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imagineimpact · 3 years ago

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Hii! Can I request a scenario of Scaramouche or Xiao comforting their s/o after their cat passed away suddenly? Reader is depressed and lost because the cat was like a best friend to them. Since this is a heavy and angsty topic I completely understand if you don't want to do it! Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it! T--T

Of course you can! I don't know if this is an actual thing that happened to you or if it's just an idea in your head, but either way I hope you're doing well. I chose Scaramouche because I'm still working on writing Xiao correctly.

Obvious, but TW for pet death.

It's Not Your Fault

Scaramouche x Reader

Scaramouche had been pushing through a long, overdrawn day full of the absolute most tedious work that the Tsaritza could have ever possibly pushed on him. Work, seemingly endless, which he had just pushed through with more than a dose of belligerence to just get it all done. By the archons, there was nothing more that he wanted to go that to go back home for the night, but of course it had to be this particular day that he was working late.

So, when at last he finally stepped foot onto the premises you share with him, it wasn't unusual for your pet cat to be circling his feet as she usually would be doing when he arrived home. He considered the idea that she might be out hunting possible, or been sleeping for once. He smiled to himself at the thought of seeing you curled up next to her, a rare yet pleasant sight for him to witness. He had never admitted it to himself, nor to you, but he was glad to have something else to make you happy when he was gone - Company to put you at ease if anything had ever happened to him.

Instead though, he had stepped into the home and heard the sound of quiet sobbing. Your sobbing.

Anything he had been holding instantly went to the floor, his hat placed aside with only the slightest care in his rush to reach you.

You were sitting on the floor, your crying sounding much louder and more hysterical now that he was closer. The sight in front of you was a graphic one, one of an unspeakable state. Your cat, which you had so lovingly adored.

Scaramouche calls out your name softly. You're unreceptive to the sound, so he finds himself walking over you you and gently touching your arm as to avoid startling you. He can't tell whether you do startle, or if you're just shaking that much. Calling you name again with a similar lack of response, he sighs to himself and gently covers your eyes and pulls you into his chest - anything to get your eyes off of your beloved animal. How long had you been there, crying your eyes out? How long had he not been there for you? It was hard to tell, but the uncommon and unwelcome feeling of guilt shrouded over him.

He silently guides you away from the cat. At first you're resistant, but eventually you give in and let him take you away from the sight, allowing his arms to wrap around you and pull you out of the room. His heart beats at the nerves of needing to comfort you - something that's not particularly a strength of his. He's not sure how to help - He's never seen you in such a state of distraught. He's not sure if he can.

But he tries. Oh, how he pleads to try. He leads you over to the living room, the closest soft surface that he can.

You cry. You cry into his shoulder, clinging onto the clothes that he feels are too dirty for you to ever be in contact with, let alone now. He's killed people in those clothes today. It doesn't feel right to him, but he lets you anyway, because he knows it's the right thing to do.

It takes you a while to speak, the time between just spent with him holding you, running millions of thoughts through his head as he tries to muster any kind of comfort that he can - rubbing you back, holding you tight, letting you just cry. Your sobbing creates a breathlessness to your speech. "I-I couldn't... I couldn't save her." Your words, muffled by tears, break his heart. Only can you bring out this unusual sympathy that makes him want to be the one crying, not you. "She... She..."

"Shh, it's alright." He lets you pull away slightly as he wipes your tears. "It's not your fault."

"I couldn't save her." You repeat.

"That's not your fault." He repeats, then guides you back toward him, letting you wrap your arms around his neck and cry into the dirty fabric once more as he holds you close.

Sure, he was tired, but he was never too tired for you, especially when you needed him so much.

As he holds you, silence overtaking you both once more, he allows memories of you and your dear pet to flood his mind once - How much you had loved that cat, and how much he, well, had thought of himself as tolerating it.

He had never specifically said that he hated the cat - Just, at times, he simply coexisted alongside her for your happiness. He wasn't nearly as distraught about it as you, because, simply put, he hadn't been as close to her as you had. He let a strangely sentimental thought wander into his mind, then tried to push it back.

But it wouldn't go away, and... what was this? Your voice echoes his thoughts. "I'm going to miss her."

A tear leaks from his eye.

He holds you tighter as he blinks away any remaining ones that might be forming, and lets his quiet voice overtake the room. "I am too." You straighten up slightly, still in his arms, and hold him tighter. Any other thought he has dissipate as he is suddenly hyperaware of your calming presence in his arms.

Scaramouche knows that he will need to clean up the cat when he's alone - that he'll be locked in a chamber of his thoughts as he tries desperately to think of ways to comfort you over the upcoming time - That he will let you choose where to bury your beloved cat, perhaps under a tree or in a nice pot with a beautiful plant to sprout in place as a lovely memorial to her. He knows that it's going to be the only body he has had to clean up today that he will care about, and that he will need to make sure you're asleep when he's cleaning. He knows that, of course, he'll be up two more hours than you are tonight trying to do so. And of course, after all that is done, he knows that he's not going to be able to give you the comfort you deserve - if his work wasn't an obstacle enough, his own lack of ability to care for you adequately would be.

But right now, as your sobs settle, he has to focus on you.

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black--constellations · 2 years ago

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interact-if · 4 years ago

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Day 9, 1/2 of the A/PI Heritage Month featured authors interview! Please welcome to the stage... Bubs!

Bubs, author of To The Whistling Winds

A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author

You’re a pretty normal young adult living in the 21st century: you have exceeding amounts of student loan debt, a housemate, and a job that pays just above minimum wage. You didn’t exactly dream of being a tour guide for the historical Chester Theme Park, but you’ve grown used to your every day life.

You thought you knew the park better than anyone, but as the friendly surface begins to crack and unexplainable events begin happening, you’ll need help dealing with the vengeful Fae, who seem to have a bone to pick with you in particular. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—there seem to be a Covey of fae seekers that might be inclined to help you…

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT)

Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?

Hi! My interactive fiction game is called “To the Whistling Winds,” and it’s a magical realism mystery set in modern day. The player plays as a tour guide at a Southern Californian theme park, where strange events have begun occurring.The plot and lore of the story draws from folktales about the Fae, as well as the general air of conspiracy and mystery revolving around liminal spaces such as theme parks.

Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?

I’m really proud of my cast of characters and the stories they each have. Each of the non-playable characters that the player can choose to bond with have their own dynamics and inner turmoil unrelated to the player, and I really am excited to explore them. Furthermore, there are some twists and more dramatic scenes I’m excited to write,especially considering that the earlier chapters thus far have been pretty slice-of-life.

Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?

Theme parks and spaces designed specifically for amusement, especially certain ones that have been around for a while and have established their own brands, really have their own modern folk stories told about them. There’s a common thread between the kinds of stories told about theme parks that were once told about space such as open fields or mysterious meadows, and I really wanted to explore it!The idea of nostalgia and a “perfect memory” is also really interesting to me. So much of the appeal of theme parks has to do with reliving the past or recapturing a certain feeling, and Fae folktales often feature listless protagonists who are aspiring after exactly that.

Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

I think being Asian-American has definitely influenced my story, from the player character to the general setting. For example, character customization is really important to me, and I’m careful that the MC doesn’t have a set ethnicity. It’s not uncommon for IF games to have a racially-neutral MC, but then go back and say something about their parents having blue eyes, or them having specifically celebrated something like Easter, so I try to be mindful about that. I also have a lot of fun writing my cast, many of whom come from different backgrounds! There are two romanceable characters that are Asian: Clémence Choi (who’s Korean with French nationality), and Alejandro Flores, who’s Filipino. Additionally, the player character’s roommate, Julia Reddiar, is Indian-American.

Being Asian is a pivotal part of Clémence and Alejandro’s respective backstories - they more than their ethnicities of course, but that doesn't mean it doesn’t have an impact on their life. Alejandro’s an aspiring actor, and part of the reason he struggles to find work is because roles for white actors are just easier to come by. Clémence has spent a lot of her life wanting to fit into just one box - Korean or French. I was also mindful of a lot of stereotypes relating to Asian romantic interests while writing their romantic routes: such as how Asian women are often exoticized and hypersexualized, while Asian men are desexualized and brushed off as unattractive. That's not to say that either of the characters are me, or that I only relate to the Asian characters! I actually think the character I most relate to is Bridget Sweeney, who’s white Irish,but is very creative and restless in a way I can really identify with.

Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing,with the if community...

The community has been really great! I think I’ve been relatively lucky in my interactions with my fellow authors and players: most people I've met have been really nice and helpful. Talking to them always motivates and inspires me. Some real life events have gotten in the way of more steady writing, but I’m hoping to update the public demo again soon!

Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?

Honestly, something I’m debating is just moving TTWW from ChoiceScript to Twine, but that’s mostly hypothetical right now. I’m not the kind of person who multi-tasks well, so I wouldn’t start another interactive fiction until TTWW is done, but I’d love to write a classic murder mystery on a train.

Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?

Nothing’s helped me more than the website MyNoise (not sponsored, LOL). I love listening to different soundscapes to get me into the mind of my character, whether it be a mysterious forest or a busy tourist destination. It really helps!

#if: events #Happy Asian and Pacific Islander month!!#Asian/pacific islander month 2021 #a/pi month #a/pi month 2021 #aapiheritagemonth #aapi month #interactive fiction #authors of color

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gaysimpsstuff · 4 years ago

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Flightless Birds Chapter Two: Courtship Of Care

Chapter One Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four Here

Chapter Five Here

Summary: After Y/n’s encounter with Hawks, things in their life start to change. They have a creeping feeling that someone is watching them, and they get mysterious gifts and letters.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Stalking, toxic behavior, mention of suicide, mentions of clowns, multiple fourth wall breaks, hospitals, mentions of blood, violence, mentions of surgeries

Other: Sukaibado park is not a real place, however, Nishi Ward in Fukuoka is a real place. This was meant to be longer but I hit the word limit, so it’ll get pushed to the next chapter! Sorry! If you have any critics or questions don’t hesitate to let me know! I want this to be the best it possibly can be for your entertainment!!

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin @assassinslittlesister (lemme know if you want to join or leave the taglist)

“Well, she’s clearly a bitch.”

You laughed at Izanagi’s reaction to the woman that yelled at you. You were in the back of his car, as sometimes your wings would get in the way of Izanagi’s driving, so it was just easier to sit like this.

“I mean- you’re not wrong.” You chuckled. “I’m just glad Hawks managed to get rid of her!”

“What’s he like?” Izanagi asked. “Hawks, is he as awesome in person?”

“You’re a simp.” You teased, laughing as he spluttered to defend himself. “I guess he’s pretty chill. He’s a lot taller than I thought he’d be, though.”

You’d chosen not to tell your friend about the creepy vibes you’d gotten from the hero, it was probably nothing anyway. He was a bird, like you, so he was probably just curious about you also being a bird. Even though you were a Parakeet and he was theorized to be a Red-Tailed Hawk. Animal quirks were uncommon, and among the animal quirks, you mostly saw dogs and cats, even goats were more common than birds. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a good idea to tell your best friend his celebrity crush was a creep.

“How much taller?” he asked

“I don’t know… maybe about four- no, five inches taller than me.”

“Damn- and with me being shorter than you by two inches that’s- fuck he’s a lot taller than me.” he murmured.

“Like I said before. You’re a simp.”

“Shut uppp!” he whined.

The rest of your day was peaceful (if anything including Izanagi could be considered ‘peaceful’), and you were grateful you only lived a block away from Izanagi, it made it a lot easier to get home. Thinking back, maybe you should have taken a moment or two to stop. Stop and look around, maybe then you would have seen the flash of red against the darkening sky, or felt his eyes bearing into your back. Maybe then you could have stopped everything, but it was too late now.

Sleeping wasn’t always comfortable. Beds that were shaped and built like actual bird’s nests were too expensive for you to afford with your salary, plus it was just way too big to fit in your tiny studio. Which meant you had to deal with the tiny bed and all the different ways your body could hurt in the morning.

You sat up, groaning and patting around your bed to find your phone, finally locating it on your nightstand. You grabbed it, turned it on, and scanned your lock screen, taking in your notifications. Thank fuck it was Saturday, and you didn’t have to go to work. Thank fuck again that your days off were on the weekends. Thank fuck a third time that Izanagi invited you to go to the park with him and your other friend, Kouten Yuu. Thank fuck a fourth and final time the messages were fresh and not sent an hour ago, which gave you plenty of time to get ready.

“Welp,” you muttered. “Time to get up and fuck the day.” you forced yourself into a sitting position, stumbling out of bed and almost immediately flopping back onto the mattress again. Maybe today wouldn’t be the easiest day to fuck. You sighed, pushing yourself up again and stretching. Your wings had been crushed by your body’s natural sleeping position, so being able to spread them wide in the mornings helped with preventing stiff wing muscles. That meant less cramps! Yay!

“Sukaibado park, huh? Guess Kouten and Izanagi are hoping to get me in the sky today.” Sukaibado park was a popular park in Nishi Ward, Fukuoka, that had laws protecting people with flying quirks, allowing them to take to the say in the surrounding area. It certainly helped that the park was located near the beach.

You stood up, grabbing some clean clothes off the ground from your drawer and putting them on. You glanced out the window as you dressed. You let out a sigh, grateful you could afford a home in such a beautiful area of Japan. You and Izanagi lived across from Sukaibado Park and had a great view of both park and beach just beyond it. In reality, you shouldn’t be able to afford this place, but since the flat itself was so small, it was just in the range of affordable.

You quickly brushed your hair and teeth, and texted Kouten, asking him to pick up something for you to eat on his way there. It was kind of a ritual between the three of you, everyone brought something to the table. Kouten brought the food, Izanagi brought his guitar, and you would bring your amazing singing voice! The three of you were practically a band already!

Aw who you are you trying to kid? Izanagi just picked up the guitar after quitting drums, trumpet, and piano, and your ‘singing’ was mostly chirps. It was a miracle Kouten hung out with you guys, let alone fed your poor asses. You grabbed your keys and opened the front door-

Huh.

What?

A small box was waiting for you on your doorstep, unlabeled except for neat cursive writing spelling out your name. You picked up the box and put it on the nearest surface inside, choosing to ignore it. Today was for flying, stretching your wings, pretending to like Izanagi’s music, and devouring whatever Kouten brought you.

