#burden to her and the whole story being about losing your parents and having to fend for yourself

[bredforloyalty]

when i first watched coraline i didn't notice this or like it must have stayed subconscious but her mother (the real one, at the beginning) is so much like mine

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

The reader was always the black sheep in the village because she was quiet, introverted and didn't like social contact, she would lock herself in her room and read tons of books... Disliked by her family, she didn't get much food, and since she had a lot of siblings, her parents preferred to feed her older and stronger siblings leaving the reader visibly malnourished. One day, the reader decides to run away from home during a snowstorm, but unfortunately she loses consciousness and wakes up on Donna's property. Donna makes friends with a shy reader and discovers her sad past. Donna understands the reader and notices that they have a lot in common!!

Yesss!!!!! Thanks for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))))

The weird, the lady, the doll

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, insecurities…

Word count: 7,064

Summary: You wanted a better life...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

Snow, all you could see around you was the color of snow. White in front of you, white behind you, on the sides, surrounding your weak figure as you made your way down an uncertain path.

Your weak legs told you that your decision had not been the right one, but your head encouraged you again and again to keep going. Your life was not going to improve by staying in the hell you called home, or rather, that your family called home.

An accident, a slip, something that wasn't planned, that's what you were in your family, the youngest of your siblings, the least of their worries. It was true that you were never worthy of such attention, why? Because you didn't even make an effort to get it.

Lonely, glued to your books, not talking to anyone, not wanting to. This is how you spent all those 20 years of your life, like a ghost, like the stories that spoke of a monster locked in a tower, a presence that had no importance, a useless girl who only took up room, and stole food.

But if your life were like in the stories, a miracle would have appeared sooner or later, a miracle that would get you out of the tower, that would make you value yourself as you deserved. The years passed, and that didn’t happen.

When you were 20 years old, your parents already thought that you were nothing but a burden, ha, as if they didn't think that way before. The food that arrived in that dark corner that was your room was becoming less and less. Your brothers needed more food, you didn't need strength to read; arguments that only emphasized more your family's wish for you not to exist, for the story that was your life to be just that, a story.

Nothing was waiting for you on the other side of the door, no one was going to rescue you from dying of hunger, no one was going to miss you. If so, why not make things easier for your family? That same afternoon you gave wings to the thought that invaded your mind daily, what would happen if you didn't exist?

You weren't looking for anything. Nothing would be a greater reward than getting out of there. You just wanted to disappear, to be guided by the wind to a place where perhaps you would stop feeling like a nuisance, ideally far from the village.

Everything about the cult, about Mother Miranda, the Lords... Everything only served so your pale skin would be blessed with a few rays of sunshine. The masses in which your parents surely asked the Black Gods that the little strength you had left be passed on to your brothers, were the only moments in which you were aware that you were part of a whole, and not a single being locked in a room.

Your desperation, the desire to live your introverted existence in solitude, without feeling like an obstacle to the happiness of others, made you so desperate that even you began to pray.

You weren't praying for the food that was taken from you, you were praying to be able to fade away, to be able to disappear from that place and wake up to something that didn't seem like a continuous nightmare. Maybe that storm was the answer to your prayers.

With that thought, perhaps illusory, that the Gods took pity on you, you took the few possessions they allowed you to have, your favorite books, and left that place, hoping to never return.

But the Black Gods were not merciful and your weak steps were lost in the storm. As you walked, your bones ached, your vision blurred. Maybe it wasn't your prayers that were heard. Maybe it was your family's.

For a moment you wanted to go back, but it was too late. The color white, a symbol of purity and goodness, surrounded your sad figure, cutting your skin as if they were blades. You didn't know where you were, or where you were going.

The darkness of the trees acted as a guide. You stopped at each one of them. The white did not stop harassing you, the pain in your legs made you stagger. You couldn't stop, but on the other hand, you wanted to. Maybe you would merge with that white. Your existence would be buried by snow, maybe that was the authentic prayer that the Black Gods were willing to fulfill.

But a wave of rage woke you up from your sad reverie, from your desire to give up. With a grunt, you continued walking, swinging dangerously across an old wooden bridge. Maybe you had already succumbed to hunger. Maybe that was the bridge to the other world. But no, the blades continued to torment you, the wind rocked the wood to scare you. It was a test of courage. Too bad you never had it.

The wood creaked beneath your feet, icy blades traveling towards your skin. It was the end of your journey, or so you thought. The end of the path made its way thanks to a coincidence that caused the color white to disperse. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe that path would take you forever out of the village.

With a jump, you climbed onto dry land, stumbling in the process, forcing your body to crawl. White continued to predominate, your audacity continued to be punished. A red spot stood out among the snow. Your leg had been injured in that last gesture of bravery. You couldn't walk. You didn't have the strength to endure the pain either. You were hungry, and cold.

With your injured hands you crawled on the ground, in a last effort to take refuge in the trunk of a tree. With a groan of pain, you dug your back into the wood and squeezed your eyes shut. Hunger roared in your gut, the cold made you shiver. The end was approaching and your head turned towards what looked like a metal fence, elegantly guarded by two stone angels. It couldn't be Heaven, it wasn't cold in Heaven.

“(Y/N)...” a voice that came from nowhere made you open your eyes. White, just white. Your breathing calmed down with the sound of what was once your older sister, the only one who loved you and who left your home when she got married, to never return.

“Katia...” you whispered with a completely broken voice, cracked by the shivering of your teeth and the stinging of your leg. You couldn't see her, but you knew she was somewhere. “Help me…”

Silence, the sound of the wind was her response.

“(Y/N), can you help me with my homework?” another sweet voice spoke in your sister's place. Oh yes, that companion of yours who was always with you before she disappeared, your first love. Yes, you could have gotten married to escape your family, but even that couldn't be normal. You were always attracted to women and that led to hitting, screaming and many hungry nights.

The books said that when you die, your whole life goes through your mind. Maybe that's what you were feeling at that moment, but you just continued to suffer.

Exhaustion hit you suddenly, blood gushed from your wound and the voices stopped. Your eyes could no longer see the white color that surrounded your dying body. They could only see your frozen hands closing in on themselves reflecting your failure in trying to have a better life.

You sighed in defeat, looking up at the sky, looking at the only thing your eyes were able to see, those snowflakes falling on you without getting into your skin. The storm had subsided, or so it seemed.

Talking was never your strong point, and you refused to say any last words. No one could hear them, or so you thought. Something in front of you caught your attention. Your vision was blurry but something stood out among the snow, something black, maybe Death itself?

That black figure would have passed through the white color, blurred. Black, just black walked towards you slowly, with a mysterious air. Maybe the grim reaper wanted you to confess your sins, but even in that situation you were not capable of doing so.

You simply denied that glance at the strange figure, closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over you. Before you left completely, you noticed something on your shoulder, could it be the claws of death? Have a nice trip, (Y/N)...

Your head felt heavy as the darkness embraced you. You didn't feel cold anymore, just warmth, a relief from that horrible cold. Maybe it was the dark path of death. Maybe that black figure was leading you to your final judgment. But it wasn't the glow of the beyond that your half-open eyes saw, it was a dark room.

Your entire body was shaking under what looked like sheets. It didn't look like your shroud, it looked like a bed, a real one. You didn't see the dark branches of the Black Gods, there were no heavenly songs to welcome you, above you, there was only something terrifying.

A doll, a sinister doll was watching you from too close occupying your entire range of vision. Your heart raced but your muscles tensed preventing you from moving. The puppet watched you, tilting her head like a puppy, gasping in surprise when she saw you open your eyes completely.

“Oh, oh, oh... She's awake...” she hummed, making you grab the sheets in shock. You still had a hard time thinking clearly. You could only see a simple doll talking, something that shouldn't be happening.

The puppet moved a little closer to your frightened body and then got off the bed with a funny movement.

“Donna! Donna! She has woken up!” she yelled with a voice that made you grimace, almost covering your ears from the horrible impression. The doll ran towards the exit of that small room and you began to get more scared.

Quietly, alone, you sat on the bed with a groan of effort. Something tugged at your leg and you threw off the covers to find out what.

Little by little the memories came to your mind. You remembered that horrible wound you got on your leg, now hidden by a white bandage. It hurt, but it wasn't the same pain it had been... Well, you didn't know how long it had been.

Your eyes ran down your thin leg, healed by something you couldn't understand. Your gaze ran over your old clothes stained with the blood from your wounds. More bandages pulled at your skin, on your arm, on your fingers. You didn't look like you were dead, but you didn't feel alive either. Hell? It didn't seem like it. Nor did the dim darkness of that room resemble what you had read about Heaven.

So... Where were you? Who was that talking doll?

In your state of shock, you could slowly hear sounds that reminded you that you were alive: the creaking of wood, the sound of the wind hitting the windows, a terrifying and comforting atmosphere at the same time.

“Where…?” you whispered, your voice hoarse, listless, as if it had forgotten to function, as if even your body had assumed this was the end of you.

Your vague words were interrupted by other sounds, by footsteps approaching you, walking slowly towards the door. Desperate and scared, you looked for some kind of shelter, but pain, hunger and exhaustion prevented you from even considering that option.

Your breathing was nervous, your chest hurt every time it rose and fell. The creak of the door opening was like a signal that put all your senses on high alert.

That black figure, the one similar to death, slowly entered the room. It was not death, but a woman in mourning, a black dress, black veil, a shadow that walked slowly towards you.

Next to her, that terrible puppet jumping up and down, climbing onto the bed again, making you retreat sharply.

“You see? Look, look, the girl is alive,” the doll hummed in a satisfied tone.

The woman stopped next to your bed. You couldn't know exactly, but you could sense that unknown eyes were looking at you through that black veil. She was like a ghost, you couldn't even tell if that woman was really there, or if she was a figment of your imagination.

You couldn't speak, you didn't want to speak. You were scared, terrified by the puppet, inhibited by that authoritarian black figure. A part of your head caught your attention, as if it wanted to tell you something, as if by chance something was escaping you.

“Hello, hello, hello, hello,” the doll said, speaking directly to you, preventing something important from slipping through your thoughts, something that your mind wanted you to remember.

You opened your eyes wide, still scared, trying not to look at the puppet's sinister face.

“Let's see, let's see, let's see...” the doll murmured, walking to both sides of the bed. The lady still didn't take her eyes off yours. “Who are you?”

You didn't respond. You just stood contemplating the environment around you, with a strange feeling, with those thoughts that seemed to scream to be heard.

“Hello? Anyone there?” the puppet insisted, hitting your head with her wooden hands and shrugging her shoulders when, again, silence was your response. “This girl doesn't speak.”

The woman looked at the doll with a slow gesture, crossing her hands in front of her body, it seemed like she was sighing.

You, with wide open eyes, painfully brought your knees to your chest, thus hiding your fear, covering yourself from any danger. You still didn't know why, but everything that situation told you it was precisely that: danger.

“Are you mute? Deaf? What kind of problem do you have, silly girl?” the doll asked, clearly annoyed by your defensive and shy attitude.

You shook your head, hoping it was enough of a gesture for the puppet to stop harassing you with simple, but overwhelming questions.

“No? No, what?” she asked when she saw you shake your head. “Hey, you should show some gratitude to whoever saved your stupid life.”

Those words made you resent the pain, making you look again at your bandaged leg, at your healed wounds. No, there was no way it had been the puppet. That only left you one option, the lady in black.

You turned your head to look at the woman, who was breathing slowly, with an expectant pose, as if somehow she was as impatient as the doll to hear your answers.

“Have you saved my life?” you murmured in a tone so low that you feared you would have to repeat it again. Fortunately, that weak voice reached the ears of the woman who nodded slowly, with an elegant gesture.

“What do you mean with this simple you?” the doll protested, jumping on top of you, making you moan in pain from your injuries. “Show some respect, stupid mortal, do you know who you are talking to?” she rebuked you with a harsh tone. The lady didn't move and you started sweating when you realized it.

Somehow, your mind cleared, letting you know where you had seen that black figure before. The church, a priestess, Miranda, four Lords. Among them, a dark lady of dark presence. That dress, that veil. There could be no doubt, Donna Beneviento.

That authoritarian figure who sat to the right of Mother Miranda, ensuring that you, faithful villagers, remained calm. You never heard her speak, you never gave it importance.

Despite that, she was known in the village, precisely because of the evanescence of her existence. Lonely, sick, psychopathic, nothing good could be heard about her, a tormented woman, a black veil that hid the jaws of a monster ready to devour your body, to drink your blood. There was nothing you could do to prevent those images from crossing your mind when you had her that close. She didn't look like a monster. She saved your life, maybe to devour you later?

“Gods...” you murmured involuntarily, clasping your hands, closing your eyes tightly, bowing your head as a sign of respect. “La, La, La, Lady… Be, Be, Be, Beneviento…”

“Oh, so your memory has awakened, huh?” the doll joked, whose name you now remembered, Angie.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... I'm not, no, no,” you stammered. Oh, how pathetic, you didn't even know what you wanted to say, if you wanted to apologize, or on the contrary beg for your life. “I, I, I, I'm sorry, I... My, my lady, I... I, I...”

“Eh, eh, eh, enough, we're not in church,” Angie complained, probably because of your meaningless babbling, one that made you tremble even more, wondering what your horrible fate would be.

“I, I'm sorry...” you murmured, clasping your hands even tighter, causing terrible pain in your wounds. With a strong smack, the doll separated them, causing you to moan in pain again.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” the puppet mocked, imitating your voice with a grace that would have been funny if it weren't for the situation you found yourself in. “Shut up now, silly.”

