#This is also meant to serve as a bit of a reference sheet

[leyline-legionnaire]

Finally done with this! Did a big ol' doodle sheet of my scruffy Charr Commander~

[electrozeistyking]

Hi, I really like making little personalized references for characters I like when I get into things! I do this to figure out how I wanna draw them, and is a recent-ish development that I haven’t done a lot, but I really like character design and thinking about them! So I made some for Siffrin. How fun!

DO NOTE THAT THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR LATER PARTS OF THE GAME. I did obviously tag it as such for the sake of others and it will be further down, but I figured I’d still warn you just in case. <:3

Now, without further ado, here’s “reference one!”

I’m personally gonna be using this in conjunction with Siffrin’s actual reference sheet (which I refer to as “notes” in mine!!) to make sure he look his best! I also wanted to make sure they’re “in line with canon,” yet still in my style and in a way I can be proud of.

Which isn’t that hard, since I’m usually always proud of my own work. I just like my own stuff. <:3

Due to the brim of his hat allegedly being bean-shaped (teehee), I thought it’d be fun if I carried that over to his torso/body. It’s not noticeable with a cloak in the way, nor when Siffrin’s standing straight up. Basically, the bean shape would only be revealed in certain poses.

(Coming up with that also made me say “Whoops! All beans!” out loud about Siffrin, btw.)

Additionally, I like giving characters is their own set of fangs. One character I draw has a gap between them and the rest of their teeth, one has prominent ones to make them more cat like on purpose — and for Siffrin, I decided to give them rounded ones.

I usually make fangs razor sharp, because I really like big ol chompers like that, so them being round is definitely a very unique thing for Siffrin to have. Well, at least at first.

I’m also a really big fan of certain design elements sticking around after something wild happens to characters… which brings us to “reference two.”

Well, if you’re not gonna be able to find any good references for this version of Siffrin, you might as well make your own, right??

The major thing I wanted to do with this Siffrin was to have him still feel like himself, but also give him somewhat of a unique design in comparison — by playing up elements I noticed during this scene.

Making this Siffrin feel as giant as they are was important to me. I went ahead and made their hat, face, hair and cloak longer. Made their shoulders broader, had them hunch over so they’d practically loom over everyone. Trying to appear smaller while still being an obstacle. Wanting everyone to stay here. Wanting their family.

I noticed that a lot of Siffrin’s hair seemed a lot more angular here, so I felt it crucial to use those shapes, but going a couple steps further and using them for his face as well… primarily his mouth and chin, of course. Which meant replacing those rounded fangs I gave him with a full set of sharper ones.

(I also wanted them to look like they’re too big for Siffrin’s mouth, so two of them — well, four? — will always peek out/fall past their lower lip. It’s like their teeth are not a comfortable fit whatsoever and it makes talking feel weird, but they manage.)

(They stick around after Siffrin “reverts back” or whatever we’re calling it. He never gets his round fangs back, but at least the ones he has now serve as a reminder that he got to the end. Might take some getting used to, though.)

(I also tried making their brows look a bit more angular? Can’t tell if they really come across that way.)

ANYWAY, I THINK I SHOULD STOP HAHAHA. I could go on and on all day, but I got other things to do and I think I’ve already explained enough! Just know that I get a kick out of putting love and care into character thoughts and designs. <:3

[p0rk-guts]

YAAAAALL IT'S ANGEL DUST!!!!! bro I'm so exited to tell u about him hehehehe he might be my fav redesign of the bunch idk

Comparison & rant!⬇️ + A bug/spider cw. I put reference images in there!

Ok guys can I be honest with you. I think. Pilot and pre-pilot Angel were peak 😔 I'M SORRY I'M BREAKING MY SILENCE

Like whaaat... WHAAAT.... I'm sorry he served here he had the BEST design idc idc you can't change my mind. These were NOT bad designs. I've got a slight preference to his oldest design but even then the pilot design was great to me.

THIS however...

OooOOOH MY GODDDDD THEY NEUTERED HIM!!?! NO tits, three measly ugly stripes on an uglier coat, LONG GLOVES THAT ARE MISMATCHED??? ONE OF THEM HAS THESE WEIRD... WHITE FLAPS?? WHO— WHAT. WHY. AND THEY GO OVER HIS LONG SLEEVES 😭😭😭

I'm sorry but Angel will always be the most egregious case of character assassination in this show, design and character wise. He sucks now and I used to love him.

Okay enough crying let's get serious.

So yeah show Angel sucks. Removing his chunky gloves removed a lot of the fun shape in his silhouette so now he's just a gangly twink. Very little visual interest. Also hate hate hate how his new mismatched gloves are pulled over his long sleeve coat. So dumb. Hate it.

Also explain to me how he's gradually gotten less tits but has simultaneously become more femboy-ified..... So many people immediately mistake him for a girl.......

They also mistake him for. Literally anything but a spider. Once again Viv can't code or theme characters for shit. I also don't like how his face changed... I can't describe it but It's so much less appealing and charming. Something in the eyes and his little cheek bump. Idk. Really hate show Angel props to the animators for making him watchable with his bold animation ts was real nice

Okay onto my Angel! He's now a goldenrod crab spider now! Thank you @/cryptablog for this idea!! (Not tagging them bc they hate the hellaverse with a burning passion lol 💀) They can be white with pinkish markings like our og Angel but most of them are tinted yellow or completely yellow!

I decided to make him most similar to that mid ground mix of yellow and white with pink-er markings. 1 because I kept lust pink and I feel like that'd be a prominent sin of his (+ purple is in here a lot bc I feel like he'd also be pride aligned! Purple is now the pride color :3) and 2 because the yellow tone in his fur is kinda meant to connect him to Husk in a way... Cuz that's kinda his main color... Idk maybe I'm onto nothing with that one BUT his primary color is purple and Husk's primary color is yellow(ish)! Complimentary boyfriend's!!! Are you seeing my vision!!!!! (Also on a lesser note his colors look more similar to my fav version of Angel aka his design from the pre-pilot ref sheet I showed)

Another idea you can thank Cryptamen for is him being partially translucent in places just like real goldenrods!!!! The idea behind that was because he was in the mafia in life and he had to be really stealthy at times so now in certain environments he's harder to see... Maybe he can even turn fully invisible for a bit... There's also possible character reasons to consider tying in there as well... Ough very cool idea 10/10

Gave him 4 legs and 4 arms + the big abdomen to really make him scream spider bc yes spider boys can be hot and no Viv was not willing to CAPITALIZE on that 😒 Also lengthened his fangs... Also moved his eyes to his forehead to make them more prominent and hopefullyyyy seem more like eyes. Idk. And now he's got pointy little pedipalps as well!!!

Gave him his boobs back bc he deserves them and just generally gave his body more shape (though the second set of legs definitely helps lol). Slightly de-twinked... But not by much...

Once again looked up some common hairstyles at the time and people loooved their hairspray and curls, or swoops, or waves— they were gettin funky with it. Hard to emulate that on his nonhuman skull so I took some artistic liberties applying ideas from common styles onto him.

Didn't do much research at awl for his clothes... I mean... He's not wearing much to begin with... I kept the long gloves bc I thought they had potential to look cute and I have him rolled cuffs on short sleeves. Wanted to keep the style simple but otherwise I would've drawn button clasps keeping them in place. No notes on the thigh high heels so I kept them. Everything else is just kindaaaa whateverrrr EXCEPT THE NECKLACE. Though it was hella funny and fitting

And that's awl folks.... Do u like him do u fuck with him.... Let me knowwww....... Okay byeeee ✌🏾🧍🏾‍♀️

[tamamorikun]

I wanted to talk a bit more about the general banter and things that Moe points out in the DLC, especially in Mashita and Daimon's offices, so I took some screenshots of the background cgs ! My other writeup was long enough and I tried to focus on the plot itself so I'm doing these on a separate post. Also any other tidbits that Moe mentions I found were fun or interactions, since I love learning little things about the characters when they're not spirit hunting.

Spoilers under the cut, I suppose, not much about the actual plot of the DLC though!

At the Kujou Mansion:

She mentions that his bed is big enough to fit 3 of her. Also, when she comes in, she mentions the sheets are messy and still warm and she thinks he must have been sleeping there recently... but later you learn that he's been missing for about a week... and that Banshee was in the mansion and had gone to the bathroom when Moe came in so... uh, Banshee was sleeping in Yashiki's bed? yeah.

Not even that relevant but the lightbulb in Yashiki's room is dead and it has been for a while, Banshee says it's because all the furniture and such in the mansion is very old, so it's harder to find replacements. I wonder how long he's just been living in a dark room 😭

Yashiki also just leaves the door of the mansion unlocked all the damn time, apparently. Banshee says that he always forgets to lock it and that's how he comes and goes all the time.

At the park with Tsukasa:

Tsukasa mentions that he's never been to an amusement park in his life before or gone on any sort of rides. Poor kid... all he ever does is study.

Moe doesn't like mint!

No one questions or scolds Moe at home even though she comes back so late. She mentions that it may be because she has many siblings (doesn't specify how many, though) that her family isn't overprotective at all, and also that they probably don't expect much from her in the first place since she has bad grades. She prefers it this way though.

At Mashita's office:

It's in the basement of a building in front of the station.

When checking the rack, Moe does point out the red shirt is kind of flashy for what Mashita usually wears, so she's surprised to see he'd wear something like that too.

Moe is curious about the shelf full of alcohol. Shou tells her that Mashita seems to really enjoy drinking, and that at night he often drinks expensive looking brandy served neat. Moe is still surprised he'd keep alcohol out in the open in his workplace like that.

When checking the table, Shou mentions it's rarely used because customers don't usually come to the office. He explains that since most of his clients come from Yasuoka referring them, they often meet outside instead. Moe wonders if he really needs to have an office then.

Moe asks him what kind of shows Mashita watches when checking the TV, and she's disappointed to learn he only really uses it to check case related tapes. She was hoping he'd be really into something like reality tv or animal shows, something that wouldn't fit his image.

The kamidana on top of the shelf, a mini household shrine, was something Moe insisted he put in his office. Since he works with spirt cases and all, the shrine is meant to protect him and ward them off so they don't curse him. It's cute that Mashita listened to her and actually did...

There's a massive pile of cigarettes and cigarette boxes on his desk. We knew he smoked but it really seems like smokes A LOT.

I did mention the picture of him and his senpai he keeps in the drawer with the alarm, it was taken 5 years ago and he's smiling in it. Moe points out he's wearing a police uniform, the kind that police box officers in small neighborhoods do. So this was way before he became a police detective, he really was just a rookie then (He's 27 now, so he was only 22...)

Shou seems to still feel really guilty about what happened in the Red Riding Hood case, when he was possessed and attacked them, so he also sees this as a chance to help them and repay them for that. He also really wants for Mashita to acknowledge him and make him a proper assistant instead of just having him clean around.

At the park with Shou:

Shou mentions that he started to work part time at an Izakaya because he wants to get his dream motorcycle, a 750 cc one. (I looked that up but I don't know much about motorcycles in any language so I'm not sure what that means lol...). Moe asks him to give her a ride along the Shuto expressway one day since there's a rumor that a giant horse shows up, but he of course tells her no.

They find a rusted battery in the field and Shou mentions that the grass around it isn't growing due to soil contamination, and Moe immediately teases him about it since she didn't expect him to know about that. He explains that the type of battery they picked up is an old kind that would have mercury in it, and he tells her to not lick it. She gets mad but guesses it's payback for trying to tease him.

At Daimon's clinic:

We get a BG for this one too!

According to Moe, Daimon's specialization is surgery. So he's a surgeon! I don't remember if that had ever been mentioned before.

When checking the record player, Moe says that most of them have foreigners on the covers so it's most likely all old western music, though she doesn't know much about it.

When checking the guitar she says that Daimon has mentioned he was in a band before, and she wonders if he ever plays for his patients.

At the park with Daimon:

I did mention this in my summary, but Moe thinks about why Daimon dresses like that, with his shirt unbuttoned and part of his chest exposed, despite him having frail health. She wonders if that's the rockstar style.

Moe is not very good with snakes and freaks out when Daimon seems to pick one up, but it turns out to be just a snake shedding, and she remembers it's apparently good for luck with money and excitedly takes it when Daimon offers it to her.

Daimon is really smart and knows a lot about different subjects but he sure seems to go on tangents about it at the worst moments. He brings up the Monty Hall problem and the first time he just tells Moe to trust him, but later when Moe refers back to it and calls it Monkey Hall problem he proceeds to try to explain the whole thing... while they're still in a dire situation. At least Moe cuts him off before he can.

He also translated the archaic Japanese for Moe because she had no idea what most of it meant and just turned to him for help. Very cute. (And also helpful, because I wasn't familiar with most of it either lol...)

Moe and Daimon overall were such a fun combo! He takes her seriously enough that they openly discuss theories and he's willing to listen to her, but he's very gentle and knows she's a kid and scolds her sometimes. And even though Moe says she feels he's treating her like a child, he's really reasonable. It was great! I just love Daimon in general and I'd love to see him interacting more with the other mark bearers as well...

Also at the end, when she goes to visit the Kujou mansion to see Yashiki after he's recovered, Mashita is also there. Gee. How strange. I wonder why.

Moe getting nervous when Mashita clears his throat and stares directly at her, pausing for a bit... only for him to actually thank her. In a roundabout way. And still being condescending. But that's just how he is.

Also after Yashiki praises her, Mashita says something like 'Don't praise her too much, it'll get to her head and she'll get into something dangerous again." and one of the reply options is for Moe to be like "who was it that saved you again?" and he just clicks his tongue. Moe wins this round! That's about it! This ended up also being long as hell again but... if I had added it to my 'summary'... would've gotten even longer. I hope we get more DLC with little character tidbits like this!

[dailyshowchica]

Loki Cosplay part 4

Last time, on Loki Cosplay: https://www.tumblr.com/dailyshowchica/757900076083560448/avengers-loki-cosplay-part-3?source=share

So, with the jacket and tunic figured out, it's time to do the trousers and the boots. This installment will cover both of those. Last time, I had mused that chaps might be the way to go, so I got McCall's M7176, for chaps and other leather/leather-type accessories.

The pattern as written has the chaps lace up the side, which I'm not going to do. I followed the directions, but had to stitch up the outer sides to be able to try them on. The chaps are also supposed to be supported by a belt, which I don't want to have to wear under the tunic. So, changes I'll be making is removing the facings meant for the eyelets for side-lacing; and adding snap tape to the inside of the the chaps and the top of the leggings, to secure them in place. I may also run strips of snaps along the front and back of my legs. We will have to see. In any case, I'll be lining the chaps, so I can attached the snaps without having them show through the fabric. And in the interest of not wasting fabric, I thin the mockup will serve as the lining.

They'll also need to be shorter, since the trousers are tucked into knee-high boots.

Which brings us to another hurdle. I have had the same pair of tall black boots for over a decade. They were always a bit tricky to zip up, but I could manage. I never thought my calves were all THAT big. But, maybe it's because I'm deadlifting now, or using a standing desk for work, I COULD NOT get the boots to zip. Well, I could, but they pinched like hell, and wearing them for longer than a few minutes would be death by a thousand cuts. Pinches. You get the idea.

So, I had to buy new boots (on the DSW clearance rack, lucky me!). They fit well, but the fit is so close at the top that I can't really tuck anything into them.

So, it looks like I'll be wearing leggings tucked into boots, trousers over the leggings, and boot covers over the leggings.

I started with a pattern for the boot covers (McCall's M7706), but I wasn't liking what I ended up with.

I could not get them to wrap around my boots satisfactorily, and I was gonna have to make a lot of changes to make them look like Loki's boots. So, I dug out a knockoff Uggs/slippers pattern (the same one I used to make my Crowley boot covers because apparently the only snakeskin boots in my size only come with stiletto heels >:-( Anyway, it was this pattern: https://www.tillyandthebuttons.com/2017/11/free-pattern-make-your-own-snuggly.html).

Using the parts that wrap around the ankle/leg, I drew my own pattern on a sheet of butcher paper. Had to make them a bit taller, but that wasn't too hard. Then, holding it in place on the boot with paper clips, I traced the edge of the boot. Using reference photos, I was able to mimic the actual outline of the boot. My pattern is in 2 pieces: the leg/ankle cover and a tongue, I think. It correlates to the tongue of a running shoe in my mind, anyway. There will also be crosspieces that will snap in place to close the cover over the boot, but I didn't mock those up. Small pieces like that can be made more than once if needed, as they don't take a lot of fabric.

So, now that this is looking more like what I want.

So, with all the large costume pieces mocked up, it's time to start sewing the proper costume. And with Halloween less than 80 days away, I'd better get going!

[facelessxchurch]

SP HeroForge: The Unnamed (1)

“The breakers of worlds reckon themselves mighty, but I mock them, for I am drinker of suns.”

“I am immortal. Your true death is when I forget.”

“All things that live are born already Named. I am Unnamed, yet I live. All the magic of sorcerers comes to them by their Name. I have no Name, and yet the doors of all magic are thrown open before me.”

I initially tried to stick to your ref sheet of the original Unnamed, but HeroForge’s options do not lend themselves well to that corporeal-Nazgul look. Not enough chains or billowing sleeves and the tattered robe options look bad to me. So I gave up on that and went off-script entirely with this immortal mummified pharaoh vibe, mostly of my own invention.

HeroForge doesn’t have an option for floating pieces around the head for that King of the Darklands crown, (these models have to be 3D-printable) but I got reasonably close with a ring of horns.

Guess what sword that is he’s holding?

So in the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, there are a few lines that have been stuck in my head ever since I learned them. Echoing around in my mind, like I was always meant to hear them, like they were written for me. Which I guess in a way, they were. The Book of the Dead, which is also called the Book of Going Forth By Day, is actually a religious text, not some kind of spellbook of Old Kingdom necromancy or whatever it is depicted as in historically illiterate fiction.

The Ancient Egyptian religion is actually the source of True Name lore. For example, Isis, daughter of Ra, learns Ra’s True Name. She does this by poisoning him with an enchanted serpent she conjures, then tricking him into revealing his secret name to her so she can heal him. When he does so, she gains his power. Does this event remind you of anything that happened in phase 2 of Skulduggery Pleasant? I can think of one in particular.

Anyway, the lines are thus:

“I am the Great One, son of the Great One”

“I am fire, son of fire, whose head was given to him after it was cut off.”

These refer to the god Osiris, torn apart and later retrieved, stitched back together, embalmed and resurrected by his wife, or more generally the souls of the dead on their journey through the underworld to new life, who Osiris serves as a kind of exemplar for. But I found myself thinking about them again while customizing the Unnamed in HeroForge, and thought, what about a special version just for him?

“I am the Nameless, child of the Faceless.”

“I am no one, son of no one, over whom death has neither call nor claim.”

Thank you for coming to my dark magic TED talk

SP HeroForge: The Unnamed (2)

“Sorcerers become great when they own their Names. I own the ink with which those Names were written.”

Here are close-ups of his face, including some editions with sigils blazing with power carved into his skin.

I remembered that sculpt you linked before and tried to make his eyes look as much like it as I could. I also gave him the nose ring from that sculpt. Hope you appreciate

—

Ya trying a bit to hard on the quotes ngl. The only quote I like is the one based on the Book of the Dead. Tho the Unnamed describing himself as Child of the Faceless feels ooc for him. He infantilizes others by calling them ‘boy’ but not himself. Him calling himself ‘heir’ to the Faceless would seem more fitting to me.

