#*hands hurt. it's pure neglect and indifference. it's disgusting

[heniareth]

Anyways, I ran out of tags, so I’m gonna continue this here! :D

The measurements for Spellpower and mana inefficiency are so cool!!! So spellpower basically encompasses the strength and duration of the spell and mana inefficiency the amount of mana lost as light, sound or heat during the casting of a spell? I love it! It really reframes the way we’d approach spellcasting as having a physical component as well as an intellectual one. After all, those measurements look a lot like something you’d see in P.E. classes, less like something from math classes. I’m guessing there’s an intellectual component to it, and having a solid grasp on the theory of how magic and mana and spellcasting works probably makes the spellcasting itself easier, but it’s not the end of it. In DAI, there’s banter between Dorian and Solas were they talk about how they manipulate the Veil to create magical effects and it does sound very hands-on. So I love that the evaluation method reflects that. You could have your standard high school plot of the 2000s-2010s happening at Kinloch Hold. Nerd mage asks Jock mage if they can help them increase their spellcasting prowess and offer to help them with the theory in return! This is amazing and I’m glad the ask gave way to have you figure out these things.

Also Rhodri tutoring the younger kids. It’s nice that, as far away as she was from her family, she got a chance to still live a bit of family life with the younger apprentices (until Broken Circles. Fuck. The templars. And Uldred).

Also also: the Tevinter letterheads. Oooooooh it’s so cool. An all official-sounding paper and it’s a tercet from one spouse to the other. It wamrs my heart. Also, it says a lot that Rhodri would use this sort of paper. I can imagine Dorian using everything BUT paper with that letterhead except when he absolutely has to XD XD XD XD I also love that Owen gets his own letterhead. Every member of house Callistus is important and has their own stationary. Yes, the nine-year-old is included in this, he absolutely needs his own stationary as well. I love that

I’m cackling over here at Zevran not only organizing this whole bet to get his hands on the tercet (which, oh Rhodri XD XD XD XD Don’t tell this man you wrote a love poem only to then not want to show him XD XD XD XD Also RHODRI IS A POET??? RHODRI IS A POET!!! I remember what you said about Tevinter and the arts (namely that Tevinters don’t really do hobbies or arts & crafts since these are things they could very easily purchase) and the fact that Rhodri pens her thoughts down as a poem sometimes, and especially if those thoughts are about Zevran, surely does things to Zevran’s heart)

...

Where was I? Oh yes. Not only does Zevran organize this whole bet to get his hands on the tercet, but he hides grapes in his pockets. Evil, evil man!! I’m guessing Rhodri doesn’t like grapes (or is it a throwback to that time Zevran was bored on the road and started throwing grapes at Rhodri?) Anyways, what a poem. Unflinching devotion paired with a complicated religious life. That Rhodri decides the Maker doesn’t exist so she doesn’t discharge all of her rage and grief over her friends during Broken Circle at him does things to me. It’s heartbreaking (and practical, I guess, but idk. Maybe getting real angry and screaming at the sky would’ve been a bit cathartic?). I hope Leliana (or Wynne) didn’t do too much poking on the matter. But really, how do you deal with this kind of pain when it’s doen by the servants of “your” god who supposedly left the world to its devices because rational beings were too sinful for him? And, and, Rhodri, as the head of a house is in a similar position to the Maker (although on a much smaller scale); and the Maker fails by most of her standards. What kind of person leaves his place as the head of the house bc he just can’t deal with the people he’s leading?

That Zevran’s faith is something she considers admirable though? That. That gets me. Of course, Zevran knows better than to pressure her on the matter, bless him. But... what an example does he have to set, what an experience does he have to communiacte that Rhodri sees something good about worshipping the Maker. It speaks volume about Zevran’s influence on her, the way he lives his faith and the high regard in which Rhodri holds him. I love it. Simply love it. Zevran probably knows Rhodri’s conflict with the Maker, right? That poem must’ve either sent the biggest grin to his face or made him tearful. Maybe both.

Also: Sēvē and Zēvē XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD Marvellous! They should get matching shirts XD XD XD XD Or aprons. This whole family has a wicked sense of humor XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD

Also!!!!!! The gif lets me imagine Owen so well with the mop of ginger hair, quietly working on his plants (what ARE Rhodri’s favorite plants is the question). I hope he and Rhodri get to spend lots of time in the greenhouse once Rhodri gets back.

This was an amazing read!! I apologize for being late in my answer, but my crops have been watered, fertilized, de-weeded and blessed by these lovely codexes. I also haven’t forgotten about the ones you sent me; they’re in the works. Hoooooo boy, so many great things have come out of this XD XD XD XD XD XD Thank you heaps!!

Hello my wonderful and lovely friend!!! I come, as I am wont to do, with questions for splendidissima Rhodri from the OC Codex prompts:

2. a letter written by your OC’s family member

3. a report written by your OC’s teacher or mentor

4. a letter from your OC to their love interest

Now, I don't know if you will spend these days celebrating or not, but they seem to be busy days for anybody regardless. Please take as much time as you like and pick whichever tickle your fancy. And have some lovely, lovely days. Off I go!

OH HI HEY ! 8D 8D Good to see you and thank you for sending in the prompts!! I had such a great time with these, both of my braincells were working overtime and it was a joy!

Owing to spacing and the sheer volume of the answers I'm sticking all this under the cut. I'd apologise but we both know I don't mean it x) x) x)

so o o o 2. A letter written by your OC's family member Here's one from Rhod's younger brother, Owen. Heirs aren't allowed to have favourites, but suffice it to say she and Owen had easy and natural compatibility. He was nine-ish and Rhodri would've been twelve.

The paper is bleached, high-quality Tevinter vellum, bearing a template header in red ink, reading in Tevene rune script, EX SCRIBIO CALLISTANI SPIRI (“From the desk of Spiro Callistanus”). At the top right of the page, the date 13 Justinian, 9:22 Era Drakonis is added in the same wobbly runic script in the rest of the letter. The language of writing is Tevene.

I love you Sēvē,

My birthday was good but sad without you, and thank you for my greenhouse. Mazarin and Evander aren’t allowed inside because they break everything now. Bethann sits with me in there sometimes but not for long. 

School is hard but Tata says it gets easier with time. When you come back we can go together. I think that would make it better. Mazarin and Evander are too loud and they don’t sit with me any more. Do you know any plant spells? Please write all of them down so I can learn them when my magic comes. And please tell me your favourite three plants. Mine are ivy, snake kiss, and butterleaf.

Please write lots more soon.

And I love you, from Owen your brother.

