#boredom became a fate worst than death to me

[joowee-feftynn]

my brain: is terribly understimulated, making me feel exhausted

my brain again: you should kys buddy I think that would help

[barovianbitches]

what kind of villains would each character be and what would have driven them to being evil??

’Would you still love me if my short-sighted quest for revenge consumed me? If I abandoned my ideals for the power to defeat those who wronged me? If I became the very monster I sought to destroy?’ -unknown

Constantin fills this sort of role as a tragic hero who lost everything and still stays true to his ideals. If Constantin was a villain he’d definitely be the one with a tragic backstory that drove him to overwhelming violence fueled by grief and hatred. Constantin in particular I see adhering to a strict ‘moral code’ that is needlessly specific on certain things but turns a blind eye to the unbelievable violence he’s capable of. I also imagine that his motivations stem purely from either a desire to see what was lost regained, or to utterly obliterate that which took it from him. Whereas the hero Constantin sees no personal sacrifice too great for the sake of his friends, a villain Constantin would see no cost to the world around him too great for his short-sighted vengeful quest.

Thalassia would be a monster. She would embrace the fear some people feel for her, and would do whatever she could to get what she wanted for once. Since no one else is looking out for her. Basically if she was shunned and feared by everyone. Without support, or her support being ripped from her. She would not be needlessly cruel, but she would show no mercy to people who didn't afford her or anyone else any. She'd take advantage of fear and would not be shy to use intimidation.

Yvan as a villain is certainly not someone you would want to face by any means. He has a masterful balance of strength and speed, combined with his raw power and use of a whip creating lethal precision with that combination alone. Yvan is also extremely charismatic. In another world, he would absolutely use that for diabolical means, deceiving and manipulating anyone he comes across into joining his cause while also hiding his true intentions extremely well. A carbon copy of his father, who the party has not seen or heard of just yet. Yvan doesn't talk about him. Facing off against Yvan would surely mean certain death, as if you are able to get close enough for him to be at a disadvantage with his whip, he would be able to rip you apart with his bare hands. As far as what drove him to such terrible behavior? I only see one option. Heartbreak. He has already lost many people in his life to date, such as his mother at birth, being disowned by his father, and his dear friend Estella when he was just barely an adult. It wouldn't take much more to flip that switch. It would also likely have to be a perfect storm of things, though, as Yvan is generally on a very even keel. But, if were more things were to go wrong and he truly lost everything, he wouldn't have anything to live for anymore. He would have no purpose, and boredom is a dangerous thing. In his grief he would seethe with jealousy for those who are happier than he is, who have not suffered as he has. Yvan would want to settle the score.

Bettany lives in fear every day that he is not a person worthy of love or saving. He fears that he was destined by fate to become a villain after what happened to Hazuleth during the village raid. So, It is my opinion that Bettany’s final straw would be another loss at his hands specifically as a result of him loosing control over his powers- as he blames himself for nearly every bad thing that happens, the blame and jealousy would come to a breaking point and he’d snap. I don’t think he’d seek out violence, I simply think he’d become a recluse and pull strings from afar, succumbing to his worst fears through violence and anger.

Tyyran as a villain would be... interesting to say the least. It's low key hard to imagine because he is literally too dumb, too sweet and too silly to ever be one. However... I think if Tyyran had leaned in heavier to his anger over his exile, he would have probably found a way to assassinate the noble and taken his position. If that was successful, Tyyran would definitely get power-hungry pretty quick. He already loves attention and being the center of a performance. He would try to charm his way through any situation. I could see him even becoming some sort of narcissistic cult leader or worse...a politician lmao. The values he holds dear would melt away, the people he loved would turn their backs on him and he would drive himself slowly into power-hungry madness.

This is an interesting question to answer because Rorali is actually on a sort of redemption arc already. I feel like I have made it pretty clear in past answers to asks, but Rorali had a pretty rough upbringing and was pushed into the path of crime by her guardian, who also became her mentor. From the jump, Rorali was being trained to be able to be her mentor’s second hand in his schemes to climb the ranks in the thieve’s guild, so she got her hands pretty dirty handling his busy work while he was off meddling with tasks that were ‘too important for her to fuck up’. For a short period of time, Rorali actually took his place running his business while he was shockingly arrested for ~unknown circumstances~ and put on a long wait for trial. That being said, she has both had her hand in and done horrible things in her past and is recovering from a very toxic, selfish and unnecessarily rule and deceitful mindset. I would not say that she was ever a villain though, she really is just a victim that was pushed into an unfortunate life by irresponsible and unstable guardians. She also did not ever have enough influence to be considered a ‘villain’ or ‘evil’ in my personal opinion. Now a real bastard and bad person? Yeah definitely.I honestly think that it would be fairly easy for Rorali to become a villain. In her mind she has all the reasons and the skills to do so, and if she were not actively trying to change for the better, I feel like she would really be in a completely different place. When I imagine evil Rorali, I see her deceitful traits and cunning being highlighted and intensified. I feel like she would be an enemy that you do not see, and instead feel through her carefully planned attacks, traps, and ploys that you would encounter as you try to go against her. I also see her planting traitors, doppelgangers/look-alikes and agents tasked with sabotaging the individuals going against her and trying to break down their trust and party dynamic. She would also be a villain who does not take her adversaries seriously until they prove themselves to be an actual threat, and will use and manipulate them to secretly do her bidding if possible. I also see her following in her mentor’s path of climbing through the ranks of kingdoms until she has a position that allows her to pretty much rule from. She would do so distantly, again striving to be unseen, but she would be ruthless, strict, and overall brutal to keep the systems she manipulated into place running in her favor.

For what would actually cause her to become evil, I think it would be her mentor’s betrayal. For context, when Rorali was around 18-19, her mentor, who’s mental state was rapidly deteriorating under the stress of the politics of the thieve’s guild, attempted to kill her under the suspicion that she was plotting to betray him. The whole debacle is a long story with a lot of background that I don’t have the space to describe here, and will probably work on writing it all out in the future, but to cut things short and as conclusive as I can; Rorali’s mentor, Daemon, struck her with a knife that was poisoned with a dosage that he thought was enough to kill her, but in his instability and frequent intoxication, he was off by just enough for her barely survive long enough to get help. Now, Rorali already retaliated against her mentor for this by actually overthrowing him and getting him arrested and left to answer for his huge amounts of charges and warrants, but if she were to become a villain, she would probably either flee the city and start over in another unfortunate town, or keep her place at the top of the food chain in her home and start preying on the nobility/royalty to gain more influence. I feel like the attack would be the last straw for her holding out for any kind of hope of her getting a better life and she really wouldn’t be able to bring herself to consider the good or beauty in the world anymore. She would become bitter, vengeful and cynical, and once she got Daemon all taken care of, she would probably start terrorizing young, naive adventurers out of jealousy- putting them through hell just to take their spirit and joy from them.

[fallenrepublick]

HI. Can I request a fluff where reader tells maul "i love you" for the first time and he just stops working? (might be angst too)

This got a lot deeper than I intended it to, but by the time I realized it, I had already written all of it so...

Warnings: I don’t... think any...

Months had passed on the surface of Mandalore, a planet ripe with internal strife wild enough to match the beating of a heart that didn’t quite know what it wanted. You had been there, you had been with him, and all seemed well, at least in the eyes of onlookers too distracted in their own affairs to pour through the reality you experienced. In truth, the unfathomable uncertainty about the role you played tugged at your conscience at every moment.

Maul didn’t enjoy discussing it outright. He never approached the subject, and when you attempted to ask about what you were to the people, or even what you were to him, he dodged the question or simply said you were “important.”

For this reason, a wall began growing in your heart, not yet tall nor strong enough to fare against what you felt for him, yet prominent enough within you that you worried your future would allow for the wall to encompass you completely if left unchecked. But the fear of the unknown still held tightly to you, and though it was entirely possible his side glances that landed on you much longer than normal, or the compliments he gave you that extended past your work, or even the light touches he brushed onto your arm could be misconstrued as something more, you knew it would eat away at you if you were never given a direct answer.

And so came a day when the world seemed quieter than normal, and the overcast sky outside your office window created a haze that only intensified the distractions in your head, and you found it even more difficult to concentrate on your work. Maul sat across from you, brow furrowed and cheek resting on his fist as he typed away, boredom taking hold. Every so often, he glanced up at you, golden eyes glowing softly in the dim lighting, and you struggled to make it seem as if you didn’t notice.

It wasn’t like you didn’t normally interact with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He may have been harsh to other advisors or members of the Death Watch, but he smiled at you frequently, and made it fairly obvious that you were a, if not the, favourite amongst them. You spent time with him on his days off, and made sure to check on his well-being frequently, as he often did with you, sometimes urging that you take a break for the sake of your mental health. Still, you hesitated to call it a “relationship,” seeing as he still made little effort to specify how, exactly, he saw you.

On any other day, you would make passing remarks to him as you worked or joked about some of your colleagues’ incompetence when it came to organization or militarization. He would then respond with some sort of eye-roll or a laugh that came out more like a hum than anything, and offer to take a walk through the halls while you complained. But today, you remained silent, your thoughts and deliberations of the past few months competing for dominance and a chance to be spoken aloud at the subject of your affections.

“How bad is it?”

You jumped, not expecting to hear a voice that wasn’t your own in the silence of the room around you. The navy curtains fluttered out, urging you to find an answer, dull as it may be, to at least fill the silence.

“Bad? What’s bad? Who? Me?” Nice one.

He stared at you a moment, unblinking and completely still, his frown of concentration gradually being replaced by a frown of concern. “Are… you alright? You’ve done nothing for the past twenty minutes, and though I personally don’t mind, it’s not like you.” He straightened up, elbow lowering and brushing past a pile of data discs that had been on the desk for a week.

“No, yeah, I’m…” Pause. “I’m fine. I’m good. I’ve just been thinking a lot. Doesn’t matter, though.”

“I enjoy hearing your thoughts,” he said, a slight smile softening his gaze. “What might be occupying you today?”

There was a large part of you that wanted to get out of this conversation. There was a small, but significant, piece of you that wanted to answer him. “It’s really nothing interesting…”

“Neither is this.” He gestured to his screen, a mocking scowl forming when he referenced his work. “Believe me, I’m certain you can do much better at interesting me.”

If ever there were a time to find out, this was it. You took a deep breath, stealing yourself for the worst. Or the best. You weren’t sure yet. “You know how… some people are really close? But they’re not… together… they’re just… interacting. I don’t want to be stuck in some sort of weird rut where I don’t know where I’m going, or if there’s even a future with someone… I don’t want to be left wondering, and end up wasting my time on something that wasn’t real. But at the same time, what if it is? And I never act on it, and it just fades? What I guess I’m getting at here… well, what I’m saying is… I think, uh, I… love you.”

His expression changed rapidly, the look of interest and concentration on your rambling melting into wide-eyed surprise that made the silence in the room all the more terrifying.

“What?” he asked finally, voice strained and exasperated, as if the very air he breathed ceased to enter his lungs the moment you finished speaking.

“I love you.” You looked away from him, face beginning to flush.

“I’ve never…” He struggled, mind failing to process your confession, eyes darting around the room for an answer that didn’t exist. It struck a chord within him, one that hadn’t been touched once in his life, and the icy fear that resonated with its vibration shook his faith in his composure. “That simply isn’t possible.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. It was not that. You stood, unsure why, but following the reflex regardless. “What does that mean?”

“I am not… the kind of person who is ‘loved.’” Each syllable carried weight with it, a heavy chain welded together by lies still wrapped around his soul as he remembered his purpose. “Those that dare care for me are often disappointed by what they find afterwards, and though you may not believe it now, your fate will prove the same as any other.”

“I think you’re confusing ‘care’ with ‘expectations’.”

A laugh. But low, a foolish attempt to downplay the truth. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that my sins shouldn’t mar the face of your perfection. You’re... good, far better than I surely deserve, and while you desire that which stands beneath you, I must insist that you could do so much better.”

“And if there isn’t any better?” Posture straight, you held yourself at attention, sure of yourself as ever. “You say all of this, you reference a failure that… doesn’t exist. Whatever happened back then… you know it doesn’t matter now, right?”

He looked away from you, exhaling sharply and shutting his eyes, urging himself to hold fast to his convictions, horrible as they may be. “Who’s to say?”

It was enough to concern you. Stepping away from your desk, you tread carefully over to him, crouching down so that you were at his level where he sat. “What’s going on? This… This isn’t you.”

His lips were downturned, and in the relative darkness it almost seemed as if his tattoos were designed especially for him to hide behind, as if they were placed strategically to deny others access into who he was. They took the place of his emotions, wrapping across him as bondage restricts a captive, a reminder that he was to be feared and nothing more. But as you watched him, you saw him as well, the movement of his eyes and tightness of his lips betraying his purpose.

“Isn’t me…” he repeated, still not meeting your gaze. “There’s very rarely a sense of self when your very existence was meant to be a weapon, and it was only recently that I realized what I had been made into was far from my truth. I won’t lie to you... Nothing in the galaxy matters more to me than you... And for that reason I will not risk harming you.”

“Is that what you think? That hurting me is inevitable?” You reached up, the pads of your fingers brushing at his cheek. He didn’t move away.

“How can it not be?” When he finally looked at you, you could see a sadness in his eyes that hadn’t before revealed itself. Only now, when he was no longer withdrawn, could you identify it.

Your voice became soft, an understanding taking hold. “I’m not afraid of you… I couldn’t be here if I were. You don’t give yourself enough credit for what you’ve done.”

“And what have I done?” He tilted his head, the movement just enough to rest into your hand.

“You made me fall in love with you. Against all of the odds you insist stand in your way.” You smiled at him, contentment lacing your features as you realized where you stood.

“Then…” He hesitated. “I… I love you, too.”

[imaginebabygurl]

Feeling Good Part 3 F.V-Imagine

Hey loves, since I had not posted in a bit This is gonna be a really long one I hope you enjoy the read and music that has been attached. P.s - sorry for any spelling mistakes it should still be a good read.

