#and the pronouns i use are not a reflection of whatever age I’m imagining her at I know it’s confusing bare with me

[starlooove]

I’ve been inspired by @milimeters-morales so here’s my transfemme miles HAIR hcs bc hair is vv important to me:

So first she rocks with it short and she doesn’t rlly feel a need to grow it out or anything since it honestly really helps with the mask and that didn’t contribute to her dysphoria, like at all. At first it made her kinda self conscious bc she always read shit about ppl hating like every aspect of themselves, but there’s a lot about her self that she genuinely just doesn’t give a fuck about and her hair is one of them buuuuutttt

She starts seeing those little memes of the blk girl starter pack or throwback pics of favorite beads and she’s feeling a little jealous…and she feels so ridiculous bc no way is she getting this upset bc of a Twitter trend but she is and so she decides to do what she always does when she’s upset and just wants to rant as opposed to finding a solution; she goes to uncle Aaron

He hooks her up with the best braider on the block and listen, Miles KNOWS it’s gonna be a nightmare when she has to do spider stuff, she KNOWS she’ll probably have to take the beads out soon for stealth reasons, but for now she grins in the mirror and shakes her head till she’s dizzy just to hear the click clacking of the red and blue beads <3

[fleurisa]

fait avec amour.

the following will unquestionably serve as a simple guidepost: my name is Julianne Isabell, but in a nutshell, Lian, Anne, Isa, or Sabell will satisfy. address me in whatever manner you find most convenient, as I do not have any preference. using the pronouns she/her, I am astrologically influenced by a Gemini sun, a Cancer moon, and a Pisces rising. My pronouns align with these phrases. the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) classifies me as an INFJ, and I am on the verge of reaching the age of legal maturity (20+). I am able to participate in conversations in multiple languages, including Bahasa, English, and Javanese, and I also use a little bit of French to interact with others.

to steer clear of entanglements with specific regulations and sundry norms, I formally declare the enduring classification of this account as a Cyber Account. within this digital domain, periodic reflections on life’s nuances, coupled with the occasional amplification through retweets or likes of diverse posts, shall characterize my presence. additionally, anticipate the forthcoming sharing of numerous Spotify or Apple Music links, contributing to the melodic tapestry woven within this virtual space.

Music

exploring the rich tapestry of musical genres is a passion of mine. from the dynamic rhythms of EXO, DAY6, and WINNER to the lyrical finesse of Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Shawn Mendes, and SZA, my playlist spans a spectrum of sonic delights. I’m also captivated by the ethereal sounds of Lana del Rey, the fresh vibes from NewJeans, and the entrancing beats of aespa, TXT, The Boyz, RIIZE, P1Harmony. currently, my musical journey is complemented by the timeless charm of Indonesian old songs.

Games

venturing into the gaming realm, my current pursuits are diverse. as a gold laner in Mobile Legends, I thrive in my primary role, with a versatile skill set allowing me to adeptly fill other roles as needed. beyond the competitive arena of Mobile Legends, my gaming odyssey extends to the strategic landscapes of Plato, the imaginative realms of Minecraft, and a nostalgic revisit to PS2 classics like Bully, GTA SA, and many more.

YouTuber

navigating the vast sea of YouTube content, I’m an avid follower of creators who bring unique perspectives to the digital stage. from the engaging content of MiawAug, Windah Basudara, Milyhya, Garit Dewana, EJGaming, itssandwich, to the captivating creations of Pupuww, each channel contributes to a rich tapestry of entertainment that aligns seamlessly with my diverse interests.

last but not least, cooperation is appreciated. avoid following or interacting if you embody: homophobia, racism, animosity towards my favorites, the propagation of hate speech, or an impending aversion to the soon-to-be new owner.

[adarlingwrites]

Leave it to the Wind

Summary: Between deadlines, an awful transport system, and aswangs lurking about in the shadows, you have much to worry about as a college student in Manila, and it's so much that your social life is practically dead. Your wind people roommates want to help you remedy that.

Words: 9343

Relationships: The Kambal/Reader (Crispin/Reader/Basilio)

Warnings: Adult content, alcohol, brief scene of sexual harassment

Author’s Notes: God, the fandom is so thirsty for the Kambal, and so am I. Finally, some Filipino himbo representation.

The premise is: Hannah and Amie decides to play matchmaker. Hilarity ensues. Smut ensues. Please be nice, I based the characterizations of the character on the Netflix series and Trese wiki pages since I couldn't get my hands on the original comics yet oof. Some words, like terms of endearment and curse words, will remain in Filipino. Translations are provided. Reader is AFAB and is referred to with female pronouns.

Reposting this from AO3 with all three chapters in one post. A Filipino (Taglish) translation is in the works!

I

You don’t know how they managed to convince you, to be honest.

You rarely ever go out at night anymore. So many strange incidents transpire in Manila’s narrow streets. Just recently, you’ve heard of a new story about a tikbalang who allegedly participated in illegal street races.

So when your roommates and friends Amie and Hannah invited you for a night out, you hesitated. You gave them every excuse you can think of; you needed to do laundry, you needed to study, you needed to finish a project, and so on.

You know that the two of them are wind people, but you can’t help but think. Which of the various stories you had been hearing are real? What else in this world you haven’t witnessed yet?

“Aw, you’re such a buzzkill! Pretty please? You don’t go out with us as often. Enjoy yourself a little,” Amie whines, lying on the sofa of your living room.

On the other hand, Hannah turns to you with a mischievous grin on her face. “C’mon, get dressed already,” she commanded. “There are some total hotties we’d like you to meet! One of them might catch your eye!”

“I told you, I don’t need a relationship. You two try this every week. How do you even know so many people?” you retort, laughing softly at yourself.

“Well, our night lives are active,” Hannah retorted. “Don’t forget our sex lives!” the other added. Hearing those words, you felt your face get flushed with heat.

You needed a good fuck.

“Damn it, fine! As long as you pay for me.”

They finally got you to say yes.

As the night went on, you went to several bars, and you swore that you had explored every crevice of the city. It doesn’t help that the guy Amie and Hannah were with, a tall, dark and handsome man with flowing locks of black hair, drove like a demon. You got around quickly in no time.

Around an hour after midnight, you’re all exhausted from a night of dancing and mingling. None of the people your friends introduced to you caught your attention. At that point, you just wanted a stiff drink to unwind.

Voicing it to your drinking buddies, they nod in agreement.

“I know just the place, in Malate,” the man you’re with said. “Quiet. Discreet. I can take you there, if you want.”

“You mean The Diabolical, right? Let’s go! Text Crispin and Basilio, they might be hangin’ there too,” Amie croons.

A chuckle escapes your lips upon hearing their names. “Huh? Were they named after the characters in Jose Rizal’s novel?”

“I think so? Whatever! But seriously though… Those two can totally make you scream their names louder than Sisa ever did! Best lay I ever had!”

The remark made you laugh so hard, you swore you can be heard in the next city. “What the fuck! Amie, gaga ka, Sisa was their mom! The context of that scene was rough.”

Hannah’s mischievous grin spreads on her face once more, and she gently elbows your side. “Well, if you’re lucky, in this context you’d be crying their names while your eyes roll to the back of your head.”

You’ll never admit it, but you had hoped all their teasing would come true.

It didn’t take long for the four of you to reach your destination. As you enter The Diabolical, a strange chill envelopes you. The air feels different inside; it’s almost as if you stepped in a different world. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, but when you looked around, you saw a duwende sitting by the bar. Or was it called a nuno? At the end of the bar, you saw them; two men both dressed in black suits. One has short hair, while the other one has longer, reaching past his shoulders. However, they’re facing away from you. Only the back of their head and part of their cheeks were visible where you stood.

You snapped out of it when the man you three are with spoke up. “I’m gonna call it a night. Have fun, you three.”

“For real? Wow Maliksi, this is the first time I ever saw you wanting to leave early. Aren’t you gonna stop by and say hi to Alex?” Hannah asks him.

“Maybe next time,” Maliksi answers back, a somber expression on his face. “Oh em gee, did you two fight? Wait, what are you two?” Amie asks.

“Whatever. It’s complicated. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Your friends nodded and let Maliksi be. He waves at your group, and heads out the door. The engine of his car roars to life, and his car screeches away.

As the car moved farther away though, it seems that the screeching of the tires turned into hoofbeats.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination.

“Amie! Hannah! Have a drink! Hey, who’s that with you? Is that the person you’ve been wanting us to meet for ages now?”

Your head turns to where the voice was coming from; one of the men in the suits, the one with short hair in particular. You finally had a good look on their faces.

Twins?

“Crispin! Meet our friend! This is…”

As Amie and Hannah introduce you to the Twins, you can’t help but stare. You took the sight of their features in; they’re tall, with broad shoulders, and hard muscle underneath that black suit and white tie ensemble. They have wide noses with a high bridge, prominent bone structure, and a prominent widow’s peak.

Merciful Bathala, they’re gorgeous.

What caught your attention the most are their eyes. They're pitch black, save for the small reflection of light.

Are these people even human?

“Stare at them like that any longer and they might melt,” Amie teases. The two of your friends are giving you an ear-splitting grin due to your reaction to the Twins.

“I, uh-” you stuttered, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Hey, don’t be shy. You can sit between us, miss. We’re all friends here,” the twin with the longer hair says. If the other one is Crispin, then this must be Basilio.

Behind you, your friends are already giggling. They took their places next to the twins and leaned on their biceps. Across from you, the bartender comes to take your order.

“What’ll it be, kid?” he asks.

For some reason, you’re panicking. Maybe it’s because of the alcohol in your system. Or maybe it’s because you’re sandwiched between the twins. “Uh, what would you recommend, manong?”

Laughter erupted from the twins. “Hank, she called you manong!” Basilio teases while grinning like a fucking dog. “Geez, are you really that old?” Crispin eggs him on, giving him a shit-eating grin. Hank takes a wet rag he uses to wipe down the countertop and strikes the two down. “You goddamn assholes!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing with them.

“Ow! Alright, we’re sorry, we’re sorry. Get them the best seller, Hank. We’ll pay for their tab,” Basilio says, and Hannah and Amie squeals with joy.

“Oh em gee, you boys are so sweet! Thank youuu!”

As Hank prepares you a drink, you try conversing with the twins. “You two seem fun to have as drinking buddies.”

Hank turns around to reach a bottle from the shelf. “Those two are mischievous little shits, that’s for sure. You know, when these two were kids...”

“Hey man, don’t embarrass us like that in front of our new friend,” Crispin whines.

While the three continues fucking around, you leaned back slightly to glimpse at Amie, who was trying to get your attention for a while now. She points to her phone, and you fetch yours from your bag.

You read your group chat with them. “Soooo, do you like, like them?” Hannah’s message said.

“You’re into them aren’t you? You got so shy around them, it’s so cute!” Amie’s message said.

“Right? It’s rare to see you so flustered!”

You typed away furiously at your phone, cautious to not let the twins beside you see the conversation.

“Well, they’re an improvement from the ones you introduced me to earlier. Easier on the eyes, too…”

Your friends giggled, and as their drinks arrived, they stood up. “Girl, we’re gonna leave you with them, there’s some super hot tikbalangs who just came in the bar. Byeeee!”

“Hey, wait!”

They didn’t heed your words and went to sit on the tikbalangs’ laps.

Fuck, tikbalangs are real? Is Maliksi a tikbalang too?

“And off they go, flirting with those beasts after they’ve used us for drinks,” Crispin laments, voice dripping with light-hearted sarcasm.

“It’s not like it’s the first time we got used by them though,” Basilio adds, cringing.

You can’t help but laugh.  “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Basilio’s head whips towards you, sweat gathering on his brow. “Seriously?! Shit, what did they say about us?”

“All good things, don’t you worry,” you answered.

“Nah, I need to hear what they said word for word,” the twin with long hair responds. “This is making me paranoid!”

Crispin moves closer to you, Basilio puts a friendly arm around your shoulder, and you can only smile. All of you are inebriated and if you were sober, and if someone else dared to get this close to you, you might’ve slapped them. But you feel good about the Twins, and your roommates never put you in harm’s way, so your trust for them extended to the brothers, somehow.

“Just tell us already,” Crispin slurs. “Tell us what they said about us. We’re curious.”

“Fine, fine. Okay, Amie and Hannah mentioned your names when Maliksi suggested that we head here to drink. Then, I mentioned that your names came from Rizal’s novels.”

“Then Amie said,” you continued, pausing briefly to come up with an impression of your roommate’s speech. “‘Seriously though… Those two can totally make you scream their names louder than Sisa ever did! Best lay I ever had!’ Fuck, it was so messed up!”

“That’s messed up, alright,” Basilio sputters, his face a deep shade of crimson. “I’m this hot and those are the only details they can spare?!”

“Ok, but that Sisa joke was kind of funny though. But it was still fucked up,” Crispin adds, and he takes a sip of his drink.

“Hold your horses, the story’s not done yet,” you say. You’re starting to feel more confident around the two.

Your conversation went places, until you found yourselves drinking until three in the morning, and at that point, it’s only just the four of you in the bar; Hank, the Twins, and you. Even Hannah and Amie are nowhere to be seen. Knowing them, they probably took the tikbalangs they were flirting with back to your apartment.

They didn’t even wait for you. Looks like they’re really setting you up tonight. Maybe they wanted the apartment to themselves tonight, and they got exactly what they wanted.

You had planned on getting up to go to the restroom, but when you tried standing up, you almost fell from the chair. The Twins caught you before you landed face first against the floor.

“She’s had enough to drink,” Hank comments. They set you on a chair with a backrest. “How will she get home? We can’t send her off in a cab at this rate. The train doesn't run this late either.”

“Hannah left her behind too,” Crispin adds.

“Hey, how are we gonna deal with this?” Basilio asks. “We can get you home once we sober up a little. It’s fine if you-”

Basilio never got to finish what he was going to say, because you nodded off against his stomach, and puked your lunch out.

You don’t remember anything after that.

When you awaken, the sun is already high up, and the first thing that greets you is the fan in the ceiling. Your muscles are screaming at you, and your throat feels dry. Memories of last night came crashing back and you started sweating in horror. Maybe it’s just a drunken dream, but it felt all too real.

You were flirting with these gorgeous twins, had too much to drink, and at some point puked all over one of the twins’ shoes.

And now, you don’t know whose bedroom you are in. You check yourself, and you’re still wearing the same clothes, with nothing out of place. There are no bruises or marks on your body either. You looked around you, but there was no one else in the room.

The doors crack open slightly, and you see two pairs of void-black eyes.

“I… um… good morning?”

“It’s… already 2 in the afternoon,” one of them says. He has long hair. This one is the twin you threw up on.

“Why don’t you have some lunch?” the other one said.

You just nodded and said nothing else, ashamed of yourself. You threw up on one of them and now you’re eating at their table. You just wanted the ground to swallow you alive.

“Sorry for puking on you last night,” you near-whispered to Basilio after you swallowed your first bite of food.

The silence broke when Crispin roared with laughter, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. Meanwhile, Basilio was glaring daggers at his brother. He’s frowning like a child whose toy got taken from him. “Sure, keep laughing, kuya.”

“I’ll never show my face here again, I promise,” you say to them, hiding your face behind your hands.

“What’re you talking about? Forget about it. We’re friends now, right?” Basilio tells you, smiling. “But next time, vomit on my brother too.”

“No one’s throwing up because I won’t be allowing any of you to get wasted that bad ever again,” Hank announces as he enters the room with a carafe in his hand. “Bossing’s not gonna like it if the bar ends up smelling as bad as Basilio’s room. Here, have some coffee.”

“We should introduce you to bossing next time too. She’s not here at the moment,” Crispin adds. “Let’s do this again next week.”

The invitation made you smile, and you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You continued eating the rest of your meal.

“...my room doesn’t smell that, right?” Basilio asks after a few moments of silence.

“Gago, it stinks so bad. It’s why we made the guest stay at my room, because if she stayed at yours she could’ve died from how bad it is,” Crispin exclaims. “Seriously, how can you live with bringing women to your room at that point?”

“Kuya, you’re embarrassing me to our guest!”

Translations for non-Filipino speaking folks:

bossing: a somewhat affectionate way to say “boss”. Comes from the old tradition of adding -eng or -ing to ones name to make a nickname, e.g. Luciana - Lucing

Gago/gaga (ka): (you) idiot/moron - someone stupid, foolish or ignorant

Tikbalang: creature from Filipino mythology similar to a centaur. They are hulking beasts with a horse's head.

manong: a term for endearment to an elderly male relative, or elderly men in general. Originally an Ilokano term referring to the first born son in a nuclear family.

kuya: big brother. Can be used to refer to one's own older brother, someone else's older brother, or an older peer or male acquaintance.

II

Author’s Notes: This chapter was heavily inspired by Bita and the Botflies' song Manghuhula.

Warnings: brief scene of sexual harrassment

After washing up, the Twins accompanied you to the gate, exchanging glances at each other behind your back. Little did they know, you definitely noticed it.

“Wait,” Basilio says, tapping your shoulder lightly with a large hand.

Crispin takes his phone out of his pocket. His younger brother proceeds to do the same. “Give us your phone. We’ll add our numbers, and you can text us if something happens,” he says.

“Or when you get home safe,” Basilio adds.

You look at the two of them back and forth. “This isn’t just an elaborate excuse for the two of you to get my number, right?”

Neither of the two spoke, giving each other a nervous glance.

Their reaction made you laugh out loud, and you took out your phone from your bag. “Here. I’ll give you my Facespace too.”

With the tension broken, the three of you exchange a chuckle. You punch in your number in their phones, while they did the same to yours. Crispin looks over his brother’s shoulder and frowns.

“Epal,” Crispin says to his brother, snatching your phone away from him. The older twin types something in, and it’s the younger one’s turn to stick his nose in. Basilio attempts to get the phone back, cursing all the time.

“You’re going to break her phone, gago,” the older twin curses, pushing a palm against Basilio’s face. “Then let it go! You’re the epal, I wasn’t done yet,” the younger one snaps back.

You give them a look of irritation, and check out what they’re arguing about.

“What the hell are you two grown-ass men fighting about?” you ask as you butt in to look at what they’re doing.

A loud snort bubbles from you as you see it; Basilio added “the hot twin” next to his contact name. Crispin added “the hotter twin”. Now, the former wanted to outdo his older brother.

Against your better judgment, you say, “You’re twins. You look like each other. You’re both hot. Now stop fighting over my phone.”

Perhaps it’s the afternoon heat, but there is a tinge of red in their cheeks after your remark. You waved them goodbye as you got in a tricycle that’ll get you to the nearest train station.

The MRT, in some strange miraculous twist of fate, isn’t as packed as usual. It’s still populated, but there were a few seats waiting to be taken. You sit down somewhere away from direct sunlight, and you take out your phone to tell Hannah and Amie that you’re on the way home.

The first thing you see is a text from Basilio. Then, a text from Crispin. You tell them both that you’re on the train now, completely forgetting about messaging your roommates. To pass the time, you launch the Facespace app and decide to look up their profiles, only to find out that they’ve already sent you a friend request.

Upon seeing Crispin’s profile, you did your damn best to stifle a laugh.

His work description says “works at the Krusty Krab,” but that wasn’t the craziest thing about his profile. At first, the Bible verse in his bio caught you off guard, thinking that someone like him didn’t seem religious, but when you quickly looked up “Ezekiel 23:20,” you did your best not to howl with laughter.

Basilio’s isn’t any better.

In his work description, he put “Model at For Her Magazine,” and “edi sa puso mo.” Then you scroll down to see a thirst trap of him pulling his shirt up with his teeth, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks again. Well, at least that work description is believable.

They’re- what was that term your younger university friends were using again?- himbos.

They’re definitely himbos.

Arriving at your place, you slot your key inside the doorknob and twist. As you enter the door, the heavy, musky scent of sex and sweat hits your face, and you regret getting too wasted last night and losing your chance to hook up with one of the Twins.

Or both.

Both?

Regardless, at least they’ve invited you again to hang out next week.

You raise your eyebrow and cross your arms at the scene before you. Cans of beer litter the living room, and your roommates are taking a nap by the couch. A tikbalang comes out of the bathroom, glamor off, and you snort as you watch him duck under the door frame because of his massive height.

“It’s already four in the afternoon. Time to go, big guy.”

He nods awkwardly in acknowledgment, morphing into his human disguise, and exiting your apartment.

You sit between your roommates, rousing them from their sleep. “I’m not going to clean this mess up,” you tell them, motioning to the trashed state of the living room, and reaching for the remote to turn the TV on. You just want to take a shower afterwards and sleep in your own bed tonight.

After rubbing the sleep from their eyes, your roommates near-tackles you on the couch, a curious, excited look on their faces. You forgot all about what you were watching and stared at them in surprise.

“So how did it go? Did you get to hook up with any of them?” Amie asks.

“Or both of them?” Hannah adds.

“Gaga, nothing like that happened.”

The two of them let you go with disappointed looks on their faces. “So sayang! Here we were thinking you finally have a sex life,” one of them says as you lean back on the backrest, closing your eyes as they continue to pester you for details.

“Why are you two so determined to get me to screw someone?” you finally snapped, amused and irked at the same time.

“Because you’ve been doing nothing but totally stressing yourself out! See how super fun it is to let go every now and then?”

“Thanks for the new drinking buddies, girls, but I have my fingers to keep me company. Hookups are too much work,” you lie to them, eyes still closed.

“That’s a toe-curling, full-body orgasm you’re missing out on, girl!”

“That’s assuming that the person I’m with knows what they’re doing,” you retorted.

One of them pokes your side with an elbow, and you assume it’s Hannah. “The Twins do.”

You opened your eyes, and you guessed right; it’s Hannah. You give her a look, before rolling your eyes, appearing to look disinterested. The smirk tugging at the edge of your lips says otherwise, though.

“So what happened last night?” Amie asks.

“I got wasted and threw up on Basilio’s shoes. Then, I ended up sleeping in Crispin’s room. When I woke up, they fed me and sent me home,” you tell them. Your roommates giggle at the story.

“Ah, speaking of which, I gotta let them know I got home,” you said off-hand, and somehow the remark only spurred your wind people roommates on.

“Yieee, you’re friends with them on Facespace already!” Amie quips, leaning in to see what you’re typing. Playfully, you move your phone away from her to conceal what you’re typing.

“Make a group chat with them!” Hannah exclaims, taking your phone away from you. You tried taking it back, but Amie joins in the mischief and blocks you from doing so.

When you got your phone back, the deed was done, and the chat was renamed to a single eggplant emoji. The like button was replaced by an eggplant emoji too.

Panicking, you add your roommates to the group to avoid looking suspicious, and swiftly type up a defense.

“Please ignore that, Hannah made this chat using my account.”

The teasing never stopped after that.

Weeks passed and you never bothered to change it, though.

