylor chuckled and looked up at Jake before focusing on Aurora.

“Well, your Daddy was taking me and a group of our friends to this fancy island. I got worried and so when I went to check on him, I found him taking a nap! I woke him up and he didn’t like that very much so he said ‘don’t you know it’s rude to wake someone when they’re napping Princess.’” Taylor didn’t get to finish her story before Aurora launched herself into Taylor’s arms, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, satisfied that this was her mom. Jake moved next to her and wrapped his free arm around Taylor’s shoulders as the family finally reunited for the first time. The rest of the group watched from the beach in stunned silence at what was happening in front of them, mixed feelings coursing through them. They all wanted to see Taylor again, but they didn’t want to interrupt her moment with her family, they also wanted to know where the second kid had come from, and what this meant for Jake, how long she’d be back.

The four of them sat there holding each other until the sun began going down.

“Let’s go inside, get you guys some jackets, we have a lot to talk about.” Tay chuckled incredulously.

“Boy do we ever.”

“Should the kids be here for it?” He whispered, watching them play with each other just a few feet from them. She sighed and shook her head. They walked up to the rest of the group who watched quietly, respecting their space.

“Diego, can you watch the kids, Tay and I have some things to discuss in private.” Normally someone would make a witty joke about what talking meant, but they could tell by Taylor’s somber look that it wasn’t that kind of talking. They wandered up to his room and Tay sighed, looking around and breathing in his familiar scent as he sat down next to her on the bed. She curled up in his arms and let the comforting feeling of his embrace wash over her, she’d missed it, him, so much.

“God, I have so many questions, Princess, I don’t even know where to start. I also want to kiss you so bad, throw you back onto this bed and never let you leave. That look in your eyes tells me that ain’t possible though, I don’t know that I can stand to lose you again Princess.” Taylor cried at his words, Jake fighting his own.

“I’m so sorry Jake, so so sorry. I understand if you hate me, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. You and Aurora have a life now.” He shushed her gently and ran his hand down her hair and back trying to soothe her.

“I know Princess, I know.” He whispered. When she finally calmed down, Jake pressed his forehead against hers and sighed, steeling his nerves to ask his first question.

“How is...I mean...Michael.” He wasn’t quite sure how to word it, he knew how babies were made, but he didn’t understand how he was alive since Taylor had gone with Vaanu.

“Our anniversary, none of us knew when Vaanu took me that night. I stayed in this form and he didn’t know why, until the pull to you grew with my belly. Mike is more human than anything, and that part of him was drawn to you. Between that and our desire to see each other again, Vaanu couldn’t take it anymore and sent me back.”

“Why now? Why not when you found out? Why put us through all that?” Taylor sighed and Jake knew it wasn’t going to be a good answer.

“He’s still not complete without me, but he can survive without the little pieces inside of Aurora and Mike. Mike gets to stay down here with you and Aurora, but I have to go back.” Jake felt his blood boiling, it wasn’t fair that Taylor had to stay behind, forced to watch her children grow up without her and Jake grow old alone. It wasn’t fair that he was forced to be a dad with no one to help him, no one to share those milestone memories with.

“That’s bullshit, Taylor! It’s not fair! Why can’t you stay? I can’t do this alone!”

“Jake, our daughter is beautiful inside and out because of you, I know you’re going to make sure both our children become the best they can be. You’re an incredible dad, it has been such a privilege watching you.” He stood up and hit a vase next to him, sending it flying into the wall.

“You should be here with me, raising them with me Princess. Our kids should know who their mother is! Aurora barely even recognized you. That’s not fair to any of us.”

“I know Jake! Trust me! Having to watch from the shadows is the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I don’t want to fight about this, nothing’s going to change, but I do have something that will ease that pain a little.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of an um, agreement with Vaanu, much like my first one. I get to come back for the kid's birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, every year.” Jake searched her eyes, not believing what he was hearing, it seemed so generous on Vaanu’s part considering how selfish he had been, he would take any time with Taylor he had though.

“So how long are you here this time?” He whispered.

“Mike’s birthday is in two weeks. I leave that night.”

“How did you get him to agree to this?”

“He can sense my pain Jake, he can sense how much I miss you all, he hopes that giving me some time with my family will ease that pain some.” He nodded and ran a hand through his hair.

“This is our life now. Seeing each other four times a year? This isn’t a marriage Taylor! It’s a fucking joke. I know it’s not your fault, but god I hate it!”

“Maybe you should find someone else then. Someone who can give you the love you deserve.” He spun around shocked by her words.

“You don’t seriously mean that?”

“I do Jake. We promised each other a year and a day and our souls are forever linked. We have children, there is no separating us no matter what. You deserve to have a partner in life who can be there all the time and love you as much as I do, please Jake. It’s the one thing I want for you.” He shook his head in disbelief, he didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to even think about it. He walked out of the room, done with the conversation and Taylor chased after him.

“We should check on the kids.” He said cooly, this isn’t at all how either of them imagined their reunion going.

They re-joined the bonfire and her kids clung to her as her friends told her about everything she had missed in their lives. Marriage, kids, new jobs, finishing school, her head was spinning with how much they’d done. She excused herself to get some air, sitting down in the sand, she started to build a sandcastle with Aurora and Mike. The two were wary of each other at first, but they ended up taking to each other well as if no time apart had passed at all.

“Can I join you?” She recognized Jake’s gruff voice behind her and she sighed, he hadn’t spoken to her since their fight earlier. She patted the sand beside her wordlessly and he sat, watching Aurora spin a wild tale of a prince and princess living in the castle, just like their Mommy and Daddy.

“I’m sorry about earlier Jake, I shouldn’t have dropped it all on you like that.”

“I’m sorry too, Princess, I just missed you so much and to hear you say that…none of this is easy.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out, Jake.” They sat in silence for a moment, their shoulders brushing ever so lightly, the sensation still sent shivers down their spines.

“Tell me about Mike.” Taylor cracked a small smile and watched her son giggling with unbridled joy. Aurora was the first kid he’d ever actually met, he’d only ever been able to watch and play with Taylor, it was good for him to be around other kids.

“I don’t even know where to begin… he was the best thing to happen to me after Vaanu took me. He’s such a goofball, he loves to play and laugh, he’s chatty too, like you wouldn’t even believe.” Jake chuckled and nodded.

“Squirt is too. Oh, I mean Aurora, sorry.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, realizing she didn’t know he’d taken to calling her that.