Is he holding the Godkiller Sword?

I love that you based him off Egyptian lore. I’m pretty sure that Landy actually admitted in one interview that he based the name system on the Egyptian three names lore, yet you’re the first I saw do something with that information. So big bonus points for including that lore  The only thing I don’t like is that the bandages don’t cover him completely.

(I’d imagine Mev and Nef hate it too lol no one wants to see that nasty old man skin. Imagine this scene but with the Unnamed and Mev/Nef .3.)

But HF’s limits options are to blame for that and not you. That’s why I hardly play around with HF tbh bc not being able to do what I want drives me nuts haha.

You did an absolutely fantastic job on the eyes too! 👀 They look properly otherworldly and dripping with power! I’m a bit torn on the nose ring, but it does low key remind me of the main baddie from 300 which I would say fits thematically.

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader's feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: "I'd love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?" - @pulplorrd

A/N: Thank you all for the love regarding "Honey & Whiskey" - I loved writing that story, but I'm also super happy to finally be able to move onto something else! I very rarely write established Daryl x Reader stories, so this one was super fun to do!

This is part 1/2.

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Sunlight trickled in through the open window, a gentle breeze rousing you from an otherwise undisturbed sleep.

Cracking an eye open, you squinted against the sun rays streaming over your features as a soft sigh escaped past your lips. Burying your face into your pillow, you extended an arm out across the mattress, your brow furrowing when you felt an empty space beside you. Pushing up onto your elbow, you rubbed your eye with the heel of your palm before glancing over at the vacant spot.

“D?” you murmured softly, voice still thick with sleep. You cleared your throat, twisting onto your side as you surveyed the rest of the bedroom. “Daryl?” you called out once more, feeling a familiar pinprick of worry when no response followed.

You flipped onto your back with a huff, taking a moment to stretch out your tired muscles before untangling yourself from the sheets and climbing out of bed. Fighting back a yawn, you padded across the floor and out into the hallway, listening for movement. When you heard a sudden clatter, followed by a rasped cuss, the corner of your mouth quirked up.

You made your way towards the noise, feeling some of the tightness in your chest fade with each step you drew near.

The end of the hallway led to a small, yet quaint, kitchen. When you reached the entryway, you faltered, observing the scene before you — Daryl was crouched down, one hand wielding a frying pan, the other scooping up a small mound of partially cooked eggs from off the floor and tossing them back into the skillet.

You stifled back the laugh building up inside you. “Hi,” you remarked, making your arrival known.

The archer’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, a flash of what looked like embarrassment flitting over his features before he ducked his head back down, effectively concealing his face with his hair. “Mornin’,” he rumbled, quickly wiping up the rest of the egg residue with the sleeve of his shirt.

A small smile pulled at your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the doorway. “Whatcha doin’?” you singsonged playfully, eyebrows raised.

Daryl’s brow furrowed as he stood, staring down defeatedly at the frying pan in his grip. “Cookin’,” he finally sighed, shrugging a shoulder up.

“I see that,” you laughed softly, crossing the length of the kitchen as the archer placed the skillet back onto the stovetop. “Smells good,” you remarked, coming to stand at his side.

“Dropped the —” Daryl spat out another curse as he attempted to scrape the burnt egg bits off the bottom of the pan. “— the damn — the damn thing,” he growled exasperatedly, waving at the pan with the spatula he held.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “No one expects you to be Gordon Ramsey,” you teased, thoroughly amused.

But the reference seemed to go right over Daryl’s head as he turned to give you a confused look.

Your brow furrowed. “You know…Gordon Ramsey,” you reiterated pointedly.

“Huh?” the archer grunted, clearly at a loss.

“Oh, come on, you don’t — you’ve never heard of Gordon Ramsey?” you asked incredulously. “You know, Gordon Ramsey! The mean British chef!”

Daryl scrunched his nose up before shaking his head. “Ain’t never heard a’ that,” he rumbled, focusing back on the frying pan.

“Wow,” you murmured in disbelief. “That is so…so devastating,” you sighed, mockingly dramatic.

The archer snorted a laugh, the sound eliciting a rush of warmth through you. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, gently nudging you with his elbow.

You grinned cheekily, leaning over and resting your head against the curve of Daryl’s shoulder. He froze for a moment, old habits reappearing briefly before he relaxed beneath you and continued stirring the eggs.

An overwhelming sense of calm rushed over you, a feeling only the archer ever seemed to evoke. You closed your eyes, breathing in the comfort he so effortlessly exuded — and it wasn’t in anything he said or anything he did, it was just purely and wholeheartedly who he was. He was grounded, he was stable, he was here.

You’d missed this — you’d missed him.

The past month hadn’t been the easiest — Alexandria was still recovering from the destruction the dead had caused — but things were beginning to look up. The hundreds of slain walkers had finally been removed from within the community, Carl was recovering from his gunshot wound, and the wall that’d been destroyed was almost entirely rebuilt. There was a sense of hope, of purpose, in the air — your people had stared death in the face and prevailed.

But supplies were beginning to wear thin.

Most were hesitant to venture outside the walls, to leave the sanctuary that was Alexandria, and honestly, you didn’t blame them for that — especially after the attack brought on by the Wolves. You’d seen what other horrors existed outside those walls — hell, you’d lived through it. There was a big, bad, scary world just behind the scraps of steel and metal welded together surrounding the community — there was the dead, the undead, and the living.

The latter was most terrifying.

Still, there were mouths to feed, injuries to tend to, and somebody would have to leave eventually. It wasn’t much of a surprise when Daryl volunteered himself — that was just the kind of man he was. Aaron had decided to join him, determined to continue his search for any other lost souls seeking asylum.

But the supply run had taken longer than expected.

They’d only planned to be gone for three days — but after the fourth, fifth, sixth day that rolled by without any sign of return, you were nearly beside yourself with worry. It wasn’t that you thought they couldn’t handle themselves out there, you just wanted them home — you wanted him home. The tightness in your chest expanded with each day that passed, unease gnawing at your insides, fear settling like an anchor in the pit of your stomach.

Then just yesterday — day seven — right before sunset, Daryl and Aaron had come marching through the front gate. Apparently, their intended route had been cut off by a horde, which led to some rerouting, which resulted in an empty gas tank, which forced them to abandon their car, which meant walking the near-fifty miles back home.

“I was so worried,” you suddenly murmured, drawing yourself back to the present as you lifted your head off Daryl’s shoulder and glanced up at him.

The archer’s eyes flashed towards you for just a brief second before focusing downward, turning off the stovetop, and pulling the frying pan off the heat. “I came back,” he finally rasped after a long pause.

“Yeah,” you sounded, nodding your head absently, his words not making you feel all that better.

Daryl caught your gaze once more before he reached out and placed his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “C’mon, let’s eat,” he rumbled, pulling away a moment later.

You made a soft noise in protest, savoring the rare show of affection and earning an amused eye roll from the archer as he turned away — though you noticed the tips of his ears redden in the slightest.

When you’d first arrived at Alexandria, Deanna had provided two houses to be split amongst your entire group. As time went on and the safe haven had proven to be just that, slowly but surely, everyone began branching out and finding their own homes to settle into. Part of you had reservations about moving into one of the empty brownstone apartments, just you and Daryl, but things had been going well between you — really well, actually.

You settled atop one of the stools lining the small island in the middle of the kitchen, resting your elbows against the smooth marble countertop as you watched Daryl move about. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard, along with a fork from the utensil drawer before swinging around and sliding the items towards you. It was almost eerie how natural things felt in that moment — like a glimpse of what life might’ve looked like had the world not ended and the dead had stayed dead.

The archer grabbed the frying pan, turning towards you once more before using the spatula to dish out a hearty helping of eggs onto your plate. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the look of intense concentration masking his features — as though diffusing a bomb and not simply serving breakfast.

Daryl glanced up at you from beneath his hair, doing a quick double-take. “What?” he grunted defensively, appearing increasingly self-conscious all of the sudden.

“Nothing,” you quickly shook your head, letting out a soft laugh and picking up the utensil. “Thank you,” you grinned, gathering up a forkful of eggs.

“Mhm,” he grumbled in response, drumming his fingers against the counter as he carefully watched for your reaction, his nervousness evident — and incredibly endearing.

You took a big bite, humming a noise of satisfaction soon after. “Mmm,” you sounded around the mouthful of food before swallowing. “Chef Dixon,” you remarked cheekily.

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah right,” he rasped sarcastically, though you watched him visibly relax. He remained standing opposite of you, opting out from using a plate and eating the remaining eggs straight from the frying pan instead, scooping up a handful with his fingertips and shoveling them into his mouth.

A comfortable silence settled over the kitchen as the pair of you continued eating, sneaking glances at one another while the other wasn’t looking. You couldn’t help yourself — he was just so damn captivating. Even standing before you, devouring a panful of eggs with his bare hands like some kind of wild animal, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach flip-flop.

You’d never felt this way about anyone in your entire life — even before the end. But now…well, now you’d live this terrifying life a thousand times over if it meant finding him.

The sudden realization of what exactly you were feeling hit you hard, catching you off guard and causing you to choke on the mouthful of eggs you were chewing. Daryl’s head snapped up as you abruptly coughed, covering your mouth as your eyes began to water.

The archer was at your side a moment later. “Hey, ya alright?” he rumbled, gently patting his hand against your back.

You quickly nodded, attempting to wave him off as your cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “Yeah — yeah, no, I’m —” you coughed once more, the eggs finally dislodging from your throat. “I’m — I’m good,” you managed weakly, wiping at your eyes. “Jesus,” you wheezed as a sheepish laugh slipped past your lips, your coughs finally dying down.

“Ya sure?” Daryl pressed as he pulled his hand away from your back and rested it on top of your shoulder instead.

“No, no, yeah, no, I’m fine,” you quickly brushed him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” you lied, hoping your excuse sounded convincing enough as the feeling of vulnerability threatened to consume you.

If the archer was suspicious, he kept his expression neutral. He nodded once before softly squeezing your shoulder and pulling away — though he lingered nearby instead of moving back to where he’d originally stood.

“Anyways,” you pushed forward, clearing your throat, desperately wanting to ignore the revelation you’d had. “We, uh — we almost finished rebuilding the wall while you guys were gone. Rick’s got a crew working on dismantling the old one, too.”

Daryl watched your expression for a second longer than necessary, like he knew something was up but wasn’t exactly sure what. But after a moment, he relented. “Saw it on the way in las’ night,” he murmured, leaning down and resting his forearms against the edge of the counter. “Looks pretty solid.”

You nodded, huffing a breath. “Abraham’s leading the team — I’m pretty sure you couldn’t drive a tank through that wall.”

The archer scoffed. “Damn right,” he rasped before lowering his gaze, wringing his hands together atop the counter.

You studied his demeanor, feeling a pinprick of unease. “What is it?”

Daryl glanced up, flicking his hair away from his eyes with a quick jerk of the head. “M’, uh — m’ headin’ out again today,” he finally confessed, standing up straight.

You tried to keep your expression indifferent despite your stomach dropping. “Oh,” you voiced dishearteningly. “But — but you just got back,” you pointed out softly, hoping you didn’t sound as disappointed as you felt.

“I know,” he said, staring down at the counter, avoiding your gaze. “Jus’ a day trip, is all — Tara heard ‘bout a motel strip, maybe fifteen miles from here. Shouldn’t take more than a couple a’ hours. We’ll be in an’ out.”

You nodded slowly, pushing around the leftover eggs on your plate with your fork. “Alright,” you straightened up on your stool. “Well, I’ll come —”

Daryl started shaking his head before you could even finish your sentence, his eyes meeting yours. “Y/N —”

“Come on, Daryl,” you interjected, already figuring his response, swiveling in your seat to face him head-on. “I’m losing my mind here, okay? I’ve gotta get back out there and — and actually do something for this place.”

“Ya do enough already,” he shot back vehemently.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as you slid off the stool. “And besides, we’ll cover more ground faster if there’s three of us versus two,” you continued brusquely, gathering all the stray dishes on the counter.

“That ain’t the damn point,” Daryl growled, following you towards the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, and it's also not your decision," you finally snapped.

When the archer didn’t respond, stiffening beside you instead, a wave of guilt washed over you.

Exhaling a heavy breath, you gently set the dishes down in the sink before turning to face him. “Look, I get it,” you murmured softly. “I get it, D. But I can’t just hide out here for the rest of my life,” you explained. “Especially when you’re the one risking yours.”

Some of the fire in Daryl’s gaze diminished, replaced with a heaviness that wasn’t there before as his shoulders drooped.

You felt something tug at your heart as you stepped forward, reaching towards him and brushing away the hair that fell over his face. “I just got you back,” you whispered. “And I’m not ready to let go of that yet.”

When another long moment passed without a response, you were almost certain Daryl was going to object once more — but then, despite the tension in his features, his eyes softened.

“Alright,” he finally rumbled, the word seemingly caught in his throat — as though it physically pained him to say it.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Alright,” you reiterated with a resolute nod.

Daryl sighed, shaking his head as he nudged you forward. “Well, go on an’ get some shit together before I change my mind,” he grunted.

You quickly straightened, imitating a soldier’s stance. “Yes, Chef,” you saluted the archer, breaking the tension.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, shooting you an unamused look. “Shut it,” he rasped — though you noticed his lips twitch up a moment later as he turned on the kitchen sink, picking up one of the dirty dishes.

You stood up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss against the archer’s cheek, the skin where your lips touched tinging pink soon after. “Just give me two minutes,” you said, squeezing his arm as you brushed by him.

Daryl cleared his throat gruffly, caught off guard by the gesture. “M’ countin’!” he called after you.

“Yeah, yeah!” you shouted back, allowing the warmth that filled your chest to carry you the rest of the way down the hall.

Within the hour, you were on the road.

A cool rush of air swept through the passenger side window as you tilted your head back against the headrest and closed your eyes, basking in the sun's gentle rays. The wind danced amongst strands of your tousled hair before settling them back down against your features. Tucking away the freed wisps behind your ears, you opened your eyes, studying the scenery flashing by.

Rows and rows and towering trees lined either side of the long and winding road you found yourself on, a seemingly endless forest just behind it. The car hummed beneath you, passing by long-since abandoned vehicles and scattered debris, continuing to barrel down an otherwise empty highway.

It was strange — there was something somewhat comforting, something sort of nostalgic about being back on the road. Like a glimpse into another lifetime.

“— and I swear, this dude was like, six feet tall. He was one of those, you know, typical chauvinistic pricks, thinking every woman he meets at a bar wants to have sex with him,” Tara’s voice rang from the backseat, drawing you from your reverie. “But you should’ve seen the look on his face when I knocked him on his ass — priceless,” she jeered, an air of pride in her tone.

You shifted in the passenger seat, the corner of your mouth quirking up as you looked back at her. “So, is that when you realized you wanted to join the police academy?” you asked curiously.

“No,” Tara shook her head, a smirk toying at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back. “That’s when I realized I like women.”

A laugh bubbled out of you at her response, Tara’s smile simply widening as she shrugged unabashedly, picking up the map splayed out across her lap. As your laughter died down, you started turning to face forward — though you’d only made it halfway when Daryl caught your eye.

The archer sat in the driver’s seat, one hand resting casually on top of the steering wheel, the other propped up against the door. His window was rolled down, the breeze from outside stirring the hair that hung just above his eyes. But what grabbed your attention were his eyes, glinting ocean blue as he glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth faintly lifting.

God, the way he looked at you…

You fought back a smile as you faced forward, wondering what you could’ve possibly done in your life to deserve to be looked at like that. The feeling you’d shoved away earlier at breakfast came rushing back, setting your senses ablaze as you worked on controlling your thrumming pulse.

You loved him.

A heaviness grew in the pit of your stomach as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Fuck.

“Here’s the turn,” Tara’s voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

The motel came into view, set back behind a mass of trees, partially hidden from the main road. The car jostled side to side as Daryl drove it down the gravel driveway, leading to the complex. There was a handful of abandoned cars parked sporadically throughout the small parking lot, some trash and debris littering the area, and four lone walkers ambling aimlessly.

Daryl pulled the car off to the side, parking it near the trees and out of sight from the main road, the engine drawing the dead’s attention. “I got ‘em,” he rasped, unsheathing his hunting knife and sliding out of the car in one swift motion.

Your lip quirked up as you watched him dispose of the dead, as quickly and effortlessly as breathing — he’d been made for this world, you were sure of it.

“You coming?” Tara’s voice broke through your thoughts once more, the hint of a mischievous smile ghosting over her features — she’d clearly been watching you ogle at the archer.

You felt your cheeks flush at the scrutiny. “Mhm, yep,” you nodded quickly, shaking away the embarrassment and climbing out of the car.

Daryl crossed back towards you, wiping the walker blood from the blade of his knife onto his jeans and flicking the hair from his face.

“Show-off,” Tara smirked, adjusting the straps of her backpack as she passed him, heading towards the stretch of rooms just ahead.

The archer simply scoffed a breath, rolling his eyes, though you spotted the hint of amusement in his gaze as he waited for you to catch up.

“It’s so weird seeing you without your crossbow,” you remarked, nearing a moment later.

Daryl grunted a breath, swiveling around and falling in step beside you, neither of your momentum’s faltering. “Jus’ wait ’til I find that asshole,” he grumbled, recalling the man he’d met in the woods all those days ago.

“We’ll get you a new one someday,” you smiled, unsheathing your own knife as you approached the motel. “Or you could use the RPG and blow more shit up.”

Daryl snorted a laugh.

“So, how do we wanna do this?” Tara called from up ahead, pausing in front of the center of the strip.

“Room by room?” you suggested, stopping at her side. “One of us can stay on watch, maybe check these other cars for supplies?”

“I got it,” Daryl offered with a nod, re-holstering his gun. “I’ll see if I can get any a’ these guys up an’ runnin’, bring ‘em back home.”

“There’s also an empty gas canister in the trunk,” Tara motioned towards their car. “Salvage what you can,” she shrugged before turning on her heel and heading towards the first room.

You moved to follow, only stopping when Daryl reached out and grabbed your wrist. You turned, spotting the worry in his gaze he tried to hide. “Ya be careful, ya hear me?” he rasped, sliding his grip down and squeezing your hand softly.

“I will,” you nodded, squeezing back, feeling your heartbeat pick up a fraction.

God, you loved him.

The three of you moved quietly and efficiently — you and Tara swept through each room, working your way down the entire motel strip while Daryl picked through the parking lot. The building had been left practically untouched — and besides the supplies you’d managed to scavenge from the motel itself, you’d even found luggage and suitcases left behind by guests who’d apparently vacated in a hurry.

By the time you'd made it halfway down the strip, the packs you brought had been filled to the brim.

“Holy shit-balls, this place is a goldmine,” Tara huffed, tossing her backpack down beside yours in the trunk of your car.

You let out a laugh in disbelief. “I can’t believe it,” you shook your head before scanning the parking lot for Daryl — you spotted him hunched over the hood of a car, his hands buried in the engine, tinkering around. “We should use some of the suitcases we found for the rest of the stuff,” you continued, focusing back on Tara.

“Cool beans,” she shot you a thumbs-up before motioning towards the center of the strip. “Wanna check out the front office before we hit the other half?”