It’s been about two months since your first encounter with the Twins. You’re becoming a familiar face at The Diabolical, going every Saturday to see them. Sometimes Hannah and Amie didn’t accompany you anymore. You’ve met the Twins’ bossing a few times, who turned out to be none other than Alexandra Trese. You’ve heard of her exploits and the two imposing bodyguards who were almost always with her. It surprised you that they’re none other than the Twins you knew, but it made perfect sense. Those two were jacked, and those muscles aren’t only for show.

Of course, because of your increasing presence in the bar, it didn’t take long for the rumors to circulate. Word on the street is both of the Twins had a thing for you, and neither is making a move out of consideration for the other. They are waiting for you to move.

You elected to ignore them, perfectly happy with your arrangement of having two handsome men to keep you company while you unwind. The thought of getting together with one of them, or even both of them did cross your mind a few times, however.

Ultimately, you wouldn’t know what to do if the day comes that you’ll have to confront how you feel and choose between the two.

Do you have to?

Crispin and Basilio are twins, but they’re distinct from each other. The older is more serious, with a dryer sense of humor, while the younger is goofier, and somewhat softer. One complements the other, and they’re both good company despite their differences.

Speak of the devil. Your phone buzzes and you see that the eggplant chat is active. The Twins are inviting you to The Diabolical again.

“See you guys at eight,” you type in. Someone reacts with an eggplant to your message. Then the next few messages were nothing but eggplant emojis, followed by Basilio sending “#TeamTalong”. Crispin cusses him out for it, but sends the same message right after.

Yeah, that became a thing among the five of you.

You and the wind girls got dressed and took a taxi to the bar, your favorite jacket draped over your shoulders. Pressured by your roommates, you wore something nicer tonight; a black faux leather dress that hugs your figure deliciously. The shiny fabric added to the effect. The six bottles of Pulang Tikbalang beer the three of you shared before going out might’ve contributed to your newfound bravado.

But now that you’re actually wearing it outside your apartment, you feel a little reluctant.

“Maybe wearing this is a bad idea,” you mutter to no one in particular, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear out of self-consciousness.

Amie taps you from behind. “Oh hush, that outfit is totally sexy,” she comments. “Finally ready to get dicked down tonight, girl?”

“Shhh, gaga ka, manong driver can hear you.”

That didn’t deter them from making more inappropriate comments, much to the manong's ire.

It’s nine already when you get there, you’re in the Philippines after all. The merriment is already in full swing when you step through the door. Hannah and Amie went ahead and sat next to their lay of the week. The Twins wave you over from their usual spot, but before you can reach them, a man you’ve never seen before tries to get your attention, snaking an arm around your waist.

“Hey baby. You’re a regular here, right? Want to drink with me?”

“Sorry, I’m here with someone else,” you tell him, moving away.

“Ah, here to see the Twins? Why don’t you ditch them for a change of pace and come with me, babe?”

“Not interested,” you flat out said. “Please move, or I’ll make you move.”

To your surprise, the man drops his glamor and reveals himself to be a kapre. He looms over you, cigar in his mouth, and you can feel the tension rising. People are starting to stare, and your friends took notice of it too.

“Try,” he huffs, puffing smoke to your face. You give him a sour glare while trying not to cough.

Before your roommates or the Twins could come to your aid, you panicked and saw an empty bottle of Pulang Tikbalang on a nearby table. Emboldened by the alcohol in your veins, you shatter the bottle and point the jagged edge at the hulking beast, hands shaking. You are a tiny thing compared to the enormous creature before you, after all.

“Don’t you dare look down on me.”

“Already doing that, honey.”

“I’m not your honey,” you say as you press the edge against his stomach, not enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt.

“I love it when they fight back,” the kapre croons.

Under the haze of alcohol, you were more than ready to shove the edge in, consequences be damned.

Before things could escalate, Crispin takes the broken bottle off of your hands and steers you away from the stranger, while Basilio steps in to defuse the tension. “Hey, why don’t you back off, pal? Our friend said no. You wouldn’t want us to tell our bossing to ban you from the place because of this misunderstanding now, don’t you?”

Heart in your throat, you turn to the Twins, then to the kapre. The tree giant pauses, looking at the three of you, then smirks.

“Heh. Fine. But if you torpe whelps don’t make a move, I will.”

The giant puts his glamor back on and skulks away.

“Wow, what a jerk! He only left you alone when the boys stepped in,” Hannah quips, tossing her hair in indignation.

“You almost didn’t need rescuing, but I’d hate to help Hank mop the blood off the floor later,” Basilio comments, nudging you gently with an elbow. His eyes go a little lower from your face, and you see him look away.

You realized Crispin hasn’t let go of you yet.

“C’mon, let’s just go,” you tell everyone. Crispin proceeds to remove his hand away from your shoulder, and you take your usual seats by the bar.

The bar is loud, but the silence between the three of you is deafening. Even Hank seems to have taken notice, eyeing your usually loud and cheerful group.

“What’s up with you three? What happened back there?” the older man asks, leaning over the bar top.

“Just a handsy kapre who couldn’t take no for an answer. I won’t let it spoil the night,” you answer him.

“That’s the spirit. Holler if he tries something like that again, I’ll have him kicked out,” Hank replies, setting down three ice-cold beers in front of you guys.

Yet somehow, the conversation never livened up.

Three bottles of Pulang Tikbalang later, you’ve had enough.

“This is about what that kapre said, isn’t it?” you finally say, slightly pissed.

The Twins look at each other with guilty expressions, and simultaneously nod.

“Do you boys wanna talk about it?”

They look at each other again. “Shit, this is awkward,” Crispin comments, scratching his head. Basilio nods in agreement, uncharacteristically silent. “We didn’t want to pressure you into anything you didn’t want to do,” the older twin continues.

“Look, I don’t want to ruin my relationship with my kuya just because we’re interested in the same girl,” Basilio says. “Same here,” Crispin adds.

“So we were waiting for you to make your own move,” Basilio continues.

“Ah. So the rumors are true,” you sighed.

“We’ll accept whatever outcome there is. If you choose me, or Basilio, or neither because this is fucking messy, we totally get it,” the older twin says, leaning back to stare at the ceiling.

Now the decision rests in your hands.

“Why don’t we talk about this somewhere more private?” you ask them.

You watch as both of them gulp. “Where do you wanna talk?” Basilio asks.

“Anywhere private.”

“I just cleaned my room earlier. Why don’t we continue this there?”

You nod, and they lead you away from the bar.

Looks like it’s going to be a long night.

Translations for non-Filipino speakers:

epal: in Filipino slang, usually refers to a person who inappropriately presents himself in a situation or butts into a conversation.

kapre: a tree-giant from Filipino mythology. Often described as very tall, dark, and hairy. Almost never seen without a cigar.

sayang: literally means waste. Can be used alone as an expression similar to "what a waste!"

torpe: someone who cannot spit their romantic or sexual feelings out to a crush or love interest

III

Author’s Notes:

Warnings: Smut. Filthy smut. Writer-is-definitely-going-to-the-second-circle-of-the-Seven-Circles-of-Hell-levels-of-filthy smut. Bawal bata, tulog na. If you're under 18 please turn back.

After the door closes behind the three of you, you sit on the bed, while Crispin sits on a chair near his brother’s desk. Basilio locks the door, and leans against it, unable to look at you.

“Right. So. How are we going to deal with this?” you ask them, crossing your legs.

“Don’t ask us,” Crispin says, swiveling the chair to face you. “You’re the one caught in the middle after all.”

Curse his choice of words.

“This is too weird,” Basilio speaks up. “If you want me to unlock the door, just say the word. We can walk out of this like nothing happened.”

“And then what? Things are going to be awkward between the three of us, I just know it,” you say to him, palming the back of your neck. “Things might get awkward with Amie and Hannah too, and I live with them. I don’t want our tropa to disband just because of relationship drama.”

“What about Amie and Hannah? Is it because we have history with those two?” Crispin asks.

“They’ve been trying to set me up with either of you. The fact that they also slept with you in the past also doesn’t help. Shit, this is messy.”

“Er, um,” Basilio stutters. “That might’ve been our fault.”

You furrow your brow and cross your arms. “Keep going.”

The Twins look at each other, as if gauging who should explain the situation. “So, we remained in contact after being used as a prize for bossing’s race with Maliksi, right?” Crispin starts.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, they mentioned a third roommate in passing and joked about lending us to her. Of course we blew them off, then Amie showed us a picture of you. We got curious and asked them to introduce you,” Basilio continues.

“I didn’t expect us five to become friends. And now we’re in this mess,” Crispin adds.

You look at them back and forth, and laugh in resignation. Elbows digging against your lap and palms pressed against your face, you rub your face and run it through your hair. “Amazing. Just amazing. See, I have a problem too.”

The Twins didn’t respond, eyes fixated on you.

“I like the two of you.”

You feel the air shift around you. Basilio’s standing upright by the door now, and Crispin straightened up too. The room is so quiet, you can hear them gulp in anticipation for what will happen next.

“There. I said it. The reason why I haven’t made a move at all is because of this exact moment that I was dreading. I didn’t want to choose,” you admit, feeling the blood rush to your head. “I just wanted for us three to stay like that, drinking buddies sprinkled with sexual tension.”

“And you’re in the middle, enjoying our attention,” Crispin says, crossing his arms.

“Selfish, I know,” you admit, head hanging low.

This is it, the moment that can make or break you three.

“Us three. If only...” you whisper, only for the words to fall flat on your tongue

You stand up, gathering your things and carrying your bag. “Nevermind. What a mess we’re in. I’ll go so you two can sort things out between the two of you. It’s been a fun ride.”

Basilio doesn’t move from the door, and behind you, you can hear Crispin getting up from his seat.

“We can still make this work, right kuya?” Basilio starts, looking over your head to give his brother a knowing look.

“Yeah, I think so,” Crispin replies. “What was that you said? The three of us?”

Your eyes widen, and you look at them back and forth. Their bodies are dangerously close to yours. Now you’re literally caught in the middle.

“I- uh…”

“I think we can work out an arrangement,” Basilio whispers, one hand moving to hold yours.

“Only if you want to,” Crispin adds, his breath kissing the back of your neck.

“I don’t want to lose either of you,” Basilio adds.

“Same here.”

Damn it all.

Giving in to your darkest, most hidden desires, you lean in to capture Basilio’s lips with yours, leaving his black eyes wide open in surprise. They flutter close, and he savors the kiss, slipping a tongue in. Then you turn to Crispin, and you give him the same sweet kiss as well.

“Damn, I didn’t mean like, now,” Basilio mutters, feeling the front of his trousers get tighter as he watches you make out with his brother.

Bringing your attention back to the younger twin, you loosen his tie, while you push out your ass to grind against Crispin. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all.”

“Wait, are you sure about this? All of us drank tonight… we don’t want you to do something you’ll regret,” Crispin says, moving his hips away from you. Basilio pauses too, and wraps his hands around your wrists to still your hands, a look of concern on his face.

“Kuya’s right.”

“I’m a grown woman. I might’ve had a few bottles, but I know what I want,” you reassure them, waiting for the two to make a move. “I know I want you two for months.”

Basilio lets go of your hands and lets you do as you please, a cocky smirk on his lips. Behind you, you can feel Crispin’s gloved hands reaching for the zipper of your dress. “Really? How much do you want us? C’mon, say it,” Basilio asks, moving in to place kisses on your neck.

“I wanna hear it too,” Crispin whispers against your shoulder, and he punctuates it with a light kiss.

All of a sudden, you felt shy at the prospect of confessing your fantasies out loud. “Why don’t I just show you boys?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this one,” Basilio teases. “Consider it as payback for throwing up all over my shoes.”

“You’re still- ah!- mad about that?” you ask him, gasping in the middle of doing so when you felt a hand snake between your legs from behind. The older twin slips his fingers past your underwear, circling your clit with slow strokes.

“Not mad, I just want things to be fair,” Basilio teases, pulling your dress down. He gives your breasts a squeeze, fondling and rolling your nipples until they harden, and he seals his lips over your right one. Crispin moves from behind you and he takes his place next to his twin, lathing his tongue over the left. All four of their hands pawed at your flesh greedily.

You were at a loss for words because of how good they’re making you feel, soft moans bubbling from your throat.

“Speechless already, huh?” Crispin mumbles against your skin.

“Ngh! The wind girls weren’t lying, you two know what you’re doing,” you gasped, face flushed as you watched the Twins lavish their attention on your breasts.

“Shhh, stop changing the subject. Play along, or neither of us will make you cum,” he adds, pausing to give you a teasing lick, and resting his tongue on top of the hardened bud. On the other hand, Basilio is sucking like a starved babe while squeezing your still clothed behind.

You fake a scoff of indignation and grin. “Fine. I- oh fuck- want you two so much, I’ve been fantasizing for weeks.”

Basilio pauses to address you. “Describe them.”

You’re a little mortified, but the alcohol in your system pushes you to be bolder. “I imagined Basilio punishing me for ruining his shoes.”

“And how did he do that?” Crispin’s voice.

“He asked me to suck him off,” you start, and a pinch on your bottom from the subject of your fantasy tells you that he wanted to hear more details. “He fucked my face while pulling my hair and told me how good I was the whole time and that he forgave me.”

“What about me? What fantasies did you have?” Crispin asks again.

Your breath hitched in your throat but you pushed on. “Hearing how you scolded Basilio, I imagined you taking me from behind and saying the meanest, dirtiest things possible.”

The Twins looked at each other, and stopped, their lips leaving your breasts with a lewd pop. “You want to make them all come true?” Basilio asks.

Cheeks burning, you give them a curt nod.

The two of them lead you to the bed, where Crispin puts you on all fours, and he takes his place from behind. On the other hand, Basilio is standing near the edge of the bed, the bulge in his pants inches away from your face. You stare at it, licking your lips.

As you undid Basilio’s pants, he shrugs off his suit jacket and takes off his tie, then he takes off his dress shirt, revealing his abs and the trail of dark hair on his lower abdomen, disappearing into his briefs. From behind, you hear fabric shifting, then Crispin peels your panties off of you. He brings a gloved hand against your skin in a loud smack, making you cry out.

“Ah, wait, we need a safeword,” Crispin mentions, soothingly squeezing your skin.

“What about Eternos?” Basilio suggests, and Crispin cocks an eyebrow. “Wait, you mean, like the game?”

You stifle a laugh. “I’m fine with it,” you say to them, and they take it as a signal to continue.

The older twin dips a gloved finger between your folds, gathering your wetness, and tsked. “Look at you, already so fucking wet. You want this so much, huh?”

You nod frantically, then Basilio stills your head. “Open your mouth, baby. Tongue out.”

You oblige, and Basilio fishes his cock out of his briefs. Your eyes grow wider as you take in the sight of it; girthy, with a nice length, and a few veins running on the underside. You wonder if Crispin’s is the same. The twin in front of you lightly smacks his member against your tongue, and you proceed to lick it, running from the base to the tip, slicking it with saliva. You swirl your tongue around it, then try to slide it in your mouth as smoothly as possible.

As Basilio begins to breathe harder with each bob of your head, Crispin pulls your ass towards his face, and a choked moan escapes your lips as you feel his mouth on your heat, toying with your folds before he finally finds that sensitive nub. The older twin proceeds to lick and suck at it, eating you out like you’re the best damn meal of his life.

Meanwhile, you push a palm against Basilio’s thigh to make him pause, and before he can ask you if you’re fine, you take his balls in your mouth and fondle him with your tongue. Your hand pumps his neglected cock as you did so.

“Shit! Your mouth feels so damn good,” he hisses, breathing hard. When you take his dick back into your mouth, Basilio gathers your hair and uses it as a handle, watching his length disappear in your mouth over and over, his black eyes hazy with lust and his mouth whispering words of praise.

Crispin looks at his brother with a hint of envy, cock painfully hard against his trousers. He unzips it for relief, and proceeds to stroke himself as he continues to prepare you.

“Hey, Basilio, got any lube?”

“Um, there’s- ungh- a bottle of it under the pillow.”

“...you keep lube under your pillow? What the- and condoms? Can’t you put them in your drawers or something?”

Basilio doesn’t give his brother a response and focuses his attention on you. You gasp against his cock as you felt a cold, gloved hand prod against your asshole, and goosebumps formed on your flesh as you felt the cold lubricant smearing against your entrance. Crispin pushes his lubed thumb in, and you cry out in pleasure, your jaw opening wider for Basilio to claim. Then, two more fingers prod at your pussy, and you swear you can see stars as they slid in. The older twin toys with you while eating you out, and you feel a knot forming at the base of your stomach, threatening to uncoil at any moment.

You couldn’t take it. Basilio’s cock slides out of your mouth and you look over your shoulder, moaning and panting.

Crispin pauses from eating you out to ask you a question. “You’re gonna cum? You wanna cum on my fingers like the filthy slut you are?”

“Yes, please, please, let me cum,” you begged, and with a devilish smirk, Crispin dives right back in to finish the job.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the pleasure inside you exploded, shameless moans coming from your throat as your first orgasm hits you. Basilio watches the look of pleasure on your face as Crispin makes you cum, making his cock twitch.

“Now that’s how you please a woman,” Crispin teases, shooting his brother a challenging look while wiping your juices off of his face.

“Wait until it’s my turn,” Basilio replies, smirking.

Panting, legs wobbling, you didn’t get to rest as Crispin takes his cock and slides it in you. In front of you, Basilio cups your face and directs you back to his cock, smirking. “You’re doing so well, baby. You’re taking us like a champ, you know that?”

“Fuck,” Crispin hisses from behind you. “You like this, you little slut? You like being fucked by two cocks at the same time?” he asks you, each word punctuated with a hard thrust.

Now you’re really caught in the middle.

Basilio’s panting heavily now, his thrusts becoming erratic against your mouth. You know he’s close, and you brace yourself for what’s coming. Eyes screwed shut, he lets out a low groan as he spills inside of your mouth, his cum painting your tongue white. You try to swallow it all, but a few stray drops dribble down your chin. The younger twin cleans you up, and kisses you deeply, not minding his taste on your mouth. He sits on the bed to catch his breath, and allows you to rest on his thighs.

Behind you, Crispin begins to rut faster, his thumb still in your ass as he pounded you. You writhe and cry against Basilio’s lap, bracing yourself from each harsh thrust. The younger twin pets your hair, but he moves his hand away when Crispin pushes your head against his brother’s lap.

“Take it all of it,” Crispin groans. “Ungh, you make me so horny, you little slut.”

Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Basilio gets an idea.

“Hey, kuya. Hold her up.”

Crispin blinks before obliging his brother’s request, clamping a hand around your throat. “Is this fine?” he asks you, and you nod a few times. He tightens his hold and pulls you to his toned chest, your hair sticking to his skin from your sweat. Basilio kisses you, then latches on one of your breasts. One gloved hand fondles and pulls at your nipples, while the other moves south to stroke you.

“Ah! I think I’m gonna cum again…” you choked, face red and tears forming at the edge of your eyes.

“Say our names,” Crispin whispers against your ear in a low growl.

You mutter their names at first, but it turns to full blown cries as your climax fast approaches.

“Crispin! Basilio!”

It hits you so hard, your eyes roll to the back of your head. You cried shamelessly, and Crispin places a kiss on your open mouth, tongue slipping in and teeth clashing with yours. He pulls out and finishes on your back, cock resting between the valley of your cheeks, still half-hard.

The Twins move to clean you up, looking around for tissues and anything to wipe you with.

“So,” Basilio says. “One more round?”

Your eyes widen, and you look down to see that Basilio is hard again.

“How- what the fuck? What are you two?”

Crispin sighs. “Hannah and Amie never told you? We’re demigods.”

“We don’t get sick and our injuries heal really fast. Talagbusao is our dad,” Basilio adds, and you give him a disbelieving glare.

“You didn’t need to let that last detail slip out, gago,” Crispin berates him as he pulls you close to his muscular chest. He lay down on a pillow, one arm propping his head up.

After a few seconds of silence, you say something. “At least let me have some water first.”

“Right.”

The Twins stare at each other.

“One of us has to fetch it,” Crispin says.

“What? Why me?” Basilio complains, scratching his head.

“Because I’m older, and I’ve worked hard to give her two orgasms in a row.”

“Hey! I’m sure that last one was thanks to me.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow to cover your face. “Ugh, please don’t turn this into a competition about who made me cum the most. Just get me my water, pretty please, Basilio?”

At the request, Basilio smiles and dresses haphazardly to get it for you. “Don’t start without me.”

You close your eyes with a smile. Crispin buries his face against your hair and plays with it. “You have him wrapped around your finger, you know?”

You chuckle at the remark, and Crispin kisses your temple. “Just don’t hurt my little brother.”

“I have no intention of hurting either of you,” you tell him.

Basilio comes back with a pitcher and some glasses, and once everyone’s hydrated and ready, the night continues.

The Twins spoil you with their attention, hands roaming your body as they planted kisses on your skin. Basilio sucks on your collarbone, biting experimentally and leaving marks that would darken in the morning, which draws a whine from your throat. Not wanting to be outdone, Crispin kisses your back, then the back of your neck, and he found a sweet spot that made you moan at that place where your ear connects to your neck. Basilio observes this and does the same to the other side.

“Hey, um, can I do it in your ass?” Crispin whispers in your ear, almost sheepishly, and you stare at him for a few seconds before nodding.

“Sure. Be gentle. And use a condom.”

“Of course. You go on top. What’s our safeword again?” he asks you, testing your knowledge.

You roll your eyes and try not to laugh. “Eternos.”

“Good girl,” Basilio says.

Flipping yourself around, you lean into Crispin’s lap. “Here, let me help,” you say as you grasp his cock and start to pump. The younger twin behind you reaches for the lube and prepares your ass. You sigh with pleasure as you feel the cold sensation of the product on your skin. Crispin sighs as you slide his length between your lips, head bobbing up and down, and you feel him grow inside your mouth. You give the tip a small lick before doing the same thing you did to Basilio, cupping his balls with your mouth and fondling them with your tongue.

“I want you now,” Crispin rasps, tugging your hair to get you off of him.

You smirk, turning around to give him a great view of your ass. He reaches around for a condom, finds one, and tears the foil open. After sliding the rubber down his shaft, he positions himself against your hole, pressing against the tight ring of muscle. You wince in pain as he starts penetrating you, prompting him to squeeze more lube to relieve your discomfort.

“Relax,” Basilio instructs you, planting soothing kisses at your jaw. You did as he said and unclenched your muscles, entrusting yourself to the two of them.

As Crispin pushes past the ring of muscle, you sigh in relief, discomfort replaced with the feeling of fullness. You lean back into his hard chest, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he starts to move. Meanwhile, Basilio kneels between your legs, rubbing your clit with the head of his dripping cock, but he freezes before he slides it in.

“What?” you ask with concern.

“We’re out of condoms.”

“Just pull out,” you tell him with a strained voice, gasping as Crispin moves inside you.

“No, you don’t understand. We’re demigods. Our… um.. Yeah, we’re really potent.”

You smirk at him. “I’ll ask the girls for something in the morning,” you say against your better judgment. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Cum all over me.”

His cock twitches at your last suggestion.