“Why Squirt?” Jake shrugged.

“Her favorite movie, besides every princess movie ever made, was Finding Nemo. She’s a natural fish too, loves the water.” Taylor chuckled and watched her little girl, a pang in her heart as she realized she had missed and would continue to miss out on so many things in her daughter's life, her first child.

“Mike doesn’t know how to swim… there’s not exactly any water where we were. He loves to climb though, anything that looks climbable he’s there. We kept an eye on you and Aurora, he loves you so much already Jake. He couldn’t wait to meet his Daddy.” Taylor’s voice faltered as she choked on her tears, Jake looked over at her and pulled her close and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I love him too, Princess. I love all of you, my sweet little family.”

“But our daughter doesn’t even know me, Jake. I saw her outfit, she looks up to you so much, so enamored with her daddy, both of them are. I’m just a stranger to her and Mike’s going to forget me too eventually.”

“I would never let that happen, Taylor. You know her favorite outfit is this princess dress Becks bought her. She says that she feels like a princess, just like her mommy anytime she wears it. I can already tell Mike is a mama's boy, the way he latches onto you, trust me, Princess, they’re never gonna forget you. We’ll take pictures and I’ll put them up all over the house.”

“Thank you, Jake.” She whispered, nuzzling into his side as the bonfire continued around them. After a few days at the reunion, it was time to go home. Jake dropped everyone off in Costa Rica before flying his family back home, taking Taylor to his new house. They spent every day together with the kids, trying to soak it all in, Jake even invited his family over to finally meet Mike and Taylor. Jake had told them the story, but they never fully believed him until they met Taylor, they thought Jake had hooked up with a girl and she had left him with a kid. The days seemed to fly by and before they knew it, Mike’s birthday was here, their last day together, they decided to take them to the park.

Taylor watched her kids playing together, so carefree and happy, not quite yet understanding the gravity of the situation the family found themselves in. They knew Mommy only came to visit a few times a year, Mike had a better understanding since he had lived with her and Vaanu for three years, they didn’t understand why Mommy always looked the same though, unlike them who seemed a little different every year on their birthday when they saw her. Jake’s hand gently ran up and down her back, a crooked smile on his face as he stole a glance at her, all he’d ever wanted was a happy little family together, and she’d almost been able to give that to him. She feared for the future though, and what it meant for them, letting her mind wander to what it would look like.

*********************************

The kids were forced to grow up so much faster than they should’ve, parents, teachers, other children whispering about where their mom was. Jake always told them the same thing, she was a government agent who was working on top-secret things overseas, even he wasn’t allowed to know where or what, but she always made it home for their birthdays and holidays. People began to wonder though, some thought she was in rehab, some thought she had just walked out and Jake didn’t have the heart to tell his kids, some thought she was in a mental institution and only got certain days to visit. Others thought she was dead and Jake didn’t have the heart to tell his kids. The one thing they all agreed on was that he was a dedicated dad who loved his kids more than anything on this Earth and that he was a doting husband, never taking his ring off despite his wife’s seemingly permanent absence. It wasn’t until people actually met, saw what an incredible and devoted mother and wife she was that they started to consider his story. Of course, people also began to notice and whisper as Jake got older but Taylor stayed forever young and beautiful as if she was stuck at 22. It got to be too much and they moved, somewhere nobody knew them, where the whispers wouldn’t follow. Instead, people whispered about their seemingly large age difference, how old was she when their kids were born, the scandalous rumors spread like wildfire.

The day finally came when Taylor had enough, she could remember the fight vividly and she hated that it was a conversation they even needed to have.

“We can’t keep introducing ourselves as husband and wife, Jake! We can’t tell people that I’m Aurora and Mike’s mother!” She screamed, tears flowing down her face as she tangled her hands in her hair, frustrated beyond belief.

“Why the hell not, Taylor? Screw what everyone else thinks! I love you and I’m proud of it, and our beautiful family! I’m not going to let some bored housewives get in the way of that.” She shook her head.

“Our children hardly have any friends, Jake! They think you’re a predator and don’t want their children near you! It’s not fair to you or them. I love you with all of my heart and I love our children more than anything, it’s why we have to fix this.”

“What do you propose we do? Hm? Move to a deserted island like La Huerta and live there? That’s exactly what you didn’t want for us! Am I supposed to keep you hidden here during the limited time we have with you? I don’t see a solution, Taylor!” She could see the frustration boiling inside of him, his neck turned red, the vein in his forehead bulging, his eyes glassy from the tears threatening to spill.

“They’re 15 now Jake, they’re going to start dating soon, I can’t look as old as the people they’re dating. We can tell people I’m your daughter, you had me when you were young. I only visit for my sibling's birthdays and holidays because I’m at school for the rest of the time. People will believe it.” She whispered and instantly regretted it. Jake’s face fell as did the tears from his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It would change everything, turn their life upside down.

“You can’t mean that.” Her silence told him everything, she was dead serious.

“It’s the only way, Jake.” He shook his head violently at a loss for words.

“I won’t be able to kiss you, to hold your hand, to whisper things in your ear that make you smile. I’ll have to pretend that the sight of you in mom jeans and my t-shirt tucked in at the front doesn’t turn me on. What am I supposed to say about my wife? Are you supposed to be dead now? A tragic accident? What about our kids! They have to pretend their mom is their older sibling and watch their friends drool over you? You can’t be my princess anymore!” His last words cut her so deep she really thought her heart might break into a million pieces, that would always be their thing, she would always be his princess, so she had thought. She knew what he meant though, he couldn’t call her that and pretend she was his daughter at the same time, the meaning it held to them, the way he said it...it wasn’t what fathers and daughters do.

“I don’t like it any more than you, Jake! It’s just how it has to be now!” They heard a soft gasp behind them and turned to realize they’d left the door cracked, the kids standing there listening to everything as tears stained their cheeks.

“Squirt, Monkey. I’m sorry, I- your mom and I were just...talking about some things. Come here.” They cautiously opened the door and clung to their father, finding comfort in his tight embrace.

“I understand Mom.” Aurora finally came over to Taylor and hugged her tightly, they almost looked like twins the older Aurora got.

“You’ll always be our mom, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.” Mike came over and they both wrapped her in a big hug as she sobbed and held them close, kissing the tops of their heads gently. It wasn’t fair to put any of them through this.