You obeyed, nodding profusely, letting a tear of terror and despair slide down your cheek.

“Tell me what your name is,” that voice was different, hoarse, velvety. It hadn't been the doll. It had come from the direction where Lady Beneviento was.

Your voice didn't seem to want to come out, but you forced it to. You couldn't die that way.

“My name is... (Y/N),” you murmured, trembling, with your breathing complicating the tranquility you wanted to feign.

She nodded slowly, without speaking.

“What, what am I doing here?” you dared to ask after a tense silence, one that scared you more than that doll. The lady in black looked at the puppet, which seemed to come to life with that look.

“Ahem, ahem, everyone pay attention, can you hear me in the background?” she said comically, as if she were starting some kind of show. “Okay, okay, I'm going to tell you the story of (Y/N), the silly girl who left her house in the middle of a storm. Well, well, it turns out that... Anyway, let's get to the point. That silly girl named (Y/N) appeared half dead in our territory. The end.”

You blinked after that brief explanation. That wasn't your question. The memories were slowly coming back to your mind. The question was, why had she saved you?

“I don't... I don't understand...” you whispered, running a hand over your forehead, noticing how the sweat betrayed your fear.

“What you don’t understand?” Angie asked, annoyed by your erratic behavior.

“I don't understand what I'm doing here, or where I am,” you said with a firmer tone, noticing how, surprisingly, you had an easier time speaking. It would be the adrenaline.

“You're in our house, silly girl. Donna saved you from freezing to death,” the doll explained, without meaning to do so, of course, crossing her arms. Your gaze was once again direct to the lady in black, to that powerful and dangerous Lord.

“Why?” you asked automatically. No, she couldn't take pity on a stupid villager like you. It didn't make sense. The dark figure shrugged, making your body nervous.

“Do I seem to know it?” Angie said, making the same gesture as her owner. “I guess she felt sorry for you.”

You nodded, wanting to thank her in a discreet way. Deep down you knew you weren't safe.

“Are you hungry?” Again, again that hoarse voice whispering through that black fabric. You shook your head, faking it in the worst way possible, as your stomach gave you away by growling indiscreetly.

Donna nodded slowly again, turning and walking towards the door, sparing one last look at the puppet, who stood up in a kind of military salute.

“At your command, ma'am, the girl will not move from here, ma'am,” she said comically, leaning over you, pretending she was watching you.

After a while of silence, under the doll's uncomfortable gaze, the door opened again. The lady carried in her arms a small tray with a steaming plate that caught your attention instantly. You hadn't eaten for more than two days.

“Look how nice, she brings you dinner in bed, then you'll complain about the service,” Angie joked, moving away from you so the lady could leave that bowl of soup in front of you, handing you a spoon.

You looked at it eagerly, but your instincts forced you not to sink the spoon into the plate, to keep yourself safe from any trap.

“But what are you doing, silly? Eat,” Angie snapped, moving your hand to guide the cutlery.

You hesitated, looking at the lady waiting expectantly at your side. Her breathing was the only thing that didn't make her look like a ghost. After a moment, you lifted a spoonful to your mouth, feeling the comforting warmth of that soup and its delicious flavor.

You devoured that dish eagerly, under the watchful gaze of the doll and lady, unconscious of their presence due to hunger.

“Wow, wow, we were hungry, huh?” the doll mocked, looking at the already empty plate.

“Angie, leave,” that soft, low, almost inaudible voice said. The doll obeyed instantly, leaving you alone. The fear inside you increased considerably.

The lady moved the tray away on a nearby table and pulled a chair to the side of your bed, sitting elegantly, looking at you, you didn't know how, you couldn't tell.

Your body automatically shrunk, moving as far away from Donna as possible, not wanting to be close to her, expecting the worst. It never came, just a sigh after an eternity of silence.

“Why did you want to die?” the lady asked, breaking you out of your fear, making you turn your eyes towards her, making you shrink even more into yourself, shaking your head. “I don't like to talk either, but I think it's nice to answer when someone asks you a question, don't you think?”

“I didn't want to die,” you whispered, you understood that phrase as a veiled threat.

“You have left your house in the middle of a storm, you have crossed the bridge, you have entered my territory. I guess you know what happens when someone does that,” she said with that melodic voice, with that accent that was unknown to you.

“Yes, my lady,” you answered tiredly, with your heartbeat sounding louder than your own voice.

“Mm, then, why?” she asked again. The tone of her voice revealed that it was not comfortable for her to communicate with you at all. You almost preferred the doll's irreverence to that somber voice.

“Why haven't you killed me like the others?” you responded, gaining confidence, taking advantage of the weakness that you also had, an extreme shyness and no desire to socialize.

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked back, with a more aggressive tone.

“No,” you answered in a dry tone, looking away, hissing at the throbbing pain in your leg.

“Then speak. What were you doing in my territory?” she asked again, getting nervous, playing with her hands surely preventing her nerves from ruining this attempt at conversation.

“I got lost,” you whispered, looking away again, remembering the color white, the cold, the pain, the hunger...

“You got lost,” she repeated, with a dark voice, as if she didn't believe your words.

“I just wanted to... Escape...” you finally said, gripping the sheets tightly. “…To leave this damn village.”

“Oh, and why is that?” she wanted to know, relaxing the movement of her hands.

“Because...” you said, shutting up instantly, surpassing your ability to communicate clearly, lying on the bed and covering yourself with the sheets, hoping that this dangerous woman would take the hint.

A sigh preceded the sound of the chair moving, the feeling of her arms picking up the empty tray, the sound of her heels moving away from you, the slamming of the door, leaving you in the most absolute but comfortable solitude.

Sleep and fatigue had been stronger than your survival instinct, perhaps a few hours of sleep would help you clear your mind.

“What is this, silly?” the doll asked, rummaging through your old backpack.

The day had started strange. When you woke up, you had breakfast served on your nightstand. You didn't see the lady all morning, but, fortunately or unfortunately, the doll began to keep you company.

“Those are my books,” you whispered, snatching the object from her in a defensive manner. Those were your only friends, your only companions.

“Oh. Do you like to read?” Angie asked, with that sinister curiosity.

You nodded, shielding your things from those cheeky wooden hands.

“Donna likes to read too,” Angie said, with a listless voice, reaching into your backpack again. “Oh, oh, what is this?” she said, taking out a small doll, your small doll, the one that your sister Katia gave you when you were little, the one that served as a reminder that your sister really existed, and was not a creation of your head when you felt so alone.

“Give me that,” you protested, stretching your arms to reach the doll. Angie was faster than you, and she dodged you with a mocking laugh.

“No, no, take it from me if you can,” she taunted, dancing comically out of your reach, your beloved doll held in a way that made you burn with rage.

“Basta, Angie,” a voice that came through the door hissed, Donna. The doll stopped teasing and the lady in black bent down to pick up the doll and look at it curiously, sitting back down in the chair next to you.

You flinched again, still scared by her presence.

“Mm,” the lady murmured, observing that doll closely. “Double stitched dress, fog gray tone. Two days of manufacturing, pale color. If I'm not mistaken, it has to be...” she whispered, to herself, folding the doll's dress, noticing a number written on the porcelain. “Yes, number 345.”

After saying those numbers, her hands reached out to you, returning you to your dear companion, which you took with trembling hands and a frown.

“It's funny, I made that doll more than 15 years ago,” she commented, relaxing in the chair, without taking that mysterious look off of you.

“You... Did you make this doll?” you asked with a hoarse voice, looking at the porcelain face, one worn by time. The lady nodded slowly, sighing, as if she too was nervous. You didn't understand why.

“Yes,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms. “It was a commission from a certain Nikolai Dinovic, for her little daughter Katia. Do those names sound familiar to you? Or are you a little thief?”

“I'm not a thief,” you protested carelessly. You could be anything, but you never stopped being honest, not even when you were starving. “Katia was my sister.”

“Your sister,” the lady repeated, moving, uncomfortable again, nervous.

You nodded again, confused by this strange attitude.

“I have always been lucky to have a good memory, (Y/N). I'm afraid I didn't know the Dinovic family had another daughter,” she said with an inquisitive, distrustful voice.

You were not surprised by that information at all.

“I guess so,” you sighed, squeezing the doll in your hands.

“Are you some kind of impersonator? Have you come to kill me?” she asked suddenly, with a gruff voice, clenching her fists tightly, until her knuckles turned the color of snow.

“No, no,” you said, scared by that reaction.

“How do you explain that I don't know anything about your existence then? Speak,” she said with a demanding tone, surely suppressing the urge to suffocate you.

“Not even I'm sure I really exist,” you confessed with a low voice, with fearful sweat soaking your forehead again.

“Sciocchezze...” the lady murmured, with that same somber tone. “Explain yourself before I lose my patience.”

Your desire to flee from that place contrasted with the fear you had. You wouldn't gain a better life by confessing your miserable existence, but you wouldn't lose more than what you had at the time, a roof over your head from the cold.

“I'm not surprised you don't know anything about me, no one does,” you said in a low tone, looking away from her. “I was never treated like a member of the family.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, giving you pause to continue.

“My... My brothers are the strongest in the village, or so they say, but I... I'm no good for anything,” you said, noticing how your eyes began to water. “Since I was little I was misunderstood. I didn't want to talk to anyone… I didn't love anyone other than my sister Katia. When she left I… I closed more into myself…. I... I will never be what they expect.”

“So what do they expect?” she asked, with a dark tone, but a bit softer. You shrugged, playing with the doll in your hand.

“I suppose someone who doesn't spend the day reading books, someone who is capable of getting married, or at least not being so...”

“Weird,” the lady finished, making you sob and wipe your tears. “I see, that's why you escaped.”

You could only nod.

“Mm, very well, weird girl, you can stay here until you recover. If you want to leave before... Well, I'm not going to stop you, but that will mean death for you and you don't want that, or so you told me,” the lady commented, getting up from the chair, picking up the book that you had on the table, taking a quick look at it before abandoning you again.

The days passed slowly.

Your leg was getting better and better, you even had the strength to walk. Donna fed you, she kept you strong, you didn't know why, but you stopped wondering. With each of the trays of food that she brought you, there was an extra gift, a book, each time a different one. A kind and unexpected gesture, but it didn't surprise you. After all, she had saved your life. That was the strangest thing of all.

With your spirits still low, but with more desire to live than ever, you began to feel more and more comfortable. The lady's visits were limited to mealtimes, but the words that came out of her mouth were more and more frequent. You assumed that once your identity was known, you were no longer a threat. You understood that feeling, you thought the same way.

 Did you really have as many things in common as you began to think?

“Get up, weird girl, you're coming with me,” the lady said one day, leaning out of your door, interrupting one of your quiet moments of reading.

You, trembling at what that order might imply, obeyed, leaning on an old crutch to help you walk. You never really got to see that house, just the top floor. Your clumsy walk down the stairs made you notice a detail that you had overlooked: that portrait, the portrait of a beautiful woman, with cold eyes, with that puppet in her arms. Your mouth opened slightly, as if to ask the lady if it was her.

You regretted doing so, continuing your descent, without taking your eyes off that cold gaze.

Walking in silence, you went further down, to the basement, to a sinister room that looked like a kind of workshop, her workshop.

“Sit down,” the lady ordered you, pointing to a chair abruptly, as if she herself wasn't sure what she was doing. You nodded, walking slowly and obeying that direct order. “Do you know how to sew, weird girl?”

“I…” you stammered as she sat down next to you, leaning closer to an old sewing machine. “A, a little.”

“Va bene... I guess that will do,” she commented, looking at some pieces of fabric and a needle, which she handed you roughly. “I want you to sew those tissues. I know it's a simple thing, but I waste too much time doing it and... Well, since you're here, sleeping and eating for free, at least you'll be useful to me.”

You, embarrassed by the harsh truth of those words, looked at the pattern book that Donna left on the table and nodded, threading the needle with trembling hands.

The two of you sewed in silence, a heavy silence, interrupted by your nervous breathing, by the noises of that old machine.

“Ouch...” you protested, when the needle sank into your flesh instead of the fabric. Without meaning to, you had diverted your gaze to the visible part of her face. You had been hypnotized for some reason.

That moan caught the attention of the lady, who abruptly grabbed your hand to look at your wound with a tired sigh.

“You clumsy girl,” she murmured in a discreet, but slightly unpleasant voice, which made you shrink in the chair.

“I'm sorry,” you said with a broken voice, while the softness of her hands caressed yours, putting them in a position that prevented you from sticking the needle into yourself again.

The trembling of your hands didn't go unnoticed by Donna, who snorted with a nervous laugh, turning away from you instantly and shaking her head.

“You have no idea...” she sighed, returning to her wrists, with a tone of mockery, or annoyance that made you freeze in the chair. “You think you're weird, huh? How did you say... A misunderstood girl?”

“I...” you stammered, trying not to tear the fabric out of your nervousness, not understanding that question so out of context.

“You're stupid, (Y/N),” Donna growled, stopping sewing, piercing your chest with one of those mysterious looks.

That made your pent-up anger come out in the form of a nervous gasp.

“Why are you telling those things to me?!” you shouted, standing up abruptly, offended by the contempt the lady was making of your miserable life.

“You don't know what it's like to be alone in this world, to have your entire family despise you, to live alone and malnourished because it seemed like a waste of time and food to my stupid parents. How can someone who doesn't know what it's like to lose everything, to not believe in her own existence make fun of me?” you continued.