-

Author's notes:

Callistanus- ‘of’ House Callistus, the name given to non-heir family members. An heir is the house, the non-heirs are the members of said house. ‘Callistani is Callistanus in genitive (possessive- I know you know this; clarifying for other potential readers) case. Owen's Tevene name is Spiro, Spiri in genitive form.

The Callistanus/Amell kids did not cope well with Rhodri being taken to the Circle. Not least because they were an arm’s length away when the Kirkwall Templars were beating her to a pulp.  Mazarin and Evander, who already tended to be loud and demanding, became destructive and disruptive, and both of them developed explosive tempers that proved hard to pacify.  Bethann, the youngest and most sensitive sibling, suffered frequent meltdowns that required many years to identify causes for and address.  Owen, the middle child, was always quiet and courteous. The adults in his life, amid attending to his louder, needier siblings, frequently ‘checked in’ on him, and they would have used all the resources they had to attend to any need he might have, but if he said he was doing fine (he always did), they left it at that and assumed he was content to keep to himself. Rhodri had always made a point of keeping him by her side and giving him plenty of one-on-one attention even if he was ‘fine,’ and he soaked that up like a sponge. After she was taken away, though, and the other siblings proved to be very squeaky wheels, there was nobody to fill the gap in those childhood to early teen years. Owen ended up rather neglected, and horribly lonely, and hid it, even lied about it, to everyone but Rhodri for years. Consequently, Owen tends to have a low opinion of himself, and is disinclined to seek out something, however badly he might want it. He does a lot better once Rhodri's back, and certainly once his folks found out (to their unrestricted horror) how neglected he had felt, they did their darnedest to make it up to him as well. But Rhod's return was really what cemented that improvement.

§

On to 3. a report written by your OC's teacher and mentor

I liked this question because I like the idea of there being a very specific, Chantry-determined format to a progress report, filled with formalities that ostensibly show some level of "civility" between the Templars and the mages. Plus, grading system? How do the mages measure success? So many questions!! Thank you for making me think of the answers!! -

The paper is bleached, blank vellum of middle to high quality, with the standard Circle progress report template already written in with black ink. Irving’s handwriting is a neat cursive that is no longer taught in the Circles. -

Date: 7 Eluviesta, 9:21 Dragon

Tutor name and rank: Irving, F.E.

Apprentice name; age; specialisation: Rhodri S. C. Amell// 10 y.o.// Arcane Magic

Progress report number, AYTD: 2

Presenting compliments to the Knight-Commander and having the honour to report:

Following the discovery of lyrium affliction in early Verimensis 9:22, Rhodri Amell has completed three months of compensatory meditation and distraction management training. Spellpower has improved significantly, as has spell duration (Max. 4; 10s per HS); mana inefficiency has also decreased (less est. 2.5, now 5.5). Continuation of the program recommended indefinitely.

Despite her progress, Rhodri’s temper outbursts are increasing in frequency during lessons proper. I reiterate to the Knight-Commander my suspicion that these arise from the elemental damage and consequent pain in her hands from unsafe proximity to trained mana, particularly as her affliction prevents her from wearing the requisite enchanted safety gloves. As per my last reports, I strongly recommend that my apprentice be permitted to use a sylvan branch staff to prevent more of the same; responding to outbursts with punishment has proved manifestly unhelpful and I continue to urge its cessation to the Knight-Commander with the greatest emphasis.

I note that Rhodri continues to tutor beginner students in her free time. E. Delilah has anecdotally mentioned better performance in this cohort in comparison to Delilah’s previous cohort, and has advised willingness to allow my apprentice to shadow her for some classes. With assistance in managing the change in schedule, I anticipate further progress for all concerned.

Reiterating assurances to the Knight-Commander of my highest consideration.

Irving, F.E. 

-

Author's notes on abbreviations and measurements - AYTD: Academic year to date - Spellpower scale is from 0 (not casting) to 10 (Destruction of a single room - HS- healing spell (in this case spell duration measures how long the intended effects persist until the spell is cut off or wears off on its own) - Mana inefficiency scale measures how much unformed mana escapes when a spell is cast, from 0 (no mana lost) to 10 (all, or almost all mana escaped). .

§

And 4: A letter from your OC to their love interest!

The author's notes are long so I'd better just get to it:

The paper is bleached, high-quality Tevinter vellum, bearing a template header in red ink, reading in Tevene rune script, EX SCRIBIO CALLISTI SEVERIN (“From the desk of Severin Callistus”). At the top right of the page, the date 11 Pluitanis, 9:35 Era Drakonis is written in sharp, austere letters, as is the rest of the content. The language of writing is Common, with the exception of the tercet, which is in Tevene.

Dulcis,

I pen this letter to you with all my love and, in adherence to the conditions set by your challenge:

I admit that I stand corrected: pickpocketing is very difficult and is not “something I could do as easily as blinking.” (I will say, however, that hiding grapes in the pocket you were keeping the coins was entirely unnecessary. It feels like those bastard Void fruits are hiding everywhere, now.)

With great embarrassment, I enclose a reproduction of the tercetus I so foolishly admitted to writing and frankly, my love, I am starting to think you organised this whole bet so you could get your hands on it.  . In vitae finite stabit Formator ton, et querisit "A Incredule, quemisi exultum mihim offerti?" Et respondit humilite, "Ton Zevran, Sanctus amade" .

I must say, my love, I’m enjoying writing to you even though you’re right beside me. I think I’d like to do this more often– though hopefully with fewer tercetae. Maybe I could hang short missives off your Friday flowers. What do you think?

Also, please let me know if you would like to go to the Sidereal Telescopium tomorrow. Quirina is giving a speech on the upcoming New Constellations Room, and I have many questions for them.

My whole heart to you,

Severin (Rhodri). -

Author’s notes:

Tercetus- a traditional Tevene-style three-line rhyming poem.

A rough translation: At the end of life I will stand before your Maker, and he will ask me "You, Unbeliever, tell me– what worship did you ever offer me?" And I will say, simply and earnestly, "Holy Immortal, I loved Your Zevran."

Rhod’s got a complicated religious life. She started okay; the family wasn’t especially pious but they did Chantry things at the frequency considered respectable. Once she landed in Kinloch Hold, though, her prevailing question, for which never received a satisfactory answer, was: “If the Maker can do anything, and He loves us, why does he let us suffer? I wouldn’t do that, and I’m a child, nto a god.” After Broken Circle, she refused to believe the Maker existed, as a consolation to herself, and to avoid the sort of vengeful blasphemy that gets you hung, drawn, and quartered. There’s something about Zevran’s patient faith, though, and his willingness to offer thanks that he has what he has, however miserable his life has been. It’s impressively staunch, and Rhodri admires that, and treasures the comfort it brings him, enough that she slowly comes around to her idea of a compromise. Said compromise is acknowledging that if the Maker exists, He is as capable at unleashing bitter cruelty as He is at creating boundless joy. Rhod’s not one to praise bad behaviour in anyone, let alone a god who should know better, but by golly He did everyone a good turn when He made Zevran. Maybe age will bring other wisdom, but for now, she lets her love for Zevran be her tentative worship, because it’s the only praise she can offer in earnest. Though idk, what better compliment is there for a creator than someone wholeheartedly adoring their creation?  I like to think it’s enough for the time being. A religious journey isn’t always straightforward but I always found that complications bring their own insights.