“Sure,” you nodded, slamming the truck shut and falling in step with her as the two of you headed back towards the motel.

When you felt someone watching, you glanced over your shoulder, catching Daryl’s eye — his furrowed brow softened, the corner of his mouth twitching as you sent him a wink and turned back around.

God damn it, you loved him.

Dividing either side of the motel strip was the front office, built just beyond a large swimming pool. There was a tarp draped across the pool, covering most of the swampy green water, though debris floated around the murky edges. Your nose scrunched up as you passed, a funky smell wafting from the mucky water.

“Gross,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself before you glanced over at Tara. “So, you and Denise, huh?” you asked curiously, waggling your eyebrows.

Tara huffed a breath, but you didn’t miss the blush creeping over her cheeks. “I could say the same about you and Dixon,” she shot back, fighting off a smirk.

You rolled your eyes despite the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Oh, come on —”

The rest of your sentence died away, falling from your lips when a sudden growl sounded, breaking the otherwise silent air. You stopped short, Tara halting just beside you. Your breath caught in your throat as you strained your ears, listening for where the noise had come from.

Sure enough, a moment later, a lone walker stumbled into view, coming out from behind the front office.

You let out the breath you’d been holding, feeling Tara do the same. “Hang on, I got it,” you motioned for her to stay put as you jogged ahead, pulling your knife from the holster around your waist. You braced your arm against the biter’s throat, plunging the blade of your knife into its skull in one, swift motion before it dropped at your feet.

But just before you turned to head back, you heard it again — snarling.

Except for this time, it wasn’t just one.

Your stomach dropped as a small herd, about a dozen dead ones, suddenly rounded the corner behind the office, their sights set on you.

“Oh fuck,” you swore, stumbling backward, vaguely aware of Tara yelling your name. But when you spun around, you realized that she too was no longer alone. “Look out!” you shouted, motioning to the two additional walkers quickly approaching from behind her.

As she turned away from you, fighting off the dead that’d snuck up on her, you took off into a sprint, putting some distance between you and the horde.

Tara stabbed her knife into the temple of the first, though the second was on her just as soon. It gripped its fingers around her forearm, pulling her flesh closer and closer towards its snapping jaw…

Just before it could sink its teeth into her skin, you managed to grab it, twisting a fistful of its hair around your fingers and yanking its head backward. You drove your blade through its decaying forehead, stilling it instantly.

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

A/N: EEEEEEK! Y'all know me and how much I love cliffhangers :)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[mybabygirlelsa]

So I was watching Frozen II the other day and the whole confusion about the voice visited again. Like, who's calling Elsa? Is it Ahtohallan? Her mom? Her own self? Jennifer Lee (I think) said that the voice belongs to Iduna, but that doesn't sit well with me. And then I remembered that I've written my own theory about it, which why not share it with you? 😂

It's probably very inaccurate based on the things we know, but it was really fun to write!

Hope you enjoy!

(A/N: italics are extracts of the book "Frozen II: The Junior Novel")

The Fifth Spirit

Very long ago, in a time no man can recall, humans weren't the dominant species on Earth. There were no rules, yet neither freewill.

Or so it was thought.

People lived under nature's laws -they interacted with it, respected it greatly but mostly feared it. Prophecies about nature's rage were foolishly believed and seriously taken into account.

But it wasn't nature they truly feared -it was its magic.

Humans never succeeded to understand magic -it was considered unreachable. Only a small group of people that repeatedly refused to take part in the "vision of civilization" decided to co- exist with the magical elements and spirits of nature. These people were the first human inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest and the ancestors of the future indigenous Northuldra.

As time went on, people grew more and more arrogant, thought they were capable of everything and gradually stopped believing in nature's power. They began sacrificing and falsely taking advantage of nature's goods. Seeing their audacity getting out of hand, the spirits of air, fire, water and earth sought help from Ahtohallan, the mythical river said to hold all the answers.

The then- small glacier, foreseeing the consequences of people's hauteur, sacrificed a part of herself and sculpted a female figure, with hair and skin as white and pale as freshly fallen snow and eyes as blue as shining ice. With her ancient magic, the glacier gave life to the woman, who was none other than the Fifth Spirit.

According to scanty myths, the woman had achieved great and extraordinary accomplishments in her previous life and the magical river had collected and kept her soul to be used for greater things when the right time would arrive. However, those speculations never came to be confirmed.

Nonetheless, why she was there and why she was chosen, that she never came to know. And a part of her wondered if she ever would.

People's conceit kept growing in an astonishingly fast pace while the Fifth Spirit was given a duty -to connect humans and the magic of nature, as well as protect the only home she would ever know in her existence; the Enchanted Forest.

Apart from her duty, she was also given a power no human had known and no spirit had possessed -the ability to create ice and snow, to control and bring winter. After connecting with the other elements, she was also gifted and given powers to represent all four spirits, such as wings, the ability to strike lightning and control the water, as well as the power to cause earthquakes.

The Fifth Spirit was sent to humans after fully mastering her powers and understanding her purpose. Under the guidance of the unseen deity, people began having faith in nature and underlying yet great respect.

However, this was not an easy task to achieve. It took her almost a hundred years to restore people's faith and trust -but she successfully accomplished it.

Each passing day her power grew significantly, and so did her fondness for her creator. To show her gratitude, she used her unprecedented power and expanded the length and height of her beloved glacier, making Ahtohallan an extension of her powers and mostly, herself.

To honour her child, Ahtohallan assigned to her a new task; she had to visit a chosen woman's dream and recite a poem that would soon be heard from every young Northuldra mother's lips -the lullaby of Ahtohallan. The old glacier also gifted her with a beautiful staff that could summon power and turn into a crystal necklace when unneeded.

Having already mentioned the lullaby, it's important to subjoin the meaning behind a specific lyric -"dive down deep into her sound, but not too far or you'll be drowned". The youthful spirit created a sheer drop that ended to an ice sheet to keep there the utmost truth, for only the most selfless souls would be fearless enough to ignore the warning, as well as brave enough to dive into the abyss. That, if anyone would ever manage to reach the frozen river. For the mighty Water Nokk -who shared a very special bond with the Fifth Spirit- guarded her secrets.

For the very start of her existence -as well as in the meantime of her mission to restore people's faith-, the Fifth Spirit would travel across the Earth to bring winter and joy to the children. She was the very first winter spirit  -Jack Frost made his appearance a lot later. Legend has it that she was the Snow Queen the Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen, spoke about in his fairytale. However, unseen as she was, this theory had never had a requisite basis and was never further explained.

As time went on, the forlorn deity was assigned tasks that aimed for specific, chosen people freeing their potential, resulting their lifework to be considered admirable, and almost magical. All spirits had agreed there were and there would be humans that deserved to be known for their own "magic". The Fifth Spirit helped people accomplish dreams and bring visions to life, as she was the only spirit that had the power to transform, painlessly get into one's head to guide and/or give advice and take a human form of any needed age as well as gender when one's achievement was considered of great difficulty. She even had the power to seek a specific ability she didn't possess -which would later on be declared hers- so her efforts could be crowned with success. 

She could do anything. There was only one thing she was unable to do; feel.

She was emotionless.

Even her fondness for her mother was taken away after the second century passed. It was thought that if she was given the ability to feel, she would show mercy and compassion and her unlimited patience would spare.

So forsaken she remained. Nameless and isolated, unseen and walked through by people, having to serve her cause on her own, merely meeting with the other spirits on specific occasions.

One of them was on the first day of spring every five years, when everything was blooming, blossoming and growing. A great part of the Enchanted Forest was her deed -she expanded its length and grew more trees, more grass, bloomed more flowers, added more bushes, a small river -where the Earth Giants would be sleeping in the future- that floated into a waterfall which ended at a sheer drop, a pit full of black rocks later known as the Lost Caverns. Because of this, the spirits gave her the appellation "The Reincarnation of Mother Nature" -the only name she was ever given.

For most of her existence -as long as she was waiting  for her next task to be handed-, she lived close to her glacier. Away from any kind of life, on her own, in her Ice Palace of memories. She spent so many years close to it, that her fondness returned and she wanted to praise her treasured river.

So she gifted her her voice.

Her act was pure and sincere and played a significant role in the Enchanted Forest's and spirit's future. The iconic and quintessential call would later on be heard, and then, much later, known worldwide as one of the most famous melodies of the Gregorian Chant -the "Dies Irae".

During one of her missions, on the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest, while she was making sure the protector of people, the famous warrior of old, Aren, had achieved his life-changing goal, something changed. Aren was a little bit like her, a protector who served people as his cause. She was protecting the Forest and was serving both nature and humans. Yet a big difference grew the gap between them; he was loved and surrounded by people.

He was feeling.

She wasn't.

Occasionally, she would roam the night skies to witness a life she had never known, to witness how people felt.

And remind herself how she couldn't.

She had been told to distance herself from sunlight, as if she was a single snowflake that would melt when she met with sun's light. She had been told humans were weak, mischievous and unpredictable creatures. She had been told she was greater and superior. Yet she caught herself longing to spend a day warm in the sun, longing to see people dancing...

Longing to feel.

And so she did. Painfully, her as cold and hard as ice heart melted and its first beats sounded like heavy raindrops hitting the dry soil loudly.

She had never felt so alive. She had never... felt.

However, her accidental action required a cost to be paid.

The same, previously mentioned scanty myths, referred to another woman's soul, which had been collected and kept by Ahtohallan. She was certain she would be the one given the great purpose and when she wasn't, her soul never reached the heavens as she swore revenge on the young soul of the Fifth Spirit. Hiding her true intentions, in Ahtohallan's chambers she remained, nurturing the young spirit like mother Ahtohallan did.

Once she learned the youthful deity had broken the laws she had been restrained from ignoring, the resentful soul brought her bitter foe to the Enchanted Forest, secretly from Ahtohallan, and for the first time in forever, she allowed her to feel.

While she burned her.

The Fifth Spirit was set on fire and was obliged to feel her skin melting, like snow on a bright, sunny day. It was unimaginably painful. Her haunting call, that was later on used by a young Northuldra girl, tore the sky apart and meant only one thing;

"Help me".

If it wasn't for Ahtohallan's and Water Nokk's intervention, the Fifth Spirit would have vanished. The evil soul was banished to the Lost Caverns, a place with no way out, where one would be at their lowest emotional point from that day forward. However, before she was sent away, the hateful soul put a curse on the traumatized spirit -when she failed to serve her cause, she would be burned. If the mistreating soul still existed, that no one ever confirmed.

After her adored water horse healed her with the water's curative properties, the Fifth Spirit swore not to feel again, and accepted the prohibition of getting any near the land where the future kingdom of Arendelle would come to be.

Thousands of years passed and the unseen spirit's heart had gotten colder than ice, preventing her from repeating her mistake. Ahtohallan and the other spirits mourned for her, for she was not who she had once been, and made great efforts to change the past's design, intentionally forgetting what had been done was unchangeable.

Despite her change -and most likely because of it-, the Fifth Spirit had dedicated most of her attention to her precious forest. Seeing this, Ahtohallan assigned her the task of looking after a young Northuldra girl, so the deity could be surrounded by her forest.

The Fifth Spirit and the young Northuldra were somehow connected. Iduna, the young Northuldra, would occasionally hear the eerie melody of the spirit, since the deity would "sing to those who hear". The girl would also be seen playing around with Gale, the feisty Wind Spirit. Iduna was connected with nature in an unexplainable way -she was different and destined for great things; she was chosen.

One day, ships arrived at the entrance to the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest -wooden ships full of people who were determined to create a home for themselves near the water. Soon, the kingdom of Arendelle came to be and the Fifth Spirit knew what that meant.

The newcomers were welcomed by the Northuldra's ruler when he met with their king on a cliff as the sun set. The leaders firmly shook hands at this meeting, which was seen by others only in hazy silhouette. Yet the deity saw everything clearly.

To demonstrate their goodwill and friendship, the Arendellians built a mighty dam in the Enchanted Forest. They placed it on the river that flowed into the Arenfjord, the deep blue body of water upon which Arendelle Castle had been built. The dam connected all the lands and made it easier for the Northuldra and their reindeer to roam. King Runeard, the leader of Arendelle, offered it to the Northuldra as a symbol of peace and cooperation between the two groups. But the powerful spirit could see past his facade.

When the dam was complete, the Arendellians threw a great celebration. Northuldra from all over the land gathered at the base of the dam to mingle and feast with the Arendellians. The Fifth Spirit tried to warn the indigenous tribe about the trickery behind the kindness for months but no one listened -they were all busy welcoming and celebrating with the frenemies.

The poor spirit could see how it would all end and attempted to warn young Iduna. But it was too late -the battle had already begun.

Arendelle had turned out to be harmful once again. And as the lush beauty of her beloved forest was being destroyed, as the chaos continued beneath her, she cried, with her plangent call shaking the trees and crumbling the ground.

Her cry echoed as another voice synchronized with it -a pleading for help. Her eyes spotted Iduna holding a young boy in her embrace, as the girl called for help in agony. The Fifth Spirit, overcome with grief of centuries, wailed her eerie melody, mourning for her forest.

As well as for herself.

Her end was near and she was about to meet her tragic fate. She had failed to protect the Forest. She had failed to serve her cause -and the curse continued.

The Wind Spirit heard her call and took the children to safe ground. But it was the only one who listened.

Overcome with rage, the Fifth Spirit cried sorrowfully one last time before a mist, as thick and impenetrable as stone, enveloped the forest, as a promise she would forever guard it from foreigners. Then she disappeared, since people had stopped listening.

However, this was not her end. The Wind Spirit carried the remaining bits of her body to the devastated glacier that grieved over her lost daughter for days, in the meantime causing great parts of herself to collapse. The Water Spirit, overwhelmed with pain as well, told the river about the girl the Fifth Spirit was assigned to look after. Ahtohallan understood the importance of the young Northuldra's deed and finally let the soul of the deity find its new body, knowing she would not return the same.

The Fifth Spirit's soul travelled across the skies and on the Northern Lights above Arendelle it remained, looking after young Iduna, for she was destined to carry in her womb the reincarnation of the lost spirit.

And so, the spirits waited -waited for the Fifth Spirit to be reborn and return to where she belonged.

They waited for her to rise again.

[joonapeach]

skylines (nj)

college!au, where namjoon openly chases you and you love running from those advances. that is, until everyone in your architecture department finds out you’re the daughter of the man behind the biggest architecture firm in the country. 

alternatively... namjoon is a simp for you until he’s suddenly not 

author’s note: sometimes i just wanna write for the fun of it and not take life so seriously so this is what i churned out. 8.8k words of some minor pining and mini character development for our oc because tbh, being a student sucks and you get so caught up in your insecurity sometimes

also reposted on ao3

[this is fluff and light-hearted, with a bit of a rivalry trope, 8.8k words]

You love skylines.

From when you were six years old with short legs, you remember craning your neck up high to see each building that surrounded you. At that age, the world seemed big and you seemed small but you loved it. You loved seeing the world build and function around you. 

From then on outwards began your decades-long relationship with your first love - buildings. 

Well, you called it buildings and your father called it architecture. You were the daughter of his dreams, his proclaimed legacy. What luck I have, he would say, that I have a daughter who will grow up to work beside me.

Growing up, those comments were your food for the day. You would eat up his encouragements and cheers throughout high school, serving him back your high grades on a gold platter.

This is the way you’ve worked through your past nineteen years. It’s a little basic, maybe, but you’ve operated on your father’s ambition for you. 

But like all good things, even that seemed to come to an end. Since entering university and embarking on your path as an architecture major, the once comforting encouragement has slowly changed to a choking chain around you.

You’ve learnt a lot in two semesters at university. You’ve learnt how to finish assignments the night before, how to memorize historical names and dates minutes before an exam, you’ve learnt how fun it can be to be with your friends.

But most of all, you’ve learnt that… you’re not special. 

You’re surrounded by overachievers, all like you, all perhaps better than you in some way. You’re the daughter of the man behind HN Architects, but some of your classmates look like they’re on their way to the top of the chain.

You always thought you deserved your seat, your privilege, because you’d worked for it. These days, it doesn’t seem much like that. And you worry that your father is thinking the very same thing.

Let’s finish this assignment, you sigh, there’s not much left. Let’s do it, you give yourself a pep talk, fighting back a yawn at the practically empty library before dawn.

Books crash down on your table, right beside you. You shake, being pulled so abruptly out of your reverie. Although maybe you should be thankful, for the sleep that was threatening your productivity seems to have run away from the sound. 

“Excuse me,” you scoff loudly, making your presence known to the disturbance.

From above the tower of books on the desk, peeks out a familiar dimpled smile. His eyes glint with mischief and despite the early hours of the day, his face reads no exhaustion.

“You’re excused.” 

You groan. “There’s an entire empty library, you can only sit here?”

“Studying is more fun with company,” he retorts with a grin.

“It’s studying. It’s not meant to be fun,” you reply, hostile. “Didn’t I tell you to stop showing up in front of me with no purpose?’

He smiles again, confidently with his eyes unmoving from you. It’s almost unnerving, how much you see Namjoon smile in front of you. Architecture students are not meant to be this happy. They aren’t meant to carry a warm smile everywhere they go, looking at people with such attentive intensity.

“I haven’t shown up without a purpose though,” he says. “I came to ask for help with the assignment.” 

This time, you smile. But your smile is one of disbelief and amusement.

“Yes, that’s very believable, Namjoon,” you cock a brow. “You’re the one finishing assignments a week early and screwing up the curve for everyone but I’m sure I could help you with whatever you need.”

He grins, taking a seat next to you. “Hey, sometimes even I need help,” he replies but then pauses. “Ah, you’re right. I should’ve gone with coming to offer you help. That’s a lot more believable.”

“I don’t need your help,” you argue. “Stop showing up in front of me. And stop subtly flexing in front of me. It’s nauseating.”

He throws his head back and laughs. He looks so happy that it almost stirs a scary, fluttering feeling in your stomach. “You should be the last person to feel jealous of me, _____.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, because I’m the one who threatens your ranking?”

He shakes his head. “No, because I would help you with everything if you just asked.”

You still, for a moment. His words lull over in your head and they feel a bit weird. Your major is competitive and cut-throat, even if it doesn’t appear it. To you, Namjoon is your biggest rival, your biggest worry because you can never match up to him.

“Well, I’m not asking you for a thing. Is there really nothing you stress over?”

“No, there is. I just don’t cry over my textbook the nights before exams.”

“That was one time,” you mumble, infuriated. “And I had every right to be crying that night. It was the hardest exam that term and I have big shoes to fill. I can’t afford to be bothering people, like you,” you say with an intentional offense.

He takes none. “Big shoes? Who’s putting expectations on you?”

“Just some family. Stop being nosy,” you say swiftly. “And you didn’t even tell me. What do you stress over?”

He pauses, not giving a response for a moment. You wonder if it’s because there’s really nothing he stresses over. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. While you and your friends have all cracked under the pressure of your degree, you especially with the added burden of your father… Namjoon has not once shown signs of struggle. He walks through life with that smile every day.

“Finding work,” he says after a while.

“Huh?”

He meets your eyes. “You asked me what I worry about. I worry about finding work when I graduate,” he says sincerely.

You bite back a rude laugh. “Please, Namjoon. Get real,” you roll your eyes. “You really think you can worry about that? You were the top of our class all last year.”

You don’t do a good job of hiding your envy, but it’s beyond you to care at this point. You’ve become this person now. The one who seeks everything out of their number on the paper.