There were angry hisses and growls from Jacob and your family.  Edward's face grew cold with great concern for you: Bella started to panic "no, No!. There Not taking Her anywhere and she's not going to stay with those monster!... Wh-What if they Kill her because of the last time With Renesmee." " She's leaving, she can't stay here, I won't let them take her. She's going to live with my mom in Jacksonville". As Bella frantically tries to pack her things, Edward stops her "Bella", you know that's not going to work.  They have a tracker Demetri. They could easily find her, your mother, and Phil and Kill all three of them instantly. There's no point in putting others in danger." Carlisle spoke, " Edward is right, we just all need to be calm and there old friends of mine, they will come we'll have the meeting and clear the air, but we should also prepare they can be unpredictable." With that said, your mom still packed a small bag with your stuff just in case everyone started being more alert and wary of their surrounding. As for you. You had to start coming home earlier and stay out late less, which put a damper on your senior your but you didn't mind because you still thankfully have the chance, to even see and hang out with your friends. And coming home earlier wasn't such a bad idea since now it was November 1st, winter was approaching fast, and it started to get darker quicker. But that also meant the Volturi were on there a way you didn't know when exactly. And on the first week of December, they arrived, you were at school when they had come, and you had a group project to complete, which was already completed: you just stayed back at school to finalize the presentation of the slide show and sort out who did what in your project. You said bye to your girlfriend's Lily, Dee, and Kiki and told them: you'll see them when you've returned because you were going on a getaway trip just for the weekend with you and your sister only. Arriving home, you see a strange set of vampires with crimson red eyes. Anyone that saw them would be a fool to think they were normal or contact lenses. They all waited for you to step into the house,  soon as you turned to close the door behind you, you felt a presence standing quite close smelling you.  Remembering that they drank human blood while the Cullen's settled only for animals. "ahh...delicious." the voice quietly whispered into your ear. Quickly turning around facing them, but by the time you had done so, the vampire retreaded standing next to the other kings, the one that had spoken was Aro. The three were quite beautiful, you could tell who wash who and their personality: Aro with life in his eyes was the main king out of the three yes hey shared the same power, but he was the head and looking at you wildly with gleaming eyes. Next on his left was a bored and a perpetually sad-looking man, looking as if he had a sense of longing to end his miserable life and has seen the many secrets and mysteries of the world ad is not tired. On the right was Caius, the pure blond-haired man, which his hair was better than your aunt Rosalie's, not a single strand astray but put together and looked as if every strand is from silk. But his expression filled with such disdain you had never seen such a face, not even when Rosy disapproved of Bella and Edward taking you in the first place she grew to like you and became your second or third mother. As for the guards, you recognized every last one of them: Demetri, the world's best tracker no know can hide from him, then there were the twins' Jane and Alec, Jane could make others feel pain while her brother could take away peoples sense completely, and finally the man towering an over everybody else next to Demetri was Felix, and he was beautiful, and I couldn't resist him. I knew deep down he was most likely the killer of my parents only following orders.  I regained my composure and said "hello" anyway. Aro then grabbed my hand without hesitation and began to look through all the memories that I had lived through, "Interesting, you've had quite the bittersweet life." all the while, Aro still looking intensely into my Y/e/c colored eyes.  Pulling away completely and turning to look at my parents, "She'll be coming with us now." " She Won't be going anywhere!" my mother said while whirling me behind her back, not even realizing. But my body was feeling the after effect.  My dad Edward in front now in front of both of us. Aro looked at Felix, and Felix stared approaching, smiled,  "Edward seems like you've come back for round two."  Hisses were erupting from the room before Esme stepped in." please not in the house. I'm sure there must be some mistake. Y/n has done nothing wrong and she will be turned, in due time when its right Carlisle will take care of her." " Yes I already have the preparations in place Aro" and unexpectedly a "No!" had come from Felix. Aro looked at Felix and took his hand. Felix obeyed,  when Aro was done he laughed like a maniac and turn to me, repeating what he said earlier, " interesting." With everyone in the room at that point confused as to what was going on. I  spoke,  "What so interesting? and why do you keep saying that?" by this point, I was incredibly annoyed.   I just wanted to eat, " I'm going to the kitchen, I'm hungry and this whole dramatic crap, I'm over it." Walking away.  Nessie had made my favorite chicken parmesan with some pasta and salad.  Setting my plate down on the table, everyone was staring at me, but I ignored the burning stare put in my earphones. One of the King's Marcus taps me on the shoulder,  "May I join you?". I paused for a while unsure of what to say and he followed up the silence by saying "I had already drunk so, I won't bite."  Marcus offering me what appears to be a sympathetic smile on a sad-faced man. It was kind of nice to see him smile, " sure." I said plainly and he motioned everyone for us to be alone.  Everyone left, but the tall one hesitated to leave, which then Marcus said" Felix, she will be alright, I promise." The man only nodded and took his leave, "why is he so concerned about me? and what does he have to do with me?". Marcus replied, "Y/n your his mate." the man said point-blank. I looked at him as if he were mad, and he knew what I was thinking. He followed up by saying, " I know you're upset about the death of your parentings, and yes, he was a part of the cause that they're dead. But he simply follows orders if not he will suffer the consequences or maybe a fate worse." "Death." was all I said and a yes was retorted back at me. We sat in silence so I could digest what I have just learned. That the man that I'm supposed to be with: one was my lover and two a part of my parent's death. It was all too much for me to bear and, I ran away as fast as could I ended up taking a nasty fall down a hill and didn't remember a thing about my parent or how they died. All I knew was I falling for a man, I barely knew and I would soon come to know that he sweet but very flirtatious and that would one day get him into trouble and possibly lose all he had with me. He would flirt with everyone including my mother but she doesn't even realize and honestly, at first, I thought okay haha, but when I did decide to leave after graduation to be with him at the castle in Volterra. I was amazed and in awe of the building and come to realize that the rules they enforce I understand but the way they go about it is a little brutal but overall understanding, anyway back to Felix. That's when the boredom started to kick in, after that Felix was on missions constantly and flirting with every dead and living girl that was in sight but the living ones usually became the snack afterward.  it finally came tumbling down when we had a big fight. I was going about my business touring and sightseeing parts of the city I have never been to, one because my Italian wasn't that great and two I was scared being on my own, but boy when I started to speak a bit more fluently be able to get around on my own the sight and places, as well as the delicious pastries and goodies I got to eat, was great. The day was great until Felix angrily approached me, I swear if he still had life in his body his face would be mad with furry, practically dragging me by my wrist and how I know he was angry, Gianna said hello and he did not even bat an eye in her direction and with that, she tried to ask "Hey! Y/n what happened?" and before I can respond Felix picked me up and threw me over his shoulders. "Felix!!!" I shouted because at this point I was angry he was acting like this and he picked me up and headed to the throne room. Aro had looked at me and said "Y/n dove eri?" I responded, "Aro in un Citta in un Caffe". Felix then responded, " If you were in town at one of the cafes!, Why didn't you say anything! or tell someone when you left!". "I did if you had gone into the room to look Smartass! You would have seen It!".  and then the line was drawn " What kind of Girl are you!, You so free-willed, careless, would it kill you to use your head Y/n!?!, you could have been Kill or hurt by some low life!". "But I was-. before I could speak Felix pinned me to the wall and I then felt true fear of what others fate that had suffered at the hand of the great Felix Volturi and worst of all the thing that hurt the most " Y/n we should have killed you when we had the chance, like your mother and father!!." him not realizing what he said "Felix!!!" Aro called "put down the girl, she's terrified...". Once Felix snapped out of it "Y/n I'm sorry." But before he could touch you, you slapped his hand away and made your decision to leave but Caius spoke "What you did and said to Y/n was distasteful and I don't care for humans all the much, but I think some time in the dungeon would do you some good." Without Felix saying anything he simply nodded and took himself in and before he would have come to know you had already packed your things to go home.

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Vincent Kolev AGE & BIRTH DATE. 620 & December 5th, 1401 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Vampire OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Aidan Turner

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: murder, illness, violence, death ) Fates are fickle and the only guarantees in life are those borne of theft and blood. 

The eldest of seven children dropped carelessly into a world of famine, plague, and Ottoman occupation, Vince’s knuckles and palms were marred from the first moment that he could wield a hammer. His father had been a carpenter by trade, then necessity as Bulgaria fell to its invaders, and imparting that knowledge upon the eldest Kolev was meant as a tool to protect him from armed recruitment. Even now he can recall witnessing the other children dragged from their homes to join the youth forces… Mothers wailing with empty arms, haunted expressions of passerby staring on, and death. Always an endless stream of death.

For all of his distractibility and the general unease surrounding their impoverished village, Vince’s father boasted him as a quick pupil. The young boy’s potential to evolve into a skilled craftsman over time could not be understated and while it brought their family pride, it also could not satiate the relentless itch behind curled fingers. To the first born son, his value existed well beyond a sturdy table or repairing the dilapidated homes of their neighbors. He slipped between merchants and soldiers with ease, palms sticky from sweat and purpose as he nabbed a coin purse here, an apple there. In a time when theft became necessity and loss was imminent, he learned to blur morals for the sake of survival.

No amount of thievery or misguided intention could hamper the onslaught of a short plague as it ravaged the entire countryside, then the towns… Until Vince’s family members began to drop like the flies which lingered as a constant presence throughout the streets. One by one, they were stripped from his grasp until he stood alone; not only the eldest Kolev, but the last of them. Unmarried with no heirs, barely employed as a carpenter, thieving in his spare moments. There was little prospect of Vince lasting the winter, let alone crawling out of the hole where loss and destitution were attempting to bury him alive. As violence began to escalate amongst the locals, the sole remaining Kolev discovered himself torn between a desire to persist in his homeland where poverty ran rampant and the idea of venturing almost anywhere else to escape it.

Unfortunately the decision was all too easily made for him. Upon walking home after a late night of pilfering, a vicious attack from an unidentified stranger in the darkness left a neck wound so blatantly open that Vince should have bled out onto the grass. The stars above coated the sky like dust, thousands of them twinkling in every direction. Not a single cloud to overlook this horror. He wondered who might happen upon his corpse in the morning, whether his grave would be marked in the Kolev burial plot. The hallmarks of an unimportant life as forgettable as the rest; merely a statistic in a future textbook. Yet fate warped and time slowed, his attacker taking note of how adamantly, or perhaps stubbornly, the human clung to the last fibers of his short lived existence. Intrigued, bewildered, and admittedly impressed, the centuries old vrykolakas offered a dying man reprieve in the form of eternal life. With nothing left to lose by accepting, Vince managed to agree with a less than polite remark, “S’pose you owe me that much.”

Eternity suited the former thief and peasant far better than any fleeting mortal life, his sire’s instruction barely enough to be deemed useful before he flitted off into obscurity and left Vince to his own devices. All of which resulted in a slew of mottled bodies throughout Europe whilst he traveled north, tearing whomever he could apart. Blood, violence, and utter gore were beacons to his attention, infatuated with the power and ease of it all. Theft still spoke to him in coaxing whispers, but compulsion weaved itself into the forefront of his mind as a more appealing resource and he relied on its potency often to stay afloat. Eventually, Vince tired of Europe’s meager corner of the world and fled East into Asia.

It was during his travels that he first encountered Viraj, a younger vampire bred from the cruelty of the first of their kind and positioned amidst a slaughtered crew. He required tutelage that Vince, still so young and hopelessly naïve in his own right, attempted to bestow as best he could. After gifting a daylight ring, words of warning, and multiple failed endeavors to unravel the convoluted bloodlust which afflicted his quasi progeny, it became all too clear that Vince had been staring into the worst sort of mirror all along. How could he heal this lost soul when the elder vampire himself had more than enough demons biting at his own heels? The men parted ways once time indicated that their bond had only proved toxic in nature, but Viraj would always remain his first experience as a pseudo sire.

Vince held every intention of wandering the world for a long while afterwards, loneliness a synonym to his name, but once more life pivoted on an unexpected fulcrum. While beguiling those so foolishly swept up by cheap words and plucking coins from their pockets in the same breath, he was soon approached by the only face worth adoring in this life or the next. Sebiorn, another young vampire brimming with the callous disregard that Vince attempted to ignore about himself; his presence was all-consuming. Where thievery and violence formerly drew all attention, now he relinquished every piece of his own darkness at the other man’s feet. They became inseparable and nightmarish, spilling into one another when their cups overflowed, spilling crimson along the streets.

Good things rarely last for Vince and through the years, the lovers lost sight of true importance. Pushing and pulling when the moment suited them, magnets afraid to either attract or repel for too long. They loved one another, but never committed to the necessary effort required to solidify that fact and Sebiorn’s jealousy often initiated Vince’s flight. It happened between several of these separations, the creation of progenies to ease his boredom and isolation. He tended to choose those most deserving, the ones in questionable situations or dire straits, and therein lay Jamie. Secrecy and avoidance were almost commonplace for the ancient vampire, but his preference for the young Scot above the other progenies was obvious to any who knew them. 

Again he chose one whose affections were quite costly, now ricocheting between Jamie and Sebiorn throughout the centuries until the youngest finally broke free of their endless cycle. How good for him, Vince would claim amidst his own irritation. Though once the golden progeny fled for greener pastures, Sebiorn returned with an eternal proposition and Vince accepted wholeheartedly. They had aged so far past their most destructive years and while still capable of it at a moment’s notice, time eased their mutual bloodlust and strengthened the simple fact that they were incapable of parting for long. Once allowed, they married in haste and settled into a quiet existence together that somehow suited both men far better than it had centuries prior.

Even with his life finally on course and worst impulses tempered, Vince has difficulty relinquishing the innate desire to help those in his life who require it. Particularly Jamie, much to Sebiorn’s displeasure and outright loathing. Amidst their bickering over a visit to Corinth Bay, they arrived regardless at the crux of a war neither one enlisted to fight. Vince possesses little care for the opinions of gods and he maintains that his residence here is only to ensure the safety of his progeny, but to settle is to allow his own demons a chance to emerge, and so many lurk just around the corner.

PERSONALITY

+ passionate, sentimental, faithful - obsessive, brutal, dramatic

PLAYED BY MARTY. PST. She/Her.

[suiciderealestate]

Midnight - June 15, 2020

What a strange time and what a wonderful thing to be alive to see it. What started as something so incredibly dark is now transforming into a cleansing fire. I’m only disappointed that I’m not in New York to be more a part of it. Still, being home has been oddly good for me. I dreaded coming back to Nashville and being inexorably bored, but that hasn’t really happened. I find lately that it has been difficult to be bored when there are so many things to be done. Even when I am doing nothing, knowing that my world is suffused with things to be done has deprived me of the possibility of boredom. To be home again with my friends and family who understand me, to be able to do work in things I enjoy or at least aspire to enjoy, all of it has allowed me to get closer to my center. And yet, I still feel that lingering sensation of missing out. It always feels like the most important things are happening somewhere else, and I’ve never quite been able to shake that. But then I suppose it’s just what goes along with being human, being this atomized lump of agency and desire in a swirling universe of invisible singularity.

Everything is so uncertain right now, but it feels like there is a reckoning. It feels like the conservative forces that have left me feeling less than human all my life are finally being seen for what they are. I admit that I have internalized some of it, that there are biases within me as a southern white male that feel contradictory sometimes. But this racial revolution is so much more than just a demand for actual freedom for black people. It is a demand that we all be seen as human beings, that we are all treated with the dignity and respect owed to everyone. Sure, “All Lives Matter” may be another tone-deaf rightwing trope, but I think it’s the real meaning in “Black Lives Matter.” We are fighting for equality for black people now because we are fighting for equality for us all, and we must start with those who are most vulnerable. Yesterday in New York City there was a peaceful demonstration of solidarity with black trans women, who have proven to be one of the most vulnerable populations in our country. Around 15,000 people were there. All of my friends in New York were there. It feels like something good may yet come of all of this.

When Donald Trump was elected, I remember being vaguely disappointed but slightly amused. I never wanted Trump to win, but the fact that he did win meant something big was going to happening, and I hoped it would be the destruction of the Republican Party as we know it. I still hope for that. His entire presidency was like a game of chicken. Something big would happen and you’d think he would finally be held accountable, and then he wouldn’t be. Against all odds, he won the presidency against Hillary Clinton, even after the “grab ‘em by the pussy” comment and all the nasty, incendiary behavior that kept him and his rallies in the headlines. I mean it was really such a catastrophic political upset that you just knew the wheels of history were about to go into overdrive. Trump survived all the damning books written about him. Trump survived impeachment. Things even began to assume a sense of eerie normalcy for a moment, the feeling that a Trump presidency was a one-way train and that there would be no going back for our country.

When the pandemic landed in the U.S., it just felt like the disastrous culmination we all knew was coming. We floated through Trump’s term with much political turmoil but much less unrest than I would have anticipated. Sure, the news headlines were never-ending until things that were once surprising became mundane, but we didn’t have a 9/11 or a new war, which is the thing I was the most afraid of. No nuclear disaster. No economic collapse. Just a lot of quiet social regression and the unavoidable feeling that now more than ever we are a nation divided. When the pandemic came, that’s when it really happened though. That’s when we knew why a president like Trump is so dangerous, and it’s because he just lives in his own world, the same way that many of us do, but in a way that the president of the United States cannot afford to do. It was a loss for diplomacy. It was a loss for the sanctity and decorum of the office. It was a loss for our national pride, or at least half of the country’s national pride.