Pretending to be Jake’s daughter was quite possibly the hardest thing Taylor had ever done until it came time to change the story again. She had to pretend to be her own children’s daughter, to be Jake’s granddaughter. He had aged well she thought, he still had a full head of hair, only it had turned white and wasn’t nearly as shaggy as his younger days. Freckles and wrinkles intermixed on his face, but his eyes still sparkled as bright as the day she married him and made him a father. His once strong muscles had weakened, but he still liked to pretend he was a tough proud Navy pilot. Really he’d become an even bigger softie, spoiling his grandkids even though they weren’t little children anymore. It took them a while to understand that Taylor was also their grandma and that she didn’t age like Grandpa. Taylor hated to watch him grow old without her, they were supposed to be on their porch together in Louisiana, sitting in matching rocking chairs, watching the sunset together as they held each other’s hands, giving each other shit for their gray hair.

Taylor wasn’t even by his side when he went peacefully in his sleep, she didn’t find out until she came back for her kids birthdays and it devastated her, a piece of her was missing, she’d never felt such intense pain in her life, and she didn’t think she ever would again. She was wrong though, as she watched her own children grow old, and had to pretend to be their grandchildren, she thought it would destroy her. You understand that you’ll lose your parents and maybe even your spouse in a lifetime, but nothing ever prepares you for losing a child.

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @sleepwalkingelite @ooo-barff-ooo @endlessly-searching-for-you @agent-bossypants @roonarific @likethetailofacomet @zaffrenotes @mysteli @vickypoochoices @kayann9 @jlouise88 @zigortega4life @findingdrake @drakesensworld @endlesstaylormckenzie @sophie-summer @feartheendlesssummer @darley1101 @emomoustache @xo-endlessmayhem-xo PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE REMOVED!

#Jake #jake x taylor #jake x mc #my promise #endless summer #choices #choices endless summer #choices fanfic #play choices #es #au #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #Jake McKenzie #jake mckenzie x mc #jake mckenzie junior

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operationwell · 4 years

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Body Neutrality Makes Space for Steady Worthiness

There isn’t a day that goes by where I do not judge my body in some way. Some days more than others. I also can’t remember a time where I didn’t care about my appearance. I recognize the ways that this self-critique has been ingrained not only in my hard-wiring, but also in my programming, and my entire environment. I was born into a female body, my body was subject to unachievable and patriarchal standards of beauty from a very young age. I do not remember exactly when I began hating my body, but I do know that it started exactly when I swallowed the belief that I had to be the best, kindest, most soft, most beautiful girl I could be. I was told to deny all the parts of me that the world didn’t like, didn’t find appropriate. I, like nearly all young girls today, Began controlling my body and my appearance with a self hate so powerful that the parts of me that didn’t fit in the box (the too loud, the too sensitive, the too strong, the too quiet, the too smart, the creative, the masculine, the queer, the uncanny) were shrunk and silenced and near the edge of oblivion.

So this body and its home and its street and its neighborhood and its town and its city and its region and its country and its continent and its entire physical world is drenched in a narrative that the authentic is never right, it needs to be edited and cropped and photo-shopped until it no longer resembles the self, and begins resembling the what is valued by the powers that be. Think about this for the same amount of time you would usually give to making your body, your clothes, hair, skin, size fit into the world’s boxes.

The people in power – who are they? Don’t fool yourself. They are way more than just Jeff Bezos and Donald Trump. Of course, we must note that the concentration of financial power within the top 1% gives control of so much to the hands of a few, and this disproportionate allocation of resources alone will shift the lives of nations. However, power is not only found in money. The powers that be are hierarchal and intersectional in nature. The power of wealth when combined with white supremacy and colonialism has and will extinguish entire ways of living, speaking, growing, and working. The power of patriarchy mixed with physical strength has and will objectify, devour, and strip not only women but also queer folks of their humanness, their agency, their creativity. The powers that be are based on the intersection of identities. The most notable of these identities are race, ethnicity, sex, gender, sexual orientation, religion, legal status, socioeconomic status, education level, age, citizenship status, trauma history and countless other identities that may fall outside these lines. These identities interact with one another, as the humans of the world are collections of both oppressed and privileged identities in each of these categories. We are a patchwork, a maze, some sort of puzzle you may find in a Sunday New York Times. We make sense, but we are complex. Too complicated, maybe, for many to even attempt at solving us. But if you have sat with me thus far into this argument you might have the clues, and the patience enough to be still, to bring your ear and your heart to the source of the pain, and to know the truth. Thank you for being here this far.

The world’s boxes are plenty. They are fairly detailed, too. They exist in polarities, they ask that you fall on either end of a spectrum. The want you to be black or white, girl or boy, rich or poor, an American or a terrorist, a republican or a democrat, a native or a colonizer, a good neighbor or a felon, worthy or not worthy. Not one human is born untouched by complexity. No body is an empty vessel. I exist as a key that simply doesn’t turn any one lock, we all don’t fit.

Welcome. This is my work. My inner work. The job I have dedicated most time and energy into for the last 2 years. I have researched and formed an understanding of my existence. I looked to the world for answers to questions I had of myself for years. I wanted to better know my heart by believing with every ounce of my being every belief I could get my hands on. I researched the major religions of the world. I went to temples. I got on my knees and prayed. I spent weeks in silence and reflection. I wrote and cried and moved in praise. I was disgusted and overjoyed at once. I was alive. I believed in everything.

I wanted to better know my purpose so I invested myself in communities and conflicts in order to help foster healing and understanding. My purpose has always been to put my heart and my ears quietly next to the suffering. To listen. To proceed accordingly. I went into the world and invested. I tried to live my purpose. I did. Every time. But it was not enough. I needed a better job, or I wasn’t making as sweeping of an impact as I had hoped, and I needed to contribute more. I love my need to grow but I must ask myself with intention, when will I be enough? When will my contribution be acceptable? And who makes those decisions? Is it me or is it the powers that be?

I was seeking answers in the world when I needed to seek answers in myself. My work has been severing the connection between my productivity and my worth, which is difficult being a member of the working class in a capitalistic society. My work is creative self-discovery, it is working and moving and acting with intention, it is letting truth guide my words and my hands, it is admitting fault, it is forgiving, it is knowing that my body is a vehicle for love.