“Wow, it seems like you want to talk now, weird girl, but I advise you to tone it down a bit,” she said, mockingly, crossing her arms in a threatening manner.

“Don't laugh at me...” you hissed, risking your fragile existence again. You forgot who you were talking to. “What do you know about my life?”

“I know enough,” she responded dryly, abruptly “Poor helpless girl who is alone in this world, who thinks she is special because she likes to read... You have no idea what suffering is. You are a whiny and capricious girl who has left home because she didn't like being the weakest in her family.”

“You don't know what it's like to be ignored by your own family! To be the black sheep of the village! To go hungry because your life is not important to the people who are supposed to love you!”

“Oh, I don’t know?” she said, defiantly, getting up from the chair, facing you.

“No, you don’t” you responded furiously, not understanding this very different treatment, far from that strange kindness from the beginning.

“Do you know something, (Y/N)? I think you're wrong about me,” Donna murmured, her hands on her hips, relaxing her tone mysteriously.

“You are wrong about me too,” you responded defiantly, with a confidence that you thought did not exist.

“Idiota,” she said before sitting down again.

“I'm not an idiot!” you screamed furiously, making your screams echo off the stone walls of the old workshop.

“Aren’t you? Che cosa siete?” she asked, with that dark tone that made you shiver.

“I'm... I'm... (Y/N),” you said with a guttural voice, just as dark as hers. “I may not be a strong or brave girl. I may not like people, all people ignore me but…”

“But,” she interrupted.

“But it's because they don't know that I'm really better than them...”

“Oh.”

“Yes, I... I may be weird, but at least I'm not stupidly ignorant, at least I refuse to follow the path that is expected of me, a path of no return, where my life will end just like my sister's. No, I never wanted that for myself, I want to be... I just want to be... Free.”

“Mm, it wasn't that hard to believe in yourself, right?” Donna murmured, returning to her sewing, leaving you glued to the floor. “You know what? I guess you and me aren't so different after all.”

“You must be kidding,” you murmured, surprised, but with your eyes on the floor, letting yourself fall back into the chair.

“Are you calling me a liar?” she rebuked you with that terrifying abruptness.

You shook your head, overwhelmed, wanting to disappear from that place.

“You say you don't know what it's like to be alone...” she said in a lower tone, almost a whisper. “I have been alone all my life. My parents died when I was ten years old, I never had friends. I never talked to anyone. Do you think you're unlucky? That's because you've never known what it feels like to have everyone you approach trembling with fear.”

“I don't...” you said, surprised by that confession, thus understanding the lady's attitude.

“Stai zitto and keep sewing. I’m tired of hearing your voice.”

“I’m tired of being with you,” you growled, making the lady turn towards you, but continue sewing moments later.

Your relationship may have been tense, with those small problems that her actions revealed, but deep down, you were starting to feel a little... Well, you didn't know, you didn't know why her presence was increasingly appreciated by you.

“Why you don’t you leave? You can walk now,” the lady commented, pretending that she was ignoring you.

“I was hoping you would say that,” you said, ironic as ever, outgoing as you had never been.

“Okay, leave, then.”

“Fine,” you said, leaving the sewing supplies on the table and getting up awkwardly from the chair. “Thanks for everything.”

“You're welcome, weird girl,” Donna murmured, with trembling hands, with a voice that didn’t express the passivity her words intended.

“I'm not a weird girl,” you said, turning around awkwardly with the help of the crutch.

“That's what you said,” Donna said, getting up from the chair and walking slowly towards you.

“I don't think that way anymore,” you confirmed, after her insults made you see the reality of your existence, only you had not yet realized that it was thanks to Donna and her erratic attitude. Maybe it hadn't been a coincidence.

“Well, I'm glad to hear it,” she commented, amused, joining her hands in front of her body, like the first day you were in that mansion.

“I... Really, thank you, for saving my life,” you repeated in a calmer tone. “And for, well, for… For that.”

“For what?” she asked, tilting her head comically, pretending she didn't know what you were talking about.

“I know you don't think those horrible things you've said to me,” you whispered, also getting a little closer.

“You are weird, but observant, (Y/N),” she murmured with a slightly mocking tone, but without stopping walking towards you. “I really hope you can find your place out there. At least you can do it.”

“I don't understand you, Donna,” you said, shaking your head, confused by the melancholy that her words emanated.

“What you don’t understand?” she asked, already close, too close to you.

“You are supposed to be scary, terrifying but... These days have been... well, totally different from what I expected. First, you save my life, you feed me, you offer me shelter... Then, you see that I like to read and you bring me a different book every day. You didn't have to do it and still, you did it, and on top of that you help me to overcome my complexes.”

“I may have simply seen something of myself in you, (Y/N). Or maybe I'm just as crazy in the head as they say,” Donna whispered slowly, extending her hand towards yours, making the trembling of your body return in a slightly stranger way.

“No, I don't think so,” you said, letting her hand hold yours. “I don't think you are what people say.”

“No?” she asked, moving away from you a bit, letting your hand fall and bringing hers to her face, to her black veil, slowly removing it, thus revealing her true face. “What do you think about this?”

You looked at her, your eyes roaming over her features, her undeniable beauty, that scar that seemed to be the cause of her shame. You then had another revelation, you had the sensation that your leg was weakening again, as if it had not completely healed.

“It seems to me...” you murmured, involuntarily getting closer, remembering those cold eyes from the portrait on the stairs.

“A monster, right?” she said, her eye shining.

“No... I, I don't think I want to leave.”

“I don't want you to leave,” she whispered, also approaching, raising her hands to your face while yours traveled to her waist.

“I won't leave,” you said, closing your eyes, moving closer to her lips, unable to contain the desire for her to be your first kiss, also your last.

“Stay with me...” Donna said, before daring to close the distance between you, placing her lips on yours, confirming the clumsiness of the inexperience of her actions, the clumsiness of yours, the romanticism of those new caresses for both of us, of that feeling that had been slowly blooming for a long time, in a way so subtle and imperceptible that only with that kiss you could understand.

“I want you to be my weird girl...” she murmured into your lips, not wanting to stop kissing you, caressing you, praising you with that affection so unknown, and so desired for you.

“I will be whatever you want, only with you...”

[dragonagecompanions]

What if, instead of Carver or Bethany getting the blight it's Hawke? Maybe it's them? What if instead of becoming the champion they become a grey warden? How would the twins react to it? How would the twins react to Hawke asking them to kill them? If Anders isn't with them to find the Wardens so it's down to the twins to kill their older sibling? If Anders is with them how do they say goodbye? Ik for Carver it's a conflict between being glad to be out of their shadow and feeling a sense of 'It should of been me' how do the twins do as champion? Having to know what it means to be the 'Eldest Hawke' it also means carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? I wanna know Carvers reaction more than the other three cuz ik He would finally understand that no he isn't under their shadow he's behind them as Hawke shields him from their burden but now they're not there anymore now it's just Carver who is carrying their burdens as either a single child or not

It's not a reaction of all companions just Carver, Bethany, Varric, and maybe even Leandra to the news of either Hawke's Death or being with the Wardens

Varric: he is likely about as torn up as he is for the siblings, honestly. The friendship with Hawke was early yet, and still developing. The promise was there, the foundation of something great, but...well, his own sibling problems currently eclipse most of what is going on around him.

Later, though...there is whole that will never really be filled. Kirkwall's resident story teller will always wonder.

Carver: It's his fault. He was the soldier with a soldier's training, he was the only one with any practical experience with combat. A year as a mercenary is no substitute for being a soldier in Ferelden's army, and he will never forgive himself for letting this happen. If they ask for the knife, if there is no one to offer the aid of the Grey Wardens, that last moment will be haunting. He will do it, as quick and clean as he can, but it will be a horror burnt into his soul.

Though in truth, it is not the Blight that haunts him. It is the ghost of every resentment, every unkind word. Every time he had wished, seemingly in vain, for a chance to be out from that shadow. But it is painfully bright in the sun, and as his eldest sibling is led staggering away it is only then Carver recognizes the shield of them, not the barrier, that cast it.

Kirkwall does not fare well with her angry, impulsive Champion.

Bethany: She can't heal the Blight. This is not a new fact, of course; the selfsame corruption had driven them from their familial home and land for so few could contain it. But she tries. Tries, weeping and denying the truth, until the same hands that have picked her up on her darkest days, slipped extra portions of food in lean times and been a solid shoulder in grief and as good as a second parent when she sometimes felt so alone, push her away.

There is a long way to go to get back to Kirkwall, and they both know she cannot waste her mana here.

The Wardens are a chance. It is a cruel irony that a decision she herself would resent in another life is a path she so ardently demands for her sibling. She cannot lose them, and so they must live. Bethany will do whatever she can to get her sibling to Stroud, pay whatever toll there is to make it an option. They have sheltered her for the whole of her life-- this is her time.

But if the Wardens are not an option, if they cannot reach that promised sanctuary, their final request will shatter her. Bethany cannot deny them that mercy, and her magic lulls them to gentle sleep before she stops their heart, but she will never forgive herself. The Deep Roads witness the worst of her grief, but also a metamorphosis for Malcom Hawke's only living child.

Anders finds a compatriot in his fight for the mages, as fierce a fighter against chains and circles as any he has known. Bethany Hawke is not the Champion Kirkwall needs, but she is patient and clever enough to push the city through to an unsteady peace,

When Anders and Justice finally have their stand, it is with Bethany's full knowledge and approval. Every mage they can rescue it liberated from the Gallows, and the City of Chains sees what happens when these people shall be free. The Chantry may yet stand, but the war to come will see Circles across Thedas destroyed. The chain breaker is coming, and there shall be a reckoning.

Leandra: Dead or Grey Warden, her eldest is taken from her. In the silence they leave behind, her own words - sharp from the horrible grief in their flight from Lothering- echo in the quiet hours. She had cast blame onto their shoulders, put the death of their sibling at their feet, and then given them the role of protector and path maker into Kirkwall. For a year they had carried the family through, making Gamlen's hovel a home by dint of effort borne of love.

Abd she had never given it back to them.

Leandra Hawke will live long years with that guilt. No necromancer takes her, for she does not pursue romance again. Without the steady support of her eldest, neither surviving twin can carry her through. When Kirkwall falls to Anders, no matter her child's standing, the last of the true Amells takes to her manor and becomes a home to the orphaned and unwanted children in Kirkwall. There are too many to count, but with every young face wiped clean of pain and dirt and given hope again...

She sees her eldest again. And that is enough.

(Far away from Kirkwall, set on another destiny, Corypheus finds an unexpected rival keeping the Wardens in check. They cannot save Kirkwall, but Flemeth's words were not untrue. When the magister who would be a good tries to strike down the Divine, a traitor in the ranks moves to disrupt the ritual.

And Cassandra Pentaghast, in a roundabout way, gets her Inquisitor.)

_ Mod Fereldone

[editorofeverything]

Just speaking to the void, but I was fangirling as I rewrote one of my chapter to my Daminette fic and I cannot get over what good parallels there are between Marinette and Damian.

Like, Marinette's this sweet, kind, caring, talented, silly, goofy, clumsy girl who had to grow up too fast. All she wanted to do was survive school, maybe get a boyfriend, have a good time with her friends, and nurture her growing talent and prestige in the fashion world. She loves her parents and family, and she is this exuberant, friendly gal who makes friends with just about everyone. Then, she's given this huge responsibility of being a hero and having to learn how to fight and lead and protect everyone and everything from ultimate destruction, all while keeping her secret identity and constantly feeling like a failure in both her superhero and civilian life. Before being LB, she slept in because she was a heavy sleeper and she stayed up too late being inspired to design, or playing video games with her parents, or doing homework like your average preteen girl. After she became LB, being a superhero took over her regular life. There was no balance. Then came losing Master Fu. Then came Lila, making Marinette's life horrible as a civilian to the point she could become akumatized- which she can't because she's LB. And then her friend- who she became a superhero for- all but abandons her for Lila and makes excuses for her even after learning Marinette's LB. Marinette gains a lot when she became LB- her confidence, a partner, a new love, power, respect, integrity- but I would argue that she lost that much more- Master Fu, her friends (to an extent and bc of Lila), her childhood, her teen years, her normal life, Luka as her boyfriend, a peaceful night's sleep- I could honestly go on. She was an abnormally talented, kind, wonderful girl who would grow up to rule the fashion world if given the chance, and then she had to change when she became LB. She grew up fast and was burdened with a power and responsibility that she never wanted in the first place, and her normal life began to fall apart.

And then there's Damian who grew up with all these expectations to be the next leader of the League of Assassins and was groomed his whole life to rule the world with his immortal (immoral) grandfather at his side. He was taught how to be the perfect assassin since he was born. He was expected to be the perfect offspring of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne/Batman, the world's greatest detective. And he loses everything he's ever known at the young age of ten- his grandfather, his mother as she take over the League, everything he's ever known- and is sent to his father, who he's heard so much about because, despite everything that happened between them, Ra's al Ghul and Talia both have huge respect for Bruce/Batman, and this ten year old assassin is faced with his great father hating who he is and what he was trained to do. Damian starts out with the batfam hating every minute of it. He thinks he's in the right, that they're soft and unwilling to do what it takes to protect the world by taking out the ones who threaten it. He scoffs at his father's rules that all life should be protected and to never kill another, no matter how much you think they deserve it. It goes against everything the League taught him, everything he's ever known, and he spends his childhood learning and failing and learning again how precious life is and how the League and everything he grew up learning is as evil as some of the villains they put behind bars. He becomes a vegetarian and adopts a cow, a dog, a cat. He plays video games and learns that he likes to draw. He goes to school and suffers a mundane life every kid his age goes through. He finds a family and friends and a team falls in love. He spends the second half of his childhood learning how to become a hero instead of a dictator, and it changes him for the better.