When the virus hit I was so afraid. I felt like things really were just going to fall apart. Trump didn’t care about the virus. His response strategy was and still is, effectively, to ignore it, to refuse to wear a mask, to project not strength but the delusion of invincibility. He was so confident the virus would go away, it was almost like he knew something about it that we didn’t. Cases are spiking in Tennessee and several other states where people just don’t care about safety, but it’s mostly poor people of color that are being affected. A factory of minorities falls ill in a factory outbreak and it’s business as usual. Nursing homes all over the country become easy bake morgues and it’s business as usual. And to be quite honest, that kind of apathy easily rubs off.

As the rallies and demonstrations protesting the routine racial violence began to grow and spread like wildfire all over the country, we began to experience a kind of political paradox. The Trumpers are following their messiah’s lead by ignoring the virus, celebrating national holidays en masse, grilling out and thronging together in celebration of summer. At first the liberals criticized the behavior, but now even people on the left seem comfortable to travel in crowds during protests, as long as they wear a mask. To them, that seems to be the distinctive difference, but not every protestor I’ve seen has worn a mask. Neither side agrees with the reason the other side is going outside, and yet are all going outside. When I got home, my friend and I were spraying the ATM with disinfectant. Every trip to the grocer store felt like a dangerous foray into enemy territory. The news coverage of the destruction being caused by the pandemic was constant, and the reports, voices and opinions of the reporters and pundits were always in the back of my mind. Everyone on Instagram was urging people to stay indoors. Proper quarantine etiquette became an online rhetorical trend. But when the riots started and the political fabric of our populous seemed to be ripping apart, the headlines shifted and the attention shifted away with them. Right now in Nashville there are more cases of the virus than there have ever been, and it only promises to keep getting worse. I think it was just yesterday that I saw a picture of a girl’s lung infected by coronavirus that had been taken out during a transplant. It looked like a piece of rotting corned beef covered in pus. The lung belonged to a girl supposedly with no history of smoking.  And yet I am strangely at peace. Still, it’s the same kind of peace I felt when Mary Jane’s car got t-boned and was spinning out of control. I thought I was about to die, and in that moment I was prepared to die. But I didn’t. I can’t help but wonder if this newfound tranquility is just a false sense of security, or anticipation of an inevitable sort of death. All I can really do is hope that fate will smile upon me, and if it doesn’t then I just hope to have the strength to let go of whatever tragedy comes. We are all ready to get back to our lives. We are all ready to return to a world in which this pandemic didn’t exist, but wishful thinking isn’t enough to make this chaos go away. Here we are, a nation on the edge, and we are embroiled in perhaps the most controversial presidency in American history, a deadly global pandemic, and now a revolution. When George Floyd died I was numb.

But it wasn’t because of people like me that the world is changing. To be honest, I am well aware of my complicity in a system that has more or less afforded me a great deal of comfort. Within the context of everything happening, watching black people lose their lives for no reason over and over again to the officers who are sworn to protect us all reminds me that circumstance has not been entirely cruel to me. I am thankful that something is happening. I am thankful that the protests are ongoing. I am thankful that finally our country is being forced to stand still, that the wheels of capitalism are slowing down for just a moment, so that we can evaluate who we actually are, to make necessary changes, and to proceed forward to a higher consciousness of freedom. But I know that there is a greater battle ahead of us. The opposition is rallying its forces, and though I am confident that the worst elements of our nation are their own kind of minority that can be overcome, I know it will not be without a fight.

History is happening every day, and I want to be there to document it. I want to be there to take part in it. If I am going to continue my life as a voyeur then I want to be an active voyeur. I want to tell stories that will result in meaningful change. But these are dangerous times, and I don’t only risk my own life when I attend the demonstrations. Living with my parents has given me a needed sense of comfort, but I know that being here and continuing to live my life more or less is putting them in danger, and if I wasn’t here they wouldn’t be in danger. It would be nice to stay in Nashville for awhile and save some money, to spend some time with my friends and reacquaint myself with the city I was born in as I head out of my youth and into my 30s. I don’t feel as old as I am. At twenty-nine I still feel a lot like a kid. I’ve often said that I got stuck in the mind of a 19-year-old when I did acid on Halloween in 2010. That night has remained the most impactful night of my life, and yet I have always been at a loss regarding what to do with the experience I had. I want to begin my life as an adult, to continue or at least approach with more vigor the essence of what will be my life’s work. I’ve been searching for it, and to be honest I just don’t know if I’ve found what it is.

I’ve become mostly accustomed to a life in which my major depression has left me unmotivated by most everything. I’ve been looking for that motivation everywhere. I searched for it in Kansas. I looked high and low for it in New York. I expected that New York would give me everything I needed to find that buoy of inspiration we assume every great artist has, but if anything New York just confronted me with the hard realities of our vapid, money-driven world. But as everything is dismantled and falls apart, I’ve become more hopeful than ever for a better future for all of us. We might not be able to fix the money-driven part of things just yet, but I really do believe we are taking steps in the right direction toward building a more free world. If this is just the calm before the storm, then let chaos reign. 

[antihero-writings]

Tu Fui Ego Eris—Don’t Starve Fic (Full Fic)

Fic Title: Tu Fui Ego Eris

Fic Synopsis: “As you are now, so once was I. As I am now, so shall you be.” Poetic prose from the Ancient Fuelweaver/King.

Character Focus: Ancient Fuelweaver 

Notes: I was watching Zeklo’s lore/theory videos and I thought my brain might explode if I didn’t do something with all the information, so this happened! Aside from the actual quotes from the Ancient Fuelweaver (the bolded parts), I think most of the ideas behind this fic come from his video about the murals in the Ancient Ruins.

(This is a repost of an old fic!) 

Fic:

How we’ve fallen.

It was not enough. The earth and the sky were not enough. Not enough, and full of storms and winters.

So we went beneath the ground, where the only thing to fear falling from the sky was the earth.

When there were no stones left, we mined our own nightmares.

I think we forgot what light looked like.

“King,” “reign,” even “love,” became empty letters in our infected plane. I thought I knew what those strings of symbols were, what they meant, but some lightning-struck, honeyed words, and a spiked staff, told me otherwise. And my heart turned black.

We are so far beneath the flowers.

I was not always a shadow. Neither were my people. But we consorted with nightmares, until nightmares we became. No light. No life. Left.

I promise you, there is a right. Do not pretend, do not tell your soul, otherwise. And I was wrong.

Hard shells on our backs, into soft black, into nothing at all.

We lost our hands and faces…I called back their hands and faces...

I will make you understand.

It is not an easy fate. To be a king, then a prisoner. It would be grim indeed, to be a prisoner in a foreign land. It is, I think, worse yet to be a prisoner in your own land, chained to your head; still a king, still on the throne, still with the power—more of it perhaps—but the throne blooms into thorns beneath your feet, beneath your reign, beneath your brain, in your tattered city, beneath the ground. The nightmare throne, where there is no such thing as ransom. Where the hands clasping yours belong not to your queen, but the demons that talked you into this current plight—even if they’re your demons, and your own mind made them.

Cannot leave. Cannot die. Cannot see Metheus again. Watch, and wait, with all that power in your grasp. The only choice is to go mad with it. The only choices are wrong, and wrong, and wrong. You don’t make them because you think they’re, in any way, right. Not for any righteous reason; not glory, nor even show of strength, not to save someone, not even yourself. Not for any reason at all. Just boredom. Just waiting. Just to fill the nothing. Because sometimes you’d rather have something, than nothing at all. Even if it’s terrible, cruel—the motives of a mad creature, mad king, ruler over this insanity, and ruled by it all the same—to cause them this pain, and this much, at least it’s better than hollow wind, and taunting memories. It is a rare affliction, I do not expect you to understand it (you, with your head full of needs and wants, and your blood still red…you are so very lucky) but sometimes you’d rather have nightmares than no dreams at all.

Or at least watch them play out for someone else.

You forget the importance of dreams until nightmares are all that is left.

You will be unraveled. You will rip apart at the seams.

And watch them die. No pleasure in their pain, though there may have been a sick part of it all at first. Pure jealousy. You start to long for horrible things. And when they cry ‘please, I don’t want to die!’ before they starve, before the hound’s tooth is shoved through their heart, before the darkness snatches their light away, and with it their life, you want nothing more than to take their place. When you know this to your core, then you will know why Death itself is pure mercy.

So you make them come back. You refuse to give them that mercy. It was not granted you, why should it be granted them? Revive, resurrect, just to watch them die over and over again, feeling a pang like addiction in the back of your heart. Mercy or torture, all depends on the voice you use to say the words. All depends on if you’re watching the scene from before, or beyond, the grave, or somewhere in between.

Or upon the nightmare throne.

You will not suffer. You have not known suffering.

It is not an easy fate. To be a blackened heart dropped by the shadow of a machine you once created. Our clockwork, still ticking, fighting a fight they no longer remember. To be thrust into a corpse, not your own, to be made to fight too—like you’re the toy, and not the once-king—and, at last receive the drug you crave, and carved: death. To slumber, only to come back again, because someone else upon the throne named it so.

How long have I slumbered?

Full of hate and rage and regret. I remember it all. Unlike you, who seem to have forgotten your past, as the world has forgotten mine.

You will fall, as we did.

Steal our gems, break down our walls, steal our hearts, take our souls. It doesn’t frighten we, who are shadows. But the moment you hold dreams-gone-awry in the palm of your hand, I feel a phantom stir in a heart-gone-wrong, that reminds me of something I used to call fear. I know you took the idea from us—this notion that bad dreams can fuel things—but, like a disease, we caught it from them. Knowledge may be power, but when fueled by nightmares, when wielded by them, power and knowledge are less than worthless; they are a negative.

They will not show you mercy. They are coming. It cannot be stopped. You know not what the gateway holds.

Broken gateways of forgotten realms (our threadbare world, our listless skies) may seem harmless, but they will arouse something inside you called curiosity. Find the key, steal it from the Ancient Guardian. Just to see what it does. Revive the king. Just to win the fight. Curiosity may be more lethal, more venomous, than you bargain for, with more bite to it than knowledge or power.

You saw an entire civilization built on nightmares and you thought, why not us too? Did your mind (still working, still with the dreams) ever wonder if maybe the blackened tears, and the reddened floorboards, were more than just an eerie exhibition, but a warning? That maybe it was the past, begging you turn away? Then you gave those frayed yesterdays my voice. And still, you refuse to listen.

I must do this. For your sake.

I am not some animal to kill for sport, or meat, or treasure in my heart’s beat. Don’t mistake me for a beast, or a boss. I am not merely a shadow. I once weaved the fuel as you do; weaved the tale of my own demise into carpets, and tapestries. My city...in tatters... this world… threadbare.

I have fought very hard to remain more than merely a shadow, and will not be reduced to the absence of light now. Cast into this fight, the light, but I have decided to be more. It may be hard to imagine, but this is about more than blood, and victory.

I will save you.

I would have nothing worth fighting for. If it weren’t for you. New creatures. Humans, as you are called.

Maxwell. The new king. ‘Amazing’. Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps no creature can be amazing enthroned in nightmares. With a flair for magic all-too-real, with too much knowledge, and too much power, you would succumb, far too fast.

This was another important piece I learned about humanity: darkness has a way with you.

Willow. The fire, without the spark. There is always something to burn, child, and sometimes you’re the only thing left. Best not reach the point where you’ll burn it all, with yourself in those flames too. Or when it is yourself you wish to burn, but your heart will not even char.

Wolfgang. the strongman. Too little brain, and a heart too soft. Afraid of the cold and the dark. What good is a strongman with a weakened heart? But, then again, what good is a creature with a callous heart, and the strength to follow the threats through? Perhaps it’s for the best that you were made to be kind.

Wendy. The girl, and the ghost. The one who knows death is inevitable, but how, here, though death runs rampant, life is far more impervious to being overthrown. The one who knows there is more to life than curiosity. But weakness can go a long way, and the things that haunt you may protect you now, but one day they may turn around, with reddened glaze. Maybe one day you’ll remember how memories can come alive, and why they are called ghosts.

WX-78. Invention, not man. Metal, not flesh. I wonder, does a thing like you have a soul? I wonder, when the lightning strikes, do you feel its burn, its warm glow? Or are these strings just numbers tied to your wires? If I tried to talk to the sense in you, would there be any sense in you to talk to? When you tell the living things their inadequacy, I must admit, you have your points. But I wonder if it means anything to you, if those words are yours, or if they are numbers your maker wrote into you. Maybe that's all any of us are, and the question was pointless from the beginning.

Wickerbottom. The librarian. The library. The reader. The writer. The stuck-in-her-ways. Do you see how knowledge can only get you so far? That your hands may not be the right ones to wield it? Though, there may be no one to wield it right; too much of knowledge should be left on the forest floor. Still, perhaps it is better to know, than to wander in the dark. But when you choose ignorance for the sake of curiosity, for the sake of more knowledge, what good is the knowledge you had in the first place?

Woodie. Now there’s an interesting sight. The lumberjack, with the axe who talks like a lady, and a condition of the moon that is laughable at best, and pathetic at worst. Still, though your story may sound as such, you are not the least sane of the bunch.

Wes. The silent. The mime. Not to be confused with the actor. Only there to make things worse for the ones behind the strings. Only there to make balloons and pop them, and not say a word, and try your very best to be a living thing, and fail from the beginning.

We are all tied to strings, waiting to hit the sky, to fall back down, or pop apart somewhere in the middle.

Wigfrid. Here’s the actor. The one to take things just a little bit too far. If the acting kills you dear, if it gives you more reason to fear, and less fear to draw from, then perhaps its best to live in the real world.

Or perhaps this world was never real in the first place.

Webber. The spider-boy, the one who understands perhaps more than the rest give him credit for. The child, with the face of a monster. And if only the rest of you understood, maybe you’d say poor, poor thing, until your lips bleed with pity. You poor, poor boy, you should not go into the dark. Should not go into the light. Sometimes the grown ups are more childish than the young. And I wish they listened to you.

The darkness’ sister. With rough hands, and a mind to mend machines and metal, but with no less darkness in her than the sister herself.

And at last Wilson. The scientist. The comedian. The perfect balance. Nothing too weak, nothing too strong. But people want strength, and will ignore the weakness for it sake. They don’t want normal—even if you’re a little bit mad, and your story, a little bit sad, they may choose someone with a little more flash, a little more to be had.

In the end, that is the moral to my sad little tale—my bedtime story of the ticking clock and nightmare hands: Science, with a dash of madness, and magic; mind, with a dash of heart; will kill us, or save us all. And maybe you—the first, the most logic-bound, and perhaps maddest of us, were the protagonist after all, and it is your hands, your lips, your brain, your heart, that will seal our fates.

You are more like me than either of us might care to admit.

I know your tale too; how science failed you, and how those demon-hands reached out to grab your wrists, your heart, to chain your mind to the nightmares too. But unlike for me, or Maxwell, somehow you were shown mercy. All of you, brought together, to defeat me, and enter their world. You may not be the king, that may not be your rule. So my question is far more simple: if science and magic destroyed you once, twice, who will you turn to in the end? Will you fall back to the lightning’s warm glimmer, or will you dare to refuse the nightmares that call from below?

This is the reason I am still willing to fight; you. All of you.

The future. The fight. The guilty-of-theft. The curious. The cold. The only thing left.

I will save you.

The gate is not what you think. And even if where it leads may seem harmless, of little consequence, at first, they are still there, waiting. They are unfathomable. I know you think you can reset ruins, because the things you mine beneath the ground, in the nightmares' realm, are the most valuable, but they are ruins for a reason, and restarting will not make them, make me, whole again.

Don’t open the gate. Don’t restart. Don’t try it, but don’t lose heart. I will not protest to death, if it means you will understand, and leave the broken parts.

Don’t…

...Don’t…

...(Don’t)...

...Y-yy...

You made your choice.