“But I don’t have any connections. I come from a village, practically, as you like to call it,” he says with a chuckle. It stings you a little, he’s referring to the time you and your friends had put him down out of jealousy with those words. But he doesn’t say it like it bothers him. He says it like it’s true. 

“So?” you say, looking away from him and back on your sheet. “You don’t always need connections.”

“Not always, but a lot of the time,” he shrugs.

“Any company who takes a look at your record and speaks to you for five minutes would want you, Namjoon,” you exhale, knowing your words are 100% true. You think about your father, about HN Architects. Namjoon’s the kind of guy who your father wouldn’t think twice about hiring. He’s the epitome of someone who could fill any shoes you gave him.

You scoff bitterly. “Wait a second. Why am I comforting you right now? You’re a success story in the making,” you snap and he laughs, even though you didn’t intend it to be a joke. “You should be comforting me, you idiot. I don’t even know if I’ll have Mr. Labadee’s assignment done in time for submission!”

He puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, don’t worry. Why do you think I’m here?” he looks away, still smiling as he takes the pencil from your hand and moves closer to the sheet.

“What?” you say, watching the way his eyebrows furrow and his eyes scan the paper. He’s losing himself in the sheet now, and it feels like watching a prodigy at work. You picture this is what it would feel like to watch Bill Gates code on a computer before he formally started his career or watching The Beatles pen a song before they made it big. 

“Hm?”

“Did you come here for me?” you ask and for a split second, you see his eyes shift. “Did Chae tell you I was here?”

He doesn’t respond, instead focusing on the assignment. “Your calculation is wrong here. Look,” he says, pointing at a section. As he explains your mistake, you smile satisfied. 

He doesn’t need to admit it. You two have gone through this very situation so many times now, that you both know it’s true. Namjoon always comes for you.

/

You have kept your background, your family, extremely private since joining university.

In high school, you made the mistake of letting people know that you were the daughter of HN Architects. It resulted in years of people smooching up to you, gossiping behind your back, mean assumptions, and just a general nightmare.

That nightmare would only multiply if your friends here found out about it. They were all architect majors, all in the same cut-throat degree, and you came from privilege. 

It scared you, knowing what could happen if they ever found out. You begged your family to make sure that nothing would tie you to them here, keeping your name different on the registrar, not publishing photos of you in the paper. You couldn’t risk all the friends and relationships you made. Even if they said things won’t change, you know they would. They always do.

“I need to sleep for 10 years,” you mumble, falling on your bed. 

“Fuck this, I wish I was you right now,” Chae cries from her side of the room. “I’ve got one more submission.”

“I woke up at 4 to finish it so you should be fine,” you laugh, looking at her. “And did you send Namjoon to me?”

Chae fights a smile on her face. You sigh, knowing you’ve opened Pandora's box.

“He came to me asking about you last night. I told him you were sleeping, but you’d be at the library at 5 working on the assignment,” she smirks cheekily. “Why, did he come?” she asks, not hiding the overly inquisitive edge to her question.

You say nothing, deciding to turn on your laptop.

“He did!” she screams and your eyes widen, telling her to be quiet. “Sorry! I just can’t help it. That’s so sweet,” she squeals.

“Stop sending him after me. You’re encouraging him.”

“You’re encouraging him!” she counters. “You let him help you with your assignment, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“And you showed up at his dorm last week for notes, didn’t you?”

“Okay, but-”

“And you told him off for helping Eun like four days ago, remember?”

“Chae,” you stop her, sternly. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t you realize what all those things have in common?”

“They all are evidence of the fact that you reciprocate his year-long courtship?”

You roll your eyes. “No, idiot. All these things are work-related. I can’t afford to be falling behind, and I need his help.”

“Okay, but you were jealous of Eun-”

“I was annoyed that he was helping other people score higher! The last thing I need right now is the lazy kids of the class becoming my competition too,” you complain, grumbling.

Chae stares you down. “_____, not everything is about your degree,” she says light-heartedly, but you know your statement bothers her. 

Exhaling, you shut your eyes. You hate it when conversations come to this. Sometimes, you wish you could just tell people which family you came from. Maybe it would do them good, to make them realize that yes, for you, everything is about your degree. Everything in your life revolves around being successful in this path. 

You were cynical but at least you were real. You admitted things the way they were, when competition was competition, you said it, and when you needed something, you asked for it. That made it okay, you told yourself.

And when it comes to Namjoon… it’s especially okay. He’s both the only reason you’re hanging on okay in your degree, and the reason you feel insecure. You wonder how it can be that someone like him exists.

“Anyways, are you really gonna leave talking about Joon there?” Chae scoffs. “He’s liked you since we started. You really won’t do anything about it?”

“Namjoon is nothing but another classmate that stresses me out, Chae. I don’t see him that way. I just like his work ethic.”

Chae laughs. “You’re so skewed, honestly. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Why, are you planning on ratting me out to him again?”

“No, silly,” she laughs, although you both know it’s likely she’d do it again. “Let’s go to the Autumn fair tomorrow. After I submit.”

“The fair? You mean those three stalls they set up and call it an event?”

She frowns. “Don’t be mean. Hobi and the others have really been working hard on it this year. It’ll be nicer than the last, I promise.”

“As long as there are at least 10 booths this year.”

“You’re too mean for your own good, _____,” she says, tsk-ing. “One day, you’ll see what it’s like to be on the other end.”

/

Your overactive imagination always paints a skyline for you, where there’s an empty space. You can always picture different styles of buildings, standing together, making a city. 

It’s at times like those you realize that even if you wanted to give up, even if you tried to pursue something else, your heart will always come back to this. There is nothing more that belonged to you than this.

Even if it’d become difficult now, it didn’t matter. It became a source of worry more than an outlet of passion, but it’s still your calling. You can’t give up on something you love this much.

“Your toffee apple is dripping,” you hear his voice before you see him.

You want to turn and snap at him but the sticky toffee syrup that falls onto your fingers stops you.

“Ugh,” you groan, trying to fix it. Namjoon’s hand comes out with a tissue, quickly wiping your fingers without a word. Even after he’s done, the sticky feeling remains. “I should just throw this away.”

He laughs. “Let’s get candy corn.”

“No, thanks, I have to go find Chae and Yuna.”

Even though you step away, you hear his footsteps almost immediately behind you. 

“What’s the rush?” he says, catching up beside you. When you two walk together like this, his tall figure towers over in a way that makes you feel small. “Shouldn’t you offer to buy me candy corn? Did you forget how I helped you at 5 in the morning two days ago for Professor Labadee’s class?”

“You chose to wake up at that time, not me,” you say, keeping your eyes trained ahead. You weren’t expecting much from this fair, but the students had done well. Bright fairy lights decorate the lamp posts around you and along the long path, dozens of stalls are set up. It all feels a little bit like a movie.

“As long as you got it done,” he says under his breath. You dare to take a glimpse of him and inhale sharply. He’s wearing his smile, he always is, but the fairy lights reflect on his face, illuminating him like an angel. Everything about him feels good.

You look away almost immediately. “Stop following me Namjoon,” you say, stopping at a trinkets stall and smiling at the girl behind the table.

“But I like seeing you outside of architecture things,” he grins confidently.

You opt to ignore him, asking the price of something that catches your eye.

He cranes his neck to see what it is. “Want me to get it for you?”

You quickly counter. “Absolutely not,” you say, handing over your money notes. 

“You’re really buying an ornament of buildings?” he cocks a brow. “Don’t you want something like this instead?” he picks up a small snow globe, shaking it so the snow moves. The globe is miniscule to begin with, but you notice how in his hands, it looks almost tiny.

“What can I say? I like buildings.”

He smiles. “More than people, maybe.”

You sigh, ignoring his statement. Once you get the paper bag with your purchase inside, you keep walking ahead. You count to three before you hear his footsteps mimic yours.

“I’ll buy you candy corn, then you leave me alone,” you turn to say to him. “It’s not good that you’re always showing up where I am.”

He nods like an obedient puppy. Then he frowns and asks, “why is it not good?”

When you don’t respond, focusing on walking to the candy booth, he adds, “is it not good for you? Getting attached to me now?”

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s doing his goofy smile again. “It’s not good for you to keep going through these many rejections in a lifetime.”

He laughs, your words not bothering him the slightest. Standing in front of the candy booth, Jungkook and Jae, two of your architect classmates greet you.

“Hey Joon! Aw, you two hanging out again?” Jae smiles widely as if he’s in some big secret. You roll your eyes, not saying a word but pointing to the candy corn.

“_____ is treating me to candy corn. Isn’t she sweet?”

“I’m not treating you out of kindness, I’m doing it so you feel compensated for your efforts with my assignment.” 

Jungkook and Jae share an amused look that you almost miss. Shuffling through your pocket, you start counting the money to give. As you hand over the money to Jae, Jungkook places a brown paper bag in Namjoon’s hands.

“You two enjoy yourselves,” Jungkook beams brightly.

You scoff. “Is there really such a thing as enjoyment when I have him on my tail?” 

Without bidding them a proper goodbye, you walk away from the stall, leaving the three standing. Like clockwork, Namjoon is beside you again.

“Here,” he says, and suddenly the bag of candy corn is in your hands.

You raise a brow. “What are you giving this to me for? You were the one who wanted it.”

“You were eating a sad, overpriced toffee apple. This should be for you too.”

“Namjoon.” You give him a look, but he pays no mind. 

Without saying anything more, you two walk together in silence. It didn’t intend to be this way, but it feels nice now. You feel good that you were dragged out of a cycle of the bedroom to the classroom to the library for once.

Of course, it’s weird that amidst all this, Namjoon is the one beside you. Usually, when you see him, your mind wanders to the place that curses him for being everything you wish you were. But tonight, you’re laying off those thoughts.

Staring at the crowd around the speakers, you two pause for a bit. You see Chae and Yuna, along with your other coursemates all together.

Still beside you, Namjoon speaks out of the blue. “Why don’t you call me Joon?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t realize I was required to,” you shrug at the random question. “I don’t know you like that.”

“Everyone in our class calls me Joon. Even your group member who I met that one time is calling me Joon,” he argues. “You know me better than all those people. If anything, you should be the only one.”

“What are you on about? I don’t know you at all,” you throw a blank look his way. “And don’t argue that we spend a lot of time together. You follow me around and show up where I am. That’s not spending time together.”

“We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?” 

“It’s a first. Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs as if your cold remarks are something affectionate. “I don’t think I really could get used to seeing you outside the library, _____. You’re there more than me and I’m always studying too.”  

You scoff cynically. “Are you flexing your rank again on me?”

“_____, if I cared so much about my rank, I wouldn’t be helping you with work all the time,” he laughs, amused.

“I don’t know. Maybe helping me is all part of your plan to keep beating me,” you say. “Isn’t this just a power move? You always showing up to help me.”

He laughs again before his stare stills on you. His eyes are bright and sparkling… or is it just the effect of the stupid fairy lights? You can hardly tell.

Despite yourself, it all makes your stomach drop. You hate it when Namjoon shows up unannounced in your life, but more than that, you hate it when he gives you this kind of look. Like he can’t look anywhere else but at you.

“More than a power move, it’s just a gesture for you.”

The fluttering feeling worsens and you blink. You choose to say nothing, instead staring ahead at the view. “That is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.”

For a second, he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Eventually, he humors you. “It’s not all that bad.”

“In my professional opinion as a future architect, that is the exact type of building I would want to bulldoze.”

“Well, in my professional opinion as another future architect, I’d say your standards are far too high.”

“I’m allowed to keep my standards high. It’s me,” you smile with a glint in your eye.

He laughs, staring at you softly. “That I can agree with.”

You taunt him playfully. “You’re so predictable. Does it not get tiring hanging off my every word?”

He shakes his head loyally. “Absolutely not. I think everything you say is valuable and worth hanging off.”

“How lame,” you joke although you two share a smile. It’s true, he is a little predictable. But it’s Namjoon’s predictability that at times, catches you off guard. It’s fun, knowing that he’s two steps behind you wherever you are.

A warm feeling stirs in your body and you wonder if it’s the autumn air. Glancing up at Namjoon, the same air ruffles his hair endearingly and you tear yourself away from staring at it.

“I’m only gonna say it once so if there’s any word of mine you wanna hang off, it’s this,” you say before shoving the bag of candy corn back into his hands. “Power move or not, thanks for helping me. I really need it sometimes and I appreciate it.”

The grin on his face widens. “One more time, I didn’t hang off it enough!”

“I told you, only one time.”

“But the music was so loud, I couldn’t hear you well.”

“Too bad.”

“Come on, _____, take pity on me.”

“Shut up and eat your candy corn.”

/

You find yourself quickly back in your routine after the Autumn fair, working on new assignments and projects till your worst nightmare comes to life unexpectedly.

“Please be on time, _____!” Chae repeats to you for the fifth time that morning.

“Chae, I’ll be there. I’ll literally run from the design building to the auditorium, okay?”

She clicks her tongue at you. “Stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up. You should be excited.”

“I am. But… I mean, do we really need this kind of random assembly for our architecture department?” you groan, slipping your laptop into its case. “Can’t they just give us the extra time to work on our homework?”

“But there’ll be companies there!” she retorts, wide-eyed and excited. “Just imagine. This is like those movies, where they come and scout students and then bam, life is sorted.”

You nod, forcing a smile. You remember your privilege, knowing your worry has never once been finding work but living up to the work that was set out for you. But you could never explain that here. How could you cry about the burden that kept you so troubled when it was a burden any one of your friends would happily want?

“Okay. I’ll see you there,” you settle for a wave, walking out to leave. You rush with your bag on your back to your classroom, immersed in your lesson till the hour finishes up.

For the moments after class finishes, your mind is blank. You’re going over your homework in your head, packing your things and your eyes widen. The meeting. You almost forgot.

True to your words, you actually do end up running from the design building to the auditorium. Sprinting from your class to the auditorium proves to be a harder workout than you anticipated and your heart can’t stop racing.

Stepping inside the auditorium, you jump into the first empty seat you see at the entrance.

“Where is she?” you mumble under your breath. Your eyes shift around the room, looking for a familiar head of short black hair. Catching sight of Chae, you wave to her but she doesn’t notice you at all. Instead, she’s busy talking to a group of students all from your year.

Everyone’s sat together, cozy and comfortable in a conversation together. You can even see Namjoon in the row above Chae, chatting energetically. Your heart strangely pangs.

Sometimes, seeing everyone like this, everyone from your major and year together, made you feel more like an outsider than anything. At first, you’d chalked it up to be because of your obsession with studying and academics… but students better than you, students like Namjoon and Mina, all seemed to be doing fine. 

In the end, you realized it isn’t anything to do with that. You feel like an outsider because you are one. You’ve tried your hardest to blend in, but the fact remains that you feel alone in the problems you have. You’ve kept your identity as the daughter of HN Architects a secret, you’ve kept your family pressures a secret… Now you’re alone in the burden of your struggles.

Sometimes, you’ve thought about opening up. But the thought terrifies you even more.

If you felt so alone while keeping the truth of your ambitions a secret… there’d be no telling what kind of way your friends would treat you after finding out.

“We’re lucky enough to have… here’s a representative from Canvas Corp… looking for fresh talent… Yongchan Architecture…” you’re hardly paying attention to the speakers on stage till you finally hear, “and most fortunately, the chairman of HN Architects!”

Your head shoots up so fast that it almost flies off. No fucking way.

Your father is smiling on the stage, wearing a crisp suit and greeting the architecture department heads. Without realizing it, your body cowers back into your seat as you see his eyes scan the auditorium. He must be looking for you - his daughter.

His daughter that not a single soul in this room knew was you.

Your heart goes into panic mode before you try to calm yourself down. Relax, you mutter repeatedly to yourself although it’s less effective than you thought it’d be.

Your eyes dance between your father on stage and your group of friends with Chae sitting seats away from you. Neither of them have noticed you.

Instead, your classmates are all watching your father with starstruck eyes. They’re staring at your father like he’s their idol.

Well, objectively, maybe he could be. After all, you admire your father for the very same reason every architecture student does - your father is a legend. His company has one of the best reputations in the country, which feeds your pride, and he’s nothing short of a hard-working, inspiring man.

Namjoon, in particular, is staring at your father like he can’t believe his eyes. It’s a look you’ve never seen from him before. Like he’s both nervous and thinks he’s in a dream. It’s almost endearing.

“To celebrate having the chairman of HN Architects with us today, we’ll have him say a few words!” Mr. Lim, the head of the architecture department, announces enthusiastically into the mic. He turns to your father, “do you mind?”

“Not at all!” your father grins, taking the mic before starting. “It’s my pleasure to be here today! In fact, seeing all of you reminds me of my own days as an architecture student…”

He trails off into a long speech, excitedly. You’ve been witness to every single one of your father’s inspirational speeches since the day you were born so you fight back a yawn. On the contrary, your classmates look like they’re hanging onto every single word.

As your father paces across the stage, he inches towards your side. You blink in panic, bending down but before you know it, it’s too late. His eyes sparkle with joy.

You almost worry he’s gonna wave at you mid-speech. But he doesn’t, simply shooting an overly friendly smile your way. You sneak a glance at your classmates and they’re all giving you a strange look - one that most definitely reads what the heck is he smiling at you for?

Meeting Chae’s eyes in particular, you give an awkward smile and shrug. Soon enough, your father turns to the side and you finally think you can breathe.

“That’s why I’d like to encourage you all to live up to your potential! The world is changing around you as you know it and as future architects, you can be a part of that,” your father enthusiastically continues. His eyes are on you again. “And this is what I tell my beautiful daughter everyday! She loves skylines, my dear _____, and she’s going to be a wonderful architect too!”

My life is officially over.

A little dramatic but that exact thought crosses your mind as you duck into your seat. You think you hear the collective gasp around the auditorium or maybe your ears are playing tricks on you.

No, it’s probably as bad you think it is. Your father’s called you out by name and exposed your identity that you worked so hard to conceal. Your life is quite literally over.

Oblivious to your misery, your father grins happily on stage. He returns the mic to Mr. Lim before stepping to the side. The rest of the assembly goes by without you realizing. You’re still numb to the fact of what just happened.

You risk a glance at your classmates, and in cliche movie fashion, they’re all staring at you with mouths gaping wide open. Every single one of them.

Your neck heats up and you quickly turn around. But curiosity gets the best of you a few minutes later, and you risk looking again.

They’re still staring at you in shock. Like they can’t believe their eyes.

Chae especially is looking at you with hurt flashing across her face. It squeezes at your heart and you feel overcome with guilt for lying to your friend for a year. You don’t dare to imagine what she’s thinking now.

Without realizing, your eyes travel over to Namjoon. Much to your surprise, he’s not looking at you. He’s the only one with his eyes looking ahead blankly, deep in thought.

You frown, evading everyone’s stares to focus on him. An unrecognizable emotion is written all over his face… is it realization? Regret? Embarrassment?

You can hardly tell. But for the first time, an uncomfortable feeling plunges in your stomach at the fact that Namjoon’s not looking at you.

/

“Dad!” you cry. “How could you do that?”

Your father smiles happily at the sight of you, the two of you standing outside the auditorium in a secluded, private spot. The torture, that was the assembly, has finally come to an end.