I have no idea why Rhodri signs off her letters to Zevvo as ‘Severin (Rhodri).’ They agreed early on never to use the Tevene name to avoid the ridiculousness that comes with similar-sounding names (it gets especially bad when the siblings give him the Tevene-ised nickname Zēvē when they’re already calling Rhodri Sēvē. Agony!) Same deal with Owen signing off letters to her as “Owen your brother”. Must be hereditary.

Also I'm not sure about how ok it is to use Artbreeder generated images what with the art theft things going around now (I'm not sure where it stands on that sort of thing) so I'll leave out the artbreeder portrait I have of Owen. For a face claim, though, this feller here is pretty close (though I grant you Simon Wood is unlikely to be 9yo in this gif). Token ginger of the Amell-Callistus brood, what's up!

[another-snape-story]

Halloween

Chapter XIV

“Are you all right?” Snape asked, peering intently into your face. It lost its usual liveliness, and your thoughts seemed to dwell far away from the festively decorated Hall you anticipated to see so much, from overall excitement, from him.

“Yes,” you gave him the same forced smile as earlier this morning, and Snape’s heart sank. Something happened in a couple of hours he hasn’t seen you during the day. That damned envelope he himself passed into your hands should be the reason, he thought. This was the only possible explanation. He didn’t expect you’d open up to him, but it would be a lie if he said he didn’t cherish a tiny bit of hope.

Eyes full of concern, he desperately tried to find right words to express his readiness to help you whatever has happened, to assure you were not alone, but at the same time – surrounded by your other colleagues – not to make this matter public, moreover he had no idea what it was all about.

“Why aren’t you helping yourself?” deprived of opportunity to sit beside, Aurora Sinistra spoke to you from the other side of the table. “These profiteroles are delicious!”

Annoyed with unfavorable intrusion, Snape leaned back on his chair, fists clenched.

“I’ll try some,” you answered politely and reluctantly reached out for the dish to put one on your plate. Snape watched you with increasing anxiety.

“Where’s Quirrell?” you questioned, hoping to divert his attention.  Estranging yourself from the man you were thankful to come into your life felt so terribly wrong, but you were not ready to tell what bothered you – neither him, nor anyone else.

This very moment Professor Quirrell appeared in the doorway and rushed through the Hall right to Headmaster’s chair.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” he gasped short of breath and – unconscious – swooned to the floor.

Astounded, you turned to Snape. Deep in thought, his eyes wandered the room. Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore called agitated students for order. Prefects started gathering children of their Houses to escort them back to the dormitories. Professor Sprout was trying to bring Quirinus to his senses.

“The stone!” you startled up.

“Stay here!” Snape ordered heading for the exit.

“No!” you followed him.

He grabbed your shoulders. “Stay here! And please – be careful!”

“And you? What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he stole the last glance from you, and what he saw made his heart leap. You truly worried about him! Merlin, how could this be? The corners of his mouth formed a barely perceptible smile. “Be careful…”

He left you standing in the middle of the throng, lost and confused. You shouldn’t have let him go alone. What he was up to? You felt uncomfortable not knowing if he was all right. With this came realization he was the only one here you really cared for.

“The troll’s heading upstairs!” you heard someone’s desperate scream.

Holding your wand ready, with a resolute step you set off to catch that stupid mountain of flesh. Professor McGonagall ran after you.

Muted hammering sounds got more audible the closer you approached the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, and disgusting smell proved you were going in the right direction.

“Snape’s going to miss everything.” Once this thought crossed your mind, a tall black figure streaked from around the corner, causing a powerful wash of relief sweep over your body, giving you strength and determination to move further. Snape lined up with you and joined you on your way. It wasn’t the best time for questions. The troll raged; his chilling roar echoed through the corridor. You heard a loud bang and silence fell all at once. Stopped in your tracks – so strange and unexpected it was – you and Snape exchanged anxious glances and hurried as fast as you could, praying none of the students was hurt.

Professor McGonagall managed to outstrip you. She was the first to burst into the room. Snape protectively held you back, shielding you from whatever might’ve been inside. Suddenly, Quirrell, who vanished again as soon as all this bustle started, emerged out of nowhere, pushing his course through the doorway. Why he followed suit remained a mystery – the man looked like fainting again.

A huge stinky mass of the troll lay on the floor, motionless. It didn’t seem to bear any kind of danger anymore. Snape bent over the troll to make sure. The way he moved set you alert. Hard to say, what exactly drew your attention, but something certainly was different.

In the interim, Professor McGonagall blasted three young Gryffindors, who – to your surprise and terror – happened to be Harry Potter himself and his friends: showing little effort in studying Ron Weasley and nosy know-it-all Hermione Granger. How could these first-years expect to defeat a troll without having neither defensive nor fighting spells in store of their knowledge? It was pure luck they weren’t injured!

“You said you had a special gift with trolls, Quirinus?” you addressed him coldly.

The man flinched at the sound of his name.

“Why didn’t you stop him right there – in the dungeons?”

“I – j-just –” words seemed to stuck in his throat.

“And what were you doing there?”

Snape approached you, supposing you’d step back, but driven by anger and resentment you had no intention to stop this conversation. Snape on the other hand was determined to put an end to it. He made another step towards you, and another one – until his chest was pressed against your shoulder. Blocking your view with his tall figure, Snape almost pushed you out in the corridor.

Before leaving the room, he threw a condemning glance at your suspicious colleague.

“What the – ” you frowned. “I had more questions to this scoundrel!”

“I know,” he hushed you. “Not now.”

“When then?” you croaked.

“And not you,” he stated firmly.

“Am I suspended?” his words outraged you. “Why not me?”

If Quirrell was implicated in the Dark Lord’s matters, Snape had to keep you away from this. Quirrell should see not a slightest hint of danger in your words or actions, moreover – consider you his enemy.

“Just trust me, okay?” he stopped, and you turned to face him – it felt natural to do so. These eyes never betrayed you. You nodded, given in, and sighed:

“Okay…”

You continued your way in silence.

“Are you limping?” coming around after this chaotic evening, you finally noticed your fellow Professor fall heavily on the right leg.