As expected, Kouten and Izanagi were already there, waiting for you at one of the picnic tables with a full course meal on the table. You could smell it from the park entrance, and were at the table in an instant. It would have startled the boys if they’d not already grown used to it.

“Fuck, Kouten what did you bring this time?” you asked, looking up from the food for a moment to take in your friend’s appearances. Izanagi was dressed casually as usual. White t-shirt, blue jeans, and a grey sweatshirt wrapped around his waist. His long, light blue hair tied up in a ponytail as he chowed down on a large chicken wing. But do not be fooled- despite looking like an innocent UwU smol bean, Izanagi was a force to be reckoned with. Do not ever comment on his short stature or this man will kick you into worlds beyond.

Kouten was the complete opposite of Izanagi, both in looks and personality. Today, he’d adorned a light blue sweater and black pants, and even painted his nails yellow. Kouten’s hair was short and super curly, and his eyes were a startling green color. His resting bitch face and six feet of height was usually enough to scare most people off, however, Kouten was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Best hugs, best advice, most importantly…

“FRIED CHICKEN!” you shouted ecstatically. Of course! For such a beautiful day, Kouten would bring his best food. “Oh thank fuck for the fifth time! I’ve been craving this all week!”

You sat down, hurriedly muttering ‘itadakimas’ before snatching as many pieces of chicken as you possibly could and devouring them. Who gave a flying fuck if you looked like a cannibal? The chicken was delicious! Besides, you weren’t a chicken, you were a parakeet. There was a difference.

“Woah, hey, slow down a bit, Y/n” Kouten cautioned. “You’re gonna give yourself a stomach ache! Don’t eat more than five-”

“Five?” Izanagi interrupted. “Pussy, no more than eight.”

“Eight?!” you stared at your blue-haired friend with wide-eyes and a stuffed mouth. “Pussy. No more than eleven.”

“ELEVEN?” Kouten shook his head. “Oh no, if you eat that many you’ll hurt yourself for sure aaand you’ve already eaten twelve. Why do I even bother?” he threw his hands up in defeat. You and Izanagi continued to argue about how much chicken was too much, ignoring poor Kouten. That’s pretty much how things usually went between the three of you, you and Izanagi being dumbasses and Kouten being the only sane person there.

After thirty minutes of eating, came Izanagi’s ear-bleeding ‘song’ about some girl he knew in high school. If only he’d tuned his guitar beforehand, maybe then it wouldn’t have felt like nails on a chalkboard to you and Kouten. You lasted eight minutes before you finally had to put a stop to the terror he reigned on your poor ears. Then came the best part of the day, flying! Izanagi and Kouten would chat about random things on the ground as you soared high above them.

Flying is difficult to describe, but thankfully, whenever you are asked, you have an answer.

It’s liberation, ecstasy, and anxiety. The liberation was not being bound by the laws that chain others to the dirt. Being able to freely soar, reaching places others could only dream of being. The ecstasy was speed, dipping and diving and looping around the clouds. Being able to fly right through those fluffy bundles of water. The anxiety was falling, failing and getting yourself hurt.

That one day you’ll fly to high, and your wings of wax will melt. That the sun’s bright light will blind you to the incoming plane of reality and kill you. The knowledge that you wouldn’t even realise it, falling is just like flying.

It’s beautiful and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. In the sky, it’s calm. People don’t stare, or whisper. No one bumps into you, the world is all yours when you’re in the air. Even if you struggle to breathe, it always feels worth it. Worth the soreness in your wings after a long flight, worth the hammering of your heart after just pulling up in time to not hit the ground, worth it all. It’s exhilarating.

Word of advice for you free birds, fly while you still can, you never know when you might get caught up in a cage.

Landing was always the most difficult part. Hawks always seemed to be able to do it with ease, but you knew from experience that it was a lot more difficult than it looks. You could feel your whole body float for a second before you dove down. The ground rising to meet your weightless body faster and faster, before your folded wings extended, and you tilted them upwards, carrying your body up again, as you swooped above the ground, righting yourself and landing with just a few flaps of your multi-colored wings.

“Best part of the day~” you cooed, stretching your arms as you folded your wings behind your back. Kouten and Izanagi looked at you in awe.

“I wish my quirk would let me fly.” Izanagi grumbled. “I can’t do shit with light manipulation.” he flicked his wrist, forming a small crystal of light in his palm. It flickered for a moment before vanishing.

“Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself!” you sat down next to your friend, patting his back sympathetically. “I think your quirk is beautiful! I still have that little star hanging on my wall!”

When you and Izanagi were still littler children, and his quirk was still in development, he’d made a small star out of light. It would glow when you touched it, and it was like having an actual star in your hand. It was so shiny, transparent but sparkly, filled with a dazzling array of rainbow specks, a faint glow dappling your walls with miniature constellations.

“Yeah, Izanagi. Think about it for a sec.” Kouten offered. “Your quirk is certainly better than mine. Being able to identify any flavor isn’t all that impressive. Helpful for my job, but not much other than that.” Izanagi looked up at Kouten, frown only deepening.

“If you really think that about your quirk, than you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.” he grumbled.

“Izanagi! Not the right time!” you glared at him, and he just shrugged you off.

“No seriously, even if your quirk has that single use, it’s still a use. You’ve made the best meals I’ve ever tasted. Remember Colonel Sanders? According to legend, that man wrote down the OG KFC recipe on a hill as he contemplated suicide. I’m pretty sure he had a quirk similar to yours. If his chicken was good enough to save his own life, then surely it’s saved others, right? Be like him.”

You softened, smiling at Izanagi. Even if he was a bit of an ass, he had a heart of gold. He’d never let any of his friends feel down. You were pretty sure he threatened to punch away your deathly fear of clowns. Not the clowns, but the fear itself. Weird, but touching.

“That.... was the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t understand how it’s touching, but it is. Thanks, man.” Kouten pulled Izanagi in for a hug, and you cooed. However, you guys were friends, so things really couldn’t stay wholesome.

“Gayyyy”

“Dude I’m literally bi.” Izanagi glared at you.

“Gayyyyyyyyy” you laughed, so did Kouten. Izanagi rolled his eyes, but eventually he too, chuckled a little.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Anyways I gotta go, I’ll the you two weirdos later, kay?” he grabbed his guitar, waving at the two of you.

“Later, buddy!” Kouten shouted after him, waving.

“Bye!” you smiled, waving him off before turning back to Kouten. “So what should we do?”

“Great suggestion, Kou, but we need something entertaining that we can do right now.

“Head to your place and watch YouTube?” he shrugged, and you nodded.

“Perfect plan. Knew I could count on you!” you laughed, helping Kouten clean up the mess on the picnic table before heading across the street to your flat. You keyed the door, opening it and walking in.

Kouten’s eyes immediately fell onto the package you’d received earlier. You’d just tossed it onto the coffee table half-hazardly.

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“I dunno really. I just found it on my doorstep.” you shrugged, sitting down and opening your laptop.

“Seems kinda creepy, it doesn’t have a return address.” he frowned. “It could have a tracking device in it- you should just throw it away.” you nodded, Kouten was probably right. He usually was. You promised to throw it away after a few Vine compilations.

You lied.

After Kouten left, you turned to the package. It had been hours since it was left on your doorstep, you were really hoping it wasn’t food or anything. You sat down on the edge of your bed with the package in your hands, slowly peeling the tape off and opening it.

You were… reasonably underwhelmed by the contents of the package. It was just a beanie hat. Yellow with a red feather embroidered on. Hawks merch. Maybe you’d accidentally ordered it? Or maybe Izanagi sent it to you. Yeah it was probably him. You’d have to thank him the next time you saw him.

You put the hat down on your nightstand, checking the time. Maybe you should make lunch. You believed it was the last of the unlabeled gifts. You were sorely mistaken.

The next day, there was another package.

“Seriously, Izanagi?” you grumbled. “Another?” you picked it up and brought it back inside, opening it hastily. You couldn’t lie, you were at least a little curious to what he’d gotten you this time.

A… bottle cap? No, five bottle caps.

“Fuckin weirdo.” you muttered, brushing it off and umping the caps next to the hat and continuing on with your day.

The third day, the package had a weird note attached to it, reading your coffee order from that morning. You pursed your lips, ripping the note apart in fear before opening the box. You screamed.

There was a dead squirell inside.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” you dropped the box in your shock and fear, and the poor animal fell out onto your floor. You paused for a moment to take a deep breath. You crouched down next to the animal, poking it lightly. Maybe it was still alive?

Nope.

Dead.

Dead as fuck.

You shuddered, wrapping it up in a paper towel and taking it out back, holding a small funeral for it and burying it.

Who the fuck was sending you these things? It was clearly not Izanagi. He was an animal lover, and he’d never do this. You felt like throwing up, but for some reason (probably plot convenience), you didn’t say anything.

A few days later, something terrible happened.

You remembered your phone buzzing, and you sat up to pick it up. It was the middle of the night and you were trying to sleep. It was Izanagi. The fuck was he calling you for right now? You hit accept and pressed the cold screen to your ear.

“It’s 1:23 AM. Explain.” you growled into the phone.

“It’s Kouten- he was attacked! I- I’m taking him to the hospital right now, come quick! I’m taking him to Sanno Hospital near Fukuoka tower!” he exclaimed. You sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“What?”

“I’m driving, so I gotta put the phone down, but hurry!”

Beep

The call ended. You were already on your feet, pulling on clothes and grabbing your car keys. You rushed into your car and drove as fast as legally possible.

What the fuck happened? Kouten… attacked? By whom? Was he okay? What kind of injuries had he sustained? Was he concsious? Was he breathing? How had Izanagi found him? What the hell was going on? Was this related to your stalker?

Your mind buzzed with scenarios, all the way to Sanno Hospital, all the way across the parking lot, through the doors, as you talked to the man behind the counter, on the way to the ICU. Then your mind was blank again.

You sat next to Izanagi in the hallway, both of you sitting near a door with a large lit-up LED sign. Surgery in Progress. Your hands folded in your lap. You were so dizzy, what the fuck was happening? Myabe it was because you were tired, or still in shock, but it didn’t feel real.

Was Kouten really behind that door? Were doctors really slicing him open? Were you really here? You still felt the warmth of your blankets from just twenty-seven minutes before. Had it really been almost a half hour? It felt like it had just been a few seconds.

Nothing felt right.

“Hey.” you slowly turned your head around to look at Izanagoi. “You okay?” he asked. You sighed, shaking your head. “Do you want to hear what happened? Think that’ll make you feel better?”

You paused for a moment, slowly nodding. You didn’t want to speak. If you opened your mouth, you feared you’d let all the meals you’d eaten force their way up your throat.

“I got a text. It was from Kouten, he just sent his location. I didn’t know why, but I figured it was important. So I went there. I shouldn’t have taken my time. I found him in an alleyway near the tower, he was so still. I’d never seen him like that. He was- Kouten was soaked in blood. There was a knife lodged into his chest an I- I panicked. You know the rest I think.” he trailed off, looking away from you. Your eyes fell to the floor, still silent.

How many minutes had it been?

The next thing you knew, A doctor was speaking to you, saying something about successful surgery, how he was in recovery, how he needed rest. A moment later, you were standing outside Izanagi’s car. Numb. You decided with him silently to go back to his place and stay the night together. You could get your car in the morning.

Izanagi offered you his bed, and he would sleep on the couch. But you couldn’t sleep. At all. Your mind was racing. You jumped up when you heard the door creak open.

Oh.

It was Izanagi.

You patted the sheets next to you, and he crawled in with you. For a moment, you felt a spark of excitement in your cheeks, but it disappeared quickly, just like your consciousness now that he was here.

The next day, you still felt numb. Better, but still numb. You woke up with Izanagi’s arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your shoulder. Your wing flopped over him. You sat up, rubbing his face to wake him up. His eyes slowly blinked open, brown orbs looking up at you.

“Hey… Y/n.” he mumbled.

“Mornin’ Iza.” you turned around, checking the time. “Sorry, I still have to work.” you told him. He nodded, understanding. He drove you there, and promised to take you to the hospital after, so you could pick up your car. The entire day at work seemed so slow. Everyone dragged their conversations with you on for forever. Time was moving so slow. It felt like a century had passed when Izanagi picked you up.

You didn’t speak, he just took you to the hospital. Then, everything moved quick again. You were outside Kouten’s hospital room, holding Izanagi’s hand.

You almost didn’t want to go in. You stared at the ground, vision blurry. Izanagi squeezed your hand, re-grounding you.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at you with soft eyes.

“Never.” you chuckled breathlessly.

He nodded with you, opening the hospital room door and walking in with you.

You kept your eyes glued to the ground, feeling Izanagi tighten his grip on your hand. You could hear the beeping of the monitor, but you didn’t want to see it.

“Hey… guys.” Kouten. You ripped your gaze from the floor to direct it at the hospital bed. You felt a chill freeze your throat, choking you. Your friend was laying down in the bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, bandages covering most of his body, including one of his eyes. He looked tired and thin, unlike his usual cheerful manner.

“Hey, Kouten.” Izanagi managed to pull the words from his chest and put them in the air, a talent you could not yet access. You just… stared. Everything felt so still, even as Izanagi pulled you to a chair beside Kouten. You could hear the muffled sounds of your friends talking to each other, but you weren’t really there. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred.

“Y/n? You good there, Buddy?” Kouten’s voice broke you from your fog. You looked up at him, and he offered you a smile. You could feel the ice that had been stuck to your skin since last night melt away under his sweet gaze.

“Yeah, sorry Kou. I’m just… scared. Did- did you see your attacker?” Kouten frowned, shaking his head solemnly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see their face. But I did see blonde hair and something red, probably blood, but I don’t know. It kind of looked like a sword, maybe? But also looked like- I don’t know.” he shook his head again, apologetic.

“Why were you out there anyways?” Izanagi asked him.

“I just needed some air, and the city is really pretty at night… and maybe I got a text from someone cute on a dating app and wanted to meet them…” the last part was muttered under his breath. You couldn’t help but face-palm.

“I’d lecture you on how fucking dumb that is, but I think you’ve already learned your lesson.” Izanagi scolded, “You fucking dumbass! Thank fuck you’re okay!”

After about fiteen minutes, a nurse came in and told you and Izanagi that he needed more rest, advizing the two of you to head back home and return tomorrow.