“What do you mean?” he answers in confusion. “Do you mean showing up here? Because I was invited by that Mr. Lim fellow, he-”

“Not that!” you whine, groaning into your palms. “I’m talking about saying I’m your daughter in front of the whole architecture department!”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that? What did I do wrong?”

Your jaw drops. “Dad, are you being serious?”

He nods, clear puzzlement on his face.

“Don’t you remember? I specifically asked for you and Mom to make sure that it never gets out!” you say. “Now, you’ve told everyone I go to college with that I’m the daughter of the man behind HN Architects!”

He blinks for a few seconds. “Is that so wrong?” he almost pouts like a child. “I didn’t know it was such a problem.”

“Of course, it is! Why do you think I asked you not to tell anyone?”

“...I thought you were being modest.”

“Modest?!” you exclaim, before sighing. There’s no use berating your father. It’s no one’s fault but your own for not preparing better for this situation.

“Did you really not want anyone to find out?”

You nod weakly.

“Why not?”

“I… I can’t explain it. They’ll freak out,” you look down. You can’t imagine how much worse your stress is gonna get from now on - it isn’t enough that your own title of the daughter of HN Architects is choking you to death… now you’ll have to deal with every single one of your classmates doing the same thing.

Things will never be the same again. For every grade you get, it’ll be discussed as the grade of the HN Architects’ daughter. For every drawing or idea you’ll submit, it’ll be scrutinized as the work of a girl from privilege. The pressure would multiply infinitely. 

“Oh dear, don’t be silly,” your father suddenly says, resting his hand on your head. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize it was so serious to you. But even if they know, it’s not an issue. You’re an excellent student and it’s only right they pay you the respect as the future CEO of HN Architects.”

You shoot your father a smile but your stomach drops. “I guess so, thanks,” you mumble, unable to explain to him that it’s exactly what he said that terrifies you. 

For the rest of the day, you hide out off-campus in hopes to avoid facing reality.

/

“_____, I think you need to pay for the emotional shock you gave us,” Hobi laughs at the lunch table as soon as you arrive.

Hesitantly, you sit beside Chae who doesn’t share a word with you. Since yesterday, you haven’t even made eye contact with her, despite being her roommate. 

“I think I almost spat out my water when I heard my daughter,” Mina jokes and the table echoes in laughter. You smile awkwardly.

“Yeah… it’s not really a big deal,” you shrug.

“Not a big deal?! Hello! We’re talking to the next HN Architects CEO right now!” another student pipes up.

“_____, forgive me for all I did wrong last semester,” Yuri playfully adds.

“I think we need to be cleaning the floor for her to walk on!”

These statements all fly around the table, exchanged with laughs and smiles. Part of you cowers in the attention, uncomfortable by such blatant recognition of your upbringing.

Another part of you wonders… will things be okay?

You take a careful look around the table of your classmates. Not a single one seems to wear a glare, all sharing in jokes and smiles. For the strangest reason… you feel at ease.

Chae suddenly stands up, with her tray. “I’m done eating. I’ll see you guys later.”

Instantly, you mimic her and chase behind her retreating figure. “Wait Chae-”

“I have class right now-”

Like a child, you jump in front of her to block her path. “Okay, please just hear me out,” you say, pouting. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “What are you sorry for? It’s not a big deal.”

“You must feel… annoyed, right?”

Chae blinks at you. “I’ll admit, I was irritated at first. You come from such privilege and I’ve unloaded so much crap on you sometimes about being scared about post-college life while you never had that… but, I’m not really mad about that. You can’t help who you are, right?”

You nod. “You’re still mad at me though, aren’t you? For hiding it?”

She takes a second before replying, “I just… you’re so unreachable sometimes, _____. After I found out, I kind of realized why you’re so stressed all the time and what you meant whenever you alluded to things about your pressures and all… I’m just annoyed you never shared that part of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

For the first time since yesterday, Chae cracks a smile. “Don’t be sorry. I just want you to be more open with me. You don’t need to feel like you need to hide your background… I would’ve tried to understand either way.”

Her words soothe you more than you can explain. Since entering your major, you haven’t once relied on the people around you for support that wasn’t academic. Now, you’re realizing your fatal flaw.

“I’ll try to be better,” you say with a nod. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”

She laughs. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me,” she says with a glance elsewhere. “You should check up on him. He’s been spooked since yesterday.”

You turn on your heel to see Namjoon, walking around with the same strange expression on his face from the assembly. For a brief second, your eyes meet but the second flashes, and he quickly looks away.

“Did you see that?!” you scoff. “He just ignored me!”

Chae smiles. “Wow, there really is a first for everything.”

“What’s with him?” you say, watching his awkward walk in your opposite direction. He keeps glancing in your direction, but once he sees you staring at him, he swiftly looks away. It’s a completely new side to him. 

“I don’t know,” Chae shrugs. “He’s being weird. I thought he’d be running after you like always, but he’s resorted to this.”

You scoff again, unfamiliar with this Namjoon who runs away from you, rather than to you. You wonder what’s running through his mind, before pushing the thought away. He’s bound to come after you again after a few days.

/

The confidence with which you assumed Namjoon would be all over you again is faltering.

It’s been a full week since the assembly, and while life has seemingly gone back to normal for you (as normal as things can be)... Namjoon certainly has not.

In classes, he picks the furthest seat away on purpose. You even started to tease him by trying to sit in his front row with him, but instead, you found him in the back row - where he can’t even see. 

His lunches seem to be perfectly timed to not clash with yours. All of a sudden, he’s no longer in the library either. All the places you’d easily find Namjoon hovering over you, he’s disappeared from.

“Does he think this is effective?!” you rant to Chae in your dorm room. “That by suddenly ignoring me, I’ll become obsessed with him?!”

Chae smiles at you knowingly. “I don’t know… if that was his plan to begin with, I’d say it’s pretty effective-”

“Shut up, Chae! I’m just saying this is all so stupid!” you scoff. “Once or twice is fine but he’s actively avoiding me! He saw me in the library yesterday and acted like he forgot a book to leave! We were in the library for god’s sake! What book did he forget that he couldn’t find there?!”

Chae giggles like the situation is laugh-worthy. “Maybe he’s just busy.”

“He made time during final exams last year to bother me. How much busier could he be than he was then?”

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to distract you.”

“It’s not that for sure. Whenever I’d tell him that he’s distracting me before, he wouldn’t care,” you mumble under your breath annoyedly. Chae continues to grin at your behavior, as if your reaction were amusing.

You don’t say it to her but you know very well why you’re annoyed beyond relief. It’s because you know it’s to do with finding out about HN Architects.

You groan. You expected your classmates to be weird around you, maybe even your professors… but Namjoon was the last person you thought would suddenly make a 180 after learning about your family.

That’s why it’s aggravating. Because it’s the one thing you didn’t think he’d care about.

A part of you fears he’s realized just how pathetic you are. After all, Namjoon probably knows how much more promising he is compared to you and now… he had to sit with the fact that you were the daughter of HN Architects.

“Why don’t you just approach him yourself?”

You’re momentarily stunned by Chae’s suggestion. You shoot her a dirty glare.

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna chase after Namjoon! He should approach me himself!”

Chae looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re the one who wants him to talk to you!”

“Exactly! He should come to me like he always does.”

A laugh escapes Chae’s lips. “Oh, _____… you don’t even realize it, do you?”

You cock a brow before shaking your head. “I don’t have time for your indirect dialogue. I’m just saying that if Namjoon doesn’t come to me and talk this out soon, I’m gonna have to do something very crazy.”

Chae’s eyes flicker with amusement. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You grimace, as if even saying it brings you humiliation. “I’m gonna go talk to him first.”

Chae bursts out laughing, despite your solemn expression. You brush her off, spending the rest of the night on your design homework but secretly planning on wringing Namjoon’s throat if he doesn’t go back to normal soon.

/

By now, you’re sure Namjoon can feel the daggers you’re shooting into his back.

He’s even risked turning back a few times, to see who’s glaring at him. But as soon as your eyes meet, his head spins around as if it were all in your head. He focuses on the professor teaching ahead of him, taking notes diligently.

Beside you, Chae says with a nudge, “so are you gonna do that very crazy thing you were planning?”

You ignore her for the sake of gritting your teeth. Usually, you have no trouble focusing in classes. It’s all because of this wretched situation that you’re so off-game.

As soon as the professor wraps up his powerpoint, you’re faster than anyone else in the class at packing up your things and zooming out the door. You don’t even bid Chae goodbye.

You tap your foot impatiently, staring directly at your target. 

Namjoon… try and ignore me now.

Hooking his bag over his shoulder, Namjoon comes to the door of the classroom before stopping his tracks. Aha, you smile pleased.

“Ah, I just forgot… to talk about my assignment with Mr. Choi,” he mutters out loud to no one in particular. The acting is so terrible that you don’t even have to think about it to know he’s intending it for you to hear.

You march up to him. “No, you don’t,” you scoff and when he looks up at the ceiling, you jump like an infant calling for attention. “Namjoon, if you value your life, you’re gonna drop this act right now,” you say in a menacing voice. 

Immediately, he gulps and looks down at you. His height towers over yours but you smile, knowing you’ve gained the upper hand here. He’s looking at you just as he did before - completely enamoured.

You say nothing but give a deadly gesture to follow you. He obeys without complaint.

When you two are finally in a spot you deem private enough, you raise your chin and look at him happily. Under your gaze, he looks down uncomfortably.

“So you want me to say it or will you explain what the hell is going on?”

He blinks. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, _____.”

Your blood boils. Now, he wants to feign ignorance. “You’re joking,” you deadpan.

He looks at you innocently and shakes his head. You sigh, blinking in confusion.

This whole situation is a first. True to your words, you’ve never actually… had to do anything more than bat an eye to know Namjoon would come to you. You don’t know the words to even ask what’s wrong.

“_____,” he says in a low voice. You glance up at him, completely losing your train of thought. The sight of him has never registered you disorientated before. But now, you can’t help but trace your eyes over his dimples and sparkling eyes.

You scoff at yourself. You must’ve lost your mind temporarily. “You know what I’m talking about!”

He shakes his head so you continue, “you used to always come to the library at my timings and sit on my lunch table.”

“Oh,” he nods. “That’s because I wanted to sleep in more so I changed my schedule around a bit.”

You blink at his explanation. “You sat at the back of the class when I came to the front row-”

“I just wanted to see what it’s like to sit there. Turns out, it sucks,” he pauses when you don’t reply. “_____?”

You frown, part confused and part innocently. “I just mean… why aren’t you following me anymore?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can help it and your eyes widen in humiliation. That isn’t the way you wanted to ask the question.

Namjoon, instead, is amused. He smirks ever so slightly, before cocking his brow and asking, “Are you asking me why I don’t chase you around anymore?”

His newfound confidence almost makes you lose your footing. This is Namjoon - the nerdy guy who’d come to you. He can’t have this effect on you.

You scoff, faking an assured smile. “Are you denying that you chased me around?”

He blinks. “I mean-”

“Surely, you accept the fact that you did chase me around for a whole year,” you say with a smile playing on your lips. Of course, between the two of you, you both know very well of Namjoon’s infatuation with you. He’s danced around those feelings for both of your comedy’s sake… but this time, you won’t let that slide.

He looks at you, tongue poking in his cheek. “Fine. I do chase you around.”

You almost smile with victory but you stop yourself. Before you can speak, he continues.

“But I won’t anymore. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me,” he says sincerely, seemingly ready on his toes to walk away. Your fingers wrap around his wrist without realizing.

“Wait!” you frown displeased. He’s glancing down at where your touch meets his hand and you instantly let go. “This makes no sense.”

He blinks, confused. “What do you… isn’t this what you’ve wanted?”

“You can’t just change your mind like that!” you argue, a strange desperation cutting into your voice. “You can’t make people get used to you and do that!”

Much to your surprise, he wears a small smile. “I didn’t think it’d bother you so much.”

“I can’t stand you,” you groan. “You chase me around, then you find out one tiny fact about my family and now, you think you’re so much better than me to come after me!” you yell, your heart hammering against your chest. You sound like a child, you know as much but… suddenly around him, all logic’s been thrown out your brain.

“_____,” he says in a breath, a glint in his eye that reads surprise and amusement. His dimples are poking out and you wonder what it’d be like to affectionately poke into one. “Do you… did you like when I would come to you?”

There’s no self-preserving answer to this, one that can save both your dignity and pride. You know what you should say to his question, but nerves are prickling under your skin.

It isn’t the nerves you feel before submitting a drawing or entering an exam, but a whole new uncharted territory of nerves. Everything about this conversation is uncharted territory.

“_____, do you…” he starts a question, before nervously brushing the nape of his neck. He looks shy to even ask but after a moment, he looks at you like a child with candy and says, “do you like me?”

Your heart’s in your stomach. Immediately, you laugh, “no! No! Why would I?! Are you crazy?! Why would I ever like-”

“I don’t know,” he blinks innocently, but the stare he holds on you seems suddenly intimate. “That’s what I’m thinking. Why would you ever care about why I stopped chasing after you, if you don’t like me?”

His cocky grin annoys you. You shoot him a deathly look. “Don’t get too confident with me, Joon,” you say although you’re fumbling with words. “I still remember when you couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

He takes a step closer, holding your stare with no qualms. Your heart speeds up again, like you’ve been running.

“_____,” he says softly with a victorious smile. “You like me, don’t you?”

“I’m not answering your stupid question. First, you explain to me why the hell you think you can treat me the way you have the last week-”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back,” he answers smoothly. “You’re the daughter of HN Architects and I’ve been wasting your time all year long. I’ve always felt intimidated by you… but now, I realized I really wasn’t worth your time.”

You blink with a frown. “Namjoon-”

“I feel really embarrassed, _____… If I ever wanted to work at HN Architects, I wouldn’t even be able to show my face knowing the way I’ve bothered you-”

“You’ve never bothered me.”

“Huh?”

Your cheeks flush and you suddenly become very aware of the words that escaped your lips. You cast a hesitant glance at Namjoon and you can’t help it. Suddenly, everything feels a lot clearer.

“You know, you’re the kind of architect my father dreams about,” you find yourself saying. “You’re the kind of student someone like me should be. It all comes natural to you. I love buildings but everything I do, it’s just part of who you are… that’s why I acted like you bothered me.”

He’s at a loss for words before muttering, “_____…”

“All I ever think about is trying to fit the ideal I know I have to be and it all comes easy for you. You feel embarrassed in front of me…” you laugh with a scoff. “How do you think I feel, needing your help?”

“I never wanted to compete with you,” he says. “I just wanted to be by your side. I really wasn’t helping you for anything apart from looking for an excuse to be near you.”

There it is… the fluttering feeling.

The truth is, you’ve known all this time too. You’ve known that there was never any ulterior motive, just your cynical mind trying to conjure excuses.

You almost hate yourself at this moment. Your insecurity over your work has warped your thoughts so much that you convinced yourself that… that you feel nothing but annoyance for Namjoon.

“_____,” he starts. His hand hesitantly reaches up, stopping multiple times on its way before finally brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“I think it goes without saying but in my eyes, you’re the smartest person in our major and every time I’m with you, I don’t even care if you reject me or look for an excuse to go away,” he says. “You don’t even realize the way I see you.”

Your eyes sting and you’re not sure if it’s because his words move you or you’ve just forgotten to blink for a long while. “You’re so corny.”

He laughs. “Well, someone needs to tell you you’re doing a good job because I can tell you’re not telling yourself,” he says before sheepishly adding, “and I thought we were exchanging what we like about each other.”

“Who said I like you?”

He grins, ruffling your hair despite the scowl you give him. You say nothing but then give a smile. You didn’t expect today to feel so good… but somehow, that insecurity that plagues your mind at all hours of the day disappears for a while. 

All you can think about is wanting this feeling to last with him. Without warning, you reach to grab Namjoon’s wrist to walk out into the open garden of the campus. In front of your sight, there’s a skyline of buildings decorating the city.

“Do you still stand by your statement that that building is the ugliest?”

You grin. “It’s literally hideous, Joon. I can’t believe you’re the top of our class but think those colors look nice together.”

He gives a warm laugh, unable to disguise his happiness at the way you call him endearingly. Your eyes go back and forth between the skyline and Namjoon beside you before deciding that while buildings are your first true love… there’s something even more beautiful about the boy next to you.

hehe so excited to write on this blog if u read till the end jus know u have all my love

[alistonjdrake]

June’s World Building Cheat Sheet Part Nine: Multicultural

I kind of touched on these subjects before but as I’ve been doing lately I’ve had more thoughts and I want to do a deeper dive. 

Honestly while I’ve been thinking about this for a while and briefly mentioned it in a previous post, it really hit me when I was playing Crusader King’s 3 and my character became the Norwegian-Irish Emperor of Britannia and France, and a lot of my subjects had some qualms with my cultural identity and as I watched areas of England get Norwegian-nized and names changed I started thinking about cultural markers. 

To put it simply, a “cultural marker” is basically just something to quickly pinpoint where someone is from or what their heritage is. Of course these are not always super specific and there is overlap. Like, me saying I speak English does not immediately make it obvious that I’m American. But if I talked about what I grew up eating, regional slang, some things people wore commonly, you would probably be able to narrow it down. There’s also what I tend to refer to as the stereotypical cultural markers so if someone was to say “I’m from X” what’s the first thing that comes to people’s mind that they relate to that place and that culture?

I also started thinking deeply about language and language as an extension of someone’s identity. This also stood out to me in the case of empires or in places were dozens of cultures have blended. At some point, language either is or isn’t an extension of someone’s background but the language someone does speak can say a lot about them or the area they grew up as I mentioned in my last post with regional dialects or when a certain language might be considered the “default” among some characters.

Now, as always, I have to say I do not think it’s extremely pressing to give fantasy cultures so many layers. I don’t think it’s always necessary to have a throwaway line about people speaking multiple languages in your metropolitan city or the fact that the culture is either not a monolith on its own or new people have moved in. Do I think it spices things up a little bit? Of course. That’s why I’m talking about it.

The lack of especially falls short to me in settings, as mentioned, that are empires or densely populated or considered “centers” of the world. How many times have I read a fantasy university or guild settings or these expansive cities and all the characters were more or less from the exact same place, all spoke the same language, pretty much ate the same things, and had the same opinions on anything not a huge plot point. 

So Let’s Talk About Language (Again)

I’m not gonna lie. My nerd brain loved it when my Norwegian-Irish emperor took over England and instead of the names of familiar places changing completely they were just changed to sound slightly more Norwegian while still looking enough like what it used to be. I am upset with myself for never considering this before in my own work or thinking about it when I craft fantasy worlds, especially in settings where one group or place takes over another. The language would change or there would be shifts due to either

The sounds for the original thing they’re trying to say do not exist in their language

That’s simply how they pronounce it

Maybe they were feeling frisky that day and decided to change it just because. 

I think we see this most often especially with borrowed words. When a word more or less exists in several languages maybe because they’re taking on a title or a position, it’s not so much that the word changes but each one has to put their spin on it. Not always intentionally it might just be how they say it given either the limitations of their own tongue or how they heard it. 