“I’m fine. Stumbled on the stairs,” he explained indifferently.

Now it was your turn to stop.

“What?” Snape spun around to see the reason of your sudden holdup.

Arms crossed on your chest, you stood still, your lips pursed in a disapproving curve.

“How can I trust you, if you don’t find it necessary to tell me what happened in that short time you were absent! Where have you been, huh?”

“Neither do you want to tell me about the letter you received this morning and why it bothers you so much!” he spat back. “Correct me – if – I’m – wrong.”  

His words stroke you dumb. Chasing the troll, you forgot about your troubles for a while; to be reminded of them in such a rude, offhanded manner was heartbreaking. You couldn’t say what hurt you more – revived awareness of the news you received, or cold demeanor of the man you needed to be beside in this distressing moment. You felt a lump rise up to your throat and swallowed hard.

“This letter is a private issue and therefore concerns only me,” your voice creaked. “But recent events have to do with the whole school.” Holding back tears, you made a pause to pull yourself together and stung him with his own words. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Snape got used to you to that extent he started considering you a part of his reality so indefeasible, completely neglecting the fact you had your own reality, where his place might be of much lesser importance. Clearly, you didn’t owe him a thing, and could keep your secrets to yourself. He should’ve realized it. Of course, he should. Blaming you for that was inacceptable and tremendously selfish. Constant strain of nerve costed Snape the loss of self-control. Being too protective of you, he violated the boundaries and severely regretted it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but there was nothing he could say to atone his fault.

You shook your head in downright disappointment and shoot past him in the darkness of the passage.

“Wait!” Snape jolted, “I didn’t mean to –” He limped a few steps after you, but – his leg searing with pain each time he moved – couldn’t catch up with your speed. “Ugh, damn it!” he stretched out his hand to lean against the wall. He had to do something with this first.

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[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

secret son

A/N: this was requested by anonymous, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. I might make a part two with Richie and Eddie’s son getting to know each other a bit better if anyone wants to read that? How’s everyone doing during this time? 

Summary: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where months after the fight with Pennywise eddie shows up at richie's house with the ten year old son he didn't mention he had?

warning: some  homophobia (like really really brief though) 

Richie is nursing his third whiskey when a harsh knock on his door catches his attention. The scotch, a real one from Scotland with an earthy and smoky flavor that Richie only drinks when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself, sways dangerously over the edge before stilling with only a drop off spillage when Richie hurries to steady the glass. 

The reason his emotion threaten to bury him tonight more than usual, is the texts he has received from Bill. It wasn’t a bad text, but he asked if Richie had any idea why Eddie  hadn’t answered his phone for a few days, and now Richie can’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. After reliving the same trauma twice, panic is the automated response when someone forgets to check in with them.

He’s being ridiculous, Richie tells himself, especially since he himself hasn’t texted Eddie in, well not since he left Derry. He packed his bags faster than Eddie had started walking again, choosing to run when he confessed the extent of his love for Eddie, and it was met with pure utter silence. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he crossed state lines, Eddie’s adult face pinched in annoyance gracing his cellphone screen, the photo he had taken during dinner the very first night after he won the game of arm wrestle, seemingly laughing at his expense. He didn’t pick up.

Of course he kept up with Eddie’s progress through the other losers, but he refrained from reaching out to Eddie on his own. Ever the coward, his traitorous mind provided with a hiss, the dark part of his mind growing a little everyday he wasn’t in contact with his best friend. Cause that was the place that Eddie still inhibited in his heart. He might have turned away from Richie’s feelings, but Richie still considered Eddie his closest friend, even if the opposite was true vise versa.

It’s his own fault anyway, if only he had some self-control, so he could stop the words from overflowing and his darkest secrets from tainting the perfect facade he had built around himself. When Bill texted that Eddie didn’t answer any calls or texts, Richie swallowed his pride and his embarrassment, sending a quick and short message Eddie’s way.

The white hotshame burned brighter than it had since Eddie turned Richie down when the former  went radio silent. Richie supposes that he had that one coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. Another insistent knock caused the pounding in Richie’s brain that to intensify, by whoever is knocking gets what they want, Richie downing the rest of the scotch in on go, slamming the glass against the counter and getting up. He has no clue who it could be.

The last person to drop by his apartment was his manager, after Richie had neglected his duties as a comedian once more, to rouse him from an alcohol induced slumber and get him ready from him show. Today is Richie’s off day though, so he knows that it can’t be him. The only person that Richie can think off is his neighbor asking to borrow something, but that doesn’t appear to be likely.  Whoever he was expecting to see, the man he left in a Derry hospital bed before said man was fit enough to leave was not it.

‘Eddie?’ Surprise crosses Richie’s face as soon as he makes eye contact with him, blinking dumbly behind his giant glasses who are sitting askew on his face. He looks good, a lot better than he did when Richie last saw him, white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

It hurts physically to see him up close again, while Richie wants nothing more than to reach forward and touch him, to hug him even in just a friendly way, but Richie figures that that is off limits. He can’t shake the look in Eddie’s eyes when he told him he loved him as more than friends, the look of pure and other fear, of him. Not Pennywise, but Richie, like not even being attacked by a killer clown was a terrifying as someone having a gay crush on you. He tries to focus on the now rather than reliving the moment that has haunted his dreams more than Pennywise.

‘What are you doing here Eds?’

Eddie’s face is doing that thing again where he can’t complete hide the fact that he is worried, but he’s trying his best to stay calm for someone else. It’s a sight that was thrown Richie’s way one too many times, often when he did something stupid and Eddie had to fix him up, but now Richie is unsure what could be the reason he’s sporting the look, until he lays on the little boy standing next to him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he stares at the kid who is clasping Eddie’s hand in his tightly. He can’t be more than six years old, his legs yattering with what Richie assumes is impatience, and he’s shamelessly staring at Richie. Kids don’t know any better he supposes.

The eyes strike recognition in a deep part Richie can’t name for himself, and suddenly, without any second guessing, he knows that the child is Eddie’s. A dead give away are the eyes, but also his general presence reminds him of a younger Eddie.

Something in his face must give him away, for when his gaze turn back to Eddie, all he does is nod. There are a thousand question Richie wants to ask him, for example why he never brought him up when they first reunited, or what they’re doing at his doorstep, but he notices how exhausted they look, and so he gestures with his head, giving them permission to enter the house.

‘Thanks Rich.’ At the sound of Eddie’s voice his body jolts, more aware than ever that a part of him went missing and he has no idea how to get it back or what to do about it.

Richie rushes back towards his kitchen, pushing past both Eddie and his kid, to hide the bottle of booze still out in the open. He’s not very subtle about it, and he can see on the judgment on Eddie’s face before it is carefully concealed.