You could barely think, why? Why was this happening? How could this even be happening?

And why couldn’t you do anything about it?

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adiabolikpastel · 3 years ago

Note

Could you tell us more about the Lapins and about the kingdom where Skye comes from?

Oh gooooosh! I am too excited to answer this!

So, per usual about these kinds of ask, the answer will be under the cut due to length. Thank you so much Anon for giving me an opportunity to think more about these ideas.

Lapin Demon

So, what can I tell you about these demons? Well, just as with the animal, there are multiple different breed - if you will. Take for example my OC Roselyn. She was based on an American fuzzy lop - however, the Lapin demons come in many different shapes and sizes. Some of them having lop ears, others with long pointed ones. In their more natural forms, their entire bodies are covered in hair - think more like the rabbits from Beastars - only retaining their more humanoid features? I plan to get real sprites for Roselyn made that will reflect this - but until then, we will just imagine.

I like to think that long ago, the Lapin were native in the Wolf Kingdom. If you look to the ask I got about the different kingdoms of the Mukai, you can see more about how I envision that kingdom. At some point in the past, probably when another kingdom tried to invade the Wolf Kingdom, they were able to over take the Lapin. They were put into servitude - due to their weakness. However, since they were surprisingly beautiful, instead of more grueling labor - they were taken as personal or house hold servants to the more regal demons.

It is now not uncommon to see well off families have Lapin as their staff. Now, of course everyone is different - take the Vibora for example. While yes, Burai does have Lapin in his employ, they mostly work in his other homes - not at the main estate. Roselyn is the first Lapin he has allowed to work there - as even though they are seen as great workers, Lapin are lowly demon.

Underwater Kingdoms

While this is something untouched by the DL expansive world - it is something that is here in my blog. So, Skye's races comes from an unnamed underwater kingdom - which works in a way similar to the upper world of the Mukai. There are different sections where different high ranked demons or beings hold dominion.

A great way to think of this is how Young Justice has recently shown off their Atlantis. Similar to the Mukai's surface, the more powerful rule over the weaker. I would say that there would be more underwater rulers than simply; eagle, wolf, bat and snake. While I don't have a concrete idea about all the different leaders, I know that Sirens would more than likely have their own 'kingdom'. They are not like Mermaids, yet are all at ones - so it might be possible for them to co-exists.

There is also a small community for them in other kingdoms above the sea. Adler's are welcome to them, Vibora only allow those who can present beautifully - so those like siren and mermaid. More 'creature' like ones will make a home in the bat and wolf kingdoms. However, life under the sea works relatively the same. There are markets and houses, more natural than industrial location, those who choose to live in their more natural demonic forms and those who do not, large beast that you do not mess with - it's basically just like the surface yet under water.

#ask an #ask mun #world building #Lapin demons #Underwater Kingdoms

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mydogisveryadorbs · 4 years ago

Text

blue ain't your color | jj maybank

masterlist

summary: song fic based on blue ain’t your color by keith urban.

warnings: mentions of mentally and physically abusive relationships, underage drinking, mentions of drugs, angst, fluff, v soft jj

PSA: this is not in any way meant to idealize or romanticize abusive relationships. if you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship please get help. below are some resources and learning tools.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1 (800) 799 – 7233

Love is Respect – National Teen Dating Abuse Hotline: 1 (866) 331 – 9474

more hot lines and info: https://victimconnect.org/resources/national-hotlines/

learn more: https://www.thehotline.org/psa/

lyrics in bold

3.8k+ words

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I can see you over there

Starring at your drink

Watchin' that ice sink

All alone tonight

You look down at your drink, moving the straw in a circular motion causing the ice to swirl around creating a small tornado.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you realize you've been waiting here for almost two hours.

Your boyfriend was supposed to meet you at Topper’s party at 9. In the first thirty minutes, you weren't surprised. Liam, your kook boyfriend of 10 months, was late for almost everything, so this didn't come as a shock to you.

When the one hour mark hit you were honestly quite worried. What if he was in an accident? What if he got jumped? Maybe your thoughts were most likely irrational, but you couldn't help but worry about your boyfriend.

One hour later, you had gotten past the worrying stage. Now you were simply angry, no, furious at him. Had he stood you up? Did he forget about you? These thoughts were definitely more rational. It wouldn't be the first time Liam stood you up, but you would make sure it was the last.

At the beginning of your relationship, everything had been sunshine and butterflies. About two months in, however, he asked you to stop seeing your friends.

You see you were a born and raised pogue. Your dad was a close friend of Big John so you had practically grown up with John B, JJ, and Pope, in more recent years becoming close friends with Kiara.

At first, it was little things. Liam would get upset if you left to hang out with the pogues instead of him. Then one day, he asked you to stop seeing them all together. You, of course, retaliated, telling him that you would never leave your friends. But Liam had a way with words, and not a good way. He told you for months that your friends would never love you and that you were lucky that he had even taken pity on you. Slowly, you started to believe him. You stopped seeing the pogues, pushing everyone who truly loved you out of your life.

Liam became more and more distant as the months went on. He would leave you almost every night to drink and party, not even bothering to let you know where he was headed. The two of you had been fighting nonstop for several weeks. It had gotten physical only a few times and the next morning he would apologize profusely, so you stayed.

Seeing him walk in with two girls wrapped around his waist, nearly two and a half hours late, was the last straw for you.

Grabbing your purse, you walked up to Liam, who's eyes widened with the realization the moment he saw you.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he says, slightly slurring his words as his arms still holding the two skinny blondes at his sides, “It's not what it looks like.” You can see his red-rimmed eyes and dilated pupils, telling you that he was coked out.

You roll your eyes, knowing that this was it for you. “Really, Liam,” you snap back, “‘Cause it looks like we are done here.”

Liam’s eyes widen in shock, never having seen you lash out like this before. He shakes it off and his expression quickly contorts into one of disgust. “Okay,” he says with a shrug, “Good luck finding someone else to take pity on a whore like you, dirty pogue.” He walks away with the two girls, leaving you in shock.

It takes a moment for you to realize that you had just ended this almost one-year relationship.

The first emotion you feel is one of freedom and relief. No more would you have to be held down by this weight of not being able to do and say what you want.

That feeling slowly dissipates as the feeling of dread starts to overcome it. You had pushed away all of your friends for this boy who had let you go like you were nothing to him. Maybe you were nothing.

You walk back to the bar area, grabbing another drink, feeling the need to drown away your sorrows.

And chances are

You're sittin' here in this bar

'Cause he ain't gonna treat you right

JJ Maybank hated kook parties with a passion.

Thankfully he hadn't had the opportunity to attend too many of them in his lifetime. But now that John B was macking on Sarah Cameron, it wasn't uncommon for the blonde boy to get dragged along to one of these events.

John B had left JJ to fend for himself as soon as they had arrived at the party, slipping off somewhere to find Sarah. JJ looked around the extravagant home that belonged to one of his enemies, Topper Thornton. His ring clad fingers fiddled with an expensive-looking vase, trying to find the perfect moment to snag it and slip away.

JJ’s eyes filtered through the crowd when they landed on something, or rather someone, that he had least expected to see.

His hand slipped from the vase, letting his gaze drink you in. You definitely looked different. Your once long hair was now cut just below your shoulders and your typical style of denim shorts and a cropped shirt was exchanged for a lavish-looking dress and sparkly stilettos.

JJ admits that he probably wouldn't have recognized you if he hadn't spent so many years unable to take his eyes off of you whenever the pogues were together.

The boy had loved his life long best friend since the day she clocked a boy in the face for making fun of JJ’s worn-out clothes. They were seven. In addition to being the day JJ had met (Y/N) and John B, it was also the day he fell in love with the (Y/E/C) eyed girl.

When you started dating your kook boyfriend at the beginning of your junior year, JJ was initially devastated. He soon brought himself to realize, however, that a lowlife like him would never be able to deserve someone as beautiful and kind-hearted as you. His thoughts were confirmed when you abruptly stopped hanging around the pogues and him. You were too good for him. The blonde boy had no idea of the pain that Liam had caused you in the past ten months.

Now looking at you, JJ could see that you were upset. He had gotten really good at analyzing your body language over the many years of being your best friend.

All thoughts of stealing the vase flew out of his mind as his feet started in your direction.

Well, it's probably not my place

But I'm gonna say it anyway

'Cause you look like

You haven't felt the fire

Had a little fun

Hadn't had a smile in a little while

You felt a figure move to sit in the bar stool chair next to you, but you choose to ignore whoever it is, not particularly feeling up to socializing with a contemptuous kook after what you just went through.

The figure didn't move after a few minutes so you turn to look at them with a glare in your eyes, ready to snap at them and ask them to leave you alone. Your gaze immediately softens as you realize the person next to you is in fact the last person you would ever expect to see at a party like this, JJ Maybank.

Tears begin to prick at your eyes as you continue to stare at the side profile of the blonde boy who hasn't yet turned to face you.

Everything you had done so well to hide over the last ten years of knowing and loving him comes rushing back. Your love for the boy next to you consumes every fiber of your being.

A lone tear falls down your cheek as you begin to curse yourself and Liam. How did I let him control me into giving this up? This feeling?

Blue looks good on the sky

Looks good on that neon buzzin' on the wall

But darling, it don't match your eyes

JJ finally turns his head to look at you and feels his entire resolve crumble. You were crying. The sight nearly breaks his heart in two.

His eyes lock with yours and he can see the pain and heartache swirling within them.

“What did he do to you,” JJ mutters, letting his eyes roam the crowd for the boy he despises most in the world. Almost a year of suppressed anger starts to bubble up to the surface.

“JJ,” you whimper.

The sadness and hopelessness in your voice makes every ounce of anger in him evaporate as he turns his head to look at you again. The look in your eyes tells him that the kook boy had hurt you worse than he ever knew.

JJ wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and never let anything else in the world harm you. His hands itch to wipe the tears off your face and pull your head to his chest.

However, JJ also wants you to be as comfortable as possible and he's not sure if you're ready for the amount of love he has to give you just yet.

You surprise the blonde boy by reaching out to your arms out to him. The blonde wastes no time in standing up and pulling your body flush to his chest.

Everyone else in the world disappears as the two of you clutch each other with all you have. Both of you realize how much you had missed the comfort of each other's embrace.

You're not sure how long you stand there like that, face nuzzled into JJ’s shoulder as the boy strokes your hair comfortingly.

“I'm sorry,” you mumble into his shirt, not willing to pull away from the warmth he radiates.

JJ’s eyebrows draw together in confusion as he pulls away enough to look down at you. “What do you mean,” he asks with a softness in his voice that is reserved for you only, gently lifting your chin so that you are looking into his beautiful cerulean eyes.

You sniffle. “I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for breaking down in front of you. I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess. But most of all, I'm sorry for ever believing that I could live without you. I-I mean if it weren't for you I don't know what I would do. I understand if you don't want to talk to-” your ramble is suddenly cut off by JJ pressing his lips to yours.

The boy knows that this is probably not the best time to confess his feelings towards you, but he can't watch you talk down about yourself like that anymore. Do you not know how much he adores you?

The kiss is soft and passionate. JJ can taste your salty tears on his slightly chapped lips as they work against yours. Both of you poor every ounce of emotion you have into the kiss.

JJ reluctantly pulls away when the two of you run out of air, placing his forehead delicately on yours as your arms wrap around his neck.

I'm tellin' you

You don't need that guy

It's so black and white

He's stealin' your thunder

Baby, blue ain't your color

Both of you pant as you look into each other's eyes. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” JJ says, as the smile you cherish so much graces his features.

“Really?” you ask and JJ can hear the vulnerability in your voice. What did that shithead do to you to make you so insecure?

“You have no idea, baby,” he says, tenderly kissing away the tear that has slipped out of your eye and onto your cheek.

Not having the words to express how you feel about the boy in front of you, you pull his head back down, kissing him so sweetly that it makes his knees buckle.

“JJ,” you whisper as you pull away, but you never get to finish your statement because you are suddenly ripped out of his embrace.

“You fucking whore,” Liam seethes at you taking a stride towards you and you instinctively take a step back. “You break up with me and two minutes later you've moved onto another guy. Slut.” His words cut you deep and you know by the tone of his voice that a punch to the gut or a slap to the face is coming. Liam raises his hand and you brace yourself for impact, but it never comes.

The sound of yelling fills your senses and you open your eyes to see JJ punching Liam in the face repeatedly. You are frozen as you watch the scene in front of you.

“JJ,” you hear John B yell, turning to look at him, “You're gonna kill him.”

Your eyes widen in realization at his words and you take a step forward.

“JJ,” you call, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of everyone yelling around you. You clear your throat and try again, louder. “JJ.”

This time JJ stops mid punch, turning to look at you. Fear fills your body when you see that his wide, normally baby blue eyes are nearly black.

His gaze softens as he takes in your anxious look.

JJ steps away from the beat-up boy and you see a few of his friends pull Liam’s limp body away. You lock your eyes back to JJ’s and he takes a careful step towards you causing you to involuntarily flinch back slightly.

I'm not tryna

Be another just

Pick you up

Kinda guy

Tryna drink you up

Tryna take you home

He wants to cry out at the sight. Don't you know that he would rather die than ever hurt you?

You do know this, and you're not afraid of the boy in the slightest, but the last five minutes have put you on edge.

Seeing the broken look in the blonde’s eyes, you take quick steps toward his body, wrapping him in your embrace. He melts into your arms, allowing his face to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

The crowd that had formed around the fight disperses, realizing the show is over.

“(Y/N).” The sound of your name being called pulls your attention away from the sweet boy in your arms.

You pull away from JJ slightly, still keeping an arm around his bicep.

Looking over, you see John B standing to the side with Sarah Cameron. You had heard about the two of them getting together and you suddenly realize why JJ happened to be at this party.

The sadness in John B’s eyes as he looks at you breaks your heart. The two of you have been like sister and brother your whole lives and, besides JJ, he was the hardest for you to stop talking to.

You feel JJ’s grip on you loosen, urging you to go to John. The two of you walk towards each other and John B pulls you into his arms.

“I missed you, (Y/N/N),” he says unto your hair, “So much.”

You smile, tears softly rolling down your cheeks. “I missed you too, JB,” you say, pulling away to look at JJ who looks back with a sad smile on his face.