“Ugh, Basilio, you’re really killing the mood here,” Crispin strains to say, holding you gently by the neck. “I pulled out too, remember? Make up your mind already. I wouldn’t mind having her to myself for now, though.”

“Not a chance,” Basilio retorts, sliding the tip of his cock past your folds and pushing inside.

A loud cry rips from your throat at the sensations, feeling stuffed to the maximum as two cocks start to pump inside you. Crispin’s grip on your neck tightens, while you tangle your hands through Basilio’s hair, pulling him closer and kissing him.

Soon, The Twins find a steady rhythm, syncing their movement so you can feel the full force of their thrusts. Basilio throws one of your legs over his shoulder and begins to massage your clit with his thumb, while Crispin fondles your breasts with his free hand, using the tip of his fingers to roll, squeeze, and pull at your nubs. With every thrust they give, you clench, drawing a groan from both of them as they felt themselves being squeezed by your muscles.

“Oh God,” you whine. “Fuck, you both feel so good.”

“Say our names,” Basilio growls, and you oblige.

You chant their names like a prayer, underscored by the slapping of skin as the Twins fucked both of your holes. Hearing their names only spurred them on, and their movements became more desperate, sweat rolling off of your bodies.

“Basilio! Crispin!”

Underneath you, Crispin gropes at your breast harder, beads of sweat rolling off of his forehead and dripping to your skin. “Your ass feels too good, I’m gonna cum,” he hissed between clenched teeth, and you silently thank Bathala that he’s near his limit. The lube is starting to wash off.

With a few more rough thrusts, he cums, shooting inside the rubber. Crispin cups your jaw and kisses you, deep and sweet, tasting your tongue. You’re on the verge of climax now too, and you give Basilio a desperate look. He understood what you meant.

The younger twin thrusts harder and faster while still rubbing that sensitive nub between your legs furiously, and the older one helps by stimulating your nipples once again. The bombardment of sensation is too much, and you feel white hot heat racing through your body as you cum one last time, voice hoarse as a throaty moan escapes past your open mouth.

The spasm of your muscles is enough to send Basilio over the edge too, pulling out of you and spilling his load all over the mound of your pussy, and your stomach. You feel Crispin slip out of you too. Basilio leans in to kiss you, almost tenderly, but still full of desperation, tongue and teeth.

After a quick cleanup and another drink of water, the three of you lay in a heap of limbs, exhausted. Crispin doesn’t shift at all, content on letting you lie next to him, while Basilio moves next to you, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them on the narrow bed.

Everyone is sated, and with your eyes growing heavy, you wanted nothing but sleep.

“So, who’s better?”

You don’t know who said it, but you raised your hand to give him a middle finger. “Tangina niyo, you’re both good. End of discussion. Now please let me sleep.”

Thank Bathala that they did.

The next morning, all three of you wake up sweaty, stinking, and really, really hungry.

“Good morning to you two,” you sigh, snaking your arms around theirs. Each of them gave you a kiss on your temple. “Damn, I’m starving,” you said, sitting up. “Let’s take a shower and grab something to e-”

Underneath the three of you, the bed’s legs give out, and a loud thud can be heard throughout the house. As you three scramble for purchase, frantic footsteps are approaching, and the door bursts open.

“What was that? Crispin is missing from his room and-” Hank blurts, toting his good ol’ triple barrel shotgun "Ama, Anak, at, Espiritu Santo". Funnily enough, when he sees the tangle of limbs before him, he utters the same words and quickly turns away. Alexandra arrives shortly after, gives them a quick glance, and shuts the door.

Breakfast with their bossing is filled with a mortifying quiet.

You barely touch your food, embarrassment burning your cheeks, and you shoot a glance at your twin lovers.

“Next time, lock the door,” Alex finally says, getting up from the table with a coffee in her hands. She’s too fucking exhausted to deal with this.

“It’s Basilio’s fault!” Crispin yells after her. Basilio made no attempts to defend himself, knowing that he forgot to lock the door again after he came back with the water.

Grumbling, you finally take a bite of your breakfast, jacket draped over your shoulders despite the heat to hide the bruises on your body. “The girls are gonna have a field day when they see me like this.”

“I need to replace the bed,” Basilio mumbles, stuffing his mouth with rice.

The three of you looked at each other, and laughed.

“So, see you next week?” Crispin asks with a smile, and Basilio gives you a pleading, doe-eyed look.

“Yeah. See you two next week.”

Translations for non-English speakers:

tropa: ground of friends. People you chill with

tangina niyo: Filipino profanity. Roughly translates to "you sons of bitches"

Ama, Anak, at Espiritu Santo: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It’s Hank’s weapon’s actual name in the comics.

[inventors-fair]

Lessons Unlearned: Short Story Commentary and Reflection

Well. 21 entries isn’t exactly a 50+ commander extravaganza, but that’s where we’re at. This contest made a lot of sense to me, in my own head, and I think I got lost in the concept without considering the full execution, or that Other People Might Not Think Quite Exactly Like Me. 

Still, I would say that almost all the entries created their own unique worlds, some plane-based, some personal, and it made for great and creative reading. I feel that something more concrete would help a contest like this in the future, like... Well, I’ll have to save that for another time.

Onto the commentary!

@abzanhero — Captain Morgan the Vengeful

The Card: It’s interesting design space you’re playing with here, and I’m actually a fan. You could pump him up to a 2/2 for a little battlefield presence, but it’s not out of the question. The fact that there’s not consistent graveyard tutelage means that he’s not as overpowered as he could be, and it’s only one counter, which... Admittedly, it’s powerful, but there are a few moving parts to make this less than incredibly overpowered. I’d rather the trigger happen at the end step for that “final fate” feel, personally. Minor templating: “shuffle it into your library” (only planeswalkers get personal pronouns), and I think contemporary design supports “when you do” as a trigger to respond to instead of “if you do.” 

The Story: Ha, it rhymes! ... And yeah, it doesn’t precisely explain the ins and outs of the curse, but it’s swashbuckling as hell. It’s one degree off-kilter to have a rhyme that isn’t part of a meta-tale, but I like it, so. I can imagine younger players doing their best pirate voice as they shuffle him (the character, not the card, I know, pedantry) into their library. Arr.

@dimestoretajic — Eternal Bond

The Card: I had to go through the Zendikar image gallery to make sure, but yeah, “party members” isn’t a term. I believe this card would read “Exile two target creatures in a party. (reminder text)” And it would be “combined” toughness, right? Either way, this is a hyperspecific and expensive removal spell, at rare, with a modest amount of lifegain. That simply doesn’t feel good, and I’m not getting a feeling of a “bond” out of, well, a removal spell. Let’s move on.

The Story: So, a kind of love story, framed around a removal spell? That already doesn’t make a lot of sense. I don’t have anything positive to say about the writing itself, so for Magic critique, I’ll say that it doesn’t feel like a Magic card or part of a Magic world, absolutely not Zendikar. There’s a time and place for those kinds of cards, such as Cathartic Reunion and Planewide Celebration. But Magic doesn’t need single-card love stories, unless they’re remarkably well-written.

@fractured-infinity — Baddon, Rivstalt’s End

The Card: Okay, that IS a real town in Innistrad. Had to check that. Anyway, man, someone would love to make a commander out of this bad boy. Kinda eh that he doesn’t do anything specific on his own, but the death effect is cool as-is, I suppose. The only issue is that HOO BOY you are going to have a LOT of memory issues with all your Zombie tokens capital Z. It’s flavorful and I think it would be worth doing, but the second part... Nah, keep it simple. 3UB, no protection, just Zombies, and you’re golden.

The Story: I’m having a really hard time parsing your writing. It took a couple reads to understand that he’s talking about... Well, actually, I don’t know. What do emotional bonds have to do with taking the town, or damaging the bodies? How does that work? Do we get that anywhere else in the story? Hate to say it, but this little snippet doesn’t really make much sense in or out of context, without heavy inference about the world that we don’t really get.

@gollumni — Tempest Serpent

The Card: I love the idea of off-color emerge! Emerge was a fantastic mechanic and I feel that it could come back again. It creates some really neat draft ideas that unfortunately may bend a lot of the pie rules. But also. A three mana 3/3 flying hexproof? That’s OP at uncommon, no question, good lord. Small templating note: Flying comes before hexproof, and the second should be lowercase.

The Story: I can just see the art of a guy on a boat cowering as the ship snaps in half and a massive stormy elemental electric snake monster BLOWS UP outta the ocean ready to eat him. It’s cool how it’s not about the serpent itself, but rather the human/NPC interacting with the serpent. It’s not Hemingway, but you conveyed something great! I liked this story.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Gravedigger of the Order

The Card: I don’t get how all these parts come together. Pro zombies, sure, she’s a zombie caller. The blocking/blocked trigger, uh, I don’t see that coming up a lot considering that she’s only a 2/2 with no significant combat-oriented keywords. And the last ability implies a strong return mechanic that I’ll admit makes a lot of cool sense with your flavor but doesn’t translate to perfect gameplay. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t grok this card, but it feels like there was cohesion sacrificed in favor of flavor.

The Story: Well, this sure as heck ain’t Innistrad. I’m curious about where this would take place, and what kind of world you’re going for here. Let’s try looking at it from an isolated perspective. It’s an alright macabre story, so I’ll give you that. But the name. What is the “Order?” Is she part of it? Do all members of the order whisper to bones like her? I don’t understand her goals and motivations, what “kindness” she whispers, why the dead are coming back at all.

@ignorantturtlegaming — Demonic Mentor

The Card: It feels unplayable and yet extremely playable at the same time. It’s expensive and creates some really crazy shenanigans in Commander with surplus life. Oh my goodness, Oloro would LOVE this card, good GOD. It’s unfortunate that it does have to be costed this way and that it makes sense for a tutor. I believe the wording could be adjusted to one chunk of text: (using Covetous Urge and Thief of Sanity as references)

“Search target player’s library for up to X cards and exile them, then that player shuffles their library and you lose X life. You may cast those cards for as long as they remain exiled and you may spend mana as though it were mana of any color to cast those spells.”

The Story: I don’t get it. What does having  a demonic mentor have to do with brother rescue? I assume this is part of a larger story, but we don’t have that story for context, and mentorship doesn’t have to do with rescue. This is a card about tutelage and power and losing life, not losing a mind. The library is so often represented as the mind, and you’re not losing that, you’re saving part of it. Really iffy on this one, despite the coolness of the card. Also, watch out - you switched tenses in the second sentence. 

@macaroni-and-squeez — The Iroan Race

The Card: RRR for haste, sure, whatever, that’s fine in this day and age, if a little color-heavy. But this card isn’t meant for limited. This is a build-around-me if I ever saw one. “Four instances of haste”?? I don’t want to call that brilliant because it frustrates my sensibilities, but dammitall, it’s...it works. For those of you doubting me, the Zendikar Rising release notes for Attended Healer states “Multiple instances of lifelink on the same creature are redundant.” So, if that is to be believed, this card is designed for some combo player to go nuts with haste nonsense. Or maybe I’m just reading it wrong. Either way, I like this card. But I would make it win the game for you, not anyone else.

The Story: Sure, I’m into it. A guy running a race for Iroas checks out. I would have condensed it a little, but in general, yeah, it fits the world and makes a neat little story. I’m really hung up on the name “Kris.” That...doesn’t feel like a fantasy name as much. I mean, we have things like Gideon, and Judith, etc. but Kris? I can’t help but feel that it’s a smidge too out of touch with Theros worldbuilding. Yay, nitpicks.

@milkandraspberry — Burn Down the Library

The Card: Conceptually, this card is pretty cool. Very strange. It’s a different take on anti-blueness in red, and I can go for it. Sorry about MSE and fonts. Reinstallation is a pain but it’s possible. Anyway. I wouldn’t call this card a breakout all-star, but it would be...fun, I suppose. A good combat trick enchantment thing. Shame it doesn’t do much if you have an empty hand. With wording: Use “can’t” instead of ���cannot cannot.” Use “cast blue spells” instead of “play;” that’s been phased out for a while. You also can’t discard spells, but you can discard blue CARDS. Question: what if you couldn’t cast blue spells from your hand? Eh? Eh? Flashback and madness? Ehhhhhh?

The Story: This time, I’ll give an example of how this could be shortened. “After years of fruitless study, the young scholar found a better use for her teacher’s wisdom.” Maybe “frustrated young scholar,” or something to give her motivation. Why is she burning down the library? That’s the most important question to ask. “Because she felt like it” is the obvious answer, but that’s not motivation, that’s not intrigue. We have to ask “why,” always. Your story makes sense, but it’s just on the brink of great characterization.

@nine-effing-hells — Arch-Evoker’s Capstone

The Card: I want to like it, and I probably do. I don’t know what kind of deck would play it, as it feels like a Commander card for sure, but yeah, I think I do like it. It’s got powerful stuff attached to it with very red sensibilities. The land destruction is pretty wild, but it’s expensive as hell. Or is it? Five mana to destroy two lands... That’s actually, hm. That’s actually really, really, super strong if this were to see any limited play. You may even have to make it XXRR to get around that if you want to keep that effect. Land destruction is unfun. (I <3 Ponza though, so)

The Story: With this specific card, I wouldn’t have recommended also adding three lines of flavor text on top of four paragraphs of rules text. Additionally, um, I don’t get that last line. “It wasn’t every day the horizon was on fire for a week straight”? It’s exerting too much effort without a strong effect on the reader. Edit and save for a card without as much rules text.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff — Spiraling Depression

The Card: Buries? What opponent? Is this targeting? Is this an edict effect? Least power among creature they control, I assume? I legitimately don’t know what you’re trying to do with this card. Wretched Banquet-esque?

The Story: Instead of attempting to give this flavor text legitimate critique, I would instead advise you that referencing real-world conditions such as “spiraling depression” without a critical lens might appear as insensitive to individuals legitimately suffering from those conditions.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Blazing Sacrifice

The Card: I really love this card, actually. The choice to do CMC over power I would argue requires playtesting, and I would prefer power to compare to other cards in the family such as the lovely Fling, but I can see the argument against it. Yeah, not much to critique or add onto that front. You made a really great card mechanically.

The Story: And then the story lost me entirely. “monsters that would surely go on to destroy everything he loved” is clunky to say the least. “Surrounded by monsters” is fine, it’s decent, it gets the job done. Monsters are monsters, that’s that. But that last line. That’s...a D&D reference, right? I can’t take that seriously, I just can’t. It’s verging on cliche, and it makes sense on a rudimentary level but adds nothing to the Magic world. I’ll be the first to say that yes, it’s personal bias and that some players would appreciate the memetic qualities, but it simply doesn’t do it for me.

@scavenger98 — Walking Stick

The Card: It...is a stick. You know, I think I like this one, and frankly I would consider it for constructed play. I’m a Krenko guy, what can I say. But yeah, it’s fun, it’s fragile, it’s got good equip synergy, and I might actually be underestimating its power. I don’t know, is there some crazy combo that you could do with it? This stick is made for walking, not fighting. Heh. Good flavor tie.

The Story: And there it is, right? It’s kinda funny how it’s implied that the whole story about this thing is that this piece of equipment is breaking. And that’s kinda what makes me on the fence about it. Like, if you had a creature, and the text was about the creature dying, that wouldn’t make a lot of sense, right? Maybe if the text was about Bredik fearing the day when he WOULD face a sword? Eh, I’m just being picky here. I think that it’s still pretty good. I like Bredik. He’s not a fighter, but he walks very fast.

@tmstage — Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

The Card: Yeah, once again, looking at Zendy Risey, I think the wording would be different than “full party.” I’ve been sitting here and I can’t come up with a better way to word it, but it still doesn’t mesh well even if it groks. And it’s a situational card that’s either going to do literally nothing or it’s going to destroy four creatures for one mana. That’s...not great. Hey. I understand if you don’t like a specific mechanic, but I’ve seen some really great ideas from your neck of the woods. Let’s keep going.

The Story: Technically, uh, this does not fit the criteria. Who was praying to the vengeful god? Was it the creatures in the other party? Is there a god of making rocks fall down? What’s up with the name, anyway? There’s a strong sense of disconnect and many questions that go unanswered. But considering all the factors that are going into this card, I have a feeling they aren’t really asking to be answered anyway.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path​ — Marathon of Mogis

The Card: Wow, I wasn’t expecting two Theros-themed God-themed enchantments that gave a number of creatures haste. Great minds and all. So, this card. I don’t think you need to reference the active player. The whole thing can be toned down a little. “At the beginning of each player’s combat (or end?) step, that player sacrifices all creatures they control that didn’t deal combat damage to a player this turn.” Keeping it simple. Honestly, though, I...am not sure I like it for four mana. It feels like a game-ender kind of card. Frankly, I would make it six. And I know that’s a lot and I know that it might be too much, but to be honest, this would be an unfun card otherwise, in my opinion. It’s really, REALLY powerful for a clock.

The story: Is that Mogis’ deal? Does he make people run? I checked the wiki and read through it all and I don’t understand why Mogis would get pleasure out of people not dying. The point of the stampedes and the destruction is to invoke slaughter and sacrifice, not to run humans to the bone. The ferocity of minotaurs is not sadistic. This feels like a Rakdos card — the cult, not the color combo. I feel that there was a misunderstanding.

@wolkemesser​ — Otherskin Scarecrow

The Card: I’ll go out on a limb and say that you could make this a little more Horizons-y and give this card Changeling instead of just saying it has all creature types. Could that make it a shapeshifter? Hm, what if, because it wears clothing from characters in the past, it also has the creature types of all creatures in graveyards? But I digress. Anyway, this card. It’s not bad! It’s not making me super excited, but it’s not bad. You meant for this to have a Reaper King vibe, right? Or at least to work well with it? I think you succeeded. 

The Story: Love the first sentence, don’t quite understand the second one. My interpretation is that it’s taking skin from others, right? Well! Um! That’s actually scary and makes me miss the world of Lorwynmoor even moor. Er, more. It’s unfortunate that the mechanics of the card don’t necessarily depict “skinning intruders alive and taking their identity in a grotesque fashion” as much as I’d personally like. Still, that’s a risk, and you know what, the implications aren’t super strong but it’s enough for me to grok.

Once again, thank y’all for your entries. New contest tomorrow. Be prepared. Be scared. Be....ard. 

-@abelzumi

[owlsoldwritingcorner]

Honey and Oats (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whisky x Reader

Warnings/Troupes: Not much rn except Age gap relationship for future. + Enemies to lovers. lotsa angry words.

A/N: This is my second fic with any of Pedro’s characters! I’m still rewatching the movies to get a better hold of their personalities,,,

Reader Warnings (Will not be repeated onwards): Reader has set clothes like armors and masks, but not a set appearance underneath (No physical descriptions other than clothes). Had Cambodian Reader in mind. Reader is a city kid from Chicago. And some people who use gendered pronouns (only pronouns) will change but some gendered names like “Princess” and such will stay.

AO3 Link

{First} {Next} {Masterlist}

As usual, Tequila’s the rough ‘em up and rough ‘em up even more kinda guy. The two crashers were two Brits saying something about being invited. Of course, them hacking through the biometric system and putting a hole in the older whiskey reserves wasn't the nicest way of coming in, but, knocking them out before they could fully explain themselves wasn’t either. (Also, you had to admit though. The younger one of the two was pretty cute.) That reminds you, maybe they’re with the other Brit that Ginger and Tequila helped a couple weeks prior… Is that racist?

You and Ginger headed to the Doomsday locker. Ginger said something about the two mentioning Kingsman and how it’s the branch to Statesman and so on. But you just had one question on your mind.

“So, why can’t we go with their story again? They looked pretty desperate, Ging’. Desperate people don’t usually lie when trying to find help.” You leaned back in the chair you sat, legs crossed and right on the table top. You watched Ginger fumble around a bit as she placed the small emblem in her hands into the similarly shaped socket.

“Rum. You can never be too sure. For all we know, they could be using stolen clothes and identities.” She reminded you as she started opening the lock. You just pouted, not to toot your own horn but, in situations like these you had a pretty good gut on who to trust. And anyway, fancy lookin’ men like that don’t come to the farmy south unless they were looking to buy land.

Finally, Ginger opened the doomsday lock, turning around, she revealed a very fancy looking umbrella. On the handle revealed the familiar name of… 

Kingsman, London.

“Fuckin’ hell.” You and Ginger ran out of that chamber as fast as you two could. At this point, Tequila’s probably gonna show them his favorite magic trick of turning balls into ash.

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

Ginger opened the door just as you heard Tequila’s baritone voice counted up to three.

“Stop!” You and Ginger moved between the tall cowboy and the strapped down men. “Their story checked out.” The woman quickly grabbed some towels to pat down the sitting men’s laps. You leaned against the nearby desk while watching everything unfold.

“We opened our Doomsday scenario locker and that umbrella was in it,” You tossed the agent the umbrella in question before stepping out of the sitting men’s view. “Kingsman. It’s got our logo on it.” You gave the two a bit of a smug look as if to tell them ‘I told you so’. Ginger subtly rolled her eyes at your winning smirk before apologizing to the two men. On the other hand, Tequila just laughed the situation off as if he wasn’t planning on shooting their friend dead center in the head a few seconds prior. The ‘no hard feelings but it was just my job’ kinda talk.

“Welcome to statesman. Independent Intelligence agency. Just like y’all I reckon. But our founders went into the booze business. Thank the sweet lord above.” The cowboy looked up to the ceiling as if to thank Jesus himself for that plan before pointing to Ginger with the umbrella.

“This is Ginger Ale. She’s our strategy Executive.” She gave them a short nod and a polite ‘hello’ just before Tequila pointed to you.

“This here’s Agent Rum. Sh-- They. They’re not the most talkative with most folks, but they sure as hell know how to get the job done.” You gave the men an awkward wave.

“And I’m Agent Tequila.” And with an award winning smile, he sticks the landing. Unfortunately for him, the crowd still remembers the fact they almost got their balls turned to ash by this cowboy so they’re just gonna pass on the whole innocent smile situation. The cuter one of the two already looks exasperated, relieved that the introductions are finally over.

“This is the part where you untie us.”

The moment the two men were freed from their ziptied hell and whisky stained pants, they zoomed past the three of you to reach their one eyed friend. The three of you sat down as you watched the reintroduction quickly turn bittersweet.

“So these fellas right here are our Doomsday protocol?”

“Turns out, our founder’s tailor was Kingsman.”

“Why couldn’t we have gotten those fancy suits?” Tequila looked at you in utter betrayal.

“Hey, these clothes are nice an’ all but I dunno. Those suits are real nice lookin--”

 “What the fuck have you done to him?”The men returned to the room with angered faces.

Ginger explained to the two that the Statesman only have been trying to help the poor man. But since they couldn’t jog his memory with the amnesia and all, there’s not much that can be done. All that the agency knew was that mister butterfly collector was part of intelligence but not whose. Honestly the three of them were lucky Ginger was as quick as she was otherwise he would’ve counted as another one of the casualties in that damned church.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------You and Tequila escorted the younger man that introduced himself as Eggsy, otherwise known as Agent Galahad, to Champ. The moment the three of you entered the room, Champ was already scolding Tequila about his interrogation skills before introducing himself. To apologize for the inconvenience Tequila caused the two men, Champ placed the Statesman’s larger resources at their disposal just before looking at ole’ ‘reliable’ Whiskey with an amused smile.