When I embrace an incredibly complex understanding of my situation and its many contexts, I am better able to see the ways that the world has taught me to silence my authentic self. My work is to love my body, not for what it is, but for what it holds. I will love my body as it is the keeper of my compassion, my intellect, my hope. It is the keeper of my health. This is how I must relate to it. I must ignore all discussion of the way it does or doesn’t fit into the world’s boxes. This chatter is irrelevant to how my body feels and operates, it is just noise that has kept me hating myself for years. I will regard my body as a something unattached from my worth.

“Body positivity says, I love myself because I am beautiful. Body neutrality says: I love myself and that love has nothing to do with the way I look. I am much more than this body. This body is a vehicle for my existence. My worth is separate from it and because of that, my worth is steady. I am simply here, being in this flesh and bones.” – Emma Zeck

I will hold this truth of my worth with me. I know that my body will change. My body has done nothing but change since the start of my existence in human form. My body will continue to grow and shrink and age and adapt and wrinkle and sag as I come into contact with time and stress and trauma and nurturing. I know my body will change as I seek out holistic health. I have worried in the past about gaining or losing too much weight, about my cystic acne returning, about “keeping myself together” and not “letting myself go”. I no longer worry about my body changing. I know it will. I remain here in neutrality, knowing that my appearance does not always transparently display my self-love. In fact, my self love exists apart from my body. My worth is inherent, and does not falter when my body changes.

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ethicalredhat · 5 years

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Darby Warner

Career Information

Occupation: Freelance Hacker and (unlicensed) Private Detective

Affiliations: ട0ṬeRiậ (Formerly)

Biographical Information

Aliases: Heedless Murmur (Handle)

Date of Birth: September 21st

Age:28~34 (It really depends on the verse)

Status: Alive

Pronouns: She/Her or They/Them

Ethnicity: Mixed-race Native American and Caucasian

Nationality: 🇺🇸 American

Sexual Orientation: Asexual ♠︎️ (Doesn’t fully recognize that’s what it is/kinda denies it)

Romantic Orientation: Biromantic ⚤

Family: Terri Warner (Father), Rose Walten (Mother), Phillis Walten (Half Sister)

Physical Description

Gender: Female

Height: 5′7 (171 cm)

Weight: ~165 lbs (~75 kg)

Appearance

Darby is a muscular, handsome woman with tousled curly hair that rests atop her broad shoulders (sometimes worn in a bun or ponytail). Her dark eyes by default hold a calculating if not deadpan look in them though sometimes during social interaction there’s a spark in them.

Her clothing style stays on the “masculine” side and Darby seems to prefer flamboyant prints. Mostly seen in more professional clothing (button ups, trousers, blazers, loafers, ect) though she’ll go for more casual looks depending on the situation. For accessories she has the same old men’s wrist watch she’s kept since high school. Any other accessories are for necessity such as caps and sunglasses for Incognito Mode.

Personality

Not much for talking except for when she is, a true ambivert at heart. She avoids people like the plague but when the option for social interaction appears Darby will almost always bite, although cautiously since she has a paranoid streak. One of Darby’s biggest problems is that she unknowingly lies to herself. Deep down she craves human connection but due to her lifestyle (mostly after the events of La Galerie as she’s on the run from the UK branch of Mobius) she tries to keep herself isolated for others protection. Going by her cold exterior, Darby could be chalked up as your usual The Stoic archetype if not for the playful side of herself she sometimes lets run amok.

Long ago she learned to use her taste for dry humor as a defense mechanism, a shield between herself and the world. So at times, though rarely, Darby may seem she doesn’t take dire situations seriously but it’s all just a way for her to avoid her own emotions. Post La Galerie her already dwindling self-assurance has dropped, leaving her mind partially scarred from the months she spent inside the machine. During her lower moods when she’s just about hit rock bottom Darby can become successful in her attempts to keep her feelings snuffed out. Some days she’ll walk about like an empty shell and this is when the darker under layers of her personality can arise.

During these moods Darby has been known to display harmful and impulsive behavior such as having a complete disregard for her own safety, moral conduct, and lack of empathy. Her etiquette almost becoming Sociopathic in nature.

So all in all, Darby is just your typical human being with many different sides, moods and layers.

History

Though her parents are reluctant to admit it, Darby was born as the result of infidelity as her mother Rose Walten was stuck in an unhappy marriage when she got involved with Darby’s father Terri Warner. Unable to safely divorce her current husband as he was extremely abusive she simply walked out the door with her two daughters-Phillis Walten, and an unborn Darby who was still growing inside her.

Rose ran her cafe so she often wasn’t home and Terri had an office job though once the kids got older he started mostly working from home so he could spend more time with them. Darby’s love for computers started early when her grandpa bought her dad a newer model computer but he never used it, preferring his chunky 90′s computer to complete his work. It was then she began learning the ins and outs of computers. Long nights were spent pouring over any relevant books she could get her grubby child hands on, or through whatever info she could find over the internet which eventually led to her learning coding and programming as she got older.

Since early childhood Darby had always been athletic and only became more so as she grew older. It didn’t take long for her to be labeled a “Tomboy” but due to her androgynous appearance and unusual demeanor many of her classmates second guessed her gender. This naturally drew unwanted attention and cruelty. When high school arrived her confidence lowered significantly and she kept even more to herself. It came to a point where Darby just stopped going to school and got her GED, shortly after getting involved with a hacker group that simply went by ട0ṬeRiậ. Although they only communicated though a screen for the longest they were Darby’s closest companions. She had dabbled with hacking in the past but it was with ട0ṬeRiậ when she truly began to learn, but as her skills grew so did the ambition of the groups members. She had a falling out with them and that seemed to be the end of that until they threatened to frame Darby for a cyber crime a member of ട0ṬeRiậ had committed if she didn’t return to the group. Pushed into a corner she returned to ട0ṬeRiậ until she manages to collect and report all necessary information about the group and their crimes to have them arrested-keeping her own existence anonymous from the authorities all the while. Now with her former friends out of the way, Darby once again found herself alone.

She had few friends in school but after having to drop out they drifted further apart. She had the love of two, albeit, busy parents and her older sister Phillis but deep down Darby couldn’t shake the seed of loneliness that had long ago planted itself in her heart especially after the betrayal of ട0ṬeRiậ who she had believed in the beginning were her friends. This is the point where Darby started turning her hacking skills into a career. For the next several years she would turn over many criminals to the law in a very “cyber vigilante” fashion. Once she started making a name for herself people would contact her offering jobs. She did the usual missing persons, cheating spouses, ect, but later on the jobs started getting more bizarre and dangerous. For example the events of “La Galerie” Read Verses Page For Further Information

Relationships

Terri (Terrance) Warner

Darby had a good relationship with her dad but there was always a wall between them as her father suffered from undiagnosed depression due to his sad childhood. She still kept in contact with him until La Galerie where she cut off all ties with her family for their own safety.