In my last post I began to touch on this with the introduction of people speaking the same language differently in my Grazan Escan vs “regular” Escan dialect (the basis of this discussion just that people who live in Graza in my setting speak the language slightly different than non-Grazans which sometimes makes the language hard to understand for even native speakers). Last night I had another breakdown about how much I hate the common tongue and the concept of the common tongue and I’d like to also mention that if there is going to be a “common” language in a setting, I myself tend to use Escan as the common language because Escan is an imperial nation and have intentionally spread their language all over the place so a lot of my characters speak it, I think it is important to have some context as to why a language would be so widespread/ common. Someone would have had to go to these far places and teach people how to speak this language (and somehow walk away with it having no regional differences). Why would people in this setting think it a good idea to even learn this language if they have their own and rarely communicate with people outside of their community? What is the impact of a character having to take up another language in order to? In my recently finished draft of The Night Court, due to my own temporarily fleeting memory I forgot one of the main characters was going to a place where he could not speak the language and spent that entire half of the book asking for translations and not being able to speak to certain characters directly. Which, now that I’m done with the draft I appreciate more because I’ve definitely been in situations where I’m in a new place and my poor planning and education made me the only one who couldn’t speak the language and I had to have friends help me.  

This is where language as an extension of identity comes in. Could this character have assumed that his first language was dominant enough where he could travel to new places and not have to learn anything else? Or was it just bad luck and now he feels isolated in a setting where he cannot speak to anyone? What are the implications behind someone’s first language based on where they live? I just wrote two posts now talking about Prince Toli of the Escana Empire’s first language not being Escan and how that impacted his early life and how he appears by the time we meet him in the books. What does it say about the world characters live in where what language they speak and what language they learned to speak first has such an impact?

And in the reverse, what is the perception of someone being multilingual? It is expected in a setting? It is a bonus? A requirement of certain jobs or positions? A necessity to live in certain areas? Given how much court intrigue and political scheming I write I tend to have characters switch languages to avoid spies or eavesdroppers but on the other hand it’s also easier to make new allies if you extend the branch by speaking their language. 

Are there official languages? Court languages? Trade tongues? Coded languages you’d only learn for very specific purposes? 

Clothes And Culture: Sumptuary Laws & The Fashion Police.

This is a point I missed completely in my fashion post and I’m sorry about that. As with all my “advice” I feel it important to note I don’t ever expect anyone to go the extra mile nor do I usually think people need to. These are just things I like to sprinkle into a setting to give in breathing room or background information so it doesn’t feel like it was created just to serve a story purpose, but that it’s a world people live in. 

On that note. I’m very passionate about clothing. I’m encountered a lot of fantasy fashion in my day and I understand why people don’t ever find it relevant to mention certain things but as my setting is a late 18th century world in which the common people are starting to realize that royalty kinda sucks, it’s something I can talk about.

Like, the extensive labor that goes into making sure my royal characters have 100s of different outfits. Fashion is cheaper than its ever been but that was not always the case. There’s a reason why often see people in ye old days with only like 2 outfits for any given occasion. Characters and people who had constant changes weren’t just fashion forward, they were showing off wealth whether or not that was front of mind. To give some context as a lover of historical fashion and beautifully detailed garments, I did some quick math to see how long it would take me to recreate one of my favorite gowns by and. Given the intricate details, all the delicate beading and lace and all the fabric I’d have to buy (I didn’t even get into costs) it would have taken me at minimum 50 years. 

Now does anyone need characters going around talking about how Princess Zurina is wearing a gown that would have taken one man 50 years if not for the staff of seamstresses who likely work on her wardrobe? No. If a character in a setting is a seamstress or if the story has anything to do with wealth distribution and the extravagance and waste of the super rich, sure maybe throw it in there. One half of the book I’m working on is about political cartoons criticizing the royalty and wouldn’t you know if I go back to the time period I’m basing my work off of, you can find a lot of jokes and slights towards outrageous dress because people back then understand the labor that went into these garments. 

This is where I’m going to mention sumptuary laws. Basically, whenever I do my dives into fashion history I’ll find a lot of policing towards the way people dress. I mean we still have them now but maybe they’re not as apparent to us? And a lot of them used to be more class-oriented. One should not dress above their “means” or status which is where we get certain fabrics or colors meant only for certain types of people. But it also happened in the reverse where certain groups are designated things to wear so other members of the community know who and what they are. People not being allowed to wear certain things either because they would be related to deviance or offensive. Like characters in my setting cannot wear any shade of green around the king because dark green is the Escana mourning color and it would be considered as cursing the king to die.

Are there punishments for wearing the “wrong” thing? Is exaggerated wealth or having too many outfit changes something calls criticism if the character is at the top of the food chain (or maybe criticism them no mater social standing)? Are there any unwritten dress codes in a setting that people unknowingly follow? In settings where multiple cultures might exist or people from different backgrounds exist in the same place, do their choices in dress reflect cultural markers? And is there a stark difference between traditional (to a culture) clothing and modern dress? 

I think really I’m spewing this out because I want to see more culturally rich settings that reflect some of the stuff that I think is the most interesting things about a person which is what they wear and how they speak. But again, this is a personal preference and it’s just stuff I think about. 

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 8

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

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“I trust you to act responsibly. And as a Guardian, you probably should start learning magic anyway.”

“Let’s get started then. Please tell me I can curse Lie-la!”

“Mari!”

“Just kidding, alright?” She smiled innocently and Tikki shook her head. 

-------------

Somewhere into the evening, Chloe called her to inform her that she was on her way back and she shouldn’t worry. When the blonde entered the room… it was a mess, using the word loosely. The walls were in all colors of the rainbow sans their original one. The room seemed to be double its size and Chloe was pretty sure her bed just got a fourth dimension added to it. There was also that the plants seemed to have taken over one corner and created their own kingdom. She could even see them raising a flag with Marigold Design and creations logo on it. 

“Figures! I leave you for one afternoon…!” Chloe said with disdain while trying to step over what looked almost like a black hole. 

“Chlo? Is that you?” Mari’s voice came from two and a half directions at the same time. The blonde had no idea how was it even possible.

“Isley! Get your pretty ass here so I can properly scold you!”  

“Um… Kinda tied at the moment,” came an answer.

“I don’t want to hear it. I had a long day of scheming and I need my beauty sleep.” Chloe complained. “Get me my bed fixed at least.”

“Oh fine! Tikki! Spots on!” There was a pink light from two separate directions and suddenly Ladybug jumped out of the small hole in the ground. “Miraculous Ladybug!” 

After the wave of shining bugs settled and the room was back to normal Mari detransformed and smiled apologetically at Chloe. “Sorry. Got carried away with the new book.”

“Picasso’s guide to architecture and interior design?” Chloe deadpanned. 

“Nope,” The bluenette smiled and pulled a rather hefty tome from her bed to show it to her friend. “Someone dropped it inside our room when we were out. Tikki deemed it safe and taught me the basics.” 

“I think you will need remedial lessons, given how our room looked. What exactly was the purpose of making my bed four-dimensional?”

“I might have tried to expand the room a bit, but I miscalculated a tiny bit. There is a surprising amount of math in magic.”

“Whatever. I would tell you how my date went, but I’m utterly exhausted now.” Chloe teased her friend. She expected the girl to beg her for the details. Instead, Mari pointed her arm at the bed.

“Pea and feather go along. Make this bed out of stone.” Her iridescent green and blue eyes flashed for a moment… and nothing happened. Chloe smiled triumphantly and tried to jump onto her bed, only to hit the cover hard. While on the outside, the bed looked like nothing changed, in reality, it was hard as the floor. Funnily enough, she could easily slip under the cover, but it still felt like lying on the floor with sheets of paper sewn together as a blanket. 

“You’re mean!” She cried. “I’m now commandeering your bed.” Before Mari even understood what Chloe meant, the girl jumped under her covers and snuggled on one side. There was still enough space for Mari to join if she was brave enough. 

“Ugh! That’s my bed!” 

“Exactly. You can take mine if you like it enough to modify it.”

“Tikki!” Mari cried, hoping that at least the Kwami would support her.

“Nope. You’re the one that made the bed so now you must sleep in it.”

“Um…” Mari tried to look in the book for a counterspell, but in the end, she just pointed her hand on the bed. “Princes found her prince at last. Take the curse and…” she tried to quickly find some rhyme. “break the glass? Ups…”

The window suddenly exploded, but the bed glowed, and after checking it was okay she picked Chloe to move her over. Except it totally didn’t work and the blonde instead pulled her into the comfortable bed. The tired Mari was too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to care. She just cuddled closer to her adopted sister for some comfort. And heat since there was now a hole instead of the window and it was February.

----------------

The next morning Mari and Chloe woke up in a similar mess to the day before. And once again they were clothed.

“Ugh… I should probably calm down on magic.” Mari stretched herself a bit to get ready. She quickly changed into the fresh version of her yesterday’s outfit and helped Chloe gather herself a new ‘something’ for the day’s work. Apparently, for the next step of her scheme, she needed to look like a perfect Parisian princess. Something about Media attention. Mari was too busy with her tablet to care. 

She received a mail at 6 am that there was a slight change in the time of the press conference so she needed to forward it to the conference center before she even got to work. While eating breakfast she checked over the summary reaction about the public statement and emotions that accompanied the fallout. Predictably, the pictures served as a nice distraction, but also rallied the citizens behind the company. They treated it as someone making fun of the suffering company and flamed the Lila girl, even though the company said that she was also a victim. Well, there was a footnote about it. 

“You know you don’t need to put so much work into it?” Chloe asked while eating her croissant.

“I do. But if I can’t manage it now, how am I supposed to one day make MDC as big of a brand as Gabriel?”

“By not working yourself into a coffin?”

“Well… Wait a moment.” Mari was interrupted when her phone ringed. She quickly picked the call and her smile was replaced with a frown. “I understand. I will be there soon. Please keep an eye on him and tell the security not to let any more paparazzi.” she hanged up.

“Trouble?” Chloe asked with a grin.

“I’m afraid to ask…” 

“Damian is doing an errand for me. He is such a good sidekick.” The blonde smiled. Mari did not answer but urged her best friend to move on faster.

Since they stayed in their room for breakfast, neither girl wanting to deal with their moronic class longer than needed, they got down just in time… to see the bus leaving them in front of the hotel.

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe raised her hand. “We are in Gotham. Does that… that… Has she got any idea how dangerous is it?!”

“Said the girl that taunted the Riddler.” Mari deadpanned.

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” The blonde answered confidently.

“Anyway… we could call a taxi.” Chloe sneered at the idea, so Mari offered something else. “I could also test that portal spell…” 

“Taxi!” The girl shouted. Mari just shook her head and pulled the mobile phone. After less than five minutes Chas Chandler rolled next to them in his cab.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He smiled.

“Nice seeing you sir.” Mari greeted him before pushing Chloe in the back seat and joining her.

“To the Wayne tower, please. I would appreciate it if you could get us there fast. I need to get my boss to do his work.” She hoped they would arrive before the class to see their faces.

Sadly, the cab got stuck in the traffic and it took them over an hour to arrive. When Mari entered the lobby, she was angry enough to turn into a ‘stern assistant’ mode. Not a nice place to be if you are on her way. She stormed past the security while flashing her badge. They didn’t dare to try to stop her. 

“Get McKinsley to HR. And by the time I arrive I want Lila Rossi and Alya Cessaire to be sitting there!” The second one was directed to the receptionist, who nodded. So far everyone loved Mari, even in her bad mood. It didn’t stop them from being terrified. 

Both she and Chloe got into the elevator. When the doors closed, the blonde grinned. 

“I love it when you finally show your Gothamite side.” 

She got no response from the angry Mari, but through the ride, her smirk did not disappear through the ride. Once they separated, the bluenette continued alone. Angry did not give her emotions justice. She was furious.

Once she finally got on the floor, she stormed through the corridors right to the head of the department’s office. Luckily for everyone, Lila and Alya were already there.

“Who do you think…” Alya started only to be silenced by a death stare from Mari. For the first time in her life, she realized that the bluenette was someone not to be trifled with. 

“Apparently, since this morning I’m your superior.” Mari deadpanned. “Funny thing. I would probably only learn about this from your bragging later on if you didn’t decide, in all your stupidity, to write yourself reference in my name.” It was clear that she did not find it funny. 

“Puh-lease. You bullied Lila since she came. I thought that it was only fair that you’ve repaid her somehow.” Alya babbled, already forgetting her earlier fear.

“So you take full responsibility for forging both your resume?” Mari asked with a raised eyebrow, wanting to have it said out loud for the record. Especially since Madame McKinsley was standing in the entrance.

“Of course. It was totally unfair that such a bully got all the privileges while hard-working Lila had nothing.”

The Head of the Human Resources department sent Mari a tired look that seemed to mean ‘is she for real?’ She was a woman in her thirties with neatly cut black hair and skin in the color of dark chocolate by the name Mrs. Alicia Lynch

“Oh… In that case, you’re disciplinarily fired.”

“What?!” Alya screamed.

“And I will make sure this incident finds itself into your acts,” Alicia said with a frown. 

“You can’t…!” Alya was once more cut off, this time by madame McKinsley.

“They can. And you’re lucky that we are not pressing charges for attempted sabotage.” 

“The security will show you out. The teacher and your guardians will be informed. Since the hotel is paid by Wayne Enterprise for the members of the interns’ program, you will need to find alternative accommodations or simply return to Paris. I’ll leave this to the teacher and parents to resolve.”

“But… But…” Alya wanted to argue. All blood left her face and she seemed close to passing out. A man in a suit, carrying the security badge helped her out of the chair and led her outside.

“Now about you.” Mari turned her gaze toward Lila, who so far was busy checking on her nails.

“Oh! This is ridiculous! I had nothing to do with it. I’m a victim too!”

Marigold turned to McKinsley, who looked dejected.

“We can’t fire her. She was hired for the six months period.”

“Mutual agreement?” Mari asked. She’s been researching ways to dissolve her contract faster. Sadly, she already knew the answer.

“Two months waiting period. Standard to ensure she doesn’t use any of her knowledge against us.” For Mari, it was a year when she couldn’t work for any other company. Luckily, running her own business was still on the table, as long as she stuck to restrictions.

A different idea formed in Blunette’s head. She smirked slightly. “Well, Miss Rossi, looks like you’re in luck. Welcome to Wayne Enterprises. I hope you didn’t have any great ideas.”

Lila gulped. “Was that a threat?”

“No. If I threatened you, you would know. You and your little attack dog forgot that this is not Paris. This is Gotham. Here, we play by my rules.” With that she spun around and left, typing on her tablet. Just before the doors closed, she tossed another sentence that drove the nail deeper. “And this time, there is no minion to do it for you.”

----------------

Marigold didn’t calm down before reaching the top floor. Her emotions subsided a bit, but she was still on edge. 

“Ugh! How dare those stupid witches to try to use my name to sign their references! And that idiot who somehow believed them. He will definitely not get any bonus this month. Or next. At least they had enough common sense to call me. Except after the fact!” She was pacing in front of her desk. 

Tikki peaked from the inner pocket of her jacket. “At least you could do something about it!” She cheered.

“True. I got rid of one trouble. Without her, I will have a chance for some peace…” She barely finished the sentence when there was a crash in the room next door. Immediately, she rushed inside to check. Turns out her boss for some reason decided to move the desk. He ended up knocking the computer over. 

“Ehm.” She faux-coughed to get his attention.

“Oh! Um… I was just…” Tim tried to find some excuse.

“Trying to open the secret stash of coffee?”

“How do you…” he started to ask flabbergasted, but she interrupted him once more.

“I studied the schematics. And Sarah left me a note about it.” A smirk ghosted her stern face.

“Damn! Now I will need another hiding place.” Tim gathered himself from the ground. “Wait! You moved the desk by yourself?”

“Do I look that strong to you?” She asked, her face unmoving. Just because she came to hate liars didn’t mean she didn’t know how to bend the truth a little. And technically, she just avoided answering altogether.

“Whatever. You must’ve ordered the repair crew to move it then. I want my coffee.” He said pouting.

“Sir. I’m supposed to help you manage your time better. I am not simply your secretary.” Marigold informed him firmly. She checked with both Chloe and Nathalie what her responsibilities included.

“But you made that divine brew on Monday!”

“That was a gift for my first day of work.” Plus I had no idea what I was doing.

“But…”

“Enough buts for today. You have a meeting with Mr. Fox about the Friday presentation in half-an-hour. Did you familiarize yourself with the content of the email he sent you?”

“Ah! Of course, I did. I totally didn’t spend my night…”

“Then I would appreciate it if you spent the next half-an-hour on doing so.”

“B…” He didn’t even finish when her glare stopped him. She could pull Batstare better than the original.

“If you act like a proper CEO, I might think about making you some of my ‘divine brew’ as a reward.” She suggested and closed the door, leaving him to his own device. She had several calls to make and set other meetings

---------

It was two hours later when angry Caline Bustier demanded a meeting with her. Mari didn’t even think before redirecting her to HR. The teacher was supposed to be the chaperone of the group and look after them after work. She was also directly responsible for all of their actions. She was very displeased that now she had to take care of Alya for eight hours a day that used to be free time for her. So of course, she blamed everything on Marinette. This time, it backfired. She had to quickly give up any accusations before she ended up in an even worse situation. 

Luckily, after that little incident, the day passed without any more surprises. She had half-a-mind to search the town for her mother in the evening. Since she was hired, she was now technically independent of the class. Chloe had a slip from her father that allowed her to basically ignore the teacher. The blonde convinced Mari that mindless wandering the city would only get her robbed. Or at least involved in attempted robbery since she could easily kick ass if she only wanted. Instead, Mari spent the afternoon shopping for materials and working on a new outfit for uncle Jagged that he ordered for his visit to Gotham in a month or so.

She also made a quick call to Paris to discuss things with her hire. The girl informed her that she would happily run the store a little longer. Mari promised to even consider to hire her permanently if she did well. 

Chloe had another date scheming meeting with Damian Wayne. At this point, it was unclear what their relationship was. Good thing: neither did the tabloids. Mari promised to the blonde to hold back on the search for her mom until Friday afternoon. She also promised to take both Adrien and Chloe with her when she visited a contact in the local club. They would celebrate her getting a job and the first week over.

All would be great. If she didn’t spot a vigilante on the rooftop next to her (now fixed) window. Even then, it was Gotham. The bats were rather common at this point. It wasn’t like when she left and they were only starting. Batman was still mostly a myth back then, even after six years of work. Except this vigilante was clearly staking her room specifically. he even had binoculars that she was sure had night vision in them. 

She opened the window and picked a pencil. With deadly precision she tossed it. The wooden tool sailed through the air until it hit the binoculars and broke one side of them. She huffed and closed the window before pulling the curtains closed. How rude.

---------

NEXT

[transqueerquestions]

im genderfluid and like. super confused about how sexuality and being genderfluid work together?? i dont know if this is the right blog to ask for this cause its more based on just gender stuff but i still thought id give it a shot? anyways im genderfluid and i only like women and im super confused on if i should just call myself nblw or if i could call myself straight on guy days and lesbian on girl days because i hate not having labels but nblw feels too vague and straight/lesbian on different days feels. disrespectful in a way??? tldr; being genderfluid make labels a little weirder and its weird im losing my mind

Tobi: Hey nonnie! I’m sorry you’re having a difficult time with labels, they sure can be confusing and exhaustive just by themselves!

You do bring up an interesting dilemma on the crossroads of gender and sexuality labels influencing one another. I’m sure many have pondered the same question, and while I unfortunately can’t exactly give you an answer, I can help with some tips to remember when navigating labels!

1) Labels are meant to serve you, not define you.