“Could you imagine us in the clothing business?” You rolled your eyes at the other man’s chuckle. It’s been ten seconds and you were already tired of lookin’ at Whisky dick. Tequila could already see your annoyance with the other man and quickly thought of something to distract you with.

“Hey, real quick, Rum? Could you play bartender?” 

“Sure,” Anything to keep you from looking at the man more than you already have to. You turned towards the little drink making station where all the mixers and some bottles were already set up.

“Got a drink in mind?”

“Bartender’s choice.” A Sour Henry cocktail it is. A Whisky sour with more than a little bitters would be too on the nose.

Eggsy thanked the bossman senior and explained whoever attacked the Kingsman agents was most likely planning for something bigger and that a former trainee of theirs is working with those part of the Golden circle. Said trainee’s ex is still in contact with him and just so happens to be attending a concert. 

You listened closely to what Eggsy was saying, trying to figure out why the golden circle sounded so familiar, as you finally poured the drink in Tequila’s cup. However, your thought process was cut through by something you noticed on the statesman agent. Just as Tequila thanked you and took a swing of his drink, your eyes caught a glimpse of the growing blue veins protruding from his neck.

“Ay Tequila, you feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, a bit tired, but fine, thanks.” At this point, Champ could see the blue veins on the man too.

“Your face…You got… ” Tequila finally looked at himself through the cup’s reflection.

“What the fuck?” Champ ordered him to head to the med bay before whatever it was got any worse but not before having Tequila give Eggsy his glasses. It would be a bit awkward to converse with someone and not see them in this situation.

Champ let out a hefty sigh before giving you and Whisky a sorry look.

“Now, Agent Rum. I know you and Whisky sure as hell aren’t peas in a pod--” You already knew where this dumb talk was going.

“You cannot be serious with me, Champ.” If looks could kill, that old man would have croaked a month prior.

“You’re a talented agent. But you’re reckless. Whiskey is going to watch over the two of you--”

“I don’t need no fuckin’ babysitter, Champ!” You slammed your fist on the tabletop out of anger, toppling over a few of the cups. Eggsy was surprised at the tonal shift from you. Well, he’s even more surprised you talk to your superior that way and he doesn’t even blink an eye. 

“He’s the only other agent with enough experience for the case. One job together ain’t gonna kill the two of you.”

“I’ve got enough experience on my hands, I can handle it!”

“Agent Whisky is going to join the two of you and that’s final.” You opened your mouth but quickly shut it. Even you can’t say anything when Champ’s got the final word in. You could only glare as Whisky gave you the most smug smirk known to man.

“Agent Galahad, our finest senior agent will be joining the two of you. Right now he’s in our New York office.” Mister Boss points at Whisky’s hologram once Eggsy puts on the glasses. 

“Galahad, meet Agent Whisky.” God. You just want to strangle that stupid cowboy with his own fuckin’ moustache. 

“Kid, looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.” He gives Eggsy one of his dumb signature smiles. “My favorite kind of mission.” You could only roll your eyes at the flirtatious man’s comment.

“I’m sending my jet to pick you two up.” 

“The old man’s gonna croak before he could get his whisky dick into anything.” You muttered right before Champ gave you an incredulous look.

“Rum, there ain’t no need to hit a man’s pride like that.”

“It’s fine, Champ. Little Miss spitfire over here is just envious--”

“Of what? Da women who are with ya’ for under ten minutes in bed while I’m stuck with ya’ here fer hours? ‘Course I am.” And with the small twitch of that moustached lip, that was enough to tell  you even a little bit of his pride was hurt.

“Rum!”

“Watch it lil’ city girl, your Chicago’s comin’ out. That place was never the best about its manners.” Nothin’ but smirk from this old man, as if you didn’t just insult his libido. He really just had to insult your home. You took a deep breath.

“Unlike you, I was raised properly.” You gave Whisky a final haunting stare. “You,” Standing on the opposite end of where Whisky sat, you got right up in his stoic, holographic space. “Were dragged through a whore house.” You turned your back on the man, mentally patting yourself on the back for getting the final word. Just as you got to the doorway, you turned to the British agent.

“Galahad? Let’s get a move on.” 

“Oh--Oh! Right.” Eggsy quickly got up and followed you out the door. Leaving Champ very exhausted at his decision. He only hopes the two of you don’t kill each other first before they could figure this situation out.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DMITRI.

Admin Cas: There’s something so tragic about Dmitri that I love: everything about him is a contradiction. Yet, for all his love and light, he’s also really quite terrifying, and the way you balanced both of those aspects of their character was truly breathtaking, Emma. I thought your reflections on the idea of Dmitri as a sort of wingless angel was especially impressive. In spite of all the things that make them angelic, they can never truly be one with God’s angels. That, after all, is what sets him apart from their brethren; where they are ruination, he is its saving grace. I put this golden prince in your hands without fear that you’ll do wonderful things with him, and I can’t wait to see the directions you’ll go together! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma.

Age | 21+.

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I’m able to get a reply or two out at least once daily; depending on length, it could potentially be more or less than.

Timezone | Eastern.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group?  | LSRPG tag.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I delete my character accounts to create a blank blog for my next character account. I save snippets of threads I adore, so I’m so sorry. RIP - xoxo

IN CHARACTER

there is a swelling storm and i'm caught up in the middle of it all and it takes control of the person that i thought i was the boy i used to know.

CHARACTER 

Dmitri , the Horsemen of Conquest

DRAW TO CHARACTER

I’ve never been the type to write a sample for a character before fleshing out the other bits first, but Dmitri’s voice whispered, begging to be explored as soon as I read their biography. The first sample you’ll read below was the initial picture I painted and kept throughout this application because Dmitri resembled that of a poor Icarus, who simply overindulged in something not meant for him to enjoy. 

I imagined Dmitri in the seconds after creation gasping at the sights of Heaven, reaching back for white wings — only to be met by their bareback. Shoulders aching for the flight of angels, the purity evident in their veins to be his own, God’s presence given at a moments notice.

Yes — I very clearly drew these small, delicate details from a few lines, but Cas wrote this character in such a way I felt the weight of Dmitri’s needs as if they were my own to be met. The biography held me captive to do whatever would be in my ability to give this character justice for what they were never gifted. I still get butterflies reading over the biography and couldn’t stop what followed. 

This application is my confession of love for Dmitri, and I would even offer to say this could be read as a fever dream because isn’t that what God would want? His beloved, lastly mad Horsemen to be written in a state of complete and total euphoria for conquest and recklessness… but more importantly, I hope to show how beautifully flawed this character is to desire to be loved by a dead God, and the journey I would take them on to realize their purpose was never tied to God’s needs.

FUTURE PLOTS

SUMMARY: I’ve written these in a format of progression based on what I think could occur first in-game based off of current connections, and Dmitri’s direct link of being a Horsemen, making it far more likely to push said plot first. Each builds upon the other in a sense of a video game character skill branching system. As in, I’ve written some answers or may propose them in a way, which would directly change a plot below it. Hope this helps explain the mess which is about to occur below!

FUTURE OF THE HORSEMEN

what happens to those who were meant to end a world already destroyed?

Their purpose set forth to them by God has come to no fruition as the world destroyed itself, at least in a way. Each Horsemen dealing with their new identity as a mercenary in their own way, but I can only speak from the perspective of Dmitri. When it comes to them, the Horsemen are family. They came from the same Gos as them, shaped from different moments but important just the same. Their future as a whole could be explored by each Horsemen’s motivation. For Dmitri, the idea of leaving them to go elsewhere seems far-fetched at first; a type of daydream when the cleanup after a job is too heavy to stay focused on. If given a bigger glimpse at something else, something Dmitri could find himself desiring to do, I imagine the Horsemen could find a strain.

FUTURE OF THE HEALING

what is the purpose of being one of healing if you watched the wounds be inflicted?

Building upon a strain forming within the Horsemen, Dmitri would first need to experience something so terrifyingly out of character for them to do, which could trigger a wave of events to follow. The concept of using their healing ability seems to be the “fun” direction as this golden boy not being able to save someone caught in the crossfires would be an angst ridden thread to experience. I want to shape his tenderness in a way to correlate with his healing. Dmitri’s process of healing someone is something I haven’t ventured much into yet — but I imagine the sight of it to be something beautiful, almost too beautiful to fully understand what you’re looking at. This light bringer among those who only bring darkness is the difference enough to push the first plot and this one forward.

FUTURE OF THE LOVED AND WORSHIPPED 

what does one do with love and praise when all they expected was hate?

Imagine the first time someone witnessed Dmitri healing a mortal. Who was it? What occurred? No one who lives now among the mortals knows, yet their growing affection towards him makes me feel as if he’s gotten his own personal tale passed between them. Here in this new found love among men, I think Dmitri sees what he’s always wanted out of life, rather existence. It’ll be such a wild ride of secret trips to different parts of the world to see if he finds this love and praise everywhere. He’d be drunk over this, but there also comes the dark side of being given something kept from you for so long. Yes, I would love for this beautiful, precious Horsemen to ride happily off into the sunset… but there’s definitely some trauma left from God. Here within this, I find Dmitri’s breaking point could take place and all of the above could shatter.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | yes — given a month’s notice and option to decline? i feel as if the answer would be different depending on how they were to die and character development, if this makes sense.

IN DEPTH

but there is a lightin the dark, and i feel its warmth

in my hands and my heart why can't i hold on?

CHARACTER MOTIVATION

It’s unknown at first- their motivation. Perhaps, God always intended the existence of those who were meant to cause the end of the world to possess no motivation. Life to them, the Horsemen, was simply a story already written down in the stars, yet Dmitri walked out into the New World with the story finished and no part to play in it. Purgatory had warped their glowing essence, satisfying God’s need to prevent prayers said to Conquest over the God of Creation. 

Yet motivations can still be rather fickle when they were never intended for you. Dmitri’s creation came from the infinite love God felt for man, yet they were never meant to have this (this being love) as their backbone. No, they were to indulge their fellow Horsemens’ wrath by mending the blows they were destined to cause. Their gift, their healing, their voice. All things given by God to serve a purpose not their own. Somewhere between all of the havoc and chaos of this world, there had to come a time where Dmitri sought to figure it out. 

Their motivation laid rotting within the crevices of darkness and filth they called home all these centuries. Purgatory did it’s job more so than God could have ever intended because Dmitri struggled with purpose outside of God’s. Sunshine filled his veins in a way the darkness fed off of and merely left the Horsemen of Conquest bare. So walking out of, rather escaping from, Purgatory to Dmitri awakened this desire for answers. With the death of God, Dmitri discovered their rebirth into something rather ungodly as he wanted to become everything God never intended on him to be: loved. 

From this death, Dmitri has discovered a solace with mortals he’d never found with the fellow Horsemen as there’s something to be said in regards to being made last. He didn’t resemble the others completely as he felt a mirror to man more so than his Horsemen. I imagine actions and motivation for him to be teetering currently as his own questions in the regards of ‘what’s next?’ as having a calling as a mercenary never sat well with him. He wants to be loved in a way God had left unspoken between them over the possibility of competition.

SUMMARY: Throughout interactions and inner thoughts expressed throughout this roleplay, I would love to dive into the future plots tying into Dmitri’s motivations above with the balance of being deemed as loved or worshipped. Dmitri needs to be loved, yet I think if it ever rocked towards him being worshipped, it’d be a nice little shift of what truly motivates him. Overall, I find my motivating factor to be Dmitri’s voice and relationships with the Horsemen due to my overall understanding of how much he truly values them. Yes, he’s always wanted more for himself, but there’s always going to be the glimpses of why he is among their ranks. He isn’t pure as the angels or as mischievous as the demons, but I find Dmitri’s complexities something of value as a character in a world without restraints.

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLES

i. DREAMS AND THE HEREAFTER

‘Icarus, my son — your wings are too brittle for the warmth of light. Now, I shall watch you burn with the rest.’ Or was the name spoken across the lips of God dmitri? Did he curve the appetite of man’s undeserving love of their creator by existing? Were his screams - for more - not enough to make the tear from God’s eye a regret? 

‘But father, I shall fly with you. We can escape together. No mortal shall ever have to look upon our faces again. We can finally be--’ Scorned brow silenced all of his pleas, bringing the truth to the forefront. Dmitri dreamed before the tear was ever caught and molded into the literal form of his being. They knew of themself from the perspective of God’s eye and convinced themself of something which wasn’t there. ‘Am I never to be free of this burden then? Am I to suffer?’

They painted a world where they crawled from the depths of Purgatory, where their strength came from the purity of man, where God Himself welcomed Dmitri back into Heaven as if he’d never gone. In this recurring dream, God would realize the mistake to tuck away his most prized creation. 

The final Horsemen did not deserve the caverns of impermeable darkness Purgatory supplied them because somewhere in the infinite of his existence, he truly believed himself to bare wings. 

‘Suffer? Suffer! You are the brilliance of life; my creation. Do you wish to know what I plan to do with you? Follow me, Conquest. Your domain awaits.��� 

Their eyes open with horror, memories of a man - rather a god who loved him less. A god who created him by mistake. An outstretched arm from active slumber finds its way back onto their chest, an unsteady rise and fall of breaths lost. His own torment from sleep a self-given punishment as he allowed himself to fall into the corners of his own mind. The hidden doors which locked memories long forgotten as he believed himself to be more than he was. 

God regretted shedding a tear for out came the brightest of shadows, the technicolor snake of dispute in the form of a golden angel. They were truly no closer than their brethren to bearing wings, but if one deserved them, Dmitri would declare themself so. 

Instead of wings, however, cascading down their back, you would find a seeping hole of nothing; a hollowed out mine of what could have become of them. It is the wickedness they hide beneath enchanting smiles, minor suggestions, and lack of resolve which will keep their back bare. Denial being a sort of game which they’ve mastered over the years.

Once, one might have spotted the prospect of gold, sinless existence within them, but they were not created like the other angels, the other horsemen, the other fallen. They were made as the result of emotion, and one knew what followed closely with emotions — mistakes or rather the sins of man.

They were the rotten cavities created over years of divulging in sweets, buried in the crevices of newborn teeth who hadn’t the taste of sugar.

And in their devastation, Dmitri destined themself to find the answers which God withheld from them.

 ii. DENIAL IN THE FORM OF SINFUL BEAUTY

“You’re late — again.” A simple nod towards either Nerissa or Viktoria felt enough to find his place among his family, his fellow Horsemen.

One thumb found its way to his temple before releasing a heavy sigh. “Dreams haunt me recently. 

“You mean nightmares.” Nerissa could never resist correcting him over something so miniscule as words, yet this simple exchange caused a growing irritation to sprout wings and turn into complete rage.

His temples tensed, nostrils flared with fingernails already cutting at the skin of his palm. “You honestly think I’m mortal enough to switch the meaning of two words, War?” Tongue pressed against the back of their teeth, Dmitri allowed their body to sink into their assigned chair, of sorts. Each had a place within the others home as if each home belonged to all four of them collectively. 

“Someone woke up feeling out of place again.” Always Ryuk with a quick word before letting the storm brew on.

“It’s the dreams — I wake up in horror over...” Their eyes, washed in an array of gold, scanned the softness of their palms, the lack of scars on their flesh, the harrowing displacement of havoc in their words, and the deficiency of darkness their fellow Horsemen possessed. “...for it is the dream I can never grasp.” 

With the unblemished palm, he wiped away at both of their eyes, trying to remove the hints of sleep behind them. More importantly, he wanted more than anything to remove any attempt of truth being proven by Nerissa’s words.

Harsh snarled laughter came from the corner of their domain, mocking their spiral for something less than what it was. To Dmitri, they saw these dreams as something more of an awakening, uncovering their last moments with God.  

“What is the point of man if not to suffer, dear Dmitri?” 

“But I am no man!” Fists shattered the monotony of the discussion, calling in the last ounce of sanity any of them could take as they stood from the table.  “I am no god.” The once golden irises, which mirrored the glory of the sun’s warmth,  now mimicked the lava spewing from a devastating volcano. “I am Conquest, and I shall suffer no more!” 

Here in the brilliant, pure light of their anger, their risen voice, the very might of their denial gave birth to something else. 

A soft chuckle from the other side of the room destroyed any build up between the others as Viktoria waltzed over to them. 

“He’s not wrong… None of us are man, so none of us shall suffer.” Viktoria’s hand draped over theirs with a tenderness they’d only felt from the mortals, but it was enough to show Dmitri the horsemen had the ability to give him what he wanted.

[themagiciian]

Somebody That I Used To Know

Rating: General; trigger warnings for mentioned death and very mild violence Chapters: One-shot Word count: 3,079 Relationship: Diego Brando/Johnny Joestar Other characters: Nicholas Joestar (mentioned), George Joestar (mentioned)

Summary: It’s the anniversary of Nicholas’s death, and Johnny decides to visit the lake where Nick used to take him. However, he somehow crosses something- or rather, someone, a little... unlikely.

Author’s Notes:

Thank you ever so much for the request, @bluedrawin​! I apologise, this one is kind of a mess, but I’m really clawing at my writing muse to do something and... Well, I finished this, and I’ll leave it at that. It’s all over the shot, if I’m being honest. I didn’t proofread anything. I just finished it and, kind of, “well, I finished something, so who cares?”.

So in short? It’s rushed, it’s not very good... But I like mermaids a lot! Diego is the mermaid in this one. I wouldn’t usually change pronouns for AUs and stuff, but Diego is referred to as ‘they/them’ in this. At first it was accidental, but then it stuck, so I ran with it.

I may or may not add more to this. But for now, I hope this is good enough? I left it open ended so I could tack other things onto... this... XD Thanks again for the request!

It had been five years since Nicholas had died, and Johnny felt a bitter sadness bubble in his chest knowing that he’d soon be the same age his elder brother would be when he passed. He huffed, gently patting at Slow Dancer’s neck as she settled beside him from where he sat besides the bank of the lake. He chose not to tell his father where he was going, which he knew would earn him an argument the second he arrived home, but right then he didn’t care. The mare snorted softly beside him, ears flicking back briefly, and Johnny withdrew his hand to lay down and bask in the sun.

Even if it had happened five years ago, he recalled the events so vividly in his head. They replayed like a broken record, and he closed his eyes with a harsh sigh. Nicholas wouldn’t want him to dwell on it, but his own father's disdain towards him served as a constant reminder that he would simply never be Nick. And whilst his father chose to shut himself off from the rest of the world, and his only other son, Johnny decided he wouldn’t do the same. 

Not this time. 

The lake was sacred to Nicholas. He always cherished how secluded it was, surrounded by thick forestry and brush, the sun peaking through the leaves and lightly warming the grass below. A small stream ran right into the lake, which acted as white noise as Johnny relaxed. It had been a struggle, getting over Nicholas’s death, and the date still haunted him. It didn’t even feel like he was truly ‘over it’. More like he was just getting used to the dull ache that grief left him with, a void that would never be filled. 

A soft sigh escaped his lungs, eyes sliding closed as he bathed under the sun that filtered through the leaves. He always found himself wondering… why Nicholas enjoyed this place so much. It was pretty, sure. But not very interesting, or at least, Johnny didn’t think so. Nick had taken him there a handful of times, but they’d always end up heading back early because Johnny would quickly grow bored of just sitting around. Now he was older, he could understand a little better; he could see the beauty in nature, how nice it was to just lay down and forget about the rest of the world.

Johnny never really got it. He was kind to all the stable boys, he had a lot of friends at school, the maids liked him, but he always chose to… Come here. To be alone. Because, in Johnny’s experience, that was one of the worst things that could happen to him. To be left all alone. He couldn’t imagine why someone like Nick would want to escape what he had. Johnny didn’t really get along with anyone at school, in fact he’d go out of his way to avoid people, which only got worse after his elder brother’s passing.

His brow twitched a little, trying to push those thoughts to the back of his mind. He could feel his eyes sting under their lids as they watered, but he couldn’t bring himself to cry. Or, rather, he wouldn’t let himself cry. Nick wouldn’t want him to cry. And it wasn’t like anyone was there to comfort him, if he did. He focused on breathing, softly, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. 

He would have fallen asleep if he hadn’t heard Slow Dancer snort lightly beside him. His hand idly reached out to pet at her flank where she lay next to him, careful not to startle her. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard someone… Laughing? It was more like a strange trill. When she snorted again, making a noise that sounded annoyed, his eyes opened lazily. He assumed it was just a bug or something pestering her.

He wasn’t expecting to find a pair of eyes meeting his own. 

Johnny jolted upright, which was enough to scare them back into the water. They moved so fast that he almost thought he was imagining it, a blur of gold and blue flashed before him. Slow Dancer’s ears were pinned back, now, in obvious annoyance, beginning to rise to her feet to step away from the lake’s edge. He was about to dismiss it as his mind playing tricks on him, or the mare just being irritable about something (as usual). But he couldn’t stop himself from edging closer to the water, as if his body was running on autopilot.

He peered over the edge, the mud forming a slight overhang, hands braced either side of him as he awkwardly crawled forward. He stared down into the water, only to find his reflection. But the surface wobbled lightly like something had disturbed it’s calmness. His ginger hair fell into his face when he stared down, squinting as if that would help him see further into the murky darkness of the lake.

He dismissed it as nothing after his brief investigation. But when an icy cold hand darted out and grappled his wrist, he couldn’t help but let out a shriek. A long string of curses that would surely get him a lashing if his father ever heard them escaped him as he fought, finally managing to yank himself back from where it had tried to get him under the water. He let out a few gasps for air as he shimmied away from the water’s edge, but whatever he had pissed off quickly clambered onto land right after him.

That’s when he finally got a good look at them. A mop of golden hair, with the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen staring right into his soul. Their facial features were all sharp, pointed, with deep blue spots dotting up and down their neck and ears fanning out. It took him another second to realise what he was staring at was inhuman, but another howl wrenched from his throat as their hand grabbed for his ankle now, trying to crawl away from their grasp. They let go after a brief struggle, letting Johnny shift himself back onto land, panting from exertion.

“W- What the hell? What the hell?!” Was all he could manage when he was freed, panic gripping his chest. They stared at him, wide-eyed, but didn’t move. That only struck a chord of annoyance in him. “H-Hey, aren’t you gonna answer me?!” He growled out, voice cracking a little. 

Their expression was unreadable, and Johnny didn’t know how long they just stared one another down. It was tempting to throw something at them, to force them to do something, but he grit his teeth and held his gaze. After a while, they blinked, before shaking their head. They made a sound of annoyance, pushing themselves back towards the water.

“I thought you were someone else.” Their voice was hard to describe, but somehow their accent shone through as distinctly English. But it was as if they were struggling to speak, almost. Johnny’s eyes squinted into a questioning glare, which was quickly returned. They made a move as if they were going to dive back under the water, but they seemed to hesitate. There was another stare-down, this time Johnny was trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at, but the other growled which made him jump a little.