Rose Walten

The two also had a fine connection but as her mother was almost always away at work Darby didn’t see as much of her as she would have liked growing up. Last time she spent any real time with Rose was a weekend after Darby graduated where she helped out at the cafe. Any other interaction after that had been over a phone and now nothing at all.

Phillis Walten

“I won’t leave my sister to die.”-Phillis, talking about rescuing Darby from La Galerie

The sisters always had a close bond since in their childhood it was mostly just the two left to their own devices. Growing up they did start to go their separate ways but they still found time every so often to do things together. The two haven’t had any contact since La Galerie.

Marnie Michelle

“This place messed with my mind, but I remember enough to know you don’t deserve an easy death.”-Darby, preparing to kill Marnie

One of the two hosts hooked up in the janky makeshift Stem system. Very hostile to one another (more so on Darby’s part), the almost opposite morals of the two women made them natural enemies. Marnie spends the entire plot of La Galerie serving as an antagonist to Darby, either thwarting her attempts at escaping the machine or tormenting her. After the months of torture Darby is subjected to during her time in the machine the hacker makes sure to pay it back tenfold when she kills her.

Dr Stuart Turney

“Is that where you got your degree in being an insufferable pretentious bitch?”-Darby, interrupting Stuart

The other host of La Galerie, Stuart almost tries to befriend Darby at times seeming a bit smitten by the hacker. Darby is openly aggressive towards the doctor, attacking him on almost every occasion they run into each other. Once he realizes she can’t be swayed he becomes much more unsympathetic to her. He eventually meets his end at the hands of Phillis who entered the machine to save Darby.

Trivia

In her free time Darby enjoys exercising (most notably yoga), puzzles (Darby has wasted many an afternoon on puzzle boxes), watching dramas (mostly foreign ones), and staring into the void.

In the past Darby has suffered from slight body dysmorphia most likely stemming from the criticism she received about her looks in both child and adulthood. Nowadays Gymnophobia is her only issue. Nude artwork won’t necessarily bother her but being seen naked can have varying effects for her. This has lead to some rather unbearable situations for her during times when getting undressed was required.

Has no qualms (at least in the moment) with killing someone if she has to and has done so in the past either in person or indirectly.

Doesn’t fully realize it herself, but Darby has a manipulative side and is a bit of a control freak.

Although never displayed as of yet, but if Darby were to acquire a friend (whether it be platonic or romantic) she might develop a well meaning tendency of lying to them/keeping them in the dark about what she does for a living if they aren’t already aware.

Darby has no faceclaim but Michael Hudson a Native American model and Ezra Miller were the inspiration for Darby’s appearance. Update: Technically Q’orianka Kilcher is Darby’s main faceclaim but she’s just too damn pretty and has like the opposite vibes that I need (I have very few icons using her because of this) so sometimes I use other folk for icons such Mica Arganaraz, a little bit of Ezra Miller and Willy Cartier but as they are all the incorrect ethnicity I try to partially obscure their faces.

#ethicalredhat rules/information #rp blog #evil within oc #the evil within rp #muse info #horror rp #original character

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mixedfeelingsproject · 7 years

Text

Anonymous

Where are you from? California, United States

How would you describe your race/ethnicity? My mother is Vietnamese and French. My father is German and Irish. I'm Asian American.

Do you identify with one particular aspect of your ethnicity more than another? Have you ever felt pressure to choose between parts of your identity? I was mostly raised Caucasian, in a white neighborhood with few minorities, and I have difficulty feeling connected to my Asian heritage. It was easier when I was younger, because we spent time in Hawaii with my mother's family, so I was surrounded by Asian people, language, and food. I actually don't think I realized the connotations of different races when I was really young, because I was surrounded by mixed race people all the time. When I was a little older, maybe 7 or 8, it occurred to me that my friends in California were mostly white, and that all my cousins in Hawaii weren't, and that the difference meant something. I couldn't really process why that was important at the time, but I'm glad now that I spent time in Hawaii where there was a rich blending of culture, at least to my young eyes. But I did feel the divide between California and Hawaii.

One big regret is that I never learned to speak Vietnamese, nor can I cook any Vietnamese food or speak confidently about the culture. Vietnamese wasn't a language offered in any level of the schools I attended, even in college, and my parents encouraged me to learn Spanish, even though my mom also spoke French. My mom claims she didn't teach my brother and I to speak Vietnamese because my father didn't want her to, but I don't know if that's entirely true. She immigrated when she was 21 and suffered many horrors during the Vietnam War that she doesn't talk about. I wish she would tell me more, but I understand how difficult it must be for her, so I don't want to pressure her. She wanted to leave the past behind and start over, but one consequence is that I never felt like she insisted on sharing our family history or that my father made efforts to celebrate my mother's heritage or include it in our Californian, American lifestyle.

It's awkward sometimes when I'm in an Asian part of town or business, because I get asked about my ethnicity, and the reaction is ALWAYS surprise that I'm part Vietnamese. It's practically shocking to other people. When I reflect on how I was raised, and the conversations that happened around me, I feel that I was strongly encouraged to be "American," which I now think of as a kind of whitewashing, because to be American meant to assimilate to the predominant cultural values portrayed in the media, which were always based on the white experience, on my father's experience. And as my mother drifted away from her relatives for various reasons, I've felt more and more isolated from my Asian heritage, because the Asian family members I felt close to as a child were no longer people I spent time with or could feel positively about.

However, I never felt close to my father's side of the family, because he was from Pennsylvania and, unlike my mother, didn't like traveling to visit them. It's actually sort of funny, because I don't feel particularly German or Irish. My father didn't like to discuss his family history either, so in my head he just sort of defaults to "white American man." I'm not even sure if we really are Irish, or if it's just something my grandmother made up during WWII so the family wouldn't solely be associated with the Germans (this speculation comes from my mother, who long insisted that my father made up every story he told me about his childhood; now that I'm a lot older, I certainly see the "Big Fish" quality in his stories). Both sets of grandparents died before I was born, so I don't have their perspectives on family identity and heritage.