But I just don't understand

How another man

Can take your sun

And turn it ice cold

The four of you decided it was best to leave. John B dropped Sarah off at her house and drove the three of you back to the Chateau. Your stomach drops at the sight of the small shack.

JJ notices your facial expression, placing his hand softly on top of yours. “You okay?” he asks gently as John B parks the van.

You nod with a small smile and JJ helps you out of the van, holding your hand as he leads you to the porch. You stop walking, causing the two boys to turn around and look at you.

“I'm sorry,” you say, tears pooling in your eyes again. JJ gives you a knowing look. “(Y/N),” he says, almost sternly.

“No,” you say, wiping your eyes, “Let me talk.” JJ nods and John B looks at you expectantly. “I left you. Both of you. I- Liam, he just made me feel so useless and I didn't want to be a bother to you guys anymore.”

JJ lets out a sound, almost like a growl, and pulls you into a hug. “You are not useless, (Y/N),” he says seriously, “You are so important, to both of us, and we missed you so much.”

You nod into his chest as John B comes to wrap his arms around both of you.

The three of you group hug and you sigh contently, happy to be back with your boys.

Well, I've had enough to drink

And it's makin'

Me think that I just might

Tell you if I were a painter I wouldn't change ya

I'd just paint you bright

John B helps JJ set up the pull out while you change into a pair of John B’s sweats and JJ’s t-shirt. John B says goodnight and goes to “hit the hay” as he puts it, leaving you and JJ alone again.

“I'll sleep on the other couch and you can take the bed,” he says sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you settle into your “beds”, but you can't seem to fall asleep with so many thoughts running through your mind.

Everything that has happened since you left the pogues seems like one big sad blur. Your mind wanders to JJ. What does this mean for you two?

“(Y/N),” the voice you love so much calls. You hum in response. “You ‘wake?” he asks. You sit up in the pullout shaking your head.

“Can't sleep,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

JJ sits up as well. “M’sorry, baby,” the nickname makes your heart flutter.

You open your arms for the boy who looks at you warily. “Are you sure, (Y/N),” he asks. You nod quickly and he stands up, falling into the pullout and wrapping you into his arms. He tucks your head under his chin, pulling you closer.

“JJ,” you ask.

It's his turn to hum in response. “This may be weird for you, but I feel like I just have to say it,” you tell him. JJ pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. He's worried about what you are going to say but tries to hide it for your sake. “I love you, J.”

JJ smiles, leaning down to nuzzle his nose with yours in an Eskimo kiss. “I love you too,” he says sincerely, but you're afraid he doesn't understand what you mean.

“No, J,” you say, looking away from his eyes, “I love you. Like, I'm in love with you.”

The blonde boy only smiles bigger. He leans down pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, pulling away when you run out of air. JJ trails sweet kisses down your jaw and neck before placing one last kiss on your lips.

“I'm in love with you too (Y/N),” he says kissing your forehead. JJ wonders how he went so long without being able to kiss you and hold you. Even after only confessing a few hours ago, it feels so natural to have you in his arms. The thought of not having you makes his heart ache.

“I have to ask you something, but you can say no and it won't change anything and I understand that this is hard because of everything that just happened,” JJ rambles. You kiss his jaw softly, urging him to continue. “Will you be mine. Ya know. Like my girlfriend, or whatever.”

You smile wide. “Of course I'll be yours, J.”

JJ copies your smile leaning down to press another kiss to your lips.

He pulls away, snuggling into you, and the both of you bask in the feeling of being in each other's arms. Your hand reaches up to play with JJ’s hair as your eyes start to droop.

“Love ya, pretty girl.”

“Love you too, J.”

'Cause blue looks good on the sky

Looks good on that neon buzzin' on the wall

But darling, it don't match your eyes

You are sitting down on a beach towel, watching the sun slowly fall into the ocean, lighting the sky with a beautiful rainbow of colors. Your feet are outstretched in front of you and your hands prop you up behind your back. The Outer Banks heat is making your skin warm, but you don't mind, letting the steadily depleting sun hit your skin.

You watch as JJ catches another wave, surfing it perfectly. You giggle as he raises his hand in a fist, clapping for him.

It's been two weeks since you finally ended things with Liam. You were able to mend things with the rest of the pogues and Kiara and Pope welcomed you back with open arms. Things with JJ have been going amazing. The two of you agreed to take things slowly seeing as you were just getting out of a toxic relationship. It was different to finally be in a place with JJ where you weren't afraid to show him and tell him how you feel, but you loved it.

JJ runs towards you, gripping his board in one hand as the other pushes back his blonde locks.

When he gets to your towel, JJ throws down his board and plops down next to you, pulling you into a sweet hug.

You giggle. “You're all wet, J,” you say, not making any move to get out of his warm embrace. The boy peppers your face with soft kisses causing you to giggle even more.

A few minutes later you are seated in between JJ’s legs and he has his strong arms wrapped around your waist, his head nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“I love you, J,” you say, still watching the sunset.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” JJ says kissing your neck. He begins humming the tune to a song you recognize.

“Blue ain't your color, umm mm,” he sings, “No, no baby, come here baby, let me light up your world.”

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422 notes · View notes

gillytweed · 3 years ago

Text

Y’all wanna hear about the baby superhero team my brain decided needed to exist?

Yeah you do!

So, I’ve been on a superhero kick lately, specifically DC characters cause I’m kinda tired of Marvel, and my brain decided “what’s the harm in making a superhero OC?” Turns out the answer to that is making an entire team, side characters, a whole world, and lore.

So far, I have the team solidly figured out. Said team lives in a world where superheroes have been around for while (think Young Justice cartoon timeframe in the grand scheme of superhero timelines). People with superpowers aren’t uncommon, so of course a superhero profession surfaced.

On the team, we have Witchboy, a “magic” user, Nightbolt, an unpowered archer/tech hero, Karma, Damage Enhancement ability, aka can take damage and send it back at their opponent even stronger, Ibis, presumably a teleporter, Frost, Iceman but spikier, and Saber, an unpowered sword user.

Nightbolt, Frost and Saber are Legacy Heroes. Aka, they got into heroing through family or personal connections. Meanwhile, Witchboy, Karma and Ibis all have their own reasons for joining a superhero team.

Putting stuff below the cut so I don’t get people shakin’ their canes at me.

General Character profiles

Witchboy Civilian name: Howl Melas (Not their birthname. They chose to have go by a different name for reasons) Ethnicity: Very White, with ancestry all over Europe. Basically a European smoothie Pronouns: They/Them Mentor: Mystic (Sometimes Nightwatcher)

Powers: If I have to choose an already existing hero, I’d say their powers are the most like Raven’s from Teen Titans at a glance. Their powers are based on something I call Kinetic Algorithms, which is basically intense mental visualization paired with specific movements/muscle memory to channel energy into different effects. A list of their basic abilities at their introduction would be short distance teleportation, force fields, levitation, and a basic force blast.

Description: Civilian attire usually consists of a hoodie and workout pants, or dark jeans, T-shirt, light jacket and a beanie to hide their silver hair (it was originally brown, but turned silver as their abilities surfaced). Their Hero suit is black/dark indigo with silver trim, and resembles a sleeveless hoodie (with the hood having a bit more structure so it doesn’t flap everywhere and get in the way) and fitted pants. Both padded for basic protection. They also have fingerless glove/gauntlet sort of things that contain a small communicator and basic GPS system.

Personality: Comes off as dark and brooding, but in reality is having an internal anxiety attack. They want to do their best to help, but often gets tripped up by overthinking, thus they default to not doing anything so they don’t make things worse.

Nightbolt Civilian Name: Edana “Eddie” Cochran Ethnicity: Scottish Pronouns: She/Her Mentor: Broadhead

Powers: Got none but kicks ass anyway. Her primary weapon is the bow and arrow, but she’s also proficient in hand to hand and a few other melee weapons. She’s also the tech wiz of the group, and the only one who’s passed the simulator to be allowed to pilot the dropship. A decent acrobat as well.

Description: Civilian attire is usually jeans, and one of those leather jackets that are also a hoodie sort of deal. Her hair is red, and cut short into an undercut. Her Hero suit is black with red accents. It’s similar to Witchboy’s in that it’s also sleeveless, but it’s more of an armoured vest. No hood, as she prefers a domino mask.

Personality: Easily the leader of the team, as she’s the most mature, despite not being the oldest. Being a Legacy Hero, she’s very aware of how her performance reflects on her mentor, so she does her best at all times, even when it’s clearly leading to burn out.

Karma Civilian Name: Ethnicity: Not sure yet, but def white passing Pronouns: She/Her Mentor: Peacebringer (sorta)

Powers: Damage Empowerment. She takes damage then amplifies it and sends it back several times stronger.

Description: Loves muscle T’s and booty shorts, cause when you worked for the muscles she’s got, you deserve to show them off. Has long blond hair that’s usually pulled up into a ponytail. Hero suit is basically full body armour, as she needs to get hit to hit back. Colours are blue and a yellowish gold.

Personality: A Himbo, but with Street Smarts. At first comes off as cocky, flirtatious, and extremely self confident almost to the point of arrogance, she’s actually quiet sweet and thoughtful when it comes to her friends. She will also drop kick you into the sun if you’re a dick. Shares a braincell with Saber.

Ibis Civilian Name: Kymani “Ky” Lukman Ethnicity: African Egyptian Pronouns: He/Him Mentor: Phase

Powers: Supposedly a teleporter :p

Description: The most handsome black man y’all have ever seen. Too bad for y’all he’s an aroace king and loves it. Civilian attire is nice Henley's and jeans. His Hero suit is black with gold accents that resemble ancient Egyptian jewelry, like the Usekh collar and the gold cuff like bracelets.

Personality: This dudes just vibing. Probably the only one of the group who can process his emotions in a healthy manner. He’s calm, relaxed, and usually unbothered with what’s happening around him. This can turn into apathy in some cases, however.

Frost Civilian Name: Andri Bylur Ethnicity: Nordic descent, primarily Sweden and Norway Pronouns: He/They Mentor: Cryon

Powers: Is basically Iceman but spikier. Can create, manipulate and cover himself in ice. Has the ability to consciously regulate his temperature as well.

Description: Looks like an extremely average dude with brown hair. Usually wears tshirts and plaid with jeans. His Hero suit is rarely seen, as it’s basically a thermal suit to aid in temperature regulation when he covers himself in ice. When covered in ice, they appear to be wearing spikey armour of some kind. In time the design becomes smoother and more streamlined as they get a better handle on their abilites.

Personality: Probably the most empathetic of the group, they took on the responsibility of getting more in depth medical training, so they’re the team medic that never runs out of icepacks. Best friends with Ibis, they’re usually decently calm, but their overwhelming ability to care can bite them in the ass sometimes.

Saber Civilian name: Chenzi “Shenzi” Young Ethnicity: Chinese Pronouns: She/They Mentor: Dynasty

Powers: Got none but is very good with anything sharp. Primary weapon is a sword, but also proficient in hand to hand, and essentially any bladed weapon. Like Nightbolt, is also a decent acrobat.

Description: Gets cold easily, so often wears oversized hoodies and sweatpants (is often told to put on “real” pants when going out in public). Hero suit resembles a lighter, more fitted, and streamlined interpretation of heavy Tang Dynasty era armour. Colours are primarily red and white.

Personality: A gremlin but in a lovable way. She’s convinced she and Karma are the only ones with a sense of humour. Would be a prankster if it didn’t take so much work, so instead goofs off with Karma. Is actually very intelligent and good at what they do, they just manage their stress through shenanigans and can’t focus to save their life (ADHD for the win folks). Shares a braincell with Karma.

#mun mumbles #my writing #Superbabies #original character #i love them your honor

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aniverous · 3 years ago

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Mirror World Ideas

I've been thinking about how the Mirror World could actually function, and I'm never gonna get around to writing all of these, so I figured I'd post them because why not:

Reflections were not sapient or sentient at the beginning. The Mirror World was just another function of the Prime World, like gravity or thermodynamics. However, since Reflections were directly connected to the Prime World in a way other forces of reality weren't, once sentient life developed Reflections gained the capacity for sentience as a species, and once sapient life appeared they developed the capacity for that as well.

Reflections have the memories of their Prime, but the connection is weak enough that Reflections can possess their own minds.

Before becoming sapient, Reflections would Recycle automatically upon their Prime's death, which means melting back into the substance of the Mirror World and re-emerging as the reflection of someone else. With sapient Reflections, the process only happens if the Prime-less Reflection decides to have it happen. If they are killed in the Mirror World, they Recycle at the moment of death.

If they die outside of the Mirror World, they don't Recycle, and no one knows what happens to them.

Reflections don't keep their memories when they're Recycled, but they are aware that they have been Recycled. They usually don't bother counting how many times it happens, but some Reflections have been around since the dinosaurs.

It is rare for a Reflection to choose to become a Flec rather than get Recycled, and the Flecs are only needed occasionally, as it's uncommon for someone to become a 'Sliver'.

The Flecs were formed once Humans started philosophizing about their existence, causing Reflections to do the same. Most Reflections disagreed with the 'radicals' who wanted Reflections to have an identity outside of the Primes, and they were quickly crushed.

There have been rare instances of Slivers injuring and killing other Reflections out of desperation or malice, but usually they just run and hide.

No sound can be heard from the Mirror World by the Prime World, but sound can travel from the Prime World into the Mirror World, albeit muffled.

Reflections have no 'off duty' time, not even when there are no Primes around to see them. No communication is had between Reflections, and they only know how to speak at all by listening to and mimicking the Primes talking.

Of course, despite the 'no talking' rule, rumors and information still inevitably spread, given the unstoppable nature of such things.

The Chrome Car is the subject of the majority of the rumors.

Reflections have no books, songs, or official history of any kind. All rules and information are passed from Flec to Flec, told to the Reflections by the Flecs, or spoken in whispers in quiet moments.

No matter the connections or feelings between their Primes, Reflections do not consider each other family, friends, enemies, or any other relation because their Primes are. Any bonds between their Primes are inconsequential to their view of each other.

Most Reflections actually have very little personality. They have no societal or personal interaction standards that would encourage them to develop individually, and have very few personal traits to speak of, usually forming in response to however they view their Prime. This is more likely the longer they've been reflecting a person, as their sense of individuality will fade over time. If you talked to the average Reflection, they would behave like they were in a permanently dissociated state.