‘So, what are you doing here Eds.’ Richie struggles to appear indifferent, but he is confused and dying to know why Eddie and his son where here, so he imagines that he’s not pulling it off very well.

Eddie glances at his son, still holding his hand and resisting the urge to pick him up. When he doesn’t respond straight away, Richie turns towards the boy, who is looking hesitantly up at him. His personality clearly mirrors Eddie’s,  his wariness having transfer onto the next generation.

‘What’s your name bud?’ Ever since he was little, Richie has this gift when it comes to children, being able to communicate with them, and understand them when adults write their quirks off as annoyances.

He used to have a bond with Georgie back when he was still alive, and despite the usual horror stories off siblings, he got along great with his sister once she was born. He’s hoping that whatever charm helped him do that, will help him form a band here.

‘My name’s Matthew, but everyone calls me Matt.’ He seemed to be shy, toying with the hem of his shirt.

‘Are you my dad’s best friend?’ Richie blushed a bright red, since he not really knew what the answer was supposed to be. He assumes he still is, but he’s unclear about what Eddie might have told matt.

Thankfully, Eddie answers for him. ‘Yeah he is Matt.’ For a moment it’s quiet again, and the room fills with an awkward tension, neither Eddie nor Richie knowing where to go from here.

‘Is there somewhere Matt can explore?’ Eddie inquires eventually, the extra meaning behind his words crystal clear to him.

We need to talk, but not with my son in the room.

The apartment is not nearly big and all composing enough for a child to be able to go exploring, there’s only really 5 rooms in total, a kitchen, living room, the main bedroom and a guest bedroom and bathroom, none of which are necessarily child proof.  

He does have a PlayStation attached to the tv in the guest bedroom however, even though he rarely uses it, and so he figures that’s the best place to direct Matt too.

‘You wanna go play a game buddy?’

Matt peers up at his dad, who nods reassuringly, giving him a gently push Richie’s way.

He waits for Matts affirmative nod before leading the way.  It’s a miracle the thing works, as it’s been for three years completely unattended, but as soon as it starts Matthew jumps up and down excitedly when he sees the Mario kart logo pop up.

Richie leaves him with the door open just an inch, so that Eddie can still see him from the living room. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘No thank you I’m good.’  

The awkwardness lays heavy on Richie. Things have never been uncomfortable with Eddie before, and he knows that it’s his fault that it is now. He wants to make a joke, or steer the conversation into safe waters with light topics to talk about, but he’s also aware that there has to be a reason why Eddie would show up to talk to him this late, without a phone call or any sort of notice. Because Richie’s brain is still muffled by the alcohol and he can’t think of a joke to make, he decides to ask the obvious first.

‘You didn’t text me back, Eds.’ It’s a stupid thing to stay, Richie knows considering  he didn’t call Eddie back for months, but the question is out in the open and there’s no taking it back anymore.

‘My phone died on the way here.’

‘You fucking drove here? If you wanted to see me that bad you could have boarded a plane.’ Richie cringes when he hears himself speak. That was a quip he was used to making, but one that no doubt  caused internal disgust in the other man.  

‘I left Myra, and I need a place to crash.’ Eddie opts to say, despite it not being an answer to the question. For a moment Richie fears he might pass out, stumbling backwards but managing to keep upright thanks to the chair behind him. Out of all the possible explanations he was prepared for, this was not it.

‘Wh- why did you do that?’ Richie’s voice is shaking, his attempt to steady only being futile. He’s thrown for a loop so bad, that he forgets to conceal his shocked reaction. It’s out in the open, how Richie longs for him, but the least he could do was have the decency to cover it up.

‘Because,’ Eddie peeks past Richie to see Matt, who is fully focused and engaged in the game, before gaining enough courage to say what comes next.

‘Because I’m gay.’ He manages to spit out, his hands shaking by his side while he stares intently at Richie.

Richie has never been hit before. He’s been punched before and even kicked, yet never hit, but he imagines it feels somewhat like the words Eddie just breathed to life.

It’s strange since kid Richie would have done anything in the world to hear those words coming from Eddie, to the point where at night in his bed he would imagine scenarios in which he would utter them, but the situation at hand is very different than the one he fantasized about.

The fact of the matter is, that Eddie is not homophobic like Richie suspected him to be after his reaction, he just reacted disgusted because it was Richie, and that hurt even worse. He knows his not a catch. He woke up one day in college and saw himself for what he really was, a below average looking guy whose only talent was making jokes that would annoy others, with a ridiculous loud voice. And as he got older he only got worse, but he hadn’t expected that Eddie would use that against him.

He thought that Eddie might have let him down easier, but he guesses he just has that effect on people. His first instinct is to snap back in his hurt, to reply somewhat cruelly so that his feeling don’t show, but then he comes to the conclusion that he was just in Eddie shoes a few months ago, and he can recall exactly how scared and how disheartened he had been when he received negative comments, and he can’t do that to Eddie. Maybe to someone else, but not to Eddie.

Instead he replies with; ‘Oh well congrats for coming out. Welcome to the team Spagheds.’

Apparently, it’s not the reaction Eddie expected, for his face falls and his eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over his face.

‘Rich. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s just that -.’ Richie interrupts him before he can say something else.

‘Hey, it’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t tell the guy that made me uncomfortable either.’

Eddie blinks rapidly, opening his mouth but Richie intercepts, trying desperately to keep his feeling at bay.

‘Do you want to crash here for tonight? We can order pizza and watch a movie. Or whatever Matthew likes to eat is fine by me. I’ll get some extra sheets because I know you’d be disgusted if you found out what kind of action I’ve been getting. Not like I’m still hung up about a rejection, can you imagine?’ He laughs uneasily, scrambling to get together an extra sleeping kit, ignoring Eddie as best he can.

‘Rich’, he calls his attention, and despite being embarrassed, Richie would follow Eddie into anything, so he stops dead in his tracks and turns towards him.

‘I have a son.’

‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out Eds. I have eyes, he looks a lot like you.’

Eddie rolls his eyes in annoyance, huffing to convey how stupid Richie acts sometimes.

‘When you told me you liked me,’ Richie shrinks down, his shoulder turning in on themselves to make himself as small as possible, ‘I was worried you might feel different about me, because I am a dad.’

‘I could never, Eds. I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention him before.’

A sigh leaves Eddie’s lips, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘I was worried IT might find out and use it against me. Besides, I didn’t even remember you guys all that well in the beginning. I was just scared.’

Richie gets it a little bit. When he was younger he was terrified IT might take his sister, and he would have done anything to prevent that. So he understands why Eddie wouldn’t say anything back in Derry, but why not after? Why didn’t he say anything when they left. Then again, it’s not like they talked a lot post clown fight two.