Did your parents encounter any difficulties from being in an interracial relationship? I feel like my mother was raised to be obedient, passive, self-sacrificing, forgiving of all faults. I don't know how much of that is cultural vs. how much is how my grandparents in particular raised her, especially since I see her so differently compared to her brothers and sisters. She has worked so hard to be successful in America. She has commented on how I am so different from her in my confidence, in my independence, in my smart mouth, that me at 16 was so much more self-assured than her at 25. I feel like this cultural divide has impacted the dynamics of my parents' relationship negatively, because my father is older than her, and quite sexist and controlling. It took many, many years for my mother to stand up to him, and she still has trouble with demanding what is hers by right. I never witnessed my father's colleagues or strangers insult my mother's ethnicity when we were all together, though I've seen racist reactions to my mother when she wasn't with my father. I assume this is because no one wanted to insult her in front of her husband, but no one had a problem being a racist person when there wasn't another white person there to judge.

How has your mixed background impacted your sense of identity and belonging? I don't feel wholly represented in the culture I consume, and certainly not represented in politics or the media, a feeling that was greatly heightened during the 2016 election. Asian Americans make up a small percentage of the American population, even compared to other minorities, so I often feel that we are glossed over entirely in mainstream discussions about culture, race, etc. I want to stress that the issues specifically pertaining to other minorities, such as African Americans and Mexican Americans and Native Americans, are incredibly important and deserving of attention. But in my personal experience, I have felt my mixed background is mostly invisible to the larger population, and Asian Americans are mostly forgotten in mainstream media unless there is yet another whitewashing controversy over a film or tv show. I feel representation is so important not only because it impacts people's sense of identity and belonging, but also because it affects how people perceive those who are 'other' to themselves. True representation, rather than token, stereotypical casting, creates empathy and normalizes the differences, which hopefully leads to respect and appreciation for the many cultural traditions that make up our country. I was born in America, my father was born in America, his father was born in America, my mother became a citizen decades ago. I am American, and most of the time that sense of identity is unshakeable; but sometimes I don't understand how disparate the definition of "American" can be to people in our country. I am mixed and I am American, because America means different things. And I want the rest of America to catch up with that truth.

Have you been asked questions like "What are you?" or "Where are you from?" by strangers? If so, how do you typically respond? Yes, many, many times. My response depends on the situation and how annoyed with the world I am that day. "What are you?" is the most typical question, as if I wasn't human. I had someone yell that at me as I walked to teach a class on my college campus, and he even followed me for about 20 feet or so before I yelled back at him to f*ck off before I called the police to report a stalker. I've had lots of guys approach me and try to hit on me with cheesy, often racist lines about how I look, or how I'm not fully white and that's so cool. If I'm asked where I'm from I say, "California." If they respond, "No, really, where are you from?" I give the stranger a hard look and slowly repeat "California," like they're ignorant--cause they are. If someone asks about my racial background, I usually give an honest response, though sometimes I shoot back, "Why do you care?" or "Why does it matter?" People usually get overly defensive when their nosiness is called out.

Have you experienced people making comments about you based on your appearance? The most typical descriptor is "exotic." I have "an interesting face." They "would never know" I was part Asian. I'm so tall for an Asian person, it must be from my father's side of the family, right? (Yes, but still, that's rude of you to speculate.) These type of comments are from people of every race. My brother looks more like my father; he has lighter brown hair and hazel eyes, so he passes very easily as white. I don't think he's ever been stopped on the street or asked what race he is. He's only ever been told he's handsome (which he is). I've been told I'm pretty, but only after I've been asked my race and/or been told I'm "exotic looking."

Have you ever been mistaken for another ethnicity? Yes. Most white people think I'm part Spanish/Latina. Some Asian people recognize me as part Asian, but a lot don't.

Have you ever felt the need to change your behavior due to how you believe others will perceive you? In what way? I love getting pedicures (who doesn't love foot rubs and pretty polished toes?), but I often feel weird when an Asian person is kneeling at my feet. I feel like my choice to get a specific beauty service that's often handled by one race abjects my Asian identity in favor of my white one; like only one can exist because they are separate parts and I'm denying my Asian heritage by getting the service, because the dynamic of Asian person serving white person is so rarely reversed. I always make it a point to ask the attendant's name and provide mine, to ask about their lives, and I've actually volunteered my Asian heritage before in some misguided attempt to mitigate the guilt I feel. Part of me thinks there's nothing wrong with soliciting a business and tipping well for a service, but the other part of me thinks service should not be the default, stereotypical vocation for a particular race.

What positive benefits have you experienced by being mixed? I feel like being mixed forced me to think in different perspectives, to think of myself as an in between person, as more than just one race, and therefore I tried to understand and empathize with other people's perspectives that were different from mine. I don't know that I would have this perspective if I was wholly white or Asian, though I like to think that I would. When I attended graduate school I was one of three half Asian women in my year (10 total students accepted, all the rest were white). It was great to have a unique bond with those other women, and to have another person talk about how they felt like biracial people slipped through the cracks in identity politics or in cultural representation.

Have you changed the way you identify yourself over the years? I've always marked Asian American on forms that requested/required my ethnicity, because I would be denying my mother if I simply put Caucasian. But sometimes I feel hypocritical, because I don't know that I exhibit a lot of "Asian" qualities, and I haven't tried harder to learn about my mother's culture. But it feels wrong to go about it behind her back; I want to learn from her, not in spite of her. But then I also think it's wrong for me to think of "Asian" in such a flat, one dimensional way. I've realized that in certain respects I've fallen into the Western trap of thinking all Asian people are alike, despite the clear differences between Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean, Philippine, etc cultures. I was talking with a friend about the lack of Asian representation in film, and she pointed out that in my examples I was only thinking of Eastern Asia, and wasn't considering Indian people when I thought of "Asia." She was absolutely right, of course. Even though I think of myself as Asian American, I don't have the knowledge base that many other Asian Americans have when it comes to family tradition, and the blending of Eastern and Western cultures. My family doesn't really have traditions, and I wish we did.

I want to visit Vietnam one day, but I want to do it with my mother. I want her to show me the culture she came from, the culture she left behind in order to succeed in America. I'm hoping that this comes to pass one day, and that seeing Vietnam through her eyes will help me root myself more firmly in this part of my identity, this part of my mother that is always within me.