[batsaboutbats]

2021 Reading

I used the Calendar spread for this reading. While it’s not exactly how you’re supposed to use it, I make each card a corresponding month to predict the year and the events of each month. You start from left, and go around in counterclock wise direction. The center card predicts general influences on the inquirer. So let’s get started to see what a shitshow 2021 is going to be.

Card 1/January: ACE OF SWORDS reversed (could also be personality of the inquirer in traditional reading.)

FORCE, is the nature of this card. And not in a good way. Injustice, wanton abuse of power, misunderstandings, and malice abound. Mental stress and anxiety are going to be the name of the game in January for me. This tracks, especially considering the pandemic, the piece of trash littering the oval office, and our senate doing it’s best to murder and subjugate us. Fuck them, I’m too spiteful to die.

Card 2/ February: PAGE OF CUPS (money, possessions, material concerns)

Pale, fair haired with blue eyes, the Page of Cups is a gentle young person with kind heart and mind, both loving and artistic. They are also insightful. If female, somewhat tomboyish. They can be emotionally vulnerable and need affection to thrive. I’d suppose that it’s referring to myself as the physical description fits, and it means to be more concerned about emotional wealth rather than the kind valued by coin. God knows in this current climate that kindness is sorely in shortage. I’ll try to be understanding of others and not let my anger rule me.

Card 3/March: JUDGEMENT reversed (short journeys, siblings, learning.)

Opportunities will be ignored, and I might fall victim to stubbornness-- such as refusing to move on from a position. Fear of death, illness, and refusal to change when it is vital to do so. This card can delay outcomes.

Hm. I’m gonna hedge a bet that it means covid-19 might explode beyond imaginable grief in this month, due to the fact that it’s around this time that regular people should be getting access to the first round of the vaccines. I have little faith in people’s patience right now, so I have a feeling they’ll think one shot is enough and try to go back to life as before the virus hit. 9_9 Guess I need to be diligent and stay on my toes. Be flexible and roll with the punches!

Card 4/April: THE TOWER reversed (home life, childhood?)

False accusations, imprisonment, or oppression.

Definitely a volatile month full of trying challenges. I’ll most likely initiate a change of attitude that may shock or dismay those around me. Basically, I’ll become a rebel. Deal with it, I guess. Since this is focused on home life, I’m guessing that my family and I are going to be butting heads, a lot.

This is most likely the month I may have to finally have a showdown with my father-- who has shown himself to be brain damaged. Yes, really. He had a stroke a few years ago, and I don’t care that he’s still able to walk and talk just fine, he *changed* after it. His personality became a complete stranger to me and I don’t even recognize him anymore. The vile shit he says casually makes my skin crawl and I really worry about my safety sometimes.

April may be the month I have to decide what to do about my dad. Be it taking Power of Attorney, or placing him into a retirement/nursing home... It really is up in the air. I just know it’s going to be a bad month.

Card 5/May: THE WORLD reversed (Romance, leisure, fun, and children.)

Success has yet to be won in this month. Insecurity might be the thing standing in my way, while I’m lacking vision. I’m probably going to be too focused on what is, and not what could be.

Maybe my battle with my family will spill into this month, and my gentleness is going to fuck me over. I need to harden myself and do what is necessary even if people don’t like it. There’s no time for leisure of fun in this month it seems.

Card 6/June: KING OF SWORDS reversed (work, habits, health matters.)

The King is a distrustful, suspicious man. He plays mind games, and double deals to spite those around him. Sounds like it’s talking about my dad, here to ruin my birthday. Jesus fucking Christ.

Seems like his health and needs are going to take up most of my attention, while I’m in the middle of balancing work and trying to keep my sanity balanced. I will have to be careful of my own health and not allow him to drag me down into depression. This is going to be a rough month.

Card 7/July: 4 OF CUPS (partnerships, business or personal.)

BOREDOM is what this card means.

Stability will be achieved in this month. What more can be achieved anyway? Familiarity breeds contempt during this month. Which is to say, my Dad is still going to be his terrible self and there’s nothing I can do to change him. Most likely I’m going to accept that the father I thought I had doesn’t exist anymore...just take my fate for what it is.

To heal myself I’m going to need a new start-- either with a new activity or a few new friends. Maybe both.

Card 8/ August: 5 OF SWORDS reversed (sexuality, shared resources, inheritance, investments.)

DEFEAT is what the card means. Stubborn pride, and refusal to give in when all is lost. Most worrying is that this card more often than not signifies a funeral. Is this the month my father leaves the mortal coil? Possibly. I’m going to be careful of being too bullheaded, and learn to cut my losses.

I may need to keep an eye on my retirement funds this month.

Card 9/ September: 7 OF CUPS (Distant travels, religion, philosophy)

CHOICES is the meaning of this card. Important decisions will have to be made, with numerable options to choose from. I’ll have to be careful and pick the right one though. Doorways will open for me, but I must walk through the correct door. I’ll need to be extremely intuitive here. I’m guessing that I might inherit something after all, and will have to decide what to do with it wisely.

Card 10/October: THE SUN (career, status, direction)

SUCCESS is the meaning of this card. Oh thank fuck. Finally, some good fucking content. While glory is overrated imo, I’ll take happiness and achievement. It seems I really did pick the right choice in September afterall. Good news will come this month, and a possible birth of a child may come to my family. My sister? Might be the one it’s hinting at here, but as far as I know, the good news is probably financial related. Hot sunny places might be in my future. Is this the month I begin to prepare to head to Australia? Either for a visit or a new life? Not sure.

Card 11/ November: 6 OF SWORDS (friends, social life, hope for future)

TRAVEL is what this card denotes... Movement away from danger, discretion is the better part of valor here. I should move in company of others in similar circumstances, and luckily my immediate problems will be solved in this month, whatever those may be. There is only one direction to go in, and it’s thankfully positive! Hm. Maybe this is going to be the start of something more permanent.

Card 12/ December: THE FOOL (secrets, hidden enemies, where you may be your own worst enemy.)

NEW BEGINNINGS is what this card holds for me. Nothing can harm me anymore, no matter what I do. I can take a risk and start a new chapter of my life without fear. I should take the unexpected as it comes with open arms and embrace change. Unconventional people could enter my life and be what I need to finally be happy. I no longer have to look over my shoulder in fear that the other shoe is going to fall. The worst is over. Perhaps Covid-19 is finally tamed and the world is settling down again.

This is a good sign, and tracks so far with the others. I like seeing gradually progression in readings because it gives me confidence that it’s going to be a slow ease into change and I can roll with it all better. 

Center Card/General influences on me, the inquirer: 9 OF SWORDS

Cruelty is what this card means. Refusal to accept help or feel that improvements cannot be made. However their is light at the end of the tunnel, I just have to learn to adapt and rely on others sometimes. Not everything is horrible and there is good in the world. I just have to look for it a little harder is all.

2020 has left deep scars on me. I just have to remember that the future will be ok as long as I’m positive and believe in myself.

[txnebrxs]

' What a time to decide to get some shut eye.' his figure came into full view as the epicenter of the smoke that filled the area, wisping off his claws only to be exhaled out through the corners of his lips. ' Things had gone silent since you left.' Instead of giving her hair a nice little tug like he used too, his gaze had settled upon her face, features tinged with a small vision of worry. ' I thought the worst.'

@duvoziiir

"It was that or homicidal mania, I decided that the latter wouldn’t be so beneficial, given the state of everything and all.” Apollyon reasoned, shrugging herself free from where she has been lounging lazily. For such a one as she to turn down the prospect of bloodshed was surprising at the very least, and she distantly worried that it may be a brazen flaw in her character coming to haunt her. Pushing that aside, her vibrant eyes watch him come closer, basking in the glory of the ephemeral aura he glimpsed her so little. Taking a deep inhale of the smoke that wisped about his person, Apollyon felt an affectionate growl resonate in her throat; the BEAST lurked just beneath the surface and, with his claws still at her head ( so close to her throat ) and his power resonating in the very air to the point that she could taste it, begged to be freed. However, the minute traces of worry upon his face doused such a lust and Apollyon found her own features morphing into the that of a frown. Had he truly believed that she had succumbed to death? Or perhaps a fate ever worse than that? It took her several moments to compose an answer that she agreed with and even then she was barely content with the answer she gave, her gaze downcaste—

“Death has little reign over me, you should know that, but I admit that I became weary of this life I lead,” she admitted quietly, “it was boredom that brought me back to it.”

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 20. Do you want to work with me?

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX 

Chapter 20 Do you want to work with me? 

Matilda's refusal to name what she and the others with the Shining can do as powers came in her adult years. But, as a child, this was exactly how she called what she could do.

 "I was on the garage roof. I did it with my powers," Matilda had explained to Miss Honey in that distant spring in which she was barely six and a half years old. She was trying to justify how she had taken a doll from the house of her former director without having broken the promise of never enter there again. Curiously, that same house would later become her home for many years, and that nice teacher would become her mother. So, in the end, she would enter and leave the house many times.

 At that time, when her "powers" emerged at such an early age, once she learned how they worked, it became quite simple and easy for her to use them. It became equivalent to walk, breath, or jump, just something else she did without even having to overthink. And as an adult, she managed to dominate them even more and was so skilled at it that she could stop one, two, or even three bullets with them. It wasn't like she had tried so much to do that before that fateful morning in Portland. Still, it was reassuring to know that she could indeed do it if she concentrated enough.

 However, there was a period in which that was not the case, between thirteen and fifteen, to be exact, a stage in her life that Dr. Honey did not remember with love.

 When she entered adolescence, her powers strengthened exponentially. That thing that for her had been as simple as walking, now felt as if every step she took would break the ground and cause earthquakes. And on top of that, no having a better word to describe it, they suddenly "turned on" themselves without realizing it. They waving everything around her, and it was problematic to calm them down. The worst moment for her was in her last year of high school, although she was thirteen years old about to turn fourteen, as a result of several grade skips thanks to her excellent scores and performance. And although at the beginning that was pleasant and worthy of showing off for the little Matilda, it didn't take long to become somewhat counterproductive and challenging to deal with.

 The boys and girls of sixteen, seventeen and eighteen did not like the idea of share classroom, or even the hallway, with a thirteen-year-old smarty dwarf who believed (and in fact was) smarter than all of them. Between her second and third year, it seemed as if much of the school had agreed to make her life impossible. And this coincided with the moment of most considerable instability of her telekinetic abilities, making everything much worse.

 She would never forget that afternoon. Her powers had been out of control before, and even in school, but somehow she managed to keep everything safe to not hurt anyone or call attention. That day, however, that was not possible at all. 

 During the morning, her powers were jumping alone, waving things, windows, and even people. Many justified it by imagining that it was some minor tremor, wind, or simple mistakes. "People blindly believe only in what they want to, but distrust everything they wish not to," someone would tell her not long after that day, and in retrospect, that made sense. They preferred to see her as a freak that they could annoy and harass, before accepting there was something that made her unique, or even dangerous.

 That day Matilda was unable to concentrate in class; her notebook became quite similar to how it had left the house. Much of her concentration throughout the day focused on stay calm and have those powers off, but she did not achieve it altogether. If she had told her mother what was happening, she would surely have told her to stay at home. But no, she wanted to go to school, not miss a single day that was not due to illness, and only if it was a case of life or death. Also, there was another essential feature in her decision: pride. She was sure she could handle it. She had done it at six, and she should be able to do it at twice the age. She could, and she knew very well... but she was wrong.

 For the hour just before the break, she couldn't take it anymore. Matilda just wanted to go home before it got worse. Sit on her bed and reread some of her favorite books; that always calmed her. But there were still several more hours, enough for something to go wrong. And they weren't too far from it: the classroom's room windows were shaking, and the ceiling lamps swayed from side to side. This distracted the rest of her classmates (which the ability to concentrate was not precisely their best quality), and the teacher tried to keep them serene, objecting that it was nothing of care. Did he really believe that?

 The theories were around the room, but none involved her. No one in that place even assumed that the skinny and pale-faced high school girl could somehow be the cause.

 The bell finally rang after an hour that seemed eternal to her. Matilda took her books and notebooks very quickly. She did not take the time to put them in her backpack, and just carried them in her arms and headed hurriedly and frightened to the exit. Her powers appeared to have calmed down, but she wouldn't take risks. She didn't care about the rest of the class anymore. What she wanted was to leave as soon as possible, tell her mother everything, and ask for her help to deal with all that.

 However, midway she had to cross in front of a group of teens who were talking in front of their lockers. Matilda looked at them in the distance. She knew them, quite well... and they knew her. Of all those in that school who had taken it against her, that group was the most belligerent. And she didn't know why; several of them didn't even have classes with her. 

 Matilda longed to finish her last semester, get out of that school and go to Yale as planned. Everything would be better then. She would be in a place where people appreciated their intelligence more, and where they had already surpassed whatever it was that made them be stupid bastards at that age. However, if she was unable to focus on class as a result of her crazy powers and the actions of her personal harassers, that could make everything complicated.

 She tried to pass by, with her head bowed and silently. She thought they might not have seen her, but the reality was that they did. They only acted as if not, so she would approach them. And just when she was in front of one of the boys, he extended his arm towards her, and in a quite derived way, he threw her books and notebooks with a swipe. These fell to the ground causing a sound echo in the hallway. The whole group started laughing. Matilda tried to ignore them and bent down quickly to pick up her things and get on with her way as soon as possible.

 "Look at the little genius girl," one of the boys said mockingly. Several of those present in the hall turned to look disdainfully but kept their distance. "If you're so smart, why don't you know how to hold your books well?"

 Unison laughter, especially from that boy's companions, echoed in the hallway. Matilda kept ignoring them. She picked up her things, stood up, and just then, another girl in the group threw her things back in the same way. The kid was paralyzed in her place. Her face hardened, and her hands still in the same position where she was holding her things a moment ago.

 "I'm sorry," the girl murmured with obvious sarcasm. Matilda crouched down again, but the same girl kicked one of her books to one side, causing it to slide along the floor away from her. Matilda approached it, crawling. It was a special edition of The Three Musketeers that her mother had bought her at a Book Fair, and they were dirtying and mistreating it.

 A second girl put her foot on the way to block her path. Matilda looked at her from below, and she looked at her with arrogance loaded in her thin smile. She bent down a little until she almost faced her.

 "You are so ugly and weird that even your parents got rid of you as soon as they had a chance," the girl said with boredom in her voice; Matilda did not flinch. "You are like a rat crawling on the floor. I don't know how they allowed someone like you to enter here. Go back to the kindergarten and come back when your breasts grow, will you? If they grow up one day."

 Matilda's face filled with rage, and at the same time, the lockers began to shake a little.

 "When are these stupid tremors going to stop?" She heard someone questioning among the people around her.

 Matilda stood up, turned around who covered the passage, and finally took her book, pressing it against her body along with the rest of her things. She turned to see all that group with sharp anger in her eyes, still kneeling on the floor. The boys and girls laughed.

 "Little Einstein got angry," the first boy who had thrown the books remarked. "What are you going to do, huh?"

 Everyone suddenly approached her menacingly. Matilda stood up and wanted to run to the door, but all of them surrounded her. Together, they began to push her between them, passing her from side to side as if she were a ball. The kid let go of her things again, and they fell to the floor back. Her feet even ended up stepping on them, including the book of The Three Musketeers. Matilda began to despair and get scared. She only heard the laughter from all of them, and of some others who only looked but still laughed. She felt without air as if someone was trying to suffocate her with a pillow.

 Out of nowhere, she began to scream in despair with all her might. Before her bullies understood this clearly, they all flew in all directions against the lockers, the walls, or directly to the ground. Some suffered only minor blows, others went through something more serious. Everyone froze, even those in the group who hadn't been pushed. While Matilda kept screaming, the lights jingle, and all the lockers were violently shaken, some slamming open by themselves and all their contents emptying to the ground like waterfalls. Fear covered everyone's face, and they were petrified.