This is the main of many reasons why, despite there being billions of sapient Reflections, there has been no successful rebellion of any sort.

The desire to reflect Primes is an instinct, strong enough that there are few deviants, but weak enough that it is overpowered by conscious thought.

Non-sapient Reflections simply take their Primes’ memories and personalities as their own, giving up minds they have no reason to hold onto. Extremely worn-down sapient Reflections can do this as well.

The Mirror World is not a solid space, the Chrome Car being the exception. Rather than having sky and ground, the dimension merges everything together as though the entire world was liquid metal, with chunks of the metal in solid form floating around and gravity being nonexistent, the air extremely cold and heavy. The reflective surfaces connecting it to the Prime World float in the liquid space, and move in response to the surfaces' movements in the Prime World. Rather than physically moving, although they are capable of it, Reflections warp to move around, using their Prime as an anchor.

There are rumors that if you go too far out, you'll hit the edge of the Mirror World and drift away into nothingness.

Reflections do need oxygen to live in both dimensions, so the Mirror World has an atmosphere, albeit a very different one. While Reflections can hold their breath for a long time in comparison to their Prime species counterpart, they will eventually suffocate if they don’t breath.

The only way out of the Mirror World is the Chrome Car, so the Flecs keep it on high alert.

While the metal is very similar to chrome, the substance making up everything and everyone in the Mirror World is a unique metal not found in the Prime World. There is no actual name for it, so it's called chrome until the Prime World has the opportunity to discover and analyze it.

The Chrome Car is made of this metal, and is the only place the substance touches the Prime World, which is why it's the only way out.

All appearances of Reflections interacting with things while reflecting are in fact illusions made by the Mirror World bending light so the Prime doesn't see the gray void the Reflection is actually in. This includes making the Reflections' look like their Prime in terms of color, and making their metal skin appear altered and/or malleable. Inside the Mirror World, the light bends and twists around everything like a self-contained Aurora Borealis.

Clothing is actually not an illusion, however, as a metal reflection of the Prime’s outfit will form around the Reflection to match the Prime. No one is sure why this happens, but escapees are grateful that they don’t start out naked.

The metal clothes fall under the ‘people can’t jump out of people’ rule, as they are technically a part of the Reflection. If the Reflection dies, the clothes melt too.

Reflections do not have children. Prime newborns either get a Recycled Reflection or, if there are none available, a brand new Reflection formed by the Mirror World. Any signs of pregnancy in Reflections are illusions by the Mirror World.

In modern times, it is rare for a new Reflection to be made, as the Reflection population would be whatever the maximum number of Prime beings there had been at one time. This only happens if the Prime species experiences a population boom, or a rare massacre or plague occurs in the Mirror World.

Inside the Mirror World, Reflections get all the energy they need to survive from the dimension itself, and don't need to eat, drink, sleep, or do anything but breath to survive, although they are physically able to do all of it. In the Prime World, they have the same needs as whatever species they reflect. This information is widely unknown, so most Reflections that do get out run themselves to exhaustion and either get caught by the Flecs due to weakness or die of starvation and thirst.

There is, however, coffee and hot-chocolate in the Mirror World, which the Flecs import from the Train. They’re given to Flecs as a reward for their service, and to Reflections who report deviants as a reward for doing so. It’s surprisingly effective as a motivator.

Reflections cannot survive for any period of time without the unique energy of the Mirror World. They automatically cannot detach fully from reflective surfaces as a function of their bodies to prevent instant death. The Flecs’ skin-suits are designed to circumvent this by containing some of this energy, but given how Flecs only go to the Prime World in rare instances, the technology is underdeveloped.

Theoretically, an organic Prime lifeform could survive in the Mirror World without equipment, but only for a short time as the intense cold and extremely dense atmosphere would become fatal quickly. Since the Chrome Car is designed to have Humans enter the Mirror World, it nullifies these issues for its area.

All technology in the Mirror World is made by repurposing the metal using methods known only to the Flecs as a means of controlling and maintaining the Mirror World.

The skin-suits only work on the Train, as the dimension's odd properties make the barrier weak enough to pass through, as well as make it possible for the Chrome Car to punch through to the Mirror World.

Reflections only feel pain if they are damaged to the point that their body loses its structural integrity, which causes them to liquify. Small wounds can heal on their own by re-solidifying over time, but for serious wounds there are treatments that can stabilize the body up to a certain point.

Scratches, dents, and dried liquid wounds are fixed by smoothing them out and just waiting for the metal to replenish itself. Care must be taken not to grind the metal too far down or you’ll just liquify the injury again.

Fixing a huge wound mostly involves keeping the liquifying area in the right position and then welding and molding the skin layer closed around it. The Mirror World will slowly regenerate more metal to replace what the Reflection's body lost, but it only helps if the wound is in a stable position. If the damage is beyond what can be stabilized, like a missing chunk or huge gash, then there’s nothing to be done.

Since they only have a single mirror or a skin-suit connecting them to the dimension, escaped Reflections and Flecs in the Prime World heal much slower and are less likely to survive serious wounds.

Reflections can't get organic-life illnesses, but they can develop something resembling rust if damaged in either world if injuries are not tended to. Rust on the surface of their bodies formed from scratches acts like a rash or skin disease, and is relatively easy to remove. But if it reaches into the body, through a liquified injury or an ignored surface infection, it will act like an infected wound and will absolutely kill the Reflection if not given serious medical treatment.

Rust, as it’s called for lack of a better name, doesn't affect Prime lifeforms, but is contagious among Reflections, with metal not part of living Reflections, such as tools and ground, not being affected. Rare incidents where rogue Reflections injured many others have sometimes resulted in total outbreaks occurring.

Much like how Reflections can sense their Primes’ thoughts, Flecs can sense the thoughts of Reflections when the Reflections in question specifically focus on summoning the Flecs. This is how they are alerted about rogues, injuries, and Rust cases.

Reflections do not normally mourn their dead. To them, they have just been Recycled early. If a large number of Reflections have been killed at one time in a massacre or Rust outbreak, then they will mourn for a short time.

If the reflective surface attached to an escaped Reflection is cracked, their body will fracture as well, moving out from the object and going down beneath the skin as the damage to the object gets worse. If the object breaks completely, so does the Reflection before they liquify as the body becomes unsustainable.

Reflections are unable to dream inside the Mirror World. In the Prime World, not only can they have normal dreams and nightmares, but they can get brief flashes and memories of their previous lives if they encounter the right stimuli.

Escaped Reflections will no longer receive the memories of their Prime unless they re-enter the Mirror World. They will still feel the instinctive desire to reflect their Prime’s movements if the Reflection is looking at them.

Once out of the Mirror World, a Reflection will still grow and age, but they will only have the lifespan of the species they reflect, since the Mirror World will slowly stop giving them energy once the maximum amount of time has passed.

#infinity train #book 2 #mirror world #headcanons #long post #I used the word reflection way too many times #feel free to use these if you want

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duraxxor · 3 years ago

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Tales of Solanthos: Shadows Chapter 1 - The Cursed Child

" Darkness has a way of permeating within every single entity. It's existence is unlimited, unlike the other five original elements. And that is why it is widely feared. Because you never know what may be lurking in the Dark. " -- ???

Solanthos. A world filled to the brim with magics that have long evolved in the passing years since it's elemental cataclysm. And with the reformation of the very earth we stand upon, the planet itself as taken on a variety of layers. Some may even argue that the deeper you go to the seething core, the more hellish it becomes. I can attest to that theory. My name is Alphus Daevara, and what I am about to explain to you is more than just my story. No, it is a revolution in a new age amongst the world as we know it.

Amongst the many races of Solanthos, there were the Wyverians. The Wyverians are said to be pointed-eared, magically-attuned mortals that had evolved over time from the blessing of the creator Sylvirra, the matron deity that is said to have rivaled Solexstras, whom the Strassian people revered as their patron. That, however, is a story for another time. Anyways, there were four divinities that split depending on what it was the Wyverians chose to worship. The Goldenthorn, for example, are widely known for their belief in nature and all it provides, exalted in the ways of Life. The Sky Nomads are another group that chose to live amongst the skies in their floating city, believing that the Air they breath is the key to living a prosperous life. Then, we have the more sects that believe themselves to be more sophisticated amongst their kin. The Houses of Radiance, noble bloods that worships the light of the day stars and it's eternal flame. This house of nobility is often lost in it's own arrogance at times and unlike the earlier two, they do not extend their hand to other races so eagerly. Unironically, however, there was one final house whom believes themselves to be even more powerful than the House of Radiance. The Duskhaven choose to live in their underground city that stands on the borders between the first layer of the planet and the darkness that lies deep within the earth. However, their light is in the form of the moon phasing. Another notable trait that defines Duskhaven from the rest is their darker pigmentation as opposed to the lighter tones from their kin amongst the surface.

You're probably expecting me to tell you which one I fall into, aren't you? A Goldenthorn that values all life? A Sky Nomad that strives for adventure? A noble among the Houses of Radiance or perhaps one of the nocturnal Duskhaven? Well, if you guessed the latter of the four, you would be right to a degree but it gets more complicated from here. For you see... My father was of Duskhaven while mother, on the other hand, was of Radiance. Their marriage was highly frowned upon, going as far as even receiving death threats as well as the guardians paying close attention to their every movement. Eventually, they earned their right to love but not without consequence...

6.16.9100 - sixth cycle, sixteenth day, nine-thousand and one hundred years after the reformation. With life comes pain, and with pain comes life. A familiar that my mother experienced and accepted well. She screamed and writhed from the contractions. My birth was nigh but alas, my father was nowhere to be seen. " Where is he?... Where is my husband?! " The Goldenthorn that were requested for her birth outside of the territories answered naught once but instead gave her advice. " Continue to breath in and push, Apolla. Your husband will be here soon. As will your child... " My mother rebuffed herself, lost in the pain from both my arrival and the separation of her beloved. Alas, the only one awaiting her outside was her brother, one who had clung to a hope that his sisters choices would not cost the house their reputation. He, who was also responsible for my father, Sephirrion, from being present as he had guards assembled to prevent what my uncle declared to be an interference. With each scream, I drew closer to existence until finally one high pitching shriek followed with the sound of a babe crying out it's first breath.

" It's a boy, Apolla! Rejoice! You have birthed a son! " The Goldenthorn practitioners cheered with the success until they looked upon the crying child's form upon the initial clean up. Neither sun-touched nor midnight complexion existed. Instead, it was as if my flesh had been touched by storm clouds or the greys of stone. A tuft of white hair sprouted from my cranium. And to some, it was a sickly sight. Specifically my uncle who had immediately rushed into the room to his displeasure. " Sister... What. Have. You... Done?! You have soiled our family name with the existence of a cursed child! " My mother was even given a chance to process what he had said in her tired state before the Goldenthorn found themselves scrambling to stop an enraged Radiance from hurdling a ball of flame at the child. It all happened so fast. Even to this day, I'm haunted by the heat that had struck my flesh. However, as the child was engulfed in flames, the hue of radiant fire twisted, discoloring into an insidious purple blaze until the scream of a babe sent the flames outward in a burst, striking almost every single person within the room. My uncle along with a few of the Goldenthorn were burned but no one was killed in the incident. House of Radiance guards came swarming in and the injured Uncle gave her command. " Take the child to his father... and tell him that he is NOT to set foot close to our territories ever again! As for my sister... Take her and have her locked in a cell! I will not allow this event to destroy my family's way! "

So from that point, the last memory I can recall was the voice of my mother shouting my name despite my birth having been but a mere moments before she was torn away from her child. The guards did as they were commanded and eventually, my father learned of what had transpired. At this point, not only was Sephirrion overwhelmed with guilt and heartache, but he was mortified by the idea that his son possessed such a destructive power. From then on, he chose to raise me under his thumb amongst the Duskhaven. While they weren't as resentful of my existence, they still held prejudice against my father's love interest and the end result. To some, I was nothing more than a motherless child and an embarrassment. While others, believe me to be a white-haired demon. The latter was personified once my eyes had opened to the cruel world around me. An iris divided into two rings of color, the outer being a crimson river of blood while the inner ring illuminated with a blend of orange and yellow. Some described it to remind them of a feral beast before they took note of the dark pupils that possessed no shine to them.

My father would carry this burden on his shoulder for as long as he would live. No one would ever learn or could explain what had transpired that day. Why a child did not burn in fire and reflected such power in such a destructive manner. It was uncommon and hadn't be displayed in any infant. My father tried to give me the most normal life any Duskhaven could offer a halfblood. Food, water, clothing, and shelter. But most importantly, enough love despite the hole that was always within his heart. And with the cycles of life would come public education so I could learn how to live amongst the other's. I still remember my first day of school how everyone stared at me. Even the teacher introduced my name and it was as if I were a criminal. Children whispered obscene things about me that they had heard from their parents.

Freak. Blasphemy. Demon. He should be dead.

I chose to ignore it the best I could and stayed in my corner. That was, until I was confronted by an unexpected occurrence. A Duskhaven girl whose hair was a golden blonde, unlike most and her eyes were as blue as the oceans that were described in geographical lessons. " Hey you, why do the other kids make fun of you? " She asked in such a sweet but prodding voice as we sat outside the academy underneath a glowtree. Incase you were wondering, a glowtree is said to be related to an type of cypress on the surface world but it adapted to the darkness and stores the light that beams from the sun and moon phasing through cavities above. Anyhow, I didn't know what to say or think, I simply stared at her a moment. " Huh? I know you can talk.. I don't understand why they make fun of you? You have pretty eyes. So what if you're different? " I remember something in my tiny, little heart clenching on my strings and I just couldn't contain myself as I began to cry at how kind and warm this girl was to me. " Hey... it'll be alright. You're name's Alphus, right? I'm Felyna. " That's a name I would remember forever. She was the second person to extend a kindness to me aside from my father who raised me. I would meet her during recess and sometimes even after school amongst the City of Undershire.