“Did anyone teach you any manners? It’s rude to stare.”

Johnny let out a noise of exasperation. “You just- just grabbed me!”

“I thought you were someone else.” They snarled, now, sharp claws digging into the bank they were propped up on. Johnny braced himself to reach for his knife just in case they made any sudden movements. “You smelt like him, I saw your horse, and I got ahead of myself.”

Their fanned out ears- now Johnny was realising they were probably fins, or something- lowered slightly. Before he could speak up again, they were army crawling onto land, to which Johnny quickly grabbed his knife to point at them in threat. 

“What are you doing?!” He questioned, but only received a rumbled snarl back. He found himself distracted by their lack of legs, replaced by one long muscular tail that was so long that the end didn’t even poke out of the water. Before he could find himself too enraptured by this creature, they grabbed for his bag, sniffing at it, and Johnny waved his knife again. “H-Hey, you can’t just dig through my stuff--”

“You don’t have any food...” They muttered out, tossing it towards him. Johnny was dumbfounded by that, mouth hung open like a fish, before they were attempting to turn to slide back into the water. “I can’t believe I mistook you for him. Nick was never so impolite.”

“Nick?! Hey- Hey!” Johnny couldn’t stop himself from lunging himself forward, earning a loud hiss from them. But the mention of his brother’s name caused a surge of something inside him- anger, confidence, he didn’t know what, but the other was simply too fast. Just like that, they’d disappeared under the water’s surface, the bright blues and golds lost to the murkiness again.

This time, he growled in frustration. He moved towards the bank, grass and mud staining his jodhpurs, but he paid no mind to it as he reached into the water after them, like he could pull them out like a catfish. He felt nothing, however, just water rolled through his fingers as he waved his hand about under the surface. 

That same trilling noise from earlier echoed through the empty air, his head snapping up towards it. The bastard’s head bobbed up out of the water nearer the middle of the lake, and whatever they were, they were certainly laughing, a lop-sided grin on their face. It was creepy, the way they smirked, all fangs and jagged teeth. But that only seemed to further rub salt in the wound that had been reopened that day.

“What the hell are you?” He yelled out at them, mostly in frustration. They dived down again, tail splashing out of the water as he presumed they were coming closer. He clenched his knife hard in his hands, darting his eyes over the surface of the lake to try and find them again. They resurfaced near him, shoulders out in the shallower depths, still grinning maniacally. How… How could something look so human, but so- so not human? How were they breathing beneath the water?

“You don’t know what a mermaid is?” They sounded mocking. Johnny pulled a somewhat confused look for a split second, which earned another weird laugh. “I shall take that as a no.”

“I never said- I never said I ain’t know what a mermaid is!”

“But you looked it. You do that face.” They mimicked him, exaggerating his confused expression, to which Johnny scoffed, which they also mimicked. “Humans make all sorts of funny faces and make funny sounds, too.”

“I don’t need this right now.” Johnny finally announced with another scoff. He clicked his tongue for Slow Dancer to come over, who was lightly chomping at the grass nearby, raising her head when she was called. If this thing wanted to make fun of him, well, he just wasn’t going to deal with it. He’d be the bigger man and just… Leave. As she slowly trotted over, he heard the water slosh a little, and they perched with their arms crossed onto the lip of the lake.

“What’s up with you?” Their brow raised, smirking still, hair stuck to their forehead. When Johnny didn’t answer and instead reached for his horse, they let out a long whine. “Hey, not yet! I was just messing with you. Hey! Come ooooon! Don’t leave me here! I was just starting to have fun!”

Johnny shot another glare their way, at this ‘mermaid’ thing, and their head tilted a little in response. Their eyes were so large, almost catlike in how their pupils dilated, it was… A bit entrancing. He let go of Slow Dancer, instead, rolling his eyes with a tut to himself. What was he going to do once he got home, anyway? Pretend his father wasn’t alone in his room wishing it was him that was dead, and not Nicholas? That caused a pang of pain to shoot through his chest. 

“How did… How did you know Nick?” He brought himself to ask. Based on their interactions so far, he didn’t know whether or not he’d receive a genuine answer. Their smile disappeared, though, head lowering somewhat into their arms. They eventually shrugged, though.

“Somebody that I used to know.”

“How?” A feeling of desperation bubbled in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me how.”

“...He came here a lot, and he was nice to me, and he gave me food. Then I never saw him again.” They didn’t seem sad, moreso confused. But the way their head lowered pitifully made sympathy stab in his chest. At least that answers some of my questions, he supposed, but certainly didn’t make him feel much better. “Are you his friend?”

“I’m… H- His brother.” He glanced down to avoid their unblinking stare. He let out a hard sigh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It felt almost wrong, to call himself his brother, guilt and shame ebbing away at him as feelings he hadn’t addressed since that day welled over inside of his chest. “N- Nick died, um, some… A while ago.” 

“Oh.”

“...Mmm.” 

It was a fight, to not start crying, hot tears brimming his eyes and sticking to his lashes. A cold hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He jolted at the sensation, eyes widening, glancing down at them, a few tears spilling out in surprise. The claws he’d seen earlier were gone, retracted into their skin, and despite grief coming to bite him like a snake in the grass, he found himself fascinated again. Their hand came to fully rest there, head tilting to gauge the reaction. 

“What’s your name?” They finally asked. Johnny reached up to wipe away the stray tears, forcing down his emotions all over again. It didn’t even occur to him that they hadn’t even properly introduced themselves to one another in his emotional rollercoaster. He shrugged their hand away before answering, however. 

“J… Johnny. Johnny Joestar.”

They nodded back. “My name is--” There was a weird noise that ruptured from the back of their throat, which Johnny thought sounded like a gurgled choking noise, only frowning in surprise at the sound. “But Nick used to call me ‘Diego’ though. Or ‘Dio’, for short. I don’t know where he got Diego from, but I like it.”

Johnny couldn’t help but give an awkward laugh. His brain hadn’t really come to terms with what was going on, but- but he couldn’t say he entirely disliked their weird company. And it was weird. Trust Nick to make friends with… a ‘mermaid’? He’d already forgotten what they said they were...

“So, since we’re friends now, I guess you won’t need this anymore.” Diego broke the silence by grabbing for the knife that had been discarded in the grass. Before he could make an argument, the knife had already been launched far into the lake, a gentle ‘plop’ following it. 

Johnny quickly found himself in a state of dumbfoundedness again, glancing between the water and Diego. “W- W-- That was-- my knife! I need that!”

“For what, threatening to stab me again?” They purred, and their lips curled up playfully. Johnny felt a blush of embarrassment cloud his face. “I can get it back for you if you promise one thing.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position t’ be makin’ demands, but--”

“Come back tomorrow. Same time. But bring food. I’m hungry as all hell.” Diego spoke, as if they owned the world. Though Johnny wrinkled his nose, he could really only wish he had that kind of confidence. They took hold of his hand, as if to emphasise the promise he hadn’t even agreed to yet. “You will do this for me. Because, well, we are friends, aren’t we?”

He hesitated, and he found himself subject to those entrancing eyes again. This time he couldn’t find it in him to look away. Maybe he would have said no if he could have. Like he would let this guy walk all over him- they didn’t even have any legs to do so! But Johnny meekly grunted in response, and clearly that was taken as a yes answer, even if he hadn’t opened his mouth.

They grinned all over again, throwing their arms around him with a noise that could only be described as a squeal, and Johnny was almost tackled to the floor with the force of it. He was stunned briefly, even as Diego moved away, tail curled up near them, flicking up and down in… Excitement? Were mermaids like dogs? He was still too taken aback to really give any verbal response. 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t even say yes--” He held a hand out to keep them at an arm’s distance away, all this sudden contact overwhelming him. But they were quick to shove his hand aside, moving far too close for comfort with those teeth he knew were in their mouth.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Their voice lowered almost dangerously. He knew it was probably an empty threat, they definitely weren’t as agile on land, it seemed. But he only nodded back, out of fear or the need for company, he wasn’t entirely sure. Either way, they let out another purring sound. 

“Good.” They spoke, softly, and there was a moment where they were both still. There was still an aura of unease, and he could feel it. Certainly not as much as before, perhaps, but Johnny was taken entirely off-guard when they suddenly leaned in and left a gentle peck on his cheek. 

And- as it seemed, was tradition for them- they quickly disappeared all over again. Johnny stilled, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, before his brain finally caught onto what happened. Just like before, he shouted after them, and there was that noisy trilling mocking laughter that was becoming less and less insufferable by the second.

How did Nick put up with this? He had no idea... But he supposed he was going to find out.

[lirnitbreak]

Alisaie intro!

(Firefly, 26, MST )  ─  the mirrors surrounding you did as they were meant to, reflecting back a spitting image of CHINA ANNE MCCLAIN  -  but it’s clear something is wrong from the moment that a vision of  REAWAKENING IN THE RISING STONES AFTER YOUR TIME IN THE FIRST strikes you.  perhaps it was a passing daydream in the frenzy of the funhouse. you reassure yourself  -  you’re ALISAIE LEVEILLEUR,  a  NINETEEN YEAR OLD COLLEGE STUDENT AND CHAMPIONSHIP FENCER  whose virtue lies in your + DETERMINATION & + EMPATHY, although you’ve been told that you tend to be quite - UNDIPLOMATIC  & - IMPULSIVE,  and you’re associated with THE SHEEN OF A METAL RAPIER, AND THE SMELL OF DUST AFTER AN EXPLOSION by those around you.  suddenly,  however,  you’ve found THE GRIMOIRE GIFTED TO YOU THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR GRANDFATHER  on your person - was that always there? from the moment you leave the funhouse,  memories from your life in FINAL FANTASY XIV have begun to return - leaving whoever you had been before in the mirror’s reflection behind you.  you can almost hear INVINCIBLE  by KELLY CLARKSON following in your wake.

BEFORE ALUCARD:

(Note: Alisaie’s last memory is from the last patch of the game as of writing this, 5.3, so there are spoilers for the entirety of FFXIV!) 

CW for relative death mentions

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Alisaie Leveilleur was the second born twin born to the esteemed Leveilleur family of Sharlayan. At the time of her birth, her father led a research colony in the province of Dravania, but she has no memories of her birthplace, as she returned to the motherland as an infant because of the threat of war in the region. Alisaie grew up in the shadow of her twin brother Alphinaud, with all of her gifts in magic not being as remarkable as his, and her flaws being much more noticeable then his, making her develop a bit of a complex. One of the few people who could soothe this complex and make her feel better about herself was her grandfather Louisoix Leveilleur. Out of all of her family he was the one who made her feel like her own person and not just as Alphinaud’s lesser twin.

The last time she saw her grandfather was when she was eleven years old, right when she and her brother were accepted into the Studium of Sharlayan. He had given them tomes to help with their studies of the arcane arts, but shortly after he set sail to the distant land of Eorzea which was brewing with the threat of war. The Sharlayans always believed they had to avoid war, but Louisoix believed it was man’s duty to help those in need. Unfortunately he never returned home, giving his life to save Eorzea from total destruction.

Alisaie graduated from the Studium at the age of sixteen and decided with her brother to visit Eorzea and see the land their grandfather had given his life to. Alisaie became disillusioned with the lack of answers she received and split from her brother to do her own investigations. As her grandfather had given his life to stop the primal sealed in the moon, Bahamut, she investigated the ruins that had showered onto the earth. With the help of the brave adventurer her brother had put all his faith in when they split paths, she ventured into these ruins and stopped the possible reawakening of Bahamut and spoke to a specter of her grandfather one last time, who convinced her, that her path was to help people.

She spent time on the road, learning the arts of the Red Mage, allowing her to combine her prodigious fencing skills with her magic skills, and finally have a form of magic different from her brothers. She helped everyone she could. Her travels eventually led her back to her brother and the adventurer, now widely known as the Warrior of Light, and formally joining their team.

She became extremely loyal to the Warrior of Light and saw them as the ideal hero, following them to the ends of the earth, and even to other worlds, when she was pulled to the First Shard. There especially she became even more sure of her path, when she spent about eighteen months tending to and defending people who’d been left behind in the catastrophe that shook the First Shard. But eventually she returned to her home world, and that is where this story ends...

DURING ALUCARD:

...and where this one begins. In many ways this Alisaie is very similar to her previous counterpart. She is a twin, born to a scholarly minded family. Her family was well known for their global humanitarian efforts, but her parents had essentially retired after her and her brother’s birth to return to their hometown of Alucard to raise them. 

Much like before, she never quite measured up to her brother’s potential, despite being otherwise a genius.  As before her grandfather was very supportive of her and gave her much of the encouragement the rest of her family seemed to forget to give her.  From a young age, she became invested in fencing, realizing it was a skill she had that her brother didn’t, and put her all into it, her room being littered with trophies from regional, national and even international championships before she was even an adult. Her parents sometimes worried that she wasn’t putting in enough effort into her studies, but her grandfather always encouraged her that she was taking her own path and it didn’t have to match the one her parents put before her.

When she was fourteen (so five years before current day) her grandfather tragically died in a humanitarian incident overseas. After that Alisaie became even more frustrated being cooped up in Alucard, and wanted to see more of the world, and to understand the kind of causes her grandfather gave his life for. But her parents insisted that she had to go to college and get a degree in something, not wanting her to completely depend on her fencing talents for a living.

Alisaie is now in her second year of college, but is very bored and is still undeclared.  She is passing all her classes with ease, but nothing interests her enough to pursue it. And its cutting into her time that she could be spending training in what she actually loves!

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Basic stats:

Name: Alisaie Leveilleur

Nicknames: You can call her Ali if she likes you enough

Gender: cis girl (she/her pronouns) Birthday: August 27, 2001

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: undeclared university student, championship fencer

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POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

LONGTIME FRIENDS (or nuisances): Alisaie has lived in Alucard basically her entire life, (much to her annoyance) so anyone in her age range who’s lived here even a fraction of that time, there’s a very good chance she knows them from school, or community things. Kind of a general connection idea, but Alisaie is the kind of character I imagine different people would react very differently to her, so if you’re interested in any kind of relationship like this, lmk and we can plot it further.

      FELLOW JOCKS: one specific connection is Alisaie comes from a family of a bunch of nerds (even her beloved grandfather? Complete nerd) and she definitly would want to spend time outside of her house with some people who can appreciate some physical activity. I’m not sure if theres any fellow fencers here (I mean a lot of fictional characters use swords, so not out of the realm of possibility) but even people to hang out at the gym with her, would be a lifesend. 

         =  FELLOW COLLEGE STUDENTS: Alisaie is undeclared and she’s kind of trying everything to see if anything makes her tick. So its very possible she’s ran into other students in any major because she’s trying “intro to whatever” in anything that seems vaguely interesting to her.  I’d just love some people who could make her time in college feel a little less miserable, because girl you’re only young once, stop moping, y’know?

[neocab]

Translating the Cyberpunk Future

I'm a video game translator, and I love my job. It's odd work, sometimes stressful, sometimes bewildering, but it always provides interesting and inspiring challenges. Every project brings new words, slang, and cultural trends to discover, but translating also forces me to reflect on language itself. Each job also comes with its own unique set of problems to solve. Some have an exact solution that can be found in grammar or dictionaries, but others require a more... creative approach.

Sometimes, the language we’re translating from uses forms and expressions that simply have no equivalent in the language we’re translating to. To bridge such gaps, a translator must sometimes invent (or circumvent), but most importantly they must understand. Language is ever in flux. It’s an eternal cultural battleground that evolves with the lightning speed of society itself. A single word can hurt a minority, give shape to a new concept, or even win an election. It is humanity’s most powerful weapon, especially in the Internet Age, and I always feel the full weight of responsibility to use it in an informed manner.

One of my go-to ways for explaining the deep complexity of translation is the relationship between gender (masculine and feminine) and grammar. For example, in English this is a simple sentence:

"You are fantastic!"

Pretty basic, right? Easy to translate, no? NOT AT ALL!

Once you render it into a gendered language like Italian, all its facets, its potential meanings, break down like shards.

Sei fantastico! (Singular and masculine)

Sei fantastica! (Singular and feminine)

Siete fantastici! (Plural and masculine)

Siete fantastiche! (Plural and feminine)

If we were translating a movie, selecting the correct translation wouldn't be a big deal. Just like in real life, one look at the speakers would clear out the ambiguity in the English text. Video game translation, however, is a different beast where visual cues or even context is a luxury, especially if a game is still in development. Not only that, but the very nature of many games makes it simply impossible to define clearly who is being addressed in a specific line, even when development has ended. Take an open world title, for example, where characters have whole sets of lines that may be addressed indifferently to single males or females or groups (mixed or not) within a context we don't know and can't control.

In the course of my career as a translator, time and time again this has led into one of the most heated linguistic debates of the past few years: the usage of the they/them pronoun. When I was in grade school, I was taught that they/them acted as the third person plural pronoun, the equivalent of the Italian pronoun "essi." Recently, though, it has established itself as the third person singular neutral, both in written and spoken English. Basically, when we don't know whether we're talking about a he/him or a she/her, we use they/them. In this way, despite the criticism of purists, the English language has brilliantly solved all cases of uncertainty and ambiguity. For instance:

“Somebody forgot their backpack at the party.”

Thanks to the use of the pronoun "their," this sentence does not attribute a specific gender to the person who has forgotten the backpack at the party. It covers all the bases. Smooth, right? Within the LGBT circles, those who don’t recognize themselves in gender binarism have also adopted the use of they/them. Practically speaking, the neutral they/them pronoun is a powerful tool, serving both linguistic accuracy and language inclusiveness. There's just one minor issue: We have no "neutral pronouns" in Italian.

It's quite the opposite, if anything! In our language, gender informs practically everything, from adjectives to verbs. On top of that, masculine is the default gender in case of ambiguity or uncertainty. For instance:

Two male kids > Due bambini

Two female kids > Due bambine

One male kid and one female kid > Due bambini

In the field of translation, this is a major problem that often requires us to find elaborate turns of phrase or different word choices to avoid gender connotations when English maintains ambiguity. As a professional, it’s not only a matter of accuracy but also an aesthetic issue. In a video game, when a character refers to someone using the wrong gender connotation, the illusion of realism is broken. My colleagues and I have been navigating these pitfalls for years as best we can. Have you ever wondered why one of the most common Italian insults in video games is "pezzo di merda"? That's right. "Stronzo" and "bastardo" give a gender connotation, while "pezzo di merda" does not.

A few months ago, together with the Gloc team, I had the pleasure of working on the translation of Neo Cab, a video game set in a not too distant future with a cyberpunk and dystopian backdrop (and, sadly, a very plausible one). The main character is Lina, a cabbie of the "gig economy," who drives for a hypothetical future Uber in a big city during a time of deep social unrest. The story is told mainly through her conversation with the many clients she picks up in her taxi. When the game’s developers gave us the reference materials for our localization, they specified that one of the client characters was "non-binary" and that Lina respectfully uses the neutral "they/them" pronoun when she converses with them.

"Use neutral pronouns or whatever their equivalent is in your language," we were told.

I remember my Skype chat with the rest of the team. What a naive request on the client's part! Neutral pronouns? It would be lovely, but we don't have those in Italian! So what do we do now? The go-to solution in these cases is to use masculine pronouns, but such a workaround would sacrifice part of Lina’s character and the nuance of one of the interactions the game relies on to tell the story. Sad, no? It was the only reasonable choice grammatically-speaking, but also a lazy and ill-inspired one. So what were we to do? Perhaps there was another option...

Faced with losing such an important aspect of Lina’s personality, we decided to forge ahead with a new approach. We had the opportunity to do something different, and we felt like we had to do the character justice. In a game that's completely based on dialogue, such details are crucial. What's more, the game's cyberpunk setting gave us the perfect excuse to experiment and innovate. Language evolves, so why not try to imagine a future where Italian has expanded to include a neutral pronoun in everyday conversations? It might sound a bit weird, sure, but cyberpunk literature has always employed such gimmicks. And rather than take away from a character, we could actually enrich the narrative universe with an act of "world building" instead.

After contacting the developers, who enthusiastically approved of our proposal, we started working on creating a neutral pronoun for our language. But how to go about that was a question in itself. We began by studying essays on the subject, like Alma Sabatini's Raccomandazioni per un uso non sessista della lingua italiana (Recommendations for a non-sexist usage of the Italian language). We also analyzed the solutions currently adopted by some activists, like the use of asterisks, "x," and "u."

Siamo tutt* bellissim*.

Siamo tuttx bellissimx.

Siamo tuttu bellissimu.

I’d seen examples of this on signs before, but it had always seemed to me that asterisks and such were not meant to be a solution, but rather a way to highlight the issue and start a discourse on something that's deeply ingrained in our language. For our cyberpunk future, we wanted a solution that was more readable and pronounceable, so we thought we might use schwa (ə), the mid central vowel sound. What does it sound like? Quite familiar to an English speaker, it's the most common vowel sound. Standard Italian doesn’t have it, but having been separated into smaller countries for most of its history, Italy has an extraordinary variety of regional languages (“dialetti”) and many of them use this sound. We find it in the final "a" of "mammeta" in Neapolitan, for instance (and also in the dialects of Piedmont and Ciociaria, and in several other Romance languages). To pronounce it, with an approximation often seen in other romance languages, an Italian only needs to pretend not to pronounce a word's last vowel.

Schwa was also a perfect choice as a signifier in every possible way. Its central location in phonetics makes it as neutral as possible, and the rolled-over "e" sign "ə" is reminiscent of both a lowercase "a" (the most common feminine ending vowel in Italian) and of an unfinished "o" (the masculine equivalent). The result is:

Siamo tuttə bellissimə.

Not a perfect solution, perhaps, but eminently plausible in a futuristic cyberpunk setting. The player/reader need only look at the context and interactions to figure it out. The fact that we have no "ə" on our keyboards is easily solved with a smartphone system upgrade, and though the pronunciation may be difficult, gender-neutrals wouldn't come up often in spoken language. Indeed, neutral alternatives are most needed in writing, especially in public communication, announcements, and statements. To be extra sure our idea worked as intended and didn't overlook any critical issues, we submitted it to a few LGBT friends, and with their blessing, then sent our translation to the developers.