 Matilda stopped screaming. She was breathing slowly, sobbing. She looked around; everyone looked at her, absolutely everyone.

 She took her things for the last time and ran with all her might to the exit door. As she walked away, everything kept stirring around. Everybody stepped aside to make way for her as if she was running in flames. The "genius girl" was lost from everyone's sight when she walked through the door. No one went after her.

 Many would have suggested that it was indeed she who had done it. Friends told other friends, and soon the rumor spread throughout the school, and even those who were not present would begin to tell the story as if they had been. However, the rumor would disappear soon enough. Some people started to question the story in disbelief and began to propose more or less reasonable explanations. These somehow convinced others, to the point of asking themselves if they had actually seen it. In the end, as if an invisible hand accommodated everything, the incident was forgotten.

 Matilda, on the other hand, would not return to that school in at least two weeks.

****

 When Cole said he was hungry and wanted to eat something urgently, he didn't joke. Therefore, as soon as they could leave the hospital, the three went to a cafeteria, which also served homemade meals, named Mr. Joseph. It was located relatively close to the hospital, but far enough away that none of the police found them if they tried. None of the three were from Portland, so they had to choose the restaurant based mostly on positive internet comments.

 The interior of the establishment was a little rustic, with wooden furniture and a somewhat generic decoration on the walls; paintings, or photos of landscapes and dogs mostly. They sat at a table with two armchairs in the corner furthest from the other five people in the room, to have as much privacy as possible in their delicate conversation.

 The waitress, a friendly middle-aged woman named Dolores, brought them the menus. Cole was the first to order, almost immediately, because he was very clear about what he wanted.

 "Give me the biggest burger you have, Dolores," said the policeman jovially. "Medium well, and with extra cheese."

 "With fries, sir?"

 "You don't need to ask that. So many, please."

 Cody and Matilda took a little longer to decide. Cody didn't really have much appetite; Matilda, on the other hand, the truth was that she had been eating poorly that day. Although her stomach asked for food, she simply didn't feel like it. Her ankle still hurt, but it was more the uncomfortable sensation of her neck that made her restless.

 "A chicken salad for me, please," Cody said, not entirely convinced. "With a Thousand Islands dressing."

 "I suppose I only want a grilled Milanese," Matilda explained a little later. "And water, please."

 "Right away, guys," Dolores pointed out, smiling, and proceeded to remove their menus.

 As soon as they were alone, the questions did not wait, nor the answers. Matilda and Cody wanted to know precisely what Cole had done in that hallway. He was sincere, as he could only be with someone who shares his same joy, and perhaps curse depending on how they looked it.

 The explanation was clear, although not very detailed. Throughout it, Matilda stared at him with an unchanging and hard expression; Cody, on his side, seemed fascinated.

 "Incredible," the teacher suddenly exclaimed, a second after Cole finished speaking. "Let's see, then, did the murdered police ghost tell you all that?"

 "I told you, he just told me the name," Cole replied. "I found the rest on the internet. It was no big deal, he did the hard part."

 Dolores approached at that time with her drinks: regular Coca-Cola for Cole, apple tea for Cody, and water for Matilda. They waited for her to retire again to continue talking.

 "But then the policeman already knew this child...?" Cody stopped halfway, thought a little what he would say, and then continued. "I mean, did he know this woman named Leena?"

 "Yes, and no." Cole took a long sip of her soda through her straw. "When our consciousness passes to that other plane, our vision of our surroundings becomes much clearer. Without interference that clouds us, we may be able to see much more than what we see being alive. Especially concerning our death, and if it leaves us with a great sense of loss, or the feeling that we leave something behind."

 The detective leaned completely against his chair and placed his left arm comfortably on the backrest. Cody and Matilda were sitting in the armchair in front of him, side by side.

 "When I was a child," Cole continued, "the ghost of a girl appeared before me. Her mother had poisoned her for years, and neither she nor the rest of her family knew. For everyone, she only suffered from a strange disease that kept her in bed all the time. Until in the end, she died inevitably. But once she passed, her essence, this... energy that was left, was able to achieve enough consciousness to realize that it had indeed died. That is something you should know does not happen in all cases, but she could also see what had really happened to her, and her younger sister could be next."

 "And she looked for you for help?" Cody inquired, something incredulous, but at the same time visibly interested. Cole responded by nodding.

 "And like that case, I've been able to find several others. That's why I became a homicide detective. I knew this would be the best place to use my skills. So I could find the guilty for dozens of murders."

 "It's impressive," Cody said, genuinely dazzled by his story. "I had already heard about some people with the Shining that could see and speak with ghosts, but I had never met someone who directly did it. I thought it was more a rumor."

 "Didn't you say before you knew everyone at the Foundation?" Cole commented mockingly, making Cody blush a little.

 "Maybe I exaggerated. Obviously, I don't know them all."

 Cole laughed slightly.

 Matilda did not seem interested in intervening in their conversation. She seemed more interested in looking at the wall while sipping her glass of water.

 "Well, we're not a rumor," Cole pointed out with conviction. "But there are not so many with this ability really, and many fail to cope with it because it usually appears when they are very young. I had... many problems as a child... so many." His voice took a slightly off course in his last sentence, but he immediately recovered. "But, if it's okay for me to say it, even among those who can see the same as me, my ability is a little more special."

 "How?"

 "How could I explain it to you…?"

 He was meditating on the best choice of words, just when Dolores arrived with Cody's salad and Matilda's Milanese; Cole's hamburger would take a little longer. Matilda, without much waiting, took her knife and fork and began to cut the gray-colored meat into small pieces to put them one by one in her mouth. She was entirely focused on it, and it took a few seconds to realize that Cody and Cole looked at her curiously.

 "What?" She questioned them sharply.

 "You're very quiet, Doctor," said Cole. "Were you so hungry?"

 "I'm fine, thank you," Matilda replied in the same way as before and continued to cut her flesh.

 "Does something bother you, Matilda?" Cody asked without detour. "Well, I know that after everything that happened this day, it would be difficult to choose just one thing, but..."

 Matilda took a deep breath through her nose and then released the air in the same way. She delicately placed her cutlery on his plate, although they still made a clinking sound when they touched the porcelain. She crossed her fingers on the table, and then looked at the detective on the other side of it with apparent more serenity.

 "With all due respect to you, detective, but I don't believe in ghosts," she explained quite firmly, though softly, worthy of the temper of a member of the debate club.

 "Really?" Said Cole, much more relaxed and phlegmatic.

 "Yes, it is. And frankly, I've heard those rumors that some people who shine can see them, but I've never seen one."

 "A ghost or a person who can see them?"

 "Both. I have treated many shone children over the past four years, and I have never seen anyone who presented such a quality that you describe."

 "Ah, that's because not everyone can deal with those kinds of children," Cole said, leaning a little toward them so he could speak better. "That needs a special touch, some knowledge..."

 "Another kind of experience?" Matilda interrupted, finishing the sentence with what she had in mind at the time.

 "I guess... It's the second time you tell me that. What does that mean exactly?"

 "It doesn't matter," Matilda said sharply. "Well, if that's really what you specialize in, Officer Sear..."

 "Cole, you can call me only Cole," the blond man said immediately, but Matilda completely ignored his suggestion.

 "Official Sear," she repeated sharply, in a way that turned out to be somewhat comical, even for Cody, "if helping such children is how you support on the Foundation, then I don't know why Eleven thought you were more qualified to take care of my case in Salem. Samara has never presented or expressed abilities to see ghosts. She only suffers from some nightmares, if that could mean anything."

 "Nightmares may be more meaningful than you think, doctor," Cole added, pointing the finger at her.

 "I know that very well," Cody said quietly with some heaviness, just before taking a bite of his salad.

 Dolores was present again, and as a heavenly vision, she finally approached their table with the big hamburger with fries that Cole had been waiting for hours. When he saw it, his mouth watered; and when he finally smelled it, he had already fallen in love.

 "Dolores, you are my savior," he said charmingly, giggling at the waitress before she retired.

 Cole took the big hamburger in his hands and gave it the widest bite his jaw allowed. His mouth rejoiced, and his stomach definitely thanked him more. The expression on his face and the slight sighs that arose from his mouth did not let his companions doubt how much he was enjoying it. Matilda smiled slightly without wanting it but immediately turned away to hide it. For better or worse, it was a pleasure for many, including her, to see a hungry person enjoy their first bite. And that wasn't necessarily limited to the hungry for food.

 Once Cole managed to swallow much of his first bite, he put the hamburger back on the plate and wiped his fingers a little on the napkin. This must be some kind of tic, as it was quite useless to clean your hands when you would take the hamburger or perhaps some of the fries soon.

 "But you're right," said the policeman when he was able to speak correctly. "Eleven didn't send me to help with your case precisely because she believed the girl might have skills like mine. That isn't her concern.

 "And what concern she has exactly to send me to a Ghostbuster for help?" Added the brunette in turn, with a tone that didn't sound like a joke at all.

 "Matilda!" Cody muttered as if it were recrimination; she just shrugged.

 Cole laughed a little. He took one of the fries and dipped it halfway into the small container of ketchup that Dolores had brought along with his plate.

 "You know, this is a bit curious. You have seen people move objects without touching them, make people see and feel things that are not there, start a fire just by thinking, and surely a thousand and one more things. And my ability causes skepticism in you?"

 "It has nothing to do one thing with another," Matilda replied even more firmly than before. "I enjoy a good fantasy and horror story like anyone, but they are just that: stories. I am a science person, and as such, I believe in what I see and can prove. We're not magicians, nor do we do tricks, detective. We are people with a different cerebral physiognomy; irregularities of nature, if you want to see it that way. That's all. Move things, set fire, create illusions, read minds, materialize things and people... all are actions that we can see, measure, and test. But there is no scientifically accepted way to prove the presence of a ghost. If you claimed that there is one sitting right next to me, for example, you would have no other way to prove it than your word."

 Cody looked with some fear at his own place. He glanced at Cole sideways, and the cop shook his head, indicating with his gaze to calm down; there was nothing around it in that place; not in that one.

 "There was a time when a man's word was enough to inspire confidence," Cole declared firmly, to which Matilda snorted sarcastically.

 "The word of the people never had more value, only the others were more naive to be okay with her. And there was also a time when women who did the same as me were burned for witchcraft, so don't talk to me about other times as an argument."

 Cole laughed again. It was a little desperate to see that he didn't seem angry at anything... except, perhaps, when Vazquez took her arm that way when they left.

 "But Matilda," Cody said, wanting to calm the situation somehow, "how do you think he knew the name of the kidnapper then?"

 "There are other skills that might have given him that information," the psychiatrist replied, shrugging. "Psychometry, Precognition, or maybe what he said to those cops was true, and he already knew the story before."

 "And why lie to us? What would he gain with that?"

 "I don't know," Matilda looked at the officer on the other side of the table. "Let him tell us."

 Cole sighed a little tired.

 "What made you be like this doctor?" Asked the detective, genuinely curious. Matilda raised an eyebrow, confused by the question.

 "Like what?"

 "So... adult," he replied directly, causing Matilda to startle a little. Cole's tone had taken a bit aggressive, though his smile somehow tried to hide it; apparently, not everything slipped. "And tell me, if you only believe in what you see, why are you so skeptical of ghosts if, as I know, you and twenty other children witnessed a true Poltergeist at the age of six in your elementary classroom?"

 Matilda coughed loudly, almost choking on his flesh from the impression of having heard such accusation. Cody tried to help her, but Matilda quickly extended her hand to him to indicate that she was okay.

 "How did you know about that?" Matilda snapped, more as a sharp demand that Cole found amusing.

 "It is true?" Cody added, surprised to hear her answer such a thing.

 "No!" She exclaimed loudly, but almost immediately hesitated. "Well... Yes... But... It's a long story."

"I like long stories," Cole added, raising his hand. Matilda, however, only looked at him sideways with no disguised discomfort, even higher than she had before.

 "That was just a trick," she answered through clenched teeth. Then she lowered her gaze back to her plate and continued to cut off what was left of her Milanese, applying so much force that her knife squeaked painfully against the plate's porcelain. "There was never a ghost there, it was I who caused it all."

 "Why?" Cody questioned, confused because he did not know before of such anecdote.

 "That's the long story I don't want to talk about." It was the only thing she said, and then she shut up.

 So adult… Yes, apparently she had become that: one more adult. One who could move objects without touching them and a couple of other things, but one more adult still. With her bitterness, sadness, worries, liters of coffee inside, credit card debts, and a daily rage that she wanted to get out of some another way.

 Where was that girl who saw adults as something totally alien to her, as if they were beings from another planet or speaking another language? Where was now that little girl who had performed such an ingenious trick in her classroom and managed to scare away the evil Trunchbull? Didn't she tell herself on more than one occasion that, like Peter Pan, she would never be such an adult? She was definitely quite far from being like her parents or her former principal. However, she still had some not-so-graceful qualities that she was aware of, but with which she had simply learned to deal with.

 Now who seemed alien and distant, was that naive and innocent girl; Brilliant, but innocent.

 They kept eating in silence for a few minutes. Cole concentrated on his hamburger, Cody forcefully eating his salad, and Matilda already with her empty plate, only drinking her water in small non-continuous sips. When Cole was already in the middle of his hamburger, he placed it back on his plate. He took a couple of napkins and deeply cleaned his fingers of any trace of ketchup, grease, or salt.

 "Listen, Doctor," said the policeman, placing a strong emphasis on doctor. "It is obvious that you have some problems that you are trying to deal with, and that is completely respectable. But regardless of whether you believe about my ability, the only truth I can assure you, scientifically if you wish, is that I came here to help you. Help you and the girl you are treating. Eleven sent me here because she is convinced that I can help, and that is my only purpose. Besides, I asked for vacation days to be here, and I would really like to put them to good use."

 Matilda looked at him sideways with some forced indifference as she slowly drank from her glass. Cole then extended his hand in greeting, offering it directly to her. 

 "What do you say, Dr. Honey? Do you want to work with me?"

 Matilda stared silently at her outstretched hand. A few seconds passed in which neither Cole nor Cody were sure if she would take it or not, but it seemed that she was at least considering the possibility deeply. Luckily, so to speak, the sound of her cell phone was abruptly present, and like a bell saved her from the pitiful situation. She quickly removed her attention from the man's hand and began to rummage through her bag in search of her phone. She soon found it, and his screen showed an unrecognized number, but by the beginning of it, it was clear that it was from Oregon.

 "Excuse me," she murmured before answering. Somewhat resigned, and inside even more offended, Cole lowered his hand and preferred to use it to take one of the fries. "Dr. Matilda Honey, who speaks?"

 The person on the other side of the line took a while to respond. Matilda heard him hesitate and doubt before his voice finally became clearly present.

 "Dra. Honey… Dr. Johnson speaks…" He whispered in a broken voice, but it was still recognizable to Matilda. However, he was heard strange, would even say that... scared.

 "What's wrong, Dr. Johnson?" Asked the brunette in a serious tone. "You sound altered."

 "I am... yes, I am," the doctor replied to the other of the line, even releasing a small nervous gig just after. "Something happened with Samara."

 "Something?" Snapped Matilda exalted. She immediately stood up and took a couple of steps away from the table. Her two companions stood behind her almost immediately, looking at her totally worried. "What kind of something? What happened?"

 "I... I don't know..." Johnson stammered hesitantly. "I think her powers... got out of control, I don't know. We don't know what to do. I guess only you... could you come as soon as possible, please?"

 Matilda could not process what was happening based on the little information that man was giving him. What had happened to Samara? What did he mean that her powers had gone out of control? When had all this happened? Her head was already wholly involved in everything that had just happened that morning, then that strange conversation they had just had with that newcomer... and now that.

 It was too much.