But, as years passed and I approached the age of ten cycles, her father began to take notice of how close we were. One might say he was much like my uncle and didn't take too kindly to a halfblood mingling with his noble child. I remember when day this tall, powerful man dressed in magus attire approach the two of us outside of school. " Felyna.. " His voice was deep with age and possessed a wicked octave to it. "... why are you fraternizing with this abomination? " As the question plunged my heart like a blade, his daughter protested by reflecting his own question with denial. I can remember how much his voice raised when he demanded his daughter return home at once, forcing her to respect his wishes with the threat behind his voice. But I made one more error at that moment as he told the father how mean he was being and glared at him. " Do not question my ways of parenting you ignorant, little gremli- " As I half expected my face to be lobbed off my shoulder by the strike of a hand, Felyna's father found his arm caught by my own father's. " Leave the children out of this matter... I'm the problem, not my son... " His azure gaze was locked upon my father's yellow orbs in the heat of the moment as they both retracted their arms and the opposing entity said the following words. " You have made a grave mistake, Sephirrion, and I will see to it that you both regret it... I will not have my daughter sullied by your... thing. "

At that point, my father had finally told me that night that I wasn't allowed to go back to the academy and that he would be homeschooling me in his spare time. It was peaceful for the most part but my heart ached as I feared I had gotten Felyna into more trouble that I expected. I never saw her again after that event and not long after, the quiet peace would be broken by the sound of our door being shattered to pieces. It seemed her father held true to his words as my father and I found ourselves confronted by several magi. " Run, Alphus! Run and don't look back! " Those were the last words I heard of my father ever again as I managed to escape through the window of my room and made a run for the city gates. Once again, I had made another miscalculation in my youth as there were guardsman waiting for my arrival as they caught me, the wild, unruly child and I found myself face to face with the same father who had nearly struck me for even glancing in his presence. " Take him to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Make sure that I never see his abominable presence near my daughter again.. "

During my childhood I had heard of whispers amongst the children about these pits. Ab'bothi was an unfamiliar term from a race known as the Arakne, which were apparently spider-like people. In their tongue it translated to Strong Jaws apparently or so the Duskhaven children claimed. It was said that these deep caverns were a living creature that swallowed anyone whole that plunged them for knowledge, never to return. And here I was about to be taken to these pits for only the elements knew what? Always fighting, always flailing, I tried as I might to escape but my energy reserves eventually ran out until found myself tossed onto the hard, stone floor far from the City's light. What little light graced this deepening cavern was nearly snuffed by an smoggy darkness. The entrance paying homage to the name as the ceiling and floors were decorated with jagged spikes that reminded someone of the Strong Jaws. There were even a few that had bones stuck between them, fermenting with the scent of age and death.

" Walk, halfblood. " I felt a dagger pointed directly at my back at the very tip, giving me no choice but to walk forward on their command. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six steps taken before I was told to stop and turn around. Despite my cooperation, my face was struck by the dagger, leaving a jagged scar on the bridge of my nose which was met with a harsh cry of pain as I fell backwards onto my bum, holding my bleeding face. I remember asking, even pleading with them in my painful confusion. " Why? Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this treatment?! " To which, the lead of the group of hired henchmen covered in their shrouds answered. " We do not question our Lords, we only carry out their commands. But know this... that as you snuffed from the life that it is because you were born that you deserved this... " Harsh words were something that I had become familiar with, but to hear a grown man tell me that it is my life which condemns me to such treatment. It struck like a harsh chord along the strings of what remained of my heart. Even when they raised their weapons and the magi began to channeling destructive fire, it was as if I had already given up hope that I even deserved to live. My mother was gone, my father was likely dead, and my closest friend was banished from ever seeing me again. And here I was, about to die, for being a halfblood thing. And in that moment, my gaze stared blankly as I accepted the jaws of death.

" Kshhhhhh...kkkkk... How very curioussss...kkkk.... "

A series of clicking followed such words that were breathed down my spine as I felt something much more threatening approach from behind. The magics of the magi were suddenly nullified and the light was snuffed by a clouded smog. Even as the Duskhaven themselves looked around in a disturbed confusion, I dared not move a muscle as my own vision saw through the darkness at what was staring at me from above. I didn't quite know how to describe it either. A mouthful of needles wrapped in a series of bandages? How could such a beast or monster see in this darkness? Wait, how could I see in this darkness? " You sssssee me boy, don't you? " Saliva dripped from his that maw of potential murder, or at the very least, that's what I was hoping it was. It wasn't until I hesitated that I saw the elongated limbs beside me that looked at though the forearms on their own were as tall as a Duskhaven on their own. How big was this thing? I remember one of those limbs lifted to point those spiny fingers towards the men that were in a commotion. A single finger could completely gouge my eye out if it so desired. " Well? Can you sssspeak? Kkkkkk... or has the ssserpent got your tongue? " There it was, that incessant clicking that brought shivers to the bone.

A nodded to the best of my abilities, gritting my teeth as I steeled myself for whatever else may await me in these dark times. " Do you wish to live, child? It would be a wasssste to see such youth be sssnuffed by the ignorant. " In that moment, I remember my eyes cutting towards the men who were preparing themselves as they found a means to illuminate a short range, the leader calling out to find me and finish this job quickly. " Y-yes. I want to live! Please, help me! Spare me! Don't harm me, please! No more! " To most, it was a pitiful sight and it was the last time I truly had a moment of weakness as I covered my face.

" Ahhhh.... Excellent... kkkkkk.... " The insideous clicking followed with a rush of air as whatever this anomaly was, it had took flight in some way, shape, or form. And as I thought it had left me to the wolves who had spotlighted me in the distance, I began to notice that the magus were once again placed in a panic as one by one, each one was being pulled into the inky blackness that surrounded the area. Screams and cries of terror followed by the sound of tearing flesh and duskblood puddling upon the floor below. Even so, the leader of the assailants didn't give up as he set his sights upon me. " I knew you were a miserable halfblood... but to be cursed with such monstrous demons that follow you in your wake... I will end you! " I couldn't catch a break. It seemed as though one thing after another, my heart was always on some form of edge. I could do nothing but throw up my arms and hope that it softened the blade that was about to be plunged into my small body. Yet the pain did not come. Why?

" What is this?! " The leader cried out just before I pulled my arms down to look beyond the truth. The image of a familiar hand with elongated claws had wrapped completely around the Duskhaven's left arm. " Let me go! I was sent here to do my job! I won't go back empty handed! " The protestation of the assassin was met with not a glimmer of mercy. In fact, he found that this putrid substance was expelled from between the fingers of this creature. Dark magic that ate away at his arm, severing it as the flesh and bone fell completely off. Never in my life had a heard a man scream so loudly in such torment. I was shaking, perhaps even terrified from the possibility that I may be next yet... something about it seemed correct in nature.

" Tsk tsk tsk... You mortal beingss always have an excusssse for mucking around my territory. A job? More like ssssome petty squabble... " The thud of two feet as they landed from above. Much like the face and the arms of the beast, so two were these elongated legs that bent and contorted in a sharp manner. This would explain his acrobatic skills of likely being able to climb the ceilings perhaps rather than flight? Leaping perhaps. "... all thisss trouble for one whelpling? " A clicking laugh followed as the light illuminated the creatures form more than expected. The majority of the body was shrouded by a cloak that seemed to blend with the darkness, as if it were a part of it. Such enchanted relics weren't unheard of but were quite rare of the Wyverian breed.

" I'm not sure w-what you are, demon... but that child is a blight upon our kind... and if left unchecked, he could very well be a.... " The pained man suddenly felt his own bones start to contort and snap from the inside, as if he were being manipulated by an unseen hand. " Threat? Thisss... gifted child? Oh nononono... not a threat so as long as you continue to berate and abuse him... however... Ra'shi'sek... " The utterance of such a word was hissed from the needled mouth and right before my eyes, my troubles were engulfed in a violet wildfire brought a vivid light to the entrance of these cavern, revealing the true size of the being before me as he stood slightly hunched over. He was bigger than any man I had ever met in my lifetime, almost two average Duskhaven in this current state. All that remained was the wailing agony as the assassin and his desecrated underlings were sent to some malevolent hell, vanishing as if there wasn't a single trace.

" And then... kkkk... there was one... " A soft chittering followed across my eardrums as the being began to step towards my right side, which just so happened to be the entrance to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Unlike combat, the giant humanoid possessed no loud thud in his steps as they proved to be silent in nature. Calculated, perhaps. I remember pulling myself up rather carefully and slowly before the stranger came to a stop. " If I were you... I would not try returning to the City... you will likely be held resssponsible for their deaths... but... kkkkk... if you wish to give it a tr- " Not a single pause was required before the next words fell right out of my mouth. " I have nothing left there... I would be better off not returning if there was a chance my parents were still alive... I want to go with you.. sir... "

The towering shroud stood there silently for the longest moments before another series of clicks followed, tilting his covered head to the side before. "... Why? " Another faint silence was shared between the small child and the being that had saved me from death. I swallowed, despite having serpent's mouth from the lack of hydration. " You said I was gifted. I want you to teach me how to use that gift to live. I know not why you have been so kind to me but, I would not wish to waste the chance you have given me. " The being heard my case, tilting his head to the opposing direction before he chittered with his reply. " There will be rulesss. I will teach you but to pass beyond the veil, you may never return to your people without my permission. For if you do... kkkkk... I will abandon you. And if you pursssue me, I will treat you as I had the othersss. " The deadly claws fidgeting in the dark as he allowed the speech to permeate in my mind. The brief hesitation was due to a lack of trust and just before I could answer, he continued. " You are stepping into the Abyssal Wilds, child. My path will not be an easy one to walk, no matter if you are a whelpling or a mighty beast. You will be pushed to your limits ssooo that you may surpasss them. KKkkk... Are we in agreement? "

What sort of horrors may await me in the unknown? Were they more terrifying than him? To push me passed my limits? Would I be broken? Mangled? Shattered? I had already been through many turmoil. Beaten and reaped from any equality amongst my kin. I remember this red-hot fire burning within my heart as anger against my kind began to manifest in my form. And rather than answer verbally, I stood as tall as I could and followed this entity's steps until I finally stood beside him. " Tell me child... what do they call you? " He asked as we began to move in unison, despite the major height difference. " Alphus... Alphus Daevara. What are you called? " The light of the upper crevice that cascaded down onto the city soon dimmed as we stepped into the unknown abyss that lies beyond the pits.

" A name that translates in the tongue of your kin as... The Huntsman. "

#a new story #Alphus Daevara #Chapter 1 #The Huntsman

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years ago

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Why TimSteph is nice

Because I honest to goodness think they are. Prompted by @tsukiakari1203 who needed cheering up but also just because it’s that kind of evening you know?

I also have a TimSteph meta tag if you want to go through four years of me moaning about them. I am going to be repeating myself from some of those posts. Sorry. These are just little things which I love to infer more meaning out of then what was (probably) intended.

This is long. As always.

Pre-New 52 there are a lot parallels with each other. Their Batgirl and Red Robin runs copy each other thematically. Their characters over their thirty years of publication flip on the cynicism and idealism scale. Tim is initially good at making and keeping friends. Steph is initially not. Tim comes from a relatively stable home, albeit it with distant at best or neglectful at worst parents. Steph comes from an unstable home, with neglectful at best and abusive at worst parents. Tim pushes his way into the inner circle of the batfam and is successful at doing so on like his second or third try. Stephanie pushes her way into the inner circle of the batfam, but it takes approximately 20 tries plus (nearly) dying to get people to take her heroics seriously. Both form close familial relationships with the originator of the mantle they hold.

Tim starts helping because he believes no-one else can step up to the plate and help Bruce, and he continues to help people because it is simply the right thing to do. After multiple tragedies he loses any desire to exist as his genuine self outside his superhero mask, and the reader is left with the idea that there isn’t really a Tim Drake left at the end of his solo run anymore, only different factors of Red Robin. Stephanie starts helping because she believes no-one else is capable of stepping up to the plate and stopping her father, and over time her spite and anger turns to genuine altruism and compassion, which makes it impossible for her to willingly hang up her costume. After multiple tragedies, the line between her Stephanie self and Batgirl self is practically non-existent. She is never not genuinely herself, and is on the path to get her degree, repair her relationship with her mother, work alongside the new friends she has made and pursue everything that may have been denied to her when she was fourteen years old.

One of Tim’s first major missions as Robin had him face Scarecrow. One of Stephanie’s first missions as Batgirl was to face Scarecrow. As @our-happygirl500-fan once pointed out - Stephanie’s super heroics started with her trying to kill her father. Tim’s super heroics ended with him trying to kill his father’s killer. Stephanie gains Bruce’s unequivocal trust, Tim loses it. The future Tim sees for himself ten years down the line is lonely, dead or in a position he does not want to take (Batman). The future Stephanie sees for herself ten years down the line is being a parent, mentoring younger heroes, living in a nice house, and running around in a beloved mantle (Nightwing).

Both of their biggest fears are simply not being good enough at what they need and want to be.

Onto fluffier things below the cut...

Absolute favourite thing is how they are often drawn holding each other’s cheeks. Hands are a big them for them (for me) so look out for their interactions. Even when they aren’t a couple, their hands are resting on the other or reaching out for the other. It’s not uncommon for Tim to put his right arm around Steph when they are sitting together and press her into his chest.

Tim’s the only person to call Stephanie Stephie aside from her father and Dean, and therefore is the only one to mean it as a genuine endearment. He is also the only person aside from her parents to call her sweetie, though again, unlike her father but like her mother, Tim means it as a genuine endearment.

One of the side purposes of Stephanie’s pregnancy arc was to give Tim and Steph a reason to get to know each other outside of the costume. Early on, even before they got together, Stephanie pushed against there being a distinction between the mask and the person wearing it. She continually both pre and post new 52 decries Tim claiming there is any kind of separation. Stephanie had a crush on Robin, but she fell in love with the boy who kissed her in the cinema, took her to the highest point in Gotham because he thought the views were romantic, and took her to birthing classes with a fake beard on. She loved Tim. There is no distinction. For about a year in universe she was the only person who had a reason to exist in both Tim and Robin’s lives. Giving up one would not necessitate giving up Steph. Though she would insist on dragging Tim back to the surface. Therefore, I think, if the Pre-New 52 universe had been allowed to continue, Steph would have been important in getting Tim back to the surface over Red Robin. Look what she managed to do in their crossover. The mere threat that she doesn’t recognize Tim anymore helps get him back on track. It’s also a thing in Rebirth. Tim is Tim is Robin is Red Robin is Drake is Tim. No difference.