While I understand and I hear you that not having something distinct to label yourself as can be frustrating, I’m here to tell you that labels aren’t ever necessary. If there isn’t a label you know of that you feel encapsulates how you see yourself and know yourself to be, then that’s okay! It’s not a good idea to try and force yourself into any box if it doesn’t seem right as that’s letting the box define you, when you should be defining yourself.

If you feel nblw is too vague and straight/lesbian doesn’t quite work either-that’s okay! Later you might change your mind, or you might find something else that suits you, or find that not having a label at all suits you. It’s all up to you and what feels right.

2) Your sexuality is your own business.

A saying I heard before that I liked is this: “Gender is who you are in the streets, sexuality is who you are in the sheets”. While lacking a bit of nuance here, the overall message is true; aspects of gender are quite public, like your pronouns and how you express yourself (Although it’s important to remember that neither your pronouns or expression is inherently indicative of your gender), whereas your sexuality is entirely your own and can be as private as you want it to be. No one, ever, is entitled to know what your sexuality is.

3) Labels are pretty much used for communication purposes, and you don’t need to have a “one size fits all” label for really anything.

While you’re more than welcome to share your sexuality with who you want, the answer can change based on who you’re talking to or how much depth you want to get into.

Myself, for example, I’m pretty used to considering myself gay as a baseline, because I tend to have a very strong preference for men and I’m a man. However, with people I’m comfortable with, I consider myself bi/pan as I know I’m not exclusively attracted to men, it just tends to be my dominant preference. If I’m really close with someone, I might get into more of the traits and characteristics that I’m attracted to, beyond gender, as my attraction to someone isn’t really based on a person’s gender.

So, three different answers (gay, bi/pan, and *insert complex explanation on what I in particular find attractive here*) for the same person’s sexuality can and does occur because there is an incredible amount of nuance even within labels themselves. Not every person utilizing the same labels find the same aspects of a person attractive, there just typically happens to be a single common denominator that the label communicates.

4) Labels can be as precise or as vague as you want!

If you do a bit of a dive you’ll find so many different distinct labels for different ways individuals find to describe their attraction or gender, and they can get super precise! On the other side of the coin though, “queer” as a label is probably as vague as we can get.

Some people find solace in being as descriptive as possible and finding a label that describes them perfectly, whereas others feel more at home in a label that allows them to just be. And, like I mentioned earlier, some people just don’t want to be described by boxes/labels at all because each label/box/category/etc also comes with it preconceived ideas about the people with that label, and would prefer to not be defined at all.

5) Labels can and do change (for some).

How you describe yourself is entirely up to you and you’re more than welcome to change out and try out different labels until you feel comfortable. It’s also perfectly okay to feel comfortable with something now and then not feel comfy with it later. Refer back to #1 if you’re questioning and wondering how you know if you’re comfy with a label or not-does it serve you? Or does it define you?

I hope these tips help nonnie! Feel free to ask any follow up questions if you’d like any further explanations.

If you liked my answer, consider tipping! ♥️

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[stones-x-bones]

You Don’t Have To Be Good || Deirdre and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @deathduty and @inbextween SUMMARY: Deirdre finds Bex in the fossil room and the two have a heart to heart. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, References to child abuse

You’ll know human inferiority when you see how they don’t understand. Siobhan wiped Deirdre’s tears away, voice warm and sweet in a way that Deirdre would chase forever. She’d been sent home early, having been told her showing off of a dead bird was wholly inappropriate and furthermore, the sign of some deficiency. The humans don’t know the beauty of a skeleton. 

But there was some part of her, mature now, and leaned up against the door frame of her bone room, that thought her mother might have been the one who didn’t understand. There was a human, staring wide-eyed at her meager fossil collection (visions were harder to pull from remnants that old, and as such, she preferred more death in a fresher state). She looked at them with the very wonder she’d been taught a human could never have. The same way she looked at them. “There are gloves there, if you want to touch any of them.” Deirdre announced, pushing herself off the door frame and greeting Bex with a smile. “Go ahead, a chara. You can see them better when you hold them in your hands.” 

While Morgan had said Bex was free to any room in the house, she’d always been extra careful when going into Deirdre’s fossil room. Never touched anything, never stayed too long. Instead she would just stand near the cases and stare wide-eyed like a kid in a candy shop. She liked trying to figure out which skeleton was what, even though the articulated ones were pretty obvious. The fossils were the more fascinating part to her, but bones were just fossils that were too young, so, really, they were all the same. They all told a story and they all had history. She was trying to get back to a sense of normalcy after what had happened yesterday and over the past week, glancing at one of the sheet fossils when Deirdre’s voice filled the room and Bex jumped. She was used to watching her surroundings usually, making sure she knew who was around or when she was alone-- but being in this house made her feel relaxed enough to not feel the need to do that. It was becoming a problem. “Oh, I--” she started, stopped, “it’s okay! I wouldn’t wanna mess with your stuff.”

“No, please,” Deirdre gestured. She stepped into the room and grabbed a pair of gloves for herself, slipping them on before she extended a pristine white pair of fabric clothes for Bex’s own use. “I insist. I don’t collect these things so they can sit here unadmired. Granted, it’s mostly me that does the admiring…” Deirdre trailed off, glancing down at the gloves in her hand. She shook them, for emphasis. Morgan was always better at this; the talking and the socializing. And even for the fact that Bex had been with them for a while, Deirdre hadn’t done much for her. For that, she was guilty. But guilt didn’t serve the bone room. They did, after all, have one thing more in common than the same roof over their heads. “There’s amber in the drawers, I only have a few pieces, so I haven’t put them into a proper display and--Hold on--” Deirdre shifted away, pulling open one of her draws on the far wall, revealing tiny bones housed safely in velvet, and the amber. Deirdre pulled on out, it wasn’t a mosquito, but some bug-like creature she didn’t know the name of. “Like in the movie,” she said as she offered it out as well, “what do you think?” Deirdre turned up, gazing about the entirety of her immaculate collection. “Of the whole room; what do you think?”

Bex watched Deirdre curiously as she slid into the room and pulled out a pair of gloves. Tentatively, she reached out and took the pair offered to her, sliding them on carefully. Most of the things in special rooms in her own home were one-hundred percent off-limits to her, even now, as an adult. But especially so when she was a child. She remembered from her conversations with Deirdre that she had lived in a household very similar to Bex’s, in size and strictness. It felt a little like an unspoken thing between them. Deirdre was pulling open a drawer full of bits of amber, and Bex peered curiously inside, holding out her hands as she plucked a piece out. “Oh! Is that a myrmeleontoid?” She lit up instantly at the sight of the ancient beetle species, the first time she’d cracked a real smile in a long while. There were quite a few different bug species back in the ancient world, but only a few had been captured in amber and preserved well enough. They’d found plenty of bee and fly and ant species in amber, but beetles were often more rare. She looked up at Deirdre, then, still holding the amber as if it were the most delicate thing on earth. “It kinda makes me jealous,” she said, but she was still smiling, “I wish I had an entire room for fossils. Did these take long to collect?”

Deirdre’s brows knitted together in a way she hoped Bex couldn’t notice. The caution and the reservation, even the quiet wonder, was all familiar. Yet, in the empty spaces of her identity, at Bex’s age, she filled it with arrogance. Bex seemed to fill it with...anxiety. Then again, Deirdre wasn’t sure how she might’ve acted if there ever was anyone kind enough to take her in. “A what?” She laughed, “that’s a big word, you’re going to have to dumb it down for me. I’m an actuary, not a scientist.” Deirdre glanced down at the amber as Bex continued, pulling her bottom lip in with her teeth. Humans wouldn’t understand, she thought, and in this case, she considered that Bex wouldn’t even believe. But she’d found most of these bones, and simply ordered what was rare. “I was angry,” she started, staring out at her displays, numerous and carefully organized. “I could hardly bring any bones from Ireland with me; nothing big, anyway. And I’d have to start my whole collection all over again, in this miserable town, and I was angry. Then the day after I moved in, I took a walk and right there in the snow was bits of a moose.” She turned, and gestured to the spine fragments on display; a sentimentality for her first find here. “There are no moose in Ireland, and no point in being angry or jealous. Just start your own. Again, someplace new.” Deirdre laughed softly to herself, crossing her arms over her chest. “All of this took just about a year. And you can have your own bone room, Bex. The basement is used for nothing more than Christmas decoration storage, and I don’t think Morgan would object with making it yours.” 

“Um, sorry. It’s a type of ancient beetle,” Bex explained, “this looks like the larval stage, but I’ve only ever seen photos, so I can’t be sure, really.” She pinched the block between her finger and thumb and held it up to the light to examine it better. Bubbles of air had frozen in time around the critter’s head, and around it’s legs. Being trapped in sap sounded like a terrible fate. She wondered how long it was before the poor thing had suffocated. Her gaze turned back to Deirdre when she spoke again, finding her staring at her displays with a nostalgic look. Bex, if anything, was at least good at picking out micro-expressions on peoples’ faces. It was a self-preservation tactic. “There’s a ton of moose here. They have trail maps that can show you their migration habits. There’s probably a lot more skeletons along those paths.” She paused. “I’m sorry you had to leave your old collection behind. But this one is pretty great, you know.” Her eyes trailed over to Deirdre again and she made brief eye contact, before looking away, holding the amber back out to her. Her mind wandered so much easier these past few days, full of painkillers and visions of claws. She just wanted something normal. “I...can’t do that. Couldn’t ask you to do that for me. Besides, I don’t have any fossils or bones anyway. My parents don’t exactly approve of that hobby. Last time I tried to stash some in my closet my mom ransacked it and threw them all away.”

With a frown, Deirdre took the amber as it was given back. “Are your parents here, Bex?” Deirdre asked quietly, sincerely. She remembered her first move away from her family, and how every day she expected her mother to barge in, and turn up her nose at the dust that lived under her furniture. For all the times she did turn up unannounced, even in this home she had now, it was never as simple as the dust. “I don’t plan on having anyone in my house that I disagree with,” Deirdre’s eyes narrowed, voice turning sharp as she remembered Ariana. “I don’t like the idea of people like that intruding on what’s meant to be safe.” What’s meant to be hers. But Deirdre shook her head; this was about Bex. “I had novels. Romance, mostly. Growing up, I liked them. I hid them under my bed. My cousin knew about them, and one day, when she was angry at me, she told my mother. To this day, I can still smell them burning; how my mother looked standing by the fire; how I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying.” Deirdre slowly returned the amber to its place, looking back at Bex. “They won’t hurt you here. They won’t know. I won’t let them. You are safe here, you understand that, don’t you?”

The question took Bex by surprise, but then again, hadn’t she been asking herself that every day? Are they here? Will they come? Will they take her back? She watched Deirdre take the amber and squeezed her hands shut around the air where it used to be. The answer was no, but also yes. Because no, they were not here physically. They could not grab Bex or yell at her or stand between her and the doorway. But yes, because she saw them everywhere. In every raised hand, in every loud voice, in every corner of the room when she was just a bit too tired or too lost in thought-- and then she’d blink, and they’d be gone, but they were there. They were always there. They were more frightening than a bloodthirsty werewolf sometimes. “No,” she answered back just as quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself as she listened. Her chest ached. How many of Bex’s fantasy books or history compendiums or fuck, even comic books, had her mom stolen away from her? Torn to shreds and dumped in the garbage. Her mother didn’t care to burn the evidence. She hadn’t minded when Bex would pull whatever remains she could find from the trash to try and piece them back together, sobbing on the study floor. It was a lesson, she told her. One she could learn fast. And she had. Just like the books, the fossils were destroyed. The bones were snapped, sometimes like her own. She looked at Deirdre, not realizing the tears in her eyes until she was blinking them away. She turned her face. “You don’t know that,” she said back, “how can you guarantee that?” 

Deirdre still felt wonder every time Morgan perked up to hear of something she liked, of her life or what she was doing; excitement for the person she was with such love that she had never been given. The first time it happened, Deirdre thought it must have been a lie. How insidious it was that even when happy, loved, her mother could reach through time and space and sow doubt. How terrible it must have been for Bex. “Your parents are always with you…” she breathed, closing her eyes. “Every doubt. Every hesitation or negative thought. Your fear, your anger, your life...it’s all theirs. They are here. It’s like they live inside your body, always watching, always waiting. You hear their words in your own voice. I know how it is Bex.” She opened her eyes, looking at Bex—hugging herself, crying. “But physically, they are not here. And the only harm they can do is the kind they taught you to do to yourself.” Deirdre moved closer, slowly and gently resting her hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “I know this because no one who stays in this house is anything like them. And I want you to be safe. And we are very similar, Bex.” The humans would never understand. Except Siobhan had never thought her torment was the kind with a name, a human name. And there were many that understood. “I also break glass, but I look a lot cooler when I do it,” she smiled, “and I can guarantee it: I promise you that I won’t let your parents enter this house. And you know my thing about promises, I’d have to keep it. Although, maybe don’t invite your parents over unless you want me to throw your mother through a window.” Deirdre tapped Bex’s head. “What are the parents inside your thoughts saying about that?” 

Bex felt her body tightening with each word spoken, truer than the last. A string of sentences that somehow described her life so perfectly and yet so horribly. She trembled and bit down on her lip. She didn’t want to admit it, she’d never admitted it to Morgan, but she hated them. She hated them. They stole her life away and even now that she was out, gone, they were still everywhere. They were inside of her, stealing bits of her. They filled her up and swallowed her whole and her darkest fear, her biggest fear was that, one day, she’d be just like them. She would become her mother, full of anger and resent and pain. She tried to force away the tears but they always stuck around. She did not flinch when Deirdre came close, because her mind inherently understood that someone who had lived it, too, would never dare raise a hand. She hated that Deirdre was right. She looked up when Deirdre said she shattered glass, too, when she said she’d promise to keep her safe. Bex didn’t have words for that, she couldn’t even say no. She scrunched her nose as Deirdre tapped her head, looking up at her-- the only other woman in her life aside from her mom who was taller than her-- and furrowed a brow. “I don’t think I’d mind altogether if you did…” she mumbled, releasing some of the tension in her shoulders. “Did--” she started, stopped. Chewed on the thought. “Did your mom ever tell you...she loved you?”

Deirdre laughed; loud and barking the way she did when she was both surprised and amused. She was quick to stop the sound and wave a hand in the air, trying to tell Bex that she wasn’t laughing at her, but more like laughing with her...even though Bex wasn’t laughing. “Honestly I thought you might like to have the honours of throwing your mother through a window, but I could do it.” Her own mother was far stronger than her, shorter in stature and more lean, but far more skilled. For all Deirdre had been called a prodigy, her mother had the advantage of about sixty more years of training. But the worst Bex’s mother could be was some witch, right? As Deirdre considered the logistics of truly throwing Bex’s mother through a window, she nearly missed the other question. When she heard it, she felt like laughing again. And then she thought about it. Siobhan was a complicated woman; as a child, before her scream, she could remember a warmth. When training, her mother’s patience wore thin. Approval was rare. She had wanted a daughter, had rejoiced in her young activation, but didn’t like the reality of it. She was quick to tell Deirdre that she never cried, she never complained, and she’d had it so much worse.

“Never the word love,” Deirdre said after a moment, “Proud; delighted to have a daughter like me. It was always about the image. She never used the word love--she didn’t believe in it. But she liked to be kind when it suited her; whenever I agreed to her way, she’d call me smart. If I did what she told me, she said she was proud. If she felt like I was going to disobey her, she reminded me that she was my mother. If I seemed displeased, she would dangle everything she did for me over my head. It was these moments that tricked me into thinking she must have been a good mother. If she had been cruel all the time, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to know. I wouldn’t have listened to her. Those drops of approval...I lived for them. I knew they existed, so I chased them. And the more I chased, the more rare they became. The more rare they were, the harder I ran after them. Everything I did was about her. Always about her. So, no, she never said she loved me. She didn’t have to, it wouldn’t have changed anything.” Deirdre rolled up her sleeve, pointing to the iron burn on her forearm. It had been for training, but it was the only scar she had for her mother’s torment; for all of her volatile emotions. “A woman who will do something like this, isn’t one that loves you. As much as I wished she did. As much as I wished my whole family did. It was never about love to them. And as angry as I am with my mother, I know how my grandmother was to her. And I know how my great-grandmother was to her.” She knew because they were all still alive, of course. “Did yours?” She asked, rolling down her sleeve, “ever say she loved you?” 

Never the word love. That shouldn’t have reassured Bex as much as it did. But it made her feel just the smallest sense of relief. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Her mother had probably never said it to her. At least not anytime Bex could remember. She remembered a lot of “that’s my girl”s and “you were so well behaved”s and “good girl”s, but never that. Barely even...proud. The closest she got was when her mom would tuck her in to bed and Bex would say the words in her small voice, and her mother, so sweet, and so soft, now that her anger was gone, would sooth down her hair, and brush thumbs over her bruises and say, “Of course, darling.” Listening to Deirdre felt like listening to someone describe herself, her childhood. It made her skin crawl, it made her shiver. She squeezed around herself, burying the pain that was flashing in her eyes. Memories of bruises written into her muscles. Deirdre was rolling up her sleeve and Bex looked down at the mark on her arm. A burn. Her parents were always so careful to never leave anything behind on Bex’s body, she almost wished she had something to show for it. All she had were the memories of broken bones and purple bruises, and blood stained clothes. It wasn’t fair, to either of them. Bex reached out, as if to touch the burn, as if touching it would make it more real, more true. As if touching it would make Bex feel what Deirdre had. But she didn’t need to touch it for any of those things to happen. They just did. She just knew.

Bex pulled her hand back and scratched along the tops of her thighs. Her only marks of her pain were there, on the insides of her thighs. And she’d done them to herself. They were her only ounce of control, for the longest time. Razor blades along skin. She swallowed. “No,” she answered quietly. “I don’t think she knows how to.” Chewed on her lip, rolling it between her teeth. “I wish she would. Sometimes I still think she can.” She looked up at Deirdre, tried to catch her eyes, but found herself unable to hold any sort of gaze. Her eyes fell in shame. “I’ve tried my whole life to get either of my parents to just tell me something, anything close to love. Or even just being proud. Or that they care about me. I keep thinking that if I just do better or try harder it’ll change. It’ll get better. They’ll look at me and tell me they’re proud, that they love me, that I did good. But they just-- it’s only when I do bad. They--” her breath hitched when she inhaled. Why was she already crying? “What did I do wrong?” she suddenly blurted. “Why don’t they love me? Why do they hurt me? I told them I’d be good. I told them I didn't mean to, but they--” She put her head in her hands. “Why can’t I do anything right?”

It was a reflex. Something Deirdre couldn’t explain even if she wanted to. But without thinking, without asking and without meaning to, her arms wrapped around Bex. She pulled the girl in close and gently a hand moved to her hair, stroking the way she thought a mother might–if either of them had ever had one. “You didn’t do anything wrong…” Deirdre said softly. She didn’t believe it much for herself, every silent minute was met with doubt. Perhaps her family had been right. When would Fate come and take away all her nice things like it had so many times before? When did she have to go back? But in that moment, holding Bex in her arms, her doubt fluttered away. And she knew, even if it only would be for these seconds spent with Bex, that neither of them had done anything wrong. “It’s not you. It’s not you, Bex. It’s not your fault. You can bend and break and twist yourself all you want, but they will never see it. Love like that is conditional, fit to be swept away if ever it comes. People like that don’t care, not truly, not like parents ought to. And that’s not your fault. You are a bright and brilliant and kind young woman, and you have grown that way in spite of them, and they will never take that away. Do you understand, Bex? You will always be worthy of love, no matter what. And one day, it’ll be easier to let go of them. One day their voice in your head will get so quiet you won’t hear them unless you strain–and you wouldn’t trouble yourself like that anyway. Because you won’t want to. Don’t wait for them to love you.” Deirdre pulled back, looking Bex in the eyes. “You have people here who do. You don’t need to wait for them. You are good, Bex. You are good to me. Do you understand?”