And when you put them together, the parallels in their stories and personalities really play off each other well. She had the world at her feet and became restricted as she became a hero. He was restricted to be exactly who his grandfather and mother expected him to be and the world opened up to him when he left them behind. They both suffered and grew up despite everything standing in their way, and I think that creates a strong bond between them when they get to know each other.

(It's also hilarious thinking about how they would handle the other's situation. Like Marinette would absolutely become the favorite child in the Wayne household if that's how she became a hero. And then Damian would take over the League and run the world if that's how he became a hero, which wouldn't be good exactly, but he would likely learn over time (I think))

[spacerangersam]

Could you tell me more about some of your ocs???? (Only if you’re up for it tho)

I’m always down to gush about my ocs! But I do have a lot of them, especially with the story I'm currently working on, and I don’t always know what to say, so sorry if this is a bit all over the place. This isn’t even everyone, I left out a few like the main antagonist, Irene and a few other side characters for the sake of this not being essay length but yeah. Here are some of the main guys:

(also, unless otherwise specified, they're all welsh)

Simon Huw Taylor, 32, tenant of flat no. 6, he/they, bi and ace (maybe on the aro spectrum, but idk. It’s none of my business).

He’s the main character of my story, Where the Lost Souls Meet. He’s a pretty quiet guy who likes to keep to himself, much to his own detriment. He’s been travelling around all his life, never really interacting with people his own age, leaving him with mediocre socialising skills. He can see ghosts, has been able to since childhood, and is a mortician while doing psychic ghost stuff on the side. His mum could also see ghosts and she also did the ghost business, which is why he and his parents were moving around all the time, basically living in their van/hotels). To honour her, Simon uses her maiden name for ghost work (meaning his name is then Simon Huw Hughes, which I just thought was cute). She died a few years back, his father even earlier, leaving Simon the last of his family line and all alone in the world.

His whole life revolves around death, which isn’t healthy but Simon would rather die than go to therapy and actually address his problems, so it stays that way for a while. He does try to quit smoking though, so that’s something. He is also a liar. Dear god does he love to lie about everything and anything, to everyone. Well, I say loves to lie, he doesn’t really love it. He does it both to keep himself safe and to keep others from worrying about him. Honestly, he’s fine, he’s functional, and he definitely has family who loves him. Just don’t ask to meet his ‘sister’. He also tries to protect people by keeping a certain distance from them, not wanting to hurt them like he’s been hurt because of [REDACTED], which is why he kept moving around even after his mother died. But he desperately wanted top surgery and so stopped in this town with a well-known trans-safe doctor to get it done, and unfortunately for him landed in a manor turned flat filled with people who very much would like to be his friends, please.

He has no hope for the future, no plans, having a fairly pessimistic look on life because of [REDACTED], and is basically just waiting for the day he finally dies. Again, will he do anything about this? Maybe, eventually, at some point.

He doesn’t like / struggles to watch TV and movies, his ideal night involves doing puzzles and maybe a spot of reading, he loves puns and he’s a vegetarian. I love him and his terrible coping mechanism. Go king, communicate absolutely nothing and never let people share your burdens. 

Also, his neighbour dies in front of him during an argument one day, which isn't great, going on to haunt Simon in a distinctly violent fashion, which is the thing he's desperately trying to deal with in the story.

more losers under the cut

Charlie Tops, 35, tenant no. 5, he/him, trans bi+ace. He’s a very sweet guy, very open, with major himbo energy, just without the muscles. He makes the best tea and the worst coffee. He writes kid's books in the vein of Winnie the Pooh / Peter Rabbit, taking over the job after his grandfather passed, now writing them for his own daughter, Lottie. But Lottie’s getting older and losing interest in those types of books, and so he’s losing interest in writing them and having a mild panic over what he’ll do next. He’s kinda obsessed with taxidermies. His flat is quite literally filled with them and no one likes it, nobody wants to be in there, and the vibes are way off (except Will for, who thinks it’s very interesting, actually).

He’s deeply in love with Simon and they have a thing. An unexplained, deeply intimate thing that neither talk about, mostly because Simon can’t communicate for shit (which he feels deeply guilty about, and he keeps telling himself that he’ll break it off but can never quite work up to it), and Charlie’s worried if he asks, Simon will end it. He really struggles with Simon’s whole silent martyr ordeal even outside their thing because even if he doesn’t know the extent to which Simon is trying to hide his problems, he knows there is something being hidden, but again, is worried about pushing too hard and losing him completely. It’s messy, but they’ll work through it. 

He can’t see ghosts but does know about them, unlike the other Woodward tenants, and feels a bit left out /awkward about the whole thing. He had an amicable divorce from his wife Irene after he realised he was ace, she realised she was aro, and that they were both trans, the two staying friends and her staying on as the illustrator for his books. And as I mentioned earlier, he does have a daughter, Lottie.

William Isaiah Beaton, 30, tenant no. 7, he/him, gay, English. An archivist for the local museum who moves into the manor in chapter one, and comes off as a tough, rude ex-vet.  And that is true, to a certain extent. He is rude, and an ex-vet. But he wasn’t in the army for long, he got mowed down by a car on base like, two weeks after arriving, leaving him with a permanent injury to his leg. He feels he failed to live up to his father’s expectations, and in shame, never told the truth to his father about having to leave the forces. Will has… a lot of complicated feelings about that, and his relationship with his father, and his relationship with his religion. He works some of that last one out with help from Penny.

It’s a bit of a spoiler, but whatever- he can see ghosts. He doesn’t realise that’s what’s happening though and instead is fully convinced he’s just losing his mind, and that crash did irreparable damage to his head. Nah though, just ghosts. Has a guilty love of werewolf media and cake, and cares a lot about bugs and plants (he even ends up taking Simon’s plants off him, because Simon kills every plant he owns, without question). He has limited zero social skills and finds big groups overwhelming, but nevertheless, he will be dragged into this friendship group (if Penny has any say in it, at least). He came to Hangar for a reason, though he doesn’t say why.

He also definitely fancies Simon and has no idea how to handle that. It’s the first time he’s fancied a man (or at least, a man-adjecent person) who isn’t straight, and that coupled with the fatc Simon actually seems to like him is just a lot for him to process. The two of them bond over their shared loved of history / interest in the history of the manor.

I should make it clear: this isn’t a love triangle, this is poly thing.

The ghouls:

Florence Blossom (left), 40, and Gwenllian Baker (right), 42. Both were performers in a small acting trope who died in 1941 (though not at the same time or in the same way, funnily enough) in the manor Simon lives in. They love each other very much.

Florence is a bit judgy, loves a good moan, and is very anxious about everything and everyone, always. Her anxiety tends to make her come off as a bit snappy. She can control the lights.

Gwen is a bit vacant, with her head absolutely in the clouds at all times. She struggles a bit with empathy and reading the room, leading her to be mindlessly cruel sometimes. She never means it though and genuinely cares about Simon and Florence, and will look after them both in her own weird ways. she can lock, unlock, close and open doors

Now back to the living:

Agatha Jeorme, 55, tenant  no. 1. She’s kinda like if an angsty teen was stuck in the body of a middle-aged woman, and we love her for that. She’s the daughter of the landlord and hates it. If she had any other skills / if her father had helped her get a better opportunity elsewhere like he did with her brothers, she would have jumped on it. But instead, he gave her the job of looking after Woodward. She hates him, deeply. She often shovels off small jobs onto Simon because she knows he won’t say no, and is having an affair with the next-door neighbour’s wife. I kind of made her sound like a bastard, and she is kinda, but a fun one I hope, and she does learn to be less of a bastard as the story goes on. 

Gwynfor Geraint Jones, 34, tenant no. 2, he/she, bigender, aroace. Just a chill guy who loves rock music and slasher movies. She’s in a QPR with Adam, them being the first two to move into Woodward. this isn't entirely related to his character, but he's called gwynfor geraint after two twins i went to primary school with. their names always stuck in my head, in so i thought i'd put them to good use.

Adam Diana Keats, 36 tenant tenant, no.3, she/her, aroace trans woman, Scottish. She’s a librarian with a love of reading, especially poetry, and a bit pushy, a bit bossy, but ultimately well-meaning. She’ll drag Simon out of his room but with the intent to encourage him to mingle and hang out with the Woodward crew, you know. She hates Will on sight. There’s more I could say, but that would be spoilers. also, despite her dark academic vibes, she does love a good animal print

Penny Sion Seagrove, 29, no.4, she/her, lesbian. A tired, friendly gardener who would love it if everyone would get along and be friendly. She sometimes sticks her nose in places she shouldn’t to figure out people’s beef with each other (cough, Adam and Will, cough) to see if she can find a way to squash it for them, which doesn’t usually work. She tries anyway. She’s Catholic, shares Simon’s love of puns, and is dating Alice.

Alice Rhodri Blackwood, 30, she/her, trans lesbian. She lives in town with her best mate Mickey. She’s a loud, cheery, extroverted goth with an interest in witchcraft who can also see ghosts. She has slightly different opinions about ghosts and how they work from Simon, but she’s still his go-to when he’s having ghost issues. 

Mickey Dolores Palmer, 29, she/her, English (Yorkshire). Idk what her deal is, and she just is, you know. A very nervous, clumsy, mousy person who works at the local museum. She tends to jump to conclusions and is not a fan of ghosts. Unfortunately, she can also see ghosts, so that’s not great for her. She's doing her best.

god i wrote way too much for this, sorry asdfghj. but uh, also, i did a voice claim video for some of these losers, if you're interested. also,t hank you so much for asking. i do love talking about these idiots

[lazulifoster]

Moon Knight-More than a TV Show

If you’ve stumbled across my blog (or happen to know me in real life) you know probably three things about me: 

1) I am Jewish

2) I am Latina 

3) I love Oscar Isaac’s work, specifically his characters Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and Jake Lockely (for the brief moments we see him.)

And with the one year anniversary of Moon Knight quickly approaching us, I thought I’d speak into the ether why Moon Knight is so incredibly important to me.

And upfront I want to give TRIGGER WARNINGS for the paragraphs ahead:

[Trigger warnings: Child death, Sibling death, Parental abuse, Maternal abuse, Nightmares, Insomnia]

Most of my thoughts stem from Episode 5 (Yes, that episode.) I have never resonated with an episode from a TV show in my entire life. Somehow, Moon Knight saw into my personal life and family trauma; and showed me there is still hope for healing.

First, when the episode portrayed the soul crushing death of Randall Spector my heart stopped. I immediately thought of the story of my grandfather and his brother. My grandfather also lost his brother from drowning when they were both children. Unfortunately, his father (like Marc’s mother) never forgave my grandfather for something that was never his fault. My grandfather has carried that burden and pain his whole life. Not only did my grandfather lose his brother, he lost his father.

Next, is my mother. My mother has resented me her whole life. I unfortunately have lost siblings as well. Not by drowning, but regardless, the pain that my mother carries from losing four children was given to me. Watching episode 5 was like watching me and my mother interact. 

Hostile. 

Hopeless.

My mother would say vile things to me, compare me to my dead siblings, tell me how they would handle a situation better than me, as penance for not being as good as them in her eyes.

Also, watching Marc’s father chase after him, trying to defend his wife, Marc’s mother. It reminded me of the many times my father felt caught in the middle of our chaos. Choosing to always side with my mother. Which made me feel so alone. I had no siblings, I felt like I had no parents. I felt abandoned on all sides.

I remembered all the times I disassociated from my life as a kid. I use to write, daydream, create maps of mythical places I would rather be than my home. I thought about the chronic nightmares I have now which result in insomnia. 

And, some nights, nothing works. And I’m forced to lay awake dreading the sunlight to peak through my curtains. Knowing, my work and life will suffer for it. 

Which finally, made me think all the way back to Episode 1, watching Steven fiddle with a Rubik’s cube and listen to meditations to calm down. I felt like I was looking in a mirror (if the mirror happened to have Oscar Isaac in it, but you get the point.) Everything started making sense, I was so connected with the show because it felt like it was written for me! 

When the episode finished, I wept uncontrollably. It was as if I was watching the generational trauma of my family on my living room television.

However, the part of Episode 5 that I connected to the most and took to heart was when Steven comforts Marc, and says, “It wasn’t your fault.” Steven saying that to Marc as tears stream down his face hit me harder than anything in my life.

Somehow, this Marvel TV show, meant more to me than any of the actors, directors, and producers will ever know. I don’t want to be hyperbolic and say, “This show saved me.” But I’m not so quick to write that off just yet. 

Ok, ok, I know I’m an adult and I know a television show didn’t actually “save my life.” But that doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful for this beautiful show and what it represents to me.

I know the show wasn’t written for me to overcome years of trauma, but in my own little world; my own personal head cannon, it was.

And I’m forever grateful.

.

.

.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for letting me speak on something near and dear to me. <3 

[anotherisodope]

Just found out that we dodged a huge bullet

You ever have a friend who just completely derails your life with their drama every time you run into, talk to or even hear about them?

Got one like that. We’ve been trying to help him for months in a Movie of the Week level family drama situation that has, along with some other stuff, totally eaten my life. And now, things have gone from bad to cartoonishly awful, in one night.

(Now edited for clarity. I shouldn’t write when I’m that pissed off, sorry!)