I cannot find exact proof of this right now but there’s a panel where Tim’s on a date with Ari, and he can’t focus on her, as he’s too worried about a case. Tim can’t flipping focus ever with Zo because at that point his mind is just too full of trauma by then.

Steph takes him to the cinema, he relaxes. Steph makes out with him; his mind goes blank. I dunno where I’m going with this. Steph makes Tim feel safe, I guess. He lets his guard down bad with her.

When they’re younger they’re both kind of jealous over the other. Tim (playfully) threatens to shoot a guy who has a crush on Steph, and she does the very logical thing when seeing Tim being kissed and decides to make a Robin costume and force her way into the Batcave. Love was conditional for the both of them growing up, so the concept that they love each other for realsies doesn’t really compute. The other will leave. Eventually. Tim has better prospects and Steph will get bored of Mr Goody-Two-Shoes. Spoiler: They don’t.

Steph trusts Tim with the stories of her assault. She says her favourite things about him are his gentle nature, the fact that he’s not afraid to show her he’s frightened, and his empathy. Tim loves how warm Stephanie is and he loves how consistent her affection for him is. He knows that she only has his best interests at heart, even when she listens to the wrong people for what that is (coughBrucecough). They often can be found bolstering and comforting the other against Bruce’s actions as much as they can be seen supporting him, which makes for some juicy conflict.

In Rebirth Tim only sets the drones to target himself when Steph calls him thinking she’s going to die. In Rebirth the last person Tim chooses to speak to is Steph. In Rebirth the thought of Steph is one of the things that keeps his will to go home alive and his sanity after spending months alone intact. In Rebirth his renewed relationship with Steph was partially unravelling Dr Manhattan’s reboot of the earth (the power of adolescence crushes). In Rebirth Stephanie wins over the bad guys by assuring her boyfriend that a) he is a good person who b) she trusts to do the right thing. She saves the day with the Power of Love. In the bad Batman of Tomorrow future, Tim is looking for Steph, implied that he still has feelings for her even though she says he is essentially dead to her, he goes to see young Stephanie and begs forgiveness from her, then uses her - referring to her as something to possess in one interpretation - to throw young Tim off in a fight. Again, in Young Justice, the thought of Stephanie is one of Tim’s biggest motivators to go home. She is his home. He is her cornerstone.

And that is why I think they are a neat couple.

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph meta

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tipsycad147 · 4 years ago

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Using Magical Poppets and Dolls

You're the only one who can decide what's ethically acceptable for you. Michelle Constantini/Getty Images

By Patti Wigington

Updated January 05, 2019

The magical poppet is one of the most commonly used implements in sympathetic magic, which follows along on the theory that “like creates like.” Although TV shows and movies typically show poppets as the stereotypical "voodoo doll," poppets have been around for a long time, and used in a number of different cultures and religious belief systems. There are many ways to create a poppet, and they can be used to harm or to heal; if you create a poppet of a person, anything done to the poppet will affect the person it represents. Bear in mind that some magical traditions discourage the use of poppets. If you're not sure whether or not it's okay for you to use poppet magic, you may want to check with someone in your tradition.

A poppet is usually made from cloth or fabric, but you can also make one from clay, wax, wood, or just about any other material. You can fill your poppet with herbs, stones, bits of wood, paper, or anything else that suits your needs. In addition to magical items, it's a good idea to include some cotton or polyfill as stuffing material.

Once the poppet is created, you'll need to connect it to the person it represents, which is typically done by using a magical link of some sort. Remember, the poppet is a useful magical tool, and can be used in a variety of workings. Use it for healing, to banish harmful people from your life, to bring abundance your way — the choices are practically limitless.

Poppet History

Fetish dolls on sale at a market in Togo. Danita Delimont/Getty Images

When most people think of a poppet, they automatically think of the Voodoo doll, thanks to this item's negative portrayal in movies and on television. However, the use of dolls in sympathetic magic goes back several millennia. Back in the days of ancient Egypt, the enemies of Ramses III (who were numerous, and included some of his harem women and at least one high-ranking official) used wax images of the Pharaoh, to bring about his death. Let's look at some of the historical uses of poppets in spellwork.

Greek Kolossi

It wasn't uncommon for the Greeks to use sympathetic magic in workings related to love or war. Christopher Faraone, Professor of Classical Languages and Literatures at the University of Chicago, is one of the foremost authorities on Greek magic today, and says that Greek poppets called Kolossoi were sometimes used to restrain a ghost or even a dangerous deity, or to bind two lovers together. In Idyll 2, The Witch (Pharmakeutria), written about 200 b.c.e., the tragedian Theocritus refers to melting and burning wax dolls. He relates the tale of Simaetha, rejected by Delphis, attempts to get her lover back with magic.

The Princess Who Played with Dolls

Wax dolls certainly weren't limited to the ancient classical world. The one-time Princess of Wales, Caroline of Brunswick, was married to the man who later became King George IV, and evidently couldn't stand him. She spent many hours forming wax dolls of her husband and jabbing them with pins. Although there's no concrete evidence as to what this may have done to George, when Caroline ran off to Italy with her young lover, George didn't object. The royal couple remained married but lived separately until Caroline’s death in 1821, according to Witchcraft and Evidence in Early Modern England by Malcolm Gaskill.

West African Fetish Magic

West African slaves brought with them a doll called a fetish when they were forced to leave their homes and come to the American colonies. In this case, the doll is not so much representative of an individual, but is in fact possessed by spirits connected to the doll’s owner. A fetish contains significant power and is typically worn or carried by its owner as a talisman. During America's Colonial period, slave owners were allowed to kill any slave found with a fetish in his possession.

American Hoodoo and Folk Magic

In American Hoodoo and folk magic, the use of poppets as a magical tool became popular following the Civil War. There is some dispute as to whether the dolls are used at all in Haiti, which is the home of Vodoun religion, and a few sources disagree on whether the use of poppets is truly a Vodoun practice or not. However, the Voodoo Museum of New Orleans does stock a variety of dolls in their gift shop.

Regardless of how you make your poppet — out of cloth, a chunk of meat, or a glob of wax, remember that poppets have a long tradition behind them, and that tradition is influenced by the magical practices of a wide range of cultures. Treat your poppets well, and they will do the same for you!

Make Your Own Poppet

Photomorgana/Getty Images

A poppet can be as simple or as elaborate as you like — it all depends on how much time and effort you want to put into it. You can construct one out of just about any material — cloth, clay, wood, wax. Use your imagination! In some magical traditions, it's believed that the more work you put into it, and the more complex it is, the stronger your link will be to your goal. Because a poppet is a device for sympathetic magic, all of its components will be symbols of what it is you hope to achieve.

You can do your poppet-making as part of the working itself, or it can be made ahead of time so you can use the poppet later on. Which method you choose is really up to you.

Remember, your poppet represents a person, so figure out before you begin who it symbolizes. Is it you? A friend who's asked you for help? An un-named lover you want to bring into your life? A gossip you want to shut up? The possibilities are endless, but just like in any spell working, you'll need to set a goal before you begin. It keeps you from having to deal with "do-overs" later. These instructions are for a basic poppet construction, using fabric. Feel free to modify your design as you need to.

Selecting Your Fabric

There are no real rules when it comes to choosing your material, but it's not a bad idea to select fabric based on your goal. If you're doing a money spell, use a piece of green or gold cloth. If you're looking at healing, perhaps something in a soft blue or silver would be best. Check out fabric stores around the holidays, and you can find all kinds of neat patterns.

Valentine's Day designs are perfect for matters of the heart, and there are plenty of prints with dollar signs, coins, stars and moons, and other fun designs.

Another option is to use fabric that links the poppet to the person it represents. Doing a healing spell for a friend? Ask the person for an old t-shirt. If you're trying to draw love into your life, consider using a scrap from that sexy lingerie you wore last night. If you just can't find the right material, use a plain muslin or white felt. Here are a few ideas for designs and colors for poppet magic.

Animals: Brown or green fabrics, patterns with cats or dogs, anything pet-related

Banishing: Black fabric, designs such as swords or wands, dragons or fire

Creativity: Orange or yellow fabric, prints of suns or other fire symbols

Healing: Silver, white or blue, with designs of clouds or other air symbols

Love: Pink or red material, designs like hearts, roses or other flowers, Cupids

Money: Silver, gold or green fabric, or designs of dollar bills or coins, cups or earthy symbols

Protection: Red or white material, with patterns of shields, keys or locks, fences, mistletoe

When it comes to types of fabric, use what's easiest for you to work with. Cotton prints are easy to sew, but if you've never used a needle and thread before, you might want to try something stiffer like felt — it comes in every color you can imagine, and will hold its shape as you sew. If you're an experienced sewer, use anything you like.

A poppet represents a person, so ideally it should look (sort of) like a person. Give it a head, two arms, two legs, a torso. You can make your own outline or you can use the ultimate poppet pattern — a gingerbread man. If you're doing a spell for an animal — such as a healing spell for a sick pet — make the poppet shape accordingly. Your poppet doesn't have to be huge, but it should be big enough that you can stuff it with your ingredients later.

Take two pieces of your fabric, and place them right side together on a flat surface. Place the pattern on top, pin it in place, and cut it out. Leave a little room around the edges for a seam allowance — usually a 3/8" margin is good. Remove the pattern, and there are your two poppet shapes. Time to start sewing!

If you've never sewn anything by hand before, don't panic. It's not hard, but it does require some patience. You could always use a sewing machine if you're pressed for time, but most experienced poppet-makers agree that it's worth the effort to do it by hand. Pin the two pieces of material with the right sides together, and stitch around the edges. Leave an opening somewhere, wide enough to stick a couple of fingers in. Turn the poppet inside out, and begin stuffing.

Personalize Your Poppet

Fill your poppet with something soft, like polyfill or cotton balls. Old pantyhose work nicely too. Work the stuffing all the way into the nooks and crannies of the arms and legs, and then fill the torso and head.

This is where you'll place your spell components — herbs, stones, whatever. In some magical traditions, something from the person represented goes inside the poppet. This is alternately referred to as a taglock or a magical link — it can be bits of hair, nail clippings, body fluids, a business card, or even a photograph. Once everything is inside, sew the poppet completely shut.

The more you can customize your poppet, the better. Even if you've placed a magical link, or taglock, inside, you'll want to decorate the outside too. Draw or paint or sew a face onto your doll. Add yard or string for hair. Dress your poppet in something that looks like the person's clothing. Copy any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing features onto the poppet as well. Add magical or astrological symbols if you like. While you're doing this, tell the poppet who it represents. You can say something along the lines of, "I have made you, and you are Jane Jones."

Your poppet can be used for any number of things—love, money, protection, healing, to get a job. Anything you can imagine, you can make a poppet to bring it about. Simply figure out your goal and the means to achieve it. The only limits on poppet construction are your own creativity and imagination.

6 Easy Poppet Projects

Make protective poppets for each member of your family with modeling clay. amanaimagesRF/Getty Images

Not sure what sort of poppets to create, or how you can use them in a practical application? Try one of these six easy ideas for making and using your own poppets.

1. To Get a Job You've Applied For

Material: satin, green or gold or silver

Herbs: clover, chamomile, ginger, cinnamon

Gemstones: snowflake obsidian or sodalite

Create a poppet to represent yourself. As you make it, focus on the positive attributes that you possess which will make you appealing to a potential employer. Another option is to create the poppet in the image of the employer (include business cards or letterhead inside, if you can get them) and tell the employer poppet why you're the best person for the job.

2. To Protect Your Family

Material: Modeling clay

Herbs: Basil, patchouli, coffee

Gemstones: Hematite, amethyst, black onyx.

Create poppets that represent each member of the family, blending herbs and stones into the clay. Put them in a safe place in your home, such as near your hearth, and utilize magical shielding or cast a circle of protection around them. This is actually a fun project you can get your kids involved in as well — let them each make their own poppet person!

3. To Heal a Sick Person

Material: White cotton or unbleached muslin

Herbs: Lemon balm, feverfew, ivy, and pine.

Gemstones: Bloodstone, turquoise

When you make this poppet, be sure to indicate what you are trying to heal, whether it's a case of tennis elbow, a chronic infection, or even a broken heart. Focus all of your energy on the ailment in question.

4. To Bring Love Into Your Life

Material: Red or pink silk or cotton

Herbs: Rose petals, parsley, and peppermint

Gemstones: Barite, jade, rose quartz

Make a poppet to represent the object of your affection — remember that in some magical traditions it is frowned upon to make a specific person the target of your working. If you are simply trying to attract love to yourself, but you don’t have a specific person in mind, focus on all the desirable qualities you want to see in a potential lover.

5. Silencing a Gossip

Material: Ground beef or other squishy meat

Herbs: Horseradish, pepper, rue, yarrow, valerian

Shape the meat and herbs into a person, and create a "meat puppet" in the same way you'd make a fabric one. As you make the doll, tell it that it's time to be silent, and tell no more gossipy stories. Remind it that people who can't say nice things shouldn't say anything at all. Dispose of the doll by either burning it on your grill and burying it someplace far away, feeding it to your dog, or leaving it out in the sun to rot.

6. Emergency Poppet on the Fly

Material: Aluminum foil

Perhaps something has come up in a hurry, and you feel it needs immediate magical attention. Use a piece of aluminum foil to whip together a quickie poppet — shape it into the figure of a person. Fill with any magical components that might be handy — bits of wood, dirt, grass, even a name scribbled on a piece of paper — and personalize the poppet.