 She took a second, just a second, to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and try to calm down. The stinging in her neck, right in the area where that invisible hand had taken her, became present once more and distracted her for a few moments. But she managed to regain the right path. There were many things, but she couldn't deal with them all at the same time. She had to prioritize and focus her attention on one and then on another. And even if Johnson's tone had not been as fraught with despair as he was, Samara would be her priority without hesitation.

 "I'm in Portland," Matilda informed the other doctor a little more calmly, "it would take me an hour or two to arrive."

 "Please come as soon as you can," Johnson replied, almost like a plea.

 "Okay, I'm going over there," she clarified firmly, and soon after, they both hung up.

 "What happens?" Cody asked immediately as she lowered the phone in his ear.

 "Something happened with Samara, I have to return immediately to Eola."

 "What happened?" Asked Cole, alarmed.

 "I don't know... it seems she lost control of her abilities. Who called me was very upset, could not give me details. God, that nobody has been hurt, please.

 Matilda closed her eyes and stuck her forehead against her phone. If the worst had happened, if she had reused her skills against a person as happened with her mother, and this had ended in some kind of tragedy... Matilda had no idea how Samara would react to it. She could close again, even worse than before, and all the progress they had made during those days would simply disappear. Not to mention the considerable guilt that would invade her... Or she could even get out of control even more...

 A horrendous image came to her memory right now. A girl in her beautiful graduation dress, covered from head to toe with blood to the point that the original color of that dress was totally impossible to guess. She looked at her with her eyes totally wild and out of her mind. An image from the same scorching hell peeking out to say "hello."

 She felt her stomach churn slightly, perhaps partly because of how quickly she had eaten. It was no use drawing conclusions early; she had to go and face what was happening.

 "If something like that happened, you might not be able to control it alone," Cody pointed out, but she listened quite far away. "I'll accompany you."

 "I'm going too," Cole said immediately. "That's why I came here, after all."

 Matilda could have said something to persuade them, but she couldn't really concentrate enough to reach a satisfactory conclusion about whether or not she wanted to be accompanied. The simplest thing for her was to nod.

 "Okay, but do only what I tell you, okay? Samara is sensible."

 "You command, boss," Cole snorted, and then he took the plate that contained what was left of his hamburger. "Dolores, can you put it on to takeaway? And the bill, please."

 The waitress took Cody's burger, the salad, and Matilda's empty plate, and headed for the kitchen. She returned about five minutes later with the meals in organic disposable containers and the bill. Twenty minutes later, the three were aboard Matilda's rented car, ready on their way along I-5 South towards Salem. 

END OF CHAPTER 20

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo MST- Prologue

This has previously been posted on Archive of Our Own, but I had to remove it due to copyright. This IS fair use, as it is for the purpose of parody/critique and thus exempt. However, I don’t feel like dealing with the headache of talking to the mods (?) about it, so I’m posting it on Tumblr. 

This is a story by author FrolloFreak/Crazed Writer and part of a universe in which her OC, Danisha, is Claude Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s girlfriend. It has elements of the Disney movie, the musical, and the book,  so everything is such a mess I’m not sure what to even list the fandom for this as. There are a TON of stories by this author set in this ‘verse, but this is the main event.

Warning: weird descriptions of a naked elderly priest. 

It had been a grueling day, and Claude Frollo had put in long hours at the Palace of Justice. First there was that band of highwaymen who had terrorized Parisians traveling in and out of town. He had laid a careful trap for these hoodlums, successfully capturing and, ultimately, punished them for their crimes.

You can’t just switch verb tense like that. It should be either “capturing” and “punishing” or “captured” and “punished.”

Then there was that new, dimwitted lieutenant. He had infuriated Claude with some minor insubordination, so much that Claude made sure he was justly "disciplined". So what if this half-brained soldier complained, "I'll never be able to secure another position again! You made sure of that! I'll get even with you, Claude Frollo!"

The way “discipline” is in quotes makes me worry. And making someone forever unable to secure another job due to a minor insubordination is messed up- though, seeing as Frollo had a previous captain whipped and tried to shoot Phoebus off a bridge for refusing to murder someone, this guy probably got off easily. 

The Minister of Justice sneered at this inane threat. "And just WHAT will you do? It is obvious you can't even negotiate a walk across the street, let alone perform your duties! Yes, I guarantee you'll never find work in Paris again - now begone, you idiot!"

Again, this is sort of messed up.

Claude Frollo smiled. It had been a productive day, but oh-so tiring. He needed a release. Claude paced about his study, restless from boredom, yet drained from overwork. A thought suddenly came to him. That's it!, he thought. After all, it was a warm day, and a quick swim would be just the thing to relieve the stress. Claude Frollo's thoughts turned to Danisha, his 14th FSM.

Who the hell is Danisha? That’s not exactly a common name in medieval Paris. And what is an FSM? Do I want to know? And what timeframe does this take place in? If it’s before the movie, what happened to Danisha to leave Frollo free to obsess over Esmeralda? And if it’s during the movie, does he have two obsessions at once? I wouldn’t put it past him, but still… squick. And it can’t be after the movie because he’d be dead. 

She suggested I take up some pleasant past-time, he thought, my lovely wild-honeyed lady. Always so caring, so sweet, so..

Wild-honeyed lady? What does that even mean?

His mind raced back to that magical summer of luscious days and even sweeter nights spent with her. She had maddened him at first with her off-the-wall humor and saucy tongue. Yet, somehow, she had managed to melt his heart and stirred a desire in him so strong that he could not...

Wasn’t the entire plot driven by the fact that he’s a member of the clergy and cannot have sex or fall in love? Seeing as he wanted to either rape or murder Esmeralda her evil sin of being attractive, it just doesn’t seem like he’d have a healthy relationship with Danisha, whoever she is. 

"Stop this!", he muttered to himself. "Thinking about her only stresses you more."

But it good stress! A wicked smile lit up his face as he made his way outside. Mounting his horse, Snowball, he informed his sergeant that he was going for a short swim. "If an emergency should arise, you'll know where to find me." Claude did not notice the just-fired lieutenant lurking in the shadows of the Palace. As Claude rode off, the ex-soldier motioned to some boys playing nearby.

Yeah, there’s nothing that could go wrong with randomly bathing in a pond, telling people that dislike you that you’re doing so, and then leaving...

"Hey kids!", he called to them, "Want to earn a little money?" "Sure", said the oldest boy. "What do you want done?" The soldier grinned. "Let's play a game called "Getting Even with the Boss" The boys nudged each other and grinned back. "Where to?", asked the youngest. "Just follow me." And soon the entire group followed the tall man riding a fine black horse.

  Whatever this guy has in store for him, Frollo probably deserves it.

Claude Frollo reached a lovely, secluded spot just outside of town. The water looked so inviting and refreshing. Besides, there was no one around to spy on him or bother him with petty concerns. Here he could be by himself, enjoy a swim, and collect his thoughts. Claude tied Snowball to a tree, neatly folded his clothes and piled them on the riverbank, and took the plunge. Oh, this is heavenly, he thought, as he allowed the cool water to envelope and rejuvenate his body and mind. It was nearly sunset, he realized, must not stay too long... but this IS wonderful.

This is literally just tempting fate here.

Claude became so wrapped in his enjoyment that he did not notice a group of boys watching him through the bushes. He did not see those same boys quietly lift his clothes and untie his horse. Nor did he see the ex-soldier guiding Snowball down the road. Ah, nearly dusk, must get out now. I'm feeling sooo much better. Claude got out of the water and reached for his clothes. He suddenly panicked. Where are my clothes! Where's my Snowball! He looked up just in time to see that damned soldier and some boys hastily running down the road with his clothes and horse

  How did someone just walk off with his entire goddamn horse without him noticing? Also, I have a feeling that a judge/archdeacon (depending on the adaptation) just casually bathing in a random pond in the view of several people would raise a couple eyebrows. 

"Come back here you thieving vermin!" Claude roared at the top of his lungs. "You'll dearly pay for this insult!"

In their haste, the merry group dropped Claude's cape and something else. A sterling silver, amethyst-studded device. Claude picked up his cape and the small, silvery pager.

This story takes place in the 1400s, does it not? How on earth did this guy manage to get ahold of and use a pager?! And even if he did somehow manage to find one, he’d probably accuse whoever had it of witchcraft and burn/draw-and-quarter them. He doesn’t exactly have a great track record of accepting things he doesn’t understand. 

Wait until I get my hands on them! I'll tear them apart! Make them suffer the worst possible punishment I can... Claude Frollo was livid, as he wrapped the cape around himself, and, clutching the little pager, walked back to town.</p>

He’s fantasizing about torturing some young pranksters?! I get if he’s mad at them, but they’re kids! Jesus Christ!

Judge Claude Frollo slipped back into town unnoticed. Thank goodness no-one's spotted me, he shuddered, his body now shivering from dampness and the cool evening air. Have to make it back to the Palace of Justice and then I'll take care of those thieving ruffians... Just then, he heard a swell of female voices heading up the street. FSMs! How did they find me? That blasted soldier! Now he will clearly pay for embarassing me!

 What the hell is an FSM?! The context here makes me think he’s just referring to women as a whole, which is weird. 

But the horde of young females had already spotted his tall, slender form. "There he is!", shouted Aranxta, "Ooh, he is DIVINE!" 

 There’s nothing the ladies love more than naked old priests/judges who fantasize about torture, rape and murder. Also, what type of name is Aranxta? It makes me think this author is just inserting names of her friends here, because girls from medieval France generally aren’t called things like that. I’m no historian but I generally think of, like, Mary or Agnes when I think “middle ages.”

Their leader, a woman who called herself Belladonna, urged the ladies, "Get him, girls! Don't let him get away!" Claude dashed up a side street, trying frantically to get away. He felt a tug at his cape. It was one of the older FSMs.

You can’t just keep using that acronym without telling your audience what it means.

"MADAM!"

"Just trying to get a peek at that MANLY body!"

Because he’s just such a ladies’ man, as evidenced by Esmeralda choosing death over sleeping with him.

Frollo: Choose me or the fire.

Esmeralda: *spits in his face*

"Ladies, please!", Claude pleaded, "This is not a good time. I have important business to attend to...." Eventually he struggled out of the cape and disappeared down a dark alley, whilst the FSMs continued fighting over him.

And he wanted to burn Esme for witchcraft? I want to know which magic potion he’s using to make people think he's attractive.

Out of breath, cold, and angry, Claude hid in a recess of an abandoned building. He still clutched the tiny pager. 

How and why does he know how to use a pager?! Why does this exist

"Why didn't I think of this before? Yes! She will help me. My beautiful brown-sugared....Darling Nisha..."

His weird descriptions of this Nisha chick are kind of unnerving. Brown-sugared?

Claude took the pager and began pushing the buttons. He cast his eyes heavenward. "Oh PLEASE let this work", he prayed as he began coding a cryptic message.

Seeing as God literally made a gargoyle come to life to fall off the cathedral and “plunge you into the fiery pit,” I really doubt he’s on your side.

And does using a pager really require “coding a cryptic message?” I mean, I’m no specialist, but it just doesn’t seem all that complicated. Maybe for a guy from the 1400s, but seeing as how he both owns a pager and is not surprised/confused at its existence, I’d assume he knows how to correctly use one. 

[singtotheskiies]

Say You Won't Let Go

pairing: alexander hamilton x reader modern au words: 2700 warnings: angst, drinking, death, and puking yeah boii (and I am obviously an underage minor so I have no clue what drinking and all this adult stuff is like lol) summary: song imagine based off of "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur. this is literally the worst thing I've ever written so please brace yourselves. might have a james madison one next!!

I met you in the dark, you lit me up You made me feel as though I was enough ------ His life had been chaotic. Anyone could attest to that. ​​​​​He had pushed his childhood away from him, as far as he could. Reliving those hellish years was the last thing he wanted to do. But lately, they had begun to resurface, and the dreams, the nightmares that shook him and forced him awake, sweat pouring off him, began to drain him. His work was growing busier and the load forced upon him became too much to bear. There was no time for anything else; his days consisted of writing and eating quickly, with an hour or two of sleep shoved haphazardly into his crammed schedule if at all possible. Even a man of his constitution and pure stubborn will couldn't keep up with such a timetable. He began to feel dark tendrils of hopelessness, of depression, curl around him, their hold ever tightening. That was, until he met her. He hadn't wanted to go to the party, but Hercules and Laf had insisted. "Alex," Hercules pleaded. "Only for a few hours. I promise it won't be much. You don't even have to drink. Besides, you need a break and I'm going to push you out of this door and into that bar if it's the last thing I do." ​​​​​​ "You might even meet someone special," Laf added. "That doesn't interest me," Alex told him, although something inside him, a small voice in both his head and heart exclaimed that it did. His weary soul was desperate for some type of companionship, someone who would care for him and make sure he was fine. Needless to say, Lafayette must have predicted the future. He walked into the bar and promptly sat on a stool, shaking his head at the bartender when asked if he wanted anything. He prepared himself for five hours of extreme boredom, until the voice came along and wiped everything away. "Is this seat taken?" you had asked, your light perfume wafting across him. He looked up and promptly forgot how to speak. Beautiful eyes, soft-looking mouth, hair slightly disheveled. Every small imperfection blended into a perfect vision. "Uh—um, no, no one's sitting here," he stuttered out, feeling his face grow warm. "(Y/N) (L/N)," you said, shaking his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." "Alexander Hamilton," he managed. "Can I—can I buy you a drink?" The rest was history. He stammered out a request for your number and texted you ten minutes after you had left the bar. That led to a couple dates and he finally asked you out three months after that fateful night. You made him feel like he owned the world, like he was worth it. You gave him an incentive to work through the fog in his brain, to endure the long hours of stress, and your smile swept him away every time. ------ We danced the night away, we drank too much I held your hair back when You were throwing up

------

"Alex, please? It's my birthday!" You pleaded with him until he finally gave in. It was your birthday, and you wanted to go to the same bar you had met him at. He was wary (he didn't like to drink and his tolerance levels were astronomically low) and secretly didn't like you being in such an atmosphere (he felt like the first man you saw would sweep you away from him), but he finally relented. You bounced excitedly on your feet and kissed his cheek. "You're the best!" He blushed and touched his cheek softly. Your heart melted at the small action. "You're so cliché. I love you," you added. No matter how many times he heard you say those words, a spark went through him that felt brand new each time. "I love you too." When you arrived at the bar, you went straight for the seats that you had occupied when the two of you first met. Thankfully, they were empty and you plopped yourself down. "One shot of (drink), please," you told the bartender energetically. "And for your man?" he responded. "I'll take a wine," Alex said, thinking of the least potent thing he could. You had downed three shots when Alex put a hand on your arm. "Babe, you better stop. I don't want you hurting yourself." You smiled at him, already feeling a buzzing from the alcohol in your system. "Oh, stop. I'm responsible; I'll be fine," you replied. "Come dance with me." Alex looked hesitant, but put down his barely-touched drink. You led him to a mostly uncrowded spot on the dance floor, and the two of you began to dance. You looked up at him and he gazed back with a small smile as the bright lights streaked across his face. His eyes were full of love and you beamed even brighter. "Thanks for taking me," you told him happily. ​​​​​​ "Anything for you," he replied. The lights and loud sounds were beginning to get to you, and you could feel a queasy sensation starting to build up within your stomach, but it wasn't bad. You pushed it aside and continued to smile, although it was more forced. Suddenly, your gut twisted unexpectedly and you ran for the bathroom. You heard Alex calling your name but couldn't stop. You could feel the alcohol coming back up and you bolted for the nearest toilet. Thankfully, no one else was in the room. You retched into the porcelain bowl as your stomach turned itself inside out. It subsided for a bit and you clutched the sides of the toilet, your hands shaking. The door opened and you turned to see Alex. "(Y/N), what's wrong—oh," he said, as he took in the scene. "Alex, I don't want you to see me like this," you told him, but then had to stop as you doubled over again. He ran to your side and held your hair back as you emptied your stomach again, rubbing your back softly and murmuring comforting words to you. You finally finished and stood shakily up. "I need to wash my face," you said, and proceeded to do so as he flushed the toilet. "Are you feeling okay?" you asked him when you had finished.   "Yeah, just a little light-headed. You're the one I'm worried about, though. Do you want to go?" he asked you. You nodded. "I'll be fine, but I think we should go. I don't wanna risk anything else."

------

Then you smiled over your shoulder For a minute I was stone-cold sober I pulled you closer to my chest And you asked me to stay over I said, I already told ya I think that you should get some rest

------ You smiled at him, pouring all your love and gratefulness into that one gesture, and Alex felt a shock wave crash over him. Any trace of fuzziness and alcoholic affects was purged from his body and his thoughts ran on a crystalline track, sharper than ever before. He held out his arms to you as this happened, and you collapsed into them. He pulled you tighter, catching a whiff of that same perfume over the much more prominent smell of bile. You looked up at him—and oh, the things those eyes did to him—and said, "You should stay over tonight." "As long as you get some rest," he told you. "I want you feeling your best." ​​​​​ "That rhymes," you said impishly, and he rolled his eyes. "Glad to see your sense of humor hasn't suffered any." "Shut up," you giggled playfully, cuffing him on the arm. "Let's go home."

------

I knew I loved you then But you'd never know 'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go I know I needed you But I never showed But I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old Just say you won't let go Just say you won't let go ------ You fell asleep in his arms, feeling the safest you ever had in your entire life. His body seemed to form a barrier between you and the rest of the world and he was warm and real and this was love. He noticed you had fallen asleep, and he brushed a piece of hair away from your face as he traced a heart on your shoulder. As he stared lovingly at your sleeping face, his mind began to work overtime—you always had that effect on him. Sure, he knew he loved you, but something within him shifted in that moment, something that shifted him up another notch. I want to spend my life with her, he realized. She's the one and nobody else.

------

I'll wake you up with some breakfast in bed I'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head And I'll take the kids to school Wave them goodbye And I'll thank my lucky stars for that night ------ You blinked as your eyes opened to seemingly blinding sunlight flooding into the windows of yours and Alex's bedroom. A shape materialized in front of you—Alex (unshaved) with a tray in his hand. "I brought you some breakfast, darling," he said. "You deserve it." "Alex—" you started. "And I took the day off. We have the entire day to ourselves." "Alexander Hamilton, you shouldn't have!" "That's the name. And don't you 'Alexander' me," he grinned. "I'm taking Philip to school." "I'm so lucky to have you," you told him. "No, I'm the lucky one," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Just relax. I'll bring Philip in after I make sure he's ready." He left the room, closing the door softly. You were left alone with your breakfast, and you smiled out the window as you put on your ring. The peace didn't last long, however, and your oldest son burst into the room with all the whirlwind joy of a nine-year-old boy. "Morning, Mama!" "Hi there, Philip," you said, smoothing back one of his curls sticking straight up on his forehead. "Ready for school?" ​​​​​​"Yeah," he said. "I have a history quiz today, but I think I'm ready." "Knock 'em out, Philip. I know you'll blow everyone away," you said. "Thanks, Mama," he said. "Love you." He kissed you sweetly on the cheek and you held him tight. "I love you too, my son." He exited in the same uproarious manner he had arrived and you heard the car backing out of the driveway. What a family.

------

When you looked over your shoulder For a minute, I forget that I'm older I wanna dance with you right now Oh, and you look as beautiful as ever And I swear that everyday you'll get better You make me feel this way somehow

------ Alex turned on the radio, a love station. A song came on, one of the ones that had played on the night you first met. ​​​​​​ "(Y/N) Hamilton, your husband of ten years admits that he is not as young and handsome as he used to be, but he requests the singular honor of this dance." "How can I not accept," you responded, and he took you in his arms. The two of you twirled around the living room, and your cheeks grew rosy and your eyes sparkled with laughter. "I see you're still as dashing as always," you told him, a slight pant edging your voice. He looked down at you lovingly. "You're so beautiful," he whispered softly, and a wave of happiness washed over you. Your swaying slowed as your lips met and he traced the same heart on your shoulder as he always did. Every kiss was as pure, as beautiful as the first.

------

I'm so in love with you And I hope you know Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold We've come so far my dear Look how we've grown And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old Just say you won't let go Just say you won't let go I wanna live with you Even when we're ghosts 'Cause you were always there for me when I needed you most

------ You flipped over in bed, surprised when your arms met only air. Not again, you thought. You got out of bed and made your way to Alex's study, your nightgown trailing behind you. The door was closed and a crack of light shine through the bottom. You opened it softly to see your husband scratching away in a notebook like you knew he would. Even now, at age fifty, his store of words flowed unchecked. "Alexander, come back to sleep," you implored him. "You write like you're running out of time." He turned and smiled at you, his hair glinting with threads of gray in the light. "I'll be back before you know I'm gone," he replied. You knit your brows together. "Hey. You're the best of wives and best of women." You kissed him on the bridge of his nose, just above the wire of his glasses.   "Don't be too long."

------

I'm gonna love you till My lungs give out I promise till death we part like in our vows So I wrote this song for you, now everybody knows 'Cause now it's just you and me till we're grey and old Just say you won't let go Just say you won't let go

------ You knew something was wrong with Alex when he began complaining of chest pain. The doctor had thought nothing of it at first, diagnosing it as just high blood pressure. However, your instincts told you otherwise and, after his pain began getting significantly worse, you had him taken in for scans that revealed a tumor on his heart. He had two months to live, if that. "How could you miss this?" you sobbed to the doctor. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hamilton. I really am." "Please. Just leave." A month later he was rushed to the emergency room. You rode in the ambulance, your heart feeling as if it was being ripped apart as you held your husband's hand. The doctors tried an operation, but shook their heads when you asked them frantically if your husband was still alive. Finally, you were called out of the waiting room and into Alex's room. ​​​​​​ "He's got a few minutes, tops. We'll leave you two alone," said the lead heart specialist, and the medical personnel all filed quietly out of the room. They had seen it a thousand times before. You sat on the edge of the bed. "Alex?" you whispered, trying not to cry as you took his hand. He opened his eyes and gave a weak smile. "(Y/N). My love." "Are you all right?" you asked him, the tears flowing freely now despite your efforts. "A lot of pain. I know what's going to happen. (Y/N), I love you more than anything in this life." His other hand moved and you saw he was holding out a piece of paper. "This is what I've been working on. For you. Somehow, I could sense my time was running out." You looked at it briefly, unable to see through your tears. A song. "Oh, Alex," you cried, your voice choked. Suddenly, his eyes clenched tightly in pain and his breathing began to slow and become ragged. You held on tighter, as if that could stop the pain, stop the whole nightmare.   He opened his eyes. One last time. "(Y/N).' "I'm here." The words were barely distinguishable. "You're—you're my everything. I love you." A machine beeped, but you didn't need to see the now-flat line that measured his heartbeat to know that your love was gone. ​​​​​​ You wept, alone with his legacy in your hand.

------

Just say you won't let go Oh, just say you won't let go

[saecris]

✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎

SEND ME A ✒︎ FOR A RANDOM, DUMB, POINTLESS FACT ABOUT MY MUSE.ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

ren is one of the worst people to watch horror movies with if you’re into it for the immersion. ren did not watch a lot of films or absorb a lot of media growing up. he was sheltered, and dedicated a lot of time to study and his suitor duties and training. this didn’t leave a lot of leisure time at all. but he is intuitive, has read cinema studies books for fun and boredom. new friends eagerly show him their likes because he is very impressionable and willing to absorb new information. media is one of the easiest ways to do this, and thus by now he’s picked up on a lot of thematic elements and tropes that come along with horror and mysteries.

ren discusses movies while he’s watching them. he nit picks and points out flaws. he’ll remind you of said flaws if they’re continually brought up. he will use his deductive knowledge of both real life and cinematics to guess the ending halfway through and it’ll be annoying because he’s right most of the time. it’s not a fun time if you’re there to just enjoy yourself, and he has gotten popcorn thrown at him for this very reason. the funny thing is, ren is actually scared of horror movies the higher quality and the better the narrative is, because he’s very superstitious— but i’ll get to that headcanon in a moment.

JAUNE: REN, YOU'RE RUINING THE IMMERSIONREN: YOU KNOW THE CONCEPTUALISATION OF SATANISM IN REGARDS TO OCCULTISM AND WITCHCRAFT IS A GROSS MISCONCEPTION FROM YEARS OF HISTORICAL INACCURACY—NORA: GOD, SHUT UP

EVERYONE: *SCREAMINGREN, DEADPANNING: GREEN SCREEN

tl;dr: ren is not that fun to watch horror movies with.

ren’s upbringing was not a normal one. he has headcanons pertaining to very magical aspects of both his upbringing and his lineage. he’s a dragon, it’s not as if there aren’t magical aspects to his mythos. and this headcanon was around before volume three and actual magic was confirmed by ozpin. the original semblance set for him was mana manipulation, the ability to harness the energy of the earth most used for aura and dust. an aspect of this was spell casting. his semblance has been debunked since volume four, but i have always combined ren with mythic—based headcanons to manipulate elements of rwby i felt were coming. ren was raised after the death of his family around a lunar witch cult, taught by one of these witches, was headcanoned to be blessed by either the current, or the last spring maiden before he was born, therefor owing her his life.

he is no stranger to magic. ren believes in a lot of supernatural entities, deities, and the like. although he does become sceptical about ideals like the tooth fairy and santa clause, ideas that are heavily commercialised. his family was heavily religious and upheld a lot of old traditions, growing up in a part of mistral where moon worship was normal. he is ridiculously afraid of offending spirits, ghosts, demons, because these that were scary stories as a child became real upon encountering witches. his incredibly strong sixth sense makes him paranoid of seeing and sensing ghosts. because of his upbringing, he has a lot of habits that his family taught him, and even though ren is a very logical and analytical person, he still upholds a lot of these traditions, and most of them are scientifically unsound wives tales.

ie. if you sleep with your hair tied up and wet, you’ll die. don’t use scissors during february. don’t wear pearls on your clothes. he wears red string of fate bracelets with those closest to him for good luck. when you pee in the woods, say “excuse me” so ogres/ dwarves/ supernatural entities will not curse and attack you. don’t laugh and cry at the same time, or else you’ll grow white hair on your butt. throw salt over your shoulder if you spill it to negate the bad luck. don’t break mirrors. don’t open umbrellas indoors. collect four leaf clovers. lucky number is 8. unlucky number is 4, etc. BELIEVES FORTUNE COOKIES AND THE HOROSCOPE READINGS ARE REAL. believes in palm reading, tarot reading, rune reading, etc.

tl;dr despite believing heavily in science and logic, you could not pay ren a million lien to walk under a ladder.

i speak a lot about how manipulative and terrible the lie family is. and they were, they were greedy, snide, power hungry individuals on an average. there were good sides to them, they were occasionally just, cunning, ambitious, good leaders, all practical, highly intelligent people. and there were a lot of them. but in a place so fraught with negativity, there was little good influence that ren could base his personality on. one such touchy subject in the lie manor was marriage. there were many arranged and unhappy marriages. if you weren’t strong enough to become a huntsman or huntress, you became a suitor, and were married off into a different family, shipped off to a different part of remnant. you married into families with wealth, and influence, and were moulded into a perfect husband/ wife for your fiancé with little thought given to your own desires. marriage was quite literally treated as a commodity, and often, a punishment.

one of the only good experiences he witnessed with relationships was that of his mother and father. zhilan and li were very much in love, even though throughout ren’s life zhilan did not get to see a lot of li. and ren did not get to see lot of his parents. she was a doctor, and li was a huntsman. but ren saw how much they’d dedicated to each other when they could be together. they were together, despite the fact that ren’s grandfather did not approve of their marriage. so they never got married, and ren was born out of wedlock, but li still visited and a lot of ren’s other family members and cousins loved him. his parents performed all the romantic cliches, fortunately they were not together enough for ren to take that for granted. they had plans to elope and take ren with them to oniyuri where they could live peacefully and finally get married, which was when ren’s father li either went missing or died ( have not figured that out yet ).

the headcanon is that all of ren’s romantic traits come from his parents. his endearments of qīn, ( bae ), qīn’ài de ( darling/ dear/ dear one ), bǎobèi ( babe/ bae/ darling/ treasure ), tiánxīn ( sweetheart ) are all mirrored mannerisms from what he observed of his mother and father. it is because they did not get married, and that ren had such a bad experience with his own arranged marriage, that he has developed such animosity to the concept. ren’s father called him hǔzǐ, which translates to “tiger son”. in the very early stages of this blog, i was deliberating making ren a tiger faunus for his alternate verse. ren would probably mirror this if he were ever to consider having his own children.

tl;dr: ren’s parents are the reason that he feels so much animosity towards the concept of marriage, while simultaneously represent everything he believes about true love.

going back to the “ren is a logical person” theme,, he uses the figurative on-a-scale-of-one-to-ten phrase a lot. for someone with the semblance of emotional manipulation, he has a lot of trouble articulating how something feels. he doesn’t know exactly how to scale something with words alone. does it hurt a little? does it hurt a lot? saying something is ‘in the middle’ is not enough information for him. this boy needs instructions to function. although emotions are not easy to navigate, numbers are. formula and numbers make sense to him.

REN, HOW MUCH DOES IT HURT?REN: I— I DON’T KNOW!

REN, ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN, HOW MUCH DOES IT HURT?REN: UH— A SEVEN— NO, AN EIGHT

he doesn’t only use it for pain though. he uses it to measure emotions ( “on a scale of one to ten, how mad are you right now?” ), needs ( “how much do you need to use the bathroom, on a scale of one to ten?” / “how hungry are you, one to ten?” ). his reliance on numbers is not limited to this. it is the easiest way for him to assess his emotional state. ask him how bad things are up there, it is easier for him to give you a number, than a feeling. the easiest way for him to calm down in the middle of a mental breakdown? make him count how many fingers you’re holding up. make him count down from twenty. hell, make him say however many digits of pie he knows, the fibonacci numerical sequence, make him count down from one thousand by eight, it will eventually calm him down. if you ever comfort him from a nightmare by holding him to your chest, he’s probably counting your heartbeat.

tl;dr: ren is a math nerd.

[the-temple-pythoness]

Identification (1) // Albert Wesker x Reader

What is the end? A noun used to depict a situation in which something is finished or no longer exists. We humans fear the end, let it be of a simple thing or something of great magnitud, the apocalypse, the extinction. That's why we look for eternal things, immortality, eternal love, a god with no beginning or end; us, as a species, are attracted to the idea because -deep down- we know we won't last forever, no thing was gifted with 'forever being and forever will'

So why?, why doesn't she feel the weight of the finale upon her shoulders? was she resigned to whatever fate has in hand, or even care about her well being?

-(y/n) (l/n) you are being suspected of committing bioterrorist acts, accomplice of the perpetrators of Racoon City incidents, specially Albert Wesker in affiliation with Umbrella Corporation. You also are heavily suspected of murdering several people at Umbrella's training facility including Umbrella's higher up, James Marcus

She just stayed there, with a stone face and eyes that told nothing, not regret nor grief for the imminent prosecution of her pitiful self. She was being accused and the only emotion she showed was boredom, she's bored of being there, sitting and hearing the interrogator go on and on about the acts commited by such a pretty face.

-I asked you, do you know who Albert Wesker is?