The Cast

Me: Gold medalist in competitive napping

My man: Has lived with me almost two decades, there’s rings involved, you get the idea

Gonk: A formerly close friend of ours who is making himself less close with every damn day that goes by as he slowly transitions from a cinnamon roll to an ego-burdened military douche. Calling him Gonk because he increasingly, stubbornly, refuses to listen to even basic common sense if it gets in the way of what he wants to do

GFF: Gonk’s friend who has been putting him up until Gonk starts Basic Training in another state

Evil Sister: Gonk’s sister, a raging assclown whom I sometimes call the Wicked Bitch of the East--with good reason

Our friend Gonk is the sort who never, ever, EVER contacts us unless he needs something, and he’s caused all kinds of disruption, but we’ve stayed loyal as hell and supported him. I was even going to move this guy into my house before he torpedoed that plan with a set of Bad Life Decisions. (Long story I’ll cover later).

Bit of backstory. Gonk has a very bad relationship with his sister, who is a far, far bigger asshole than he’s ever dreamed of being. Evil Sister was left the house and their parents’ whole estate after their mom died (so our friend wouldn’t lose his disability benefits), and promised to “look after” Gonk to his mom’s face. Once Mom died, Evil Sister promptly started proceedings for kicking Gonk out, and turned abusive in the meantime.

One thing she’s done is weaponize the police against Gonk every time she gets mad at him, meaning she calls them on him and tries to get him imprisoned over issues he can’t even be arrested for. Argument? Call the cops. He swore while playing video games? Cops. He had a meltdown from her verbal abuse and started yelling and crying? Cops. I’m actually surprised they still come out at this point.

We’ve explained to Gonk, as have the police, that what Evil Sister is doing is a form of abuse, isn’t appropriate use of law enforcement, and wastes police time and resources as well. Gonk’s seen it, he’s felt it, he’s been told multiple times: weaponizing the police so you can hurt someone you’re mad at (especially over petty shit) is really, really wrong.

So Gonk has been staying with another friend, GFF, for a few weeks before he starts Basic Training (a whole other awful story), basically to get away from the Wicked Bitch of the East. It was a huge act of generosity on GFF’s part, and a relief for Gonk, us, and everyone who cares about Gonk. At least...until yesterday.

Last night, everything blew up very suddenly. GFF kicked Gonk out and threatened to harm him if he came back. Why?

Because Gonk decided to call the cops on poor GFF, in GFF’s own home, IN AN ARGUMENT OVER WHO OWNED A FUCKING PACK OF CIGARETTES.

That’s right. Gonk, the guy who had the police inappropriately called on him over small shit multiple times, and is in the best possible position to know how wrong that is...turned around and did it to someone else. Someone he was depending on for shelter.

The cops kicked in the door, GFF’s dog escaped and vanished, and needless to say GFF is absolutely furious. He wants nothing further to do with Gonk and will probably kick his ass, or worse, if that hypocritical dumbass tries to come back. In fact, he’s already threatened to do so.

Gonk has nothing to say for himself. He is back with Evil Sister now, for the moment. I’m just praying he doesn’t show up on our doorstep again, because this has destroyed the last of our trust in him--which thanks to other crap was already badly damaged.

I am SO goddamned glad now that Gonk didn’t end up living with us. I don’t want anyone in my life who calls the cops on innocent people he’s supposed to care about, over petty shit. Of all people, Gonk should know better. But he got big mad and tossed friendship, common sense and decency out the window over an under $20 purchase instead. Nothing GFF did for him mattered to Gonk--not even opening up his home.

That could easily have been us. And I don’t want to give Gonk the chance to make it be us. Before now, I was worried about his safety, but this is the last straw. Now I just want him to leave town for his training and never come back.

[devotedrigelianflower]

~Meanwhile at Rigel Castle with Rinea | Guest star: @pieman1112 and @jasperlion~

"It is a shame that Lady Celica had to leave so soon. Will Lord Alm be alright?" Rinea asked Berkut as they were having a little break from the paperwork. Well it was mostly Berkut working on paperwork that Alm needed his help while Rinea was sorting through records to file them. "I don't envy him. Alm does not get to see Celica as often as he would like. Sometimes it can be for a few months to the point where even I feel sorry for him." Berkut told Rinea as it made him a little bit less bitter about not being the crown prince anymore. "...You know I always wondered about something...Do you remember that day at duma temple? I was at the entrance and became very afraid to go up to you. Then you froze for a moment as if you were struck on the head before you grabbed my hand and rushed us out of the temple. Did...did you see the same vision I did back then?" Rinea asked as she was curious as Berkut never told her why he had a sudden change of heart. Berkut gave a sigh before taking Rinea's hand. "...Getting flooded with the memories of being in Askr you mean?...Yes I did..." Berkut told her honestly. "...I didn't want to lose you...and turn into that...horrid fallen version." Berkut had refused to make the mistake that his other self had done. "... I wish we could tell that version of Lord Alm that we are safe and thank him for everything he has done for us..." Rinea said sadly before Berkut pulled her into a much needed hug. "... I know but all we can do now is... help the Alm we have now..." Berkut said before comforting Rinea for a bit. If anyone came in to see the sight then they would all think the couple was getting stressed about their upcoming wedding...

~*Meanwhile at the Main Sherington Manor with Josephine*~

"...and that's the whole story..." Josephine had just finished telling her parents and her older brother about Edith. She did made sure leave out the coup stuff as the less people knew about that the better until she reached Rigel Castle. She watched as her father sat on the sofa with her mother by his side. It was clear that her father was absolutely heart broken about it all. Not only to find out that Edith had been a Witch but that his own father lied to him about Edith being dead. "...I'm sorry you had to be the one to defeat her..." Her father said as he wished he could have taken that burden instead of his youngest child. The last shocking news he got from her was Josephine joining the Deliverance and that made him worry for her life. The last 2 years were not turning out as great as he had hoped. "...Let's all try to get some rest tonight. Josephine has to travel to the castle tomorrow." Her mother said as she wanted to make sure they send her off with a smile or at least try to. "... You're right...sleep well my children..." Her father said before letting his wife lead the way to their room.

"... Being close to the royal family really seems to bring you nothing but trouble." Her brother Reginald the III told his sister. "It's not their fault that witches are still out there. They are doing the best that they can." She told him sternly. "I know that... but a part of me wishes things would go back to they way were before the war." He told her honestly. "...but then the commoners would suffer greatly...and that's not right at all." Josephine said as being a part of the Deliverance made her see that. "Father would scold you for saying that you know." Josephine told her brother. "...yeah...I bet grandfather would as well... 'Shut your damn mouth and be grateful for what you have, boy!'..." Reginald the III said as he tried to sound like his old grandfather. This caused both of them to give out a small chuckle at reminiscing about their late grandfather. "...Grandfather would have really loved Lord Alm..." Reginald the III said sadly. Josephine looked over at the old family portrait that had their grandfather still hanging by the fireplace. "....yeah...he really would have..." she said with a small smile. It was not too long before they all turned in early to bed. Tomorrow would be a very busy day for Josephine after all...she only could hopped that Alm would make time to see her...

~*~

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Alba Baptista

full name: Catarina “Kit” Ellison

nickname(s) / goes by: Kit

pronouns & gender: she/her, cis woman

sexuality: heterosexual 

birth date: August 20, 1997

birth place: Merrock, Maine

arrival to merrock: she’s a native

housing: an apartment in Historical Downtown

occupation: escape room Game Master

work place: NA.

family: just one older sibling

relationship status: single

PERSONALITY

At first, you’d say that Kit is angry at the world. She doesn’t smile a lot, at least not to strangers. She’d tell you if something is wrong or if you’re annoying her. It doesn’t matter if you’re someone important or not – she’ll just tell you what she thinks of your behavior. Then you’d just say she’s trouble. Don’t come too close to that girl, she might bite. Don’t follow her, she might make you do some bad things. She is okay with that idea people might have about her. She’s secretive, and would rather let them despise her, than letting them see the real Kit. Because if you’re lucky enough to know her and to be trusted by her, you’d say she is witty and thoughtful. She would keep in mind every tiny detail about you, just to make sure that you feel safe and good around her. Sure, she has scars. Sure, she’d keep some secrets from you. But there is still some light in her, for people who know where to look.

WRITTEN BY: Ana (she/her), gmt+2

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content: boat accident, death.

The Ellisons could have been an ordinary family. Two parents, two daughters, living in the suburbs. They were happy, back then. Kit remembers going to the farm market with her folks every weekend, celebrating Halloween with new costumes every year, being excited on Christmas morning because some gifts would be waiting for her under the tree. They didn’t have much money, but they had enough to take care of each other.

Until the accident. Their parents were outside, enjoying a sunny day on a boat they rented. Kit was with her sister, that day. She was 16, the firstborn was 21. They were bickering when they heard the doorbell. The rest of the story is blurry, in Kit’s memory. Everything went too fast, from the disappearance of their parents to the moment they had to say goodbye. Her sister did what she had to do to protect what was left. She quit college, took a job, took care of paperwork, sold the house and got them a new apartment. That’s when Kit started to be angry at everything. The teachers, the other students, the whole world.

Graduating was a miracle. And a realization. She was not a child anymore. She had no excuse anymore. She had to help, to make sure her sister was not the only one carrying their burden. So she started working. She took multiple jobs, tried to keep them for more than six months but her attitude was not helping. She got fired a few times, driving her sister to despair. They fought, one night. Her sister was tired and Kit was too reckless. She got scared, that evening. Scared to lose her sister, the only family she had left. So she took it upon herself to behave. She couldn’t change who she was, but she was willing to work on her attitude. A few months later, she got hired as a game master in a local escape room. She wouldn’t have bet on it back then, but one year later, she has to admit that she might have found her perfect job there – and a way to open a tiny bit more to the people she welcomes and gives clues to, every single day.

[cynthplop]

Wow, thanks for the fast reply! Yes I'd love to dive deeper into each sibling's life, I hope I'm not alone in that regard! And don't worry, I'm not disappointed at all, your ocs your story, I'm glad with whatever you share. Speaking of, may we know a bit about their parents as well? Maybe with a family portraIt of them together when they were a bit younger? I LOVE aristocratic family portraits, especially fictional ones and your artsyle is really in my alley if that makes sense. Much appreciated

And now for my designated extremely slow reply LMAO thank you for your interest and understanding, again I can't say this enough but it means EVERYTHING ;-;

And yes, you may certainly know about the Darkest mama and papa :> let's lie in this can of worms, baby

Ok so. Usually I wouldn't go this hard on artwork for an ask bc I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO ACGHH but I've always wanted to do a family portrait of these guys anyways so here was a wonderful opportunity (thank you haha) SO. Mama and papa Darkest, Aadhya and Abraham.

They were an arranged marriage, Aadhya being chosen by the ancestor for his son, Abe, (totally not because he wanted Aadhya for himself or anything, and was a total creepazoid about designing her children, no, of course not) who at the time was a very high ranking Cultist Gladiator. They genuinely fell in love over time, but in an attempt not to scare her away and lose her, Abe kept the whole Darkest cult thing a secret, sucking her into a terrible life and being one of his greatest regrets forever.

Shortly before the birth of their first son, Abe couldn't hold back the secret anymore and informed Aadhya of his and his father's true affiliations. She was rightfully mortified at the betrayal and the knowledge that her soon to be child was stolen from her, and fell into a deep depression, barely speaking or eating, that lasted through all of her children's births, save Robin, who she favoured due to being the only one not designed by the Ancestor. (Stoking the flame of jealousy from Howard, who loved his mother very very much.)

And through the birth of every child, those many many years, Abe neglected his family due to plotting revenge against his father for what he did to them. Eventually, when Robin was about 15, he and his siblings were sent away at the order of their father to a remote cliff side house in an attempt to protect them in case his plot of vengeance went awry (spoiler: it went awry). He confronted his father, and for his efforts, got himself transformed into a Templar Warlord and cast into the bowels of the Darkest manor. With just Aadhya left, the Ancestor attempted to sway her to the cult with promises of new worlds, and new chances. She relented, desperate for any peace of mind and respite from her burden. But her lack of passion or willingness or even ability to return his affections angered the Ancestor, so he punished her by making her an anonymous acolyte doomed to worship and live alone. Sorry, Tardif accidentally kills her in the Weald OOP-

All this while Robin suffers alone at the cliff house, transformed by his siblings into what is essentially a mini Darkest Dungeon, catacombs and cultists and everything. That is, however, where he starts noticing weird things about himself (not puberty- ok maybe eldritch puberty) like wounds healing up quick, tentacle powers, really really realistic dreams of people he doesn't recognize, and a strange pull towards his old home at the Hamlet that he knows isn't homesickness. Digging through his brother Phillip's books proves a fruitful endeavour when Robin comes across a ritual to commune with an ancient, evil god. And Robin wants answers.

ANYWAYS.... that was mostly about Abe and Aadhya lmao, who are explorations on conflicting parenting. They each adore their family, but have made irredeemable mistakes in the form of neglect and favouritism. And also keeping huge cult secrets from your wife. That was really fun to type up, and thank you again for sending me asks, it really keeps me going!!!

[songmingisthighs]

[4.11] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ you thought he didn't care, he was sure he doesn't, he had said it so himself to you. that was, until he almost lost the chance of being able to care for you.

⇁ tw : running away, mafia life (criminal/illegal acts)

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

At first, Wooyoung thought you had really ran away from him. After the fight you had the previous night, how could he not ?