Fast forward to now, and the game is out. It has some schwas in it, and nobody complained about our proposal for a more inclusive future language. It took us a week to go through half a day's worth of work, but we're happy with the result. Localization is not just translation, it's a creative endeavour, and sometimes it can afford to be somewhat subversive. To sum up the whole affair, I'll let the words of Alma Sabatini wrap things up:

"Language does not simply reflect the society that speaks it, it conditions and limits its thoughts, its imagination, and its social and cultural advancement." — Alma Sabatini

Amen.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LINA! You’ve been accepted for the role of TROILUS with an FC change to Henry Golding. Admin Rosey: I am absolutely HOWLING. So, when I was writing Troilus, I was having an amazing time -- he’s so nuanced and seemingly superficial, but there are so many detailed facets that contribute to his happy-go-lucky attitude. He’s so utterly disarming and charming that, from the interview alone, I couldn’t help but swoon over him. Your development for him promises so much, from the sought-after revelation of Celeste’s infidelity to turning him into a hollow and hungry creature. I’m absolutely over the moon to be putting my precious boy into your hands, Lina. By all means, ruin us all. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lina. Age | 26 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | 5 – Med school honestly wipes the floor with me most days, so I can’t promise daily activity but as I’ve said before, I promise consistency and communication. I’ll request a hiatus if needed, and I won’t disappear or drop-out without warning.   Timezone | Finally back in EST (UTC-5:00) Current/Past RP Accounts | —

In Character

Character | Tomas Sabello -> Could I request an FC switch to ether Henry Golding or Godfrey Gao? I love Bob Morley to pieces but I’ve used him as an FC for long enough that I really struggle to dissociate him from the role I played. I think Henry fits Tomas’ gentle disposition best, but Godfrey has more versatility in terms of acting roles/expression which seems more in line with the mood in Verona and what he may eventually become… I dunno! I’ll leave it to you guys to choose the preferred alternate FC in the event that I do get accepted. I’d be happy working with either one.

What drew you to this character? | I really liked how opposite he is to Viv, honestly. He’s so enamored with emotion, and despite the fact that he’s an actor by trade, he’s an open book when it comes to anything that inspires feeling within him. I think Tomas loves the idea of love to such an extreme that there’s no thought to guarding himself from it. No amount of pride could keep him from offering his heart up, not even the threat of rejection. He takes and he takes, but he also gives to the people around him, indiscriminately; even to the most insignificant of passersby who’ve touched his life or inspired his creativity in some brief, ephemeral way. While Viv absorbs and safeguards whatever light she finds, Tomas reflects it freely back into the universe, and I really like that dichotomy.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

*∆* - Ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s oblivion: I’ll keep this point short and sweet; I want Tomas to find out about Celeste’s infidelity and for his heart to get absolutely shattered in the process. It could be sooner, later or whenever, but I think we’re all holding our breaths for that to happen in the story, and I’d love the opportunity to portray that.

*∆* - To fight one’s nature is a losing battle: This is a plot contingent on the arc of his relationship with Celeste and details pertaining to their marriage (how long it takes for him to find out she’s cheating on him, what they do with that information, if they divorce, etc.). But essentially, I’d like to show Tomas’ struggle with his own fidelity because in his bio, he strikes me as the sort of character that doesn’t settle on one lover easily. And he loves Celeste with every inch of his being and right now that’s what’s keeping him faithful, but I think that even if her infidelity isn’t revealed, eventually Tomas will start to feel the strain. He’ll notice the little signs along the way that hint that she doesn’t quite love him the way he loves her. I think those would put cracks in the marriage even if Isabella wasn’t in the picture. I’d like to explore those, and how little micro-tensions crop up in chronic relationships when one partner feels like they’re pulling all the weight. I want to dig into that and cast the lens on a quietly troubled relationship, and I want to see how far it pushes Tomas in response. Does he grow colder?  Does he seek intimacy elsewhere? Does he fall into the same temptation and cheat on Celeste, whether physically or emotionally? Let’s find out!

*∆* - Any way the wind blows: I’ve always imagined Tomas to be the unsettled sort, in all senses of the word. His loves have always been transient and fleeting, his decisions (both in leaving Rome and marrying Celeste) seem rash and impulsive… I think capriciousness is a trait of his that extends to all facets of his life. So one headcanon I have for him is that now that he’s on sabbatical from acting, he’d want to try his hand at something new. Activities or careers that he gets excited by every few weeks and actively chases until something changes and then he drops the ball and moves on, certain he’ll find his luck elsewhere. I think it’d be interesting to see him get into all sorts of mix-ups while catering to this instinct, and maybe unintentionally making himself a nuisance to other characters in their line of work in the rp. Just this over-excited dude picking up positions and then dropping them as if life’s his own picnic… It’s definitely going to rub some people the wrong way and I’m here to see it happen!

*∆* - The hardest of hearts:  … I’m intrigued by Tomas’ deep resentment of Roman Montague. His bio implies that it’s his acting experience which primes him to look at Romeo as if he’s also an actor, playing a part he doesn’t deserve. But I think it goes deeper than that. I think canonically, even, Tomas’ character seems to have a lot in common with Romeo from Shakespeare’s original, or at least, the earliest version of Romeo that we see. Lovelorn and lackadaisical, an innate predisposition for goodness, and yet undoubtedly leaving lovers a little carelessly in his pursuit of love, etc. So the way I see it, beyond his judgment of Roman as being unfit to rule, I think Tomas doesn’t like him bc he sees in Roman all of the same flaws he recognizes subconsciously in himself. It’s always easier to see our flaws through a mirror. I’m interested in seeing how far Tomas would go to spite Roman in order to avoid having to confront himself. The fact that Celeste is still tied to the Montagues would also be a continuous dilemma for Tomas, who dislikes both mobs. Depending on what plots come up, I might even entertain the thought of getting Tomas tied up in Capulet business, with the singular goal of bringing down Roman Montague.

*∆* - … Destroys itself in the end: In his bio, it’s alluded that Tomas took from both his parents when it came to his nature. He loved as frequently and as persistently as his mother, but destroyed those in his wake as surely as his father; leaving his path littered with broken hearts. I want to see that side of Tomas again. Except this time, instead of it being an accident of youth and of too much ignorance, I want it to be intentional. I feel like heart-break would leave him hollow and hungry, and I want to experience that side of him. I think his capacity for hurt is almost equally potent to his capacity for love, and that’s what makes him such a compelling character in my eyes.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Through a well-developed plot, yes.

In Depth

These interview chairs are always so stiff that Tomas has to wonder whether it’s intentional. Maybe it’s to keep him from falling asleep, but he’d never do that. He likes giving interviews for the most part. Of course, it was easier in his early twenties; when he had very little in the ways of a filter but was blessed with the circumstances in life that permitted him to get away with it. Oh, and an adoring audience. That always helped of course. These days, as a married man in a new city, he has to be more careful with his tongue.

That doesn’t make him any more careful with his smiles, however. And right now he’s aiming one of his most brilliant at the interviewer who’s already started asking him questions. They’re three minutes in, but she hasn’t returned any of his good cheer so far, and that’s uncommon. He’s remembered all his pleasantries, he’s been considerate enough in opening doors and waiting to be seated - but still, nary a smile. He doesn’t mind too much, but it makes his job so much more enjoyable when they do. And as a result, Isabella Gagliano is both a damper and a challenge. But before Tomas can engage her into lowering her defenses, she’s presented him with the next in a series of fan-chosen questions.

“What is your favorite place in Verona?”

”The Two Gentlemen. Certainly the best bottle of pinot grigio that I’ve ever had.” Tomas tells her, lips pressing together as sweetly as the juice from those sticky wine grapes. “You wouldn’t be remiss either if you tried the risotto al tastasal. That’s a real recommendation, you know?” He stage-whispers with a grin, “Off-the record.” But if Isabella takes note, he can’t tell.

The truth is, it’s a lie. A white lie, he consoles himself, because sometimes, the truth is too heavy a price to pay. The truth is that his favourite place in all of Verona is the recently abandoned Multisala Rivoli. It’s a cliche, he knows, an actor finding his second-home inside of a rundown movie-theatre. But it isn’t for the movies that he goes, nor out of any misplaced vainglory. Rather, it’s the promise of nondescript privacy that draws him like a bee to to honey. There, he can meet his new friends beyond the prying eyes of the media. There, he has a clandestine spot to escape the humdrum of the city for a few hours, alone with his thoughts. But it’s not a truth he’s ready to share, and moreover, the Montagues will like this answer better. It’s a nod to their territory; a little more promotion for their best-boasted restaurant. He refuses to join them, he refuses to share in their cause, but maybe sliding in such harmless tips will convince them to lay off of Celeste’s case and stop pressuring her to pressure him to join. Truth and politics don’t mix. Every time a video begins recording, Tomas is well aware of that. But above all, an actor must always remember his part.

“What does your typical day look like?”

“What, like a twenty-four hour play-by-play?” He asks playfully. “No one’s that interesting,signorina, I promise. I remember I was asked a similar question in an interview two or three years ago. I think it was for Sorrisi e Canzoni? Or maybe GQ…. Either way, it was a much more exciting answer back then. Plays, parties, private jets… ” Tomas reminisces fondly, but not fond enough to want to trade it in for his present. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not the same anymore. I’m a married man on sabbatical now, remember??” He says, directing the question towards the camera before letting his gaze find Isabella once more. His life is quieter now, but happier too. “Not that it’s boring by any stretch. I’d recommend marriage, actually. I know it’s done wonders for me! But if I start talking about her and all the ways she’s changed my routine everyone will be rolling their eyes and complaining about cavities before this interview’s over.” Tomas chuckles, thinking of the myriad of ways his daily life has become synonymous with Celeste. What time she wakes, what time she leaves, when she comes home or when he gets to persuade her out of the house on little dates… He has a life outside of Celeste to be sure, but it’s only around her that he’s really reminded of what he’s working towards. Like Eros and Psyche, he thinks. He loves, but she sets fire to his love and gives it true sustenance. A future, a family, a very happy ending - That’s all he wants these days.

“What has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

He laughs at that, taken aback by the girl’s directness. “Is that really what it says on your sheet??” He cocks a brow, leaning forward as if to sneak a peek. “Damn… That’s harsh.” Sometimes, his fans seem like tiny mosquitoes; hungry for every teeny-tiny drop of his blood as they submit questions as invasive as these. “I have to think about that one…” Tomas admits with a bemused shake of his head. “I try not to think of my experiences as mistakes. Even the ones that might feel like it initially. Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? Don’t you believe that?” He looks to his interviewer as though hoping to coax another answer out of her, but she doesn’t indulge him. He’s always preferred dialogue to monologue, despite his choice of career. It takes an exchange of ideas to see the world through new lenses, and he can’t do that while talking continuously about himself. But another pensive, stolen glance at Isabella tells him that she probably won’t care what his answer is, so long as he gives one. He could make it up right here on the spot - something like ‘I’ve started a third gang in Verona to spite the Mobs‘ or ‘I kicked a dog once’, and she probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash. He wonders why. He wonders why she’s so determinedly expressionless.

“Do you play Poker?” Tomas asks without warning. He hadn’t meant for that to come out of his mouth but somehow it does and it takes another laugh and a wave of his hand to dismiss it. “Sorry. But you could! It’s impressive actually - in a good way. To answer your question, I think I’ll have to keep this one to myself.” It’s apologetic but firm, because his biggest mistake is failing his parents. Of all the roles he’s played thus far, that of ‘son’ has always left him most wanting. He couldn’t fix their marriage. He couldn’t inspire their divorce… To this day, his adulterous mother and destructive, ill-tempered father remain tethered to each other. Two rusting anchors, weighing themselves down to the bottom of the sea-bed… Most days, Tomas tries hard not to think about it. But there are some moments, moments when he’s feeling low, that he wonders if he’s responsible for their unhappiness; wonders if he couldn’t have done more to help them find happiness, along the way. Today is one of the predetermined no-thinkdays though. The days he’s giving interviews always are. “Sorry about that… Got anything else on your nifty list?” He prompts her, hoping to move on to a happier topic.

“What has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

This question too, gives him pause. More than he’d like. There’s the shadow of fleeting suspicion as he steals a glance at Isabella, wondering if they’re posing these questions on purpose to throw him off. But what cause would a reporter have to do that? You’re being silly,he chides himself, mulling over the question. Again, he knows the real answer.

Commitment.

It isn’t easy to choose a single person in this life, Tomas thinks. To narrow his expansive romantic inclinations and promise them to one individual and one individual only. But it’s a choice he reminds himself of every morning when he wakes up, when he cracks an eye open only for his gaze to fall on the familiar comfort of Celeste’s blazing red hair, like a halo around her cherubic face. It’s a choice he must remember when he’s comparing paintings with Juliana and hears the clear-bell tone of her laughter echo in the museum. A choice he must remember when his fingers find the soft, unwritten skin beneath Santino’s wrist as they look for stars in a midnight sky. A choice he recalls even as he listens to Paola recount the tales he’s missed in her life; eyes dancing with ferocious passion and he thinks what if, what if…

… But it’s a struggle he dares not reveal. It would insult his beloved wife, it would make a mockery of the vows they took in front of that altar, all those months ago. Worse still, it would surely garner derision from the audience, especially from his most die-hard fans; some of who still count on the failure of his marriage in order to regain the bachelor fantasy they’d attached to their idol. But idols were effigies of gold and silver. He was not an idol, he was a man of flesh and blood and feeling. Do you understand?… You will never understand me like she has, he wants to rebuke them. But there’s an old fondness that he can’t help when it comes to those who loved him first. And so his countenance softens as he answers the reporter’s question. “The most difficult task for me, has been leaving behind all my loved ones in Rome. My friends, my family, my fans…” He presses his fingertips to his lips for a moment before waving them towards the camera, sending the kiss to those who’ll hope for it most, when the interview airs tomorrow night. “I send my love, and I’m humbled by your continued support.”

“What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“It’s-… It’s insanity.“

Now the Montagues won’t like that. But he feels the answer so strongly, and with so much conviction that he thinks the glassy brightness in his eyes would betray him anyway. Some lies are too big to swallow, even for an actor. “Brutal and unnecessary - do they even remember what they’re fighting for?” He asks Isabella, though he thinks she’s probably no closer to answering that than the other Veronesi. “You know, the stories say that it’s been so many decades now that no one knows any more… Isn’t that silly? To fight over something that you can’t even remember?” But deep down, Tomas knows it’s not that simple. Because mobs don’t need an impetus; not when there’s so much profit to be made in criminality. All the rest is just stories, to play on the sympathies of a winsome public. He should know… He played on that same, guileless sympathy, night after night after night on a front-lit stage. But art is one thing, war is another. And Celeste is tied up in this war, much as he hates to think about it.

“Maybe I’ll go back to Rome one of these days,” Tomas announces abruptly, shifting upright in his chair. There’s an ardent gleam in his eyes because he likes thinking in maybes. They’re so much more satisfying than the limitations of what is or isn’t strictly possible. “I’d like to take my wife with me. She’s never been… Can you believe it?? Never been to Rome… We could start there, then maybe a tour of Europe. Maybe a second honeymoon. I’m sure she’d like that.” He doesn’t know if that’s true, he doesn’t know if he can ever return to Rome, but it has a romantic ring to it nonetheless. And when has Troilus ever been able to deny the sweet-nothing whispers of romance, even as a city tears itself apart around him?….

Never, he thinks… Not even then.

——————————————-

(Thank you for Reading!!)

[penumbra-rp]

Ash, you will be playing the role of Maya Zabini!

Men were very attentive to a pretty young thing, that much she’s learned by now. It’s surprising how much they are willing to part with, how much they are willing to give, to do for her, in exchange for her favor – and she uses that knowledge to her advantage. Tricking and teasing with the fluttering of lashes and the toss of glossy curls until they all but drop furs and jewels and trinkets into her awaiting palm.

Admin Becky: Step aside fellas, I’m about to fight you all for Maya’s love and attention. I don’t think I really ever remember a time when Maya wasn’t yours? When I first came up with her skeleton bio in 2000-whatever I think we actually mind-melded and I just ghostwrote it for you because I can’t imagine anyone else writing her the way you do. I love that Maya is well aware of her strengths and knows exactly how to use them to her advantage to ensure that she gets what she wants. She has been chasing her dreams since she was young-- yet still desires more, wants bigger and better. Is she going to achieve it? Will that unquenchable need be her downfall? Either way, I’ll still be leading her fan club.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Ash

AGE: 25

YOUR BIRTHDAY: 01/24

PRONOUNS: She/Her

TIMEZONE: EST

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Maya Zabini

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: She/Her

FACECLAIM: Karrueche Tran

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: 10/25

PERSONALITY: 

+ three positive traits

(+) CHARMING – There’s a very distinct charm to Maya. It makes her likable, makes her memorable, and more concerning, makes her distracting.  It’s in the way she speaks. Clever and coy, that it makes you feel like every word to slip past her lips was some form of flirtation. It’s in her gaze. Deep and penetrating, beneath long inky lashes, looking on unwaveringly to those lucky enough to capture her attention, those lucky enough to get close to speak to her, making them feel special and captivating. It’s in her touch. Warm, yet purposeful. A deliberate lingering of her fingertips can crumble even the most reinforced walls of defense, can disarm the hostile and standoffish. And when coupled with her dimpled grin, no average man (or woman) stood much of a chance.

(+) DRIVEN – When you have nothing to lose, you possess a drive that others might not have. A drive that continues to propel you further and further through life until you have something to call your own, something you’ve achieved through your blood, sweat and tears. (Though Maya Zabini never cried tears, it’d ruin her mascara.) But it’s determination to elevate her life that’s caused Maya to be as unyielding and unstoppable as she is, holding onto her designing dreams since she was a girl with both hands, and going full steam ahead, never losing sight of them no matter where life took her. She’s passionate, her enthusiasm for fashion near tangible with every word she speaks. She is undaunted by failure, and more importantly she wouldn’t accept it, because she had to change her situation, had to get closer to her kingdom that she so dreamed of, and as she grew, she knew wishing on stars wouldn’t help her.

(+) RESOURCEFUL – Growing up on the lowest end of the working class spectrum, toeing the line into poverty, Maya had to learn the art of making things ‘stretch’. She understood they didn’t have much, and that was okay, because she figured out ways to make do with what she had. She’d become artful, her situation forcing a certain cleverness out of her, so she could solve the everyday problems that circumstance put in her way. It surpassed resourceful clothing options like turning a satin robe into a wrap around shirt-dress to pair with tights and heels. She was crafty with her words, weaving them just as delicately as she would needle and thread, pulling and tying them deliberately so she might get people to do things for her like pay for her lunch, or give her their answers for the exam.

- three negative traits

(-) DECEITFUL – The problem with a knowingly charming woman, is that she’s aware in that she’s charming you, and once she knows that she can get you to believe anything she says, it opens the door for deceit and manipulation. Because Maya has been solely looked at for her external attributes, hardly being taken seriously for her mind and her skills, she’s highly underestimated. And she knows it. While it makes her bitter from time to time, her resourceful mind realized that it was an asset. No one would ever expect her to be clever, to be calculating. No one would expect her to be so shrewd as to pick up on little nuances that others might overlook. No one would expect the pretty little thing to be anything but a dutiful housewife. She must have been out shopping when her husbands were killed, because that’s all someone like her must do in her spare time. But it’s been said “don’t let that pretty face fool you.”

(-) AVARICIOUS – Growing up not knowing or having much, can have an effect on a girl. While it made her resourceful, giving her the ability to use what she had in the maximum amount of ways, and while it also made her exceedingly driven, it made her greedy as well. She’s selfish and unscrupulous, always looking out for number one: herself. And all Maya wants is more, more, more. Because once Maya Zabini got a taste of what the good life was like, she had zero intention of going back to the country-come-to-town girl she’d once been. She was refined now, a girl of a very specific caliber and she needed to have things, and clothes, and friends and more importantly lovers, that reflected her new status in society.

(-) IMPERSONAL – Part of her natural inclination to mislead, Maya has become a very impersonal and private girl, holding all of her cards close to her chest. Hiding behind cute smiles and feminine wiles, many people don’t notice how impersonal and guarded she actually is, as she comes off much more open. Because she makes them feel like they’re close to her, like they know her. But if those around her think closely, they’ll likely notice they don’t know much about her at all, except for shallow things she allows them to know like where she works or her favorite wine as she evasively hides the rest of herself. She doesn’t like getting too personal with anyone, whether it be friends or colleagues or lovers. When speaking in casual conversation, she only seems to scratch the surface of her life, keeping things light and general, opting to not let others know about her.

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

Her story begins the way many age olds ones do.. Man meets woman. Woman falls in love. Man has no intention to. Woman gives him everything, the world, if she could. Woman devotes her entire life to man, lets man suck her dry ( of her time, of her energy, of her zest for life ). Man leaves her the moment something shinier, something newer, something younger, comes along. It takes a toll on a woman to know that the man she was in love with decided to up and leave with a promise to return that he never planned on keeping. It takes a toll on a woman when they realize the reason he left was to give another woman the life she was promised. It takes an even bigger toll…to know she’s going to have his child.

So little Maya Zabini never saw her father – the debonair Italian youth that waltzed into her mother’s life, only to make an abrupt unannounced stage exit – never knew him, not so much as glanced at a photo. Oh no, those were long gone, tossed over a bridge and into the river along with what little things he left behind. But what she did have, was her mother’s resentment, her impassioned words, to never let a man have the upper hand, to never fall for them, but let them fall for you, because it’s ‘easier that way.’ Maya never knew of the man who broke her mother’s heart, but she did know, she wouldn’t allow history to repeat.

The home she come to know was not one of opulence. There were no winding staircases, no butlers to open the doors, no chefs to prepare meals or nannies to shift in and out to take care of her. It was much more humble than that. Just the three of them, three little women – her mother, her grandmother, and her.

But soon Maya would learn that the home was filled with one more entity. Taking up by far more space than the trio combined: her dreams. Dreams of more than this provincial life. No, she did not possess a television to watch the films, but she knew of the fairy tales from the many books she’d read. She knew of the princesses, pauperized yet optimistic, holding onto wishes on stars so that their circumstances might change. And with the help of some animal friends and a song or two, a handsome, wealthy prince would come. Just like that, all their problems would be gone. Maya saw herself in those princesses. And because she’d yet to become jaded to this world, she just knew if she hoped hard enough, and sang her song loud enough, her prince would come, and he’d bring the keys to her castle with him.

She began helping her mother at age nine. Delicate and nimble hands becoming home for needle and thread. As a seasoned seamstress, Maya learned everything she knew about clothes from her. With a few simple pieces and perfectly applied lipstick, Mai Zabini looked like two million bucks, despite how little they had and Maya wanted to be just like her. Just as clever, just as resourceful. So she learned the tricks of the trade, her mother having raided her closet, handing down coats, dresses and blouses like they were family heirlooms. “Everything that was once in, will always be in. You just have to be bold enough to bring it back.” It’s a phrase her mother once said, and a philosophy Maya came to live by. And what was once old becomes new again with a few strings of thread and a little TLC.

Confidence and clothes came hand and hand for a girl like Maya. She might have been a pretty face, but what she wore set her apart. Nothing in the shops even remotely looked like the outfits she’d craft. And when the age old question of ‘where did you get it?’ came along, a certain air would lift her chin primly, the same words always poised on her tongue: “You can’t find this in London.”

Two things began in that moment. The first? Her lies. The girl taught herself how to balance on the tightrope that separates true from false. It was easy to make everyone believe you were seated on a pedestal that did not exist. But oh, did they come to revere her. She realized then, that a deliberate toss of her hair over her shoulder, the slightest flutter of her lashes, sealed with a curving coy smile, it could have the masses forge her pedestal for her (with their own bodies if she wanted). She could make them all do as she pleased and more importantly, believe what she wanted them to. And that was the first key to her kingdom.