-Yes, he was my boss

Just who the hell did she think she was? she ain't a princess getting scolded by her tutor, she was a fucking murderer, a terrorist that caused the death of thousands back in Racoon City. Not even a hundred years in prison would fix the immense pain she caused alongside Wesker, two devils that brought destruction and pain over and over again

-Back in our dog days we were pretty close, even now in his afterlife

-He's dead, I'm not asking you about philosophical relationships, tell me facts. What you did, your research, why Marcus was killed. Good stuff, maybe you'll even get a lower sentence

-I don't like philosophy, so boring and subjective, I like facts way more

-Are you even listening?

She doesn't give a damn, pretty obvious by now. Her attitude of teenager showed no interest in actually trying to save whatever dignity she had left, it even baffled the people behind the blackned glass, members of the DSO like Leon Kennedy, BSAA higher ups and even some important government agents were witnessing what -everyone thougth- was the cockiest terrorist ever. The man infront of her wasn't setting the rules, she was making them whenever she wanted and never really took a glance at him, the damned sly bitch was looking stright to the glass like knowing some important people were listening her

-You know, mister, I was like you once. Trying my best to accomplish the standards and maybe with some luck getting a prize, I guess Albert and I knew that. I cannot make you understand, I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself, but for the first time... I felt a sense of companionship with someone, and Albert did too

-So you were his girlfriend

-Since when human relationships were THAT easy?

The little vixen had charisma, some of the old men grinned at her response, clearly feeling identified by her situation. A person who they wanted and couldn't have, someone who doesn't really want the title 'girlfriend' or 'boyfriend' but were jealous whenever some other came too close for comfort, you name it, love is hard

Leon felt identified too, he thought of all his time -he knows is- wasted reaching out for Ada, but she was never there for him. He kept comming at her feet, doing whatever she wished,

-No matter what I did, I always managed to do what Albert wanted, believe me when I say I never truly cared about Marcus or Spencer or anyone besides my research and work. He was the only one for so long it felt wrong to even leave him behind, I knew he was insane and a part of me was getting anxious from his doings, I mean, he killed Excella, not that I'd compare myself with her

And all those times Ada came and did something that put him in danger? he knew she was nothing but trouble, but he kept coming back every fucking time. Wesker, apparently, was her own Ada Wong, doing reckless things and her cleaning up the mess he left behind.

The problem with this kind of 'relationships' were they never really appreciate what one did for them, they keep doing whatever the hell they want, not caring about the aftermath or the consequences for the other, they don't really care about you. But one keeps telling himself 'no Leon, she knows how much you go through when you see her fuck everything up, she sure as hell thanks you for that, that's why she keeps coming to you'. But they never come back, you just keep telling yourself it's them but it's you who looks after your own 'Ada Wong' and convince yourself it's fate.

He really felt stupid now that she, who never met him, was telling her experience with Albert Wesker, how amazing is that two completely different persons live the exact damn thing

-But Albert really trusted me, I was his insurance, he was always telling me what went on his mind. He even told me how disgusted he was by Excella's presence, he never liked her, it was me he came to when down

-I don't care about your petty feelings, tell me how you met him

-Meet hm? I never met him, it was rare, I'd dare to say it was like meeting again with someone I lost contact with. He knew me before I knew him, he was a god of some sort.

Aahh, the divinization, he became her idol and so was Ada Wong to him, he would say it was like a mirror

-This is getting nowhere, I'm calling this off

Leon felt the need to have a word to her, maybe, he would even tell her his story, that way she'd open up and speak once and for all. Will it be aganist the protocol? But it wouldn't matter so far he got her to speak.

'I'll be conducting the next interrogation' and with little opposition a new date was settled for the new session.

A day or two latter, the woman and Leon found themeselves in a similar situation than the previous ones. She was untied this time, in front of the govenment agent and a metal table in between. With a little greeting the questioning began, but it was quite clear she had no intention to speak more than it was needed, situation that unnerved Leon a little bit. He was losing the mental war when she started consuming his mind with endless questions and enigmas, what really happened in Racoon City she only knows. The problem was getting the information outside her pretty mouth

-I honestly don't know what your goal is, you are here and not getting out anytime sooner  it's best if you start telling us what we want, maybe you can even negotiate it for better accomodations. Think about it, a proper bed perhaps

-A cigarrete, give me one and I'll tell you something that you probably didn't know

-It's your lucky day...now, tell me what is it

-...you're THAT cop, the one that got inside the underground lab right?

-...

-How's Sherry? I take it you still have contact with her

-I can't tell you that

-Last time I saw her she was a lonely child...is she here?

-...no

-*sigh* honestly, I felt sorry for her back then. William and Annette were terrible parents, the worst kind. The thought of adopting her or at least keep her at my place crossed my mind more than once, but Albert didn't want to have children running around our house nor have that kind of chat with William. Still I don't think they'd be too bothered, almost like an unpaid nanny while they did their research.

-What happened then? What made you desist?

-It wasn't Albert, I would have convinced him one way or another

-Hard to believe

-I knew him better than he knew himself, he...he wanted me happy, so I could continue my research and don't bother him too much, so if I played my cards right I would have convinced him, I'm sure

-so?

-The problem was...Albert wanted to move to the European HQ, in France. Back then William was a freak who slowly but surely was getting more obssesed with his work. I mean, 24 hours stright, drugs, bad attitude, the man was a psycho. So when Albert moved, so did I

-So you followed him to France, what happened next?

-We did our jobs, as expected... we had a nice life, a nice apartment and even a dog. A family life somehow

-It seems out of character to me

-yeah, but I never met his 'dark side' like I said...he was civil with me, like any other partner should be

-Civil is a strange choice of words to describe a lover

-Crazy stuff always went around Umbrella, he was as civil as he could be with that kind of life we had

-Tell me about Marcus’ death

-That's a story for another day

___________________________________________________________________

Expect part 2 soon <3

[twitchesandstitches]

4. What is their most embarrassing memory? 17. What are they like when they’re drunk? 20. Fears? 21. Favorite kind of weather? 22. Favorite color? 23. Do they collect anything? 61. When bored, how do they pass time? 78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? For: Odina, Tamm, Wicke, Tionishia, Centorea, 18, 21 and Mama Defleni.

under read more because it got kinda long

4. most embarassing memory

Odina: Shit. Thisone time, uh. This one time, i was in the same room as one of thoseinfinite magic creating generators they dig up from time to time. Andyeah, me? And something with limitless magic? My ass got so huge itswelled up and got me stuck, right in a doorway. I was trapped therefor HOURS. Some shithead used me for furniture, they sat on my buttand slept there! God… so mortifiying.

Tamm: In my earlydays of learning to take on a bird form, I got lost in the body. Abody you take does have its own instincts and it can overwhelm yourmind; some take on a new form and it takes their mind, and theyforget who they are, becoming just another creature with faintmemories of someone who is gone now. Fortunately I didn’t go thatfar, but I did wind up eating carrion and little bugs. Theembarassing bit? A student saw me do it, and never let me forget…!

Wicke: OnceLusamine and I wore matching uniforms, along with our assistants, topresent the image of a united group to our backers, this being beforethe Aether Foundation became a distinct organization, mind you! Theproblem is, the tailors weren’t given my own… extreme…dimensions in mind and the hips were far too small! The skirt justshredded when i tried to walk; I had to spend all day trying to avoida wardrobe failure and I just know they noticed…!

Tionishia: I oncehad a human boyfriend and I greeted him with a hug so tight he… ah,had some back trouble. It was so embarassign! I learned the hard waythat humans are rather fragile, you know?

Centorea: As youknow, things around here tend to get more than a little odd with thetransformations. The first time I grew a few extra set of breasts onmy horse section, rather like an udder I suppose, I got… verymilky. And sensitive. And unfortunately I sat down on my speciallyadapted couch but didn’t realize someone was on it, and thatsomeone was Suu. There were complications but a long story short, aLOT of milk flooded everywhere and then right into her; she gotkaiju-sized and we had a DEVIL of a time calming her down…! Ugh.How dreadful.

Android 18: I gotsome energy absorbing relay coils installed and I dared Krillin totest them out with some ki projectile fastball. I caught ‘em, yeah.Not so good at the CONTROLLING the blasts thing. Accidentally losthold of the things and blew a huge hole in our house. Ugh, lookinglike a loser in front of your cute, tiny husband… awful.

Android 21: Ionce turned all of the planet Jupiter into a giant chocolate ball. Iwas AIMING for an asteroid, but, well, my aim isn’t always perfect!And of course, so much tasty sweetness got me hungry and I would haveeaten it all if I hadn’t been stopped…! As it is, well, now thereare more than one gaps in it.

Mama Defleini: Afriend hugged me from behind when I wasn’t expecting it and…well, I gushed ink EVERYWHERE. Milk ink, at that, over the entireauditorium. And since I was playing on a band at the time, there isphotographic evidence. Tends to come up when I am trying to beserious, which is not at all helpful!

17. What are theylike when they’re drunk?

Odina:Surprisingly mellow, a bit passive, but even more of a stone wallthan usual. Tends to just ignore everything.

Tamm: Very much abit of a chatterbox!

Wicke: Extremelysweet and affectionate, tries to be helpful and often just falls onyou.

Tionishia: Veryhuggy; this is both dangerous from her immense strength, and comfy,because at least her massive bust is soft!

Centorea: Becomesunexpectedly gloomy, but swings into happy mode for no apparentreason.

Android 18: Angrydrunk, MEAN drunk. She will fight you for looking in her generaldirection, or breathing near her and sucking up her air. She willfight you and it will hurt.

Android 21:Becomes very hungry and eats random stuff; will start chewing ontables and gets really sleepy, really fast.

Mama Defleini:Not really any change at all, but she becomes a bit more talkativethan normal.

20. Fears?

Odina: Shequietly dreads that, one day, she’ll turn on her magical powers andit won’t turn off; she’ll keep draining and growing without beingable to stop it. She’s also scared of getting caught up insomething that’ll go VERY badly for her, and get her killed orworse.

Tamm: Herdaughter killing her, again. Alternatively, she dreads the return ofthe loathsome True Fae from their mysterious realm, for when theycome, they will leave nothing behind.

Wicke: Beinghelpless to stop something truly evil and wretched, or worse, beingcomplicit in it. She dreads her own potential passivity.

Tionishia: Herimmense strength killing a human, or similar species. Just hug sohard, and then hear a horrible little snap. And then, blood onher arms, and a death on her hands.

Centorea: Failureto uphold her duties, so that her lord and her family dies on herwatch. More than that, she fears failing to uphold her oaths and thatshe may act in a dishonorable way, shaming herself irredeemably.

Android 18:Becoming destitute and homeless again, and worse, dooming her familyto the same fate. She would do anything rather than suffer such adoom, and it motivates her to some ruthless acts.

Android 21:Losing control of herself, and becoming a mindlessly gluttonous andcruel monster that would devour her own children, friends and alliesjust to slake the fiend she has become. She dreads the multiversebeing broken by her appetite.

Mama Defleini:She speaks little of her own fears. But in the depths, she has knownthat SOMETHING is coming, however distant, and she hears the echos ofsomething vast and indifferent to mortal suffering, and it is coming.She fears, more than anything, that the ages will  come and destroyall that she has built… and worse, that she can do nothing to stopit.

21. Favorite kindof weather?

Odina: “I likeit rainy, a bit stormy. Feels good, you know?”

Tamm: “As longas it is wet, I enjoy it. Heavy rain is my preferred sort.”

Wicke: “I loveit sunny, more than anything! GIve me open sun and strong light!”

Tionishia:“Strong winds, and cool, dampness.”

Centorea: “Iprefer my days a bit cloudy, to be honest.”

Android 18:“Overcast. When it’s sunny, it’s too hot. Rain is not fun,either. Snow’s the worst. That shit can kill you.”

Android 21: “Idon’t have a preference, honestly! I like it cool, but that mayjust be my body; easier to hold myself together, and it’s not thatmuch of a fondness.”

Mama Defleini:“Mist and cool weathers please me the most.”

22. Favoritecolor?

Odina: “Red, Iguess?”

Tamm: “Purplesare lovely!”

Wicke: “I lovepink! It’s my favorite.”

Tionishia:“Yellows look cute and heroic!”

Centorea: “Ilean towards blues, I suppose!”

Android 18:“Black.”

Android 21: “Ido love greens.”

Mama Defleini:“Magenta, dear. Can’t you tell?” (Rubs her tentaclesaffectionately)

23. Do theycollect anything?

Odina: Collectsvideo games, preferably ones that are a bit more obscure or havegenres unknown in the modern day.

Tamm: Likes tocollect little knick-knacks and enchant them; her chambers andworkplaces resemble a witch’s cottage mixed with a magpie nest.

Wicke: Herfriends joke she gets younger boyfriends. She generally collectsplush toys of all sorts, ranging from obscure toylines to variationsof a given model, and takes pleasure in organizing them to the minutedetail.

Tionishia: Cuteaccesories and fancy hats!

Centorea:Collections of medieval books, old lore, and Arthurian legendry fromover the ages.

Android 18:Books. Until recently they were a luxury for her; they’reexpensive, difficult to carry on the go, and require careful keeping,so she was unable to have any until she and her brother came to theattention of the Red Ribbon army. Now she takes pride in being ableto get as many as she wants.

Android 21: Worksby influential figures she respects; also comic books and manga ofall kinds! She prefers lighthearted and jokey things instead of moregrim or serious material.

Mama Defleini:Apparently, ships. Not model ships or toys; ACTUAL ships. Presumablysome of these are relics from her time as the Kraken of legend, butshe’s diversified into spaceships in the here and now.

61. When bored,how do they pass the time?

Odina: “I liketo read. And enjoy the boredom; it don’t last long, usually.”

Tamm:“Birdwatching is usually a fine hobby to pass the time.”

Wicke: “I liketo take naps, dear! Or perhaps watch some television.”

Tionishia: “Iplay with the local pets; with the people we associate with, there’splenty to find!”

Centorea: “Iwork out! A knight must always refine her body, for it is her finesttool!”

Android 18:“Watch TV, I guess.”

Android 21: “Iread as well!”

Mama Defleini:“Painting, usually of visions I experience or of the unreal imageryI am heir to. It tends to give mortals headache to look at them, butI think they’re pretty.”

78. How do theyact when particularly happy?

Odina: Verymellow; tihs ia clue in itself, as she is normally very guarded andgrim. Any sign of happiness at all is a pretty damn big deal!

Tamm: Softsmiles, gentle asides, ocassionally some faint noises that sound abit like pleased chirps. She’s not too demonstrative of herfeelings.

Wicke:Ebulliently cheerful, almost radiant! She becomes a beacon ofemotional light!

Tionishia:Extremely huggy, to the point that her grasp over how much strongershe is becomes looser than usual, and spines are put to GREAT stresesfrom her hugs. From her arm strength, and her massive boobs; theymight be soft and milky but they’re also EXTREMELY heavy

Centorea: shetries to be tactiturn, in the image of the unflappable knight, butwhen super happy, she ironically acts more like the lady of a courtlyromance; flushng over small feelings, beaming brightly, and speakingin poetic phrase. It’s noticable since usually she IS somewhatstoic.

Android 18: whenhappy, she tends to loosen up a lot; she leans back, probably plopsinto a couch (possibly breaking it) and gets friends/family inaffectionate headlocks. Her happy tends to have a bit of the ‘flirtygirl bully’ vibe.

Android 21: Itcan honestly be difficult to tell, as she doesn’t act TOOdifferently from how she mght otherwise, but she acts a lot like herrobot son Android 16, whose core personality was her biological son;she gets a little more open, more expressive, and she doesn’t seemso closed off.

Mama Defleini: Ingeneral she affects an air of genteel cheeriness; there’s not a lotof interplay between her moods of ‘not super happy’ and‘genuinely super happy’. When she’s sincerely happy, though,she gets very warm and easy going, and parts of her body becoming abit more ink-goo than normal. She literally loosens up!