"All I ask is a little bit of attention! I know you could spare some for me," you exclaimed, following after Wooyoung into the home office in his mansion. Yes, his, he never once said it was yours too so you treat it as such.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you, "and I ask you shut that big trap you called your mouth before I shut it for you, but we can't all get what we wanted now, can we ?" He spat.

You're used to his aggressive words, it used to hurt but now the pain just comes and goes. But you're at your wit's end, he was distant when you both were first forced into engagement but he was still polite so you thought that was just the shock, but now that you're married, things got worse.

"Wooyoung," you called, leaning both of your hands on his desk aa he sit on his office chair, "it's been 8 months since we got married," he glared at you when you said that, so you sighed and change your choice of words, "since we were force into marriage... But I've been trying so hard to make this less of a chore for both of us, I don't know what else I could do! You're not even bothering to hide the fact that you hate my guts to your very core even though it wasn't my fault that we got into this! Heck, you don't even bother to acknowledge that I exist!"

Wooyoung slammed his hands down on the table, standing face to face with you, "that's right," he chuckled darkly, "I don't even bother, you know why? Because you're nothing in my life, I never ask for you, I never wanted you, you're still here because your dad's business fell through with my dad and he used you as mean of escaping because that's all you are, princess," he leaned closer to your face and spoke through gritted teeth, "a worthless burden that people toss around,"

It would've been a lie if you said that his words doesn't affect you whatsoever. Because it does.

Maybe deep down that was one of your biggest fear and having someone confirmed that made you feel sick to your stomach. You recoiled from the table, as if having been struck across your face.

Though Wooyoung had a satisfied smirk on his face, "you should know I've been planning your assasination ever since you said 'I do', I would've made it look like an accident so that my dad wouldn't be up in my ass talking about losing his insurance of control over your dad, maybe I should move the schedule up so I can get rid of you quicker,"

You stared at him for a while, not knowing that he actually hated you that much. All this time you thought it was just petty reluctance of being tied to you, but this just brought things to a whole new level.

"No..." you choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'll take care of it myself," and with that, you ran out of his office to pack all your belongings with tears streaming down your face.

And that was the last time Wooyoung had seen you. He had heard from one of his butlers that he had seen you running around the house retrieving your things where it supposedly was earlier, you looked frantic and you hadn't even taken a second to take a break.

"And did she got out of the house today?" Wooyoung asked from his position on the couch, loosening all of the buttons on his shirt. "No, master, not that any of us know of," said butler then leaned close to Wooyoung's ears, "the cctv has been cut off, her bodyguards are dismissed, no one has tended to her nor got close to her, and I personally see to it that all windows and doors are unlocked just as you had requested,"

Wooyoung couldn't believe that he's probably a free man now, that YOU had left him so that he wouldn't be in hot water with his father.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand, he decided to look around to see whether or not you had really left while telling his maid to prepare dinner for him.

True to what he expected, he made two laps around the mansion but not once did he find you. Not even in his office with a divorce paper, as dramatic as it sound.

He finally step into his shared bedroom with you to make his final confirmation.

At first he knocked on the door, not really knowing why he did that, but when no sound came from the room he simply opened the door and walked in. He hadn't returned the night before, spending half of his night in his home office before going out with San to a bar, not realizing that it was his guilt that drove him out to drink his memory away.

Looking around the room, he couldn't really tell whether or not you had ran away. The room looked like it had been slept in the night before, he could see the spot where you laid in comparison to his side that's perfectly neat.

When he stepped into the walk-in closet, he was quite surprised at the sheer contrast to the bedroom. Your clothes thrown haphazardly, it seems like you were urgently looking for things to pack, and the more he analyze the items on the floor, the more he realized that you hadn't taken anything that was bought with his money.

But that wasn't the thing that got his attention.

It was your wedding dress that had been taken out of its garment bag, across from it, an empty bottle of wine and a box of tissues with crumpled tissues surrounding it. It looked straight out of a movie.

He walked closer to the dress and trailed a hand down it.

He remembered seeing you wear it on your wedding day. He remembered being too pissed at his father to be able to fully appreciate how ethereal you looked. He remembered how when you looked at him, he could see the redness in your eyes, indicating that you had been crying.

But over all, he remembered how his heart skipped a beat when he saw you walking closer to him. Of course, he would never admit it outwardly.

His train of thought was broken when his butler knocked on his bedroom door, "master, dinner is served," he said.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and straighten out his posture, "yes, of course, I'll be there soon," he called out.

As the footsteps of his butler fade, he carefully zip your wedding dress back into its garment bag, making sure that the dress is stored perfectly.

After that, he went to the dining room to have his dinner.

Usually, you'd be seated in your seat, across from him at the other end of the table that seats 10 people. He'd have to admit that it feels weird not seeing you smile at him after a long day of working, but he forced himself to believe that it was a good kind of weird.

Strangely, as he eat his food he felt that it doesn't match his palate, that something feels off. So he called for his head butler and asked him about it.

"Did we change cooks? Why does today's dinner taste so bland?"

His butler seemed hesitant to answer him, looking at the head maid for a bit. The middle-aged woman stepped forward from her spot, bowing slightly to avoid Wooyoung's eyes, "we did not have any change in staffs, sir, it's just that the mistress used to prepare all of your meals and considering... the circumstances, she had not prepared anything for you," she said, not even bothering to hide her bitterness that he had drove you away.

Considerably, he was shocked that you had never brought the fact up to him. But as usual, he masked his true feelings and just nod at her, continuing with his meal even though he can't seem to enjoy it.

The shock didn't stop there, though.

Over the course of the first 5 days of you leaving him, he began noticing the things that indicate your presence in his house. Or used to indicate your presence.

He never knew that you were the one who always put flowers around the mansion. He noticed this when he passed by a vase of wilting aconite. It almost broke him when he see the maids cleared all flowers, leaving an empty vase that he now associate with your absence.

He never knew that you kept tabs on food he likes and dislikes. After 3 days, he gave up on eating the food his cook made for him, firing the poor man on the spot and resorting to take outs.

He never knew that you were the one who personally arrange his wardrobe. Usually, every morning he'd find his favorite shirts or favorite sets of clothes on the front, ready for him to pick out and wear. Now that you're not here, he had to spend extra time deciding what to wear.

And lastly, he was surprised at the fact that you had never made it to your hometown.

"What do you mean she's not with her parents?" He growled at his henchmen, making them visibly scared. "W-we tried looking for her, even asking around, but no one had seen her," he explained.

All Wooyoung wanted was to hear about how you're happier without him, how you've settled back to your life without him, how he'd be assured with the fact that you leaving him was the best thing that could ever happen to you two.

Feeling that he owed this for the sake of his own closure, he ordered everyone under him to find out your whereabouts.

The desperation suffocated him, he hated the feeling.

So he ran out of his office to his garden, going to the furthest side where it is practically abandoned so that he'd be all alone to calm his mind.

What he hadn't expect to see though, was several pieces of clothes on the ground. At first he just thought that the laundry might have flown away due to the wind, but when he inspected them closer, he recognized them as yours.

"Why would these be here?" He muttered to himself as he began picking up the scattered pieces of clothes one by one. When he picked up the last piece, he noticed your suitcase by the corner of the tall wall that surround his house for protection.

The sight that made his stomach drop was a rather huge hole that could fit a person.

Wooyoung's brain put 2 and 2 together and the only reasonable conclusion made him feel like blowing up.

You had been kidnapped.

[toothlesshat]

I fully sibscribe to the idea of Splinter having an adoption problem. As Lpu Jitsu he'd joke about not having any kids and how he'd be a terrible father, completely serious about mot wanting to have a child, but as Splinter you legit have to jsut look him in the eye and he will adopt your ass. Getting 4 of his own changed his outlook that hard!

That’s character development babey! I do think Lou genuinely never wanted to have kids, especially with the trauma of losing his mom, he just didn’t think he’d be cut out for it. He also thought passing on the burden of the Shredder stories and expectation just wasn’t worth pushing onto a child, so he focused all his attention onto acting and stayed as far away from children as possible.

Suddenly becoming a dad changed him though, and I think it’s how it happened that did it. Instead of accidentally getting someone pregnant (where there’d theoretically be another parent who can take care of them or at the very least an adoption system they can join), he’s presented with three infants he acquired on accident. I think Splinter saw a lot of the turtles in himself both from his childhood as they both found themselves alone and running from what they were meant to become (Sho wanting Yoshi to dedicate his life to their clan / Draxum wanting to turn the turtles into weapons) and post mutation where all five of them are alone, unwanted, helpless and only have each other. Being faced with a situation like this probably completely changed Splinter’s point of view on parenthood, and is ultimately why he stepped up as their dad even if he was clearly not ready for it.

And he carries this into his older age. He clearly has a soft spot for children now, and I imagine it’s because he knows that he can be that person they fall back on if they need it. He knows he can guide them, protect them, and parent them as well as any normal, human parent can (just look at his boys! They had a few bumps in the road, but they’re great kids!). So when he sees April struggling, he doesn’t even wait for her to ask for his help, he’s more than ready to be there for her. When Cassandra is having a crisis about who she is and what she wants, he’s happy to lend her his shoulder, even if she’s been working for the enemy this whole time- he knows she’s just a kid, and she’s confused. He genuinely just wants to be there for all his kids when he can be, and I think he does a damn good job at it <3

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 129: Pangea

cw: mentions homophobic slurs

It was their day off.

Their one day when they didn't have to work and their five year old was at the muggle nursery school. They often cleaned and did laundry on days like these, but they always made a point of spending some quality time together. Harry had realized shortly after they'd adopted Cassie that it really hurt their relationship not to have time they set aside for just the two of them.

Today they were headed to get some ice cream and talking about the slumber party they were going to be hosting in a few days and all of the arrangements that had to be made when Harry's mobile started to ring.

Draco watched curiously as Harry pulled it out of his pocket, "Hello?"

"Yes, hi, is this Mr. Potter Malfoy?" a woman asked.

He glanced at Draco and put the phone on speaker, "Yes, this is Harry."

"Hi," the woman said again, "This is Linda in the school office. We're going to need you to come pick Cassie up."

"What? Why?" Draco asked before Harry could reply. "Is everything alright?"

"Sorry, I have you on speaker so my husband could hear you."

The woman chuckled and Draco looked ready to reach through the screen and strangle her. "Everything's fine. She just had a little disagreement with one of the other students and is pretty upset. The head mistress will have a chat with you when you get here."

"The head mistress!" Draco hissed.

Harry laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Thanks for calling us. We'll be right in." He hung up and braced himself for the inevitable.

(Read more below the cut)

"What happened?" Draco asked immediately.

He rolled his eyes and turned around to walk back to their house so they could drive to school, "You heard what I heard," he said. "I don't know any more than you."

"Yes but you went to Muggle primary school!" he protested, walking quicker. "You should have some idea-"

"I don't."

"Do you think it was accidental magic?" Draco asked.

He shook his head. "That was not the sound of a call about accidental magic."

"Then what do you think she was fight about?"

"Draco, there are a thousand things to fight about. Muggle children are just as unpredictable as wizarding children." He reached over and took Draco's hand, "She's only five, how much trouble could she be in?"

----------

When they arrived Cassie was over talking to a different adult and the headmistress waved them in.

She seemed happy enough so Harry let her be and followed the headmistress in, Draco all but vibrating with nervous energy behind him.

"Mr. and Mr. Potter-Malfoy, thank you for coming."

"Harry and Draco are fine," he said.

"What happened?" Draco asked quickly.

Harry glanced at him, "Sorry. We've just never been called in before. Is Cassie in trouble?"

"This afternoon, Cassie told a story to her classmates about how the continents got separated."

"Gaia," Draco nodded. "It's one of her favorites, she likes to hear about how life thrives no matter what."

Harry took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Right," Headmistress Blake replied, "and that's great. Storytelling improves communication skills and it's great for students to share like that."

"So why are we here?" Draco asked.

"Jacob told her that Gaia wasn't real, that the whole story was made up, and tried to tell her about Pangea."

"Pangea?" Harry asked incredulously. "How old is this kid?"

She chuckled, "His parents are geologists."

"Still!" Harry said, "That's pretty advanced for a five year old." Draco looked completely befuddled as though he had no idea what they were talking about. "But I still don't understand why we're here."

"I'm getting to it," she said. "She tried to tell him that it was just a story that her father told her."

Draco nodded, "Should we not tell her stories like that?" he asked, sounding panicked.

"Not at all," she said, giving him a warm smile in an obvious attempt to diffuse his anxiety. "But Jacob called you a liar and used a bit of derogatory language."

Harry's entire body froze, "Excuse me?" He'd been hoping that she'd be in Hogwarts by the time other kids were old enough to understand the implications of having two dads. It wasn't a big deal in the wizarding world, but it mattered in the muggle world still.

Headmistress Blake nodded, "She told him it wasn't nice to talk about people that way and insisted that Draco wasn't a liar. When Jacob doubled down on the slurs, she punched him."

"Good." Harry covered his mouth, "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, it's just-"

"We have taught our daughter not to hit," Draco insisted, glaring at Harry. And while this was true, they had, it was only because Draco was already teaching her the words for jinxes that would be more effective. She was going to be a terror once she got her wand. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I don't understand what sorts of slurs you're referring to."

The headmistress rubbed her eyebrow uncomfortably, "He called you poofs and said that fags can't be trusted," she said and Draco's jaw dropped, his hand clenching Harry's so hard that Harry was afraid he'd need a healing spell cast when this was over. "Other students overheard and told Miss Murray after the fact."