Of all the things Bex expected from Deirdre, this was not it. Perhaps it was her own aversion to touch that made her not even consider the idea that, maybe, there was a point after all the healing that hugging was not an act of control, but an act of empathy. Bex had hugged Morgan a few times, and while her grasp felt comforting and safe, it was not for lack of trust that had been built. The hurt that Bex carried with her never truly left, but, sometimes, it felt less so when she was in Morgan’s arms. Here, now, as Deirdre wrapped her up and combed fingers through her hair, she was stunned for a moment. Her body didn’t move at first, wondering, if maybe, it was a trick somehow. Like with her mother. But there was no way her mother could ever show any sense of compassion, any sense of empathy the way Deirdre was showing. You are good, Bex. And then, with perhaps just as much fervor and just as much surprise, Bex wrapped her arms back around Deirdre and let herself be taken in. Even if she couldn’t say it yet, her words meant something to her. You are good to me. Hands tightened up in knots, bunching the cloth of Deirdre’s shirt between her fingers. It’s not you, Bex. It’s not your fault. She hiccuped with her strain, words drowned by sobs. Don’t wait for them to love you. She sank into Deirdre’s arms and wondered if she understood without Bex having to say anything. No, she knew she did. A child did not cling so desperately to approval if she did not understand the cruelty of its rejection. Finally, despite her grief still worming its way through her chest, she answered, “I understand,” against Deirdre’s shoulder. 

"Good," Deirdre asserted. She squeezed Bex a little tighter, easing slowly into letting her go. She gestured to the door, figuring they'd both had enough emotional release for the day. She wasn't going to make Bex dig up more than she wanted to. "Will you help me bake some salmon biscuits? For the cats and Min--" Deirdre coughed. "Me. I love fish...cookies. Yum." Although, as she thought about it, she wondered if Mina would appreciate being offered cat treats. It wasn't her fault that Mina and the cats shared a fish-centric diet. "Oh, and Bex?" She paused, smiling at the young witch, "have you ever read Wild Geese? I think you'd like it." 

[beanenigma]

Tips for people who like to write by hand

So you’re an old timey writer who enjoys the feeling of paper as you breathe life into a story? Or, like me, you can’t use your phone at school and just wants to get some writing done while math class bores the others? 

Well, me too and I’ve come to your aid! I’ve done some pretty stupid things that costed me hours and hours of searching for lost scenes and struggling to find ideas I knew I’d written down so you don’t have to! 

Find the right notebook for you

By experience, notebooks take a long time to be filled. In good nanowrimo times, I take from 6 to 8 months to finish one. So you’ll be stuck with this guy for a long time. Make sure to pick one that you like and is right for your needs. I, for example, prefer spiral notebooks. You can rip out pages if you need to (if you mess it up, if someone asks you for one, if you just need a page to write down a grocery list or something, etc) and you can put a pen on the spiral. I also like having a pocket to put pieces of ideas I have. 

Some spooky stories about having the wrong notebook: 

I got stuck with a brochure old planner for two years. My mom didn’t use it in the year it was meant for, so I thought oh, it’s free real estate. As it turns out, it had really small space between the lines, so the pages would take forever to fill, it had all those day and hour numbers and the paper was really thin. It was terrible and it made writing terrible. It would have been a thousand times better if I just spent a few bucks on a regular notebook. 

More recently, I started using just the kind of notebook I like, a spiral notebook with a pocket. But I bought it a couple of years ago at a fandom event I attended and the cover was a personalized Divergent cover. At the time, I thought if was pretty cool and everyone would know the reference. But now it has aged so very poorly. The cover has blood all over it and it says “Faction Before Blood”. So now I’m scared to pull it out to write at uni and people will think I’m in a gang or something. 

Number your pages

I know, it sounds like a lot of work. But you can get a notebook with pages already numbered, number it yourself or do it like I do and number it every 10 pages (just because it’s easier). If you don’t feel like doing all of this repetitive work,  date your writing. It’s cool to see how much you progressed, how long you have been writing this project, when you had this idea, etc. One thing doesn’t have to exclude the other, but both methods serve the same purpose. 

And this purpose is to help you get an idea of how much you write (and feel good about your progress) and to help you organize yourself on all you’ve been writing. Which takes us to the next tip. 

Make the first page an index

Not only it will take the pressure off the first page, it will also help you so you don’t keep losing the awesome stuff you’re writing and forgetting it exists. Everytime you start a new scene or change projects, go to the index and write down the page or the date you started this new section. Since I number every ten pages, I find the first page with a number on it and start counting forward or back to the new page. But you can do it in any way that suits you. 

Make a random idea page 

It doesn’t have to be the second page (it usually isn’t for me), but it’s good to have one. Sometimes, in the middle of writing, you have that great idea for something you need to change on what you’ve already got, or you got a completely new insight. It’s good to have your idea page somewhere close you can just flip to, write it down and get right back to writing. And don’t go easy on that page! Write it diagonally, vertically, draw on it, anything. It’s just there to take out those ideas so you can take a look at it another time and not mess the flow you’re in right now. 

Keep your enemies close. And your pen even closer!

You know your favorite bic friend? It has a secret weapon just for you to use. That little flap of the cap? Use it to keep your pen always close. I normally put it on the spiral of my notebook. But if you have a brochure, you can put it on the cover. Sometimes it damages it a bit, but it’s a good trade for having it always ready for action. If you use moleskine, I saw that they normally have designated pen places. If they don’t, I have a tip for it just under this one! 

Take your time to find which kind of pen is your weapon of choice. Personally, I think nothing beats a black ballpoint pen. I know some people like fineliners for writing, but they make the other side of the paper all gross looking and I like to keep it clean. Plus, I write really small and fineliners often bleed in my handwriting. I took my time searching for my favorite brand and I settled on Molin ballpoint pens. 

I would recommend buying your favorite pens in bulk. Nothing is worse than pen hunting around when you have an urgent idea. I bought 50 pens for super cheap and I stack them EVERYWHERE. In all my bags, in my sketchbooks, in my bullet journal, in my writing notebook, in my drawers, anywhere I think it will be easy to find one when I need it ( also giving some to my friends who keep stealing my pens).

Crafting the perfect notebook

You don’t have to be a crafter to modify your notebook to better suit you! Find a ribbon anywhere in the house. Cut it to be a little longer than the book. Tape that bad boy to the inside of the back cover and everytime you stop writing, put that ribbon on the page you stopped. This helps you not to get lost in your previous writing and get right back to business when you resume.

Also, if you really like that moleskine vibe but don’t have the cash, just get a regular clothing elastic, make cut it just the size of the notebook and glue both ends to the inner part of the back cover. There you go! Now you can close it (and keep it closed).  

If you like post-its, you can take half of the block (or however many sheets you cant put in there and still close the notebook comfortably) and glue it to the inside part of the cover of your notebook so it will always be conveniently available for you.

If your notebook doesn’t have a place to put your pen on and you really don’t want to mess up the cover, you  take a small elastic (smaller than the pen) and tape (or preferably glue it) it to the back part of the notebook with both ends inside. There! Ready for the trip! Speaking of which...

Always carry your notebook with you

You never know when inspiration is going to strike. In class. At the bank. In a mall. Whenever you have a little time, you can write something. Or just take a look at what you’ve done and feel good about it. 

Not in the mood for writing? Edit. Reread what you’ve done and start finding what you want to change once you type it in.  When doing this, don’t be scared to cross out entire sentences and rewriting them on top. If it starts getting too messy, go to a blank page and rewrite the scene and you think it should have been done the first time. It seems counter-intuitive in a copy+paste kind of age, but I assure you it is worth it.

Typing your work

This is one of the biggest reasons I love writing in pen and paper. When you type, your first round of editing is done! 

Don’t zone out when typing. As I said, typing is your first round of editing. It is important to keep aware of all of the things you might have done wrong when writing. Some people say writing it on paper and then typing it is a waste of time. I say it saves time and lives. 

Keep it loose!

Just because you are writing in an actual physical book, it doesn’t mean you are writing a actual physical book. This is still your notebook and these are still your notes. So don’t be afraid to get messy. Write things out of order (seriously, it’s okay to not go chronological. i know it’s hard). Outline. Sketch. Tip-ex the whole thing. Get post-its on it. Take notes. Make genealogical trees. Draw maps. 

If you’re feeling down or uninspired, try very basic writing exercises: write what you see, what you feel, something to try and make you laugh or something to make someone cry. It’s your place to express yourself. And once you got those creative juices flowing, happy writing :)

I hope you enjoyed my tips and please, feel free to reblog this with your own tips and tricks. I’d love to hear them! And follow me for some more writing content! 

[dinosaurtsukki]

drops of jupiter | an oikawa x gn!reader one-shot

pairing: oikawa x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: slight angst, lots of space imagery, some song references, oikawa can go to space and this isn’t Fully Explained

summary: oikawa had always dreamed of going to space until one day, he floated up to the night sky. ever since then, he’d travel up to space, spending more and more time there while you were left behind on earth.

a/n: i’ve always liked how whimsical this song was and i wanted to make a fic about it. also i’m in love with space nerd!oikawa so much. if you can, listen to the song while reading!

inspired by the song ‘drops of jupiter’ by train (although i love the taylor swift cover)

you’ve known oikawa tooru loved space ever since you were still kids. it wasn’t strange for kids to stare at the sky and wonder about the great outer space. but the look on oikawa’s face was always wistful, as if he was remembering a home that he had never been to.

you’ve loved oikawa ever since you realized what it meant to love. he was synonymous to the feeling of waking up to a new day and the excitement of a friday night. unlike him, you never searched for anything beyond the small town where you lived. you were left wanting for even less when oikawa told you he loved you. you knew he meant what he said. you could tell by how his eyes shone when you laugh and how he held you close every night. but you’d always find him looking to the sky, the same wistful look in his face.

and then one day, he did go to space.

it happened on a warm summer night. you were sitting on the doorstep and watched as oikawa, who was lying on the ground and staring at the sky, began to float. both of you gazed in shock as his body lifted off the ground to hover in the air for a few inches. and then, the few inches grew to a few feet. you ran just in time to take his hand only, to let go as oikawa floated farther and farther up into the sky. his ecstatic voice rang through the night as he realized that he was going to achieve his dream of going to space.

and you were left alone, searching the night sky.

…

“y/n!”

you turned around instantly at the familiar voice calling your name to find oikawa floating down from the sky. it took a while for you to realize that he was real and not a vision. with a gasp, you dropped the sheet you were hanging up on a clothesline and ran straight into his arms. oikawa laughed as the force sent the two of you sprawling on the grass with you on top of him, feeling his warmth and breathing in the smell of his shirt.

“did you miss me?” he grinned up at you. he looked no different from the day he left for space again a year ago. after oikawa’s first time going to space, he came back a week later only to leave again. the length of time when he’d been gone became a few weeks to a few months, to now, a year. every time he returned felt much sweeter especially with how you worried each day that oikawa would no longer come back.

“i missed you,” you nodded, placing his hands on your face as you bit back the question you had always wanted to ask. oikawa grinned, his eyes on you and not anywhere else, and that was enough for now.

…

even before he went to space, oikawa had always been the center of attention at any social gathering. his natural charisma drew people to him and he could talk to anyone about anything. watching him now at the small ‘welcome home’ party you set up for him and his friends, you could see the gravitational pull that caused everyone to almost orbit oikawa. and how couldn’t they? even the neon lights overhead in the town bar seemed to center on him.

“saturn was absolutely amazing! i practically spent weeks gliding across its rings. and don’t get me started on the sunsets mercury,” you heard oikawa tell his one of many stories. even in regular clothes, your boyfriend looked ethereal and bright with the colored lights blooming like nebulas on his skin.

“y/n! there you are!” oikawa grinned, catching your eye from across the bar. you smiled and excused yourself from a conversation with one of your friends and walked to him. he circled a hand around your waist and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“how are you liking your party?” you smiled at him, relishing in the warmth of his arm around you.

“well, i sure miss seeing the human faces,” oikawa joked. everyone around him laughed. “although, not as much as watching the last moments of a dying star. there was this one time i…”

you found yourself tuning out, eyes only on oikawa as you watched him tell his story. anyone could easily say that oikawa was a wonder to behold, a man who had been and seen what lay beyond and was unafraid of anything. but to you, oikawa had always been a wonder: back in high school when you watched him train day in and day out until his serve shot across the court like a comet, back when he dragged you outside to dance in the middle of a storm, back when he’d wake you up with pancakes for breakfast.

iwaizumi, one of oikawa’s best friend, was the one who made you tune back in. “so, when are you going back up there?” he asked, sharing a look with you. just like you, he waited every night for his friend to return.

“hmm, i think in about a week?” oikawa hummed.

“a week?” you turned to him, startled. “but… you just got here two days ago.”

“i know, i know but there’s this astral event that’s supposed to happen just once every few years! it’s a black hole swallowing a star!” oikawa chattered excitedly. “i was only able to get a glimpse of it last time but…” his eyes softened at the look on your face. “you understand, right y/n?”

once again, you bit back the question you’ve been wanting to ask. “sure, tooru,” you nodded.

“thanks, y/n,” he smiled, his hand on your waist rising to rest on your shoulder. oikawa was just like a star: bright, beautiful, but so, so far away.

…

you’ve known oikawa tooru loved space ever since you first met him back when you were still kids. that’s why you also knew that nothing was going to stop him from going back to space whenever he could. and so, the most you could do was to have fun during your last night out with him.

“ahh, this brings back memories,” you sighed, resting your chin in your hands as you gazed around the diner.

“sure does,” oikawa grinned. “remember when we decided to eat that 12-scoop banana split?”

“i do! we had severe brain freezes,” you laughed.

“and our stomachs ached for weeks! i couldn’t look at another ice cream scoop the same way ever again,” oikawa shook his head. you smiled as you noticed that tonight, oikawa easily melded into his surroundings. he wasn’t a star. for now, he was your tooru.

“two slices of apple pie and one vanilla milkshake. with two straws,” the waitress, a kind old woman who had been working at the diner ever since you two were kids, winked at you both as she placed the straws on the place.

“thanks auntie,” oikawa smiled gratefully at her.

“space may be great, but the best apple pie in the galaxy is still served here,” you said, eating a forkful of pie.

“well, not to discredit the fact that this apple pie is amazing, i think there are a whole lot more other exciting things out there,” oikawa shrugged a shoulder.

“an apple pie is exciting in its own way,” you disagreed. “i mean, it’s a recipe that’s been passed down for ages. imagine auntie’s great-great-great grandmother in the kitchen creating this recipe but with none of the kitchen equipment we have now. imagine all the apple pies she created until she decided ‘hey, this is absolutely perfect’. imagine how she’d scrounge up money just to have the ingredients. imagine her daughter or something spending all those hours to learn her mother’s recipe. imagine the sheer multitude of people who have eaten this same pie, how generations of families in our town are united by the very opinion that this apple pie is the best in the galaxy.”

you stopped when you realized that you had been ranting, only to find oikawa staring at you, almost starry-eyed. it made your chest ache to have that look on his face directed at you this time. “w-what?” you stammered.

“i just… remembered one of the many things i like so much about you,” oikawa said softly. just hearing him say that gave you the courage to ask the question you’ve been wanting to bring up.

“did you miss me while you were out there?”

“y/n…” oikawa reached his hand across the table. “of course i missed you.”

“enough for you to stay? just a bit longer?” you asked the question softly. oikawa looked down and bit his lip. you sighed, knowing that you weren’t going to get the answer that you want. quickly, you forked a piece of your apple pie and held it out towards him.

“your pie is getting cold,” you said. oikawa blinked at you, surprised no doubt from the change in topic, before leaning forward and eating the piece of pie. you watched him chew thoughtfully for a few seconds before breaking out into a small smile.

“that is the best pie in the galaxy.”

…

every single time, before he went to back to space, oikawa would feel a knot of unease in his stomach, especially when he heard the sad way you’d say goodbye. oikawa could go to space dozens of times, but would you still be there when he came back? that’s the question he always asked himself.

but, it was so wonderful to be in space. to hop from planet to planet, to streak across the inky blackness hanging on the tail of a comet, to lose himself among the multi-colored clouds of space dust, to float on his back and simply watch the revolutions of planets around the sun and think about how amazing it was to be a part of this cosmos.

oikawa knew that everything on earth should be dull compared to outer space, but with you, there was a slight shine to everything. you could go on for hours about everything from apple pie to the history of the only bowling alley in your town. and everything about you was so real. your smile was as warm as the sunlight that entered through the windows to land on his face in the morning. your laugh as soothing and comforting as the sound of rain hitting the rooftops and windows during a gentle storm. and the way you said his name: so full of love that it made oikawa’s chest ache.

surely, nothing else could compare. except…

“wait, is that what i think it is?” oikawa exclaimed, letting go of your hand and skipping forward to see a streak of light shoot across the sky. and another, and another. enough for him to know that he wasn’t just seeing things. “it’s a meteor shower!” he laughed.

“it is!” you said excitedly beside him. oikawa took your hand and the two of you sprinted off in the direction of the house. it was such a sight to see that both of you ran into a few things while you were busy staring up at the sky, before finally reaching your house. oikawa stood, mesmerized at the meteor shower above that rivaled any fireworks display he saw on earth. once again, he felt that pull, similar to that night when he first went to space, and knew that it would only take a matter of seconds for his feet to float over the ground.

and then, he heard you speak.

“are you leaving already?” you spoke softly. oikawa turned around to find you staring, not at him, but at the sky with a longing, wistful expression on your face. it was an expression he was all-too familiar with and it brought oikawa back to those nights he spent staring at the sky, wondering whether he would be able to see the stars and planets and moons and galaxies for himself. oikawa remembered that longing that made his chest ache every night, and realized that you must have been feeling it too all along.

your arms were wrapped around your shoulders, hugging yourself in anticipation because you knew oikawa was going to leave again. ‘they’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,’ oikawa realized. and outer space was vast and wonderful and unexplored, but it was also cold and soundless.

to your surprise, oikawa didn’t leave. he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and planting a kiss on your forehead.

“tooru..?”

“maybe… maybe i’ll stay a little longer,” oikawa smiled down at you, his hands cupping your cheeks. you swallowed, feeling tears stream down your face from relief and pure joy. oikawa was staying.

“thank you. thank you, tooru,” you sniffed, burying your face in his shirt, arms wrapped around and clinging to him. oikawa held you just as tightly, feeling his feet firmly rooted on the ground. he would miss going to space, but everything out there had existed ever since the dawn of time and would continue to exist for far longer. it could wait. but this moment: the two of you embracing under a meteor shower, could only last now.

omg i forgot to add my taglist again 👁👄👁

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in!): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart@akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction@atetiffdoesart@stephdaninja@oikaw-ugh@charliefredb@dramaqueenweeb1469@tremblinghearts@applepienation@doodleniella