A thought suddenly downs on Richie then. ‘Wait, did Myra just like you take Matt with you?’

Eddie’s face turns bright red, a guilty look crossing over his features. Richie eyes turn wide as saucers.

‘Eddie, do not tell me you kidnapped your son’, Richie whispers screams, panic taking over as he thinks things through. It’s Myra, and from what he heard about her, she’s pretty much the same as Sonia, which means that she has no problem calling the police.

‘You could get arrested.’

‘Only if she calls the cops,’ Eddie hisses back, his body locked in anger, like he’s a bomb that is very dangerously close to exploding, quitting down when he sees Matt’s head peeking through the crack in the door. He waits until Matt is turned back towards his game to continue.

‘Look, I told her that I was gay, and she told me to get everything that’s mine out of her house immediately, anything that I had ‘infected with your homosexuality’. So I took me son with me. I wasn’t going to leave him there.’

All at once, the fight leaves him, and he crouches down on the couch, his head in his hands while he begins to sob. It produces back a memory, from a time where he had to go over to Richie’s house to tell him he was leaving Derry and not coming back, and Richie hurries to ban the thought out of his head before he joins in.

‘Two days ago, Matt fell of his bike in our backyard, and when he did he started practically screaming. I’m sure it hurt a little, but he was crying hysterically, and he begged me not to tell his mom, because she would freak out.’ Eddie’s eyes filled with tears focus on Richie’s, who is slowly making his way over to sit next to him. ‘Then he asked me if he would get really sick now because of the dirt on the ground that must have gotten into his wound.’

Eddie laughs humorlessly. ‘I though that by staying with Myra I would do him a favor.  I was just trying to protect him. I can’t believe I was convinced staying with Myra would be good for him. She’s exactly like my mother Rich, and I didn’t protect him.’

Despite better judgment, Richie puts his arm around Eddie, shuffling closer so that their knees are touching, and Eddie gracefully accepts, leaning further into Richie so he’s practically a pillow, a sob wrenching from his throat.

‘You did protect him Eds, you moved with him right? He’s gonna know that his dad did that for him, because you loved him.’ Placing his chin on the top of Eddie’s head, Richie breathes in deeply, forcing himself to stop from being overly affectionate, even when he’s clearly failing.

‘When Myra told me she was pregnant, I freaked out. I love my son, I would do anything for him and I wouldn’t give him up for anything in this whole wide world, but when I saw the pregnancy tests, all I could think was ‘oh god please no’. I’m a terrible father.’

Richie shakes his head determinately. ‘Eds, look at me. That’s normal, we went through some tough shit when we were kids, even if we didn’t remember it. You love him, and you look after him, and trust me, none of those are attributes to being a bad parent like you claim you are.

Eddie sniffles, placing one of his hands against Richie’s cheek, who embarrassingly enough nuzzles against it like a wounded dog would to a loving touch.

‘I’m sorry Richie. I really am. I love you. I think I somehow always have, even when I forgot, but I was so fucking scared when you told me, that I turned you away. As soon as I did I regretted it though, but I didn’t want to scare you off, and I didn’t want to put Matt through that change. Can we start over? I just really want to try this again.’

Richie is almost scared to believe the words coming from Eddie, but hope blossoms in his chest anyway. The piece that had cracked when he was turned away seem to magically fix itself, making his heart feel whole again.

‘You want me to confess my love for you again? Jees demanding much? You know your mom was the exact same way, always needing reassurance that our night together felt as good to me as it did to her.’

‘I changed my mind. And to think I was about to thank you for being serious for the entire conversation.’

Despite the meaning of the words, Richie can’t help but laugh when he sees the face Eddie is pulling, cheeringly outwardly when Eddie breaks and laughs alongside him.

Matt comes out of the room to check out what the commotion is about, a childlike glee all over his face when he sees his dad happier then he had ever been. ‘Can we order Pizza please?’ He begs Eddie with the same puppy dog eyes Eddie used to own when they were young themselves.

Richie grins at the boy, and while Eddie is pretending to contain plate it Richie nods excitedly, causing him to giggle with glee.

‘Alright’, Eddie eventually pretends to give in, watching as Matt jumps up and down in pure joy. He looks like the kind of child that has an endless supply of energy, and Richie can’t wait to find out more about him. This is the son of the man he loves, and if Matthew is even half the person Eddie is, than Richie loves him already.

‘Hey Matt, we’re going to stay with Richie for a while longer okay? If you don’t have anything against that?’

Matt just shrugs, eager to get back to the game and get some eat some food. ‘Sure.’

‘oh, we can’t tell mom though, she’ll freak knowing I ate pizza.’

‘Shit’, Eddie curses as soon as Myra’s name comes back up. Matt glares at him, placing a finger on his lips as an indication to be silent, and Richie can’t help but titter.

‘We’ll figure it out Eds, we always do.’

And if Richie spend the next few weeks looking for a new house for them to move into, well then that is just them figuring it out.

[fairbutsternocreviews]