"We taught her not to hit," he said, "But we've also taught her that it's important to stand up for what is right," Harry said. "It sounds like she tried to use her words first and then when that didn't work she used a different means available to her."

"But the next step should have been talking to her teacher, not punching another child."

Harry nodded, "I can understand why you'd-"

"Excuse me, Harry," his husband interrupted, "But I can't," Draco said bluntly. "And here's why; we are raising our daughter to be strong and independent because Salazar knows that women are not taken seriously in this world. Teaching her now that there is someone to help her when she is being verbally assaulted will not help her when she is grown."

"Mr. Potter-Malfoy, I understand what you're saying but-"

Draco shook his head, "With all due respect, there is no but. If her teacher didn't notice that another child was shouting bigoted slurs at her because she has two fathers then no one was coming to her rescue."

The headmistress squared her shoulders, "Cassie's being suspended for two weeks."

"What?" Draco spat.

"We cannot set a precedent that allows for violence to be the answer."

"And what is Jacob's punishment?" Draco demanded.

She blinked at him, "He's got a broken nose."

"Setting aside that his actions still deserve a punishment from a source of authority so he doesn't continue to grow into a bigoted prick, let's just say for the sake of argument," Draco said, voice sharp as nails, "that she'd gone over and told Miss Murray about what he'd said what would his punishment have been?"

"He would to apologize," she replied.

"What? Just said he was 'sorry'?" he asked incredulously. "That's it?"

She nodded, "Yes. He's only five."

He turned to look at Harry completely outraged, "This whole school can fuck off," Draco said, standing from his chair and pointing at Harry, "I told you this was a bad idea."

Harry winced, he had in fact said this was not a great plan, just not for this reason.

"We'll be taking our daughter home today and she will not be coming back," he said. "And we will be telling this story to anyone who will listen."

"Mr-" she started, looking taken aback, since Draco had always been the polite one of the two of them.

"Oh, don't even start with me," he growled. "I run a very successful design business and while I do not understand how most of the social media works, I have someone who I pay to do it and she and I have been friends for a long time. Get ready to lose any family that you have that has a conscience, you can become the place for all backwards bigots." He started toward the door and Harry stood up.

"We'll sue you for slander," she said.

He looked over at her, completely unimpressed, "It's only slander if it's not true."

"It'll be your word against ours," she replied.

A pale eyebrow rose, "Yes it will. Lucky for me that I've recorded this entire lovely exchange," he said, twirling a pen that the Weasleys sold at the joke shop that did just that. "Feel free to contact our solicitor about anything else."

And with that he swanned out of the office.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, "Maybe you should consider educating your parents and students." Then he followed Draco out.

Draco was already squatting next to Cassie, murmuring softly to her, "yes, well done, my darling," he said pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"He was really mean, papa," she murmured.

His husband nodded, "I know, love."

"Hey, bean," Harry said, ruffling Cassie's curls and bending over to kiss her temple. "Let's get out of here, yeah? Do you have all of your things?"

She held up her unicorn backpack and nodded.

Harry helped her get her backpack on and then they set off, each of them holding one of her hands.

Cassie chattered away about the rest of her day, not even mentioning her run in with Jacob again.

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

After they put Cassie to bed they came back downstairs and Harry collapsed onto Draco on the sofa, resting his head in his lap.

"Pansy says that story is spreading like wildfire."

"Really?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

"S'kinda sexy," he said.

Draco laughed, "Sorry?"

He shrugged a shoulder, "You getting all livid and protective. It was sexy."

His husband's fingers combed through his fringe, "I'll always fight for you, for her, and for us," he promised.

"I know," he replied. "You're a good man Draco Potter Malfoy."

"It's only going to get harder," Draco said.

"Maybe, but we'll look for a more inclusive nursery school-"

Draco shook his head, "I mean when she heads to Hogwarts."

"I don't think so. People don't care about a man marrying another man," he said.

"But they care about the savior marrying a death eater and then disappearing for almost a decade and a half." He sighed, "I just wanted her to start somewhere where my sins wouldn't burden her and here we ar-"

"Hey," Harry said, sitting up and stopping the words coming out of his mouth. "You are not a burden to her and our marriage isn't a sin that could ever burden her-"

"I didn't mean to imply that you-"

"Listen to me," Harry interrupted. "Draco, you are a good dad," he said as he cupped his cheeks in his palms. "You are a good husband and you are a good person. We are both lucky to have you."

"Harry," he murmured, eyes downcast.

"You are," he promised. "I love you and Cassie loves you. and we are so blessed to have you."

"I love you too," he said, "But this isn't the last bully-"

"I know," Harry assured. "And we'll always be here for her, yeah?

Draco took a deep breath before nodding. "Yes. You're right."

"Ooh," Harry replied, crawling over him and straddling his hips. "I love it when I get to be right."

His husband rolled his eyes, "Just kiss me already."

And of course Harry obliged him.

Life wasn't always easy or perfect but they always had each other and Cassie always had two dads who would go to the end of the earth for her.

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

Day 128: Snake | Day 130: Forfeit

[dreaminginvelaris]

A Response to a Feyre Anti

I made a post recently explaining the dread of having to watch Feyre be abused by her sisters and father, in the Tv adaption. And a Feyre anti made a response, to something that should not be criticized at all considering what I said was just the truth? Feyre was abused. Not only that but they went on and completely twisted the narrative to fit their own ideas and in the process made Feyre out to be cruel and Nesta a saint. complete bull.

I will not be tagging the anti bc they have me blocked (shocker), but also I do not want anyone to go after them, if you come across the post, I don't want it to be through me. it's as much respect I can give to them.

I usually do not respond to those who have something to say with a post of mine or are blatantly talking about me on their blog, unless they're just spreading absolute lies about me or what i "said", it's usually a waste of time to do so. but this post attacked Feyre with outrageous lies and a complete backward interpretation of what actually happened in acotar, so as respectful as I can be, I will be analyzing the anti-response and what truly happened in acotar.

"the audience will only see two sisters fighting-not abuse" "it’s not Nesta you need to worry about. It’s audiences calling Feyre a big dumbass and a bitch" -from anti

if the audience has basic human compassion and empathy for humans IRL or fictional, they will see what's obvious from the start. Feyres abuse. how is it going to look, when they see Feyre walking through the woods, shaking from the cold, starving from hunger, and struggling to find food for her family? only to later see Nesta's treatment of Feyre?"

in the anti's post, they said Feyre was just as "heinous" to Nesta.

is Feyre the one calling Nesta a pig? a smelly pig? ordering her to take her clothes off?

no, it's not, it's dear Nesta. the text goes as "I took my time, swallowing the words I wanted to bark at her" oh yes... how cruel of Feyre. how heinous of Feyre to...stay quiet... at the verbal abuse.

in the same image we see Feyre ask Nesta to do something (kindly might I add) and then inquire why she didn't chop wood like she needs to.

what does Nesta do? acts like a brat and insults Feyre...once again.

considering I'm going off by the story and not the actual screenplay, and assuming they stay true to the story; will the audience not be disgusted by Nesta's behavior? I mean they just saw Feyre struggle to find food and they expect Feyre to go home to a family happy and appreciative of Feyre but instead, they get this familial abuse.

the anti said Feyre basically tells Nesta this:

"If you keep bitching at everyone like this no one will want to be around you or you can’t marry this guy because you’re a waste of space to me"

but what do we see?

"Believe me... the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over. But you're not going to marry Tomas."

the word worthy, did that not catch your eye? Feyre said Nesta will have to marry someone worthy, someone, who will treat Nesta kindly and give her the life Feyre thinks her sisters deserve. bc Feyre does think that IDK why anti feyres think Feyre despised Nesta so much, Feyre loved her sisters.

what the anti fails to realize here is that Nesta marrying Tomas would have been actually pretty great for Feyre. in the sense that, Feyre would no longer carry the burden of her sister. Feyre would not have to worry about feeding one more mouth. or worrying about Nesta's constant stealing of Feyre's money. Feyre does not think Nesta is a "waste of space" to her, if she did, it would have been easy for Feyre to discard Nesta, and allow her to marry Tomas. the anti has that twisted.

but that is not even the worst part of the scene. did you see the shameless slut-shaming that came out of Nesta's mouth? how will the audience take to that? do you think most of the younger generation will take it lightly to see a sister slut-shame a sister? a woman putting down another woman? in this social climate? where the feminism movement is alive and flourishing. will they be okay with it? will they still blame Feyre and be mad at her the way the anti says they will be? I hope not otherwise I'm losing faith in humanity.

Lovely words Nesta spews at Feyre. I admit Feyre should have told her then and there that Tomas is abusive. but let's think: Feyre is 19 years old, the youngest, has never had any raising by a parental figure, has been neglected by her whole family, where would Feyre learn to calmly talk to an overgrown brat like Nesta? Feyre telling Nesta who Tomas truly is the duty of a parent, not a sister. I will not condemn Feyre for not knowing that was the perfect time to tell Nesta who Tomas is. especially when Feyre is being tormented and verbally/emotionally abused, its kinda hard to think about something else while you're being told all these horrible words. to us its easy to see where Feyre went wrong but unless you're in the exact position Feyre was in. no one has any room to talk. and even then, every person is different in situations like these.

this part was me analyzing the interactions between Feyre and Nesta since anti had reasons to believe Feyre was just as bad to Nesta and that the audience would see that and hate Feyre. I am now going to respond to the second part of the Feyre Anti's response.

"How will an audience of non-fans react to her not reaching out to her family to tell them she was okay after the reconciliation between her and Nesta? Or not inviting them to the wedding?"- from anti

moving onto acomaf now.

Idk maybe the audience will see Feyre, a depressed, lonely, individual in an abusive relationship while being manipulated by other individuals she called friends, and understand and empathize with her. all throughout the beginning and half of acomaf, Feyre is in critical depression. she wholeheartedly believes she should not be alive. that she is not worthy. she doesn't eat, all she does is sleep, self-care is not important to her or others so why would letting a family know she's okay, a family who BARELY ever cared about her, be a priority? it doesn't seem like Nesta or elain or her father was really fazed by Feyre's lack of communication. her father left on a trip, elain got engaged and Nesta, well we didn't see a tearful welcoming to Feyre on Nesta's part did we?

anti, where is the outcry of her "family" not even really caring if Feyre was safe or not, of what happened to her? it's not like they thought she had died, otherwise, where was the mourning or funeral? no, they just didn't care.

see this is where I know when anti is just full of bullshit. why, WHY, would Feyre invite her family to wedding full of fae? the creatures elain and Nesta fear and hate? for all the talk many anti's spew about Feyre being inconsiderate to Nesta, to her family, you would think Feyre maybe just knows a fae wedding would be the last thing they would want? even then, does Feyre owe them an invitation to her wedding? does she owe them an update on her life? nope. Feyre owed them nothing.

"How about her shit-talking Nesta to a bunch of strangers then having the audacity to ask her to get involved in a war. Oh! This is after she comes into her house and insults their hospitality." - from anti

I hardly think Feyre confiding in individuals who she learned to care about and laying out all the trauma Feyre endured with her family is "shit-talking" but for argument's sake, let's say it is. I still don't see what's wrong? after years of pent-up anger and hurt, would you not let go of everything you withheld inside and explain what was done to you? how you felt? Feyre telling the IC her life story, which contains Nesta's abuse and her family's neglect, was a form of therapy for Feyre. I never read a line where Feyre calls Nesta a "cold-hearted bitch" or called elain "a lazy ditz" she just said the truth. no added embellishments. Cassian was the one who shit-talked Nesta during the dinner scene, never Feyre.

I still don't understand why antis are so against Feyre asking her sisters for help? like the war didn't involve them? they're humans, and you know what the war was about? Hybern wanting to take control of the human lands like they once did and turn them into slaves. those humans included Nesta and elain.

"They could have left the continent" correct, except elain was engaged and refused to leave Grayson. which meant Nesta refused to leave elain. but even so, isn't it the duty of humans to band together and work to overthrow a race of people who want to torture and keep them as slaves? the queens certainly weren't doing their jobs. Feyre asked to use "their" house to meet the queens bc where else would they do it? the queens trust the fae less than Nesta or elain did. but even so, Feyre asking to use their house was a courtesy, that house is rightfully Feyre's. she is the one who sacrificed herself to leave with Tamlin. she did it bravely, courageously, and they got that house thanks to her. they owed Feyre everything. and the only one who acknowledged that was Elain.

that war involved elain and Nesta whether they or Feyre or the anti's liked it or not. not even considering that Nesta and elain are Feyre Archerons sisters, yeah, their family name alone puts a target on their back.

How did Feyre or the court insult Elain's and Nesta's hospitality? You mean when Feyre realized human food differed from fae food? something she did not know about bc she's barely been turned to fae and only had eaten fae dishes? Feyre's grimace towards the human food was an involuntary reaction to someone who is still learning their new body. or was it when Cassian called out Nesta for her cold treatment towards Feyre? if that's the case then fuck decency, I would call out a fake bitch in my presence from minute one. you cant call what Nesta did "hospitality" when all she did was insult Feyre when she didn't even care that Feyre had died, or lost her love bc of abuse, or that her body was changed against her will.

hospitality: the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.

did y'all read something different bc this for sure was nothing Nesta gave to her guests?

----

the rest of the anti post moves towards Rhysand and his actions UTM which I won't go into because I'm mainly just addressing the false interpretations this anti had to say about Feyre and her family.