The second? Her passion for design. It wasn’t enough to just break out the sewing machine and take in her mother’s hand-me-downs, throw on some accessories and go. Maya’s mind saw past that. She dreamed in silks and cashmeres, florals, lace and leathers. So she drew, on whatever she could find – the margins in her notebooks, a napkin she’d grabbed at lunch, the inside of her wrists, even – until she had a portfolio of her odds and ends, lavish looking designs for the upper echelon. And then…she began to make them, using herself as a petite model, forging the second key to her kingdom on her own.

To this day, she’ll say her Marketing 1001 course in her first year at university was the one to change her life. Because it was there that she’d seated herself beside a girl with the most stark blonde hair she’d ever seen. After a few taps of her manicured fingers upon her iPhone, she’d turned to Maya, azure eyes settling curiously on the skirt she’d made before darting up to meet her gaze. A hand extended then and the words ‘I’m Narcissa Black,’ fell from her lips, slow and smooth like honey. It was her first encounter with modern royalty.

Maya’s life only went full speed ahead from there. It’s what happens when you rubbed elbows with royals, they were sure to take care of you too. The rest of her years at Hogwarts went by in a blur. Sophomore year. Junior year. Senior year. A House of Black internship. Graduation. They hire her after that, bringing her onto the team as a junior designer. And now? She’s their creative director, their couturier, overseeing the designs that were once her lowly napkin sketches. From their inception to creation, she’s ensuring each and every article coincides with the House of Black brand, and still holds the Maya Zabini special touch.

( Given the order of things, this would be around the time that the princess finds her prince – but it’s a little more complicated than that. Men were very attentive to a pretty young thing, that much she’s learned by now. It’s surprising how much they are willing to part with, how much they are willing to give, to do for her, in exchange for her favor – and she uses that knowledge to her advantage. Tricking and teasing with the fluttering of lashes and the toss of glossy curls until they all but drop furs and jewels and trinkets into her awaiting palm. She deserves this, does she not? The life she always wanted and the riches it came with it. She toys with emotions like a ball of yarn. Desire, her favorite plaything. But to the highest bidder, the carefully selected candidates who will damn themselves for her, she traps them within her grasp – a diamond ring, a marriage license, the keys to their castles. )

Her body count is at two. One accidental, the other premeditated. Wills to lavish estates written in legal jargon, left in her name as sole beneficiary. But such details are neither here nor there. The widowed wife is an act she’s refined with time. But now? She weaves through chandelier-lit corridors, rubbing elbows with the Sacred. Her laughter a delicate chime as she sips from champagne flutes. They say she’s moved on too quickly, and perhaps she has. But Maya Zabini is a woman on a mission: to catch herself another prince – preferably, one with a Porsche.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

“Oh, come now, don’t call it an ‘occupation,’ it sounds so boring when you put it that way. It’s practically a fairy tale.” Maya can’t help but gush, smile widening brilliantly as she brings up one leg to cross over the other. Working at the House of Black is something she doesn’t even consider a ‘job’ or a mere ‘occupation’ because it’s much more than that to her. “You won’t believe, designing was something I did at home because….my mother didn’t have us watching tv, you know?” A half-truth, but she can’t exactly go and say she was poor so drawing was her only leisurely activity. “But now, at the House of Black, they help me bring my…little doodles to life. It’s a dream, really, to do what I love everyday.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

“Um,” she hums, eyes narrowed in contemplation, before holding up a finger to rummage through her Balenciaga tote. Producing her phone and flicking through her music collection, she smiles upon her morning playlist, the one that wakes her up and gets her moving every single day. Her finger taps on Ariana Grande’s ‘God is a Woman,’ eyes closing as her shoulders move in rhythm. “This one. It’s massively overrated, we know, but….I think it speaks to me most.”

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

Widow. Home-wrecker. Gold-digger. Murderess. A girl used to having people talk, having them gossip in her face and behind her back, Maya gave a delicately flippant lift of her shoulders. “No.” She says simply. Caring about what other people thought of her was something a younger version of herself might have paid mind to, but the world has taught Maya many things, and one of them was that you can’t control what people think about you, but you can control how you react and how you let such words affect you. Now? Such things roll right off her back, far too comfortable in the skin she’s in. “Birds peck at the best fruit, my mother always said,” she explains, examining the fresh coat of shell-pink paint on her nails. “So they can say what they wish because in the end, they’re still talking about me. Which means I must be pretty damn important, no matter what my reputation is.”

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

“It’s just me and my mother, really. And we’re the thickest of thieves.” Just thinking of the woman splits a smile across her cheeks. Mai Zabini was a woman she looked up to and only ever strived to be more and more like every day – a woman who taught her to always put herself first, a woman whose shoulders were always back and her lipstick always bold, a woman who carried the Zabini name with grace. “She’s my best friend.”

v. What languages can you speak?

“Darling, I know so many.” She gives a light tinkling laugh to this question, a hand raising to conceal the humor that curved her smile. Such irony of her words is lost on the interviewer, though. With a portfolio of lovers from around the globe, Maya knows a little bit of everything. Christian taught her Spanish, and before him Giancarlo ensured she knew enough Italian to impress his mother. Sprinkle in a bit of French from Paulette she learned during holiday in Saint Tropez and fragments of Russian from Maksim during a layover in Moscow. She leans in a touch closer, voice lowering as a devious glint flickers in the depths of her eyes, “You’d be better off asking me if there’s any languages I don’t know.”

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

Alarm widens her eyes, features contorting quickly in distress at the mere hypothetical. Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout, a plethora of prized items flicking through her mind at once – her white fur coat, her entire wall of designer shoes – it’s entirely too difficult to choose one item. “Well, considering Coco is a pet and not an item, I’ll take her with me. And–” She grows quiet once more, lips pressed tight in thought, “My sketches. So long as I have them, everything will be fine.”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

“Can’t you tell?” Maya questions, a teasing lilt tugging at one corner of her lips. “I’m a business woman, I studied at the Slytherin School. The best school. Majored in Business, but my concentration was Fashion Merchandising. I like to think I knew I’d somehow end up here.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“@MayaZabini, for all my accounts. But a girl needs to be selective, you see. I don’t follow back just anyone.” Her expression is serious, solemn as she shakes her head. But that grin peeks through at the last second as she reaches out, warmly and deliberately placing her hand on their knee, “But for you, I’d do it gladly.”

[rickktish]

Do you ever just...

look at the stuff you know you can never publish without somebody saying “kinky” and turning it into a fetish thing, even though it’s really not a fetish thing at all, and feel sad?

There’s stuff I know I will never be able to share with anyone because it reads as being super kinky. It’s not kinky. It’s world-buildy. But other people don’t think how I think, other people don’t look at things the way I look at them, and other people don’t have the opinions I have. 

I just... I yearn for a platform where I can share something without being afraid of accidentally making someone uncomfortable because of what they think is a sex thing when I don’t view it as a sex thing. I yearn for a society where I can share something creative without having to worry about social issues and opinions and pushing everyone’s triggers by describing the human body.

Today I was scrolling through one of my favorite tags and found someone crying for everyone to unfollow someone else because they supposedly drew child pornography and fetishized trans people. Except that nothing in their argument actually looked like there was any porn or fetishization occurring whatsoever, so I decided to explore the person being defamed myself. And you know what? I just read one of the most beautiful, heartwarming fan comics I’ve ever seen, with a masterfully organized story and wonderfully done EVERYTHING and I loved it to bits and it takes place in a fantasy world which the author of the original work outlined but (as far as I’m aware) never fully fleshed out. One of the characters is shirtless as originally drawn by the author of the original work. The (cisfem) fan artist headcanons this character as trans, and states in her explanation of the story that she spent a long time debating how to incorporate that into her work, and ultimately decided that the character shouldn’t be forced to have recieved top surgery in a medieval setting or to change his outfit in order to “qualify” to be trans. So she draws him throughout the entire comic series, which is at least a hundred posts long and totally worth reading through, as having his breasts exposed when he’s shirtless.

The person who was defaming that artist whose post I initially read was incensed that this cis artist had chosen to depict this character in this way. They held the belief that the artist was sexualizing an underage character and fetishizing his transness by using he/him pronouns for him while exposing his breasts. They argued that the artist clearly hadn’t asked the opinions of any trans people on this matter and ought to be degraded for it.

Except... as a trans man, reading about a trans man who is comfortable enough and free enough in his world to not have to get top surgery or cover up to be accepted was enormously freeing for me. It was incredible to me how accepting literally everyone in the comic was, even to the point of punting me out of my suspension of disbelief several times. Literally no one misgendered this character even once. The only time in-universe that the character’s sex was discussed was for a gag referring to a child he and his partner had accidentally adopted. And the artist���s style is wonderfully unique and simplistic and hardly graphic, to the point that while it was sometimes clear that the character had his breasts exposed, there was never anything uncomfortable or sexual about it. It was literally just another piece of character design, another facet of his apparel reflecting his personality and character. It was glorious, and I revelled in the absolute freedom that this character experienced, that I deeply envied and longed for. (which is not to say that I want to be able to walk around with my chest exposed, because I’m honestly usually not comfortable even in just short sleeves; I prefer to stay well-covered regardless, but the element of acceptance was astounding and deeply moving to me.)

But apparently several people have gone after this artist for “sexualizing” a character and “fetishizing” his transness by not requiring that he “pass.” Not only the person whose discourse initially led me to that artist and their comic, but others as well.

And it makes me sad. Because I write stories about trans men who accept their bodies. I don’t have the experience of a trans woman to feel comfortable writing about that without being afraid of incorrectly portraying that experience, though I’d like to someday try to do that as well in my storytelling. I write stories about trans men who hate their female shape when they’re referred to by female pronouns but can accept and love it when they use male ones-- because that is my experience. I have pages upon pages of journals examining my own perspective, exploring why “she” hates her body and “he” loves his when they are both me and I am both and I have been both but somehow they define my paradigm, my self-view, my world, and I have no answers but I can only write what I know and what I know is taking comfort in accepting my body as it is and my pronouns as they are. This artist, although she is cis and has not experienced what I have, managed to portray that perfectly, and it resonated so deeply with me that I read everything she’s created for that series in a single sitting.

I write about breasts. I write about men with breasts. I write about women with breasts. I write about uncomfortable things, about different perspectives from the norm, about possibilities I have never seen explored. 

I write about an A/B/O universe where it’s not about sex, it’s about a society shaped by a biology entirely different to the one which has shaped our own. I write about Dom/Sub/Switch worlds that don’t have a single drop of citrus in them but have a whole lot about what it means to be “safe” and why it matters how much control you hold over your every moment of breath upon this earth. I write about fetishes in a de-fetishized context, because when you get bored enough to read every single fic on a list for a fandom you learn things you never imagined were a thing, and personally when I learn things I start creating.

But I can never post stories I write about trans men who breastfeed their children, not without editing that part of it out. I can never publish stories about people in their earlyi  teens who are aware of and formulating opinions on this “sex” thing, because even though American kids are taught the mechanics of sex when they’re twelve and thirteen and fourteen the internet doesn’t want to know that they-- that WE-- think on it and consider what the things we learn mean in an actual, world context. I read an argument recently that boiled down to “don’t headcanon fourteen-year-olds as ace they shouldn’t even be thinking about sex what’s wrong with you” and all I could read was “sure, we TEACH them about sex at that age but they’re not supposed to actually THINK about it” and I don’t think I’ve ever read a more accurate description of the American education system and it burned me, down to my very core.

This got a lot longer than I intended, but I guess all I’m really trying to say is that it makes me sad how pervasive our expectation of sex as a perversion is in this culture. This online culture, this world culture-- we talk and talk and talk about sex and shame those who do or think anything outside the “norm”-- whatever that qualifies as for the two week period you happen to be writing during-- and I don’t think anyone on this fucking hellsite even really understands what sex even is on a fundamental level. I’m sure it sounds insane to anyone outside my own head, but the very first thing we fetishized as humans was sex itself and I kind of really wish we hadn’t done that, because it led to the setting of a billion other rules of what is “normal” in regard to procreative acts and what is “kinky” and what is liable to give the next everyday joe to happen upon the pose a boner. 

Sex is an act of procreation. It is an expression between people of an understanding deeper than words can depict, whether that is one of love or one of shared escapism or one of impulsiveness. As soon as it was turned into an act of pure recreation, it became a hot mess that you all can’t help poking at and making weird faces. I have a friend who can’t even stand to listen to a health class discussion of sex because it makes her so deeply uncomfortable and that makes me so fucking sad you have no idea. 

I just... I wish the societal view of sex and its relation to the body didn’t exist sometimes. I wish people didn’t think in terms of sex first and ideas after. I wish people could actually be mature for once in their lives and remember that it’s not all about who can get the biggest orgasm from the weirdest shit.

i know other people’s opinions are different from my own. I try really hard to respect them. really hard. But sometimes, when things don’t make sense in my mind, when I see what I’m 98% positive is a better way of looking at an issue, I just... my empathy function shuts down and I jsut want people to listen and think for once in their lives about why they think of sex the way they do. Why they think of anything the way they do, really. But sex especially. 

Maybe I just want everyone to be able to compartmentalize the way I can, and I know that’s not reasonable in any way shape or form but it’s 3 am and I’m tired of bullshit and i’m’ sad and i’m angry except I’m not really angry I’m actually just sad. Really, really sad. and kind of hopeless.

[asexual-society]

Aspec & Arospec YouTube List Part 2!

Apparently there are a lot more ace youtubers that I missed on the last list…

The descriptions for each channel are pretty much just copied and pasted from their channel descriptions. Unless they didn’t have a description, in which case I just wrote ‘vlogger’.

Please note: All the content of the channels below may or may not reflect the views or opinions of this blog or it’s moderators. Nor is all of it safe for work or free of problematic elements. Please use your own discretion. 

Note 2: If your favorite youtuber is not on this list, feel free to add on! 

Enjoy!

Aaron Ansuini: A trans ace vlogger who talks about both asexuality, being trans, video games, art, and motivation; Twitter

Abbie Wells: Aspec singer, actress, and vlogger; Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram 

Aced It!: We are just a handful of Ace/Aro YouTubers who wanted to make a community to chat! Hang out let’s talk! ; instagram

Ace Ideas: We are a diverse group of asexuals here to share our knowledge, experiences, passions, hobbies, and stories surrounding our asexuality.; Facebook, tumblr, twitter 

Aceland Alexander Kent: Transgender-Male, Homoromantic, Aceflux-Asexual musician and vlogger. He used to run the queer information channel, Questions and Queeries ; Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, BandCamp

Ahsante the Artist: Artist, Storyteller, Harvard 2015. A place for educated discussion, spirited lifestyle, cultural critique, creative reflection, and the silly goings on in the life and mind of Ahsante; website, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Portfolio website, Patreon

Androigynous: Hey guys! Andie here. Your resident cat girl. You’ll find gameplay, art, unboxings and feline vlogs! There’s something for everyone. ✨; instagram, facebook

Antastesia: A French asexual feminism/lifestyle/travel/vegan vlogger; Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, professional website

Anthony Pero: Posting funny videos and skits with the purpose of making people laugh. I like to focus on anything from serious topics like depression to goofier subjects like my Facebook newsfeed. My channel also consists of parodies of people I know, things I see, or random events that I think need to be spoofed; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram

ArtByFlan: Sometimes I draw things. Sometimes I record myself drawing things. Sometimes I post videos of myself drawing things here!; tumblr, deviantart, facebook, twitter

Asexualise My Asexual Life:  Asexualise Your Asexual Life: Empower And Enhance Your Asexual Life. Giving Asexuals a voice in the world. It is my mission to give asexuals a voice in the world; to empower other asexuals to be comfortable and confident with their asexuality; and to give insight into my colourful asexual life, to enable others to better understand their own and to know they are not alone. I want to educate others about asexuality, so that in the future, all asexuals can live in society happily.; twitter, facebook 

Autistic Asexual fangirl Adventures: just a vlog page, random ramblings and adventures of a autistic asexual and geek who wants to try and make the word a better place.; twitter

BaptismOnFire: My name is Jack, I love horror and all things creepy. Here you’ll find videos about nightmares, monsters, creepypasta and generally spooky things! Remember to watch the skies, stay paranoid and trust no one…; Twitter, Tumblr, DeviantArt

Blue Phoenix Ace: American ace education vlogger. My goal is to educate people about Aromanticism and Asexuality, because maybe it will help someone learn the truth about themselves before they hit the age of 37!; music channel, Website, Soundcloud, Facebook

BreakfastAlexis: An asexual artist who creates animatics; tumblr, twitter, redbubble

Brian Langevin: Occasional videos discussing asexuality and life in general! This channel also hosts an archive of Everything’s A-Okay - a project Brian Langevin started alongside the project’s writer, Amy Liang, to bring greater visibility to asexuality; Twitter

Channel for Positivity l Understanding l Justice: Demisexual Korean-American motivational vlogger. Stay woke. See BOTH Sides. Social Justice. Bite-Sized Politics. Build more POSITIVITY :D Pragmatic Utopian. Diversity. Understand Humans & Relationships. Embrace Progress.; twitter, tumblr

Christi Kerr: This channel is a mix of whatever I like to do, which mainly includes vlogging but could include any number of things; Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, SnapChat, Instagram

Christine Sydelko: The youtube channel of vine-star/popular internet comedian and her boyfriend; Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat

Clara Unleashed: Denmark based asexual/biromanic vlogger. They also run the aspec focused youtube channel, My Ace Experience ; Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr

Cultlleader: Asexual Vlogger; Instagram, twitter

curlybobofelia: UK based asexuality Awareness, LGBTQ, Mental Health Awareness, Disability Rights, Child Rights & Anti-bullying Advocate vlogger; Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram

Dylan Tyler: I’m Dylan, and I suck at writing the intro things, so let’s just eat a lot of popcorn together and do an unhealthy amount of binge watching. Subscribing makes it easier to find me when you’re up for binging :) ; instagram, twitter

ElectraSnow: Demisexual artist, makeup artist, and special effects makeup expert: Twitter, Etsy, Tumblr, Facebook

Elisa Hansen/Maven of the Eventide: Voraciously vivacious Vampire Reviews. The Maven peers into the realms of the creatures of the night for a humorous analysis of vampires in media and pop culture; Twitter, Facebook

Embly: 18 years old, also the cutest small potato in the neighbourhood, wine mum, also very salty and nostalgic over a jam sandwich she lost over 2 years ago; Twitter, Instagram

Estelle Z: Music, vlogs, scrapbooks, and whatever else I happen to fancy; Tumblr, Twitter, Soundcloud, Facebook, Patreon, Gumroad

happy fish: Autistic, mentally ill, queer, nonbinary person vlogging about my life and trying to pretend I know how to function as an adult.; etsy, tumblr

Heroic Pages: Canadian, lover of books, films and imagination…and also a huge nerd!! Critter! Very much an unapologetic introvert (INTJ) ACE hermit cat lady den mother!; twitter, instagram, goodreads

JakeMale TV: I do Comedy sketch videos but also Vlogs! I share my life experiences with you so you can laugh at my mistakes. I have funny moments in my life, come and join me living my life. Click on ‘SUBSCRIBE’ to be told when I upload a new video! I advice it, MY LIFE IS WEIRD! I also do a University Advice series!; twitter, facebook, vimeo

Jeff Miller: Demiromantic/demisexual transmasculine musician, actor, and all around content creator; Patreon, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr

janeil darnell: An aroace vlogger; twitter

jennaclarek: Heteroromantic asexual. I just graduated college with a BS degree (get it) in Audio/Video Production. I’m also obsessed with Taylor Swift, strawberry cake, and musicals. I mostly make videos about books, but I also make videos about my life, my faith, and the other things I enjoy!; goodreads, twitter, tumblr, instagram, bandcamp

Jourdann: A channel that’s all about ships (the tv kind), college life, and artsy videos; Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram

kaihugstrees: Non-binary asexual. I make videos every week about my life, from travel vlogs and challenges to videos about mental health, disability, and queer topics; Twitter, Tumblr

Kelly McCraw: Akoiromantic Asexual vlogger

Marshall John Blount: Just an Ace guy trying to make it through life…This vlog will be about my everyday life and Asexual awareness…..I hope y'all will tag along on this interesting journey with me 💜💜

marsisnotcreative: Brazilian vlogger. Does covers of songs, videos chatting about stuff i enjoy, giving opinions, rants about some things that bother me, pseudo-artsy videos; twitter, tumblr, instagram

megathornberryy: Aspec book reviewer and vlogger; Goodreads, Twitter, Instagram

Milo Stewart: My name is Milo and my pronouns are they/them. Gender confused college kid named “YouTube’s most controversial trans vlogger” by The Daily Dot; Twitter, Instagram

Mikey Neumann (of Chainsawsuit Original): Ace president of Chainsaw Original and film critic ; Twitter, Website

moonchild: My channel covers a large variety of topics and genres, some of which include asexuality, body modifications, mental health, with the occasional story time or rant video thrown in; Tumblr

Overlysarcasticproductions: Sarcastic, yet informative, summaries of classic and not-so-classic literature and mythology, as well as major historical events! (Red has stated that she is asexual); threadless, cafepress, twitter

Peach The College Girl’s Vlog: Asexual Biromantic gaming channel ;twitter, twitch, snapchat

Phoebe Saturn : i make youtube videos as a hobby and hopefully have a positive impact on your day :] ; twitter

ppusherr: Gender, Sexuality, and Social Issues solved with Positivity and Education; Tumblr

punkygirlontherock: Asexual Canadian vlogger

Ricky Dillon: American YouTube personality and singer-songwriter; Book website, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Spotify

Sally Le Page: Grey-ace UK vlogger. Aims to bring science further into popular culture by making science videos that make you laugh, make you feel and make you think; Website, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Flickr

sara elizabeth: Demisexual American make-up vlogger. i’m sara and i’m sorta obsessed with makeup and musicals; twitter, instagram

Sebastian Columbine: A horror and surrealist, filmmaker and artist in Los Angeles, California. This youtube channel surrounds Sebastian’s unique style, both in terms of fashion and beauty, as well as their lifestyle and artistic endeavors; Professional blog/website, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Patreon

skellydun: life is an experience. here are some of mine; Tumblr

SixFootNerd: British, six foot and a total nerd! Just someone talking about Movie/Tv News, Events, Reviews and Discussions; Twitter, Tumblr

Sophie Foster: Demisexual/biromantic fashion, makeup, and lifestyle vlogger from the UK; Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram

SoulOfEbony: I wanna scribble cartoons for a living and make people smile.; tumblr, twitter

Taye Nic: I’m just an 20 year old college student who is trying to live for the first time:) Lol, I just got into makeup! I also love making things, broadway, Disney, my boho chic style lol and NYC more than anything else! I also love to make friends so stop by; twitter, instagram, pinterest

The Asexual Goddess: Ace and in your face. I’m actually an introvert so i don’t know how that works

TheGothicAlice: Asexual Aromantic artist, Manic Panic dyehard, horror junkie, cynic, and part time model; facebook, Etsy, Tumblr

TheMysteriousMrEnter: Asexual/Aromantic animation reviewer; DeviantArt, Tumblr, Twitter, TvTropes, Facebook,

Vivi Addams: Feel free to hang around for a while, watch some Lego animations, hopefully subscribe… Enjoy!; Tumblr, Twitter

[softdarkiplierimagines]

Theories for why Dark is the way he is

Personality wise at least.

Mark gave us Dark’s motive ages ago; He wanted what Mark had without really working for and earning it. Simple motive and personality for a simple creature that was supposed to be clearly seen as evil. But after WKM?, Dark isn’t pure evil, he’s more grey- but I’ll talk about this soon-  but first, we need to acknowledge that Mark has grown as a creator and storyteller. He doesn't just want to make comedy, even if it’s his main focus, he wants to portray death, anger and sadness as such, not just only use them as punch lines anymore, which is why Dark went from twitter poems and eyeliner, to a tortured creature made of ~3 souls/what have you, shoved into  body that never belonged to them in the first place. I’m not saying all of Mark’s skits will be serious, they won't be and not all of WKM? Was serious either, but now he's taking human emotion more seriously in his stories, his making the pain his characters feel have actual weight on them. A better example would be to look at Wilford. He was a slapstick character and everything he did was exaggerated for a punchline, but now he's a mentally broken man and Mark isn’t washing the blood off his hands with a punchline anymore. He killed us and mourned over our dead body then left us dearly calling for his friends what vanished without a trace.

Secondly, with that in mind, we need to look at all past videos with a grain of salt. Both Wilford and Dark have grown a lot, and the past works for them may not truly reflect who they are now/who they're gonna become. The beautiful and bad part of mark's works is that we can see hem grow due to mark’s own growth, but this leaves cannon and “erased cannon” a muddled mess. What is going to be brought back up and be a “Oh god that's actually sad now” moment (The neck cracking) and what’s going to be just funny goofs of the past (The “relax” video in it’s entirety.) is a very hard thing to determine.

Thirdly, Mark has made it clear that Dark will not be a spotless hero “When all the light is gone, all that’s left is dark”and I’m willing to bet that in Mark’s mind, where the story most likely stretches further than what we’ve been able to be given, Dark has grown probably twisted into a monster and not the morally grey vintagiality that he is now. It’s all a matter of the author writing the next chapter for us to read.

Fourthly, these are simply me taking the above into mind and trying to guess how Dark’s character will be developed while assuming Mark will have Dark be morally grey rather than a simple villain.

---

Dark is made out of four things, 3 mind and 1 body. The three minds in a body that all have influence, but in different ways, in a body that belongs to none of them.

Celine is the source of most of the emotions, anger, and behavior, threatening, and personality, manipulative and demanding and Damien is more nuance things, appearance, voice and pronouns. You may argue that Damien's things are important markers of who you are but you can take these traits and dress them up in any face, but when it comes to Dark it’s the personality, not appearance that Mark always talks about. He’s put a big emphasise how Dark acts not how he looks, at first it was most likely to remind us that Dark was a villain, but when the “change” happened, he made Celine have these traits very clearly, not Damien. We can clearly see how they are and how they are, but something that’s more subtle is the house.

It has some sort of intelligence and clearly has supernatural powers, Mark said that it “Didn’t want us to see that room (The detectives note room.) yet. Which is why we never saw it before we went through the weird goopy world/upside down world when it took us to directly to said room.) and a piece of the house is within/part of Dark, which would explains   the “aura”, the rigging, the deadness, etc. I see hr house when it as a limited/mild effect on people- as in they where in its clutches for a few days, it heightens the traits that make you more useful to it, whatever they may be. Damien became more disoriented/unsure of himself. (“I know I should be a leader in this situation but I can’t help but feel lost. It made him unable to gather everyone to band together and figure out what happened.) Colonel became more reckless and trigger happy. (Target practice inside anyone? It made him look less trustworthy.) Abe became more suspicious. (A sane investigation does not end up looking like that room did. It made him on edge and willing to pin the blame on anyone, while leaning to the Colonel.) We became more passive. (We rarely question anything or prosted to people asking us to follow them/we followed people like a lost puppy. Then again we where a device to tell  story so take some salt with this one.)

This bit of the house that’s in Dark can function two ways:

It is the house and the house has it’s own goals.

It’s been warped to become an echo chamber for Celines and Damien’s pain and it’s making them more and more cruel and vengeful.

In both cases it makes sense why the house would want Celine to be the more dominant personality, assuming it’s repressing Damine via heightening Celine, and in either situation it has a goal that a cut throat person is more suited for helping it reach.

Look at it this way: the house possessed Celine when she had her own body so even a fragment of the house could hold MASSIVE sway over their behavior.

-----

Theory 1: Dark’s mind went through a Blender

Mark has said that all that’s left of Damien and Celine is there worst parts of them, now imagine that being heightened by the house's influence. Quite the poison has been brewed and bottled in Dark. But even if it’s the worst parts of them, it’s still Damine and Celine. So what that if there 100% gone, what if the only thing that’s there are mannerisms/behavior that composes the “worst parts of them”. What if Dark isn’t like a fusion with Celine and Damien trying to function while battling, or unwittingly being further poisoned by, the house. He’s just made of there echo’s. This hurts in the sense that they're not fully gone or dead, and they’ll never rest, they’ve just been reduced to something nigh recognizable of the people they once were. Blurred words that were torn up to rewrite a sentence.

Theory 2: An eye for an eye

Dark want’s to take the place of this timeline Mark as compensation for what WKM!Mark did to Damien and Celine. They'll never have the lives they once had but at least it's something. They're drawn to us because they want to recreate the relationship they had with is in the WKM? Timeline, trying to protect us from Mark or a mix of the two.

Theory 3: A Promise is a promise (Making things right.)

Mark has taken Damien's body, and Damien (With the help of Celine) want’s to take a body from a  different timeline Mark, so Damien can have a body of his own again and also take this timeline us’s body to give WKM? Us a body again to because Damien didn’t want to leave us in the mirror, but he was convinced it was the best course of action (By Celine on her own or Celine possessed or influenced by the house is up to you.)But, the House’s influence is making them think it’s the the way to fix things, when really the house wants to take our body in this timeline so it can have a separate host from Dark. What happens to Dark (Damien and Celine) or anyone else is no concern to it.

Theory 4: Mistaken Identity and lack of functioning personal identity

Dark was somehow pushed into our universe and mistakenly believes that our Mark is WKM!Mark and want’s to protect us from him.In this theory Dark is very disoriented and confused, being made of the fragments of roughly 3ish minds doesn't help. His memory of the past is, for lack of a better word, shot, and he functions by impulsive feelings. Mark = Bad Us = Good, but also guilt/shame Himself = Suave/collected and he’s trying to be the person he once was, but he's unstable now and can’t be what he once was, so that's why he has a shell/why it cracks. Dark is lying to himself/trying to be someone who’s been long dead by putting prices of them and two other together in a duct tape and gulgun fashion. The only other person who he has a strong bond with is likely Wolford, and he’s mental health and grip on reality are clearly severy damaged as well. In this theory Damine and Celine are also not really people anymore.

Theory 5: Dark isn’t an actual conscious begin.

Dark isn’t his own person, it’s an empty name for husk being piloted by two angry and grieving people who made a vow to destroy Mark in every timeline no matter the cost.

[bloodline-rpg]

Congratulations, Steph! We have accepted your application for your OC, Haven Caldwell (FC  Madelaine Petsch) 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 Monty in his bio. Welcome to Bloodline!

Name/Alias: Steph Age: Twenty - Five Preferred pronouns: She / Her 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’m a college student (haha… please give me my degree) but I’m usually on every night or every other night. It might become slightly less than that when exams take place, but I’d always communicate that beforehand.

DETAILS.

Character’s Name: Haven Caldwell Desired FC: Madelaine Petsch Character’s Age: Twenty - Four Character’s Species: Immortal Witch Character’s Sexuality: Bisexual

BIOGRAPHY.

Power — what everyone wants and so few get. Those who are lucky are born with it, silver spoons dangling out of the corners of their mouths, blissfully unaware of the struggles plaguing the less fortunate. Those who are not quite as lucky choose to take it, tear it from the grasp of those who hardly deserve it, and claim what’s rightfully theirs. You see, power is the empty chamber in a game of Russian roulette, and only a few ever dare to have the balls to pull the trigger. You have to play the game to be rewarded. After all, Haven Caldwell was always destined for more than what the world gave her.

In hindsight, it might be hard for one to believe Haven had been a happy child, the apple of her parents’ eye. They doted on her as any parents would, spoiled her the way only an only child could be spoiled. The streets of New York were her own personal playground, a concrete jungle gym just for her. As the child of an original witch, magic had never been a secret, whispered about in the dark as though it was something to be feared. Rather, it had been embraced, uplifted. Haven would sit at the kitchen table and watch with glee as fire sparked from her mother’s fingertips, flames licking at the skin. She would clap her little hands together and exclaim that the fire was the same color as her hair; her mother would coo at the excitement, press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, flames dissipating as quickly as they came. She always wanted to be just like her mother, imagining what it would feel like to have fire at her fingers, hungry for a power she just knew she had to possess. And her mother, her dear, darling mother… well, every mother wants a mini-me.

Of course, you don’t always get what you want. Holistic Witch. The result of splitting a bloodline one too many times; the result of a family not knowing how to take care of their own. The revelation had come when her mother could no longer hide it, when she stopped being able to explain it away with coos of “you’re just a late bloomer sweetheart,” when it became apparent to Haven herself that she and her mother were not one and the same. According to the story, her grandfather had fallen for a human, marrying for love and not for power ⁠— her mother, drunk on love and foolish… so very foolish, had made the same mistake. Her mother had been one of the lucky ones, the first result of the first split, still an Original. Still powerful, still lauded, still destined for greatness. Haven had not. Just as quickly as she yearned for the fire at her fingertips, she learned to resent the flames sparking from her mother’s. Holistic Witch. Destined to always be seen as less than, inferior. Her mother swore it didn’t change anything, that she could still be powerful, still be great, but Haven was far from stupid. This changed everything.

At sixteen, Haven’s relationship with her mother deteriorated. She grew far too resentful of the woman who had lied to her, kept her in the dark regarding the truth. She knew it killed her mother to watch her only daughter grow cold when they’d once been inseparable, but her mother kept her distance, knowing it was the least that she could do. Looking back on it, maybe Haven had felt a little guilty for pushing her mother away. But you know what they say about trust: it’s a mirror, and you can fix it when it’s broke, but you’ll always see a crack in the reflection. At seventeen, her mother bonded with a wolf familiar ⁠— he’d been nice, Haven supposed, though she didn’t have much of an opinion one way or another at first. He’d integrated into their world seamlessly, a long lost member of the family, a way to bridge the gap. It was a slow start, but his arrival had triggered something in Haven: she wasn’t quite ready to forgive her mother for the years of being left in the dark, but she was getting there. He’d offered them protection, security.

At eighteen, Haven discovered that the wolf was offering up dick in exchange for that protection. She was never meant to know; she wasn’t supposed to be home early that afternoon. She was supposed to be out with her friends, giggling her way down 5th Avenue, arms linked with a pretty girl who wore an even prettier smile. But she’d left her wallet at home, perched on the kitchen counter. It was only a quick detour to go back and grab it after school. She’d found them in the living room, her mother not having the decency to use her marriage bed, caught up in each other. One screaming match later and several pleas from her mother for her not to go, Haven was out the door, a fraction of her belongings in hand. Running away wasn’t the smartest or the most logical choice, but she couldn’t pretend everything was okay, that her mother hadn’t ruined everything over and over and over again.

She made the most of wandering on her own for a few years, relying on her mother’s naivety ⁠— the woman never cut her off, always hoping that Haven would see the error of her own ways and come crawling back. She made friends in both high and low places, listened to the whisperings of the magical world, biding her time and honing her craft. It had been a shock when the rumor first swirled, the murmurings of a witch who had achieved immortality pressed to the shell of her ear; the man who told her of the rumors knew of her desires and presented her with the golden ticket, sending her on her merry way.

Haven wanted power.

Thierry wanted a coven.

Maybe that was the beginning, and the end, of everything.

PERSONALITY.

Ruthless. Calculating. Cold. Detached. Angry. They always used to say that Haven was only out for Haven, willing to send anyone and everyone down the river just to get herself ahead⁠—gone is the happy little girl clapping gleefully in her mother’s kitchen. She has a flair for the dramatics, thrives on being the center of attention. More than anything, though, she despises the notion of being weak. She refuses to be seen as less than and demands the respect she knows she deserves. Her behavior teeters on the edge of sadistic, though not without reason. Wolves don’t deserve respect, so why should she treat them with such? Though perhaps more than a little fucked up, she takes pleasure in toying with the wolves for her own amusement, just to keep herself entertained. It’s a stretch, however, to say she lacks humanity⁠—she isn’t a monster by her own definition, though if that’s how others perceive her, that’s on them. However, those she holds a soft spot for are few and far between. You know what they say: there’s something dangerous about the boredom of girls with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

POLITICS.

It’s safe to say that Haven’s loyalty lies with herself above all else. She’ll do whatever necessary to protect herself first, and worry about her secondary loyalties after. (Really, the only other loyalty she’d have is to Thierry and the Immortal Witches. She’s vicious regarding the wolves given her history, and her stance on Holistic witches isn’t much better. She regards herself as above Original Witches through her newfound identity as an Immortal Witch, thinking of herself as more powerful, but there’s still a unique and deep-seeded resentment towards them that stems from envy.) It’d be interesting to explore interpersonal relationships because she isn’t really a fan of anyone, save for the respect she holds for Thierry and the other Immortal Witches. Again, she teeters on the edge of sadistic in regards to the wolves, toying with them for her own amusement. That’s certainly a dynamic I want to explore and dig a little deeper into.

Though she considers herself to be a manipulator in her own right, I think it’d be interesting to explore how Haven can be manipulated through her quest to get ahead. Promise her more power than what she already has and she’ll take the bait, do someone’s bidding—so long as she feels she has control over the situation and is making the choice for herself. Additionally, she’s a bit of a hellraiser. It’d be interesting to see how her emergence impacts the dynamic of the manor as a whole. I’m not interested in a redemption arc; Haven is the product of her situation, absolutely, but that isn’t an excuse, and I don’t want to treat it as such.

[ruined-rp]

Derek Hale Sample App

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Admin Kitty Pronouns: She/Her Age: 27  Timezone/Country: Australia - GMT+10/AEST Triggers: Rape, trypophobia, clowns, insects Activity Level: 5-6, I own my own business and am currently caring for my grandmother as she’s very ill but I’m around on mobile constantly and am quite regular with my replies! How Did You Hear About Us: I am the creator of all things Ruined :p

Anything Else?: I am so excited for this RP to start! The Code: N/A

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Desired Character: The one and only Derek Hale. Why This Character?: The first ever male muse I ever wrote is Dean Winchester- and he still holds a very special place in my heart but when I connected with Derek Hale, it was like a whole new world opened itself up to me. He is my ultimate muse, the one I have written the most, the one I have written the longest... the one I will return to, time and time again because writing Derek is like coming home. Any FC Changes?: Never in a million years Ships/Anti-ships: He’s a bleeding heart, especially for the women. Even after all the hurt he’s suffered by their hands, he’s still a sucker for a damsel in distress but, I will go where the chemistry and development leads, every time. It also has to make sense to his plot and character type, for example; I would never pitch Kate with Derek unless it was flash backs showing their relationship before the fire.  Headcanons: 

TATTOOS: Derek has a triple spiral or triskelion on his back. It is three spirals connected together.The triskelion is an ancient symbol and whilst it has many, many meanings, to Derek , the symbol stands for the three types of werewolves - Alpha, Beta and Omega. He says it reminds him that while we can rise we can also fall, a Beta becoming an Alpha or an Alpha falling back down to Omega status.It’s also in my opinion an ode to his heritage. The symbol represents his family, almost like a family/pack crest. He has the symbol on Laura’s grave, also in his home and further, it’s the symbol on the tokens given to the Hale Children by Talia to help them with their transitions and to learn control. Derek also has a full sleeve down his left arm that covers the top of his hand- the entire depiction is an ode to the moon and his wolf. He also has a small crescent moon tattooed on the inside of his right wrist.

CRESCENT: Like all of the Hale’s and Labonair’s, Derek has a birth mark of a crescent moon. His is on the inside of his left ankle, whereas Hayley’s is on the back of her shoulder. It’s what ultimately lead to Hayley’s discovery and the one thing that sets their families apart from the rest of the Crescent legacies. The birthmark is what gives a wolf the right to become Alpha of the Crescent Wolf Pack, should their time ever come... something that isn’t always a blessing or a right of passage.

FAVOURITE THINGS: Derek has a thing for Winter too but there is something so special about Autumn. It’s natures way of preparing for change, of shedding the old after a brilliant array of colour and beauty ready for a new cycle. The colours that surrounded his loft and the home he grew up in felt like a warm hug from the earth. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud...He’s also an exceptionally good cook. There’s something so therapeutic about being in the kitchen, making something by his hand. He’s great at any handy-work style task but making good food for his pack and watching the joy on their faces as they sit around the logs and a freshly stoked fire eating whatever he’d prepared for them is one of his favourite traditions. Please Provide At Least One: You can find it all here  → [xxxx]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE:

How Does Your Character Feel About The Peace Treaty?: It was his family that helped established the Peace Treaty but frankly, his thoughts on it are a lot like believing in God. You do, until something goes wrong and then you don’t. After the loss of his family, he wasn’t sure he could stomach the idea of living in Peace with the very people who destroyed him but the Hales and his pack have lived in New Orleans for centuries, have built a refuge here… if signing a treaty fortified their position in this town? Then so be it. Though, he is no fool. Peace is only ever temporary, and when it all falls apart… he is ready. His pack is prepared. Slice of Life: Derek is a simple man, with simple habits. Sleep, clean, wank, plot vengeance, exercise, cook, repeat. He lives his life one day at a time, and tries not to break the norm of his routine, because at this point in his life routine is all he had. It’s what kept him going day by day in his methodical existence.One of his most important habits is his exercise. He works out at least two hours every single day. A wolf in his position has to stay fit, after all. His routine consists of cardio + calisthenics. It allows his stamina and endurance to peak and it was what kept him so light on his toes, almost always guaranteeing the upper hand in any fight when combining that with the fact that he was an alpha. When he’s not training himself, he’s training the Pack- especially Scott and Hayley, who need him the most right now. On occasion, he’ll head to Auggie’s or Rousseau’s and blow off a little steam. Things are calm right now, and Derek is relishing in it whilst he can because he knows that it’s a false sense of security, literally the calm before the storm. With each day, the Nemeton grows stronger and it’ll take every none of them to stop it. What is Your Character’s Greatest Fear? How Does This Affect Your Character?: He’s lived it. Over and over again, Derek has come face to face with his worst fear of that decade and somehow survived. He’s lost every one he’s ever loved or cared for in any capacity. Felt the pain and anguish of life. He fears for the safety of NOLA and those who still look up to him for guidance and protection but at the same time, he’s broken- so yeah, the fear is still there, but it’s dormant. No longer the driving force of his actions.

SAMPLE:

“Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi deliverance from the human prison.”

The near full moons light illuminated the restless body of the alpha, reflecting against the light sheen of a cold sweat on his naked skin as he tossed and turned under the sheets that threatened to suffocate him. The recurring dream Derek had each night since the tragic events that affected the course of his life forever was yet again plaguing his mind; only tonight it was different…where he was normally thrown awake in terror, there was something pulling him deeper, sucking him further into the memory.

His feet were moving so fast, were he not a wolf he’d have tumbled face first. His heart beat so violently against his throat Derek feared he was going to choke on it. Panic was all consuming as branches whipped against him, cutting his skin and piercing his soul. How could he have been so stupid? Trusting Kate was going to have an affect on his life like he could never imagine…

His mind flashed to the house, the sky ahead now black in the midst of the night, the moon tucked away behind the dense trees surrounding his family home, the stars a beautiful contrast to the horror below them. The screams had begun, the blood curdling cries of those who shared his blood, locked in the basement and too far gone for him to save…  The pain in his chest threatening to break him open.

Suddenly, his view shifted, he was running again only now that view was lower, his body morphed into his wolf form. The pain a little less, a dull ache in the back of his mind overcome by his animal instincts as he hunted his prey through the forest. With a shift in his sleep he pounced on the deer he had been stalking, his teeth sinking into the warm furry flesh as he ravaged the animal the way his past ravaged him.  

Blood dripping from his fangs as he finally pulled away, satiated. Sitting back on his haunches his muzzle lifted to the night sky as a howl erupted from deep in his chest before taking off again. Constantly running, barely living…a half life, a life of fur deep emotions and animal meat for sustenance…

The alpha didn’t know how to pull himself out, the dreams getting increasingly more real as he lived his past trauma, playing out the last two years of his life mentally….only it wasn’t just the recent trauma he was seeing….The scene shifted to a younger version oh himself, the child with human eyes standing over the slowly fading body of his first love. His mother had told him it was mere puppy love, the hearts desire of a teenager swirling in his own hormones but he constantly denied it… how could something so pitiful feel so real? How could it end so fast, at his own hands, no less?

Sinking to his knees, tears choking him as he reached trembling hands out to grasp the skin getting colder and colder underneath his touch. “I’m sorry, Paige…I’m so sorry” He knew it had to end, Peter having left her crippled, the damage irreversible. “It’s ok, Derek-” her voice was faint as it escaped her soft lips, her eyes fluttering closed one final time as he snapped her neck needing the end to be as quick and painless as possible…even though his own heart shattered into a million pieces…

With a sideways slam, Derek was back on his knees among the rubble that was once his family, his home, his life. Ash streaked his clothes as his hands closed around the bones of his parents, attempting to lift the fragile bones only for them to disintegrate to dust, blowing away in the wind as a scream erupted from his lips. All the heartbreak he’d ever felt in his life coming out in the night, lost to the universe as he was lost to himself…

The night continued, the alpha trapped in a dream world, forced to relive all the mistakes he had made throughout his life. The lives taken because of him and his actions, the pain he suppressed from his own determination to carry on….for what? What was the point, when all he ever touched seemed to die. Something was keeping Derek under and he fought to get out, his hands turned to claws as he absent mindedly raked them through the air, through his sheets, through his own skin. Blood pooling around his unconscious body as his consciousness continued to be assaulted by his own wrongdoing.

__________________________________________________________________________

This was written for a prompt  that I was in and very fond of. It consisted of characters being forced into a lucid dream they couldn’t escape and is one of my favourite Derek pieces. I thought it a great way to introduce Derek to Ruined. <3 Please note, when providing your own sample, it needs to either be specific to your character in this RP or from a blog proving you own the original work.