Deen Grey

Could I possibly get a critique on this RP OC I’ve been working on? Warning for a LONG bio and brief mentions of some pretty intense torture.

~~~~~

♦ Deen Grey ♦

“I’m not who I used to be. Not who I’m meant to be.”

♦ b a s i c ♦

“Why do I exist?”

♦ f u l l n a m e ♦ Deen James Grey

♦ n i c k n a m e s ♦ Spook, Dee

♦ g e n d e r ♦ Cis Male

♦ a g e ♦ 19

♦ s p e c i e s ♦ Human

♦ p o w e r s & a b i l i t i e s ♦ Deen can see and speak to the dead who’ve yet to pass on. He hasn’t ever actually seen someone pass on, so he has his doubts that it ever happens. He can’t turn off his ability, and sees ghosts nearly everywhere he goes. The ability wasn’t one that came naturally, it was forcibly learned.

♦ s e x u a l o r i e n t a t i o n ♦ Demisexual

♦ r o m a n t i c o r i e n t a t i o n ♦ Homoromantic

♦ b i r t h d a y ♦ August 30th

Hey, Yani-Senpai here!! I’ll take care of this one for you. He shares my birthday!!

♦ m e n t a l a g e ♦ 22-27

♦ t h e m e s o n g s ♦ • Ghost Town- First Aid Kit • Rising, Rising- Crywolf • No Culture- Mother Mother

♦ f a c e c l a i m ♦ Iyden James

♦ v o i c e c l a i m ♦ Basically like Billy Bob Thornton as Lorne Malvo from the television series, Fargo. You can easily find examples on YouTube.

♦ u n i v e r s e / s e t t i n g ♦ Modern day with a touch of alternate history and super natural. Setting can be any city or town really.

♦ a p p e a r a n c e ♦

♦ h e i g h t ♦ 5'10"

♦ w e i g h t ♦ 124lbs

♦ b o d y t y p e ♦ Tall and lanky, underweight due to his lack of appetite.

♦ r a c e / e t h n i c i t y ♦ Welsh/English

♦ s k i n t o n e ♦ Pale, more often than not has a sickly tint

♦ h a i r c o l o r ♦ Lackluster Black

♦ h a i r s t y l e ♦ Short-ish with a natural flip to his bangs. Generally very unkempt and messy.

♦ e y e c o l o r ♦ Sage green, intense and piercing

♦ e y e s h a p e ♦ Typical European round shape, often narrowed in mistrust or disgust. He generally has dark circles under his from exhaustion

♦ t a t t o o s / p i e r c i n g s ♦ Both ears are pierced twice, no tattoos

♦ d i s t i n g u i s h i n g f e a t u r e s ♦ There’s a large Y shaped scar on his chest, very much like an autopsy incision. The scars are well faded and darker than his normal skin tone.

♦ c l o t h i n g s t y l e ♦ Seemingly uncaring about his appearance, he’ll wear basically whatever he can find in his closet that’s clean. Often its very dark colors or monotone black and greys. He very rarely goes without a worn black tweed button up coat on no matter the weather. He’s highly uncomfortable showing much skin around people he doesn’t know well.

Please be very careful with characters that seem this dark and upset all the time. They’re very unlikable as people in general and in an rp it’s concerning to me that some people may dislike him purely on the fact that he’s very unapproachable. Remember that people HAVE to judge him on his demeanor first. They don’t know him like you know him. 

♦ p e r s o n a l ♦

♦ l i k e s ♦ • Alternative music and bands • Sleeping through the day • Taxidermy • Renaissance era and surrealistic paintings

♦ d i s l i k e s ♦ • Pop, country and very up beat music • Loud noises, places and people • Most birds • Horror movies or books

♦ f e a r s ♦ Most birds, though he’s okay with very small ones such as sparrows and finches.

♦ r e l i g i o n ♦ He’s not religious nor is he against religion. He’s just indifferent.

♦ s t r e n g t h s ♦ • Intelligent- Though he often tries to hide the fact his IQ is above average, he is very intelligent and a natural born student • Steadfast in his beliefs- regardless of what others think, he stands firm behind what he believes while not belittling others for disagreeing • A good listener- While he usually doesn’t know what to say in response, he’s the type who can always be counted on the listen to whatever you need to say. Though whether or not he’ll believe a word of it is another story. • Even tempered- He’s very hard to anger to anger or mildly upset. But because it takes something serious to cause his upset, the anger is proportionate. One exception is physical pain. That never fails to easily upset him. • Kind at heart- He can often come across as cold or uncaring because he doesn’t show much outward emotion, but he really is kind and caring. His past just makes it difficult to trust anyone enough to express that he cares.

It’s very important for you to consider the IQ height!! It always comes across almost elitist. It’s much better to describe a character as studious. Even just saying he’s a natural born student is a better way to word it than slapping a number on him. 

Be careful with being steadfast in his beliefs “while not belittling others for disagreeing”. This sounds easy on the surface, but as it stands, is harder in practice, especially in an RP setting. Many will attempt to argue it despite the character’s personality traits. Not saying this is bad, just saying it’s important to keep a watch on how you write it. That said, everyone has a breaking point when their beliefs are challenged or made fun of! don’t make him too benevolent. 

The same goes with even tempered-ness. EVERYONE has a breaking point. Saying that physical pain is his breaking point is just untrue, because frankly, that’s not how people work. Eventually, someone has a bad day and will blow up. Even tempers only last so long. 

Trust issues and caring characters don’t go as hand in hand as you might think. Unfortunately, if someone doesn’t show outward emotion, his kind caring nature doesn’t mean anything or matter to anyone he interacts with. Consider, that the way this describes him, if someone were to come to him upset about a problem, his standoffishness and trust issues would lead him not to respond to them in any way other than to push them away or seem indifferent, keeping them from returning. Whether he cares about them inwardly doesn’t matter if they don’t see his caring nature, and it would seem out of character for him to suddenly start paying attention to problems of others if he doesn’t do a lot of interaction in the first place. 

♦ w e a k n e s s e s ♦

• Recklessly impulsive- acts on his first instinct, often getting him into trouble. • Socially awkward- He’s very awkward when it comes to speaking with the living. Sometimes even with the dead. • Wary to trust- Once you earn his trust, he won’t abandon your side. But his trust is a difficult thing to earn. He keeps most people at arm’s length. • Easily frightened- You’d expect someone who sees ghosts, often mutilated, to be a bit braver. He’s a coward though, nearly afraid of his own shadow. • Holds a grudge- He’s not quick to forgive. If you manage end up on his bad side, you’re going to have to do something major to make up for it.

You say he’s kindhearted but he holds grudges. That doesn’t...really work? Kindhearted people don’t just decide to be angry and stay that way. More often those with good natures tend to consider the other side primarily--in fact it’ll more often than not become a problem as they won’t view a problem as someone else’s fault in any context--everything comes back to how they mutually hurt each other. Most kind hearts don’t hold grudges because they want to breed a setting of trust and good feelings. 

♦ h a b i t s ♦ • Smoker • Often skips meals • An occasional drinker • Bites his lips when he’s thinking

♦ g o a l s ♦ Long-term- Find a decent job and manage to keep it, Hopefully find some way to dispel the curse that makes him see ghosts. Short-term- Get a cat.

♦ p e r s o n a l i t y ♦

♦ b e s t q u a l i t y ♦ His even temper and disposition

♦ w o r s t q u a l i t y ♦ His pessimistic and distrustful nature

♦ f l a w s ♦ •Unwillingness to trust •Cowardice that often keeps him from reaching his potential

♦ d e f i n i n g t r a i t s ♦ • Pessimistic • Seemingly aloof and uncaring • Quiet, usually very reserved • Wary and almost suspicious of others