Are you proud to be mixed? Yes

Do you have any other stories you would like to share from your own experiences? I can readily admit that one of my 'hot button' issues is that I have a knee jerk reaction whenever I think someone is slighting or insulting my mother because she's Asian, or when someone tells a racist joke about Asians. I'm immediately angry and upset and confrontational. But I will not apologize for it, because the number of times I've had to bite my tongue when I was younger and someone made a casual racist comment about my mother or myself is infuriating.

I had a white high school teacher say my father was so "progressive" and "open-minded" for marrying my mother. How is a thirteen year old supposed to challenge the person in charge of their grades, in charge of their future education, in front of the whole class?

In college my theater department staged The Mikado, and the white director had the nerve to explain away the racism of the musical by telling us it was satirical commentary on British colonialism, so we shouldn't worry about characters named "Yum Yum" or the stereotypical portrayal of Japan because of the historical context in which it was written. I wish I had spoken up about it, because it should never have been chosen to be performed in the first place. But I wasn't initially involved in the production, and again, I was barely eighteen years old and didn't have the proper vocabulary, or felt the necessary confidence, to express my frustration and objection over the production to my teacher who had just preemptively dismissed racism concerns before they could be voiced.

I've had friends comment on my mom's "crazy" accent--which I can't hear, even though it's probably there even after 45 years in this country. My mother is so smart, but since English is her third fluent language strangers often assume she is stupid if she doesn't know a particular word or piece of slang. At the same time, I know my mom has totally played up the "stupid foreigner" card when she's on the phone with a customer service rep, because she'll just act like she doesn't understand what's going on until they give in to what she wants in order to retain her business. But this is one of the rare exceptions that proves the rule.

My first boyfriend, who was white, once joked at a party that he didn't need to visit a strip club/brothel (can't remember now which it was) because he had "his own Asian Palace right here," gesturing to me. I was fourteen years old to his seventeen years old, and even though I couldn't properly articulate in the ensuing fight that I was upset because he'd implied I was a whore AND made a racist comment, I'm glad I had the nerve to immediately stand up and walk away. Now I wish I had yelled at him in front of everyone instead of when he followed me as I walked home, apologizing but clearly not understanding and dismissing my anger. Over the years I've heard white people comment that they could never be attracted to an Asian man, that Asian men weren't sexy. When I was younger I couldn't really wrap my head around the idea because I was the sole girl in a sea of Vietnamese male cousins. I didn't really know what to think, because for me every Asian man I knew was related to me, so my automatic reaction was, yeah, sure, whatever, I don't want to have sex with my cousin either. But now that I'm older, I have two words for you: John Cho. Here are another two words: Rick Yune. And a few more: Lewis Tan. Adam Lundberg. Kolten Jensen. If you don't find these Asian American men, the last four of whom are biracial, beautiful and sexy and all manner of attractive, then I don't think you have eyes in your head.

This is the last thing I want to say: I have never been ashamed of my mixed heritage. I have never thought there was something wrong with it, it has never been a "problem" for me, only a problem for other people, because I didn't easily fit into whatever box they wanted to put me in. I am so proud to be my mother's daughter, my father's daughter.

#mixed #vietnamese #french #irish #german #asian american #identity

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almosthumanophelia · 7 years

Text

Defective

Invader Zim Fic

Words: 2060

((WARNING! Very angsty. Heavy discussion of Zim’s defective status.

Found this little thing I wrote a while ago just sitting around and it still hurts my heart so I’m sharing the hurt.

@zimisnotdefective I believe this is what you wanted to see...))

"So not to worry, my Tallest. My next plan to defeat the humans will definitely destroy them once and for all."

Zim hated reporting these failed plans to his leaders. It wounded his self pride. Any self-respecting Irken Invader with the technical and strategic knowledge he possessed should have obliterated Earth ages ago. He knew it, and the Tallest knew it. Hell, all of Irk and half of the rest of the galaxy probably knew it too.

Yet somehow they never seemed surprised to hear of his failures. Nor were they ever particularly interested to hear from him. This time was no exception.

"Yes, Zim, I'm sure it will," Tallest Red told him in a patronizing tone as he monitored some unseen screens. He seemed far more preoccupied with whatever he was looking at than Zim's words.

Zim caught the barely audible voice of Purple saying, "Speak for yourself."

He could feel his fist automatically forming behind his back. They thought he never heard what they said behind his back, and occasionally to his face. But he always did.

It's not as if he could say anything to them. The Invader code of conduct demanded absolute respect for the Tallest at all times. No matter what they did to you. He had to accept any verbal abuse dealt to him, or face the consequences. The best he could hope for now was to end the call quickly.

"Will there be anything else, my Tallest?"

"No, no, you just get back to HEY DONUTS!" Red quickly got sidetracked as he and Purple expressed their enthusiasm for the newly arrived snacks. They left Zim's view, and after a few seconds of waiting, he assumed he was dismissed and hung up the call.

Left in the silence of his base to think, he focused his eyes on the controls for the screen, his magenta eyes narrowing slightly. Had they been anyone other than the Tallest, he would have called them back and started screaming, demanding their respect. He was an Invader, after all. Ask any race in the galaxy, and they would tell you that they knew better than to joke at an Irken Invader's expense.

But that was just it, wasn't it? He was a joke to them. He always had been. As much as he pretended he wasn't, and he put on a front convincing everyone of his high levels of self-esteem, that was all it was. A front, a facade, a masquerade. When derogatory whispers followed you wherever you went, it was difficult to have any self-esteem whatsoever. And the whispers, the ones that had dogged him since his smeethood, called him all sorts of things. Defective was chief among them.

Zim knew what it meant to be considered a defective Irken. Your PAK was faulty, the encoded data was corrupted, and you were either a waste of matter or a danger to your race, or both. It had never been proven in his case, of course. And he vehemently denied such accusations every time they arose. Doing anything else would be suicide. Defective Irken were almost uniformly condemned to full erasure from the collective, complete with deactivated PAKs, functionally leaving them to die. His sense of self-preservation was far too strong to ever allow himself to entertain such thoughts when he knew where they would lead.

But always, in the back of his mind, he wondered. Could they be right? His difficulties in conquering planets, in finishing his projects, even in staying focused and free of emotion - they all were common indicators. Even he didn't always feel in control of his own actions. The rampage of destruction that had gotten him banished in the first place had felt so surreal, as if someone else were making him do all those things. Looking back, he had never meant to go that far. And there were so many other incidents like that scattered throughout his life. Maybe those were glitches in his programming. Or maybe those were glitches causing him to dwell on the matter at all.

The logic chain made his head hurt. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute as his hands went to the sides of his head. No, he couldn't think that way. If he for one moment truly believed he was defective, then he was defective. And to accept that meant accepting he was as worthless as the others said he was.

Chores. He needed to do chores. Anything to busy his mind. His PAK needed some basic circuitry tune-ups. That was simple enough to do.

Making his way over to the nearest laboratory table, Zim had a few cables connect to his PAK and remove it, setting it on the table in front of him. At the same time, additional cables, used as a temporary life support while he worked on his PAK, connected to his spine where the metal hemisphere once was. Perfect. Now he could work indefinitely.

A few tools was all it took for him to get started. Zim found the repetitive motions of his circuit work easy to follow. Disconnect, check the wires, replace, reconnect, repeat. Focusing on this small feat of engineering was already helping to clear his mind. This, at least, was something he was good at. He had always prided himself on his ability to manipulate technology.

The minutes ticked by, and Zim soon had his upgrades complete. He nodded in satisfaction. Now the PAK would process data just the tiniest bit quicker.

Unbidden, a few wayward thoughts began to creep into his mind. Why stop there? Why couldn't he just rip out the circuits altogether and replace them with faster, better ones? And while he was at it, why couldn't he probe deeper into the PAK's inner workings? Maybe he could discover the malfunctions that caused him so much trouble.

Or maybe he could even fix whatever it was that made him seem defective.

He stared at the PAK. His tools were still in his hands, and he hasn't closed it up yet. It would be so easy to just reach inside and tweak a few things. But one wrong move, one misstep, and he could die. The PAK was a combined brain and life support. If Zim so much as touched the wrong wires, he could render himself a drooling vegetable, or suffocate because his lungs stopped functioning, or something even worse.

His hand shook slightly, and soon his entire body was shaking with it. For once in his life, he was really afraid. Just thinking about all the horrific ways in which damaging his PAK could destroy him was making him uneasy.

And yet, his hand hovered over the open panel, moving ever closer. He had to try, didn't he? Anything was better than living his life as a joke, an outcast thrown aside like last week's garbage. He was so tired of living this way. He didn't care how he changed, he just needed to change.

The spanner he had been holding clinked slightly against the metal shell of the PAK, and he blinked. It had snapped him out of a reverie, and he looked down at his gloved hand. The tool was causing a slight metallic echo as his hand trembled.

All at once, Zim felt a wave of nausea and horror hit him as it dawned on him what he was about to do. He immediately pulled his hand, and the spanner, back from the panel. Just as quickly, he threw the spanner across the room, not caring that it hit his consoles and equipment with a few loud clangs. He frantically pressed a few buttons to reinstall his PAK, then doubled over, arms curled around his midsection. He hardly noticed it reconnect, and it hardly mattered anyway.

Had he really been so ready to risk his life? Without thorough schematics of a PAK that he was sure he didn't have, he had no hope of making successful adjustments to his personality or complex thought processes. He knew that. And yet he had almost tried it anyway.

He crumpled further, curling up on the floor and pressing his hands to his head, ignoring the discomfort he caused himself by pressing on his antennae too hard. Whimpers began to force themselves from his throat, and his tiny body only shook more.

Thoughts were flooding his brain. If he even attempted such a thing, surely he had to be defective. There was no other explanation. All his failures, all his shortcomings, they all added up now. It all made sense. He had never amounted to anything because he never could amount to anything. It didn't matter how hard he tried or how much he wished he was different. He was wrong, he was fundamentally, irreversibly wrong. He shouldn't even have been allowed to live in the first place. The very fact that he existed at all was disgusting. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to be wiped.

The whimpers grew louder and tears burned in his eyes. His fingers dug into the skin over his skull and he started to rock back and forth on the cold metal floor. Why was he like this? Why did these things always come back to plague him? Every time he overheard the Tallest comment on his failures, and every time he could sense one of his kin laughing at him, this was inevitably where he ended up. The injustice of it all made him want to scream. He never asked to be made this way.

Soon he was screaming. But the screaming was mixed with choked crying as tears poured from his eyes and the convulsive sobs wracked his body. All the while, one word kept ringing through his head.

Defective. Defective. Defective defective defective defective defective.

It hurt, it hurt. Everything hurt. His antennae, his spooch, his eyes, his mind. It all physically hurt. Everything he was feeling was just too much. He found himself almost wishing he had shorted out his PAK after all, just to spare himself feeling all of this. But no, he wasn't brave enough to even try. What use was he?

His brain was screaming at him, and he screamed back. There were no words, only shrill noises born of pain. There was no greater pain than this, than knowing what he really was. He was a broken, useless thing. A defective, a monstrosity, a waste of skin and organs. Every inch of him was wrong, and that had to be why it hurt so much. The pain was unbearable now, and all he could think was make it stop, please, anyone or anything, just find him and make it stop.

But nobody did.

Zim didn't emerge from his base for two days after that episode. When he did, his steps were more cautious, more slow. He told the Skool he had been sick, and why wouldn't they believe him? They had no reason to care any more beyond that.

Even Dib had noticed his attitude shift. Zim's unwillingness to respond quite as well to his taunts had left the boy confused.

"Zim, what's wrong with you?" Dib said it in a mostly puzzled tone, tinged with contempt. But there was a slight concern underlying it.

What was wrong? Where should he start?

It didn't matter. Even if he were to tell Dib what was wrong, the child would never understand, not really.

Zim flashed his trademark smirk and assumed an air of superiority for his reply. "Nothing at all, pitiful Earth monkey. I am clearly amazing to my core. Not that I could say the same for you. You might want to have that big head of yours checked out."

"My head is not big!" Dib was exasperated and annoyed now, and stalked off, clearly satisfied with Zim's answer.

Zim fidgeted his gloved hands slightly as Dib left. For just a moment, he regretted being so harsh. But it was better if nobody got too close to him, given his unsurpassed abilities to cause collateral damage. Until he could get himself in proper functioning order, he couldn't afford to care. He couldn't afford to present himself as anything less than completely superior. So he would keep parroting how brilliant he was, how fantastic and so much better than everyone else he was.

Maybe if he kept saying those things, he would one day believe them.

#munwritesfics #invader zim #zim #my writing #((oops my hand slipped and I wrote a giant piece of Zim angst and feels lookie there))#((cleary posting this late at night because IZ has all control of my life now))

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