I'm not sure how to sign off now lol, but I guess just that I hope this was enough to show how this anti's arguments were completely ludicrous and have absolutely no compassion for Feyre, and instead all the compassion for Feyre's abusers. This anti had a real spin on what the actual story was, and I hope the evidence I provided was enough to show that. Anyways yeah my brain is fried, and I'm done arguing with Feyre anti's for a while now, I need to go praise my queen Feyre so I can receive some semblance of peace.

anyways, stan Feyre for clear skin xx

[victoriocus]

❝                            in any case, the blood is always on your hands. in any case, the blood is                                                               always your own.               ❞

{ cis-woman, she/her } huh, who’s KRISTINE FROSETH ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually VICTOIRE WEASLEY. she is a 29 year old PART VEELA witch who is a CURSE BREAKER. she is a RAVENCLAW alum and the child of FLEUR DELACOUR and BILL WEASLEY. she is known for being RETICENT, MEDDLESOME, RESENTFUL, INSINCERE, and OVERCRITICAL but also DUTIFUL, METICULOUS, ADAPTABLE, RESILIENT, and LOYAL, so that must be why she always reminds me of the song CAN I CALL YOU TONIGHT BY DAYGLOW and CHERRY LIPS & RED FLUSHED CHEEKS; BECOMING THE IDEAL BUT LOSING YOURSELF IN THE PROCESS; THE SOUND OF PENCILS ON PAPER; PERFUME CLINGING TO SILK SHEETS; A NEVER ENDING MEMORY PLAYED ON A LOOP; TRYING YOUR HARDEST ONLY TO FAIL AND IDYLLIC DREAMS CRUSHED LIKE ROSE PETALS . i hear she is aligned with the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on her.

𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

i. victoire ( from latin “victoria” = victory ) : her name echoes hope, wrapped in her parents’ simple ( and maybe naive ) wish that their child will overcome every hardship in life.

ii. and it seemed like their wish had come true. or at least their daughter is smart ( deceptive enough ) to keep that illusion. things just came so easy to her, always ahead of her peers, always a smile on her face, as long as if she wasn’t a burden, she’d always be happy. 

iii. she was gifted until she wasn’t anymore. her knowledge simply deriving from an inquisitive nature barely made her stand out anymore. the carefree girl from merely a year ago became quieter, her head always buried in books, as if her worth depended on having read every single one of them. and yet always trying to remain the same, a never-ending smile hanging on the corners of her lips,  seemingly unbothered by a crippling façade.

iv. and yet she somehow made it through. believing that she can finally breathe, that everything would become easier.

v. when she told her father about her wish to become a cursebreaker, his proud smile didn’t feel like a burden. after all, she had worked for it her whole life, never allowing a mistake to ruin it for her.

vi. but a story with words running so smoothly, barely made a compelling story. it’d only take a chapter, ( a mistake ) told within a few pages that would twist a story which was supposed to have a happy ending. 

vii. it was a scene captured in seconds but felt like an eternity. before her partner’s voice could even reach victoire, her body already fell to the ground, way too quietly for the terror she’d experienced. way too quickly for a mistake which only had taken her a second to make. she had been careless with a cursed object. she had believed in her abilities or perhaps she’d just become reckless and it cost her partner’s life.

 since when something had changed in her again, as if she’d returned to her younger self, not knowing if she can ever return again. 

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

victoire is more of the booksmart type rather than streetsmart. despite, her knowledge she’d tried to remember by heart she lacks practice.

she cares deeply for her family, especially her siblings. despite her known spotless reputation, rumors say that she did casted a spell on a gryffindor who dared to talk shit about her family. of course she denied it.

the main reason she was sorted into ravenclaw, was her creativity. she’d always had a keen interest in art ( a skill she could barely develop as she was occupied with studying ), though she used to be talented at it when she was a child, as for now she’s barely above average at it. surprisingly, she hasn’t abandoned that hobby which is odd considering she tends to give up easily on things she isn’t immediately good at it. 

she is the type of friend that will always mix up certain sayings/proverbs and not get them at all and take things literally. 

although she does support the order, she’s backtracked a little as the accident has affected her deeply. she is doubting if she can be any help, considering that a mistake could happen to a similar outcome. 

tba.

[melohax]

I’ve seen some people who finished Omori talking about how they don’t understand the game’s plot, what happens in the good ending or why the protagonist even decided to change his ways. So then, here’s my thoughts on Omori’s story.

Warning: SPOILERS AHOY. Only read this if you’ve already finished the game and seen the good or true ending. Or if you don’t plan on playing the game at all but still want to know the whole story.

I’ve seen some people around the internet talk about how Sunny’s character isn’t clear to them or how they feel Sunny doesn’t deserve a good ending. Here’s some thoughts I have on why I think Sunny’s growth was well depicted.

There’s two main routes you can go through in the game: the “Reality” route and the “Hikikomori” route.

In the “Hikikomori” route, Sunny stays in Headspace forever and we get to learn many additional details about him. Sunny’s parents are implied to have known what Sunny did to Mari all along. It’s also implied that Sunny’s mother covered the whole thing up and chose to present it as a suicide as well cus, in her own words, she can’t bear the thought of losing both of her kids.

Sunny’s mother insinuates her son isn’t a “good boy” even though she begs him to be good but she still sees him as her little boy (as seen by the overly-sweet and positive messages she leaves around the house and her voice mails) and needs him alive so she can survive her own grief. Sunny’s father is shown cutting down the hanging tree and telling Sunny he isn’t his son, presumably disowning Sunny. The father keeps being absent forever afterwards.

Fast forward to the present and the “Reality” route, Sunny’s moving in 3 days. He knows his time is up in the real world and the biggest catalyst for his personal growth is that he’s finally seeing his old friends in the REAL world after 4 years of only seeing their loving, idealized child version in dreams. For the first time, he gets to witness the collateral consequences of what he did to Mari in his now teenaged friends: Aubrey spirals into delinquency after feeling like she was thrown aside by everyone she loved. Hero is guilt ridden, can’t even go near Mari’s grave and gives up on his dreams of being a chef. Kel wants to make things better but feels powerless, useless and like a screwup. Basil lives in a miserable state of almost constant fear and psychosis.

Sunny finally gets to see the huge toll his lie took on his friends’ entire lives as they keep blaming themselves for not knowing about Mari’s supposed suicidal ideations. He’s finally forced to face reality and he still tries to hide in dreamworld but he can’t. The inhabitants of Headspace are all people or fictional characters he knows or likes in real life (that he changed in his dreams, like how Kim’s brother is a sweet gentle giant and Sweetheart looks just like the candy shop owner at the supermarket) and their quests end up leading him to events where he’s reminded over and over again his dreams will end soon (the end of the underwater highway, the tree near the whale, the shadows of Mari and Basil) and that he needs to delve into Blackspace.

This shows how his own subconscious mind knows well what needs to be done; he’s putting the mental and emotional effort of making himself face what he’s done, shown through the contrast between the whimsical nature of Headspace and the dark surrealism of Blackspace.

As this happens in Sunny’s psyche, in the real world he can try to “atone” a bit by doing good things for his little community like completing requests people around him have. He still has a lot of trouble being near Basil in the real world but considering his entire subconscious mainly revolves around finding and rescuing Basil, he wants and needs to face Basil sincerely before he runs out of time.

We’re shown through memories that Sunny’s personality was always quiet, wary, a bit distant and very bad at dealing with pressure. Some people even describe him as cowardly or mediocre but he was just a small kid who’s entire world ended when he was 12. Since then, he never left his house, spending most of his days asleep rather than awake. It’s no wonder his personality isn’t as developed as his friends. His friends, although they were also in immense pain, at least still continued to live beyond Mari’s death. Sunny didn’t. He only lived through sleep.

Subconsciously, it’s shown Sunny both loves and hates Basil. This is seen in Blackspace with the dialogue he has with the “strangers” walking in the void. They talk about how Sunny (as Omori) does horrible things to Basil in the darkness of Blackspace because he struggles with facing the truth of his own actions. It’s also revealed through datamine of Blackspace’s metaphorical photo album that Basil, in his attempts to save Sunny from the judgement of others and to get him to come out of catatonia, was the one who come up with the plan to hang Mari.

Sunny describes Mari as looking as if calmly asleep when he drags her up the stairs. Her eyes remained peacefully closed until Sunny and Basil hung her. Then, Sunny turned back to look at Mari’s corpse, her previously closed eyes were wide open. She might have even been still alive, might have opened her eyes during or after the noose was tied to her neck. Or the belief he saw her eyes open could have been a manifestation of Sunny’s guilt, instead.

Either way, the horrifying possibilities surrounding Mari’s death lead to Sunny handling his emotional pain by subconsciously taking it out on Basil. It’s why Basil in Blackspace is shown constantly suffering and dying in many different ways. It’s the only way Sunny has been able to deal with himself; by forcing Basil into the darkest corners of his mind, his perfect colorful dreamworld can’t be ruined by the ugly reality Basil’s mere presence represents. It’s less painful to try to forget Basil and to forever blame him for both of their sins.

Still, even with all these conflicted feelings, Sunny’s tried to come to terms with love he still feels for Basil many times before. The shadows point out how this isn’t the first time he’s tried to save the Flower Boy; how all the previous times before ended in Sunny failing to find redemption and so his mind turns back to torturing the Basil of his dreams instead.

However, one of the Blackspace shadows also mentions a very important detail that changes almost everything this time around: his time is almost up in the real world. Whether this means he’ll commit suicide or move away, it’s almost time for him to leave the friends he’s always loved so much behind.

Sunny is forced to do a lot of internal work and self-reflection in what little time he has left. It’s shown through his dream actions, the surreal imagery surrounding him and the characters with all the sub plots his subconscious makes up.

In the route to the good ending, he traverses Blackspace and manages to listen to every harsh truth Basil’s shadow has to tell him. His attempts to save Basil mean he’s fighting his own mind, forcing himself to accept the truth.

To achieve redemption for his greatest mistake, Sunny needs to start with accepting Basil entirely; he has to stop making Basil take the brunt of their combined regrets. It means being willing to finally face the REAL Basil instead of permanently burying him in the most painful place within Sunny’s mind.

So basically, it’s obvious to me that Sunny is forced out of his “comfortable” hikikomori misery the moment he opens the door to meet the REAL Kel.

Sunny and Basil have a confrontation in the real world. When Sunny entera Basil’s room, we see poor Basil suicidal and at his limit. He’s clearly in the throes of a psychotic episode and at the mercy of hallucinations and delusions he can’t escape from (“There’s no way out of this is there, Sunny?”). Basil attacks you in an attempt to save you by killing the “thing behind you” but as we know, there isn’t actually something behind you.

There was never any monster to take the blame for Basil’s regrets, nor yours. It’s always been just you.

Meanwhile, Sunny is trying his best not to completely lose his shit so he can save Basil and stop him from potentially killing the both of them. Sunny likely loses an eye in the fight, shown by the blood coming from your socket and the bandage over it in the hospital.

Incidentally, the eye you lose is on the same side as the eye that can be seen peeking through the hair of Mari’s face as she’s hanging from the tree.

In the good ending, the song at the end talks about how even after confessing the truth, Sunny is alone once again, so it’s not actually clear if Aubrey, Kel and Hero actually forgave him. I feel like this is deliberately left up to interpretation by the writers. The lyrics then continue on to say Sunny still finds it hard to wake up, still finds himself plagued some days with lingering regret, but that he still tries to take it all one step at a time to carry on living.

With the song’s lyrics in mind, the end scene that shows Basil and Sunny smiling at each other while Mari’s shadow leaves them doesn’t mean they’re completely fine all of a sudden. Whether their friends forgave them or not, they at least finally have the relief of honesty. The burden of their unbearable shared secret is now off their shoulders. It’s finally out in the open, which means they both can now start healing and working to find the redemption Sunny was looking for in Blackspace. It also means they can go back to loving each other again without the crushing pain they both felt in each other’s presence.

I agree that Aubrey and the gang get pretty left out in the good ending, though. I wish there was more of them and their reactions to the truth BUT I think it’s sadly a deliberate choice by the writers to leave their reaction up to the player’s interpretation. This can feel extremely unfulfilling to many people (me included, I hate when authors do that tbh) but also to many others that’s a good thing cus they get to apply their own personal meaning and feelings.

I personally feel like the friends forgiving Sunny and Basil right off the bat would be incredibly unrealistic. I think they would need a lot of time (especially Aubrey) for them to forgive the lie that wrecked their lives for years. Forgiveness isn’t impossible but it would probably come in the form of a slow, difficult, heartbreaking process. Bittersweet.

Redemption isn’t just about forgiveness, anyway.

Even if a person is never forgiven by the people they’ve hurt, they can still find redemption for their actions through doing good for the people around them and the world at large. An example of this is shown through what Sunny can do on his last days in his neighborhood. The gratitude and additional flowers he receives in the hospital from each person he’s helped are proof he can still do good for others even after something as horrible and unforgivable as accidental murder. In a way, it’s proof that his life is still worth living.

But ultimately that’s just my own interpretation of the ending and I understand other people would interpret it all differently. Some see forgiveness as a given in the story while there’s also others who think Sunny doesn’t deserve forgiveness or those who think Sunny is a sociopath/psychopath or that Basil is the true villain of the game. I think this is why the ending was left so open, to favor all the different interpretations people have of it.

ETA: Here’s a different take on Sunny’s parents. This post argues that, despite the initial implications, they actually didn’t know about the attempted coverup. It’s a really good writeup explaining the whys and hows and has me reconsidering that part of the story!

https://www.reddit.com/r/OMORI/comments/kr9nvx/major_spoilers_regarding_sunny_his_parents_and/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf