#and if not. then my children (if im blessed) can discover their mother in a whole other way

[crypt-keepers-den]

I need more of Astarion and his little spawns- You don't understand how much I fucking loved that fic, PLEASE WE NEED MORE DADDY STARION 😭😭😭

I DIED BUT NOW IM BACK ENJOY!

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Astarion never claimed he'd be a good father, but as soon as your little ones arrived into the world he sure was the proudest. When Lyra, your oldest had been born he fainted (can vampires faint idk), and when you announced your pregnancy with your youngest, Caspian, he was elated and told anyone who'd listen that his darling was blessing him with a second child.

when your oldest was born he was too frightened to hold her, in fear that he'd hurt her, but after a long talk from you (and a stern talking from halsin who'd offered to help you deliver naturally) he did hold her, frozen in place however as he did so. "she's perfect my darling" soft silvery tears cascading down his pale cheeks as the new-born yawns, when your youngest was born, he was prepared this time, holding your hand with confidence as you brought a new life into the world, bringing your 1yr old daughter into the bedroom to meet her baby brother, the elf had a grin etched on his face.

becoming a parent is one thing, but a parent to a dhampir baby is another, when lyra started teething you found out the harsh way. One evening you had lifted the infant to breastfeed her, settling back down on the couch with the infant nestled to your chest as she contently latched, your adoring husband sitting next to you a book in hand, his free hand stroking the top of his daughter's head. "star, read that page again i was too focused on lyra" he nods starting again until he heard a sudden yelp from you, "my love whatever's wrong?" he watches you exam the giggling baby's mouth "holy Avernus, star she's got fangs!" his eyes widened at your discovering as he leans over to see what your talking about, your holding the drooling baby's mouth open to allow him to see the two little white points that had pierced through lyra's gum. His eyes widen now understanding what had happened causing him to laugh, earning him a rough slap to the shoulder and a stern glare. safe to say you switched from breastfeeding to bottle and continued to do so with your second born (not that it helped but it saved your poor breasts from being gummed on by your children atleast).

Astarion prided himself in his inability to say 'no' to his children, "papa can i has?" caspian stares up at his father with the same puppy dog eyes you use on him, "caspian no treats before dinner!" you'd call out, the little boy would then pout before looking back up at his daddy, "papa a'peas", oh dear your son has him in the palm of his chubby little hands, astarion cant remember his childhood anymore, nothing but faint smells of what he assumes is his mother's perfume, but he does remember having nothing when he was under cazadors control. And he had made a promise at each child's birth, they'd never suffer like he had and they'd want for nothing. in this scenario its astarion sneaking your son a cookie before dinner, the pair hiding under the kitchen table laughing "our little secret little starling" , "you two know i can see you right?" "quick run!". with choas ensueing as you chastise the pair for ruining their appetite for dinner.

"lyra please stopping scaring your brother with your bat form!", the first time your daughter had found out she could shift scared you shitless, toddler lyra suddenly poofing into a bat mid hiccup causing you and astarion to jump out of your skin, not knowing how to get lyra to turn back until she hiccups again poofing back and landing in a panicked astarion's arms while giggling at her parents panicked faces. Since then astarion had taught her how to use it properly, however she had a terrible habit of scaring her little brother with it, startling the tot causing him to wail and run to the nearest parent crying "a bwat!, a mama! a papa! noo!" earning lyra a scolding, you and astarion made her promise to not use her abilities in the cottage and not infront of her brother, not until he was a little older anyway.

(hey! im back with some dadstarion stuff! how are we all liking this? i could go on forever about dadstarion scenarios, what would you like to see?)

[wickedpact]

dear tumblr user crim wickedpact pls write the essay/dissertation about nicky being shakespeare's fair youth (if you have time, ofc!!)

Not To Imply Nicky Was Shakespeare’s Fair Youth But Ive Read The Fair Youth Sonnets & Nicky Was Definitely Shakespeare’s Fair Youth, an essay by me, tumblr user crim wickedpact

background knowledge: our man shakespeare wrote some 120 sonnets about a young man referred to as the Fair Youth during the mid 1590s; there has been some debate among shakespeare enthusiasts whether shakespeare’s interest in the Fair Youth was platonic or romantic (but like. they were definitely romantic). no one knows for sure who the Fair Youth was, but it was definitely nicky and my first and most important piece of evidence regarding this hypothesis is the ‘lmao babe do you remember that guy who had a crush on me?’/ ‘i try not to remember the guy who had a crush on you’ look joe and nicky exchange when Merrick brings up shakespeare during the movie. especially since gina confirmed in a tweet that joe and nicky canonly did know shakespeare

my second piece of evidence is that it just Works (except for a couple small facts like.. the Fair Youth was prolly closer to his 20s than his 30s. and the fact that shakespeare implies that the Fair Youth slept with his mistress at one point. but he doesnt know what hes talking about shhh we IGNORE)

long post under cut

A. The Description Matches

when describing the Fair Youth (who I’ll call the FY from now on), shakespeare says he has a ‘gold complexion’ and ‘beautiful eyes’ and compares him to a ‘summer’s day’. He says the FY has “A woman’s gentle heart" and “An eye more bright than [women’s are], (...) Gilding the object whereupon [they] gazeth”

As much as shakespeare’s perceptions of sexuality and gender are very........  late 1500′s (whoo boy sonnet #20 is a wild ride) ...... the description does match, and also:

  B. The Fair Youth Refused to Get Married

it’s never really said why one way or another (shakespeare assumes it’s because the FY is selfish) but the FY didn’t/wouldn’t take on a wife and have a kid, and this was something that was a real sticker for our man Willy S. because, as he says in his sonnets a million times: beauty doesn’t last forever, but having a child not only passes down the FY’s beauty, but also blesses the woman the FY would have a child with (im not saying shakespeare wanted to bear the FY’s children, but he definitely did)

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

(ie. If you don’t renew yourself/ have children, you deprive the world and deprive a woman from having your child, since what woman out there is so beautiful that she wouldn’t want to bear your child?)

Like.

1.) if nicky is the FY then so many of these poems center around the idea of nicky growing old sometime soon and that must have been pretty funny to Nicky and

2.)  the fact that shakespeare would have been So Desperate for nicky to find a wife must have been the opposite of funny to joe. considering the ease of his and nicky’s relationship and the fact that being gay in late 1500s england was probably not a walk in the park, it is very likely shakespeare wouldn’t have known they were in a committed relationship-- or at least not known how close they actually were. Thus:

  C. The Rival (aka. Joe)

shakespeare mentions having a poetic rival in regards to the FY in several sonnets. In sonnet #21 he talks about how he’s not like Those Other Writers who use grand metaphors to talk about their muses

So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,

(ie. I’m not like other poets who, when inspired by a ‘painted beauty’ use heaven and every other beautiful thing on the planet to make a grand comparison to their muse: he specifically lists the sun and moon as examples as well as other beautiful things)

He then goes on to say

And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:

(ie. my love [the FY] is as beautiful as any other beautiful person, though I wouldn’t compare them to the stars/heavens (which is what he means by the 'gold candles’. those are stars.))

So shakespeare insults poets who compare their subjects to the sun, moon, and stars (amongst other things) and in the comics, Joe does literally exactly that

That man is the stars in my sky, and the sun that lights my days. That man is the moon when I'm lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold.

shakespeare also goes on to say in the same sonnet “Let them say more that like of hearsay well / I will not praise that purpose not to sell” which is to say ‘let people who like that kind of language use it, I wont because I don’t want anyone else to have the subject of my affections (the FY)’.

(which is a bit of a contradiction regarding his feelings abt the FY getting married, but these sonnets are full of contradictions. shakespeare was a confused dude; man spent the first 100 or so sonnets convinced the FY loved him back only for him to start wondering if the FY ever loved him near the end)

(not to mention Marriage For Love wasnt really.. much of a thing in Ye Olden Times but thats a different conversation. so shakespeare prolly didnt associate marriage with love/competition? anyways)

Shakesy-boo goes on to complain about this rival several times. In #79, he says

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

(ie. everything ‘your poet’ (as the FY apparently favored this unnamed rival) says about you, he takes it from you in the first place. he talks about your virtue, but learned the word from watching your behavior. he calls you beautiful but only discovered beauty by looking at your face. every compliment he gives you he took from you in the first place)

[and, as a smaller example, he also bemoans the fact that people want to paint the FY in #67, saying, “Why should false painting imitate his cheek, / And steal dead seeming of his living hue?”. and yknow. Joe’s an artist.]

And then another example in #86

Was it the proud full sail of [the rival’s] great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

(ie. he’s talking about how he’s having difficulty writing abt the FY and is rhetorically asking if ‘the proud sail’ of the rival’s verses was the reason his ‘ripe thoughts’ were killed in their ‘womb’. He then asks (again rhetorically) if it was the rival’s ‘spirit’ (or creativity, maybe) ‘’’‘by spirits taught to write’’’’ that killed his own drive to write. none of the analyses I’ve read really explain what shakespeare means by ‘spirits taught to write’, other than maybe being a joke or reference to something we dont know, but... ‘taught by dead people to write in a way mortal people can’t’ very much sounds like a description of an immortal poet, eh?)

Which brings me to,

  D. Willy Boy Thinks There Are 500 Year Old Writings About the Fair Youth

shakespeare talks about people having written about the FY ‘500 years ago’ from the late 1500s in #59 which......................... would have been around 1100 AD. :thinking face:

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame;

(ie. Oh if I could look back 500 years and see how you were described in some old books so I could see/reference what people used to write about you)

Which again brings me to,

  E. I’m Not Saying shakespeare Stole From Joe, But:

1.) In #22, shakespeare says this,

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: 

(ie, your beauty is due to the ‘clothes’ my heart gives you-- probably means something like ‘you’re beautiful because i love you’. goes on to say his heart lives in the FY’s chest, and the FY’s heart lives in shakespeare’s chest)

so: shakespeare tells the FY he has shakespeare’s heart. in comparison, Joe calls nicky ‘my heart’ in the comics...... :thinking face x2:

2.) In #109, shakespeare tells the FY ‘thou art my all’,

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

which rings similar to Joe’s ‘he’s all and he’s more’ as well as (from the comics) ‘he is my everything’

and just saying. joe looks pretty #done the mention of shakespeare.

  F. The last One

Despite shakespeare writing 30+ poems about the FY eventually growing old, the very last poem he writes about/for the FY says,

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest. 

(ie. you [the FY] have power over the ‘mirror’ (fickle glass) of time as well as time’s ‘harvesting’ ability (sickle hour) and as you grow older, you remain beautiful while your lovers [shakespeare] wither and grow old)

The transition from ‘get married and have a baby before you get old!!!!’ in #1-20 to talking about the FY’s presence in 500 y/o books in #59 to admitting the FY isn’t growing old in #126 kinda seems to imply shakespeare learning of/about nicky’s immortality at some point, and this last poem is him accepting it.

TLDR: not only does it make perfect sense if nicky was the Fair Youth from the FY sonnets, but it also makes perfect sense if joe was the Rival from the FY sonnets. its canon nothing will convince me otherwise

[theanonymousb]

My 20 Best Korean Drama

1.    Hi Bye Mama

Genre: Fantasy, Drama

Plot:

Cha Yu-Ri (Kim Tae Hee) has been a ghost since she died 5 years ago. She left behind her husband Jo Kang-Hwa and their child. To become a human again, Cha Yu-Ri carries out a reincarnation project for 49 days.

Meanwhile, Jo Kang-Hwa (Lee Kyu-Hyung) works as a chest surgeon. He was loving, but, after his wife died, his personality changed. After 5 years, his wife Cha Yu-Ri reappears in front of him.

2.    It’s Okay to Not be Okay

Genre: Romance, Drama

Plot:

A story about a man employed in a psychiatric ward and a woman, with an antisocial personality disorder, who is a popular writer of children’s books.

Moon Kang-Tae (Kim Soo-Hyun) works in a psychiatric ward. His job is to write down the patients’ conditions and deal with unexpected situations, like if patients fight or they run away. He only earns about 1.8 million won ($1,600 USD) a month. The woman (Seo Yea-Ji) is a popular writer of children’s literature, but she is extremely selfish, arrogant and rude.

3.    Angel’s last Mission

Genre: Romance, Fantasy

Plot:

Kim Dan (Kim Myung-Soo) is an angel. He is also a troublemaker and also optimist. Lee Yeon-Seo (Shin Hye-Sun) is a ballerina who does not believe in lve.

Dan then receives a mission. If he succeeds, he can return to Heaven. His mission is to find true love for Yeon-Seo, but soon falls in love with her.

4.    Prison Playbook

Genre: Black Comedy

Plot:

Je-Hyeok (Park Hae-Soo) is the best relief pitcher in Korea. He will to the U.S and sign a contract with a major league. One night, he hears his sister screaming and sees a man running out of her apartment. Je-hyeok and the man get into a physical struggle with Je-Hyeok striking the man with a rock. Later, Je-Hyeok receives a 1 year prison sentence for using excessive force. Devastated, Je-Hyeok must adapt to life in prison.

Meanwhile, Joon-Ho (Jung Kyoung-Ho) is a friend of Je-Hyeok and works in the prisonas an officer. He waits for Je-Hyeok’s arrival.

5.    Chicago Typewriter

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Friendship

Plot:

This drama follows the lives of two men and a woman through two eras; one during the 1930s Japanese occupation of Korea and the other in the 21st century. Han Se-Joo (Yoo Ah-In) who was a writer in his past life and a bestselling author in the present. But Se-Joo is depressed with writer’s block so he can’t write his next book.

Yu Jin-Oh (Go Kyung-Pyo) owned a bar in his previous life. In 2017 he is a talented ghostwriter who can bail Se-Joo out of his predicament, but the mysterious man has a condition for his services. Se-Joo may not be able to meet it.

Jun Seol (Im Soo Jung) was a sniper. Now she has extremely variety expertise. She is a former Olympian hopeful, a veterinarian and a book lover who runs her own delivery service. She oscillates between extreme fandom and an anti-fan of Se Joo.

The intricately woven story of these three characters unfolds to reveal strange mirroring connections between the time periods as well as possibilities for past lives to be redeemed or improves in the modern world.

6.    Uncontrollably Fond

Genre: Romance, Melodrama

Plot:

Sin Joon-Young (Kim Woo-Bin) and No Eul (Bae Suzy) were in love in ther younger days. But uncontrollable circumstances separated them and they went their separate ways. Joon-Young is now a superstar actor and singer, while No Eul became a producer-director of documentaries. When their path cross again years later. Joon-Young discovers that No Eul is now very different person than he remembered – materialisticand willing to do anything to get ahead.

7.    Penthouse: War In Life

Genre: Suspense, Life, Drama, Family, Mature

Plot:

The residents of Hera Palace, a luxury penthouse apartment with 100 floors, have many secrets and hidden ambitions. Sim Su-Ryeon (Lee Ji-Ah), who was born into wealth, is the queen of the penthouse apartment. Cheon Seo-Jin (Kim So-Yeon), the prima donna of the residence, does all she can to give everything to her daughter. Oh Yoon-Hee (Eugene) comes from a poor family background, but she strives to enter high society by becoming the queen of the penthouse, the pinnacle success in her eyes. A battle for wealth, power, and prestige at Seoul’s most coveted penthouse begins.

8.    Crash Landing On You

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Military, Political

Plot:

Yoon Se-Ri (Son Ye-Ji) is an heiress to a conglomerate in South Korea. One day, while paragliding, an accident caused by strong winds leads Yoon Se-Ri to make an emergency landing in North Korea.  There, she meets Ri Jeong-Hyeok (Hyun-Bin), who is a North Korean army officer. He tries to protect her and hide her. Soon, Ri Jeong-Hyeok falls in love with Yoon Se-RI.

9.    Itaewon Class

Genre: Romance, Business, Friendship, Life

Plot:

On the first day of attending his new high school, Park Sae-Ro-Yi (Park Seo-Joon) punches his classmate Jang Geun-Won, who was bullying another classmate. The bully is the son of CEO Jang Dae-Hee (Yoo Jae-Myung). The bully's father runs restaurant business Jagga where Park Sae-Ro-Yi’s own father works. CEO Jang Dae-Hee demands to Park Sae-Ro-Yi that he apologizes to his son, but Park Sae-Ro-Yi refuses. Because of his refusal, Park Sae-Ro-Yi gets expelled from school and his father gets fired from his job. Soon, an accident takes place. Park Sae-Ro-Yi’s father dies in a motorcycle accident caused by his ex-classmate Jang Geun-Won. Burning with anger, Park Sae-Ro-Yi viciously beats Jang Geun-Won. He is soon arrested and receives prison time for the violent assault. Park Sae-Ro-Yi decides to destroy the Jagga company and take revenge upon CEO Jang Dae-Hee and his son Jang Geun-Won. Once Park Sae-Ro-Yi is released from prison, he opens a restaurant in Itaewon, Seoul. Jo Yi-Seo (Kim Da-Mi), who is popular on social media, joins Park Sae-Ro-Yi’s restaurant and works there as a manger. She has feelings for Park Sae-Ro-Yi.

10. Hotel De Luna

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Horror, Fantasy

Plot:

Jang Man-Wol (IU) is the CEO of Hotel del Luna. The hotel is situated in downtown in Seoul and has a very old appearance. She made a big error many years ago and, because of this, she has been stuck at Hotel del Luna. She is beautiful, but she is fickle, suspicious and greedy.

Koo Chan-Sung (Yeo Jin-Goo) worked as the youngest assistant manager ever at a multinational hotel corporation. He is a sincere perfectionist. He looks level-headed, but he actually has a soft disposition. Due to an unexpected case, he begins to work as a manager at Hotel del Luna. The hotel's clientele consists of ghosts.

11. Do Do Sol Sol La La Sol

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Plot:

Goo Ra-Ra (Go Ara) is a pianist. She has bright personality. Something happened that caused her to become bankrupt. She doesn't have anything now and she is frustrated with her situation.

Sunwoo Joon (Lee Jae-Wook) doesn't care what other people think about him, but he has a warm heart. He is free spirited and doesn't have a specific dream or goal for his life. He makes ends meet by working part-time jobs.

Goo Ra-Ra and Sunwoo Joon meet at the small private piano academy LaLa Land in a country village.

12. 18 Again

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Youth, Drama, Fantasy

Plot:

Tells the story of a husband named Hong Dae Young (Lee Do-Hyun) who is on the verge of divorce but finds himself back in his body when he was at the prime of his life 18 years ago. He ends up changing his name to Go Woo Young when he becomes 18- years-old again. Meanwhile, his wife Jung Da Jung(Kim Ha-Neul) joins the workforce as an anchorwoman later on in life after raising their 18-year-old twins.

13. Goblin: The Lonely and Great God

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Fantasy

Plot:

In ancient times, Kim Shin (Gong Yoo) is an unbeatable general in wars, but the young King (Kim Min-Jae) is jealous of Kim Shin and kills him. Kim Shin becomes Dokkaebi (Goblin), possessing an immortal life. At first he thinks that he is blessed, but he realizes that he is cursed.

Closer to the present day, Kim Shin has waited 900 years for a human bride to end his immortal life. One night, he saves a dying pregnant woman (Park Hee-Von) who is destined to die. Meanwhile, the Grim Reaper (Lee Dong-Wook) is unable to find the dead pregnant woman. The woman gives birth to a baby girl named Ji Eun-Tak (later played by Kim Go-Eun). 9 years later, Ji Eun-Tak lives with her mother and is able to see ghosts. One night, her mother suddenly dies. On that night, she meets the Grim Reaper.

In the present day, Ji Eun-Tak is a high school student. She still sees ghosts and hears their whisper of “Dokkaebi’s bride.” She now lives with her aunt’s family, but she is mistreated by them. On her birthday, Ji Eun-Tak sits by the sea with a lighted birthday cake. At that time, Kim Shin suddenly appears in front of her. Kim Shin does not know why, but he can hear her voice and appears in front of her against his will. Coincidentally, Kim Shin lives with the Grim Reaper at the same house.

Now, Kim Shin appears in front of her against his will, whenever she turns off the lights. One day, Ji Eun-Tak tells him that he is Dokkaebi and she is his bride.

14. It’s Okay That’s Love

Genre: Friendship, Psychological, Comedy, Romance, Drama

Plot:

Jang Jae-Yeol (Jo In-Sung) is a mystery writer and radio DJ. He suffers from a obsession. Ji Hae-Soo (Gong Hyo-Jin) is going through her first year fellowship in psychiatry at a University Hospital. She chose psychiatry because she doesn't want to perform surgeries. After she meets Jang Jae-Yeol, her life goes through big changes.

15. Let’s Fight Ghost

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Fantasy, Action, Horror

Plot:

Hyun-Ji (Kim So-Hyun) studied for most her life before she died at the age of 19. She is now a ghost and has wandered around the world for several years. Hyun-Ji then meets exorcist Park Bong-Pal (TaecYeon). Hyun-Ji and Bong-Pal listens to various stories from ghosts and sends them to the otherworld.

16. Hospital Playlist

Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Romance, Life, Medical

Plot:

A drama depicting the stories of people going through their days that are seemingly ordinary but actually special, at the hospital, a place known as the microcosm of life - where someone is being born and someone's life meets their ending. The five doctors are longtime friends of 20 years who started their undergrad in 1999 in the same medical school, and now they are colleagues in the same hospital. The drama will also deal with a story of a band formed by the group of doctors.

17. Fated to Loved You

Genre: Business, Comedy, Romance,

Plot:

This drama is the story of an ordinary girl, Mi Yeong, (Jang Na-Ra)who has neither outstanding looks, a prestigious college degree, nor any other charming qualities, facing her whole life abruptly changing when love comes knocking at her door. While on vacation, she accidentally happens to spend one night with Lee Gun (Jang Hyuk) and even gets pregnant from that night. Because of this incident, her life will never be the same, and this fateful encounter brings love that transforms this not-so-special girl to an attractive, charming lady.

18. Go Back Couple

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Life, Fantasy

Plot:

Choi Ban-Do (Son Ho-Jun) and Ma Jin-Joo (Jang Na-Ra) are both 38-years-old and a married couple. Choi Ban-Do has been burdened with being the breadwinner and Ma Jin-Joo is a housewife with low self-esteem. Even though they loved each other when they married, they now hate each other. They both regret marrying at such a young age. The couple travel through time and find themselves as 20-year-old university students, when they met for the first time.

19. To The Beautiful You

Genre: School, Teen, Romantic, Comedy, Sports

Plot:

Kang Tae-Joon (Minho) is a gold medalist in the high jump, but he has been mired in a slump due to an injury. In order to help her idol, a girl named Koo Jae-Hee (Sulli) disguises herself as a boy and enrolls at the same all male high school.When Tae-Joon (Minho) is competiting at the World Junior Competition, Jae-Hee (Sulli) watches him on TV in America and becomes very touched.

Despite her friends telling her otherwise, Jae-Hee cuts her long hair by herself. She then flies to South Korea, with a plan to stay with Tae-Joon who is now injured. Jae-Hee disguises herself as a boy and enrolls at the all boys Genie Physical Education High School. On her first day at school, Jae-Hee goes up the stairs with her suitcase, but her suitcase bursts open and all her clothes fall out. A boy comes by and helps her pick up her stuff. Jae-Hee realizes that the boy helping her is none other than her idol Tae-Joon. In her excitement, Jae-Hee sits on her suitcase, which proceeds to slide down the stairs.

20. When the Camellia Blooms

Genre: Triller, Comedy, Romance, Family

Plot:

Dong-Baek (Kong Hyo-Jin) is a single mother living in the small town of Ongsan. She runs the bar-restaurant Camellia, while also taking care of her son Pil-Gu (Kim Kang-Hoon). The people of Ongsan frequently gossip about Dong-Baek. She grew up as an orphan, is a single mother and runs a bar where many of the men in Ongsan frequent. Regardless of what the locals may whisper about Dong-Baek, local police officer Hwang Yong-Sik (Kang Ha-Neul) is deeply in love with her. Meanwhile, Dong-Baek's ex-boyfriend Kang Jong-Ryeol (Kim Ji-Suk) suddenly reappears in her life. He is a famous baseball player, that hid their relationship when they dated. While Dong-Baek tries to find happiness, something truly sinister lurks in the background. A serial killer roams Ongsan and Dong-Baek may be a target.

[mrpenguinpants]

KAEYA PLAYING WITH ABYSS MAGES AHDHSHDHSB IM- that’s so cute????? Guizhong being older than Zhongli is such a valid hc, I fully support and condone it. Thank you. And Childe growing to like battle was something I found interesting because he was once mentioned to be fragile and weak in his character stories iirc? I like to think that maybe the initial reason he persevered was to overcome that past status.

Also, YES. They’d have the worst habits, and it would eventually become more visible the more comfortable it becomes, but Keqing just gives up on trying to change anything because it’s literally hopeless.

I also headcanon that they have different ways to show appreciation for Keqing. E.g. Childe sometimes uses one of his cringy ass Russian nicknames and when she looks up the meaning, she turns from the most straight-faced woman known to man to a highkey affection-starved queen self-destructing in her room.

Diluc leaves a note on her desk that are simple “Sleep early today. Tomorrow is your day-off.” or “Don’t over work yourself.” messages. He’s so self-conscious about it because like, what if Kaeya catches him up at night contemplating whatever reaction he’ll get. Ends up feeling so accomplished whenever his messages bring a smile to her face.

Kaeya, I feel, would be more open in a sense? Keqing is the last person he thinks he’s be able to deceive, and so he chooses not to. He’s probably one who enjoys deep conversations about literally anything be it mosaic artwork or changes in between modern and archaic politics. A good listener and a fine conversation partner, I feel they’d certainly have interesting conversations.

Zhongli lowkey seizing every opportunity to bring up Rex Lapis and his sense of humor is lowkey degrading Morax for his past mistakes. He’s like “Oh, I thought you hated him. I hate him too” and proceeds to laugh at the fact that the oh-so legendary Geo archon bore a hole in his hoodie for his hair. FOR HIS HAIRS. Keqing is losing her sanity trying not to expose herself as a closeted fan.

The anon lists’ name is super cute btw! Makes me feel pretty blessed for being there haha. I just finished midterms and goodness, I am exhausted. We’re having a short break so I think I can send asks much faster during the brief moment of rest. And pls drink responsibly 🙏

Sincerely, Keqing harem brainrot anon

I lowkey plucked Kaeya playing with mobs and shoved it into the royalty au because god damn, that’s fucking cute. I’m so behind on my asks;; but it’s okay cause we’re here now. I don’t know, Guizhong being that older sister/mother/whatever figure is so heartwarming to me. I think you’re right? I vaguely remember him saying he was pretty fragile but I have the memory of a goldfish haha. Lowkey, this is why I really want the part 2 and 3 of character story quests to go more in depth with their actual character stories. I want to see Childe talk about his feelings and meet his siblings, I want to hear more about Guizhong, I want to hear about the crippling loneliness and depression that Bennett and Barbara have (NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS PART. WHY THE FUCK IS GENSHIN NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS? I KNOW ITS FUN AND GAMES BUT LET ME CARE ABOUT THEM. 1.4 has these hangout events and istg, bennett and barabara have one and if we don’t talk about our feelings I’m going to cry). 

oml their bad habits, Zhongli and his extensive collection of plants because that’s the most social interaction he gets (yes, zhongli is a planter. no i do not take criticism tyvm) and it starts off with a couple plants. Not too bad. Then the next day Keqing walks and it looks like their entire home turned into a forest. But Zhongli loves his plant children and Keqing is slowly losing her mind and starts referring to the plants with the nicknames Zhongli gave them. 

This. This is cute. These appreciation ideas. I fully approve and we need to bring them back. I don’t know anything about Russian but I have a friend that does. But I don’t know how to casually say “hey, can you give me Russian nicknames of endearment. It’s for research.”. Keqing radiates professional in the front, social anxiety in the back. I just love that they added the detail that she’s secretly a Rex Lapis fan but pretends that she hates him. I know there is art of Zhongli lowkey being creeped out or vv smug when he find’s Keqings stash but idk, imagining him being a proud dad and giving headpats even though Keqing is an adult. 

Okay. Let me level with you. Sticky notes of reassuring phrases are the best and why the fuck aren’t people doing it more. I’ve been reading “my mom left a note on the table” or “my partner puts sticky notes in my textbooks as a pick me up” for CENTURIES but am I seeing it in real life? Fuck no. Please, if someone does this for you. Keep them, never let them go. I can imagine Diluc writing these messages, feeling confident when he writes them and ready to be a supportive person. The next day he’s looking at these notes and thinking “what the fuck did I just write, this is garbage” (totally not how I feel about my writing). Then he proceeds to throw them in some cabinet but since Kaeya doesn’t know the first thing about personal boundaries he goes snooping around in Diluc’s room, discovers the notes, and he ends up taking them and putting them on Keqing’s things. It makes her happy so Diluc is going to ignore the very pressing issue with whether or not he should commit manslaughter. 

You know, that’s very valid. That’s how I feel about Kaeya’s relationship with Lisa or Albedo. People that don’t get riled up or annoyed by his antics the same way Amber is. I feel like if you’re looking for small talk, he’s not a bad choice, but if you want those deep 3am conversations he’s definitely the person to go to. Zhongli isn’t a bad choice either but Zhongli tends to go into historical and philosophical moments (which isn’t bad) but you want to have someone relate to you or it feels like an actual conversation and not a history lesson then he’s actually perfect. Especially more controversial topics, I feel like Kaeya would probably have very different opinions from the norm. 

YES. YES. YES I’m replying to these as I read them but YES. Honestly, I get it. Zhongli is a super polite and respectable person. But. But. Have you seen how he clowned on Childe?? That entire interaction?? He didn’t even look the slightest big apologetic for almost destroying Liyue and using the man who was going to kill him to pay for his funeral. What a power move?? And you’re telling me you don’t see him being a smug prick. I love Zhongli’s story quest where everyone is saying “oh the first mora was treasured or it holds mythical powers” and Zhongli is looking at them as if they’re idiots. 

tyty (❤´艸｀❤) I’m blessed to have you here. Oh, I hope you did well on your midterms tho and be sure to rest. I am a bit late to replying to this so hopefully I caught you before your break was over.

Always lovely hearing from you,

Pengu

[blacksunscorpio]

Scorp you're a genius! So relatable and I love how you don't judge others or anyone who comes to you for help. Keep it up! I just had to ask since I see that you make pop culture references to make analogies with astrology. You've mentioned GoT a few times and im a huge fan! Can you do a quick post on Game of Thrones characters and their potential zodiac signs? I'd love to hear your input! Thank you so much!!

Game of Thrones Characters & Their Zodiac Signs

Aries

Khal Drogo- Impulsive. Warlike. Bloodthirsty. Alpha. Conqueror. Hardcore athlete [did you see him on that horse?] Extremely sexual. Forceful. When he first meets Daenerys, he forces himself on her. Afterward, however, he is the first to go to war if he feels the people around him have been disrespected.

Aerys Targaryen- Impulsive, sadistic. Boastful. imperial. He would be the Emperor [reversed] in Tarot, lol. Not as good with being a tactician as he ought to have been. Cruel. Rage problems. The need to be the first and the best. Fire and blood, anyone?

Taurus

Maergery Tyrell - Classy, wealthy, sexy, laid-back, frank but with an air of elegance. Highgardeners have a love for the finer things in life. A love of fine wines and foods. Beautiful clothing and aesthetics. RICH RICH. Get on their bad side and they will take their time finding a way to subvert your authority.

Robert Baratheon- Love of luxury, bullheaded, strong, takes no shit. Fixed in his opinions of others, highkey jealous. In his youth, he enjoyed the gifts of Venus: Charm, wealth coming from the noble house of Baratheon, widely considered handsome by almost all in the 7 kingdoms. 

Gemini

Tyrion Lannister- Silver-tongued. HIGHKEY intelligent. Social. Charming. Great sense of humor. A freak [in the sheets]. Chatty. Always finds his way out of a sticky situation. Finds a way to use his intel to bolster diplomacy between his family and the families who hate them.

Little Finger- Cunning, quick-witted, works behind the scenes, manipulative, a  snake, jack of all trades. Top dog in the social circles of the 7 Kingdoms. There wasn’t a person who didn’t know of him and his... reputation. He singlehandedly, through his Machiavellian tactics, caused the events of Game of Thrones to unfold. 

Cancer  

Cersei Lannister- Protective, moody, caring [to her kids], motherly, cantankerous, jealous. A savage. People don’t give Cancer’s the credit they deserve in terms of what they’re capable of. Cersei is a prime example of the type of person who can show unrivaled levels of devotion to the one’s they love. “No one matters but us.” She can be cruel because she lets her emotions rule her actions. When her safety is threatened, she makes sure no one else feels safe either. She loves with a ferocity only rivaled by...

Catelyn Stark- Another mother who would die [quite literally] for her children. Fierce, Protective. Doting. JEALOUS. Let’s not forget how she treated Jon all because she believed Ned’s lie about him being a bastard. Followed her son into battle. Damn near lost her hands fighting off Bran’s would-be assassin. 

Leo

Jaime Lannister- Proud. Handsome. Princely. Funny. We seem him go from underdeveloped Leo [arrogant, selfish, bully, prideful, snob, loyal to no one but himself] to developed [Kind, helpful, warm, honest]. Fought bears for his friends. Skilled and proud fighter even without the use of both his hands. Unfortunately, his loyalty caused him to stay loyal to his twin towards the end, but such is the nature of a Leo. They’re hard-pressed to abandon those they truly care for.

Brienne of Tarth- LOYAL. Proud. Devoted. A bit of a flare for drama especially brandishing her sword. Brienne is the definition of Leonine traits. Hard to miss. Devoted to those who show her kindness, i.e Renly, Catelyn, Jaime, Sansa, etc. Always at the front lines in war screaming “STAND YOUR GROUND”. Unrivaled levels of bravery and courage. Not to be fucked with. A true Queen.

Virgo

Samwell Tarley- Intelligent. Scholarly. Methodical. Always with his nose in a book. Unproblematic king. Caught the things everyone else missed, especially when he was an apprentice in Old Towne. Figured out how to cure Jorah Mormont’s affliction on his OWN without any formal training. Genius.

Lord Varys- Remember, Virgo is also ruled by Mercury who is the most cunning of the planetary rulers. Varys always had a spy to collect intel on everyone. A tactician. Never lost his temper. Always had the scoop but didn’t partake in gossip for gossip's sake. Not afraid to be critical or tell those “in charge” his opinion. We can see this specifically when he critiques Aerys, Daenerys, and Robert. 

Libra

Davos Seaworth- a skilled diplomat. Davos is always seen seeking balance and fairness in the situations he finds himself in. The minute you see this man in a scene you know he’s going to give a moving speech and get someone out fo a sticky situation. He convinced the Iron Bank to support Stannis. Convinced Daenerys to entertain Jon Snow when they traveled to Dragonstone. Always breaking up a fight. He is in full support of law and order, especially when he called for Melisandre’s head after discovering her part in Shireen’s death [RIP.]

Rhaegar Targaryen- Had a love of music. Harmony. Balance. He brought two families together [Stark and Targaryen]. He was also blessed by Venus in my opinion because he was said to be extremely handsome. A fabulous singer. A fighter yes, but a lover first. Very good with diplomacy but not the best with defending himself against his cousin sign, Taurus [Robert Baratheon].

Scorpio

Daenerys Targaryen- Many see her as an Aries but I have to respectfully disagree. Daenerys is a Scorpio in my opinion. Remember, Scorpio is honorary fire. She was literally “reborn from the ashes”. A Phoenix, Scorpio’s final form. She went from a silent and meek girl to a skilled and commanding Empress. Unlike Arians, she did not jump headfirst into battle. It took many arrows in her dragons, many slights to her ego, copious council from her advisors, dozens of her loved ones lost for her to go nuclear. Like her father, she hungered for power, a very Scorpionic trait. However she, unlike her father, listened to reason [Jorah, Tyrion, and Barristan Selmy]. She had a long fuse until she didn’t, and then that’s when she rained fire and blood on everyone in King’s Landing. She was skilled at retribution and was unapologetic with it *cough* the Tarleys *cough*.. Unlike Arians who pop off at the drop of a hat, she gave her enemies fair warning if/when they crossed her.

Arya Stark- You already know what it is with this one. Arya is pretty much death [Pluto], personified. Stealthy. A tactician. VENGEFUL. I think we all fist-pumped when she served Filch Walder Frey his sons in that pie. Never forgets a slight. Keeps a list of people who’ve wronged her [All Scorpios can probably relate]. You never see her coming. She is “no-one”. She is the assassin that slips through the back. She may seem calm at first but trust that she has been planning your downfall for a while. LOYAL. The definition of a Scorpio.

Melisandre- Dark. Mysterious. Unafraid of the occult. So much of her life is unknown and I’m sure that’s how she preferred it. Even her Lord of light was mysterious. Strong supernatural abilities and highkey psychic. Knew immediately how many “eyes” Arya would “close.” Had ties to the underworld which is demonstrated with her ability to resurrect the dead. Came through at the clutch in the last battle wielding fire [Mars] with her witchcraft. It’s no secret that Scorpios are some of the most skilled in sorcery.

Sagittarius

Missandei- Exotic. From Naath which is an island just above the mysterious continent of Sothoryos. A world traveler. Lucky enough to escape slavery [until the end]. Jupiter's influence is here in my opinion because she is so kind and friendly. Also a polyglot and gifted with the ability to speak 19 languages. Her fire is seen at the end of the series when she tells her best friend “Dracarys”-- meaning “fire” in High Valyrian. She isn’t afraid to call wrath down on others.

Olenna Tyrell- Loud, unapologetically blunt, zero-filter, feisty. Olenna to me is the definition of Sagittarius. Always speaks her mind. Clap back queen. Will call you out. Was also quite promiscuous in her younger years. Very charismatic and extremely likable despite her penchant for saying whatever was on her mind.

Capricorn

Tywin Lannister- I can’t see the patriarch of the most notorious family in Westeros being anything other than a Capricorn. Methodical. Structured. Business-minded. Karmic [A "Lannister always repays his debts"] Cold. Cruel. Unfeeling. Like Saturn, he is the father figure. Basically ran the 7 Kingdoms for Aerys, [which was probably why the latter was so salty towards him.] Always has a plan. The man you want in charge if we’re strictly talking about law and order. Vindictive [had the mountain kill Elia because Rhaegar rejected Cersei.] He’s the ultimate son-of-a-bitch.

Jon Snow- Brooding hero that he is, Bae Jon Snow is without a doubt a Capricorn in my eyes. Duty-bound. Serious. A leader in his own right. Could also be cold and unfeeling in terms of distributing karmic justice. Lest we forget the “fetch-me-a-block” situation with Janos Slynt. In addition, the moment he was resurrected he took vengeance against the black brothers who betrayed him. Saturn, Like Pluto, is all about karmic justice. The beating he put on Ramsey after The Battle of the Bastards was one thousand percent a karmic beating. A proper lover as well, according to Ygritte, Jon also knew how to handle himself in the bedroom, a trait very akin to Capricorns.

Aquarius

Bran Stark- I thought about making Bran a Pisces, but then I changed my mind. Remember Uranus rules sudden insights and hardcore psychic receptivity. It also rules sudden and unexpected catastrophes or surprises/ sudden breaks. Bran suffered a literal “tower” moment at the beginning of the series which resulted in his psychic powers developing. Once he became the three-eyed raven, he became very detached from the world.

Grey Worm- Aquarius is also androgynous. Grey Worm is a eunuch. He is always down to fight for a cause though, specifically his queen’s. Cares about others, specifically Missandei, and was seen towards the latter season speaking up for the Unsullied against the slavers. Fierce combatant but also very detached. His job is his job.

Pisces

Jaqen H’ghar- Much like Neptune, Pisces’ ruler Jaqen has a mysterious and illusive personality. He wears “many faces”. Skilled at illusion and very very intuitive. Has a soft side though which is clearly seen with how he treats Arya. Hardly ever flies off the handle. Calm. Cool. Collected.

Hodor- Sweet and gentle giant, Hodor is a Pisces to me. Affected by psychic trauma, it’s revealed why “Hodor” is the only thing he can say. Calm. A bit of a baby. Caring. Easily adaptable [think of all the terrain he carried Bran through]

Eddard Stark- I don't care what anyone says, Ned stark to me represents the most developed form of a Pisces. Like the Hanged-Man in Tarot that represents sacrifice and which Neptune Rules, he willingly sacrificed his reputation as honorable for his sister, Lyanna. He later sacrifices himself for his children when he died at Joffrey’s [little bitch] command. He is wise. Though appears cold, he is actually a well of feeling and caring. Unfortunately, he also suffered from the naivety of Neptunian influence which is why he wasn’t very skilled at the Game of Thrones, which calls for more tactical ruthlessness. Pisceans however also have the rage of Poseidon flowing through their veins [which people like to forget]. This was displayed when he pinned Petyr Baelish to the Wall in King’s Landing for daring to dishonor Cat by inviting her into a Brothel. RIP, King Stark.

[miracvlovs]

✗✗✗   you see [ kaleb yıldırım ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis male ] is up to no good. [ he / him ] has been here for [ five years ] now but they’re still pretty [ abrasive ] which is fine because they’re also [ debonair ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-eight ] year old [ hitman for hire ] actually looks like a lot like [ alperen duymaz ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ strong cigarettes & even stronger whiskey ].

hey, hello, hi, bonjour! s’up buttercups? ‘tis i, your friendly neighbourhood loser chrissie ( a.k.a an irish doofus who is utter plot trash and the actual WORST at keeping track with discord messages, oops ) and i’m super duper excited to be here among you fab human beings! anywho, this is my first kiddo kaleb and he is … how do you say … morally grey. basically his morals are very questionable in every aspect. but! on the plus side, he’s very talented and good at his job even if he is ruthless and callous, oop. he is … the worst and also lowkey messed up inside tbh so pls excuse his blunt and sarcastic nature. plot-wise i’m open to literally anything and everything so come at me with any ideas ya got! i’m always diggity down to spit ball ideas and form some dope connections so pls feel free to invade my ims or hmu on le cord ( chrissie.#9606 ) and we can brainstorm until our heart’s content! if ya wanna, go ahead and light that lil grey heart up red and i’ll shimmy my butt your way for all of the good stuff. anywho, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?

fundamentals.

KALEB EMER YILDIRIM     —     twenty-eight, hitman for hire,   +   one snarky son of a gun   /   troubled dude with daddy issues   /   all issues tbh ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dried blood caked into the grooves of cut knuckles, the lingering scent of smoke and gasoline, silver slivers of past scarring, five o’clock shadow peppering a blunt jawline, discolourations of blue and purple decorating battered hands, a subtle smirk etched upon a devious countenance, calloused fingertips riddled with small paper cuts, dark circles under almost-black eyes, the noise of screeching tires in the middle of the night, a tall stature adorned in all-black attire, ghosts of bruises staining calloused skin green, a scuffed zippo lighter in a pack of marlboros containing only one cigarette, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a sly grin under stormy dark eyes, a sniper on the roof of a deserted building, the roar of a car engine, & clenched, white-knuckled fists.

nicknames. kal.

date of birth. november third.

gender. cis male.

pronouns. he + him.

birthplace. manhattan, nyc.

orientation. bisexual + aromantic.

education. bachelor of music degree obtained from manhattan school of music.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, turkish, spanish, & french.

negative traits. haughty, abrasive, enigmatic, cynical, temperamental, calculating, hedonistic, distant, sarcastic, & volatile.

positive traits. adept, diligent, charming, resilient, candid, adept, charming, audacious, determined, & resourceful.

strengths. efficient, energetic, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic thinker, charismatic, & inspiring.

weaknesses. stubborn, dominant, intolerant, impatient, arrogant, poor handling of emotions, cold, & ruthless.

talents. piano, retaining information, memory recall, lock-picking, carjacking, hand-to-hand combat, automobile knowledge, tracking people down, & excellent problem-solving abilities. 

physiology. dark brown eyes. dark brown hair. six feet, one inch tall. of a lean, broad stature with a straight posture and evident height. has a few silvery scars littered across his skin. has a few tattoos in a few less visible places. is ambidextrous.

psychology. scorpio zodiac. water element. slytherin house. entj-a. chaotic neutral. type eight enneagram. choleric temperament. interpersonal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, cocaine, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and insomnia. his vices are lust, wrath and pride. his virtues are ... honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   infidelity, divorce, alcoholism, drug abuse, cancer, death, car crash, funeral, blood, murder, suicide mention, gun mention, & various references to death and murder. 

a synopsis.   ah, here he is—my tol, troubled, grouchy son : ' ) don't u just adore ur resident trashy, snarky, but precious and sad fuckboi muse? bc i know I DO! anyways, before i digress, i'll cut to the chase. so, waaay before he blessed the universe with his presence, his mother ( who was originally from turkey ) moved to the states where she met one alexander hale. you can probably guess the rest: the pair married, they had children, everything seemed to be going swimmingly, yada yada. here’s a lil background: the hale family—a line of manhattan-born businessmen / lawyers / diplomats etc. they're dripping in wealth, not always as squeaky clean as they portray themselves as to be. kaleb’s dad was a douche, expected both of his sons to follow in his shadow and become lawyers, ran around behind his wife's back: the whole shoot and shebang of a classic a-hole. he always kind of ignored kaleb in favour of his eldest son joshua so kaleb kinda became hard-hearted and resentful due to the lack of his father's attention. skip a few years and he spied his dad cheating on his mother with his secretary though he refused to tell another soul for fear of any potential backlash. soon enough, his mother found this out for herself, their argument ruined his thirteenth birthday party then they divorced soon after. his mother fell off the wagon, became terminally ill—all while his father was remarrying and expecting a daughter with his secretary. it was a hella rough two years for kaleb. it got even worse. eventually, his mother passed away and his step-mother divorced his father to breeze off into the sunset with her new lover; leaving her daughter with her piss-poor excuse of a dad. at this point, kaleb was lonely and angry but adopted the role of his step-sister's protector, shielding her from their father's increasing substance abuse induced violence. just before his seventeenth birthday, his father died in a car crash. of course, he didn't entirely mourn the loss. almost immediately, he and his younger sister moved in with their elder brother who helped kaleb get into university. with dear ole dad out of the picture, he could finally pursue his interest and flair for music. after he graduated, he moved to santa ysabel with his brother and brother's family. in the beginning, things were going fine. yeah, sure, he was struggling for work and felt bad that his brother had to keep him afloat. normal stuff. then, one day, things quickly turned sour in his world. [ TRIGGER FOR GORE, BLOOD, SUICIDE MENTION, GUN MENTION, MURDER, DEATH ] he’d came home to find the locks on the doors busted, advancing into the house carefully only to find his brother’s lifeless corpse crumbled on the kitchen tiles: his throat and wrists slashed, posed as a suicide. of course, kaleb knew better. he knew his brother; knew he would never leave him or his family. upon further inspection of the house, he’d discovered the body of his wife upstairs: a bullet hole between her eyes. [ TRIGGER OVER ] the whole ordeal was enough to turn his stomach but once the sickness had subsided, all kaleb felt was a strong thirst for blood. sure, it was pretty damn stupid to try and seek revenge or whatnot ... but kaleb had always been one to let his heart guide his brain. anyways, time skip now to the moment he’d uncovered his brother’s entanglement with some dodgy loan shark, drug dealing criminals who were responsible for his murder. in the end, he’d hunted them down and eradicated them one by one, over a span of weeks. at first, he hated himself and what his desire for vengeance had turned him into but he kept going until he’d got them all: until he’d grown numb. truthfully, how he wound up taking lives for a living is beyond him. he woke up one day, found himself hired by some big-wig businessman who wanted rid of his business partner and et voilà, he was tangled up in the dark side of existence. i mean, was he blackmailed into doing his first paid hit? yes. but who can blame him? especially when they claimed to have intel regarding the sudden demise of a prominent figure in the criminal underbelly of the city, a.k.a his brother’s killer. it was a risk kaleb simply couldn’t take. he prefers to keep himself anonymous, hidden behind shadows, unsuspecting. death has become a job. nothing more. nothing less. it’s simply the algorithm of his existence: receive a dossier, take care of the target, get paid a hefty lump sum. and all just for enacting a stranger’s revenge in the blood of another. he moves like a deadly phantom, his footsteps light as a feather, whipping through the night like a bullet through a target’s skull. sartre claims that hell is other people. and if you were to stare into kaleb’s eyes—eyes eerily similar to having been cut from coal—you might just see hell and everyone in it staring right back at you. as nietzsche wrote: “ he who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. and if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee. ”

random extras.

he has a lot of small scars over his body, most of which he can’t account for or has forgotten about.

owns and drives a black 1969 boss 429 mustang which he loves arguably more than he loves himself.

speaking of, he actually is full of self-hatred so don’t let the haughtiness fool you.

trusts nobody but himself and is loyal to nobody but himself.

has a lot of anger issues so often ends up taking part in underground fights.

he rates around a solid three on the kinsey scale.

is a distant person; closed-off emotionally and prefers to keep himself to himself.

when it comes to whether or not he is morally decent or an extremely bad person, he is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum.

he isn’t heartless but he isn’t exactly compassionate either.

kind of shady but knows how to pass himself as charming. 

has been thru sum shit n seen sum shit so he’s v messed up inside.

though he does have a soft spot for animals and children.

his marksmanship is impeccable.

he’s naturally gifted with firearms and his shot is always on point.

dark eyes and bruised knuckles are his ultimate aesthetic tbh.

actually really appreciates classical music, though he’ll never tell. blame it on his piano lessons from childhood.

speaking of piano, he’s low key gifted at playing although he rarely does these days.

has a very short fuse and can lose his temper quite easily.

he has a good heart and good intentions when it comes to those he actually cares about although he’ll never let this show.

favourite coping mechanism? isolation.

a bit of a lone wolf. he keeps people at arm’s length but acts in a way where people are under the illusion he’s their friend.

basically the tall, dark and handsome trope: ( most of the tall, dark and handsome men display aloof, cold and distant personality but they do have a gentle and caring side. )

is a little snarky and grumpy but if you manage to break this exterior, you’ll find he’s quite witty and easy going.

he got into fighting at a young age. it was the only way to try and learn how to defend himself against his father.

sleep?? he doesn’t know her.

tends to repress his emotions until he explodes.

healthy coping mechanisms?? he doesn’t know them either.

is prone to pushing the self destruct button.

you can find a pinterest board for him by clicking anywhere here.

[atilla-da-honey]

Dragon age fans!

Tell me your unique/wierdo Dragon Age head canons! Gush about your Warden's/Hakwe's/Inquisitors! If you want, tell me a little story/ficlet about your characters or OTP's!

I just want that jucy DA content. I don't care if its off the rails bullshit crazy, completely and utterly mundane or tropey and cliche, if its Dragon Age and you wanna talk about it I WANNA LISTEN. Can be your canon's or just an idea you like!

Feel free to tag people!

I'll go first! (This turned out longer than I meant, you can legit just write a short sentence summary i don't care)

"Treya Lavellan was First to her clan as a child. It was super stressful for her because she wasn't magically powerful enough to keep up with the needs of the Clan but at the time she was the only option so it was her duty. She felt extremely insecure and embarassed about her lack of talent and was frequently tired and iratable as she constantly pushed herself to the point of exhaustion.

When Treya was 17, the Clan was approached by a city born elf woman and her son. The son was a mage and the mother said that Templars had been known to kill mages from Alienages rather than go to the trouble of taking them all the way to the circle. She had hidden him for years but her husband discovered the magic recently and wanted the boy out. They had several other children and she couldn't leave them, but she had heard that the Dalish do not fear magic and she begged Deshanna to take on her son Maharial. He was only 15 and had a lot of magical potential, and Dashanna considered it to be a great blessing.

Treya was...conflicted.

It was soon apparant that this flat eared child was going to end up replacing her. After years of training, of struggeling to pick up even the basics, he came in like an eager little whirlwind and blew everybody away with how quick and capeable he was. Magic was so easy for him, but more than that he was charming, soft spoken and polite where Treya was thought to be something of a no-nonsense hardass, something her near constant exhaustion didn't help.

He dedicated himself to The creators, he ate up her Pape's stories abiut the glory of Elvhenan and The Dales, he deffered to the wisdom and advice of the Haren with dignity and grace.

And Treya HATED him for it.

She didn't want to. She knew she was being jelous and unfair and that he was an elf and had every right to claim his place amoung the people. She even knew that he was far, far better suited to the role of first than she would ever be.

But she still hated him for it.

One day she lost her patience. She, Deshana and Maharial were seeding the grounds with their magic to clear the hidden paths so the Aravels could move. It was a task she had been performing since her magic manifested at 6, and it was a long, sustained spell that they would have to hold for hours at a time.

Maharial noticed her flagging and innocently started giving suggestions on how to better apply the spell in order to better concerve her mana and she lost it.

"I don't need your fucking input you pushy, obnoxious flat ear! I have been first of this clan since before you even knew it was possible for an elf to have dignity!"

Everybody froze.

Treya knew she'd fucked up. She knew it. But she was proud and insecure and stupid and so she doubled down.

"What? I'm not going to sit here and hear advice falling from a mouth that has probably spent more time sucking human dick than -"

*SLAP*

It wasn't Mahanon. Or Deshanna.

It was her Pape.

Her soft, gentle Pape, who kept the hearth and sung their history to the Clan. He had never once raised his voice at her, and he did not do so now.

"Treya, First of Lavellan, Daughter of mine and apprentice to our Keeper, you will apologise to this boy this instant."

Treya was numb.

Her eyes filled with tears.

She fled.

In the end, it was Mahanon who found her. Her father had advised to give her some time and reassured him that he was one of them and that she was out of line. It was kind.

He knew The First didn't like him but she usually just kept it to a frosty silence.

He found her crying, her staff cast aside and her head hidden in her hands. She wouldnt meet his eyes.

"I don't know why I said that." She whispered softly.

"You hate me." He said with a shrug.

"I dont mean to. I dont even want to. You just....showed up one day, and you are better at things I've been trying to master my whole life. The clan loves you effortlessly."

"So you're what...jelous? Of me? Thats... ridiculous. Its not effortless." He sat down next to her. For once he looked as exhausted as she did. "You realise you're not the only one who hates me because I'm from a city right? Not three nights ago I heard Haren Loril trying to talk Deshanna into giving me the boot. Says my lineage is in question, whatever that means.... Mother told me to do everything in my power to be accepted. To be exactly as they want me to be. But im not like you. Im not serious and sensible, I don't know how anything here is susposed to work and you are unlike any elves I have ever known. I don't know how to belong here. So I say what I think they want to hear. That I love living here, that I don't miss the alienage...that I never believed in the Maker anyway and all your elven Gods give me courage and hope.

But its not true. I'm tired Treya. I miss my family and I want to go home. Void, I'd happily suck a human cock if I could just go home. But I can't.

You idiots already taught me to value freedom above all else. I'm not going to let some templar kill me or drag me to a circle just because I couldn't get you lot to like me."

She felt even more shame. It was easy for her to forget that he didnt materialize out of thin air with the express desire to ruin her day, that he'd come to the clan seeking their protection.

She was a poor First.

"I don't want you to die or to go to a circle." She said, tentatively.

"Thats an incredibly low bar, but I'll take it." He returned with a tired smile.

"I'm....sorry. About what I said. About what a shit I've been. It must have been difficult to leave your family and I certianly didn't make you feel welcome."

"Yeah you've been a bit of a total bitch." He said with a wide grin. "But you know, winning over the clans terrorfing First who hates me would make a great impression on the others. What do you say, do over?" He reached a hand towards her, his eyes met hers with a lot more uncertainty than she would have expected.

"Yeah. Ok. Do over."

Eventually, Mahanon did take Treya's place as First. By the time it happened she could admit that it was a relief. She made a far better apprentice to the War Leader anyway."

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, ALLI! You’ve been accepted for the role of SEVEN OF SWORDS with the faceclaim of CILLIAN MURPHY. Canis is certainly a fucking concept, whom I adore to no end. He’s got a tenacious and willful sort of attitude about him, the kind of incredulous charm and wit that lends itself to an air of villainy and danger, and I think that he fits into the Seven of Swords like one fits into a well-made boot or glove. In spite of remaining leashed like a dog, he’s got no small amount of fire in him, and I’m eager to see what (or who!) he sinks his teeth into during gameplay. You’ve brought me a real gift, dropped it on my doorstep, and I am grateful.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

— APPLICATION

OOC

NAME:    alli PRONOUNS:    she / her AGE:    twenty - one TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL:    cst /  i  am  currently  on  summer  break  and  have  the  ability  to  be  really  active ,  but  sometimes  things  do  come  up !  i  definitely  have  plenty  of  time  to  be  on  the  dash  with  several  posts  within  activity  limit  and  when  my  muse  is  high  ( i’ll  be  honest  i’m  a  hoe  for  high  fantasy )  my  activity  is  also  super  up ! ANYTHING ELSE?:    what’s the mead sis…….. the wenches are squabbling …….

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON:    seven  of  swords NAME:   efferus  aubenet   /   “canis”  &  “the  dog”   efferus  -  of  latin  meaning ,  “wild ,  savage ,  cruel ,  barbarous” .  a  name  canis  has  long  since  abandoned ,  preferring  even  the  subtle  jab  of  “the  dog”  given  to  him  by  opponents  of  his  crew  and  the  highborn  that  look  down  on  him .  he  finds  it  just  about  as  cutting  as  a  bread knife .  no  one  except  those  closest  to  him  ( ie .  the  pack )  even  know  this  name  exists . canis  -  latin  for  “ dog ” ,  though also  the  scientific  genus  for  all  canines ,  including  wolves  and  coyotes .  meant  to  symbolize  canis  as   the  leader  of  his  pack  of  wild  dogs ,  and  a  sign  of  respect ,  a  nickname  earned  on  the  streets  and  not  given  to  him  in  tyrholm . the  dog  -  a  nickname  received  while  working  under  king  septimus ,  by  those  that  see  the  second  fangs  as  dirty ,  unruly ,  savages .  also  by  revolters  who  see canis  as  a  dog  blindly  following  the  orders  of  a  tyrannical  king.  in  any  case ,  he  still  prefers  this  to  efferus .  sometimes  he  even  barks  in  response . FACECLAIM:    cillian  murphy ,  michiel  huisman   ( he / him  pronouns ,  cis  male ) AGE:    thirty - nine  ,  born  on  the  twenty - seventh  day  of  the  twelfth  month

DETAILS:   i  always  find  myself  drawn  to  underdog  characters ,  muses  that  have  overcome  more  than  most  others  could  even  imagine  to  find  themselves  in  their  present  position .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  depth  to  backgrounds  like  canis’s .  no family  so  he  created  his  own ,  nothing  to  his  name  so  he  created  his  own  legacy .  a  moral  compass that  tries  it’s  best  to  always  point  north .  that  fails ,  because  the  muse  is  so  painfully  human .  the  irony  of  a  sellsword  who  wants  more  for  himself ?  incredible .  when  i  was  skimming  the  skeletons ,  it  was  his  that  startled  practically  writing  itself ,  this  street  urchin  turned  warrior  figure ,  so  i  spent  a  lot  of  time  picking  apart  the  biography  until  i  was  left  with  canis . i  did  a  bit  of  research  on  the  seventh  of  swords  tarot  card ,  but  let  me  tell  you  ..  i  was  so  pleasantly  surprised  and  intrigued  when  i  did .  on  one  hand ,  when  upright ,  seven  of  swords  means  scheming ,  resourcefulness ,  cunning ,  and  lies ,  all  traits  that  have  gotten  canis  to  where  he  is  today ,  however  negative ,  the  legacy  he’s  forged  for  himself  and  all  deeply  tied  to  his  work .  however ,  when  reversed ,  the  seven  of  swords  can  mean  confession ,  conscience ,  regret ,  and  maliciousness ,  which  i  think  lend  beautifully  to  this  character’s  private  struggles .  there  is  a  very  heavy  mix  of  negative  and  positive  attributes  leant  towards  seven  of  sword’s  core  character ,  someone  who  wants  to  do  right  by  themselves  at  great  cost .  when  interpreting  the  tarot  as  canis ,  i  was  drawn  to  the  maliciousness  and  the  regret  ( in  sometimes  equal  measure )  of  the  reversed  card .  i  believe  there  is  so  much  more  to  this  character  than  just  his  web  of  scheming  and  lies ,  that  canis’s  true  self  comes  from  somewhere  within ,  and  i’m  really  excited  to  explore  his  inner  conflicts.  this  man  has  so  many  issues  that  he’s  buried  and  i  think  the  possibility  of  him  becoming  a  part  of  the  revolution?  impeccable.  my  muse  for  this  skeleton ?  through  the  roof .

BACKGROUND  

I .  O’ ROMULUS  AND  REMUS ,  CASTOR  AND  POLLUX ,  WHAT  IS  ONE  WITHOUT  THE  OTHER ?   a  twin ,  you  were  told ,  though  it  feels  like  something  you  should  never  be  permitted  to  forget.  you’ve  never  felt  him there ,  not  like  a  phantom  limb  or  a  guiding  whisper.  just  a  story ,  when  you’re  feeling  ungrateful  for  your  lot  in  this  realm ,  that  there  is  only  one  where  there  once  was  two.  born  in  the  dead  of  winter  --  the  one  that  bit  at  the  napes  of  even  the  most  fur  cloaked  nobility  of  markholm ,  that  anyone  unlucky  enough  to  live  through  it  can  still  recall  as  “ceaseless”   --   and  childbirth  takes  your  mother  as  it  goes.  two  children ,  born  sickly ,  cold.  so  you  are  dubbed  efferus ,  a  savage  beast  who  can  claw  his  way  into  life ,  barely  holding  onto  breath ,  already  having  taken  a  life.   it  takes  a  village  to  raise  motherless  boys.  sometimes  it  takes  more  than  that.  your  brother  doesn’t  make  it  past  the  winter ,  but  you  keep  growing ,  getting  stronger  by  the  day ,  and  finally  spring  flowers  bloom  forth  from  hard  soil.  the  goat  farmer  next  door  tells  your  father  you  are  a  resilient  one ,  that  the  undying  smiled  upon  him.  another  miracle ,  that  your  life  could  be  a  blessing  and  not  a  curse.   as  long  as  you  knew  him ,  your  father  kept  steadfast  in  deep  religion ,  devout ,  praying  over  the  crops.  the  cattle.  the  harvest.  even  your  birth ,  a  story  he  recants  so  mystically  it’s  hard  to  imagine  you  were  there.  “we  all  bled  fer  you ,”  he  always  starts ,  like  it’s  your  fault ,  “my  son ,  my  son.  let  all  else  be  damned  fer  ‘im.”  two  lives  for  the  price  of  one ,  he  reminds  you ,  and  you’re  just  a  boy ,  but  you  still  find  it  all  absurd.  there’s  never  been a rhyme  or  reason  to  suffering.  “you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  fer.”  sometimes  it  seems  a  compliment.  others ..  you  aren’t  so  sure.   your  father  hath  no  mercy  for  the  weak  or  spineless ,  though  he  wasn’t  an  inherently  evil  man  either ,  at  least  not  in  the  figments  you  can  conjure  of  him.  you  plow  the  fields ,  with  hands  so  rough  with  calluses  you  can’t  feel  the  hilt  of  the  axe  you  use  to  cut  the  firewood.  you  milk  the  cows ,  so  gentle  with  great  beasts  you  start  to  forget  your  name.  you’re  skin  and  bone  and  beating  heart  ,  not  much  to  look  at ,  but  just  the  blessing  your  father  asked  for  all  the  same.  a  good  boy ,  in  that  you  were  capable  and  healthy  and  strong.  a  bad  seed ,  in  that  you  cared  for  little  and  didn’t  always  do  as  you  were  told.   it’s  your  tenth  winter  when  frostbitten  tendrils  take  first  your  farm ,  and  then  your  father.  you  make  a  deal  with  the  undying  and  you  get  what  you  paid  for ,  you  remember ,  and  it  almost  makes  you  laugh.  perhaps  it’s  not  so  funny  that  you  mourn  very  little  the  life  you  lost.  perhaps  still  it  is  a  testament  to  your  strength ,  a  boy  of  only  ten  who  shoulders  already  a  lifetime  of  death  and  decay.  who  makes  it  look  a  load  easy  to  bear.  who  are  you ,  efferus  aubenet?  and  who  will  you  become?

II .  A  MIRRORED  MIDAS  ,  IF  EVERYTHING  HE  HAD  TOUCHED  TURNED  TO  DEATH  AND  ROT .   a  street  urchin  with  no  farm ,  no  family ,  and  most  prominently  no  coin.  winters  slip  away  like  sand  through  an  hourglass ,  and  it’s  all  you  can  do  to  keep  track  of  the  time  that  folds  beneath  you.  one  year ,  and  you’re  frail  and  quiet  and  know  only  to  keep  to  yourself.  three  years  and  you’ve  developed  a  taste  for  fighting ,  scrappy  as  you  are.  it’s  just  a  game ,  in  the  beginning ,  one  the  other  coinless  children  keep  telling  you  you’re  too  good  at ,  “it’s  no  fun  fighting  a  hungry  dog.”  five  years  and  you’re  taller ,  more  meat  to  your  bones.  you’re  better  at  sneaking  things  out  of   the  market ,  extra  to  feed  your  friends.  you  learned  the  hard  way  what  happens  if  you  don’t  bring  back  enough ,  if  you  turn  a  blind  eye  to  people  who  call  out  your  name.  you  hear  it  when  you  dream ,  half  awake  in  chilled  darkness.   “i’m  so  hungry,  efferus.  i’m  so  hungry.”   you  start  going  by  canis.  it  makes  it  easier  to  sleep.   six ,  seven  years  and  you’re  so  good  at  fighting  that  your  pockets  start  to  feel  heavy.  cobbled  streets  whisper  canis  when  you  cross.  bruised  fists  and  a  bloody  conscience ,  not  all soldiers  make  it  out  of  battle  alive.  it  dawns  on  you ,  slowly  but  with  all  the  force  of  a  crack  of  lightning ,  why  the  others  like  to  call  you  dog.  maybe  it’s  because  you  were  born  from  death ,  or  because  you  know  loss  so  well  it  colors  your  eyelids  when  you  blink ,  but  it  seems  all  you’re  good  for.  you  discover  a  rage  within  you ,  one  which  you’re  sure  ( you  hope ,  foolish  as  it  is )  any  man  is  capable  of ,  if  pushed  too  far.  but  it’s  directionless ,  vile  in  the  way  it  sits  inside  your  chambered  heart.  there  is  nothing  more  universal  than  pain.  nothing  more  isolating  than  anger.  a  boy  with  a  taste  for  blood.  so  blind  to  the  way  you  snap ,  like  branch  under  boot ,  when  you  push  too  hard.  what  place  is  there  for  you  in  an  unforgiving  world ,  wracked  with  hardship?  at  whose  table  do  you  dine?   you  knew  love  once ,  it  felt  like  sharing  bread  and  blankets  and  tales  of  woe.  like  years  on  the  streets  relying  only  on  wit  and  steadfast  determination  to  survive.  like  knowing  a  person  fully ,  inside  and  out ,  as  you’d  always  known  yourself.  that  too  would  be  taken  from  you ,  like  everything  else.  for  the  price  of  just  a  single  coin ,  you  watched  your  love  take  their  last  breath ,  watched  the  thief  make  off  with  their  blood  money ,  felt  truly  and  terribly  powerless.  worse  than  losing  your  father  to  deep  winter  chill  you  lost  your  first  love  to  a  blade.  and  in  the  end ,  it  meant  nothing.     the  sons  of  argos  could  not  undo  what  you’d  done ,  what  had  been  done  to  you ,  but  maybe  you  could  give  back  tenfold.  it  starts  small ,  at  a  table  in  your  favorite  tavern ,  as  all  great  plots  tended  to  do.  an  invitation  to  join  a  company  you’d  heard  about  only  in  whispers.  you  saw  espace ,  penance  where  others  saw  a  home ,  but  that  would  always  be  enough  for  you.  it  was  intended  to  be  permanent ,  a  family  you  couldn’t  lose ,  under  a  friend  who  would  lay  down  their  life  for  the  men ,  women ,  and  children  under  their  protection.  a  life  of  adventure  to  call  your  own  and  you  didn’t  need  to  suffer  anymore.  you  had  but  one  skill ,  it  seemed ,  beyond  tending  to  the  herd  and  trimming  too  tall  crops ,  and  your  father  once  taught  you  that  skill  fed  fortune  ( though  the  money ,  you’d  find ,  would  come  later ) .  you  don’t  think  the  sons  is  quite  what  your  dearly  departed  had  in  mind ,  and  this  makes  your  smile  widen.  you’ve  always  found  humor  in  odd  places.     what  follows  is  a  career  far  short  of  extravagant ,  fighting  crime  like  a  bunch  of  vigilanties ,  tied  to  a  city  state  that  knows  little  of  its  own  streets.  you  hunger  for  travel ,  to  sink  your  teeth  into  shores  unseen ,  land  untended.  to  make  a  real  name  for  yourself  and  anyone  who  followed  suit.  “mind  your  place ,  mutt,”  you  hear  more  than  once ,  and  you  want  to  swat  the  others  away  like  flies  buzzing  in  swelling  ears.  but  there’s  something  sharp ,  too ,  like  a  cut  that  just  won’t  heal.  your  voice  is  too  loud  amongst  the  rest ,  your  name  --  the  name  you  paid  for  in  blood  --  nothing  next  to  strength’s.  the  captain  you  were  meant  to  worship  turned  to  dust  in  your  heavy  fist ,  the  family  you  forged  alongside  them  never  yours  to  call  your  own.  you  tell  yourself  they  betrayed  you ,  like  everything  else  in  this  life  they  gave  you  nothing  to  hold  onto  save  for  the  back  of  their  coattails ,  but  in  truth  you  were  never  meant  to  stay.  minding  your  place  felt  a  lot  like  digging  six  feet  down  to  lay  rest.   it’s  like  waking  from  a  dream ,  one  you  push  down  when  it  returns  to  you  in  the  night ,  leaving  the  sons  for  good.  four  winters  you  slept  under  their  tents ,  ate  at  their  table ,  and  still  you  feel  nothing  when  you  pack  what’s  yours  ( and  maybe  some  of  what  isn’t ,  but  who  would  dare  come  looking  for  it? )  and  go.  no  one  follows ,  no  one  even  pleads  your  case ,  and  when  you  see  them  playing  knights  on  the  docks  the  fire  in  you  swells.  it’s  all  rot  now.

III .  WHERE  WOULD  ICARUS  BE  NOW ,  IF  SOMEONE  WISE  HAD  CLIPPED  CURSED  WINGS?      iriebury  is  the  stank  of  unwashed  flesh ,  the  heat  of  southern  sun ,  something  to  conquer.  the  citizens  are  mean  and  the  crime  meaner.  it  makes  tyrholm  look  a  lot  like  playing  pretend ,  the  sons  seem  like  a  group  of  toy  soldiers.  to  survive  in  iriebury  you  need  your  bark ,  you  need  your  bite.  naturally , you  thrive.   it  takes  just  one  winter ,  one  warm  southern  winter ,  before  you  have  something  to  call  a  crew  of  your  very  own.  the  second  fangs ,  a  handful  of  beaten  down ,  nearly  finished  off  mutts  that  think  you  look  like  a  future.  you’ll  find  one  day ,  when  you’ve  turned  to  face  the  wrong  end  of  a  sword ,  these  dogs’  loyalty  knows  no  bounds.  and  maybe  you  do  have  a  family  after  all.  they  don’t  look  like  warriors  born  for  battle ,  but  they’re  sharp  on  every  edge  and  speak  of  you  like  you  hung  the  moon.  like  a  prophecy  spun  from  the  undying  herself.  the  queen  of  iriebury’s  no  different ,  when  you  flash  her  a  smile  and  run  a  sword  through  her  guard.  this  is  your  destiny.   with  work  and  full  bellies ,  the  second  fangs  grow ,  picking  up  more  men  and  women  the  rest  of  markholm  cast  aside ,  giving  them  all  purpose.  leadership  becomes  you ,  you’re  kind  in  places  other  captains  breathe  fire.  your  men  adore  you ,  and  maybe  this  is  why  it’s  easy  to  lose  yourself  a  bit.  you’ve  always  been  looking  for  him ,  that  voice  inside  of  you  that  has  guided  every  confident  step ,  and  you  really  start  to  believe  you’ve  found  him  at  the  end  of  a blade.     what  you  do  isn’t  pretty like  life  in  a  castle ,  it  isn’t  gentle  like  the  farm  or  humble  like  a  temple ,  but  it  suits  you.  you  find  company  at  the  bottom  of  a  bottle ,  family  inside  the  taverns  and  brothels ,  atop  dirty  cobblestone.  it  all  feels  a  lot  like  honor ,  like  duty.  you’re  known  for  your  loyalty  and  cunning  among  burdened  skill.  work  lends  to  virtue  or  some  mirrored  image  of  the  sort.  the  second  fangs  take  the  jobs  you  approve ,  not  the  ones  the  queen  hands  you ,  nails  stained  with  blood ,  and   who  knew  a  mercenary  crew  with  such  an  eye  for  morality?  bastards  that  comb  the  streets  but  speak  with  love  fresh  on  their  lips.  you’re  a  heathen  with  heart ,  of  that  not  even  the  fiercest  opponents  can  dispute.  maybe  there  is  a  place  in  this  world  for  nameless ,  coinless  men  with  a  hunger  for  something  more.  you  give  back  to  your  beloved  pack  what  they  give  to  you ;  everything ,  everything  and  then  some.  a  life  that  means  more  than  scraping  the  bottom  of  the  barrel.   you  can’t  carry  on  like  this  forever  and  survive ,  and  it’s  only  a  matter  of  time  before  real  gold  starts  knocking.  a  steady  job ,  you’re  promised.  a  lifetime  of  stability ,  peace.  you  know  more  of  the  king  of  tyrholm than  you  let  on ,  and  maybe  you  are  naive  to  trust  the  word  of  a  woman  who  did  not  raise  herself ,  but  when  you  look  at  your  company’s  worn  faces  and  tired  smiles ,  weathered  from  southern  strife ,  it’s  never  been   easier  to  bend  a  knee.     some  odd  winters ,  some  odd  springs ,  lived  with  modest  lavesty.  septimus  is  an  arse  of  a  man  that  whispers  corroded  bidding  into  your  graceless  ear.  no  one  but  the  second  fangs  knows  how  much  you  shake ,  when  the  job  is  done  and  you’re  safe  at  home.  how  much  weight  you  shoulder ,  for  yourself ,  for  your  men ,  for  the  lives  you’ve  taken.  the  lives  you  will  take.  your  crew  was  never  meant  to  become  a  rebellion.  the  glory  feels  lost ,  you’re  a  knight  without  chivalry ,  a  wolf  without  teeth.  you  hear  dog  more  than  your  own  name  and  you  bite  back  bile  when  you  look  in  a  mirror ,  but  still ,  you  think ,  you  would  do  it  all  over  again.     the  second  fangs  are  a  happy  crew ,  well  fed  and  housed  and  nothing  like  the  orphans  you  sheltered  so  many  moons  ago.  when  it  starts  to  feel  like  you  have  your  own  sons  of  argos  you  shelf  the  thought.  your  pack  looks  at  you ,  strong  and  fit  and  still  just  a  bit  withered ,  and  laugh  and  cheer.  “yer  getting  old,  canis,”  they  jest ,  when  you  stumble  into  bed.  “hunch - backed  from  all  that  gold  in  yer  pockets.”  you’ve  always  been  wiser  than  most  of  them ,  something  raw  in  your  heart  that  keeps  it  beating  steadfast.  better  you  than  them ,  you  know.  most  men  would  crack  at  what  you’d  seen.  what  you  know.     there’s  good  to  be  found ,  once  you  learn  how  to  look ,  like  the  devotion  of  judgement  ,  a  beauty  in  worship  that  reminds  you  of  all  your  father’s  useless  praying.  peaceful  in  all  it’s  absurdity.  there’s  friendship  in  odd  places ,  with  the  empress  you  serve.  you  find  it  hard  to  trust  in  tyrholm ,  unaccustomed  to  the  politics  of  a  ruling  class ,  the  society  that  never  once  smiled  down  on  a  farm  boy  and  his  widowed  father.  you  want  to  be  wise  and  cunning ,  still  sometimes  you  feel  inadequate  next  to  those  raised  in  education ,  but  the  queen  saw  your  potential  before  anyone  else  in  the  whole  retched  kingdom ,  and  that  has  to  mean  something.  there’s  the  fool ,  a  real  dog  you  sometimes  think ,  who  mirrors  your  old  captain  so  much  it  makes  your  skin  crawl.  they  aren’t  so  bad ,  but  it’s  hard  for  you  to  look  up  at  someone  who  serves  at  the  hand  of  the  king.  you  wonder  if  others  think  the  same  of  you.  fools ,  the  whole  lot  of  them.   you  know  what  the  queen  expects  of  you ,  your  word  is  your  livelihood ,  but  these  things  take  time.  for  now ,  you’re  comfortable ;  your  cup  is  full.  there’s  always  been  something  about  wars  to  come  that  feels  like  home ,  ragged  and  battle  scarred  thing  that  you  are.  and  besides ,  it’s  easier  to  put  out  a  fire  that  burns  inside  your  ribs  than  one  that  swallows  an  entire  kingdom ,  of  this  you  are  certain.

PLOT IDEAS

STRENGTH:   oh  boy  oh  man.  canis  can’t  hold  his  tongue  with  distaste  even  if  he  tried ,  and  he  definitely  doesn’t  try  with  them.  his  anger  often  gets  the  better  of  him  and  i  believe  he  would  try  to  confront  strength  every  chance  he  gets.  he  sees  this  skeleton  as  nothing  more  than  the  king’s  right  hand  ( literally  so  exciting  to  me  that  strength  is  also  a  revolter  and  i’m  sure  neither  of  them  know  they’re  destined  to  work  on  the  same  side  again?? )   and  i  think  he  reflects  a  lot  of  his  own  inadequacies  onto  this  skeleton ,  a  lot  of  his  failure.  with  such  a  tension  relationship  i’d  like  to  see  fights  break  out ..  maybe  even  between  their  own  respective  men  that  they’d  have  to  quell.  far  down  the  line  even  settling  their  differences  and  working  together  as  the  military  leaders  of  a  revolution  because  who  is  better  suited  for  the  job  than  them?  but  it  would  take  a  big  blow  to  canis’s  pride  to  share  such  a  job ,  to  ever  work  alongside  this  skeleton  instead  of  against  them  like  he  always  has.  so  all  around?  here  for  it  all. NINE OF WANDS:   canis  looks  at  them  and  sees  passion  he  once  was  sure  he  felt ,  the  sharp  thing  in  his  gut  that  once  spurred  him  to  forge  his  own  path  in  a  world  that  never  once  showed  him  kindness.  his  scars  are  internal ,  but  they  wear  their  scar  like  a  badge  of  honor ,  at  least  that’s  how  canis  sees  it.  he’d  love  to  not  have  to  kill  the  king  himself ,  even  if  he  would  never  admit  it.  it  means  a  safer  life  for  his  men ,  it  means  being  done  with  tyrholm  and  a  life  of  ease  and  travel ,  everything  he’s  always  wanted  and  never  seemed  to  be  able  to  grasp.  i  wonder  if  them  growing  closer  through  sparring  and  their  ability  to  provide  him  the  best  weapons  he’s  ever  seen  could  change  his  opinion  on  wanting  them  to  kill  the  king  in  a  fit  of  rage??  i  could  see  canis  wanted  to  strategize  with  them ,  in  the  end ,  once  he’s  done  poking  the  bear.  love  this  gift  of  a  connection  a  lot !!!! THE EMPRESS:   definite  ass  kissing  going  on  here.  canis  is  more  than  grateful  he  was  hired  by  her  and  not  the  king ,  though  i  do  think  he  might  resent  them  a  little  for  the  work  the  king  makes  his  company  do.  he  prefers  to  take  jobs  from  them ,  when  ordered ,  though  i  feel  their  relationship  at  this  point  goes  beyond  just  work  like  it  does  with  septimus.  he  trusts  them  and  it  does  help  him  to  sleep  at  night  thinking  he  could  be  serving  their  hand  and  not  septimus’s.  also  entirely  possibly  they  call  him  the  dog  but  with  them  it  doesn’t  feel  like  malice.  he  would  never  dare  disrespect  the  queen ,  especially  one  he  sees  goodness in ,  sees  his  entire  future  in.  would  be  really  interesting  if  canis  even  is  a  little  too  friendly  with  them ,  giving  them  a  hard  time  where  maybe  no  one  else  would  dare  to  do ,  an  annoying  prick  in  her  side  that  she  NEEDS  to  get  what  she  wants. THE HERMIT:   i  think  he  has  a  lot  of  respect  for  the  hermit.  in  ways  that  his  pride  keeps  him  from  seeing  his  similarities  with  strength ,  he  sees  so  much  of  who  he  once  was  in  them.  young ,  making  their  own  way ,  maybe  even  some  of  the  same  rage ,  though  canis  has  no  place  to  put  his  own.  i  feel  like  if  the  respect  was  mutual  they  could  have  a  friendly  relationship ,  canis  even  pushing  advice  onto  them  they  might  not  want  or  need.  if  a  revolution  came  he  would  back  them.  somewhere ,  he  probably  even  sees  them  as  something  of  a  good  king.  canis  doesn’t  trust  them  fully ,  but  he  could  drink  with  them ,  knows  the  second  fangs  would  treat  them  kindly  as  well. THE HIGH PRIESTESS:   canis  is  scared  of  little ,  but  he’s  scared  shitless  of  them.  he  avoids  them  at  all  costs ,  looks  the  other  way  when  they’re  brought  to  the  same  space.  he  doesn’t  talk  kindly  of  necromancers ,  though  maybe  there  is  some  envy  there  he  needs  to  address.  he’s  sure  this  doesn’t  go  unnoticed ,  not  with  all  their  years  of  wisdom.  i  think  it  could  be  really  interesting  though  if  one  of  his  closest  friends  is  killed  on  a  job  and  they  bring  them  back  as  he  watches ,  sees  this  power  first  hand ,  feels  even  a  debt  is  owed  though  none  of  the  fear  is  gone.  a  lot  of  possibilities ,  i  could  see  the  second  fangs  might  be  dying  a  lot  more  often  pretty  soon ... JUSTICE:   the  world  calls  canis  the  dog  because  they  see  him  as  filth ,  as  something  mangey  that  feeds  from  table  scraps  of  the  king ,  but  canis  sees  that  justice  is  the  real  dog.  and  he  pities  him  for  it.  there’s  little  glory  in  the  work  of  a  bodyguard ,  and  maybe  canis  wonders  how  justice  would  fair  in  his  own  company.  never  the  less ,  i  think  they  could  butt  heads  just  as  easily  as  they  could  share  a  pint.  maybe  they’ve  even  fought  in  some  of  the  same  battles ,  know  each  other  from  war  torn  lives  and  have  a  bond  because  of  this.  lots  of  potential  for  both  malice  and  comradery ,  no  matter  what  line  of  the  revolution  they  tread. THE LOVERS:   canis  sees  himself  and  more  in  them.  he  doesn’t  pity  easily ,  has  an  ability  to  find  the  strength  in  even  the  smallest  mouse ,  but  he  pities  the  lovers.  in  some  ways ,  i  think  he  wants  what  they  have ,  longs  for  something  as  fulfilling  as  love ,  and  doesn’t  want  to  see  this  squashed.  every  day  he  gets  closer  to  telling  them  of  the  war  to  come.  i  really  wonder  how  long  he  can  go  without  letting  anything  slip ,  especially  if  they  look  at  him  with  gentleness  or  show  him  great  kindness.  he  feels  they  need  to  prepare ,  like  he  is ,  for  a  future  of  destruction.   THE MOON:   okay okay ..  i  have  two  different  paths  that  i  think  might  be  interesting  with  this  skeleton  depending  on  what  gets  plotted  out.  BUT ..  i could imagine  canis  stumbles  into  their  office  after  being  badly  injured  on  the  job ,  probably  requesting  some  random  herb  because  it  HURTS  and  he’s  WEAK  and  he  needs  it  to  be  DONE  WITH.  one  path  would  lead  to  the  moon  healing  canis ,  and  once  he  discovers  this  ability  he  probably  begs  and  bribes  ( heavily.  the  man  is  too  wealthy  for  his  own  good  now ,  and  what  else  is  he  going  to  buy?  new  boots?  his  work  just  fine. )  them  to  start  visiting  the  second  fangs  around  the  city  to  heal  them  in  secret.  he’ll  do  anything  for  their  ensured  safety.  the  other  path  works  quite  the  same ,  only  with  no  healing ,  just  plants ,  and  he’d  be  very  dependent  on  this  muse  either  way  because  of  the  miracles  they’re  able  to  work  with  his  men.  really  really excited  for  the  possibilities  of  plots  with  this  skeleton. THE TOWER:   a  backstory  plot  for  these  muses  is  calling  my  name??  like  maybe  the  tower  and  canis  had  a  deal  where  the  second  fangs  would  assist  them  and  their  men  on  voyages  and  pillages  for  a  cut  of  the  treasure  when  all  was  said  and  done ,  back  when  the  second  fangs  were  fresher  and  poorer  and  in  desperate  need  of  work.  and  maybe  one  of  the  two  betrayed  the  other  on  one  of  these  trips ,  with  greed  for  treasure  or  something of the like?  things  could  be  tense  between  them  now ,  at  each  other’s  throats.  OR  there  could  have  never  been  a  betrayal  and  they’re  actually  quite  good  friends  who  know  a  little  too  much  about  each  other’s  pasts ,  and  canis  offers  the  tower  company  amongst  the  pack  knowing  he’s  lived  through  canis’s  own  worst  nightmare.  the  terrifying  ordeal  of  being  known.  canis  could  definitely  trust  them  more  than  he  should.  this  one  has  me  really  excited  i  won’t  lie.

CHARACTER DEATH:    canis  would  quite  literally  volunteer  for  this  so  that’s  a  big  yes  from me.

WRITING SAMPLE

THE SELF PARA:  the tent is warm and the burn of the lamplight casts shadows across familiar faces. the second fangs. his pack, he always calls them, like they’re puppies and not vicious mercenaries. canis is most comfortable here, at ease, his usually pin straight posture relaxed despite the job he knows lays ahead of them. it’s not one he’s entirely comfortable with, an uprising in a poor village. always messy, always felt a bit like putting down a weakened calf at the farm. so they drink, to forget the day that lies ahead, the uncountable days behind. the faces. faces. faces, that echo like screams.   he can’t recall who speaks first, but it was likely canis himself, always a little too bold when his body buzzed with liquid courage. “that’s not what i’m asking,” one of his men corrects with a nudge of canis’s shoulder, always aggressive with each other, a pack of wolves nipping at each other’s heels. “the death’s on your hands. but it’s meant to be a good one. worth while.” and the captain’s own eyes twinkle uncharacteristically, perhaps because his inner conscious knows what his mouth does not. that the answer lies waiting at the tip of his tongue, a snarling beast of a target.     “and how much coin are we gonna get fer it?” ajax jests, but canis can see the gold flashing in front of his face, even from across the table. canis barks out a laugh, and they all bang their goblets on the table.   “aye,” in unison. they know each other inside and out, they speak a language strange and foreign. a family with many moons in their pockets. how many knights can say that?   “no coin,” canis finally adds. “no glory. no private dance at the brothel,” eying ren, and there’s another chorus of easy laughter, more aye’s.   “one of the nobles,” lawren grunts, and at first there’s just ringing silence. a paranoia that winds it’s way through the small group. they trust each other with their lives but this .. it’s like blasphemy. it’s revolution uncurling within them, more than just a job, it’s a force awakening. lawren speaks again, gentler, louder. “undying knows they’re all pricks.” and it’s easy again, more aye’s, cups overflowing with wine and ale.   but in between the laughter, he feels the wrench in his gut, the rage that threatens to flare. an allegiance of blood and blind faith  --  it reminds him so much of religion that he squirms. maybe his answer lies in a job, with wicked tendrils wrapped around his neck like a leash. the dog. how wrong would it be to bite the hand that feeds you? “i’d cut off my ring fingers and swear to celibacy to be rid of the fuck all king already,” canis growls, his knuckles white where he grips tight on his cup. and it’s quiet again. when he speaks they listen, they all listen, even the highborn in the castle, like he’s a wave crashing on shore. commanding attention. demanding it.   “you’re spending too much time with the clerics,” ren groans, with a face like a fox, her hair hanging limply in her face. he can’t tell if she’s smiling or frowning, but they’re nodding in agreement. all of them.    “what good’s that sack of shit king, anyway?” lawren chimes in, and then it’s deafening chatter. all canis can do is listen, absorb the pain of his men, the frustration, see himself reflected in their woes. say what any outsider will about his crew, maybe they are all mutts. one mind, one body, one restless spirit. tired of being used, of being chained to a cause that tries to fill deep chasms in bleeding hearts with gold. what is the price of true freedom?   “maybe the end is closer than you think, canis,” a small voice that rises above the others. a girl, mary, raised in the pack, only nearing her seventeenth summer. and she’s a legacy of everything canis has created, the family he wove with bruised and boney fingers. “we haven’t lost a battle, yet.” and she’s right, of course she’s right, whip smart and flea bitten. if there is to be a revolution, aid of the pack would be an immense advantage. it isn’t arrogance with which his men speak. it’s truth.   he has to chew on the suggestion, sharp glass in his mouth with every bite, impossible to digest, but maybe with the backing of his crew .. canis has trouble seeing the future beyond a sack of coins and a full bottle of ale. he knows little of politics, even after all his withered years serving as something of a king himself. it’s overwhelming, and he thinks his whole arm shakes when he raises his goblet. “nasty fuckers,” but his teeth shine in the lamplight, like fangs. like canines. “trying to get your own captain killed.” but when they clink glasses, it feels like a deal has been made, like he owes this death to more than just the queen, like the undying herself is watching.

EXTRAS

VOICE :   canis  has  an  eclectic  sort  of  accent ,  a  combination  of  all  of  the  people  he  met  while  living  on  the  street ,  his  father ,  the  lands  he’s  traveled  and  settled  into  with  his  companies .  he  constantly  sticks  out  as  an  outsider ,  no  matter  where  he  is .  he  doesn’t  mind  this  sense  of  otherness  because  whenever  canis  goes ,  his  family  is  never  far . canis’s  mockblog  can  be  found  HERE his  pinterest  can  be  found  HERE   ( blood  tw )

[itskimtaehyung]

Blindspot

Who is he? Who is the man with no eyes?

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (non romantic)

Genre: Supernatural Horror, Drama

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary:  Everywhere you turn, he’s there, just barely on the edge of your vision. No one else seems to see him. He outside on the street, in your house, in your room. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you’re unable to look at him directly.

Warnings: mentions of death and blood

A/N: if y’all dont already think i’m the worst procrastinator ever i’ll have you know that i started this fic in august of 2018 and meant to finish it for halloween of 2018 but i couldn’t even finish it in time for halloween of 2019 bc im trash

Two children, a boy and a girl, played along the rocks at the waterfront. It was overcast today, as it usually was, and a dense fog rolled over the bay toward the shore. They scuttled along, chasing crabs, attempting to grab the tiny, orange critters as they disappeared into the water. Their mother watched from a bench a few feet away. 

“Be careful, loves. We can’t afford to lose anymore people here.”

The children nodded understandingly and proceeded with their activity. That is, when the eldest, the sister, spotted something strange amongst the jagged rocks that jutted out from the mellow tides. 

“Mommy! What’s that?”

The mother stood up from the bench and calmly strolled over to her daughter. She peered down at the rocks, and saw the strange figure that was jammed between them. 

The mother let out a sigh. “That’s Stephanie. Do you remember her? She baked brownies for the bake sale last month.”

The son nodded. “I thought she went missing last week.”

“She did. This is where the people who go missing sometimes end up. Come on, children.” She held out both her hands and each child took one. “You two walk on home while I go tell Sheriff Strazzeri.”

Emerald Bay was too small for a proper sheriff’s department, or a crime scene investigation unit. It was just Sheriff Strazzeri, passionate about the law, and his son, Will, who attended the town’s subpar, probably not accredited by any other town’s standards, medical school. Together they investigated all the weird things that happen in this tiny town.  

People always say there’s nothing to do in Emerald Bay. They’re pretty much right. It’s a small coastal town, with a population of about four hundred and declining. On the east side of Emerald Bay is the Marina, lined with abandoned boats that smell of rotting fish and are covered with ancient, dried-up barnacles. On the west side is your ticket out: a dirt road that leads into the forest, a thick, dense barrier of emerald painted evergreens. That’s where the town gets its name. And past the forest is the farmland, and past the farmland is the big city. So why don’t people leave Emerald Bay? Why don’t they abandon it completely?

The answer? No one ever makes it out of the forest alive. 

Everytime someone packs their bags and tries to leave Emerald Bay, something prevents them from truly leaving. You remember when you were young, maybe three or four years old, your neighbor, Ben, decided he had enough of the monotony of this town, and got in his car and started driving. You thought he was off to a bigger and better life, somewhere out in the big city, but three days later, they found his car broken down on the road in the forest, with his dead body rotting inside. 

A few years before that, a woman who had been widowed, thought it was too difficult living in the house she had shared with her husband. She didn’t even take her things. She just started walking. She wandered into the forest, and a few days later, her body was found floating in between the boats at the Marina. In the pocket of her yellow raincoat was a piece of paper, surprisingly undamaged. On it was a drawing, done in what appeared to be blood. It looked like it was drawn by a toddler, simple and cartoonish. It was of a man, or rather a stick figure, with something over his eyes. Below the drawing were two words: SAVE ME. 

This has been going on for as long as anyone can remember. Residents have tried to explain this strange phenomenon, sometimes with outlandish theories. But the most common theory, and what you think is the most plausible one, sprang from the drawing found in the widow’s pocket.

Many think that she was trying to warn us. That she drew it in a haste before she died. Many think that there is a man in the forest. One that wears a piece of cloth over his eyes. One that takes the lives of anyone who wanders into his home.

Supposedly he lives in the forest alone. Deep into the dark woods, making himself known only at night. His skin and his hair are an ashy gray, and he is said to glow under a full moon. But the most distinguishing thing about him is he always wears a black blindfold. Why? Because he is blind. Because he is the man with no eyes. 

You have always been interested in this kind of stuff. The spooky, the scary, the unsettling. Slenderman theories completely consumed you in grade school. So did werewolves, ghosts, and all things supernatural. You’ve always managed to prove them all as myths. Except this one.

You had almost forgotten about the man in the forest until last week. 

Mark was a well beloved citizen of Emerald Bay. You had been in school with him your whole life. He was so incredibly smart and gifted. Everyone thought he would become mayor one day or something. That is, until a couple of weeks ago, when he went missing.

His family said he went to buy milk from the grocery store and he never returned. All of Emerald Bay were on the lookout, although there aren’t very many places to hide in such a small town. He had no reason to run away either. His parents were very loving, and his friends were supportive. No one ever imagined that he would do such a thing. 

A week after Mark went missing, his body is found at the edge of the forest. There’s no sign of injury, and he wasn’t gone long enough to die from thirst or starvation. Will can’t find anything wrong with him. He can’t even determine when Mark had died.

As an ordinary citizen, you don’t have access to many of the details surrounding Mark’s death. All the information you get is from what they print in the local newspaper, and you know those things never tell the whole story. You began volunteering at the local library a few months back, hoping to gain more access to the towns archives, but there are so many newspapers and journals that it quickly became overwhelming, and you put a pause on poring through them. However, being the urban legend enthusiast you are, you want to know more, and the only way to get information is to dig it up yourself.

That’s why you waited until tonight, the night of the first full moon since they discovered Mark’s body. You equip yourself with a flashlight, pepper spray, and a sledge hammer (you know, just in case). You’ve never hunted this kind of creature before, so you don’t know what kind of equipment you would need. It’s stupid to go out into the forest alone, especially on the night of a full moon, but you don’t know anyone stupid enough to agree to go with you. 

The streets are dead, as they are every night, when you pull your car up to the edge of the forest. You can see the full moon peeking through the branches of the trees, round and luminous.

You must go on foot from here. The roads in the forest are bumpy and jagged from the tree roots breaking through the asphalt. You would bust a tire within seconds of entering. 

The chilly sea breeze nips at your skin when you exit your car. You pop open your trunk and grab your hunting supplies: An EMF meter you built yourself, your sledge hammer for defense, holy water blessed by Reverend Kang, some dried sage, and a wooden stake because vampires aren’t real but you never know, right?

You close the trunk and step away from your car. The breeze seems to get stronger as you walk toward the forest, almost as if it’s pulling you into it. You let it lure you in amongst the trees. You follow it until you can’t see your car behind you anymore, and still you continue on. You make your way around a large tree and then stop dead in your tracks. In front of you is a figure, glowing so brightly that you can’t discern any actual shapes. You just know that it is vaguely human. 

“Y/N.” The sound echoes in your ears. The voice is melodic, calming, unlike anything you’ve heard before.

You struggle to catch your breath. “H-how do you know my name?”

“I know everything.” The figure lifts its hand up and beckons you. “Come closer.”

You can feel your limbs wanting to move on their own. You try to resist it and stand your ground. You don’t want to go near him. You want to stay a safe distance away, but he’s too strong, and he pulls you closer to him. Soon, the two of you are face to face, and you can make out his features. His hair glows silver, and his icy white skin contrasts starkly with the black blindfold that covers his eyes. He radiates a strange energy, one that you’ve never experienced before. It’s cold, yet warm at the same time. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, yet your body feels feverish. Your chest feels tight as you struggle to fill your lungs with air. 

“W-what are you?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I am ancient. I am the only one of my kind, therefore I don’t have a name. But you may call me Jimin.” 

“Jimin,” you mutter in awe. You have so many questions for this strange creature. You never thought you’d actually find him, and now that you have, you must make the most of it. “There are so many things I want to know. Why do you take people? Why do you kill the residents of Emerald Bay?”

“I simply call to them. It is their choice whether they answer or not.”

“Are you calling me to right now?”

“Yes.” Jimin furrows his brows in confusion. “But you seem to be resisting my charm.”

“I’m not here to be your next victim.”

“Then why are you here?”

“LIke I said before. To find out why you take people, why you kill them.”

“But that’s not the only reason. The people who come here are unhappy. They want more from Emerald Bay. No one wanders into the forest, no matter how curious, unless they don’t mind being taken.”

“That’s not true,” you refute. 

“Isn’t it? Think about everyone who has wandered in here. Think about your own self.”

You open your mouth to speak, to tell him he’s wrong. But with the blink of an eye he’s gone.

You drive home dejectedly. Yes, you found Jimin, but now you have more questions than answers. What is he? Why does he kill people? How does he do it? 

You get farther and farther away from the forest. It’s nearly morning and the AM fog is starting to roll in from the ocean, coating the town in a thick blanket of gray. It’s so thick, you can barely see the block ahead of you. Your eyes momentarily wander away from the road to check your mirrors. Your tires screech as you suddenly slam on the brakes. You rub your eyes and blink. You could have sworn you just saw something in your back seat. And you’re almost positive that something was Jimin. But as you glance back up at your rear view, there’s no one there. It’s just your empty back seat and the eerie fog behind you. 

You tell yourself that you’re just seeing things. You didn’t get any sleep last night and you’re starting to hallucinate. 

When you get home, you’re so exhausted that you immediately collapse onto your bed and fall asleep. If you dream that night, you don’t remember any of them.

You sleep until you can’t anymore, and you lay in bed until your body aches. It screams at you to get up, and so you do, making your way to the bathroom to wash your face. 

You splash the cool water over your skin, rinsing off the cleanser that still clings to the area around your eyes. Afterward, you use a towel to pat your skin dry and take a look in the mirror. You freeze and nearly drop the towel. Over your shoulder, you can see Jimin standing, watching but not watching. 

You whip around but there’s nothing there. When you look back in the mirror, he’s nowhere to be seen. You got plenty of sleep this morning, so there’s no reason for you to be seeing things. But what else could possibly explain this?

Something doesn’t feel right. 

As hard as you try, you can’t bring your eyes to open. You can sense it. You can feel something in your room. You sense an unmistakable presence at the foot of your bed. It feels, evil, demonic, malevolent. 

You gasp for air, but the blankets seem to suffocate you. You want to push them off so you can breathe, but you’re paralyzed. Your heart races as you try to will yourself to open your eyes, to take a deep breath, anything. 

As quick as it comes, the feeling is gone. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You wiggle your toes to see if you can move again, but you’re too scared to open your eyes. Instead, you bury yourself deeper beneath your covers and try to fall asleep, but you can’t shake the feeling that something truly evil was just in your room. 

When you finally succumb to slumber, you dream of the forest that night. 

You’re running. The brisk air and the smell of pine nip at your nostrils. Your lungs burn, and no matter how hard you push yourself, you can’t seem to move faster than a crawl. You feel something chasing you, and you’re trying to get away. You’re trying to get back to the main road where you’ve parked your car, but the only thing around you is endless forest. Your heart feels as if it’s going to explode. 

Faster, faster, you tell yourself. But it’s no use. You can’t go any faster. 

You run and run. You don’t see the fallen branch on the ground until your foot catches on it, and you hurdle forward, putting your hands out to break the fall. 

But you never hit the ground, because the panic jolts you awake. 

This time you’re able to open your eyes, and it’s daylight out. Your clock says 7:03, twelve minutes before the alarm is supposed to go off and you have to get ready for school. 

When you sit up your brain pounds with a massive migraine that leaves you a bit nauseous. You wash your face in the sink like you do every morning, but today, you don’t see Jimin in the reflection with you. You bend over to rinse the cleanser off your face, and when you stand back up straight, you’re hit with a sudden wave a dizziness. Bile makes its way up your throat and you heave violently into the sink until it’s filled with thick, dark blood. 

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you see your mouth covered in red. You stumble back as a high pitched scream rings through your ears. 

Your mom rushes up the stairs and sticks her head in to the bathroom. “Is everything alright? Why did you scream?” 

You turn to face her. Can’t she see that your mouth is covered in blood? She’s not looking at you in horror, her concerned expression does not waver. When you glance back in the mirror, there’s no blood to be seen, and the sink is spotless as well. 

“Ye-yeah, Mom. I just…” you wrack your brain for an excuse, “thought I saw a spider. That’s all. Everything is fine.” But you can still taste the metallic tang on your tongue. 

When she leaves you look back in the mirror and Jimin stands in her place. You can feel his gaze piercing through the cloth over his eyes. 

With the blink of an eye he’s gone. 

Your life goes on like this for days, weeks. Everywhere you turn, he’s there, just barely on the edge of your vision. No one else seems to see him. He outside on the street, in your house, in your room. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you’re unable to look at him directly. You can’t sleep. You can barely eat. You can’t focus. 

You can’t stand it anymore. You need answers.

The Emerald Bay Library is old, much like all the other buildings in Emerald Bay. It’s been here for longer than even the oldest residents of the town can remember. Its shelves are filled mostly with novels from the previous century. No one knows where they came from. They seemingly just manifested one day. It’s part of the mystery of how this town came into existence.

After your volunteer shift, you tell Head Librarian Kim that you’re going to stay behind to do some research for a class project. He hands you the keys and tells you to lock up when you’re done without questioning you any further. The second he leaves, you head a computer to search the town archives. You look for journals, newspaper articles, anything that documents strange and inexplicable happenings. You write down some promising pieces along with their call number and set off to find them. 

When you turn the corner to head down one of the aisles, you can feel him. You look around you, seeing if you can find him lurking in the shadows. You don’t see anything, but his presence, the heaviness in the air, this thick, eerie feeling, is unmistakable. 

Shrugging it off, you scan the bookshelf for what you’re looking for. You trace your fingers over it’s spine, almost as old as the town itself.

The Mystery and Lore of Emerald Bay

You pluck the book from the shelf. It’s dusty, like it hadn't been touched in years. 

You wander over to the tables that sit in between the shelves and take a seat. The book’s leathery cover feels dry beneath your fingers. Stiff and crusty. Dust flies up toward your face as you open the book and flip through its yellowed pages, filled with handwritten and hand drawn accounts of unexplained phenomena that once sent the town into panic. 

The first is the chupacabra, from the time the town’s cattle were disappearing. Turns out it was just a resident who didn’t want to pay for beef at the local butcher shop and decided to take and slaughter them for himself.

Then the Emerald Bay Monster, which was quickly determined to merely be driftwood.

Along with a few other things that have since been solved by modern science. Things like poisonous mushrooms, lightning bugs, and fairy rings.

Finally, at the end of the book, you find what you’re looking for. 

The Man with No Eyes

You skim through the introduction and description of Jimin, then some eye witness accounts written by former residents of Emerald Bay, long dead from old age or maybe even something more sinister. Then you find what you’re looking for. 

Not much is known about this mysterious man, only that he kills. Some say that he is both immortal and invulnerable, making him impervious to any harm one might attempt to inflict upon him. However, there are rumors from the ancient times about this man. There have been no records of whether anyone has actually attempted these methods, however, the creature still stands, which is a testament to something. If one truly wants to know, legend has it that the only way to kill him is–

You’re about to turn the page only to find that the subsequent pages have been ripped out, and on the back cover, written in what appears to be blood, are the words: 

YOU  CAN’T KILL ME

You drop the book as soon as you see it.

You want to yell at him, to scream. But it’s hard to talk to something you can’t face directly. “What do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I will be here until you give into me.”

You whip your head around, only to be met with dusty bookshelves and darkness. 

“Is this how you got the others to do it? By messing with their heads? Come out where I can see you!”

That’s when the bright, glowing figure steps out from the shadows and stands in front of you. His face is expressionless as he stares at you through the pitch black blindfold. 

“Do you think they just happened to go to the forest, just because you wanted to?” Jimin asks. “No, that was me, calling to them. And now I am calling to you. I have come to claim you. It is your time.”

You shake your head and stand your ground. 

“Come to me,” he beckons. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I will choose someone else,” he answers plainly. 

“I don’t want someone else to die but I don’t want to die either!”

”Then don’t. You don’t have to die. Just come to me.”

“Why don’t you just leave me alone? Why don’t you leave all of us alone?”

“It’s not in my nature. My species feeds off of your energy, your sadness.”

“And if we don’t give it to you, you die?”

Jimin chuckles. “No, you can’t kill me that easily. I simply get angrier, more violent until I get what I want.”

When he smiles, you can see his teeth. Sharp, jagged. There are rows of them, like shark teeth. Your heart pounds in your chest. You take a step back, but Jimin is quick to step toward you. You take another step, but the backs of your legs hit the table. You quickly dart your eyes around the room, searching for an exit route. There are tables, chairs, and shelves in the way. The main entrance is on the other side of the library, and Jimin stands in the way of the emergency door. 

“There’s nowhere for you to run, Y/N. Because as fast as you run, I will always be faster.” 

“What happens when I give in?”

“You’ll find out.”

He removes his blindfold to reveal the brightest, most blinding light you have ever seen.

The same woman watches as her children play along the shore. a light breeze blows a crumpled piece of paper to her feet. she picks it up and reads it, sighing. 

MISSING PERSON Y/N Along with a photo your mom took of you two years ago. 

You’ve been missing for over two months now. Usually the bodies turn up within a couple of weeks. No one was brave enough to go into the forest to look for you. Not even Officer Strazzeri. Not even your mother. 

Maybe you weren’t taken. Maybe you were a lucky one. Maybe you were actually able to escape Emerald Bay onto bigger and better things. 

[bloodline-rpg]

Congratulations, Bigby! We have accepted your application for your OC, Tyler Orville (FC  Dane Dehaan) Please create a new blog (not a sideblog) for your character and send us the link via ask box as soon as you can. Along with your link, please let us know what lyric you’d like for us to use for Tyler in his bio if you do not wish to use the one on the skeleton. Welcome to Bloodline!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Bigby

Age: Twenty-Six (twenty-seven as of jan 26, 2020!).

Preferred pronouns: they/them

Timezone: est

Level of activity (don’t give your activity a number value, please describe how active you will be as best as possible): I work full-time midnight shifts from 11:30pm - 7:30 am. I am gone from the house from 10:30 pm until 8:30 am. I do not get online in my “mornings” but after work I’m usually on for a couple hours before bed. This is/would be my only rp group so I can devote my free time and attention to it outside of regular adult responsibilities. That being said, I do have regular access to tumblr IM and discord while away for plotting and keeping in touch/up to date.

CHARACTER DETAILS

(The Resurrected skeleton).

Character’s Name: Tyler Orville

Desired FC: Dane Dehaan

Character’s Age: Twenty-Seven

Character’s Species: Immortal Witch

Character’s Sexuality: Bisexual

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY

Tyler lived a fractured childhood. Fragmented moments glimpsed of a possibility, at something forever out of reach. He was born sick. Sick in an ever changing way, as if the unnamed disease that ravaged his body was more than such, as if the very illness were alive. He was their first child born following two miscarriages, two elder siblings he’d never know and he couldn’t help but think bitterly that whatever awful thing nested within his being had been the root cause of their deaths.

Francine Calhoun, his mother came from a long, long line of original witches; the kind of old blood that prided themselves on their lineage so much so that inbreeding had been commonplace in generation’s past. Her courtship and subsequent marriage the kind of witch that barely qualified as a witch. The kind of witch, that if it were a mere man and nothing more; would only go to church on Easter and Christmas and call themselves a devout Christian.  In fact, Teddy Orville hadn’t been much of a witch for the last several years; a decade even, outside of the odd potion infused tea to help during the university crunch before exams anyway.

Much of Tyler’s life was spent in hospitals. Moved from one doctor’s appointment to the next; a seemingly endless stream of doctors approaching his case with first fresh faced enthusiasm and big dreams of curing the incurable before frustration, disappointment, shame…no tests they ran produced conclusive results. Were they absolutely certain it was not environmental? Were they certain it wasn’t all just in his head? What a wicked thing to ask a boy of barely nine years, far too small and too many sharp edges, sunken eyes and blood stained lips.

His parents refused to give up.

Isolated from their magical foundations (your child’s illness, your child’s pain and suffering, your damned spawn’s death is what you deserve for allowing your body, your womb, to be tainted with such a lesser man’s seed) Francine struggled to cope, struggled to combat the evil plaguing her son’s body with her magical abilities coupled with modern medicine. For the time being, Tyler was alive even if that was touch and go; would it not be kinder to let him pass? To let him go?

He drifted from palliative care back to intensive, back to long term; his education was sporadic at best. Not once did he set foot in an actual school and he longed for a life outside these walls; to be like the children he watched on television or read about in his books. He longed for some greater being to come and purge him of this wicked illness in his breast and though his parents struggled to provide him with a life; he wasn’t living, was barely surviving the day: rinse and repeat.

His life changed when he received a clunky laptop at thirteen, it allowed him an unheard of outlet to the world in forums, in chat rooms, through games. He could be anybody. Anyone but himself. And maybe in the beginning he fell in love with that anonymity. He was no longer the sad little sick boy, he could be a regular boy doing regular boy things like going to school, playing sports, and hanging out with his friends. Friends. He began to make those too.  That was new. He’d never had friends that weren’t the nursing staff in the unit he stayed at or the PSWs that came to his home when he was enjoying one of his rare “good” streaks (they never lasted).

There were other children in the pediatric wards of course, but they were never the long term kind of patients. Not like him. There were the odd handful that stayed for a couple months, and some even a couple years but…their endings were not happy ones.

Technology improved with time, not just with his laptop but with medicine. With such improvements came new hope. And new disappointment. Funny that, he thought he’d long been accustomed to the bitter taste. As he got older, his good streaks became less and time spent within the gently titled comfort of his own home became sparse until it became nonexistent. By this point in time, the knowledge of witches had become common; and some younger, braver, perhaps even brasher doctors went against the norm to seek help out in these communities but came up empty handed.

His parents were drowning in debt, in sorrow and their exhaustion showed. Tyler almost wished they hated him. Wished they’d move on. Try again with another baby, a healthy baby. Do it right this time, since he was nothing but wrong.

He’s so young. The staff whispered, pity, sorrow heavy; had been whispering since he was in the single digits. Tyler would be forever young despite being closer to thirty than twenty. His activity in his group chat dropped to an all time low, his oldest friends feared the worst.

And he discovered something unheard of.

It was the kind of discovery one could only stumble upon in the places on the internet that no one should go. Where only those with wicked intent did linger. Immortality. It seemed too good to be true, some old wives tale; some fantasy story straight out of the games he played with his friends (less and less so these days).

Only it was real.

And it was obtainable.

A cure.

I’m a real boy.

Talking about being forever young had never rung so true, the doctor’s were baffled. His family was torn between horror and gratitude. He stood in the hospital garden, barefoot with dirt between his toes (and the odd cigarette butt or two but that’s less romantic) and simply basked in the sun. It was as close to a religious experience as he’d ever experienced, and he’d spent a lot of time praying to an uncaring God over the years. Begging. Pleading. Cursing.

He sent a letter written in a terribly untidy scrawl to Carden Manor requesting the chance to relocate. To discover the culture he’d never had the chance to experience, of witches and wolves and perhaps others like him. After all, it was the only community of their people he could name and maybe he was still on the tail-end of euphoria that had him wanting to throw himself into the deep end so to speak.

Maybe there was something darker there, something darker that festered close to pain towards his parents. Resentment. Anger. They claimed to have exhausted all means but what of this? “It’s something born of the darkest of magic Tyler please…” had it been a line they were unwilling to cross? Had they known about it all along but their morals had them unable to act?  This was an old magic, this wonderful beautiful thing that had been a boon to his ravaged body. This thing that had given him a new lease on life, was to him far more a blessing than any kind of curse. Already accustomed to the taste of (his own) blood on his tongue, the need to consume such a thing to survive was such that he didn’t even bat an eye.

Anger. It simmered, boiled toward all consuming and dark. Terribly, terribly dark. A want for violence, to let his hands hook into claws and act out such emotions; revenge? He wasn’t sure. Though, Tyler was absolutely sure of one thing: he wanted away from them.

Moving to the manor was the second best thing to ever happen to him and he’s all too eager to dive into a life he never thought he’d get the chance to have.

To live.

CHARACTER PERSONALITY

It’s almost painfully obvious that Tyler’s social skills are lacking. Limited socialization during his formative years has left its mark. The bulk of his ability to interact with his peers is stilted and awkward, he can come off as blunt, flat, and even cruel. Withdrawn as though secretive (and he is hiding something, hiding who and what he used to be before his immortality) he comes off as standoffish and every bit some kind of “edgy loner kid” persona. Though he is most comfortable when alone or in front of a keyboard, residing at the manor demands that he evolve past this. As does his new lease on life. He’s trying.

Incredibly self-motivated, Tyler is almost too eager to learn more of the supernatural world to which he’s been removed from for so long. His own magical talent, lacking largely in part due to a lack of proper training. His parents, understandably, had been much too focused on his ailing health. He has a truly impressive repertoire for potions and enchantments; the kinds of witch’s work one can learn from a tome but has very little hands on experience. His frustration for his…otherness that still remains is palpable. As though he hasn’t really changed. And due to such a state, he tends to lash out at his peers which does little to earn him any friends.

He’s used to not having friends, even if he finds himself frustrated with his inability to adapt in this regard. It’s a lot more difficult than he anticipated to reshape himself into somebody, a new and improved version of Tyler Orville.

Some parts of his original self remains, a quiet thoughtfulness, an impossible patience at odds with his frustration, and an optimism he tries to keep buried deep down for fear of coming off over eager and annoying.

PLOTS AND POLITICS

Presently, Tyler stands fairly neutral on the in game political spectrum due largely in part to his inexperience. His outsider status borders on some sort of isolation; which in a way, speaks the truth. He was woefully isolated from his people and hardly had it in him to follow the news much outside of the big events. Like the world discovery their kind in 2016, he saw that; read about it. His friends in the group chat talked about it. A lot. He and his best friend, Alex, fretted in a private chat about the repercussions of such a thing.

He’s not too overly keen on the servitude aspect of other species, finds it rather barbaric if he’s being honest but is well aware of the delicate line he walks here. Outsider. He’s the son of a marrying of a strong bloodline into a weak one, he never once met his Mother’s family and knows nothing of their history. Of their possible feuds. His Father’s family could never hope to hold a torch to such greatness. Tyler straddles the line between a somebody and a nobody.

In this, he could potentially be shaped into a supported of any party with the right guidance. He has power given his immortal status and his bloodline is strong, if watered down some with his Father’s genetics. He could prove to be a promising ally to any party should they wish to court him so.

As far as plots go, I want to explore him well, exploring life in person instead of looking on from the outside in. I want him to interact with his peers from wildly different walks of life and learn more about the world. The world, his world that had been so very small has suddenly exploded into something so grand.

I also have a potential wanted connection for him to offer, in the form of his best friend Alex (who can be played male, female, or non-binary) who is also a supernatural (species up to the potential other mun) and they met playing an unnamed fantasy mmorpg. Alex brought Tyler into their group of friends and they’ve been Tyler’s main friend group ever since. Tyler has gone radio silent before, but this is something new altogether. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth and Alex fears the worst. What exactly brings Alex to the manor would be 100% up to the other mun but a reunion would absolutely be required and their future interactions and relationship is anyone’s guess!

[sinunamor]

An @aphsecretsanta gift for @52px !! Sorry about the late submission! Happy New Year!

Pairing: Ancient Rome x China (romechu)

Prompt: Long distance relationship, modern au

I do not celebrate Christmas, but I have an online friend who does.

Warmth seeped through his porcelain mug. Tired, lithe fingers curled around its smooth surface. A gentle press of lips, a small careful sip and the warmth spread through his chest. The morning fog rolled over the cluttered streets of San Francisco. His window presented him a view of Chinatown rising. Mr. Huang sweeping the front of his herbal shop, Ms. Zhou flicking on a neon light reading “welcome” and a “Merry Christmas” in English and pinyin for her bakery. Around them, the Christmas lights, candy canes and snowflakes signaled the end of another year.

He sighed heavily after the sensation passed, shuffling in his slippers towards the desk stationed in front of his window. Picture frames and assorted souvenir figurines decorated the corners of the mahogany desk. One frame pulled a little closer to his laptop than the rest. Wrinkled brown eyes flickered towards that wide spread of lips, those impossibly straight teeth, that youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. He sat back of the chair and took another sip. Jasmine green tea. The warm herbal scent carried many memories. He set the mug down carefully next to the frame and opened the laptop. He’ll enjoy the view better here. It must be nighttime in Italy.

***

He is the festive sort, that does not surprise me. He finds comfort in the company of others. He would send me photographs, selfies, of his travels and home in Italy. His apartment was so little, such home would be filled with many guests, neighbors, young and old. And he, the center of it all. I wonder if he would enjoy celebrating Lunar New Year with me. He’d enjoy the noise. It would be nice to see him happy.

***

He was half expecting it, Romulo wasn’t online. They did stay up particularly late last night chatting about Christmas plans in broken english and the occasional Italian. Yao briefly looked over last night’s exchange.

RV: nd you? you would be spending Christmas alone?

WY: Alone, yes, i’ll vidchat with Chen and his family...you? You would be throwing a ball

RV: Haha not this year. Decided to keep it small Just me nd my boys and my boys boys’ nd my little girl

WY: very small party so unlike you, i’m Concerned

RV: now you know how i feel!! Im always concerned when i hear you spend holidays alone

WY: i’m alright

RV: i know, i jus wish i can go over there nd spend it with you :(

I haven’t felt my heart pulse an ache in a long while. I do wish that could happen, but there is a half a world between us.

***

My name is Wang Yao, I have seen 48 springs pass me by. 48 years of hardships, blessings and everything in between. I have one son, of which I am very proud. Chen is his name, stayed in China and started his life there. He has his mother’s adventurous spirit, he attended San Francisco State. I admit, he was part of the reason why I came to California at all, but I suppose fathers are mostly protective of their children. While he studied, I was the roommate that cooked for him. But I understood fully that sons needed to make life without their fathers. When time and he graduated with a degree in Travel and Tourism, he and his then girlfriend moved back to the mainland.

So mostly, I was alone. I was too old to fully appreciate the costal nightlife and too young to play mahjong with the elders in the afternoons. An unfortunate generational circumstance of a part-time professor whose social life revolved around attending tai chi group in the mornings, afternoon chats with storefront owners and a dull lecture or two in Mandarin in the evenings.

My son worried for me. He does not see as old, he wanted me to find a friend, a “someone” as he put it, with whom to share interests and hobbies with. To attend events and explore San Francisco for no reason other than to have carefree fun.

***

“It sounds like you want me to find you another mother,” Yao joked over video chat one night.

His eldest son, Chen, laughed heartily. On his lap, an 8 month old daughter gurgling happily and wiggled closer towards the phone lens. Yao was very happy he managed a screenshot of her rosy cheeked face.

“Any partner will do,” Chen teased back. “Your children know you were never particular to any sort.”

Yao let out a frustrated sound, his hand twitched as if he could really swat his son a Pacific Ocean away. “You speak without saying anything!” he reprimanded, holding a glint in his eye.

“We just have your best interests in mind,” Chen smiled. “Ay baba, there are how many people in this world and you cannot befriend one?”

“Well, give me a phonebook of all the people in this world and I shall start inquiring,” Yao half-scoffed.

Chen pursed his lips, his baby babbling, “Yi yi yi!”. Yao cooed and sang at her, wanting so much to reach out and hold her.

“How about a forum instead?”

***

And that was how I met him. The world forum website. Chen had discovered its existence through one boring weekend spent on his school campus. It was a language learning forum but it was no secret that it also served as a dating site as it had the option to state that one was looking for a romantic relationship.

Of course what I had to offer was Mandarin, a fluent grasp on English, and some Cantonese. Yet, I did not feel like connecting with people from the mainland or the United States. The forum listed many, even unheard of languages, but none that held my interest for long. I wanted something simple yet unique, something uncommon but had a significant influence throughout human history.

I remember reading “Italian” and remembering how at one point in my life was enamored with the history of the small Mediterranean peninsula. Of all its accomplishments and failures, the dialects, the influence on art and politics. Of all the love and admiration for Italy as a whole.

It felt childish at first, but I was soon focused solely on the Italian threads, trying to start conversations with others within my age range. It was frustrating to find that it was never as easy as it sounded. Some seemed unreachable or plain dull and there was a great imbalance sent to my inbox from men than women. At first it was amusing, sending them off with an “Thank you for your kind compliments, as a man, I am very flattered” but as I was weeding out the active few with other intentions, there was not much left. I was soon logging in less and ignoring the few notifications I receive over the span of the week.

Until a “ciao bella ;)” reached me.

I do not know what intrigued me, it was not much different from the others that were sent and ignored. Perhaps I was in a good mood, perhaps I was in fact in a very bad one. Perhaps his profile did lure me in, as he claims to this day, but I responded:

“Wrong gender, it would be ‘bello’ not ‘bella’”.

Not even a minute passed before my computer alerted me of a new message.

“ciao bello ;)”

***

His name is Romolo Vargas and he is 4 years my junior. He wants to see the world, and he has been in half of it. He has 3 children, two sons and one daughter of which he is very proud. Unlike me, he is divorced and was spending his free time going to places he had longed to go as a child. He has been to Greece and Thailand, France and Estonia, countries whose name I cannot begin to pronounce. At first, I had thought I was an outlet for him to brag about his travels, about the women he wooed, but then he was always asking about what I done, how my day went, and how I felt. As if I was the most interesting man in the world.

Then the first Christmas came and he was insistent on sending me a gift.

***

“Baba, we are glad you found that friend,” Chen said over the phone. “But you never know this man’s true intentions. How do we even know a Romolo Vargas exists?”

“I’m well aware,” Yao muttered, feeling a tinge of annoyance course through him. “I’ll admit he’s a little flirty, but he never gave me reason to doubt his sincerity.”

“It hurts me to say this, truly it does,” Chen muttered. “But what if Romolo is just leading you on? What if this is a game that he plays?”

“On older men and women? Yes, I know,” Yao frowned, his tone a little harsher than intended. “Thought you had said I wasn’t that old to begin with.”

***

They would never understand the late-night conversations I had, of philosophy and bao recipes. While he was rising, I was preparing for sleep. We managed a balance of work and chat. We began to send each other pictures, photographs of our homes, what we see throughout our day and ourselves. There was never pressure or qualm to keep our discussions going, we just carried on naturally.

Then Chen suggested I should get a P.O. box instead. Bright boy.

His first Christmas gift was a small painted black rooster from Portugal, a few collected postcards from previous travels and a 3 page handwritten letter explaining the story of the little rooster, of his New Year plans and his gratitude of meeting me. I never felt so close and intimate to him before. I felt young again.

We carried on, occasionally sending each other trinkets and tokens of a blossoming friendship. I sent him tea leaves, recipes, inkstones and brushes, a book on tai chi and bonsai training. Soon my bamboo plant and bonsai pot was inhabited with little figurines from the entirety of Europe and western Asia.

The next Christmas we gifted each other the trust of each other’s phone numbers. The first video chat on our phones. When we saw each other on our screens, we laughed.

***

“I’m telling you, you look younger than you say you are! Are you sure you 46?” Romolo grinned. His backdrop was his gardens overlooking the coast. His curls, touched with glints of silver and gold lightly kissed his flushed cheeks from a chilled breeze.

“The sunlight suits you,” Yao admitted without another thought.

A soft, silent smile. Yao felt his heart caught in his throat.

“And I bet you capture it beautifully with your eyes,” Romolo muttered.

Yao wanted to hide behind his sleeve like a flustered schoolgirl. It was a sincere compliment, nothing that implied a growing love for him, no matter how he wished for it to be true.

***

This Christmas would be no different. We had agreed on only sending each other a letter as we haven’t been writing to each other lately. Yet, I had sent his favorite box of tea along with a translated poem I wrote in simplified pinyin. A silly little poem about the love of two birds on seperate nests with a grand river in between, using the strengths of their songs to communicate in new echoing melodies. He always expressed his admiration for Chinese calligraphy. I wonder what he will think of the poem. I wonder if he’ll attempt to read the characters himself before reading the translated bits.

I wasn’t so sure Romolo was going to send me something as well but I did not want to anticipate a gift. I’d prefer to be pleasantly surprised.

***

Yao opened another tab on his computer to check on his email, the local news and weather. Another chilly day as expected in San Francisco Bay. He silently debated going out to pick up groceries at the local market. He already gave himself a bread by sleeping in and missing his Tai Chi session. He stretched his lower back until he felt relieving pops. He sighed heavily, eyeing the little black Portuguese rooster. He reached out to grab it from its place between a figurine of the Roman Colosseum and a windmill figurine from the Netherlands. Yao smiled, running his thumb over the painted wing. The shine was mostly gone, but the sentimental par of him will forever remember the first intimate contact they had with one another. Gingerly, he placed “Little Romolo” back in its place, and stood up to make a light breakfast.

The lone click of chopsticks and the drone of a Chinese reporter from a streamed video on his phone were the only sounds disturbing the calm silence of his studio apartment. The cloud filtered sunlight bled through the curtains, casting greyer shadows in the dimly lit corner of his dining area. Yao rested his head on the heel of his palm, his leg crossed over the other, softly flapping his slipper against his heel. It would be nice to share the silence with Romolo. The reporter’s voice would be replaced with that of his low rumbling chuckles and gentle teases.

Yao’s lips curled up in a soft smile. Christmas would be lonelier this year.

He perked up to the sound of his phone buzzing to life. He turned his attention back to his phone and felt his heart leap. It was a message from Romolo.

RV: check yor PO box >:)

His lips spread into a wider grin. Of course the fool sent him something anyway.

Yao lightly brushed his hair and slipped into a light jacket, scarf and boots. He locked the door behind him with a an eager well-meaning click.

He strode down the hills with purpose. Simple, passing thoughts went through him. What if he gotten him a much larger present? A more expensive one? A painting? Yao chuckled at the thought. Romolo was more than capable for pulling such a stunt.

As expected, the post office was moderately busy. People in hoodies, beanies, scarves and the like made lines to send last minute gifts. Yao made his way towards his box, a small sized thing yet perfect for letters and small paintings.

Something caught his eye. His P.O. box had a note on it. Yao furrowed his brow and neared it. The note was in flowy cursive so he took some time to decipher what it said.

Look behind you <3

Yao’s eyes widened, turning around slowly before his gaze focused on a man that no longer blended with the crowd. That spread of lips revealing impossibly straight teeth and a youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. His brown curls stuffed under a beanie, still showing glints of gold and silver. A spread of lips so handsome, it made joyous wrinkles appear around his eyes.

“Romolo?” Yao whispered.

Romolo nodded.

Yao rushed into the man’s open arms, earning the stares of a few curious strangers.

It was him, physically, it was his scent, his arms, his hair, his breath. His voice. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around him in turn.

He must be dreaming.

***

“So I have my hotel room and everything, don’t worry!” Romolo explained quickly, his arms moving about the more he got excited. Yao found it endearing. They had stopped by a bakery to grab a sweet bread to commemorate the moment.

“I realize how it might have been an inconvenience for you, or perhaps,” Romolo chuckled nervously. Yao noted he looked a little older than he last saw him on video chat. He must be jet lagged. “A little strange since I did not tell you beforehand, er, outright.”

“It is a surprise,” Yao said. “But a welcomed one.”

Romolo nodded, his shoulders laxing in relief.

“How long will you be staying for?” Yao asked.

“A week,” Romolo sighed, placing his hands on the table. “I cannot stay out for too long during the holidays.”

Yao felt a hint of disappointment. There was no possible way Romolo will be back in time for Lunar New Year.

Yao eyed his hands and made the first hesitant slow reach for Romolo. Perhaps if he did not stretch it too far, he could pretend he was stretching his arm.

But he felt his fingers get caught. Pale, longer fingers were soon in between darker, thicker ones. They did not say a word, their touch molded around each other, feeling every callous and muscle. The strength of their knuckles and the softness of their pads. Romolo smiled softly at Yao, it wasn’t flirty nor teasing. Sincere. Like they have done this before.

“I’m glad,” Yao muttered.

He’ll save up to surprise him for next Christmas.

[sybvrites]

hi angels! im bee, 20, a general mess... u get the picture. this is hugo and he’s... idk what he is but he’s my baby :))) this is really long so you the best if you read it in full && as always my discord is the uk's weird farmer cousin#1697 if y’all want speedy replies for plotting !

tw: death & drug use.

( xavier serrano, cismale, he/him, twenty-two ) — have you seen hugo talbot, the history and politics student around oxford yet ? i hear they can be acerbic and meticulous, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of driving too fast on an empty road, the whipping wind in a thunderstorm, cashmere turtlenecks & worn poetry books when they’re around. rumour has it that his parents died during the execution of an insurance scam. is it true ? only time will tell…

FULL NAME: hugo byron talbot DATE OF BIRTH: november 3rd, 1996 PARENTS: gregory talbot & marianne cunard-talbot  NATIONALITY: english  IMPORTANT LINKS: statistics & pinterest.

BACKSTORY

hugo was born on november 3rd, ironically the same day as his mother’s birthday, born twenty-six years apart. marianne cunard-talbot was, to put it bluntly, not the motherly type. her own mother left her and her father when she was one, and since kenneth cunard had no other possible heir to the family business ( and fortune, mind ) the proverbial crown was laid on her brow. with no mother figure in her life, it seemed the capabilities escaped her, as they escaped her husband too. gregory talbot, as a second son to a wealthy family, had little to inherit but a mind for business. when they met at cambridge, both studying literature, in the eighties it wasn’t a match made in heaven, it wasn’t love at first sight, but they made a good team — it was enough.  two more children followed after hugo, and while they lacked a significant amount of guidance from their own parents ( or any sort of guidance at all, really ), they made do with themselves. while hugo and his siblings stayed in london, his parents continued to live in southampton where the headquarters for cunard corporation was, and let the nannies that they’d hired handle the raising of their kids. the lack of supervision and general parenting only served to create an air of entitlement around hugo. he knew from a young age that he was going to be an important man when he grew up, that he would be a powerful man. it was only enforced by the fact that when marianne and gregory would visit it was mainly to nitpick at their children, enquire after their grades and ensure that nobody was stepping out of line.  at thirteen hugo had to leave his siblings behind to attend eton. despite the fact he would return every weekend he still felt the separation from his siblings keenly, they had after all barely been apart for their whole lives. on his first day at eton, he tripped over someone else’s suitcase as he exited his car, and when he turned to angrily confront the owner of the case, he came face to face with thomas. they became fast friends despite the fact that hugo couldn’t help but remember, and wish to rebel against, his parents wish for him to befriend the heir to the throne. the tom he knew wasn’t the crown prince, but rather the boy who had never been allowed his own freedom, a boy who was only just beginning to discover who he was without his parents telling him who he had to be.  by the time hugo was sixteen, and tom seventeen, both had begun to dabble in illicit substances. their reasons were different of course, but it wasn’t as if they necessarily needed reasons to get high and pretend they weren’t going to have the weight of the world on their respective shoulders in ten years. but while hugo usually kept sober unless there was a party, tom seemed to want to spend his time being perpetually high. it was easy to ignore it, his best mate seemed happier after he’d done a few lines, but he also seemed flirtier. tom had come out almost immediately after they’d met, and it was like all the weight had lifted off of his shoulders, sharing his secret with another person seemed to help him immensely. hugo couldn’t say when he began to realise that tom had a crush on him, maybe it was from the very moment they’d met, but throughout the years it started to become abundantly clear. at a friend’s twenty-first birthday party he still felt completely blindsided when tom got high and wasted, and then tried to convince hugo to sleep with him. 

he was eighteen when his parents passed away, it was strange to him because despite their lack of presence it always felt like they were hovering nearby, just waiting for him to mess up, or for his brother or sister to, so they could blame him. it was an accident they said, something went wrong on one of the ships and unfortunately, it took his parents with him when it sunk. his grandfather pulled him aside at the funeral to tell him what happened, he claimed it was hugo's right now, considering once he left university, it was all his. he told hugo about how the cunard fleet was losing more money that it was making, how there was a plan to sink the least valuable to bring in more money, to supplement the loss of money. he told hugo how the plan went awry and the ship didn't sink when it was meant to on its return from australia, and when they went to inspect the ship and why it didn't go down, it sank with them on it. the money was still going to be beneficial to the company, and now the insurance company would be hard pressed to believe that the ship was tampered with, considering who was aboard. the secret had to be kept, he was going to have to keep it for his whole life if he valued his handle on the company and their resulting wealth. it was hard, losing his parents and being burdened with such a secret. his only solace was tom, who didn't know what it was to lose family, but understood what it was like to feel so disconnected.

he would never admit it to his best friend, hell, he’d never admit it out loud, period, but while his mate had been harbouring feelings for him, hugo had a crush of his own. tom’s sister eleanor was quiet around him, he wasn’t sure they’d ever really had a proper conversation and yet every time he caught sight of her when he’d visit tom his heart would kick up and his palms would sweat. it all came to a head when, at tom’s cousin’s twenty-first birthday, he rescued nora from a handsy party-goer and began seeing her in secret, namely so tom wouldn’t find out. their relationship was easy enough to hide, he would stay with tom and sneak off to eleanor’s room once he’d passed out, she would arrive at his door with a hermès scarf to shield her face and hair from those who might recognise her. by the time it had become abundantly clear to the both of them that it was a completely serious relationship and decided that it was time to go public and share their news with tom, and scheduled a press conference ( because an instagram debut was awfully uncouth ), they’d been together for almost a year and a half. 

with the press conference scheduled for the monday after their respective birthdays, and having resolved to sit down to dinner on sunday with eleanor’s family to tell them the truth, both hugo and eleanor went into the weekend confident and happy. tragedy was never far away though, it always seemed to loom on the horizon. after a wild saturday night, tom and hugo found themselves back at buckingham palace, hugo drunk and tom exceptionally high. a quick slip of the tongue ( “ god i’m going to regret this in the morning, nora’s going to kick my ass if i go back to her in this state. ” ), had him thinking he’d ruined everything before nora could present her arguments to her family. instead, tom gave his blessing and sent hugo off to his sister to enjoy the rest of his birthday. he’d thought it was the best weekend of his life, he went home to get ready for dinner and was interrupted by his phone ringing — it was the phone call that he felt turning his life upside down. his girlfriend told him how the maid came to wake him, he was late for breakfast, she shook him and he didn’t wake up. a heart attack, nora told him. the press conference planned for them was used to announce his best friend’s death, the best weekend of his life so quickly turned into the worst.

CURRENTLY

hugo is still trying to work through losing tom, he’s not about to admit to anyone that losing someone who he’d just assumed would be there for… well, forever, was taken so quickly. it also impeded the announcement for his and eleanor’s relationship and forced them back into the dark when they’d been preparing to be able to not sneak around, and now they’re back to where they were before. 

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: astute, meticulous, loyal NEGATIVE TRAITS: acerbic, calculating, imperious  hugo is, above all else, extremely sharp. when it comes to people it usually takes approximately a sentence to leave their mouth before he's made his judgement on them. this also applies to his schoolwork and actual work ( on the occasion that his grandfather requires another set of trusted eyes ). in all things he does he is exceptionally precise, mostly a result of the scrutiny he faced with his parents expecting every move to be absolutely perfect. above all else, and probably the trait he would tell a person he possesses, he is extremely loyal, mostly to his family. there are few people he would go to the ends of the earth for and without a doubt his siblings are the first two ( and eleanor ). he was never raised to be soft, he was raised to run a multi-billion dollar corporation, and as such he never learnt to edge his words with honey, his words always tend to sound as if they have an edge to them, almost confrontational. if a person knows him well enough, they would understand that he usually means nothing by it, he doesn't care enough about most people for it to mean anything. when approaching any situation, his cunning is one thing he has no problem in using, it's often little more than a means to an end as long as it benefits him or someone he cares about. he also has a habit of coming across as quite pompous, he's lived a life where he hasn't ever wanted for anything, everything is served up on a silver platter. as such his view of the world is also quite skewed and his knowledge of simple things like grocery shopping is nonexistent. it makes him come off as conceited and haughty, once the layers are peeled back he is definitely a different person, alas he's hard pressed to let anyone close enough to see him.

PLOTS

okay, i'm definitely spitballing because connections for him are genuinely hard, i can almost guarantee that while i don't think he makes enemies, he's certainly not making friends with many people. he's probably friendly with most people in the riot club, but nowhere close to someone he actually considers a close friend. in saying that, here are a list of connections i can see, but i'm so happy to brainstorm some fun things up ! 

close friends ( 0/2 ) — would have also been close to tom, and i imagine each of them brought a different dynamic/layer to the group ( for instance i definitely think tom was hooking up with one of their mates ). past hookups ( 0/? ) — obviously he isn't hooking up with anyone right about now but i definitely think he was a bit of a fuccboi before eleanor.  childhood friends ( 0/1 ) — hugo never really got out much as a child, but when he did it was usually with this character, their parents were likely friends of his own parents and thus, this character would have been ' approved '. party friends ( 0/2 ) — i imagine that these two were the ones who helped him get through tom's death where eleanor couldn't, he had, and still has, a lot of frustration regarding his friend's passing and i can see him just wanting to go out, drink far too much and forget about things for a little while. riot friends ( 0/? ) — he's not very... chummy with many people, but considering everyone in the riot club are of a similar calibre, he definitely feels more comfortable calling most people in riot more than acquaintances. 

[ironemrys]

The Last Stand

Pairing: OC x Peter Parker (kinda), Mild Tony x Stephen (probably)

Word Count: 6.3k (wow can you believe? I haven’t written sh*t for three years and still this number appeared)

Tags: (do I have to do tags? okay) #OC x Peter Parker, #sort of, #Peter Parker, #Tony Stark, #Stephen Strange, #their surnames are not mentioned since this is like old school medieval long long ago and shit, #loosely based on Merlin, #and some others like Lord of the Rings, #if you’re into that, #I don’t know what else to tag, #how do these tags even work, #I was inspired, #Merlin-ish AU, #Alternate Universe

A/N: okay, obviously, this will be the first time ever that I’m going to post a fic here. And honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, I don’t even know what even this story is about. I just got a lot of ideas and they poured out all at the same time so here it is. It’s not the best but eh, worth a shot.

Long ago, there were eight kingdoms that made up the earth. There was a kingdom for man, for beasts, for the holy saints and for those who lie in between. The Southern Kingdom; Haradren – home of the holy saints – came from a long lineage of elves. They were the most peaceful yet powerful of all the kingdoms for their people were blessed with the gift of magic.

But not all of them were peaceful.

Aeron; a wise but greedy Elven Sorcerer saw darker power in their gifts of magic. He began experimenting with means forbidden by their law and when confronted, Aeron and his followers; the Unholui, retaliated and waged a war among their brethren. The war between good elves and bad elves lasted for many years. In the midst of the war Aeron discovered that the magic the holy saints have can be harnessed and transformed into a darker form of magic and vice versa. With this knowledge, the population of the holy saints began to diminish as Aeron and the Unholui stripped the saints of their power and claimed it as their own.

Seeing how their kind was slowly dying and falling into the hands of the Unholui, the saints turned to the other kingdoms to help fight their losing battle. But it was futile. The power of the Unholui had grown and the eight kingdoms were reduced to four.

King Anthony of the Northern Kingdom of men prayed to many gods for help and by miracle and conviction, his prayers were answered. The gods of old sent a messenger to the king in a dream and advised him to create a weapon. This weapon would be able to bring down Aeron and the Unholui and would bring peace back into the lands.

The king immediately set to work once he woke up and followed what the gods had told him. Time passed and the weapon was complete. The king then wore it to battle and when he struck down on the ground the Unholui were powerless against it. The Great War ended with Aeron defeated and the Unholui scattered. Some say they deteriorated once Aeron fell and others say they’re in hiding, too weak to carry on without their master.

The Four Kingdoms were now back on their feet and at peace.

But how long will that peace last?

Fifteen years later…

“Father?” A young girl walked inside a small hut. Setting her basket of vegetables on the dining table, she made her way to the fireplace and kneeled in front of the hearth to ignite a flame and start cooking for supper.

“Im nall-bo I lach” she muttered and her usually dark colored eyes turned a bright shade of crimson. Flames appeared on the firewood as a small smile slowly formed on the girl’s face.

“Kenna.” A sharp voice caught her attention and she turned around to face her father. He looked worn out, of course he was; he was in their village all day, curing the people from a sickness brought by the winter.

“I told you not to use your powers when not necessary.” Her father warned and Kenna bowed low.

“It was just to make things a little easier.” She replied and glanced at the fire.

“I know. But your power is a rare gift Kenna. Right after the war, the holy saints were stripped off their magic by the Unholui, and when the Northern King offered to revive them of their magic using one of the gods’ gems from the weapon, they refused. That was the end of magic for all they know. Those who survived the war now live in fear that if magic is present, history will repeat itself.” Kenna knew about this story, more so than others, the minute she started showing signs of possessing the gift at a very young age, her father and mother sat her down and told her the danger that comes with her ability.

After the war the rest of the holy saints decided to remain stripped off their power, fearing what would happen if somebody once again used it for unholy means. They isolated themselves in the mountains in self proclaimed exile. Of course their lineage didn’t end there, the next generations were born but since they were now mortals, there was no one born of magic anymore and they intended to keep it that way.

The holy saints became a small tribe of farmers, fishermen and blacksmiths. They now live in what was once the eighth kingdom, between the mountains and rivers, far away from the rest of the world.

“Well something smells delicious!” A cheery voice came to the door and Kenna turned around with a smile and arms opened wide to greet her mother who just walked in.

“Welcome home mother. I made mushroom soup for us this evening. I managed to pick some up at the forest near the river.” Kenna smiled and her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Mushroom! Excellent! I’m really hungry there’s so much work that had to be done at the shop today.”

“The old man Bill can no longer carry out his tasks the way he used to, I presume.” Kenna’s father joked and his wife let out a chuckle.

“Oh hush, Gideon, Bill may be old but he is still a member of the council.”

“Yes but my dear Eden, you and I both know that the council today is no more than a pack of old wise men.“ Gideon sighed as he helped Kenna with the table setting.

“Still they are wise. And they were once great and holy saints.” Eden reminded.

“Speaking of holy saints why don’t you tell your mother what you’ve been up to before she arrived?” Gideon said and both adults turned to Kenna.

“What? I was making supper.” She smiled and her mother raised an eyebrow.

“Did you use magic again Kenna?” Of course, her mother could detect a lie even if she was a hundred miles out. The gloomy silence that fell on Kenna’s face was answer enough and so Eden sighed.

“My dear, you know we’re so very proud of you and we’re happy that you were born with such an incredible gift. But this gift, most of the people see as a curse. You have to be careful.”

“I know, mother.” Kenna replied and she sat down the table to join them for supper.

“It’s not a bad thing having these gifts; we just have to be very careful in how we use them.” Eden smiled and her sky colored eyes turned a light shade of crimson and the burning firewood at the hearth died down a little.

“HONESTLY.” Gideon shook his head but there was a proud little smile present on his lips and Kenna grinned gladly at the sight.

If only she knew that that would be their last time together as a happy family, she wouldn’t have gone to sleep.

“Kenna!” a hushed but urgent tone woke Kenna up from her sleep. She blinked and took in her surroundings, she was in her bedroom, the light of the candle on her bedside table was almost dying but it was enough to shine a light on her mother’s face.

“Kenna! We need to go!” Eden said and frantically pulled Kenna up and about. She grabbed a pack and started to stuff Kenna’s clothes in it, she grabbed the now distressed youth and they ran downstairs.

“What’s going on?” Kenna finally asked once they were out of the house. She was scared and panicked, especially when she smelled smoke and saw flames rise in the air and surround their village.

“Where’s father?!” She asked again as they ran.

“He’s at the shop helping others to escape.” Eden replied.

“Escape? Escape from what?” Kenna didn’t get to hear an answer when she heard the screaming of men, women and children, all of them were coming from the village.

“Hurry child!” Eden urged her on and they ran. They arrived at the village in flames and the sight was something Kenna wished she didn’t see. There were bodies everywhere, some were burnt and some were violently wounded by some kind of weapon. Others were being cradled by their loved ones as they cried and looked around for help.

“Gideon!” Her mother’s cry broke her out of her thoughts and she turned to the direction she was looking at. Her father, standing with some of the men and remaining council members of the village was holding a staff and he was protectively shielding the rest of them from something Kenna cannot quite clearly see.

Suddenly, a cold chill went up Kenna’s spine and she felt something heavy weighing her down. It was like the earth was draining her energy. She took sharp breaths at an attempt to normalize her state and when she looked up, she was mortified.

An army of dark cloaked men moved towards her father and the others. Gideon took a step forward and slammed the staff on the ground, emitting a white light. All of them were taken aback.

“Gideon! You have the gift?” A council man said in disbelief.

“Now is not the time to be surprised, Alastair.” Gideon said and his eyes were now a bright shade of crimson.

“Your powers are strong, holy saint.” One of the cloaked men said as they regained their composure.

“But I’m afraid that is not enough.” He added and with a spell created an unusually large ball of fire.

“Who… Who are they?” Kenna shook in fear and her mother faced her.

“Kenna. You must run.” Eden said and with wide eyes, Kenna turned to her mother.

“What? What are you saying?”

“I know you can feel their dark power Kenna, I can feel it too, we cannot stop them with the way we are. All we can do is buy us some time.” Kenna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother is asking her to leave them? Why? And how could she ask such a thing?

“Kenna you must go.”

“No! I can help father! I can help them!” She cried but her mother wouldn’t have it.

“The only way you can help us right now is by being safe! If they kill us all here no one will be able to warn the other kingdoms of this massacre. You must go my child!” Eden pushed Kenna away and towards the other side of the village.

“Where will I go?” Kenna asked through her tears. She didn’t want to leave but her mother is right. She is not yet strong enough to handle such a dark and immense energy that is coming from the cloaked men.

“To Forodren, find Stephen, he will help you.” Eden said and gave her daughter one last kiss goodbye on the forehead before letting her go and running to the line of fire.

Kenna turned away still overcome by grief and ran to the safety of the forest. She could still hear the screams of the children and women as she made her way through, and then in a fleeting moment, she felt life come out of her. It wasn’t her life that she felt for she was still alive, but she was down on her knees in the middle of a clearing and she could feel that something inside her was stripped away. She knew what it was and her eyes turned crimson as she screamed in agony. Her parents were gone.

Travelling alone was a new thing for Kenna. She slept alone, hunted for food alone, walked alone, and cried alone. It took her hours before she moved from the spot where she felt her parents’ life disappear and after walking for a while she lost her energy and collapsed on the ground. It wasn’t until after two days when a deer started to chew at her hair that she woke up.

She didn’t move a muscle right away. She sat there crying, hunched and hugging her knees, trying to remember what her mother’s touch felt like before she sent her away. The only reason she started to move was that she remembered what she must do; go to Forodren and find Stephen, a long time friend of her parents.

And so, months after the attack at her village, she has made her way to the borders of the Northern Kingdom.

Kenna estimated a few more days walk until she reaches the lower town of the kingdom and the sky was getting darker by the second. She could continue on knowing she can very well protect herself but she was too tired and very famished. Besides, the borders of Forodren were home to the scattered beasts of every kind imaginable, she wouldn’t want to run into any of them. Some of them were not exactly friendly to men right after the war.

Kenna created a bonfire and started to cook with the herbs and mushrooms she picked along the way. She then took out a book in her pack and placed her hand upon it.

“Treneri-nin cin golodh.” The spell caused the book to reveal markings of an ancient making, they emitted a bright orange light and the book was opened.

Kenna began reading where she last left off, the book was given to her by her father and she used it to study incantations that would help her control her gifts at a young age. She didn’t realize her mother packed it for her on the night she escaped.

Night fell quickly and soon Kenna was in deep sleep.

“Kenna… Kenna…” a repetitive voice called out and Kenna opened her eyes. She was no longer in the forest of Forodren. She was in a field of tall grass, the sun shone brightly beyond the horizon and as Kenna shielded her eyes from the sun she saw a lonely figure standing a few feet away from her.

“Kenna.”

“Who are you?” She asked and the figure walked closer. It walked and stopped in front of Kenna who had tears in her eyes upon recognizing who it was.

“Father?” She said in disbelief. The figure smiled and stretched out his arms and she immediately sprinted towards him for a hug.

“I’m sorry father. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t help you and mother.” Kenna cried loudly. All her grief and sorrow from the past months simultaneously enveloped her. But her father placed a soft hand on her head and kissed her hair.

“There is nothing to be sorry about my dear daughter. We did not pass from this world in vain. You are alive, and that is what matters. You have to become stronger Kenna, the enemies we have faced are nothing but a taste to what’s truly about to come. You must warn the remaining kingdoms. They need to be prepared.”

“If I reach the king surely his weapon from the gods could help bring down the men that attacked our village.” Kenna guaranteed.

“I’m afraid it won’t be that simple. Not this time.” Gideon said and this brought a fear in Kenna’s eyes.

“The enemy we faced was the Unholui.”

“But I thought… I thought they were long gone.” Kenna muttered in disbelief.

“Some said they were vanquished when Aeron passed but I’m afraid that was nothing but hearsay. The others survived the power of the King’s Weapon and they fled into hiding, and slowly they started regaining their powers over the past years. They scoured the earth to find the last of the holy saints, and when they found us…” Gideon stopped and removed his tunic to reveal a huge burn mark on his chest. Kenna gasped and looked away with tears in her eyes.

“They took your gift.” She said through gritted teeth after a moment of silence.

“They took everyone’s gift. The rest of the holy saints may not have such obvious gifts like your mother and I but inside them was a dormant power they didn’t bother to rekindle. The Unholui took them and became more powerful than ever before.” Gideon finished and placed both his hands on his daughter’s shoulders.

“You are the last of the holy saints Kenna. You must protect your gift with your life, if the Unholui found out one of us has escaped, they will not stop hunting you and they will kill you. Promise me, child… Promise you will keep yourself safe.” He said and Kenna nodded.

“It’s time for me to go. I must get back to your mother.” Gideon smiled which Kenna returned warily.

“Don’t worry Kenna, your mother and I are always with you. In here.” He pointed to her heart and then he was gone.

Kenna sat up from her sleep. She was back in the forest of Forodren.

Forodren was a powerful kingdom. Right after the war, the rest of the remaining kingdoms pledged their allegiance to the king. All was safe and the weapon used to defeat Aeron and the Unholui was sent back to the gods but the gems that hold the powers of the weapon were gifted to the remaining kingdoms.

Six gems, four kingdoms. Three of these gems remained in Forodren while the remaining three got one each. Once joined together and placed on the weapon of the gods, the gems can emit a powerful force of magic that can diminish any darkness that threatens the earth. After the Great War, the four kingdoms believed Aeron and his followers to be dead and so the gems became no more than a gifted relic, a reminder of the dark ages.

Today was especially a good day for the kingdom for it was that time of the year where they celebrate and remember the day they won the war. They called it The Great Victory. A weeklong festival was in the making and the kingdom had opened its doors for the rest of the land to come and visit.

King Anthony was in the throne room, asleep on a stack of papers piled on top of his table. His snore was cut short when Steve, his royal advisor, came running in.

“My liege!” Steve shouted and walked briskly towards the king’s table. The king looked up with a paper stuck on his sweaty forehead.

“What is it Steve?” He asked and abruptly removed the embarrassment off his face.

“Your son has gone missing. Again.” Steve answered and the king sighed.

“I’m sure he’s just with Harry. Don’t they always disappear at this time of the day?” The king asked and began rearranging the papers on his table.

“Yes. But sire, today is a particularly special day, and the prince should be in his chambers getting ready for the arrival of the other kingdoms.” Of course, his royal advisor was right, he wasn’t appointed in that position for nothing.

“Fine. Have Clint find him. It’s better to send that guy than the whole battalion.” The king said and Steve gave a low bow and left.

King Anthony stood up from his seat and looked out his window which had the perfect view of the kingdom. He could see everyone busying themselves with preparations but everyone was happy and that was all he ever wanted, for his people to be safe and happy.

The window took in his reflection and the king eyed the three pieces of gems on a round crest hanging on his neck and in front of his chest. The blue gem, the yellow gem and the green gem shone dimly and it slowly reminded the king of the Great War.

He shook his head and held on his left hand, the feeling of the weapon still embedded in his veins. But now is not that time to remember such a burden, now is the time for the Great Victory, the Great War was over, there is peace and he vows to keep it that way.

The king looked down at the castle gates just in time to see a man in hunting gear with a bow and arrow strapped behind his back, ride out towards the town to find his son.

Kenna walked in the gates of the lower town of Forodren. There were so many people present she didn’t know where to look for Stephen. She can’t even remember how the man looked. All she knows is that Stephen is a skilled healer just like her father.

“Hello! A lovely flower for the lovely lady!” A young boy walked up to her. He was carrying a basket of an assortment of flowers and he had this cheerful look on his face as he handed her a sunflower.

“Oh. Thank you but I don’t have any money for that.” Kenna replied politely.

“No need for money milady, the flower is free. One of the gifts King Anthony gives every festival.” The boy replied and handed the flower to Kenna once again and this time she took it with a smile. The boy then skipped away and started to hand out flowers to anyone that passes by. Kenna then noticed other children doing the same thing and that the adults were busy running about and putting up colorful decorations in everything they can get their hands on.

Kenna walked towards the center of the lower town and there she saw a great banner with the words: “The Great Victory” being put up by soldiers and helpers alike. She was too busy admiring the sights she didn’t notice where she was walking and bumped into a boy in a blue cloak.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.” She said and bowed.

“No. It’s okay. No harm done.” The boy replied and brought the hood of his cloak lower to his face and turned away. Kenna looked curiously at the boy but didn’t bother anymore when she heard a familiar name.

“Stephen! It’s a rare sight to see you out of your hole and here where the fun is starting.” A man with dark skin and short hair, wearing a dark blue and green robe called out. Kenna stretched her neck to see through the crowd and there in front of the man was another man, taller and more lean. He had dark hair with streaks of white on both sides and he was wearing a red cloak over a dark blue tunic.

“Yes Mordo, it is rare. Though it is also rare to see you here when you should be at the church, assisting, what was his name? Wong? With the preparations for the sermon this evening.” Stephen chided and Mordo gave a laugh and patted Stephen’s shoulder.

“You got me there Stephen. I’ll see you at the festival.” With that, Mordo left.

Kenna made her way through the bustling crowd and she followed Stephen into a house which she assumed was his home.

“Hello?” She asked as she walked in. The house was huge and it was full of books, bottles, herbs and liquids of different sorts. It reminded Kenna of one of the rooms at their house where her father usually did his studying of medicine.

“Who are you?” A deep voice resonated from above and Kenna looked up to see Stephen floating. Yes, he was definitely floating. Kenna blinked twice to make sure and when she was sure that Stephen was floating in midair her mouth fell open.

“I’m… uh… I’m… I’m sorry, but you do realize you’re floating, right?” She asked and she actually thought herself to be stupid at her own question.

“Yes I am aware. And do you realize that it’s rude to enter people’s homes without knocking?” Stephen asked back and Kenna felt embarrassed.

“Sorry. I was just… I was looking for you, and I’ve traveled very far just to get here. I needed to find you immediately.” She said and Stephen finally went down to the ground. He removed the red cloak and hung it on a rack near the fireplace.

“Which brings us back to the question, who are you?” He asked as he turned to face her.

“I’m Kenna.” She answered and Stephen took a moment before registering the name.

“Kenna. Gideon and Eden’s daughter?” He asked and the smile on Kenna’s face was an enough answer for him.

“Why are you here? Did something happen?” Stephen asked and immediately, Kenna’s smile died down. She held on the strap of her pack tightly her knuckles started to turn white. She looked at Stephen, her eyes were brimming with tears and when she closed them to regain composure, a single drop fell.

“They’re gone.” Kenna choked out to the best of her ability and the look on Stephen’s face was a mixture of grief, pain and pity for the young girl in front of him.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He finally answered and offered her a seat.

“It happened three and a half months ago…” She started and Stephen began to brew tea and he set a plate of bread for Kenna to eat while she continued on with her story.

“The Unholui? Are you sure about this?” Stephen asked and Kenna nodded.

“My father told me in a dream that it was them. That they were more powerful than before and that they wiped out all of the remaining holy saints in order to strip them of their gifts.” She replied and drank from the cup of water Stephen offered her after she cried again about her parents’ death.

“Not all of them. You made it out.” Stephen said.

“Yes.”

“You are now the last of your kind.” He added and she gave a sad nod.

“I must keep this information a secret. If the Unholui finds out that one holy saint still lives, they will come for me and kill me.” She replied. Stephen understood this and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Forodren is the safest place for you to be. No harm will come to you here.” He assured her with a smile.

“You must be tired. I have a spare bed right next to my room upstairs.” Stephen offered and stood up.

“But what of the king? Shouldn’t we tell him about the Unholui?” Kenna asked as she grabbed her bag and walked after Stephen towards the stairs.

“We can tell the king later in the day. In the meantime, you should rest. Tonight, the start of The Great Victory Festival will commence. You’re going to need your strength for that.” Stephen smiled and escorted Kenna to her room.

“Thank you Stephen.” Kenna said as Stephen waited by her door.

”I need to ask one thing.” Stephen then said and of course, Kenna expected this. She was actually surprised Stephen didn’t ask about it in the middle of her story.

“I know Gideon and Eden and I know what they are capable of, they were the ones who taught me a little bit of magic. I just need to ask, do you also have the gift?” He wondered and Kenna gave him a nod.

“Yes.” Her eyes turned a bright shade of crimson and she held out her closed fist towards Stephen, once she opened it, a replica of the sunflower in her pack sprouted out of her palm.

“You really are Gideon and Eden’s daughter. Don’t worry Kenna, no one will know your secret but me. We can’t have the Unholui discovering what you can do.” Stephen said and Kenna nodded in acknowledgment

“Get some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” With that, Stephen closed her door and left her to sleep.

 “Peter Benjamin! Son of Anthony Edward! You better be ready before the festival or so help me I will tell your father to stop your combat lessons with the knights.” A tall and very beautiful woman with light golden hair shouted as she entered the royal chambers of the prince.

“I am! I am! I’m ready!” An exasperated young boy stumbled out behind his changing doors. His hair was disheveled but he was dressed for the upcoming occasion nonetheless.

The woman clicked her tongue and approached the boy with her long blue gown trailing behind her she then sat the boy down in front of a mirror and started to comb his hair properly.

“Honestly Peter, you know very well what this day is about, why do you make it so difficult?” She asked and placed a small crown on top of the prince’s head.

“I’m not making anything difficult, Pepper. I just wanted to have some fun before the rest of the royalties arrive. No one from the other kingdoms is my age except for the Western King; King T’Challa’s younger sister Shuri. But she won’t be coming due to a terrible cold. I’m gonna be stuck with the old kings for the rest of the night.” Peter answered and Pepper sighed. She knows the prince didn’t like to stay in one place and he only does so because he loves his father and wouldn’t do anything to disobey him. Clearly there was no rule that said he couldn’t go out and have some fun before the actual festival but there was a rule that he was supposed to be back before the afternoon strikes and since he lost track of time, Clint, one of the royal knights was sent to find him.

“Well you and Harry certainly had your fun, now it’s time for the “old kings” to have theirs.” Pepper smiled and Peter chuckled in return before making their way towards the banquet hall.

“My friends! Welcome!” King Anthony greeted guests left and right as they arrived in the hall. Everyone bowed in respect to the king and he smiled at them in return.

“King Anthony.” A younger king approached. He was wearing black and purple robes. An orange gem was hanging on his neck like a necklace. The younger king crossed his arms in front of his chest like an X as a form of respect and salute to King Anthony.

“King T’Challa. I told you to just call me Tony.” The king did the salute in return and then stretched out his hand after for a handshake. He gave the King of the West a firm tap on the shoulder as he welcomed him and ushered him to the banquet table.

“King T’Challa.” Peter greeted with the salute and the king reciprocated the gesture.

“I’m sorry my sister won’t be joining us this time. I fear her fever didn’t heal in time.” T’Challa said and Peter was saddened at the thought but he smiled nonetheless.

“I’m sure she will recover soon. In the meantime, please enjoy the festival.” Peter said politely when they heard trumpets by the door; a sign that another King has arrived.

“It’s Nicholas.” Tony grinned.

“I thought he said not to call him that.” T’Challa smiled and they turned toward the door. An older man with only one good eye stood in dark robes. A red gem was pinned on the left side of his robes. A woman with blood red hair stood next to him in a silver gown and right next to her was another woman clothed in the armor of the Eastern Kingdom.

“Nick.” T’Challa greeted and the other king gave the salute as a sign of respect before bowing towards Tony.

“I see the fun has started without me.” King Nicholas said and he laughed.

“I’m afraid it has! But don’t worry, we got all week for the fun I’m sure you won’t be missing.”

“Now all that is left is King Erik.” Steve then joined the kings at the table.

“Yes but you know how he is, stylishly late.” Maria; King Nicholas’ Captain of the Guard said as she drank a glass of wine.

 “Well nothing ever changes. Will you please excuse me for a moment?” Tony then stood up and made his way towards a familiar face in the crowd. Peter followed his father’s movements, dreading the idea that he was left at the table with the “older kings”.

“Stephen!” Tony yelled as he made his way towards the Physician.

“My king.” Stephen bowed and Tony chuckled.

“I told you there’s no need for that.” He said and then looked behind Stephen to see a young girl.

“Who’s this?” He asked and the girl bowed.

“I am Kenna, your majesty.” She said and the king smiled in acknowledgement.

“Sire, I have a concern that I must discuss with you.” Stephen said and Tony turned to him. Stephen looked troubled and that was enough to catch the king’s attention.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asked and Stephen looked at Kenna before turning back to the king.

“The Unholui are alive.” With this, Tony’s world slowed down. This was something he didn’t think he would hear, especially today.

“What? What are you talking about?” Tony asked in disbelief.

“It is true sire .They attacked my village and killed everyone they laid their eyes on. They possessed horrible and haunting abilities. I was lucky I got away.” Kenna started and Tony looked at her. She didn’t seem to be lying and Stephen seemed to trust her. But how? How are the Unholui still alive? And why now have they started to make an appearance again?

“When was this?” Tony asked.

“Three and a half months ago.” Kenna answered and Tony paced back and forth.

“We must warn the other kingdoms. They need to be prepared in case of an – ” the trumpets sounded again and the King of the South along with his son and daughter came in the banquet hall.

“Sit with me by the table. I will need to hear your full story on this before I make my move.” Tony said and gestured Stephen and Kenna to follow him up front.

King Erik, his son Prince Pietro and his daughter Princess Wanda; bowed to the other kings in respect and as soon as a toast had been made for the festival, everyone was back to their own business.

Tony turned back to Stephen to continue their talk when King Erik proposed another toast.

“May I have our attention, please?” He asked and every chatter died down and they turned toward the Southern King.

“Many years ago, this land was saved under the clutches of a dark and powerful sorcerer. Thanks to my good friend King Anthony here, we were blessed with a weapon to destroy this darkness. But we have been deceived!” Erik started and the rest of crowd murmured in response. Tony and Stephen looked at each other and then Stephen looked to Kenna.

“The darkness is not defeated! It lives! And it continues to grow in power and corrupt all that is hopeful and good.” He continued.

“What kind of madness is this King Erik?” Nick asked.

“It is not madness my friend, it is the truth. This darkness only grows in secret and while you…” he pointed a finger at the other kings, the purple gem glowing dimly on his ring, “you sit here and celebrate a battle that you’ve won once and never thought to seek if the enemy really is vanquished.”

“But the enemy is vanquished! Aeron turned to dust the moment the weapon was used against him.” T’Challa replied.

“I am not talking about Aeron. I am talking about the Unholui.” At the mention of this Kenna’s eyes went wide and she turned in a state of panic towards Stephen who looked at her in return.

“They live! Their powers grow! They are becoming a force you wouldn’t even begin to believe to face.” Erik continued when Tony stood up from his seat.

“How do you know this?” He asked with a suspicious look towards the other king.

“I have seen. They have shown me.” King Erik smiled and the ring on his finger, the ring with the gem, turned black. A power so intense shot out of the gem and towards Tony and if Stephen hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him away he would’ve been hit.

Screams of panic and terror filled the banquet hall as the air began to pick up and destroy the place. Chairs and tables were overturned, the candles were blown out, the kings and their people looked in horror as King Erik started to rise above the ground. The prince and princess were then surrounded by their own knights. King Tony’s knights marched in the hall and started to fight with the Southern Knights and prevented them from hurting any civilians.

“SURRENDER TO THE POWER OF UNHOLUI OR PERISH.” King Erik said.

“Erik this is madness!” Nick shouted and the dark king laughed.

“Isn’t this what you just asked?” He taunted and directed his ring towards the Eastern King.

“Than hain” Kenna whispered behind a column in the banquet hall she dove behind earlier in order to avoid the first attack. The power of the ring was blocked and it disappeared. Erik was taken aback, as were the others.

“You cannot hurt the kings while they are wearing their gems.” Stephen then said but he knows it wasn’t the king’s gem that protected him.

“Then I’ll settle for anyone not wearing the gem!” Erik raged and the power of the black gem on his finger started to grow, Kenna could feel a large amount of dark magic coming from the maddened king.

She needed to stop this from getting worse and she needed to protect the people from any more harm. She looked up and saw the great chandelier hanging loosely above the oblivious king. Her eyes locked on the chandelier and as soon as her eyes turned crimson, the chandelier broke and fell.

“FATHER!” Prince Pietro yelled and ran towards their fallen king. The rest of their knights were down on the ground thanks to Forodren’s Knights and they held the princess captive.

“Stop this right now, Erik, you wouldn’t want another war to start.” Tony then said but Erik let out a dry chuckle before his blue eyes turned a dark shade of red.

“Oh but I do.” And with that, everyone from the Southern Kingdom had disappeared.

 tagging: @silverofthunder you’re the only person who knows about this mess hahaha!

other notes: I used a sindarin translator for the spells and other stuff.

[macphairlane]

connecting with profs or nething at this point is not unlike the velvets live at kansas city, its a melodic and more or less productive affair considering lou reed the lead singer had just had electro shock …with friends of old and icons of great value to share ideas with; the record litterally comes fourth as a paranormal entity, in human forms. …but simply; its vinyl.

Shiney shiney, shiney rolls of tape, girls only I could help escape. blue eyes i could never see them take. rollin 365 up the staires, a crackhouse dive dweeb squaires, why whine, rye, a wife in mind. La monde avoir its roots entwined, 1st word; thyme in ice in time greedy pigs and shocks a freak, day in day out don’t miss a beat i love you still white light white heat ill miss your mother’s little feat; you glowies; children of the wheat. telepathy jealousy bahing sheep

one last and first thing to comprehend; to thrust forth and defend, to lash out introspectively, war on our brains unjust effectively we cant depend for they are liars with no morals only wires.

those we are forced to trust however wrong and evil they are to sever. Know that in time the universe will punish their evil doing, karma will get you through the abuse. Let logic steer you away from the danger they have on display the sick drs who will pay fake degrees and up and ha all together to wreck the day.

god bless the youth with their troubled times against them and theyre healthy minds 365 its live now draw a line between the fake malpractice swine and your mind and tricks entwined freed by the knowledge that you’re fine. now 705 thisle and thyme this matters more, to our kind they laugh and make you compromise your life to better fit their knife there gay and you are a good wife to me. someday they’ll go back to pay, and fuck you up a different way,

For that I think ill stay and wait here for alternate ways around the castle i call home and site beside your empty throne.

“love”  and the knowledge that one can be loved and in my case always, I only philosophise with the partial use of solid evidence that I have been loved by the one I love therefore at and for that moment(pretty much after the moment my phone died, after 30 seconds of reading trainpotting aloud, there was a subconscious subjective foggy notion that was there to be discovered by the psyche,  at this moment I can prove using circumstancial evidence and truth know by both partied involved, the dependant factor being me loving her forever, and the independent factor her being a single indesisive woman looking for a man who will love her forever combining to make a positive chemical and psysical reaction, that is the fundamental tradition that is the goal of all living thngs on this plant and its most evolutionary form of it is when it’s “Love based” one giving the other what its most in need of and deprived of, the others love, not the love of a friend, but physical experiments that are love based, expressing love on not neccesarily a physical level (like if ur on the phone or sumthing)but specifically a sexual level. The compounding factors that result in reactions happenings cresendoes babies,, are when the energy isnt circular but moves in one direction, when the one party is starved, an the other has a wealth, and the act of giving not just what the yearning needs, but what  he wants, when the desired with all her wealth, emparts her secret harboured denied expression love though tradional reproduction based activities, that friendship goes from “limbo” into action, even for a moment, through technology that alerts the senses, in this case hearing, wheather the deprived is even present or physically participating, isn’t the point the point is that the foggy notion of true love was expressed transmitted in a traditional and pivitol form, even though I picked up the transmission through one sense,  my ability to hear, the value of those vibrations, though lo-fi and misenterperted until the last few seconds before the line went dead (FUCK), were interperated and acknowledged and the whole venus in furs philosophy of the one party giving the other what it wants so bad, but has been denied, and doing it with love, or what they BOTH KNOW is the kind of love that’s needed and given over finally with effortless,  voluntary participation from the dominant, resuling in satisfaction in bohe parties (in my case the girl and I were more harmonized cause it was love based. Sex based, and send in the sacred medium of sound, and the talisman, the artifact, the memory the high velocity evidence that the message was of high fidelity, was that she didn’t use descriptive words (language) I was unfortunately (my medium at the time) it was her specific instrumental natural sirens alerting me to the intentions that truly lied behind her actions towards me  even if it was for that day only, this medium I collected from the field is highly obvious and irreplaceable piece of art that is regarded by the mind of the homosapien on a natural level as evidence that it not just social interacton, its a higher form of interaction, sexual yes, the highest form, occurs only when the truly loving is truly loved, on a sexual level, which indicates physical involvement,  and it did, only on one side, the side of the desired, the starvd had revieved the intention, and it was love, something metaphysical that can only be cofimed as occurring for ne length of time is undeniable corporeal action, even if its just her, givin er to you reading literature over the phone, the gift of reassurance that you are loved in this memorable case was not through words, but audible expressions from the depths of physical and mental activity from her diaphragm through her vocal chords and into my eardrum, was evidence enough that our seemingly healthy and thriving friendship was being held in limbo while I struggled with life and suffered over the denial of the true real deal love you were harbouring and saving in yourself for the future, didn’t dim and go out like a candle that burned up all the wax. Without official acknowledgement celebration and because I was still fucked up, without the long lasting  relationship that we wished wold follow and planned for, the sound of her primal sirens, sent mono ideo-dnamically from her entire physical being emitting frequencies that resonate with the earth around her and correspond with the stimuli, me, the correspondence being the brief experience of hearing the broadcast of it, acknowledging the fact that no matter how flawed or un aware I was prior to precieving what was transpiring an how classicly themed to fit my experience it was, that the fucking phone died before I heard the end of it, I clued in to what was going on, (id been informed of this “drone”she makes by her ex boyfriend (the other guy) right before he drove his helpful and convenient car out of her life)  Even if it was “her being noisy” it was fundamental sensual body chemistry, stimulated physically by the best means she knew how mentally by the imperative consciousness of the presence of the instinctualy, reproductivly essential of (in her case) a genuine male emitting stimuli, in both of our cases the stimuli was audio. The rare and most modern evolutionary trait is the simultaneous(I say this empathetically because were using language the figure this out not a live experiment going on right now or some shit) Emotional involvemint by both parties “while during coitus” bein, to into words, (I know that you’ve been loveing me so im gunna love you back) tho words are sweet but it doesn’t compare to the same message sent in the biologically, exceptional quality thats essential to the balance of the bodies involved and there connection to one another, the planet and the unverse, sound and where it comes from and the intention or involuntary reason for its presence and amplitude, dissonant or harmonious, perhaps my reading, my being on the line was the drone, and the harmony was her dissonant siren song. Its our new found puprose as humans to when ready reproduce.  Love is highly evolved, and requires corporeal and linguistic and energetic action on both parties to be confirmed as true love. It works like a battery(the casing of the battery is the relationship here), one end needs what the other end has access to; the positive end has its own energy attached to it(the juice in the battery, posetve energy),(in this case this is our one, the girl)attractive body(+end)and a mind (the positive ends underside that’s harboring all the energy in the friendship/relationship (battery casing)the negative port on the other end of the battery on its outside (my mind in this case)is permanently attached through the casing of the battery to the mind of the desired, this girls memories thoughts etc. (the underside of the positive end) and not her body. Why because the casing is plastic,( the friendship) isnt enough to join the two to create a circuit, but the love(the battery juice made up of strange elemets) attracted by her negative mind(the underside of the positive end) and makes her body(the tip) fertile and ready to create electricity(communication) only the casing of battery acid(loving friendship)charged by my positive actions(the acid is positively charged by the underside of my mind(the negative ends underside) which represents my body, which behaves like the warm intentions of my actions, which positively go nowhere unless her mind (negative underside of the top of the battery)gets inspired by the love in the friendship (which is positively charged yearning, my positive actions played lovingly into her open mind(negative underside of the top) inspiring her to do something with her body(top of the battery positive) in response to my positive charge on her mind and all the love it can unleash,  for the sake of warm intentions she turns on a cell phone,, her phone(or wire casing) the copper thread in the wire(the signal) the positive charge in the wire, (her calling me) and her hooking up the wire touching it to the negative end of the battery(her bodies actions and warm intentions inspired by a recognisable charge I embody that she identifies with(my body and life being negatively charged with aa positive mind and her beautiful face and attractive personality.)  my phone rings and I see its her, the one, I immediately am inspired that its her charge the one im missing positively lovely, what is she up to? and i pick it up,

A simple circuit at this point, is her using a tool or wire to send all her positive energy through to her body by using her minds attraction to positive energy, by simply attaching the wire it sends the positive energy not just through her mind and body but back down on her body, when the extension (the wire) is put on my mind(the negative end of the battery in this case, my mind),deliberately by her, sending the energized current of the love in our friendship (juice in the battery) into my mind(the end of the battery with a bump) by way of the wire (cell phone signals connecting our phones and her voice and energy being the current) all the positive energy meets the negative charge of my mind and then that foreign female tone (positive electrical current) the positive energy stemming from the juice, the love, that’s made up of elements like lithium(in the case of the battery and in my case as well) this element and other alloys, the whole chemistry of the battery acid, holds the charge positive because energy flows, and love or acid can be charged by the bi polarity of conducters meaning they are opposing one anothers charge on the outside leaving potential for power over nature,  while on the inside, inside the battery the compounding nature of the universe is seen between you and me, me and the chemicals and elements the acid the love that is positively charged by me and only me, in this battery regardless of proximity my charge is still the key, litteraly loving you moved energy directly making me alternately free but obviously reflects its imperfections symetricaly and quite similarly to your perfect face and body  only introspectively and this thing I call negativity you existentially use to control and manipulate me by means of electrical currents like a shark in the sea, but the ocean currents in our world somehow moved me so far we couldn’t be but as the drone turns up the heat as chemists cure insanity, inevitably the duality of the friendship followed the trail right back to me,  from the beach into the city,  while metaphysical acid rain fell on her black umbrella,  drops of synthetic nightshade provided a ground and a side effect equaled a perfectly balanced sound resembling a circuit around my neck and down to the nervous wreck, I stand and smoke out on the deck, and remember that was how we met I  stop, wait my energys charge self provides, enough energy to survive, with my new social activity the acid, charge, size, speed and proximity and  the voltage of the current and relativity. My positively charged ablilitys that betray the moon like your fertility, a simple circuit cant explain the lovesick emotional pain still forming drops of acid rain only strengthening my brain, its time I have to get reactive, send this to her radically brilliant highly attractive yet negatively charged mind where chemicals of another kind will get inspired as she reads about batteries and his energy (that she secretly lovingly keeps rightfully under her locks and key with her sharp mind and memory should recall the flattery,  the almost dead battery, poetic licence and mad hattery finally gets me through the matter we, lost all sense of pattern, see, the point was electricity, and keyboards I would never see, played like a former prodigy, with drones that resonate with me just barely metaphysically, through my sleep deprived behavior induced heightened state, Ive always been able to wait, epiphanies sometimes come too late, but revelations give me faith that your negative mind and my positive state, memories of how u altered fate, I know theres more to come but wait, don’t get offended by my state , my batteries dead so save the date, remember wiser things I’ve depictions finished in your head, an electrician would have briefly said, what took me hours,  in ten minutes u will have read, I must finish without my meds, theyd knock me out, blow to the head, ill miss away you time instead,  that lilliad inside your mind

DRONe3

.<0_O> — — µ — <_<)))) DRONe³ And other Poems and writings by James McFarlane Telepath/Necromancer James McFarlane·Friday, May 18, 2018 . Telepath may 2018 Pencil sharp, smoke a dart early morning engines start Crescent moon blue grass tunes frost on the window and my spoon. Dopamine and serotonin, pain relief telepath droning, a walk of life, on a limb buds froze until the dawn of spring. Train passing dread grasses, Sage burning sky lasting, electric currents flowing now, necromancer up and down, Dopamine and serotonin pain relief telepath droning, a walk of life on a limb buds froze until the dawn of spring. -Seumas Necromancer May 2018 Floating wearily but in some comfort overhead. Making sheets move on my bed. Conversations in and out, speaking without our mouths. Blue fires light up your darkness please don’t ever find me as heartless I love you always one two three here’s the bass now jam with me Exhale eternally into the mic, angel choirs out on strike. Necromancer up and down, rein / radius across town, soon I will return with thee to this town/life Ville/vie. –Seumas (New Revisions) James McFarlane +Seamus to thee, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’mtired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code DRONe -Seumas (James) Monday, February 22, 2016 OK thisone’s right off the wall: this is a strangely written and personal poem It’scalled “Siren heart Drone” (meant for a mature audience) A’ hem…. I’m nervous, I don’t freestyle often I wish there was a way to put this near the bottom of my timeline, it’ll be my latest and greatest lyric though, + POSETIVE INDUCTION — The positive attraction to your conductive psyche, is a form in itself existing in me, subjective almost ironically, the circuitry, being both electricity and imaginary cranked up high by your fun chemistry by way of the cerebral. (Which is flattering me) The circuitry with chemistry minus proximity, (causing a reaction deliberately) the electrical frequencies that you received from me were; artsy descriptions in accents I read. Other elements of me manifesting masculinity through my dorky frequency, gave off feedback that, officially; for me heralded the dawn of freed energy. So… metaphysical seed, dropped and sewn that day, (I guess what I am trying to say is): My girl my girl, don’t lie to me, oceans away your eyes can see, my bending sending light like this, in response to; the drone from your white laced lips. For the of lack of your treble and charge of your base, my “methadone”, White Light/White Heat, can take its place, anti-acidic mantra chi, surrounding me, a black dot in space. Divided by the curve encased, the metaphysical takes place. The fact that we’re in touch today, makes sirens blare and drones play, I’ll send this over right away, and then appropriately play, ‘beautiful face’ a newer way, I could elaborate for 3 straight days. Now what follows is what’s next on the fret board of your hex. It’s between, us; a fish out of net. So this will be all they get. ok here goes, ya, this is for the ladies in town I know that sounds weak but I blame the moons energy for you cute young women never being around when I finally spit the rhyme on solid ground, neway this is about you, you and the town where I choose, and choose to settle down instead of just stop swimming and drown, no more worries, no frowns, I’m gunna work it on out, cause I’m bound for the tides, not the sound, yea, ok, you know what I mean, yea k here I go, you ready? You steady? I stole the crown from the underground, I thought it would look nice with your gown, I’m upward bound so, are you down with my verbs and nouns? I don’t freestyle rap but this might as well be,flowin literally right now cause i come down hard with a sound that this new town including your highness have minds to breakdown, so get down breakdown, my chic mystique-psychologique will make you turn around and blush while your current boyfriends drunk on the ground cause he substitutes love with down, he doesn’t have an ear, genetically, to hear your siren sound for which I was born to kinetically harmonize, desensitize and heal your weary eyes. This is the treatment we need now ill even show you how, like a bow that goes up and down, helping us resonate these bloody strings, while the clipper ship sinks…… Sinks with the low tide.c’mon lets head home. The moons making my fire rise. That means soon it will be high tide, the ocean spray it stings my eyes, so let’s go inside, its morning time, look at color in the sky the sun is just about to rise. MY clipper ship’s on seas of rye. Empty bottles of scotch catch her in the eye. I’m not afraid of all those guys, they’re lucky they even have a sty. I’ve seen farms that would make you cry. These pale blue eyes are all but mine. And yours are like that brand of dye, that in our last summer together, we ALL tried, permanent like the purple in my mind’s eye or the in the dimly lit sky the night I officially died, all from a med, instead of one I took 10, benzodiazepines, all I wanted to do was compound the prescribed effect at the right dose they make a nervous wreck feel and appear normal so I took them, now I’m in debt, but only tried this cause u have me in check, ready to knock the crown off my head, make it your golden cauldron instead. You know I’m good with shocking steel and know how to forge blend anneal so this golden crown is probably real, and I assure u from the other room that it’s safe to use took a meal. Only cause it’s my deal I leave out the part about removing toxic alloys by melting steel, adding chemicals from the field and as the method never revealed used those same chemicals, that we all feel, all the time in our head to make tiny slow moving particles to turn make gold out of lead. So neways with confidence I said GO AHEAD! But I couldn’t lie to her, so I yelled from the other room, “u should know, that thing is gold but it use to be lead. She laughed, hesitated, placed the pewter cauldron on the stove instead and put the golden crown on her head. She finally walked down the hall and into her room where I was using dust pan and broom, she didn’t say nething, just got up on her bed which was shrouded with purple threads forgetting her glasses, still she picked up my book and read, I said here ill read aloud for you instead, within a few minutes of reading she started to turn red, the stove was on low so she got herself fed THAN served us both breakfast in bed. SUDDENLY I awake and see that we are parked at the end of a pier in some town in Quebec, I yell out stupidly from my stuper, WERE ON A PIER! She had good laugh about that occurrence on several occasions. but ya I took too many pills and was all sleepy on our road trip, all in all, yet again, I fed my head then lost all my cred, it being an accident, it made me sleep like the dead, that’s when I lost you, or you lost me, literally you looked everywhere and couldn’t find me, conscious or not, id soon figure id been stung by the bee, the most painful thing however, and my only memory was later that night when you were beside me, or was it he that got there before me, ok now I must stop and back up, the cheap words pouring from me, telling the details of this pathetic story it’s pissing me off, like losing the love of your life to a drug, and then officially to drugs plural, like 5 years of fucking up pretty much following this one night, the moment you realized you had lost the one girl, the one you compare every girlfriend you get ultimately fucking that up too, the one. its caused ache in whets left of my drug affected love starved blackened heart and caused my excellent poem to go right off the rails, so I’ll get on topic and ill even do it in rhyme, what inspires me to try to try, it’s the ache in my heart that is its key function now when I think of this girl and am reminded of the moment I lost her. ok here goes, regardless, we were in bed together, and from your sleepy head where your soul lies and you can never die, I heard your memories cry, and as I realized all the days I tried so hard to try but wouldn’t, couldn’t try and now I can’t cry is because I was always too shy in your unfulfilled eyes despite being my inspiration for the last 4 or 5 years of drugs and art with your recent if u can even call it that separation the focus intensifies about u and other girls like the sweet PortugueseIrish girl from the only psych ward I recommend at hotel diu in Kingston where I was actually treated properly (maybe cause it’s a catholic hospital, maybe cause I was so fucked up I appeared catatonic for days till this fox brought me down and romanced me for a month) she’s your competition….who contributed to my psychological cardiomyopathy however, a number of “the ones” but evenbefore that I was fucked up, I was the youngest psychiatric patient in Ontario or something, I learned how to smoke inside a smoking room in the shithole Scarborough grace when I was fifteen, I think I checked myself in hen I was twelve just to get away, that may have been what that asshole head of psychiatry was talking about. I also hit the highest highs, and the most demonic abysses of suicidal advanced psychotic depression, and took more abuse for it from nurses drs and the police, not to mention my family, but I still unconditionally love and am loved by my parents and grandparents, Jesus, I sacrificed my life and goals to save my families souls literally offed myself when I was 16 years old to end the devils elaborate foothold on me the people around the household appliances and machines, the behavior of living things the weather and the temperature of the room depending on my tortured state the only common theme is that others hurt and share it with me and my empathy kind of bounces back like an echo, I express and receive the grief while later, I only know this because when I fall, which I don’t do nemore thanks to medical science, its all about them.. but now this, she cried in her sleep and the only difference about these tears the ones that dried before her, is that the tears were for the two of us,not for being hurt but for me getting hurt and that hurt her, and it came out of her in a subconscious later state, kind of like me, this happened something like five years ago and it never gets old, ok , so here’s how THIS sad story goes; back to you, we were basically sleeping on the ground, I was tied up and bound, mothers little helper’s cheque bounced, I stupidly blame the devil in benzos but as of last Chinese new year I now denounce him, clonazepam is free from sin,(the cure), which I am resistant to so even though in the name of a better life I took 1/16th of an ounce I was still wide awake laying beside you, thinking only to myself about how I fucked up, it wasn’t even my own script at the time like u even need to know this it was a gift from the big Mc the tragically crip former editor in chief of legal manuscript, this bug makes the dj tick, and he made me, (sick) so (to this day I thank god for the count and amount per pill per day,,, throw your troubles away and pray that it was ok to stray from your holy bible, “psychology today”) So I was now bound for the pound, complete and total disgrace all around, from the moment u made that sound I knew our plans were going down that I would leave town, shoot smack and somehow return because YOU specifically gave the instruction to COME BACK! But things got whack I dropped out of school after taking philosophy which I passed, took drugs then relaxed let the nothing drone blare and move towards and away from the past managed to stay out of the psycho shack and somehow followed the chemical and psychological path out of the woods, fuck that was one long sidetrack, but it’s over, now, it took a year of wandering to end it but I did so…back before I initially left town your eye lids were down. I’d spent our whole friendship collectively letting you down by being ur favorite one in town and not responding in a way that could let us…. Fuck I was a clown,ever since I pulled a sigmen froid and used white to get off opiates it’s been renown but like the psychologist before me once declared, down (heroin) so satisfying in the right dose, has basically fulfilled their open ended prediction for the drugs future, in one shot like vaccine, the queen of all drugs, administered in the highest healthy dosage intravenously is the cure all found in Montreal, and then a deliberate clean cut from all non prescribed recreational narcotics, that is until the dreaded lady in white shows up on ur doorstep, I say let her in, and move away never to see her again, with the experience and satisfaction of the act of consuming heroin as your catalyst to change your life and only take clonazepam. So before all that we had a healthy friendship, it was doomed but I loved you so u kept me around and there was all sorts of ways we got down without ever fooling around except this time I discreetly describe further down when my phone ran out of batteries while you went to town , I thought I was a fuckin martyr because all id make u do is dance, that’s the gods truth so baaaack to me not being a creep, I geometrically see the opposing symmetrical verticy of our rhombus reveal its true ego as FUCKING TRAPAZOID when I hear your inner pain, I’m no hypnotist (yet) but u were zonked after a day of mosh pitting ultimately falling for the other guy, while I slept in the grass like an ASS. you let out a whimper in your sleep and two out of three of us knew, this chick is deep, from then on I took the title of weak, I had let my biological ancestors down with swords in their hands and in my hand your crown, and still I let you down, AND YOU STILL even tried several sexy and awkward times to make it happen and I let you down, u can tell a social disease when the same set of words are used multiple times to rhyme with other words that have that sound i.e. : I let you down. In that strange little town. It’s been well over a year and to end on a harmonious note after all this purple melancholy. I’m gunna say two words to you and they are not” “I do” It’sI’m sorry. I’m sorry lately for this poem, but mostly I’m sorry for not maturing into the man you thought I could be. I’m recovered from my early episodes now, took 16 years but I used the gear to properly hear and respond without fear, if only I did this within the time frame we had, Now were both sad. And I don’t wanna upset u, ur glowie or ur boyfriend or neone else, soo I’m gunna play a song, it’s called : one thing that keeps this black heart beating””(referring to my heart: that “upturned bass drum” The thing that keeps it beating is the dissonant and strangely beautiful siren song that echoes in my mind as the inspiration, “love” and the knowledge that one can be loved and in my case always, I only philosophies with the partial use of solid evidence that I have been loved by the one I love therefore at and for that moment(pretty much after the momentmy phone died, after 30 seconds of reading trainpotting aloud, there was a subconscious subjective foggy notion that was there to be discovered by the psyche, at this moment I can prove using circumstantial evidence and truth know by both partied involved, the dependant factor being me loving her forever, and the independent factor her being a single indecisive woman looking for a man who will love her forever combining to make a positive chemical and physical reaction, that is the fundamental tradition that is the goal of all living things on this plant and its most evolutionary form of it is when it’s “Love based” one giving the other what its most in need of and deprived of, the others love, not the love of a friend, but physical experiments that are love based, expressing love on not necessarily a physical level (like if ur on the phone or sumthing)but specifically a sexual level. The compounding factors that result in reactions happenings crescendos babies,, are when the energy isn’t circular but moves in one direction, when the one party is starved, and the other has a wealth, and the act of giving not just what the yearning needs, but what he wants, when the desired with all her wealth, imparts her secret harbored denied expression love though tradional reproduction based activities, that friendship goes from “limbo” into action, even for a moment, through technology that alerts the senses, in this case hearing, whether the deprived is even present or physically participating, isn’t the point the point is that the foggy notion of true love was expressed transmitted in a traditional and pivotal form, even though I picked up the transmission through one sense, my ability to hear, the value of those vibrations, though lo-fi and misinterpreted until the last few seconds before the line went dead the compounding nature of the universe is seen between you and me, me and the chemicals and elements the acid the love that is positively charged by me and only me, in this battery regardless of proximity my charge is still the key, literally loving you moved energy directly making me alternately free but obviously reflects its imperfections symmetrically and quite similarly to your perfect face and body only introspectively and this thing I call negativity you existentially use to control and manipulate me by means of electrical currents like a shark in the sea, but the ocean currents in our world somehow moved me so far we couldn’t be but as the drone turns up the heat as chemists cure insanity, inevitably the duality of the friendship followed the trail right back to me, from the beach into the city, while metaphysical acid rain fell on her black umbrella, drops of synthetic nightshade provided a ground and a side effect equaled a perfectly balanced sound resembling a circuit around my neck and down to the nervous wreck, I stand and smoke out on the deck, and remember that was how we met I stop, wait my energies charge self provides, enough energy to survive, with my new social activity the acid, charge, size, speed and proximity and the voltage of the current and relativity. My positively charged abilities that betray the moon like your fertility, a simple circuit can’t explain the lovesick emotional pain still forming drops of acid rain only strengthening my brain, its time I have to get reactive, send this to her radically brilliant highly attractive yet negatively charged mind where chemicals of another kind will get inspired as she reads about batteries and his energy (that she secretly lovingly keeps rightfully under her locks and key with her sharp mind and memory should recall the flattery, the almost dead battery, poetic license and mad hattery finally gets me through the matter we, lost all sense of pattern, see, the point was electricity, and keyboards I would never see, played like a former prodigy, with drones that resonate with me just barely metaphysically, through my sleep deprived behavior induced heightened state, I’ve always been able to wait, epiphanies sometimes come too late, but revelations give me faith that your negative mind and my positive state, memories of how u altered fate, I know threes more to come but wait, don’t get offended by my state , my batteries dead so save the date, remember wiser things I’ve depictions finished in your head, an electrician would have briefly said, what took me hours, in ten minutes u will have read, I must finish without my meds, they knock me out, blow to the head, I’ll miss away you time instead, that lilliad inside your mind….it’s way too late you’re so unkind, but one important thing u need, to know I know u love to read, do not read too much to your seed, it makes a flower yer indeed, with pain killing power guaranteed, but this makes a subconscious need to find a source for output feed, destined to be completely freed ad finally have the urge to read, its therapy apparently, the experiment of reading aloud and they drift off on angels clouds, you think their gunna make you proud, well brace yourself, speakers are loud, they developed and were well endowed, language and its mystic power it not to be strewn on the flowers, this is my dependant variable, the words the use on me were terrible, a bird a seed knowledge unbearable, though every word is understandable, hypnotic methods subconscious dependable, lovely developmental psychology is the cause of my constant source of energy what I was born to do was reap, infinite knowledge in my sleep a steady drone of literature, I’m older now administer reality and life in place of shame rejection and disgrace, aside from my abilities that serve me independently, instinct survival evolution, speed all factors meant to help me breed, but would you read that to your seed, your surly growing potent weed, I’m not a normal human being I spend time speaking hearing seeing, proving while your disagreeing now the sheep are all fleeing, my purpose hear is slowly weaning I’m a negative source of positive energy, that means nothing drones glowies and friends that are enemies, all that I needs a path and an receiver, a sound to ride on, subwoofer and tweeters, it’s the music u shared with me that keeps me going The proof that our signal reached desired objectives, was clear to my ear which contained an elective, my minds using psychology to be less selective, behavioral science removes the block painlessly love, loss and malpractice grew my circuitry aimlessly, evolving survival instincts team with nature, my chemical background makes life like a phase, the instincts resulting are acute like a razor and amplified abilities through manipulating manipulative chemicals without wavers, resulting in behavior that can reach and amaze her… the extent of the damage is to be overlooked, by using knowledge and memory or reading a book design and time weren’t key features its transference of whines from student to teacher, let me out of detention you feminine creature ill read aloud it’s the right way to reach her, the demand and supply was shot at the sky and with lasers for eyes that reflect off her kind I was surprised to find that in no time I heard her wine, go out of her mind, and through her elective design I read junkie sublime and the fidelity was just fine for my desensitized mind. Literally proving her love up against my undying lazerlove therefore, proving that from that moment in time It was (now literally) one(the one) and another(me) falling “in love “officially identified by the subjective and objective forms that equal true love, for a time, which in rhyme and time I now feel it was divine, it’s began and ended in one harmonious line (in a Scottish accent no less) and buried in our minds getting weaker over time the signal is dying the whine and her trying has kept me flying farther away for lack of a sign that she was officially mine, but my nose it did grind on the stone learning life through the drone all on my own stealing crowns off of thrones, almost completely destroying my home, getting dipped in chrome, and then ground to the bone,, but that’s ok now because I how I know, I made her come through a phone, I’ve reaped what id sewn, now I am grown, with skills to hone no more wearing a cone, from the unknown to the known heralded by the morningdrone which is an inaudible tone interacting metaphysical rods and cones in my everlasting home among milestones made of greymatter behind bone in the form of the intangible moan that has royalties owned by the one xylophone a tone so foreign and feminine it may be that of a banshee or crone, the soil of my subconscious, is where I’ve been instructed and shown but my chance was blown there already something growin that knows the suns light is shown, now I’m alone, why did I buy that bus ticket when I could have flown. Another way of iterating this love story is an s follows introduction, obstruction instruction, induction, seduction production reduction destruction I’m trying to link two portions of this production, causing a reaction like a light turning on send notification from yin to yang (2 great friends of the opposite sex ultimately consummating their union in the way nature wanted it to be) but for us it was highly evolved in that even over the lo-fi filter of cell phones she was sending her love, whether she got off or not that id like ton know, but,, I got the drone of her during, (which if I’m not wrong is typically the main attraction for most women, their anatomy makes for a better “during” in her case conveniently, I’ll admit, without my flawed physical presence, I’m sure she didn’t just give up when my phone ran out of batteries, she was by the banks of her own lagoon, , the stimuli for me, the understanding an witnessing this correlative reaction, correlative because based on all the evidence, the great friendship which was WE were In Love,,,, that passes by my standard and I’m a philosophy grad, this Idea of me and this one girl being in love ISNT EVEN PRAGMATIC like most of my theories, the ONLY thing that get in the way of it being classified as nething between us other than, well I’m afraid to word it frankly because it makes y philosophy look dumb, the only factor threatening this TRUTH, this explainable objective form, is.. the time frame, the setting and the timing of the whole ordeal, my argument is that my reserved intense devotion that was pretty much spellbound, was appropriately (although delicately and let’s say modernly)relieved back to square one, literally and true even though it’s in the days ahead, metaphysic means dead.\\ I’m pretty lonely, so I make allot of art these days, like so; since she left me for dead and we both had left town, with thoughts of her crying asleep on the ground, my mind plays a drone, just to keep the pain down, it’s the girls very essence, oh to hear those pipes sound, if I was there this reel could have burned her house down, But our minds were both trying, Scottish lyrics I had, her bagpipes were sighing, and droning like mad, even though I was dying to get under her plaid, her fingers were flying and the lyrics were “rad the sound of her drones blared through the aero phones, I had broken a string and the bow had no rozen, but her body remembered what she had forgotten, string breaking caused her heat up and harden, this dissonant silence was her chance to depart from his flaws and his jigs and his odds and his rigs and ivy wrapped wand honey drippin upon this Venus in tartan who gushed forth the art of his masculine heart, the yin joins the yang and d string goes twang, The key that she played in was the string that I broke;I awoke in a doria mile off the coast. I swear by the sword of Ulysses and QueenMary’s crown you can’t quiet this siren when she fools around. Sending me to the moon and abyss on her sound It’s siren heart drone and that’s written in stone like I said, STELLAR, and you can TELLHER, most likely shell be a be a BETTER SPELLER, most likely ull say THE WORST THING EVER cause you’re a BULLSHIT SELLER, wave got mutual friends that FLOCK TOGETHER, social cannibals up shit creek FOREVER “sharp fanged teeth sheep” identified by Brethr in touch with friends of mine with FEATHERS, who govern karma AND THE WEATHER harmonizing OUR ENDEVOUR dissonance and TAKING PLEASURE in currents charged “+”, sea vessel PROPELLERS droning on for OH SWEET NEVER, nothing “like” inevitably BETTER the next “day, mon” frère, myself sharply dressed, a new pair of ‘GO GETTERS’ high, but fly, “the local YELLER” inscribes, as I dictate the true, (and prescribed), (in “”blood)-”LETER”! …BUY LETTER!”technique””’s psychology thesis of persuasion,-through love cure for; pain from shame stemming from taking the blame for the psychopaths that are perfectly sane who corporally, “embodying hells flames, wicked games to derange, the use of tools to cause pain, so the hands free to gain more control without shame ….and words that confuse and lead them in. vein cutting through lies and psychosomatic pain” making it rain your blood to put out the flames, an empty vessel that openly claims he righteously bears the right to OFFSET karma in his favorite time double negatives stuck on rewind with the fist or the tool of thing without mind, just current flowing into itself sustaining itself by shackling you with a voice that speaks truths that the vessel and devil greedily use to ultimately abduct you consume love your subconscious would refuse to give, to lose, so you wind kicking yourself while he rips on your soul defacing and displacing what’s left of you, what set you apart from a caved in shoe who’s uneven because the others got two, souls are unbreakable but if he breaks you, ill have the words the voice and the truth, the vessel in which to put soul into you, love and affection reflecting on you a new pair of shoes and so basically you feeling loved and in good mood no longer producing that parasite food, by walking and talking, souls in your shoes, while my bare feet support prescribed truth, a chemical network of mes and you ultimately held together with glue your love is the only way I can get through my psychological problems of which I have used to heat cook and serve us both food they drive me to supplementing love with miscues, attempts to draw a good picture of shoes, that drawn the attention of someone like you, or someone who offers a love I can’t refuse, because it me who also has many a bruise, the glue the chemical I trust and I use are prescribed and administered with bruit force and tools, leaving the chemically gifted unloved and unused and undone on the run with the songs you have sung, giving u satisfaction, and leaving u hung out to dry by the sick and the dumb, and the one, that u can give a gift to, is the only way we can say I love you and the fact that we are is what makes it true now I can scrape this shit right off your shoe, here goes, gimme my cloths my cigarettes prescribed glue, a roof over my head a bed and you, and then maybe I’ll start wearing shoes, here’s my complex singing the blues, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones too, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’mtired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code,I’ll let the field talke care I m old, its time to end thiflodi broke the mouldand me with my everything about the shoe, its maker your sou out your soul leaving with bound by psychosocial with day moon SETTERS. home made psychopath GET ER, and lose her to a knitted SWEATER meant to the and if shit hits the fan in my house you become a fuckin CAVE DWELLER you officially for me heralded the dawn of freed energy so metaphysical seed dropped and sewn that day I guess what I a tying to say is seroquel can kill the day and lithium when charged can phase can kill your kidney and your craze over sirens who’ve been underground their perfect face and al around static in the air and sound of talismans and something foud induction tells you write this down what she conducts may flood the town, and this guythatts on the other line isn’t he a project of mine, sais nurse so cute and fine that flirt with my bipolar mind could his stimuli be cut, (if my nurse heard that shed bust my nut the think I’m guna get more worse nuclear winters parallel universe but bipolar ppls irony ill crack the joke an ice your nuclear explosion twice a day while I’m away leading weak dicks astray but giving your negative drones away the moans that I’m familiar with the point is I’m sick, was born with antennae metaphic that can even change channels like sappic girl on girl to girl on me altering duality and that what I get for free cable metaphysically so u better charge your battery, start the car pray she needs a guy with speed, instead of the duality of loving and love being received define love for me because lm low on batteries, finally the irony iron like steel I’m not even funny she gave me a drone that carried me home plate metal armor still that suckers dethroned all because of the ironic poem guaranteed to call my home circuitry and sacred tones, hooked up to my broke dying alone charge that she hears in my voice instinct are what’s the driving force to be my Venus in furs of course striking my eardrums while art of a new form could cure my heart, when deprivation and avant-garde combine to make things into art the the thing that makes drones stop and start my wordsandfingers take a form that independently grows horns, what an art to harmonize your frequencies with, smart, you dirty little butter tart you were supposed to cure my heart at least u got it throughtome you rising storm makes my anteenae start to channel lo-fi forms a and v imnow starting to clearly see I got to hear pure femininity express its love physically, while the ironic truth is easy to see, that my talisman masxulinity had no hand in physically and so my strengths like mediocrity, thisescwe took a short boat that sent out a masculine frequency that was enough to ride that came through the airwaves only a dined, to start your engines, and the elements it’s the charge that ironically subjectively means of a whim of a, separating you from me and that despite ur reaction objective by only induction by the ma lonely ur still a part of me, like the wasted energy of a missing battery that from within bears a charge, that was meant to be, the high voltage current, of hot energy. wat a grT TRIP THIS IS, ALTHOUGH ONG AND UNCOMFORTABLE AT LES I STILL HAVE ROCK AND ROLL AND BY DIVINE TIMING WE TOO A STROLL ADNTALKED A LITTLE THATS MY GOAL AND NOTHING DRONES AND HEAVY STONES WERE LEVITATED WITH THE MOAN OF SIRENSS BUT YOUR NOT A PHONE AND NO SUPRIZE CANT LEAVE ALONE OW I THRIV OFF DIAL TONED CAUSE IM DEPENDANT ON YOU STONE THE TALISMAN YOU CALL MY HHOME AND THAT TIE YOU CALLED ME ON THE PHON YOU WERE IN MY HEAD SAFE IN YOUR HOME BAD TIMING AND A HEAVY TONE BATTERIES DEAD: NOW WERE NOTHING DRONES…………………………………………………………….. thisescwe took a short boat that sent out a masculin frequency that was enough toride that came through the airwaves only a denied, to start your engines, and the elements it’s the charge that ironically subjective by means of a whim of a, separating you from me and that despite urreaction objective by only induction by the ma lonely Seroquel can ‘kill. The day’, and lithium (when charged) can phase, can kill your kidneys and your ‘“crazy” laser ray’s perspective.’ Meant for sirens, waves, underground stalactites, space, and drops of acid rain onto your base. Meant to cauterize with time and phase the straight; your sex, the Vikings take, and that edge they use to reap and waste. ((their secret way through; to slice through the glazed over passageway, that freezes waves of blood they made. Turned to crimson ice seen by my red hot rays, melt into salty ocean sprays) Then not so far away at night I kill the day and reap twilight, my heat turns from red to white like scars that weep acid rain despite my efforts, however insane, you do this over and over again) Relief; from emotional THEN/BY physical pain. In that order, we’re both deranged. here goes, gimme my cloths my cigarettes prescribed glue, a roof over my head a bed and you, and then maybe I’ll start wearing shoes, here’s my complex singin the blues, from my effort unsatisfied underground nothingdrones, its letting go and walking away from it to choose to lose, this is therapy now I need to go, you know it and I got the show on the road I’m tired and now am holding a rose, I’m loosing my grip on the following code, It’s meant for: a couple; of different: ppl 1 knø james ((pérsunµli); ‘(urThInKn èù¹d “Like¹¹ i+ Th0µGh))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) ) — ¹o-² øس=FOUR!!!!!!!!²O_O³⁴!! (0_0)T0o?O_o)❤µ¼FOR¼ldd.”( þ+¹na!’(LOL!)?,X&Y” =ø(þ iN þÉd àvèç¹<>³µ)/(µø+þ²)ùþ³@ — ¹²³¹²³¹²³¹²³ James McFarlane•

Ideas About mental Illness — James McFarlane Here’s my theory on paranoia. (Usually considered a negative symptom of psychosis) It can help gather information or misinform those who experience it. Even in wellness it is always potentially present in all of us. It’s a survival instinct. It makes us more attentive. My unique experience and understanding is when paranoia and other symptoms are present, heightened and amplified alertness to important information perceived by the senses is collected and whatever data is missing the brain either fills it in with logical thought or logical hallucination in some cases. I will further iterate this several ways for you to better grasp it. For most people there is so much excess data you wind up believing a falsity. Simple logic should let you know best which is most accurate among the extra data collected by suspicion, inner thoughts and hallucination ultimately fitting like Lego into the fractured “factual” data perceived. I believe mostly it is our internal sense of logic that is used to make hallucinations like dreams that appear similar to our regular reality. It is your sense of logic that determines how accurate the thought or hallucination might be compared to reality. It is hard to determine between reality and hallucination because hallucination adheres to reality. But if you can detect like in a lucid dream (aware of being in a dream) that it’s a hallucination you’re ok. It’s not that difficult to determine what thought or hallucination fits if you’re experiencing (or expecting) allot of symptoms having an automatic thought process that simplifies things by showing the most accurate possibility alone to the individual by involuntary thoughts and possibly hallucination. This can be a more accurate depiction of what’s not reachable by the actual senses. The point or idea is that hallucinations and involuntary thoughts mimic reality as best they can, so, they can be used to determine what is beyond our senses reach either corresponding with the senses themselves (hallucination) or through mind talk (which is the method that most mimics what we call telepathy and is much more controlled and has less effect on your behaviour and environment than hallucination). This mind talk or “intrusive thoughts” can be our sense of logic. It’s our sense of what’s real that makes up our involuntary thoughts and hallucinations so they’re may be an ounce or two of truth in them even though they aren’t real they can be identical ideas to what is really there. This is to be used for those who can’t see or hear what are out of reach of their senses like sonar or radar and further aid those who have and impairment or just want to experiment with extending their senses. This only applies to the unwell. Like I have said amphetamine could mimic the hypomanic state in regular people perhaps. This could be a tool for treating a range of mental disorders. Depression, lack of communication in certain critical mental conditions.(Alzheimer’s etc.) It’s not just guessing at involuntary thoughts and hallucinations, the tool combines accurate and distorted data collected by the senses. This extends the senses that help us try to understand. (Only some of us may have this as a mental pattern). You may be calling this a delusion well I call a delusion an idea. And remember, an idea can make the body including the brain do interesting things. Mono ideo dynamics Determining what’s real and what’s not isn’t a problem here, you know what’s a thought and an actual sound or hallucination when this is occurring so if they combine to make a more accurate awareness with good results than it doesn’t matter whether it’ telepathy or a mental tool isolated to the mind its generating data for the individual I assure you. Collecting data even from other people’s minds is definitely a factor in this theory (it’s a tangent but it’s important.) Involuntary thought is inner thought that appears to be info coming from an obvious source or other person. This is when the argument for delusion is most appropriate. Telepathy is a possible conclusion in the case of mind chatter or involuntary or external thoughts unlike ‘sense extension’ which is a potential tool involving similar aspects but also the actual environment. The mind to mind thing doesn’t involve physical reality like the sense extension theory which involves hearing and assuming all five senses if you were sick enough could improve the perception of our environment by way of hallucination corresponding with the senses, verses logical lingual additions to your line of thought (involuntary thoughts) which can be thought alone (mind talk) This opens a window to hybrid hearing combining involuntary thought with semi audible data, this was my first discovery and personal experience along the line of useful mental activity. So I would call it all external or involuntary mental data. The reason I included the telepathy as idea in this was because sense extension which may be provable is using the same material our thoughts are made of suggesting that the other ideas are worth experimenting with. I suggest mental information can be projected into the metaphysical reality affectively by a person just like shouting a person’s name. This is blatantly how it works from my perspective. What we imagine goes out into the air and some of us are there to hear it within our thoughts; mind chatter. Talking to yourself in your head as well as other transmissions or incoming additions. Not something we do all the time. Some people rarely do it or experience it. These are introspective expressions nevertheless they are the fabric of what sense extension involves. So if sense extension, (because it uses the senses, reality and hallucination/involuntary thought) can be tested and valuable info is collected from those tests, because of its use of involuntary thoughts which mimics telepathy, it could help prove or add merit to the idea of telepathy and its other explanations that are as follows. Proving telepathy involves seeing how things like sense extension is in the same weave as actual things we use or experience like thought, mental chatter, hallucination, dreams. This part of the universe is becoming objective when using a hybrid or functional form to better understand our surroundings. Just believing in these functions and experiencing them improves your regular perception and observational skills. These are hybrid metaphysical tools for perceiving your surroundings by use of hallucination and or thought and actual fractured data picked up by the senses. I tackle this mind chatter idea more so because it’s a solid symptom that doesn’t fail, like hallucination often does. Thoughts in the form of language coming from people around you or your multipersonalitied conscience is a good thing as long as it’s a good thing. When it no longer is in the range of being able to be used as a tool, these thoughts can be turned off or turned on by meds and belief or disbelief in the idea. But when it’s happening properly, like in hypomania, it does act as an aid in awareness of what’s most likely going on in other people’s thoughts. It informs you of the most likely thought usually in relation to you, aiding you every time by making you aware of something you didn’t know before. Word for word telepathy is a miracle, mental chatter that informs you of what’s most accurately going on in other people’s heads by way of involuntary lingual statements in the mind is not. It’s worth investigating, it’s a gift that has never led me to harm, only understanding. The fact that it’s in your head makes it a passive process where you have the option of responding or not, verbally or mentally if you’re a believer in telepathy. You can have communications, often in the form of mental lingual impressions from people around you, as long as their chattering in their heads. More often they respond verbally or through body language. (This could be also called a thought related delusion, and it probably is) Like sense extension it helps figure out without effort what’s most likely going on somewhere else but this involves getting a mental impression of what’s going on in someone else’s head and apparently only if It’s about you or directed to you, mostly. Telepathy and sense extension go hand in hand. What’s real and usable and what’s a symptom may need to be looked over and not just thrown in the isolation chamber. Mind chatter and thought insertion are two different things I think. Thought insertion means you think someone or something else is in your head and it is overwhelming. Mind chatter or “telepathy” follows a pattern of logic that is more precise than your own usually, it follows a rule, I am certain of it. That’s why it’s better to use cause it’s your intuition delivered lingualy. Thought insertion is like having someone else in control, whereas mind chatter is somewhat under control and mostly in your control as you are the experienced one. Involuntary thoughts (other people’s voices) could be telepathy and if it follows such a dynamic and structured law it should not be called thought insertion. Sense extension is something more practical and objective than telepathy type thinking, but it is untested and like I said, I deal with mind talk even when I am well and it is always accurate and helpful. The idea of partly using data from the peripheries of our trusted senses shows that these elements are not to be underrated or mislabelled. The fact that we can only see farther stars in the sky by looking off to the side is a great example of use of the peripheries of our senses. Similar is my experience of seeing peoples more true emotions on their faces when using peripheral vision. Is esp or just one example of a passive and informative hallucination? Let us not throw aside my interpretation of the experience of useful and unique mental activity by giving it the unattractive label of thought insertion when the fundamentals of these ideas may be useful for inventing evolution like tools to reach out into parts of the universe we have not yet studied. Distorted senses combined with an inherent logical thought process that is accurate if not pragmatic I my experience in every case. This could be an opportunity to reopen the study of parapsychology. (The fact that these are just an accurate perception mechanism is good enough). To reveal this delusion, we’ll assume all this is still only going on in one’s active imagination. However using a pattern of brain activity that mimics telepathy as a tool to read his/her environment better is cool; the only difference this has to sense extension is that there is no real life data involved. This in my opinion makes it the most commonly used and confronted with, solid, and most effective tool I deal with. (even when well) There are practices like muscle reading which is getting data through seeing a person’s movement that are examples of a semi proven method that mimic things like telepathy. I propose mental activities that are involuntary and positive like some of the symptoms of a mental illness, could be used as a link between what we see as dysfunctional mental activity and a breakthrough into the endeavour to prove that thoughts are part of our dynamic world as a form and can be used as a medical or social tool. This mental activity in serious cases of unwellness can alter the way we operate, not just the way we think. Paranoia could take over and it could be false data, and the repercussions could crescendo. In their reality and in reality itself. I say listening to your thoughts (whatever form they take) and interpreting them, it’s safer than experimenting with hallucination because mind chatter can be a factor in hypomania and in wellness. Only in the case of hallucination being used in a controlled environment with positive energy being present, for instance with a schizophrenic, they can be very well while hallucinations are still present. If in that state the hallucination tends follow what the senses are trying to perceive and use a situation like the sense extension experiment involving hallucination and obstructed hearing it may prove to be a good tool/idea possibly for aiding the hearing impaired in this situation or a similar situation that works. It could work because it could fill in more data where it was lacking and it may inherently be attempting to be accurate. This attempt is evident in other mental processes mentioned here. In the case of experimenting with this type of thing never should you be depressed manic, psychotic or over whelmed with psychological issues. If you are in an unwell state seek help, but be open to the new ideas that may present themselves to you. Know that the brain is elastic and does heal. The hippocampus and you are always growing. If it’s suggesting that its telepathy aiding us and guiding us that makes you sceptical I’m not going to just drop it. Be pragmatic and get a bit more insight into how it worked for me. First off, all that makes it telepathy as I’ve said is that it only involves thought. One thing that suggests that it is a thought from another source is the amount of unusable but accurate information that comes along with these seemingly incoming transmissions. It behaves like a mental environment that doesn’t involve just you; the metaphysical plain. You mostly hear in your thoughts what applies to you from those around you but there is other mental exclamations at times coming from different sources for different destinations, or in most cases mental exclamations just for themselves. Also getting an involuntary thought of apparently what is being said somewhere completely out of reach of the senses is a factor here. This is bigger than the structure of telepathy. If you are being talked about in the other room the brain informs you of it and who is saying it, this is clearly a survival instinct to gain intelligence of what may be out there and what most likely is, this type of sense may be evidently seen and utilized more by animals than humans. Probably because of the invention of language, putting the sense in recession. These ideas suggest that the metephysical plain is not just in my head but is there for everybody (and that privacy may be an issue.) The experienced and well user of the mental functions could actually receive and send out positive and effective transmissions with a ripple effect, real or not. (for what it’s worth, even to gain confidence and boost chemicals, respond and react accordingly to these transmissions and you’ll find it fits and improves your presence and role in the situation, that’s my experience) while the sick are just spiralling and not even communicating because their usually using negative or confusing behaviour or energy. What’s also evident of its existence is the obviousness the transmissions go both ways. I’m not just getting your impression of me in my thoughts; it’s obvious you’re getting mine. Its conjoint mental activity. It involves everyone but I think it requires a guide. If these are just symptoms, they rarely intensify and do dissipate more or less with wellness. I say if it’s not the metaphysical plain it’s at least explained by two minds appearing to correspond by (often coincidentally) one playing out the others activity as accurately as it can within the mind. This as a law would be evident enough to prove telepathy. I see a constant pattern in when the transmitters communicate, that they are thinking that thought and responding to one another (seen though body language and verbal responses. That’s telepathy like activity rationalised. It’s not always word for word because often I ask and they say no I did not think those words. Apparently it’s a mental impression of yourself delivered in the form of verbal thoughts or inaudible expressions from other people in the vicinity or elsewhere. Finally the hybrid hearing idea.The most effective and safe of the ideas here. (Thought and hearing mixed) It would be hard to disprove because of a lack of qualified candidates and the scenarios required. The hybrid hearing idea like I’ve said is not activity isolated only to thought, but the idea that involves using factual data and the imaginary simultaneously. Sense extension without hallucination. Deciphering between actual sense and involuntary thought is easy, you know what you hear and what you think, they become conjoint in some mental states indicating that the possibility of an extension “fill in the blacks” scenario. Know that this involves either an overactive imagination. The logical involuntary lingual thought mental activity combined with the brains attempt to hear the less audible is a marriage that could create the extension of the impaired or out of reach sense (hearing in this case) What I propose is happening here may be hearing the bass of a conversation because bass carries farther, and your mind places the other frequencies (treble) in the form of an involuntary imaginary sound. I suggest this is too intricate and accurate to be delusion. To actually be aware of the volume according to the distance or nature of the info that comes from not the unknown but an obvious source is evident of that intricacy. The psychotic skills talked about here are among the skills we’re all born with. All humans are capable of psychosis. Which is the foundation of these things. I just find mania to be safe, similar and more of an advantage. Our brains and beings all have an inner need and desire to figure out what is reality. Even when that reality is obstructed, it uses other means to get around to perceiving the world correctly. This line of thought has the potential to be a step forward in changing others view of these symptoms. To suggest that they are meant to be enhance to our advantage, not abolished; this is the stuff of change at an evolutionary level because as I said earlier it does involve everybody and anybody. The Chemically Endowed / THE HEALTH SYSTEM James McFarlane June 1st, 2016 Mania is the increasing of one’s “reward” chemicals in the brain chronically (a symptom of Bipolar). A fact about mania is that it is not so often as out of control as we are tempted to assume. We don’t know the limits it can push positive wise. A negative aspect is surely something that we have seen occasionally. An example could be a world leader like Alexander the great. On the positive side of it are people like Van Gough and many other artists, teachers and authors. Making tireless efforts at just causes inspired by epiphany is just one of the activities a bipolar individual has the option of pursuing. (Sometimes with phenomenal results) This can be a positive activity of the broad ranged individual. Mania is an abundant source of potential positive energy. The mythical Greek god Dionysus has been called the god of mania. He partied allot and was the estranged son of Zeus. There were cults formed in his honor and the remanence of them still exist today as a common and highly manipulated, manipulative tradition known as the entertainment industry. Antianxietys, antidepressants, antipsychotics and mood stabilizers; drugs that (have attributes that researchers have neglected to even identify) help and plague the bipolar individual as the most commonly used tool to ward off symptoms. In some cases, recreational drugs like amphetamine ((that seem to force up the mood of an individual) among drugs that are normally oriented with unwellness)) I suggest, could be a surprising aid in speeding up the recovery process of depression (the opposing symptom in bipolar to mania which have psychosis as a common theme at the peripheries of both poles of experience) through cognitive stimulation. This is important because antidepressants take several weeks to take effect and suicide could be prevented by the induction of a more open approach to medical uses of recreational drugs. This activity should be combined with social interaction in the case of recovery because it surrounds the recovery of the social aspects of the self (I do not recommend this as the first option for a recovery process). Like most drugs this behavior may take years off the recovery process but could wind up taking years off your life. If closely watched and tested the medicinal benefits of illegal or unreaserched drugs as well as further data released on drugs in general and their common circumstances may be a great stride in the remedy of mental, psychological conditions and social misconceptions which solutions are still being put off by ignorance of the populous and adverse political agendas. Other treatment options not listed above include electroshock therapy and psychical exercises like cognitive behavioural therapy. These alternatives are used less most likely because pharmaceuticals are a huge part of controlling the populous and funding corporations and government. However, a regimented combination of any of these factors could be a breakthrough for some. Called “consumers” by people that work in the pharmaceutical industry, these human beings endowed with seemingly new chemicular behaviors have a heavy cross to bear. I believe that it is obviously possible that over half the population (just to be fair) are born chemically inclined, but forced under the heel of the majority of the others who are from my perspective, psychologically twisted by ignorance, power over the sick, and unjustified behaviour based (((most likely (just to be fair) for some, subconsciously))) on either inherent or just blatant jealousy. I say this because the majority of people in a position of dominance in our society, (security guards, nurses, the police, doctors what have you) are brutally unfair, unprofessional, and ignorant in most cases. This attitude fuels the biggest and oldest and crudest intolerance ever committed by one group against its own people. The mentally endowed verses the psychologically twisted and everyone in between or strung along is the latest and oldest injustice I can see other than the genocide of the shamanistic cultures of north and south America. The most obviously funded sick lack of justice and care for their own counterpart (ever challenged till present day) by a government is currently at hand. It’s a matter of time and interest among corporations. Their need for money will guarantee that the proper drugs will be the end of this problem. Their survival as a business is the only co-dependent factor for the cause. Once the sick become well, ((the inevitable outcome (already achieved)) the drugs will be reinvented a few times ultimately plateauing as a renewable idea by these scientific salesman and their evil subordinates running the place like some kind of sick joke to themselves. Those who wield tools and permission to inflict pain, bondage and any form of abuse they find delectable simply to put off paperwork (and sooth their own often nocturnal boredom) only assigned to be used in the inevitable malpractice suits soon to be ensued by the just with the just against the corrupt. With blunt force and jealousy against their only threat and reliable witness to the sick twisted 24 hour a day fetish of legally and illegally taking the rights and freedoms and everything that makes life desirable from the ill to make way for a prolonged treatment of abuse and betrayal from the psychologically bent nurses and security guards, doctors, police not to forget your everyday sociopath / psychopath walking the streets and perverting the direction and attention of the staff and patients of mental health wings across the country (Canada). Folks like these who lack the basic right and wrong skills, used obviously and openly by the sick and the meek to inevitably over throw the ranks of sociopaths and psychopaths governing, misusing and perverting the writing of history. All of their efforts put into this “note taking” endeavour to be rewarded with indulgence into the sick pleasures of a dysfunctional beauracracy and political disgrace to be. As for the sick, (and well) the neglect of one’s health and deterioration of relationships is often inevitable during episodes and when being forced against such characters mentioned above. These new victims often leaving the institution with their own newly afflicted psychological scars. This is understandable considering how different and under informed the external world and the unbalanced individual usually are. The unwell individual tends to get overwhelmed with heightened and distorted perception, and the outside worlds clashes with their reality. Inevitably against their will, (usually after lots of experience) and sadly, many forms of legalized abuse from the system that seems to be above all law, they become accustomed to the system and more knowledgeable about medication. This is the only way I’ve seen someone become well, for longer. It’s important to channel the knowledge from their experience into productive endeavours. This is the exceptional goal. Chemicals are a big part of the inclined individual’s life (Pharmaceutical, natural and usually recreational). Often enough a well-balanced person emerges but the fight against unwellness and addiction is ongoing for many. Even once well, the psychological challenges of adjusting to life can set in. Thankfully this is also treatable either with anxiety medicine or therapy (or in the case of the Canadian health system, prolonged and tormenting hospital stays crudely striped with prolonged bondage and isolation chambers. Psychology being the completely unfunded and rightful alternative. Wellness comes with time and knowledge as well as trial and error. The potential experience for these individuals is more than the average prescription. Logically and philosophically looking at these problems is key to understanding them. Stigma; it’s a thing like racism that is rampant in every culture today but especially in western culture apparently. A mild example of stigma is using a negative label or misconception such as “split personality” or “psycho”. These are words attached to now folklore, lies and misunderstanding so this ignorance is apparently the first thing to go. In the case of bipolars, it is often amplified social ability versus depression or other emotional states that is confused with complete loss of judgement. Schizophrenics seem to have an even keel in terms of personality in most cases. I know there is no mood disorder but full on hallucinations. This could be due to an unexplained increased constant source of dopamine in their system I suggest gets used to produce complex distractions that could be used to their own advantage, like poetry etc.. (Unproven connection) The biggest problem is the assumption our government and citizens have; that the mentally ill are violent. This ultimately subjects us to being treated like escaped zoo animals by every authority figure you can think of. This is how they legally get us into straps; the word violent. This word can be used in ways it shouldn’t which is often the case. Once declared violent and mentally ill you’re bound for a living hell most likely for quite some time. All the ugly side effects of the system itself leave you psychologically damaged. You get a fate worse than prison by far, especially if you’re rebellious. I have rarely if ever have seen an act of violence towards another from a person that lives in a society that has them already sedated, and threatened by fearful ignorant authority figures with shackles, tasers, injections and cruelty in general at the ready. I’ve mostly seen vigilance or peaceful protest in those in an unwell state, simply because they have the logic to see what they’re up against. We’ve seen this all our lives. Even those who fight back really never had a chance to show that they meant no harm. I say this because our common goal as this type of person is to be understood. While up against a mass of smug sociopath liars who are constantly projecting joyously in groups that we’re mentally incompetent and incapable. This whole thing makes me want to kick an isolation room wall in and pull out the insulation over and over again. That type of treatment on that scale and for that length of time inspires anger in the most emotionally controlled of individuals. This type of passive brutality cannot be easily understood by people who are on a regular level of unchanging dopamine and serotonin. Basically, it is those who are in control and uninformed that are inevitably inflicted with the stigma for mental illness otherwise these are used as tools by the PhDs that as of late have the audacity to wield side effects deceptively like better acting medication (as well as transference upon their staff). Mania is a powerful source of energy. Success of any kind is a possibility with people that have the genetic makeup of the bipolar individual and quite possibly the schizophrenic and schizoaffective system casualties. Most who blindly submit are in a sedated or in a financially constricted reality for most of their lives. However massive bodies of work that gain quality over time with practice are usually seen with all types of mentally ill individuals. Productivity is a given with excess energy and hopefully with excess dopamine. This is something the bipolar individual has at their disposal. (The excess dopamine, like I stated earlier, being the undiscovered advantage for schizophrenic and hybrid diagnosis individuals). If psychological ailment is part of ones developmental makeup, seek help through private practices in your nearest large city center, like psychologist offices, astrological predictions or the cheaper alternative; fortune cookies. ((all systems more trustable than the political money grab being masqueraded by the Canadian government and god knows where)). Hobbies will get lots of attention and skills like writing will be improved for most. Phenomenal ideas and activities must be given attention. It must come from a desire to be appreciated in a world that sees them as useless and treated as such as well as resentment for the genetic advantage and the mitochondrial patterns I will stipulate below. First off I am compelled to write; things like physical agility are improved as well when new energy comes along. Now, the organelle mitochondria in animal cells produces energy for the cell. Like the patterns of the near solar system and probably menstrual cycles and similar monthly patterns recorded to date, all of these cells (differing by their design) work as groups. Most likely shifting by the behavior and the pressures of the environment and or the environments one is involved with as well as (chiefly) the positive verses negative intentions or energy put forth. The positive being more strong and more apt to gaining velocity compared to negative endeavours while the ignorant become subjected to rapid, (fuelled by culture and social upheaval) evolutionary de-emphasis. Tradition will save many who are open minded. It has been theorized that a person who inherits the bipolar gene may have abnormal mitochondrial activity. I reiterate that this would cause fluctuating energy production for the whole body and possibly more so for the brain, ultimately spiking or dropping essential consciousness related chemicals like serotonin and dopamine. Mainly above the baseline of level as far as positive living goes indicating that it’s an innovative evolutionary trait. (These chemicals and the proper medicine are prime factors for the bipolars however independent) the natural chemicals)) These are known simply as chemicals that affect our mood. Or sometimes referred to as (and in everyone’s experience) reward chemicals (endorphins) and oxytocin (the love chemical). The mitochondrial theories as well as more psychological rather than biological theories (i.e. “mono-ideo dynamics”) are unproven. (most called into question more than 100 years ago left unelaborated but proposing a hypothesis unfinished on purpose, ie. Mono-ideo dynamics meaning that an idea can make the body do anything the body is capable of to the peripheries, any part of the body. The “any” part of course cautiously suggesting the brain) The future of mental health I would say is the extensive categorizing of the dosage and drug or treatment in relation to different types of people or circumstances. (i.e. more than 10 conditions, more like a dictionary of conditions to be) Also, once the medical scam plateaus (due to actual research and political attention) psychology as a treatment method will be implemented beyond nurses attempting some form of cognitive behavioral therapy. It is those employed to work with the mentally ill and the graduates of psychology or related studies who must insist on more data collection and way more research into the possibilities the mind itself can offer in medical treatment of all illness. It occurs to me now obviously that psych has been previously placed on the priority list as secondary to the drug trade and religion so to gain funding for an renewable priceless trade like deduction of illogical pursuits and outcomes. (A basic form of psychology that should aid dangerous things like delusion and the laws of attraction). Psychology research mut be put on the forefront so we can get meds chosen, dosages corrected and diagnoses discovered and made faster and more accurately. (And produce more jobs in all levels of the field of medicine) It’s a century old marriage and divorce between medicine, and free will. Psychology should be treated as equally as important as medicine as it is half the battle against corruption of our society, ecosystem and those who inhabit it. Back to the original induction and pragmatic endeavour of self controlling mental chemicals that have their own agenda, or the agenda of the moon and the weather; the social activities of a manic person can be difficult to put up with for others because it’s constant and overbearing at times. This factor most likely is being brought up because of my experience with passive aggressive tendencies. What is interesting is that it can stimulate chemicals in people around the source (more importantly I say between couples). Basic emotional chemicals like endorphins and oxytocin (excitement, survival and `love` related chemicals in any order) can be increased in other people at higher than normal rates and levels (not to mention the freed individual themselves). These chemicals can be a blissful and natural human experience when people are close to one another. This can be achieved through stylized communication between persons. In cases of manic people with other manic people; it’s a vibrant social atmosphere. It’s manifesting the inner emotion or thought into reality or more commonly manifesting it into iteration. In any case one can activate the other pretty easily without consumption of any substance. Any communication and body language is the stimulation factor here when differing types of people get together. This is what psychology is; ‘Behaviour changing chemicals, changing environment’. Boring and seemingly opposing efforts is also a common occurrence because it’s hard to stay positive for most and for those around them because, it’s been a long battle and opposites attract. Phrases like that as well as phrasing like “everybody’s different” is an indication that intellect and work ethic are also independent factors essential to the coexisting of partners in general. The state best to experiment in as far as is hypomania (medium mania) or even just wellness. Ways to activate a slow rise in your serotonin level if you’re not bipolar would be using a mild stimulant like amphetamine (Dexedrine). This is not something to try on your own. I’m suggesting this to be a carefully overseen test involving chemicals that are dangerous to be used in excess and for prolonged periods of time. If you become manic, know that once your manic states have passed and you’re well you still possess the ability to partake in and test different psychological and parapsychological activities (it does stay with you and up to date). One thing to discover while well is that a person can up their brain’s chemicals at will without the use of drugs, rather, behaviour or behavioural exercises. Once you’ve done that and or submitted to the opposing factors of the weaker you are both freed. This has been going on for billions of years in many forms. Dancing, sex, geometry, sensory deprivation (like vision quests or modern culture traditions) gaining knowledge about the earth from the stars, cultural and group oriented endeavours like art or chemical revolution (i.e. drugs rock and roll all stimulate the body chakras as well as the earth’s). Other theories basically thrown around by the wiser of the eastern west in the form of literature or poetry comes to mind, like; “electricity comes from other planets”, in relation to mono-ideo dynamics in relation to bipolars and nature; “The Gift” etc. (The Velvet Underground, 1969). All of these “foggy notions” are there for usually the reason they’re being inspired, meaning put art intentions and science together and you’ve got something good. Unless you succumb to the marketplace. Only drugs inspire chemicals on command without the need for circumstance (this is a modern cultural tradition). The nature of mania is that you become ‘antennae’ of sorts that more easily gathers information. It’s up to you what you do with your energy or your manic that turns the tides in your favour. Your perception may be higher in this state, but there (as always) is; a down side of it as there is duality in all things in nature. Psychosis depression and psychological problems plague the inexperienced young bipolar individual’s lives until an effective treatment plan is accepted or forced on them. Other ways to cushion this (and to avoid too many episodes) is complying with treatment plans to your liking and staying away from recreational drugs for the most part. Or rather, opposing and cheating the laws of the flawed marketplace. The process as a whole is always a learning experience for most. For sure, unbalanced brains are the next step in biological evolution. The union of the mind and body, the relationship between the physical and metaphysical, and how human culture is merged with the ethereal will occur along with the reopening of the practices originating from primitive psychology like the agenda of the heavenly bodies of fire above. Victim Psychology One thing I have realized over the past many years is that there are two kinds of people in the world; the aggressors and the passive. Like the chimps and the bonobos, the psychopaths and the victimized, the sociopath and the weary guardian, the farmer and the farm animal, the nurse and the sickly the dominant prey upon the weak. I have found the sociopath to be friendly and the psychopath to be gentlemanly and wise at times. This does not condone they’re compulsive destructive social and physical abuse that they inflict upon they’re victims. A psychopath is someone who enjoys committing violence upon another. A sociopath is one who has no care for the wellbeing of others. This is rampant in modern Canadian livelihood. One other thing I’ve noticed about aggressors is that they go in and out of remission. (Which is cooperative behavior) A volatile destruction of one’s trust of others and distorting of one’s actions that is prevalent in victims is sexual abuse of the young and old alike. Next to physical assault it’s the most reactive and high profile to this day of violations of another person therefore it falls in the category of psychopathy from what I can see because of its physical and emotional impact. Victims carry on in public, say profoundly erratic and shocking statements, take up malevolence for those who stand by them and seek a vengeance that has no sympathy in any circumstance against theirs and other persons abusers. Their paranoia fuelles the problem of wrongful accusation cases ongoingly across the board. Usually a current abuser is in the background with these cases fuelling the fire while the victim holds out for some kind of mercy or justice. Wife beating and general abuse of children and animals are the most haness and hated by the public and the spectrum of victims in this country. (Canada) Sexual abuse is the most widely discussed and concerning of abusive behaviors towards humanity, (to the point that it’s an ongoing obsession and topic in the daily conversation in a conflictive situation between persons and within groups of all sizes) breeds decay within the psychological health of the groups themselves(like paranoia to a schitsophrenic) and they revel in it, abusers and all. All the power to the victims for their enthusiasm, but to reiterate what I wrote above, these actions are somewhat on occasion either false puppetry put on by the victim’s close and currently occupied as; violator, or by bystanders who just want a show or to gossip. The falsity and sadly sociopathic act of ‘fish netting’ just about every oddball as a possible suspect of these lowly behaviors is very common in today’s society. However, I have realized that their paranoia is justified by the number of women beating and sexual abuse cases showing up as a reality today and that there is a correlation with the amount of homosexuals that are violently “in the closet” who turn up in our courts and also who don’t (mainly due to victims trying to hold their lives together). Can this be explained by ethnicity clashes? Gangs?Terrorism?Languages? Why this correlation? Is it obviously connected to what was formerly seen as perversion, homosexuality, as a factor in these broken homes. Just because by my census in northern Ontario found that heterosexuality was a minority here and that the abuse rate changed for the worse shows that it is possibly a correlation. How long has this been going on? I find that these men need to use women as a shield, a sexual punching bag that’s worth no more than a cheap roast beef. This is a new social disease. Not homosexuality, but the act of taking a mate of the sex you aren’t interested in for personal gain. The action of these men is typical abuse and the women go on destroying their psychological health through these empty relationships. This one (me) who is looking for a healthy relationship feels ripped off however the sociopathic women choose their life like dolls instead. While the jails hold the psychopaths. The police jail and court workers go on with their corrupt behavior in our region. It’s that that continues to choke our young women into a compromise. They are a social disease, we are under siege from sick nations and countries and our men are allowing our women and children to fall by the wayside to make room for more homosexual dominance. It’s time to liberate the inflicted to avoid more people crossing over to psychological toxicity. As these victims start to depreciate into self destructing and outwardly destructive tendencies. Psychologists must prescribe and teach like never before in this age of lies, abuse and corruption

LO-FI Music Explained JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016 LO-FI MUSIC EXPLAINED The additional distorted data collected from the peripheries of our senses deliberately recreated and reproduced by means of adverse, outdated and unintentionally altered technology and style. Recorded or preformed ideally in the form of what we know as music and or film. broken record? More like audible snowflake. The geometry of nature get betrayed and expands when recording art under predetermined and active circumstances at the whim of the conditions of the environment and it’s setbacks. LO-FI Music/Media is the effect that the decay of our technology has on the pristine conditions in which we perform and record our visual and audible experience and the deliberate recreation and reproduction of these anomalies. Atonally thrusting forth with a foggy notion that these new audio and visual recordings of patterns that emerge from the more primitive forms of technology over time vaguely and remarkably respond to and compliment the setting of the reality intentionally being recorded on an almost conscious level. The question of how to activate them and where hey come from arises when artists of our own age with a knowledge of the recent technological and cultural past attempt the avantgard. Using predominantly analogue and traditional technology affected by time itself that we can alter ourselves in combined with natural (random) rate, voltage, velocity selection what have you to reproduce art AND what the ultimate effect of the recording process has on these works of avantgard art is the idea behind and the method LO-FI Music/Media. -James McFarlane (Seamus) I blew up Einsteins theory on insanity — James McFarlane (Seumas) JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016 Einstein said that the definition of insanity was repeating ones actions over and over again, expecting different results. I say that this behavior is far from insane. It is the fundamental law of how our development, bodies, daily lives, cultural traditions, reproduction, evolution and solar systems function. When looked at closely we see that even the most repetitious behavior is constantly changing at various rates. This is a law in all things in our universe therefore nothing ever really repeats itself. Rotations beautifully exist in nature and follow an imperfect geometry that we mimic in our cultures according the the schedules of the massive bodies above. Rock and roll, like opium or the moon have differing effects on the geometric patterns of our lives and evolution. Some rock an roll music by use of musical instruments (science) has combined the harmony of natures repetitious behavior (the drone) with the ever changing distortion factors like; time, mass, pitch and amplitude that are essential and fundamental to the evolutionary principle of repetitious behavior. Its the repetition that is the foundation we stand on, as long as your standing on it, expect something new to come about. Simply our presence in a scenario changes the physical and metaphysical environment at some rate, its our behavior and descisions that change that rate what manifests as the artwork or reality. — James McFarlane (Seumas) lyrics — James McFarlane (Seamus(Substreet Drones)) JAMES MCFARLANE·SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2016

NEW — weird song (2016) the reaper, put the beat on hold, bones dug up just like the sunflowers in the snow, now deeper into the river of sight, if you go in that cave dont turn out the light, white light shines bright, no stars tonight, behind the vox stack, their singin heart is black, subwayswhislting over my head, thank god i climbed aboard instead, reap what you sew 4x (coda) Heart is black ive been had (ive been had) ive gone mad (ive gone mad) ths is war, (this is war) i told you all this before i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, heart is black face the facts, art is black, oohicant stay, (ooh icant stay) cant go your way, (cant go your way) i felt you sweet smack, Your smoke is black (smoke is black) i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, Beautiful face she thinks shes alright, butshes out of sight, swim in for a bite, underneath the white light, thining of fashons, and still looking smashing appealing to fools, out of all kinds of schools, lo frequency base, mixed with the acid taste, no it couldnt compare, to your beautiful face. you left a hole in my chest, a better shot than the rest, do you have five minutes, for a warhol screen test, at dawn i see a star burning not lie the rest, cant help but sit and wonder where its going next 4x cant help but sit and wonder where shes going next 4x Blue Haired BelleBlue Haired Belle, hangs around the gates of hellMorning stars get lost, in the flow of your blue sky locksDon’t despair, you’ve been on a track please take care, Come fly with me, its your blue sky that’s pure dont you see. Its alright You, me , everybody,we, see, only moonbeams,comets not so high,eathquakes in the sky,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright, You light the way, through tunnels, try not the scrape, the gunnels,on the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timeon the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timelalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalalalaooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaoooooo Main Street When you called me up hereIdidnt feel like walkin, Now your sayin to me,youdidnt feel like talkinwhy are we so clumsy,so clumsy with our breadnow you tell me honey, how you keep your stomach fed, always lending yourself out, to the freaks that dot our lives,honey when you gunna shout, at those drones in out beehive,take a walk uptown, to the bucket where they drown,gunna tell them when they get out,to get theiur handouts downtown MorningAt the dawn of a new age,Sun comes up, smell the burning sage,take a step foreward, turn the pagesay goodbye to all those dark dark days, MAking a brew I stare a the fire,stir the pot, and then connect the wires,turn on the amp, the music inspires,got to free my mind from all the cheats and all the liars. Morningdrone You, you know what I mean, when isay,that nothings gunna happen today,and you, you know what imean,wheni tell you it’s just not my scene, you, yeees you, what the hell are we gunnado?and you, the only one you listen to, is a man, by the name of, Lou. We, yeees us three, could make it at a defferentpace,I, know that, it’s a discrace, Lord, take us to another place, So grab your stuff, your record albums,you take the wine, and ill take the guns, and into the ocean, we will go, cause you know, were headed, for the coast,so raise up your glasses, for a toast,ha, which one of us can drink the most,the father, theson, or the holy ghost,and you say that this car can race,but can it take us to that other place, a different side of mother natures face. take me to another place. Nothing drones honey comes from lots of work, sticky feet moving berserkpatterns form in crude beauty, drones fulfill a pointless duty, honey drips, from the hive, golden jkelly feeds their wife, pretty flowers messy home, nothing drones on like the cone, back and forth, in and out, dancing like we use our mouths,the pay is small and so are you, results of that sweetens my tooth, the task is never ending, constantly descending, dripping in the mouths of those not worth defending. Oppenheimer park Rolling down the open road, to the end of the line,end of the world, end of the illusion of time,I go down to the water, and feel the cool surf,hear music in the air and take it for what it’s worth, cant understand why people, could live on so little,when so much goes through them, and through the needle, so hasty, with the selling of their saved souls,the western downtown is bright, blunt, and bold. Walk up and down throughout the day, out of your mind,think of your home nevermore, till the end of timethe loop drones on and on like a broken clock,don’t need to climb the montain, cause your at the top Hastngs is not coming for you, your coming for it,like hell it bewccons like the incline of a pit,the east side, sits a nd people come from near and far,to sit, and sink, into the grass, in oppenheimer park oracle so your torched,your hanging by a thread,don’t scorch, your pretty little head,wishing through your lips that it worntpass,feels like your turning from a liquid to a gas, take a trip right to the edge of your mind, consciousness poured out and left behind,take a break from all the flats and all the sharpd,ride a cloud of nothing, and numb your broken heart To thew edge of your mind, distortion blurrs the line bettweenwhats out there and whats inside, deep in the cave, breath in the cold air,see shadows on the wall,… stare bring news just like homing pigeon,come down, and start a new religion, leave now, and speak out, littereally or metephorical,the knowledge you posess will make you the oracle. Pipe Dream A science experiment gone totally wronga weather balloon with some kind of evil about it,all the kids at school could see it above the horizon,my friends and i knew we’d be better off without it, king kong, walked along high street, where the freaks and thugs call home,if he could reach this floating disaster on time,he knew he would never have to die alone,hethough about it and realised the people wouldntunderstandhe knew their alien nation would turn this ape into a man, darkened minds turn on a dime, revolve in time along thin white linesyin and yang drip from a wolfs fang, one pulls the trigger the other goes band why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Darkened fool has lots of toolsd, dead at the deep end of the pool, boring times and pouring rhyme, the question, is this really mine? why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Psych em out Psychem out like rabid vermin, make em shout a phony sermon,see right through their simple game,right to their core their thoughts of shame, watchem blow upon the fire, rocks explode right on the liar, social change brings end to war, housewife trembles on the floor,backwardsforewards, up and downvoisc encircle all aorund, observeprecieve hear see know learn mirror be, identify possible flaws, of the menace with no causethe time is now, so try to learn how to bend the rules they use to keep you down. Rabbit hole Salvage you mind while it is illuminated, a fire out of control,a cabbage in ttime, right now it is fumigated, wired and housing a soul,badhabbits in line, schedualed to be terminated, inspire you out of your hole, A rabbit , redefined and underrated but higher than ever before, drink up while the tea is hot and bright blue, the flesh of the gods makes it so,3 caps and some stems is all i can do, to see shooting stars upon the snow, think sweetly of me, with emotions so true as yu stand and look through the window,think of thinkgs to do when im gone for good now, waving at the bus watching it go, Im down in the southland, with deep curving valleys and bridges all rusty and crumbling, with grasses all dying and rivers of green and subways whistling under me. a spot on the corner , a 30 dollar gutar, a case and a cigarette too, is all that i need to get usedd to my home and bring my mind closer to you. The last of this song, is all out of place, but the pace rings true to the rule, of the verses before i shut tight the door on the patterns lost and misconstrewen,becauseits all backwards and forewards like this, its in shambles but its not a ruin,the end of this 4 verse song has arrived, to the point you might not clue in. Sea of lights Rockj and rave, through the night,on speed in a sea of lights,jump spin contort thrust,black white pain lust,spent a week there last might, maybe more,steal yourself a holy death crouching by the door cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Standing there all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the whilestanding all in black behind the vox stack, from behind sunglasses, we inspire the masses, cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Walk and talk it through the park,whiplashgirlchild in the darkrun run run, take a drag shoot your speed while you brag i’ve been orchestrating behind sunglasses,immitatingprodogy, and writer, man, tomboy and a throusand fans zeppelin spotlights on my brain exploding plastic in my veinhypnotyic tones as the propellers drone,mind bending sounds, resonate undreground, dak circles never weed, new york 1963, Chcmysic, velvet freak desensitize alter tweak, no money car moon or sun, sell your blood for heroin,if she ever comes now now, moe beat on that drum now now,pink perfume, mantra neumes silk screen factory tunes superstar test only the best wine coffee speed heroin rest,darkcircl;es never weep, new yourk 1963,theyve been up for weeks, in the white light the tweak, in 63 Skeleton Here we are again, moneys all been spent, you don’t know where hesbeen,hes trying to fend off things that dwell within, hes a skeleton. at the end of days hes been here before he says, narrow in mannyways,hes a skeleton,andidont know where hesgoin, or why he thinks itssnowin, he can see the wind thatsblowin, hes a skeleton, Spotlight Reap what you sew,snakes and poppys in her hair,sun flowers in the snow,make you look like your not so old,it had been so long i could not recall her face,she came outside to meet me though iwas’t her case,nowi sit and wonder if I’m out of place,the memories i had of her, are in outer space Standing all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the while,on the odd days I could talk to her,harmony and dissonence, a modern venus in furs,up and down that hallway, rotating the earth,waiting there for hours and hours, for her the quench my thirst. Sweet grass summertime,see the star shine, and i don’t mind revisiting those times,although my mind is blown, i play the drone,saying goodbye while you’re getting stoned. Vicious lips oooooo what to do,iwanna see you too,i think imgoin mad, ooooim not that sad noooi wonder sometimes where you are,what moon what planet under what star,id like to think your not that far, but we both know that trip was hard your vicious lips, eard on the airwaves, waking the dead, from their graves,your sweet, but your toxic, been three weeks since you dropped itI found it in my pocket, your trains comin I cant stop it You Made Me the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me, Come Back Around JAMES MCFARLANE·FRIDAY, MAY 13, 201610 Reads The process as a whole is always a learning experience like no other. Ultimately, like the brain has a recognition and physical atribute that corresponds with most chemicals in nature (possibly even synthetic chemicals) the psychological functions that a person can aquire are almostordaned and recieved in a timely fashion by the organ and im assuming the subconscious effortlessly and for evolutionary purpose. So I will assume everyones own, (however existential), growth experience is interesting. Having the atribute of spiking and deminishing of at least two of the brains most important chemicals related to experience, and behavior… and the awareness of the (most obvious to you) potential for not only chemical related occurances and their ripple effect, but the behavioral methods that the acute brain, manic brain, almost has a natural function to excercise and use usually either for a better survival or further expansion into astonishing existential and soon to be investigated parapsychological, social behaviors that tend to stick as long as they serve in a new type evolutionary (ie “Counter intuative”, productive and humanistic beavior that the mind eagerly draws in like an antennae recieving and storing up valueable energy. Setting this agenda and also surviving the early episodes, of bipolar, (which are usually the most drastic) are two hurdles to get over, let alone the crude, almost sickening archetectural features in our community hospitals, thats purpose cannot be desguised as heathcare to the human eye. A grossly overused assortment of bondage equipment and isolation chambers (not to mention your absence of any dignifying articles of clothing( also to be moved and set in place on occasion) nowadays plate glass walls, a whole dungeon setup designed by those people involved no less, who really probably care wheather the colour they chose or how their design would function better than the decaying sweat soaked ultimately in our home towns case, my favorite case, dried blood stained, apparenty approved for use by some dr, a single hallway, to alk up and down seemingly endlessly, untill not suprisedby the inevitable dread code white, that is the delight for the predominantly, …listen t me… dominated, by your average practicing as ferociously as they can with as little effort as possible, sociopath and more importantly to re ognise, violent violators psychopaths, who pretymch have the real pl working there stressin over what could possibly be these ppls capabilities, and are alienated inside by this evil thay cannot risk their ,,, virtully anything valuable, like a job or who knows, omg… thats why she left,,,,, so, yaa, these ppl rise like cream, annnnnd they have a really good time eeeehm, .. now nurse practitioners or legends, thir former dominator look like theyve aged, well lets say i was convinced they had beeen using prolongued use on heavy stimulents, like crack. iloldrewaout a blueprint with symboldsfr the patient advocate, neaysi mostly wantd to write and its alot of shit thats gone no doubt as home with ,,,lets say u know like fat cat. what, i was 15, and he was fat then, now hes the last one standing up there that i know of. oh yea… so i would say if u want out, and as of late i thing the design is perfect for the right ppl, socios included, fuckers, but, the dr, they are jst as careless as the security guards who cant hide haw stupid the really are and the odd couple who are revealing that their ok, still, idicovered, ,, maybe not in north bay, but in a proper community, like the city, ………..lost my train,,,, i think that i was getting at how just to be fair and …eyea 50 percent of the staff endowd with the ability to weildstrapps, and are encouraged by their no doubt under educated superiors, to always have the wrist ready to be broken if, now this brings me back,,,, they chokeyou, than comes the bondage that betty page would think is very unatractive, idk,,, the thing is,,, ya the drs, oh waut,, ok…. 1/3 of all of them are,,,, exculding the drs, and the janitors, who if ihaventdiscosedya are always there to pile up on a code white, and i know,, listen to me, no janitor ive met would grab my ass so hard on such a numerous a pile up, i have eyes in theback f my head,,,,,,, italalot,,,,,,, ppl that work so hard tp climb so not that far up the ladder in society, yes, sum of them are costume rocking witchcrftprodiges, who, will, 1 take the whole bunch of guys .. it may have been the forensic unit,,, this little thing is known by ,ppl, ive talked to about the psych who are inderectyl told by their others who work it, and ave stories about the oddity of us. iduno,, alot went down, but,, boring s yea she walks me throught e bysantine conduit iup to the floor, and the police have to walk somewhere behind to uncuff me and ta da, , y o iwanna bring up corporeal action when the best times,,, due to the conditios of bondage uuuuuuuuuuh were strictly through plate glass,,,,, ie. rare appearenced that are pretty much the only way. i really was bloody fucking thirsty 8percent and i mea ya,, when i was younngti chewed up braaaaan and drank my watttaaeer, and drew peace sighnsandd 7 days laterrrrr, after she sumhow managed to get an earbud into my head screaming for any colour you like by pink floyd, and playd the fungsonhggg, badassss. straight jacket. prolly day 4,,,,, i still think cough syrop is good for teenagerswhatver,,m took me to the top. ok… to get offf, the ward do as such; by Ultimately drawin on to no apparent end in crayons complete with nicotine gum (smokes,, the only freedom, not yet a right, that is so hard to get,,,,, and i learned to smoke in side the scarborough general hospitol,,, that room soon became the chamber, i would be locked in, for manny weeks, at different times,, thats where alot also hapened, is where the nude bondage asianfemaldr, ..whati mean i s theatwwhatwuldlou reed say… they never forgave us for nagasaki.,,, newaysive never spent more time in a i also a what appears to be and have bben told by assdocter of the north bay pstychwhi took to court at the hospitol and he got yelled at by a panel while my dad defended him and i ate cookies cus ii was really manic,,,, i also was 15 1/2… he later let me try and commit suicide,, thats a story of a different colour,, sounds like sprockets, idk,, idontwafe war with very real religiossympomatic shat, iuuuuuhm , so,,,, hereswahat krb8tujvcklwelbutrin.,,, ya, it istaken orally it shoul get right to work in three ad a half weeks, if suicidal,,,,, pray, oooir if u cant get dxedrine,, or sum speed beane drink a bottle of childrensgeapecoughsyrup once a day,,,, this acts as a seritonin reuptake inhibitor of a differrentcolour. 2 to 4 hours,,,iu get the mental stimulation,, it reall is a mellow buzz butttttyupppidecare fuck cough syrop…… dexedrineisnt out there and i know it couould really bbe used and they aslso do,, ie. jfk, addisons disease, dexedrine/anphetamine. so,, it will make y0ur 90 year old great aunt we all frogot about over in blind river get up from the abyss of alzheimers and dementia and sing thins is the day that the lord hath made,, ,but with real and concious interaction,,, without memory of course. however,,, she does that,,, did that anyway , but,,, im sure every month not every day,, at least one trial of … iuffingadhd adults can take it,,, why cant she. smeared into the grate of every window and the classy bubble rooom which actually was made with enough pride according to the regionnsid say, to have an even more, almost funny, and certainly battered scratched and spat on bubble for the head psychiatrist t poke his head into every few days. Lets not froget how that scene ended. like my father and grandfather before me who conditioned and alterred the correctiona institutions for fifty fife years now a conmfortablevacatin for psychopaths and whoever, not even the hole could stand up to point blank restraints naked, with your flimsy gown around your chest. at least in the bubble room there was lots of privacy, u know, to each institution their own, glass , bubble blood stained, probably 60 years of ppl that somehow said something that attracted the attention of their nurse, who no doubt vollynteered after printing your file which is most likely epic thick, there is no room for any of their creative stylings in that no, i did just smash the wall into pieces and ya all the insulatin is everywhere, high five and respect from my cute transference mistress, (and a couple others.)

Perverts Dictionary (O_o))))))))))))) Trilateral — jinx No doubt — yes, super Doble- adorable, dobles, adobles Straight up — forthrightly, correct, right, or goof Throwing babies makes them gay Avant garde — protect the old (art) stay the same Downtown, — quiet not ratting Technology — rewind/splice mp3 interchangable Right up — shooting up Not up — free (not in trouble) Word — “my promise” new word, yes Naw — ya goof / no Buzz out — use vibrator / get high Drone- parapsychological anomalie Phe — speed (methanphetamenes) Stellar — awsum / the sun / single thing Figure — shape (claivoiance) One — god / goof Out-gay or leaving No doubt — ur gay / im gay. (For sure (im a whore)) straight up In — a goof out “my thing ‘ — claivoiant animation (repeated) Pentagon/circuit — terrific Duality — love or contrast in nature Straight — not gay or no drugs Up-in torouble/retarded/fucked Goof — crazy p/pedophile / molester/rapist/asshole Pervert-whore/hooker Asshole-incessant talker(mean) Solid-honest reliable Ethereal — heavely, sticky, Bird- girl pervert , moron Badass-pervert/violent, missile Idiot –saying nething Toad- smaker (heavy) old vagina A hard — a stiffy Eh eh- turning vol down and then up to trick parents in the 70s in quebec Bonhome — dildo, goof, good man Ein — get in /out (here) goof (French) ass hole/vagina Institution/church shouting= good Tabernacle-chest Coalis-chalise Zeut-fuck Fuck- rape/damnet or sex Stomping — raping Bang out- beat on Beat up — gay kids trying to get their frieing off violently Rank out — make someone stink by working them or hurting them / cast someone out canadian military style (gay) , gang up on someone till they freak out (psychopaths do it all over Canada)’ Trast- drunk /party/water Dai-morning, cool, fun, ausum, hello! Good-goof Story along-paranormal happening involving ancestral memory Psychic-all in one, prophet telepath Telepathic — mind to mind talker, thinker Telekinetic- moving things/ ppl Claivoiance- seeing colour from other ppls minds Rod-skyfish/fast moving anomaly animal Vaj-old or young vagina Oss — dog or baby vagina Grandma- bag in tree Candy — transsexual My honey — sexy (on the wind(throwing laughter(female))) Beating off — complex Wacking off-pervert Jerking off — solid (female) Move-walk / go Mullet-militia Freak –goof (black word) Ca — crap — crow call Germ freak-someone who forces germs on ppl Quay-(beautiful woman (cunt) — woman) latin Mead-morphene Rin — heroin (dust / cookie crumble) Beans — speed pills Rids — Ritalin No shit- of course Jib-meth Hellfire — run off meth (bad) Food — crack Molly-mdma /e Bombs — ecstacy cid — Acid (lsd) shrooms-magic mushrooms sterl — brother (little) afgan weed — brown pot kife — bad weed (shake) leaves) shibby — cool/goof cool-gay/awsum fade white — see white on od (heroin/mescelin(go to heaven/hell)) road — freedom — out of institution the suck — mescalin myth ast — perversion telekinetic- asty sortof meta/physical movement from the brain outwardly god — goof — one or christ lady stink — female deodorant leave it — shirt on chest (gay /bi) stop it hiboit gland — make you fat cured with amricain medicine merican — goof citizen of America Canadian- a sovereign citizen of Canada (incestewous clown) Were done — end releationship British — gay mongerers Nono –nig mistake Famished — thirsty / starved Sent — innocent Pervert — to change something and make it last nothing — absence, bipolar universai — multiple universes psykinetics — telepathy / telekinetics/claivoiance geniupsy — psykinetic offspring genius — generating new thought (brilliant) bipolar- up and down serotonin and dopamine, psychopath — violent person sociopath — not caring about neone oppositional defiant — opposing help borderline personality — victim misbehaving schitzophrenic — high fixed dopamine, fixed seretonin (normal)\ drone — unpiloted airplane, good worker, artist , schitzophrenic dick — enlarged clitoris get out of here — come here little child aced — gay men trying to get pregnant, daughter , sqaired away k — ketamine ass — dad/grandfather hun — little stut( skank) brecky — greek (breakfast) supper — jewish (Dinner) brecko — Italian (breakfast) avatar — ethereal image of oneself asshole — girl or boy or rapist (north bay / Chicago)\ goof — sad or sexy ethereal image from shame can be cured with desensitization (knumbaning) (telepathic) ya — pedophile dude — black pedophile Italian cowboy, fake doctor (candadian) huffin — pretending to be someone else while using telekinteicks in a sexual fashion. sadomasochist — paingiver/enjoyer earphoning — hearing ppl in ypur speaker — hold speaker up to ear and hand over other ear, psychopaths recommendation pur — rapist/pervert uggz — ug;y phile — pedophile ace — gays — rape — sister — grandma-brother path — telepath or a psychopath/sociopath, can — male whore cop- fake police (pedophile) musac — music laid — losing virginity glowie — acid victims (creep) ente old stupid goof dex — cough syrup bed down — tie to bed (north bay) fuck right off — screw my girlfriend\ fuck off — go cop the u- universe no shit — definitely mangina — friend spect-respect right up — repect straight up — disguise Italian — scot Adisguzi — disgusting excuse me No shit- really? Love — goodbye

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[pastel-hamgelica]

His Precious Niece | Hamgelica Historical AU

✯┊Title: His Precious Niece

✯┊Pairings: Angelica Schuyler x Alexander Hamilton | John Church x Angelica Schuyler | Alexander Hamilton x Elizabeth Schuyler

✯┊Warning(s): Mentions of adultery; Historical Inaccuracy [ Literally just changing Angelica Church’s birth year to better fit the narrative ]; sTeAmY kIsSeS 

✯┊Type: Angst

✯┊Summary: Angelica’s youngest daughter, Angelica Church, has never been told that she looked anything like her father or her mother. Shortly after her mother’s passing, the youngest Church discovers a letter that changes everything.

✯┊Word Count: 1,544 Words

“Why Kitty, you have just as much of an enchanting smile as your mother does!”

“Oh Richard, look at those eyes! As striking as your father’s!”

“Philip seems to have his mother’s nose, doesn’t he?”

Those were the words that the other seven Church children heard quite often, be it from family or friends. However, there was one exception. And that exception was Angelica Church. And it had been this way her entire life. She didn’t possess her mother’s lively brown curls or her father’s heart-shaped lips. Angie had straight shiny dark brown hair and dark, calculating brown eyes. She was shorter than all of her siblings and didn’t even have the skin tone of either her father or mother. Not even a mix of both.

“Angie?” her aunt pulled her from her thoughts. She looked back at her Aunt Eliza, who stood idly in the doorway of her mother’s room. “I have something for you… from your mother,” she said in a soft voice. In Eliza’s hands was a neatly folded envelope, still sealed. Angie took the envelope delicately, her throat aching at the thought. It had been only a month or two since her mother’s passing, and the wounds were still fresh. Angie ran her thumb lightly over the wax seal, tears shining in her eyes.

“Th-Thank you, Aunt Betsey,” she whispered softly. Eliza nodded.

“Let me know if you need anything, dear,” she replied warmly, before leaving the room. Angie took a shaky breath, before opening the envelope and pulling out a letter, yellowing with age. How long ago had this been written..?

My dearest daughter, Angelica

-Several Years Earlier-

“Alexander,” he felt Eliza’s arms wrap around him from his spot in his desk chair, her fingers tracing delicate lines over his shirt. “I’m going to the market to talk to Mrs. Abbston. Apparently, Philip and her grandson got into a little fight last week. Please take a break for a few moments to sit with Angelica. You two have rarely spoken more than a few words since she and I got back from visiting our father,” she pointed out. Alexander looked up at his wife, who had a look of near desperation in her eyes. Alexander’s heart clenched. In any other situation, he would’ve insisted on continuing with his work. But... after what he had done only a month or two earlier, he couldn’t refuse this time around. He took Eliza’s hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Alright, love,” he said as he stood up. Eliza led her downstairs to where Angelica was, with Alexander’s daughter, who was also named Angelica.

“Did I get it this time? ” Angel asked hopefully as she played a simple four-note melody on the piano in the corner of their living room. Angelica smiled as she watched the small girl strike the keys.

“Very good love! You’ve got it,” the praise caused sounds of cheering to erupt from Angel’s mouth, along with a course of cheery giggles and an amused chuckle from Angelica that made Alexander crack a small smile. 

“Come along Philip,” Eliza said sternly to the nine-year-old who had shrunk into one of the rockers near the fireplace, a look of bitterness on his freckled face. He let out a soft huff as he wriggled out of the chair and shuffled to his mother’s side. Angel giggled at her older brother, but when she saw Alexander her eyes lit up.

“Papa!,” she squealed, rushing to her father and jumping into his arms. Alexander chuckled as he picked her up, spinning her around for a moment before resting her on his hip. “Did you come to play?!,” she asked excitedly. Alexander nodded, flashing his daughter a smile.

“Yes dear, but first I wish to talk to your Aunt Angelica,” he said, setting Angel down. “Run along now, I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Angel simply nodded before dashing off to go play with her toys. Angelica smiled fondly at the girl, before looking to Alexander. Her smile faded and they were left with a thick tension and a silence only eliminated by the ticking of the clock on the mantle.

“I had come for you, you know,” Angelica sighed as she stared at her skirts. She lightly gripped the fabric. “I wouldn’t have to be an ocean away from you, or Eliza for that matter,” she murmured, looking up to him once again. Alexander’s heart clenched at the words.

“I’m sorry,” he replied as he sat down next to Angelica on the piano bench, taking her hand in his. “Every moment I spent away from you and Eliza was agonizing. May I ask what I can do to make this up to you? ” he asked kindly. Angelica looked away for a moment.

“You never answered my question, Alexander,” she muttered. Alexander raised a brow. Angelica looked back to him. “Your comma. My dearest, Angelica. Did you put that comma intentionally or not? ” Alexander soon connected the dots and he swallowed hard.

“Truthfully? ” he asked, to which Angelica nodded. He leaned, close enough that Angelica could feel the warmth of his breath fanning her face. “It was intentional,”

A beat passed. A moment where Angelica and Alexander stared at each other as if uncertain of what they already knew was going to happen. Angelica then felt his lips on hers. They were soft and moved against hers gently. Perhaps, if she wasn’t so overcome with emotions in this moment, she would’ve shoved him away. Would’ve been furious with him, and immediately told Eliza. But her mind was clouded, her heart urging her not to pull away. Instead, she allowed him to pull her body flush against his own, her hands instinctively making their way into his shiny dark hair. The kiss grew more feverish with each passing second, Alexander lightly biting her lip, eliciting a quiet whimper from Angelica. They pulled away, breathless, with slightly swollen lips. Both of their faces were flushed a dark shade of red. Alexander’s head went to kiss the exposed skin of Angelica’s neck. He lightly bit down, causing another quiet whimper to escape Angelica’s lips, music to his ears.

“Alexander...please,” she murmured. Alexander stood up, pulling her up gently towards him. He kissed her forehead.

“Anything for you, my dearest,”

Angie’s speed only increased as she read every sentence. Had her mother really wanted her to know of this adultery? With Angie’s own uncle? Why? 

And while I have in fact regretted this day for the rest of my life, my dear daughter, I will not deny it has given me one of the greatest gifts.

Her fingers dug into the paper. How could her mother do such a thing? How could Uncle Alexander do such a thing with two different women? And how did he do it so shamelessly? Angie’s vision of her uncle was admittedly warped. She remembered the visits, where his eyes were filled with so much love for her. She was incredibly close to her uncle, but every time he was around her, he had a sort of longing in his eyes. A sadness that Angie never understood. She never asked since she wasn’t a particularly nosy child, but she’d do whatever she could to make her uncle smile or laugh.

That gift was a beautiful baby girl. You, my dearest. I have not been truthful with you and I regret this greatly. If you are to ever find this letter, Alexander is your true father. God had forgiven me for my sin and blessed me with you, Angelica. I’m terribly sorry you had to find out this way. I love you. And so did Alexander. He loved you more than you could ever understand. You were more than just his precious niece. 

Sincerely,

Your Mother

Angie reread that paragraph over and over, until she was a sobbing mess, clutching the letter tightly to her bosom. Her heart clenched and she shook violently, overcome with emotions. It was as if now everything was making sense. After a lifetime of feeling different, she now understood why. Now, now that not only her uncle, or rather, her father and mother had left this world. She wiped her eyes after a moment, then walked out of the room.

“Is everything alright, Angie? ” Eliza asked concerned. “What was in the letter, if you don’t mind my curiosity,” she asked. Angie looked at the letter. She couldn’t tell Aunt Betsey about it now, not with so many things to manage. 

“I’m alright. As for the letter? It just had... something I needed to hear,” she said simply. “I’m going to go visit mother and Uncle Alex’s graves, I won’t be long,” Angie found herself walking all the way to Trinity Church, standing at the headstone of her mother, her father buried right next to him. Angie sniffled.

“I know you loved me. Very much so. And I loved you too. I forgive you for not telling me sooner,” she whispered as she set down the paper between the two graves, neatly folded, and put a rock over it so it wouldn’t get caught in the wind. 

“I love you, mother and father. Very much so,”

✯┊ooF I HOPE YALL LIKED THIS I HONESTLY HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS ONE OK IM LOWKEY SO PROUD OF THIS THANKS SKYPE CHAT FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA IN LIKE JULY

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

Widows child

(A/N): this is so shitty, I'm so sorry

Request: Angsty request here! In an AU would where women can get other women pregnant, fem!reader discovers she's pregnant and is really excited to tell Natasha. But Nat does not take it well and they get into a serious fight. Nat walks out to go have a chat with Clint who makes her realise that this baby is a blessing and she comes home to find the reader gone. A few years later, HYDRA kidnaps reader and the kid to mess with Nat and it's up to Nat to find and save the love of her life and their daughter

Warnings: angst, blood, injury to reader, swearing 

  (Y/N) was over the moon with excitement. How could she not be? She was pregnant with her girlfriend's child, what else could make her so happy? She was honestly rather shocked when she had found out she was pregnant. Natasha was infertile and (Y/N) had never even thought if her uterus was compatible enough for another human being.

    For thousands of years women had been getting other women pregnant but under strict conditions. One of the women had to have the perfect internal everything. If even a single, tiny thing was out of place it wouldn't work. That's why (Y/N) was so shocked when she one day took a pregnancy test and it came back as positive. She even went to Tony and had him do a far more refined and accurate test and that came back as positive as well. (Y/N) was actually pregnant. 

   She knew Nat once dreamed of having a family and now she could give it to her, so Nat should have been excited when (Y/N) dropped the news right? Wrong. (Y/N) was so completely and utterly wrong.

    "Are you fucking serious?" Nat asks, her voice seeping with anger.

    "Yes?" (Y/N) replied, her brow furrowed in confusion.

   "We can't have a kid, do you know what that'll do to us? To our jobs? To our statuses? We can't be agents and have a kid, we'd be suspended from shield for months, we'd be putting a life at risk by bringing it into this world, god, did you not think this through?" 

   "I thought you'd be excited! You told me you wanted kids-"

   "I was young and foolish back then," 

   "So, you're telling me that you don't want kids anymore?"

   "Yeah," Nat whispers bitterly, nodding her head. "Yeah I am..." 

   "I can't- I can't believe this," (Y/N) whispers, tears welling in her eyes.

    "Well you better start," Nat nearly spits, the venom in her voice slicing (Y/N) deep. She glared at (Y/N) for a few moments, gritting her teeth as she held back every word she wanted to say but didn't. Instead she turned on her heel, grabbed her shoes and marched out the door. She was just about to close the door when she stuck her head back in, that same disgusted, angry look upon her face. "I suggest you call a clinic, there's no way in hell you're having our child," and with that Nat slammed the door shut and marched out the door. 

   (Y/N) stood there in complete and utter shock. Had nat just told her to go get an abortion? Was she really that cruel to suggest that? This was their child for fuck's sake, a human being that they had created together and Nat didn't want it? Tears burns at (Y/N)'s eyes as she rests a hand on her stomach, her maternal instincts already kicking in. There was no way she was getting rid of HER baby, no matter what Nat wanted. If she didn't want the baby then so be it, she was just going to have to deal with the consequences. 

   Nat sighed as she walked beside Clint, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand as Clint nearly screamed her ear off.

    "I can't believe you'd say something like that Nat, you know how sensitive (Y/N) can be," 

   "I know," Nat sighs, running her fingertips along the rim of her cup absentmindedly as she spoke. "I just freaked out, I didn't know what to say or do," 

   "Do you realize what a miracle baby this is? You're infertile and yet somehow your body was strong enough to get (Y/N) pregnant. Her uterus has to be 100% perfect for a child- do you know how slim those chances are?" 

   "No-"

    "one in one fuckin million Nat and that's without your infertility, with that it should be physically impossible for (Y/N) to get pregnant," Nat sighs, realizing just how irrational she'd been at home. 

   "Fuck...I really fucked up,"

    "Im not even going to deny you this time Nat, yeah, you fucked up big time," 

   "What am I supposed to do?" Nat nearly pleads, her voice nearly cracking with emotion. 

   "Go home, make sure (Y/N) knows you want this child, and you convince her that to love her more than anything in this world, understand?" Nat smiles softly despite the circumstances and nods, her spirits a bit brighter than before. 

   "Thank you Clint,"

    "Anything for you Nat, now go talk to her before its too late," Oh, if only Nat had been given that piece of advice earlier. 

   She was planning on following Clint's directions perfectly and yet when she got home (Y/N) was nowhere in sight. She noticed the apartment seemed eerily empty, almost as though it were lacking quite a few things. Nat flicked a light on as she made her way into the kitchen, throwing her coat over the kitchen table as she walked in.

   "(Y/N)?" She called out loud, hoping for an answer "(Y/N), are you here-" Nat's words die in her throat as her eyes catch something on the fridge, a letter that hadnt been there when she left. Nat bit her lip as she plucked the note of the fridge, her eyes scanning over each word meticulously. 

         'Nat, I'm sorry about this but I'm not getting rid of our child. I get that you don't want children anymore, that's fine, but what's not fine is telling me, someone who's been wanting children for years, to go get an abortion just because you're unhappy. I understand where you're coming from with the danger and all that shit but luckily for you that's not going to be a problem anymore, I'm leaving shield behind, I'm leaving New York behind, I'm leaving everything behind. I'm moving away, starting fresh, who knows, maybe I'll find someone who'd be proud to support me and my child. I'm sorry it had to come to this but I'm not coming back Natasha, Im having Steve and Bucky come collect my things tomorrow and then the next day I'm leaving. I hope you have a great life, your dearest (Y/N).' 

   Nat felt as though she couldn't breathe, she physically couldn't breathe as she read the note. (Y/N) was gone, she was gone and she was taking their child with her. 

   Nats hands shook as she gripped the letter, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Oh god, she'd fucked up, she'd fucked up so bad, how could she have been so foolish and selfish? How could she have let this happen? 

   The hurt wells within nat, bubbling and bubbling until she physically couldn't take it anymore. A loud sob pushes it's way last her lips as she collapses to the floor, clutching the letter to her chest. It hurt so bad, her entire chest stung in pain as she sobbed on the floor. Her heart hurt, her throat hurt, everything hurt as she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left, she was physically dried of all her tears. 

   She curled up on the floor, note still clutched to her chest as she sniffled and dry heaved, her entire body trembling in pain.

    "Hey guys-" Clint trails off as he walks into the cold, silent apartment. "Nat- (Y/N)- you guys here?" Clint rounds the corner to the kitchen, immediately flinching in shock when he found Nat curled up on the floor. 

   "She left Clint," Nat sobs once again, this time dry and more painful than before. "She's gone." 

    It had been five years since (Y/N) left Nat, five years since she'd given birth to her sweet little girl; Alexandria. She had flaming red hair like her mother, those stunning eyes. She was practically a mini version of her. Anytime (Y/N) so much as looked at her, her heart would ache in pain. She reminded her so much of Nat, even her personality was the spunky, spitfire kind Nat once sported. But (Y/N) loved her more than life itself, more than anything she had ever loved in this world.

    (Y/N) smiles softly as she watches Alex play on the playground with all the other kids, screaming and laughing just as all five year old kids do. Everything was cheery, perfect even when suddenly something caught (Y/N)'s gaze from their corner of her eye. Just a few feet away, on a bench right next to hers sat a man, and not just any man, one of Hydra's best trained assassins. (Y/N) remembered time and and time again trying to take him out but he always found a way to avoid death, unfortunately for her. And now he was sitting not even five feet away from her. She could immediately see the small handgun he had strapped to his waist, a gun (Y/N) had been at the end of one too many times. 

   "Alex!" (Y/N) calls out to her child, desperate to get as far away from the man as possible. "Alex come on honey we've got to go home," (Y/N) stands up, motioning for Alex to follow along. The bouncy redhead came bounding along, immediately taking her mothers hand as she approached her.

    "Mommy, can we go get icecream?"

    "Sure honey," (Y/N) picked Alex up, holding her tightly as she began to walk to her car. 

   "Mommy?" 

   "Yeah honey?" 

   "Who's that scary man following us?" (Y/N) looked over her shoulder to find the same assassin following her, one hand glued to the gun at his waist.

    "Oh my god," (Y/N) whispers as she immediately books it, completely avoiding her car, knowing it would take too long to strap Alex and herself in. Instead she ran through the park, trying as hard as she could to get away but it'd been awhile she had to run for her life, not to mention this man was a million times faster and before (Y/N) even knew it he had caught up to her. 

   Before (Y/N) had any time to react the man smacked her with the end of his gun, knocking her out immediately. The world was slowly turning black as blood pooled from a wound in (Y/N)'s head, she could vaguely hear the sounds of her daughter screaming but she couldn't do anything about it now, not when the world was fading away.

    Nat punched the punching bag as hard as she could, her fists still aching despite the gloves she wore. Five years had passed since (Y/N) left her, not a single day went by when Nat wouldn't think about her, about their child. She wondered if her chid was a boy or girl, if he or she looked more like her or (Y/N), she wondered if (Y/N) had fallen in love again, maybe had more kids. As much as it hurt Nat to say it she hope she had, she hoped she was happily married to someone who would love and cherish her the way Nat never did- 

   "Nat!" The doors to the training room suddenly burst open and in comes Steve, coming to a skidding halt beside Nat. "We've got a situation,"

    "Yeah?" Nat asks as she punches the bag again. "What is it?" 

   "It's (Y/N), we've found her," Immediately Nat's punches stop as she looks up at Steve, a dangerous look in her eyes. 

   "You better not be playing some sick joke on me Steven-" 

   "She's been captured by hydra, her and your daughter." 

    (Y/N) awoke to a splitting headache towards the back of her head. Her mouth felt dry, her eyes hurt and her entire body felt stiff.

   (Y/N) slowly opened her eyes, taking in the scenery around her. 

   "Ahh, you're waking up, good, I thought I had hit you too hard," (Y/N)'s head aches at the noise, causing a groan to spill past her lips. "Sorry about the whole head thing, you're still quite the runner I will admit, guess motherhood has caught up to you though," 

   "Where's- where's my baby?" The man chuckles as he casually flips a knife up and down in the air, catching it gracefully everytime it fell.

    "She's safe, don't you worry your pretty little face off-" "Where's my child you fucking piece of shit?" Suddenly the man springs forward, the knife pressed into (Y/N)'s throat rtght enough to draw rivulets of blood. 

   "If you're quiet I won't hurt ya too bad," he sneers, sending shivers of fright down (Y/N)'s spine. "I wouldn't want to cut that pretty face up too bad," The man slides his knife along (Y/N)'s cheek, slowly slicing it open. (Y/N) whimpered and flinched away, but not enough to the man's liking. He hummed in distaste as he slid the knife down her cheek once more, slowly and ever so painfully slicing the skin wide open. (Y/N) squirmed and moaned in pain, trying with all their night to get the pain to stop. Finally satisfied with his work the man sat back, admiring the way (Y/N)'s cheek parted and dribbled with blood. 

   "Ooh, that's a shame, my hand slipped," He chuckles darkly, his entire face contorting with wicked amusement. God- (Y/N) could only pray Alex was okay, even despite the way she was in excruciating pain she just wanted her sweet baby girl to be okay.

    (Y/N) slams her head against the pole behind her, the pole her arms were tied around painfully. Tears burned at her eyes but she wouldn't let her captor have the satisfaction of seeing her cry. 

   "Aww, are you gonna cry? Did I hurt your feelings? Does your face hurt just a bit? Want me to kiss it better-" The man's sentence ends rather suddenly with a rather bubbly cough, the same cough (Y/N) had heard a thousand times while she was on missions; it was the sound a man dying. (Y/N) cracked her eyes open to see the man fall onto his face, blood pooling from a knife wound in his back. 

   Well- that was a rather sudden death, not that (Y/N) was complaining. 

   (Y/N) looks up to see exactly who her savior was but she wasn't expecting to see Nat, the woman she had left behind five years ago. (Y/N)'s brows furrow in confusion as Nat drops to her side, immediately untying her bonds.

    "Oh my god (Y/N)," Tears burn at Nat's eyes as she cups (Y/N)'s face in her hands, her thumb smoothing circles into her good cheek. "Oh my god you're alive. Steve told me what had happened and I was convinced that you were dead- oh my god (Y/N), I was so fucking scared." Scared? Nat was scared? No, (Y/N) was the one who deserved to be scared, not her. (Y/N) was the one who just had her face mutilated, she was the one who had been tied to a pole, she was the one who had been hit upside the head with a gun, she was the one who nearly lost her daughter to some hydra scum.

    "Alex," (Y/N) manages the word despite her dizzying pain. "Alex." She repeats again, her eyes growing wide with fear. "Alex, Alex." (Y/N) tried to stand up but the pain takes over and she falls back down, nearly smacking her head against the pole.

    "Take it easy," Nat whispers as she smooths her hands over (Y/N)'s sore cheek, an action she once found comforting but now it was far from that. Nothing could comfort (Y/N) except her baby girl at her side.

    "I think I found what you were looking for," Another voice suddenly chimes in, this one much deeper and yet softer. (Y/N) would recognize that voice anywhere, it belonged to Steve Rogers.

    Not a moment after his words he appears I'm the doorway, a small, red headed girl in his clutches. 

   "Mommy!" Alex cries as she squirms out of Steve's embrace, instead rushing over to (Y/N) to hug her tightly. "I was so scared mommy, I couldn't find you and the scary men wouldn't tell me where you were," Alex cries against her loudly, no doubt rubbing her snot and tears all over her shirt. 

   " 's okay Alex," (Y/N) pets his hair, soothing her softly. " 'm okay," 

   "No you're not mommy, you're bleeding everywhere, mommy- did they hurt you?" Alex cries harder, her beautiful eyes shrouded in tears. 

   (Y/N) can't say or do much other than hold Alex close and pet her hair, soothing her slowly. (Y/N) looked at Nat, at her tear filled eyes as she watched (Y/N) and Alex. (Y/N) knew it was wrong to want her affection, especially after what she said to her all those years ago but what (Y/N) needed right now was Nat, she needs her more than she ever had before.

    (Y/N) slowly scoots forward until she's right next to Nat, close enough that she could lean her head against her shoulder like the good old days. It felt so good to finally be back with nat, she'd been deprived of her affection for far too long. She needed the support right now, she needed Nat, her girlfriend, the mother of her child, she needed her like she needed air to breathe.

    Nat didn't waste any time wrapping her arms around (Y/N), pulling her a little closer. Her lips pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s sweaty hairline, a gesture that (Y/N) once was used to, now it was a novelty coming for anyone, especially Nat. 

   "We should probably get back home, stitch you up," Nat whispers to (Y/N), her arm running up and down (Y/N)'s soothingly. Even knowing how painful It would be to go back to the tower (Y/N) found herself agreeing, nodding immediately. 

    The tower was familiar and unfamiliar at once, almost like a déjà vu kind of feeling. Bruce had long since stitched (Y/N)'s cheek back together, telling her that it was going to leave some pretty nasty scars behind. But now she was parked on Nat's couch as Alex curled up in her lap, watching some princess show. Nat was beside them, though sitting away by quite a few feet. Her eyes remained glued on Alex the entire time, as though she were studying her like some lab specimen. 

   "You can hold her if you'd like...she's really affectionate," (Y/N) mumbles finally turning to look at Nat. Nat shakes her head, shying away from the two further. 

   "No...I couldn't...not after what I said to you..." (Y/N) sighs gently as she brushes some hair away from Alex's eyes. 

   "You were shocked, it's okay, plus, I think you made up for it today," Nat bites her lip as she looks at (Y/N) and Alex hesitantly.

    "Are you sure it's okay?" (Y/N) tries to smile but stops when she feels her cheek aching in pain.

    "Yeah, luckily for you she's asleep too, makes her even easier to work with," (Y/N) hands Alex over to Nat, settling back down into her seat when she was done. Immediately Alex curls into nat, smacking her lips tiredly as she buries her face in Nat's neck.

    "I came back that day, after you left that note," Nat bites her lip as she pets Alex's hair gently. "I was going to tell you I was already looking for cribs and strollers but when I got back-" Nat chokes up, tears blurring her eyes once again. "When I got back you weren't here. I didn't know where you had gone or if you were safe. For five years I wondered about you, obsessed about you. I couldn't help but imagine what would have happened if I hadn't stormed out that day. Maybe we'd be living in some small home in the country, raising our child together, maybe a couple of dogs too," Nat sighs shakily, biting back her tears as she holds Alex gently, slowly swaying her back and forth.

    "So you- you really did want to have our baby?"

    "Yes," Nat nods, sniffling softly, "I've been thinking about it- about her- ever since you left. I really did want to have our baby together, I wanted to help you be a mother, feed our baby, play with her, watch her grow..."

    "It's never too late," (Y/N) whispers timidly, hanging her head in embarrassment. "I'm sure Alex would love to have an extra mommy, plus...I realized how much I missed you- how much I need you. We can't just go back to our normal lives after this, we have to do something," 

   "Maybe we could start over? Let me prove to you that I want this? I can take you on dates, I can help with Alex, I'll do anything," (Y/N) nods, giving Nat her small, broken smile once again. 

   "Lets take things slow, not rush them. A first date would be a good start..." Nat smiles softly as she looks at Alex, sniffling once again. 

   "First date it is then," Nat looks to (Y/N), smiling a bit brighter than before. 

   They were nowhere near the intimacy and trust they had previously, and (Y/N) doubted she could ever truly forgive Nat for what she said and did but they were trying, and trying was a pretty damn good start.