You seem to be putting a lot of issues as his inability to trust people. Please consider that that’s something that was caused by things done to him, and are not traits intrinsic to him. Not to mention, not trusting people right off the bat is not really a bad thing. Many people do it and it’s not really a bad trait for them. 

♦ q u i r k s ♦ • Fear of most birds- He has no traumatic event that’s the cause of this fear. Something about the way they move just unnerves him. • Annoyed by certain phrases- People who consistently use the phrases ‘needless to say’ and 'meanwhile’ really tend to annoy him. He can’t explain exactly why, just that it drives him a little nuts.

♦ c o n f i d e n c e ♦ He’s not at all very confident

When someone nitpicks the way I talk or the way other people around him talks, that’s a sure sign that I hate their guts. Not because it’s just something about him I don’t like, but because it’s a sure sign he’s judgmental and thinks he’s better. Just be careful. 

♦ p o s t u r e ♦ Usually slouched, almost huddled in on himself as if expecting the worst at any moment

♦ a l i g n m e n t ♦ Lawful Neutral

♦ p a s t ♦

“Despair is familiar to me.”

♦ b a c k s t o r y ♦ Deen had known he was a bit different from most kids from a very young age. He was born to scientist parents and raised to excel in any field he might choose to enter. Unfortunately, his parents were recruited by a up in coming government official with an interest in the darker sides of research. Deen ended up living in a research compound with his now mostly absentee parents.

He’s not exactly sure how it happened, but eventually he was lumped in with other test subjects used to test the limits of the human body and bring forth unique and tactically advantageous abilities. Often these expiremints took the form of some sort of torture or forced near death experience.

This is already concerning because it hits a few cliches. Child abuse and neglect is not to be messed around with. Definitely look up the effects this can have on someone as they get older and research it like crazy because making it into something that just holds as a reason for him to be edgy instead of one of the reasons he has trauma are two very different things. 

After his abilities emerged when he was roughly eleven or twelve, he was nearly broken, seeing ghosts, badly mutilated and screaming in hysterics. It was instantly apparent that his was useless to the military and he was committed to a mental hospital under the pretense that he was suffering from psychosis.

It took him a few years, but he slowly managed to learn to ignore the spirits around him so he could pass as recovered and be discharged at age 16. In those few years, he became close to one spirit, a poltergeist, who seemed to want to help him. Caspian did what he could while he was hospitalized, wanting Deen free. And the teen, naive for his age, fell in love with the spirit. All wasn’t as it seemed though, and once Deen was free, traveling in hopes of finding somewhere to stay permanently, Caspian turned jealous and vengeful. It ended when the poltergeist physically attacked him. Deen sought the help of a priest who fashioned him a blessed charm to dispell poltergeists in general. He never takes it off, wearing it in the form of a small cross shaped earring.

I’m sorry, but does this imply that torturing human children by making them into test subjects would leave them in any other way than broken and screaming in hysterics? Why would they commit him to a hospital that wasn’t government run by the same group that did this to him? There are a lot of holes here. Doesn’t it make more sense to get rid of the failures through euthanasia than to release them where they could talk about the whole ordeal with people uninvolved? This kid would be HUNTED DOWN AND SHOT before they let this top secret info get out. This could be a very good story idea, actually, because he’d be on the run!! But you should consider changing this a bit. 

♦ t r a u m a ♦ To bring his ability forward, Deen was subjected to vivisection. Otherwise know as living dissection. It was the cause of his scars and was preformed without any anesthetic, while he was awake. The only reason he managed to survive was drugs to keep his heart rate from spiking and causing a heart attack. To this day, he is very sensitive to pain and deeply ashamed of the scars. He unconsciously believes they are somehow his own fault.

♦ b e s t m e m o r y ♦ His eighth birthday, spent with his family around a pool. It was the best day of his life.

♦ w o r s t m e m o r y ♦ The aforementioned vivisection

♦ p l a c e o f o r i g i n ♦ Wales

♦ r e l a t i o n s ♦

“But at times I wonder, is that all there is to this world? Or is there more. Something I’m failing to see?”

♦ m o t h e r ♦ Edith Maria Grey- Status unknown

♦ f a t h e r ♦ Stephen Edgar Grey- Status unknown

♦ s i b l i n g s ♦ N/A

♦ f r i e n d s ♦ He doesn’t have anyone he’d actually call a friend.

♦ p a r t n e r ♦ N/A

♦ p a s t p a r t n e r s ♦ At one point he found himself almost unwillingly falling for a spirit named Caspian. That ended when he used his trust against him.

♦ d i a l o g ♦

“If there isn’t, if this is all there is, what’s the point of this existence?”

♦ c o n v e r s a t i o n ♦ “I’m not crazy. I just see things you can’t. There’s a difference.”

♦ m e e t i n g s o m e o n e n e w ♦ “What? Do you need something?”

♦ f l i r t i n g ♦ “Well, I like…the parts of your face covered in skin?”

♦ w h e n a n g r y ♦ “What in the hell are you doing! Get out of here you pest!”

♦ e x t r a ♦

“Do we just go through this meaningless life, and then cease to exist?”

♦ s t a r t e r e x a m p l e ♦

Most people wouldn’t be the least bit tempted to drive out the the middle of nowhere and then hike a mile and a half on a cold and drizzly winter morning. Especially with their only reward being an old cemetery so over grown that even in the middle of winter the headstones, or rather, remnants of headstones, were nearly invisible beneath the bare bushes.

But Dean wasn’t most people. Not by a long shot. So he’d woken early, before dawn actually, to make the journey to the dilapidated bone yard. What drove him to do such a thing he couldn’t have told you, had you bothered ask. He’d never even heard of the old East Wind Cemetery before this morning.

He’d woken from a vivid dream, perhaps a vision. He wouldn’t call it that. But either way, the dream had been so vivid that when he recalled that he’d seen the name of the place on a rusted, but not yet destroyed gate, he felt compelled to search the web for it. And when he found the place to be barely an hour’s drive away, he knew he had to go see what there had been calling to him. The lanky teen didn’t bother packing anything but a notebook, pens and water in his worn backpack for the hike, he wanted to leave as soon as possible. He barely ate anyway, he’d be fine skipping another meal or two. With those few things and his wool coat on hand, he drove.

After the rather wet hike, he made it to the edge of the cemetery without being too worn. He could already feel it. The chill of lingering souls just waiting to accost him, demand of him and wail to him. He saw none yet, but after just a few steps they appeared. A group of them. There were four, perhaps five. He didn’t count, they couldn’t actually hurt him. They all started at once, giving him their issues to try and sort out. He let out a nearly pained sound and covered his ears. “STOP! One of you at a time!” He shouted.

This character was pretty heavily inspired by binge reading Dean Koontz​ novels. He wasn’t so much based on any one book, as much as his writing in general.

I love Dean Koontz!! Your writing is very good, I like the style and voice you give. This could be a very nice character if you tweak some things and make him just a bit more approachable, and work on the intricacies of the backstory. It’s a good start. That’s all this is. A start. Please keep developing Deen, I’m interested. The longer you work on bits and pieces of his backstory and personality the more you’ll be able to work out the kinks. 

Thanks for the submission!!