Need additional poppetry ideas? Try making a magical gingerbread poppet, or put together a portable poppets kit to keep in your magical arsenal!

https://www.learnreligions.com/what-are-magical-poppets-4072783

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eloisevisualculture · 4 years ago

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the hypersexualisation of young girls in the media

The abuse and use of children for an adult’s personal gain is an issue that has always existed, regardless of the existence of the internet and the media. But the propagation of this platform (social media, entertainment or fashion magazines) has lead to a whole new sets of problems like the hyper-sexualisation of children, particularly young girls. The dictionary Larousse defines “hyper-sexualisation as “in society, the fact of giving an increasingly important place to sexuality, by multiplying references to it in the public space (media, advertising)”. In some cases this has been so normalised that criticism of these portrayals can be described as purist and excessive. What is the consequence of hyper-sexualisation of children in social media? The purpose of this essay will be to discuss the way the different ways children are sexualised in media and advertising and the effects it can have on their lives. It is not uncommon to hear the phrase “they grow up to fast nowadays” when referring to the youngest generations, as a result of their exposure to the media. Of course if the only thing young girls had to fear from acting like ‘grownups” was wearing makeup earlier in life, then there would be less cause for concern. Unfortunately, the dangers always revolves back to struggle of the ill- intentioned praying on the weak and easily influenced, and the continued danger of a patriarchal mentality passed down through generations. In the highly publicised fashion industry for instance, that holds a great influence on our society, there have been many instances of very young girls chosen as models, and put into adult life contexts. A notorious example is the 2011 edition of Vogue Paris, who published photographs of Thylane Lourby-blondeau, a 10 year old model who was pictures, in revealing clothes, makeup and jewellery, lying on a bed and looking at the camera with a sultry air.

It sparked a controversy and brought up the issue of the hyper-sexualisation children. Many people and parents stated that it was inappropriate and dangerous to picture a young child in an undeniably sensual light, and that directing a shoot to appeal to post-pubescent men, while the child was too young to understand the implications. Thylane Loubry-Blondeau, on the cover of Vogue Paris, 2011, January edition Others defended it simply as ‘art’, the portrayal of a girl playing dress up, which ultimately does little to justify morals. Art was also the excuse Irina UNESCO gave after photographing and publishing albums of her daughter in sexual, pornographic scene, also nude, from the age of 4 to 11. In an interview with the purple magazine, Ionesco reflects on how her mother used her for years for her own personal gain and career, her works being widely known because they were so scandalous; “She would put make-up on me when I was a child. I slept very little, didn’t go to school. She took erotic photographs of me and made me act in erotic films, of which I was the subject. It wasn’t just about the photos — her entire approach was abusive. Sometimes she would send me to other photographers. She’d say: “You’re going to see such and such a photographer. It’s not great, but you’re going anyway.” It was becoming very dangerous.”(Ionesco). One of the disturbing things about the work Irina published about her daughter is that it is still available to purchase today, and even praised for it’s artistic value.

Eva Ionesco in her adult years has described in detail the “loss of childhood” and the life long effects she had to deal with from being sexualised and abused from such a young age “You were thrown into a world of adults, of nightlife, sex, and art very young — from the age of 12 or 13. And in one of the most liberal periods we’ve seen so far in terms of morals.” She went on to write a film inspired by her childhood and relationship with her mother. As with everything, it is important to avoid blind censure, and condemn anything without a deeper understanding. It is very easy to doggedly pursue a cause and become set in our opinions, and not allow freedom of expression to well meaning individuals, if their children are understanding and willing participants. The artist Sally Man was criticised for publishing nude pictures of her children. They were done as a celebration and a chronicle of her children’s evolution, childhood and slow progression to adulthood, and were done with the children’s understanding and consent, as was made clear in an article in the New York Times “The collaboration of the children in their mother’s work is apparent to anyone who spends time in their company. They are impish, argumentative participants, not robots. (When a photographer asked them what kind of portrait of their mother should accompany this article, they shouted, “Shoot her naked, shoot her naked.” She did.)”(2015).

Sally Mann put the safety and wellbeing of her children above personal gain, choosing to publish her photo album ‘Immediate Family”, when the children would fully be aware of their choice. “I thought the book could wait 10 years, when the kids won’t be living in the same bodies. They’ll have matured and they’ll understand the implications of the pictures. I unilaterally decided.” (2015). One of the effects of the explosion of social media, and their ease of access, is that young children know have the ability to not only watch content that might not be suitable for age but to create content themselves. On Tiktok for instance, there is a lot of content based on visual, and sensual appeal, like women doing suggestive dances in revealing clothing. Women who are old enough have the experience and sense to be fully aware, and take distance themselves from the comments, they are doing it for their own enjoyment. Young girls watch these videos and see the adulation and attention these influencers get, and want to try it out for themselves. Dr Elaine Kasket explains this system on TikTok is artificially amplifying a natural phenomenon. Unfortunately, the same ease of access that allowed the children to post these videos also means that the people who want to abuse them can see them too. Not only do they write inappropriate sexual comment in the comments, or encourage more extreme behaviour for their own benefit, they also get in touch with the minors, and message them privately. Dr Kasket explanation is well illustrated by the 2020 film Cuties shows the traumas and effects of young girls lives governed by social media. This film portrays the journey of a young eleven year old Amy, as she joins a self organised preeteen dance group and is confronted with a whole new world of social media, pressures to be sexual and grown up.

"Teenagers are naturally interested in taking risks and they’re naturally interested in finding out about sex and The sexualisation of young girls is an issue which can be confused, but is also linked to their natural desire to imitate their mother, or older siblings. Every single child has tried at some point to act like their parents. But with the rise and ease of access of social media (instagram, TikTok), children have access to whole new world, and many try to imitate what they see on these platforms. discovering themselves as sexual beings and exploring that. "They are open to flattery, they are open to seduction, they are open to the verification they get from the hearts they get and the likes they get”. (2020, The Sun)Unfortunately, the same ease of access that allowed the children to post these videos also means that the people who want to abuse them can see them too. Not only do they write inappropriate sexual comment in the comments, or encourage more extreme behaviour for their own benefit, they also get in touch with the minors, and message them privately. Dr Kasket explanation is well illustrated by the 2020 film Cuties shows the traumas and effects of young girls lives governed by social media. This film portrays the journey of a young eleven year old Amy, as she joins a self organised preeteen dance group and is confronted with a whole new world of social media, pressures to be sexual and grown up. Through their imitation of sexualised adult women on the media, young girls inherit patriarchal and misogynistic ideals that superficial beauty determines their worth.The child beauty pageants are intensely popular in America, and raise a lot of money for charity. They parade toddler and young children in false nails, high heels, heavy makeup and heavy wigs, and are trained like performing animals to smile, pose and wave at the camera.

Naturally, many people argue that the simple fact of wearing makeup does not affect the girls in the slightest, and while that is true on the surface levels, there is much more than meets the eye. By dressing them up in all these gowns, and covering them in makeup and accessories to make them look “prettier”, the young girls are being taught that their natural appearance is not enough, and moreover that they need all these additional to get praise and win in life.

These little girls might enjoy looking “ like a princess”, but they are also adopting restrictive and superficial beauty ideals, and learning the all importance of appearance. Naturally, it is important to avoid completely vilifying pageants, they are not always the traumatic experience described by anti pageants or even shown behind the scenes pageants show. In her article for The Cut Goode collects the testimonies of other pageant stars and they are a mixed bag. Some describe that they have fond memories of competing, as ' bonding experience with their mother. An other used the platform to raise awareness about suicide, after her mother took her own life when she was 10 years old.But most often pageant are for the parents gain, and while women and mothers are often the ones organising them, they are, unknowingly or not transmitting the pressures of performative femininity to their daughters. Perpetuating a patriarchal and misogynist mindset in which Women must prioritise their appearance above all else, as the only thing giving them value.

And this cult of appearance and the emphasis on changing your appearance too fit the standards is the reason why eating disorders are so common in young girls and women. It could be argued that this is not the same as sexualisation of young girls, but beauty ideals and sexualisation are often intrinsically linked, especially if children are trying to abide to rules set by adults. While this essay has been essentially focussed on young girls, because they are the most targeted and at risk, the sexualisation and perpetuation of beauty ideals gives a toxic example to a future generation of men. Young boys are taught from a young age that pretty girls must look a certain way.

Conclusion:The sexualisation of children is a topic that is heavily discussed, by those against it and those who deny it’s existence or effects. The fact remains that sexualisation along ever occurs for an adult’s personal gain, or benefit.Little girls want to be pretty and attractive, but it is rarely for themselves.Admiring and wanting to be an adult is the most natural thing in the world, it is just tragic that they incorporate toxic ideals of femininity and beauty at the same time.

Bibliography

COTTAIS, C. LOUVET, M. (2021). The dangers of the hypersexualisation of young girls: a stolen childhood. growthinktank.org. [online] Jan. 2021. at https://www.growthinktank.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/The-dangers-of-the-hypersexualisation-of-young-girls_-a-stolen-childhood.pdf(Accessed 8 apr 2021)

Woodward, R. B. (2015) ‘The disturbing photography of Sally Mann’. The New York Times. At:https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/19/magazine/the-disturbing-photography-of-sally-mann.html(Accessed 5 apr 2021)

Cuties (2020) Directed by M. Doucouré. Available at: Netflix (accessed 20 April 2018)

Ionesco, E.(unknown date) ‘Eva ionesco’. Interview with Eva Ionesco. Interviewed by O. Sham for The Purple Magazine, Paris issue num 32At: https://purple.fr/magazine/paris-issue-31/eva-ionesco/ (Accessed 9 Apr 2021)

Good, L. (2012) ‘I was a child pageant star: Six Adult Women Look Back’. The Cut. (November). At: https://www.thecut.com/2012/11/child-pageant-star.html (accessed 18 April 2021)

Hall. D. ‘How ‘supercharged catnip” Tiktok is fuelling the sexualisation of young girls an exploitation of teens.’ The Sun online. At: https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/10941512/tiktok-catnip-sexualisation-teens/ (Accessed 18 April 2021).

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98prilla · 4 years ago

Text

Wings of Change

AO3

I was in a Remus mood and this happened.

...

He was sore. God, he was sore. Not that it was unusual for him to be sore. He got into all kinds of mischief and life-threatening scenarios every day. His imagination wasn’t nearly as tame as Roman’s usually was, blood and guts and death, oh my!

It wasn’t an uncommon sight, him bloodied and staggering down the hall to Janus’s room, or the living room, grin wide through red stained teeth, needing help patching himself up. Janus always grumbled and made a fuss about it, but with his extra arms he was fast, and always tenderly gentle, scolding him good naturedly the whole time.

Once Virgil would have helped as well. He was almost better at it than Janus, his fight or flight making him eerily good at assessing injuries, which ones were serious, which ones needed cleaning, which ones needed tending to first. But more than that, he often stopped Remus before he went that far to begin with, appearing in the shadows of the imagination and dragging him home, or teaming up with him to defeat the day’s monster, making sure they both stayed relatively safe.

Once he might have had Roman, watching his back, moving together as one, not needing to speak to understand the other’s movements. It was a well-rehearsed dance, one that was more familiar than breathing, one that brought to the surface a strange sort of quiet, in his mind, a soft silence reigning for a few precious hours, afterwards.

But they had left. And he was used to pain. Pain of dislocated limbs, the sting of disinfecting wipes, the bubble of iodine, the wheeze of cracked ribs. Once Roman would have healed him with a snap of his fingers. Once Virgil would have stopped him from getting hurt in the first place. But now there was only Janus, to piece him back together after.

And then the wedding happened.

And Thomas, more importantly, Patton, admitted that Janus was right. That their thinking was too black and white, that deception wasn’t everything Janus was, that his advice and opinions mattered. He would have loved to lurk behind the television and watch, but he had other business to attend to.

That business being Virgil.

He’d slowly creaked open the door, knocking softly on the door frame to alert Virgil to his presence. Now was not the time to scare the storm cloud. Virgil was already scared enough as it was.

“go away.” Came the muffled response, tempest tongue tinging it dark and growling, the shadows of the room darker than ever, and if he were anyone else, standing in there for more than a minute would have him corrupted beyond repair.

But he was Remus, intrusive thoughts, dark creativity, and anything the room could show him he’d already imagined himself, and though it was unpleasant, he knew they didn’t matter. Because Virgil was curled up under a pile of blankets, his shaking visible even from the doorway, the fear strong and visceral.

“Easy, storm cloud. It’s just me.” He murmured, stepping inside and letting the door close shut behind him.

“Oh goodie. All my worries are soothed.” Virgil snarked, voice trembling, and Remus let out a small huff, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, out there with Thomas, but he could feel the negativity roiling out from the living room, and knew Virgil was overwhelmed, trying to process it all, absorb it all, disperse it all. They were overwhelming him, and no one had even deigned to check on him, choosing to ignore him.

Thomas had chosen to ignore him. Remus knew that was hurting Virgil the most. That he hadn’t been called. That they hadn’t wanted him up there. That he had told the truth, bared his soul, and now Thomas wouldn’t even look towards his spot on the stairs. Carefully, Remus laid a hand atop the lump under the blankets, stroking his thumb in small, grounding circles, nothing more than a light touch. Virgil shuddered, but didn’t shift away.

“why are you here? Shouldn’t you be using this time to wreak havoc, or something?” He laughed again, a soft, warm sound, not his usual cackle. The kind of laugh only Janus and, once, Virgil, were privy to.

“I could. But even I know that would only make everything worse, and you’re already dealing with enough bullshit right now. I don’t need to add to the pancake pile of misery.” He stilled as the blankets shifted slightly, Virgil’s dark eyes peeking up at him, eyeshadow streaking down his face, more raccoon like than ever. “Let me help, kit?” He asked softly, Virgil’s eyes searching his for a long moment, before he nodded minutely, shifting to make room for Remus.

He didn’t hesitate. He slipped under the covers, Virgil squeaking as he slid in behind him, pulling Virgil onto him, his head resting on Remus’s chest, their legs tangled around each other, Remus’s head resting atop Virgil’s as he gently ran his hands up and down Virgil’s arms to ground him, humming softly, slowly absorbing and siphoning some of the anxiety and fear and negativity from Virgil, into himself. Virgil let out a soft sound, halfway between a whimper and a sigh, and he shushed him, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Y’know you don’t hav ‘t Rem.” Virgil slurred, eyelids drooping closed as the stress leaked out of him, his anxiety returning to normal levels as Remus took the extra.

“It’s ok, kit. I can handle it. You’ve already done enough, for today. Later I’ll go up there and give them a piece of my mind, for making you so miserable.” He smiled at Virgil’s small laugh, the emo pressing closer to him, and Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil, holding him carefully close. “Get some sleep, Vee. I’ve got you.”

“m’kay. Ree? ‘M sorry. I… missed you.”

…

That was when it had started. It was small, at first, and he attributed it to his usual bumps and bruises, a sore back was rather tame compared to what he usually dealt with, of course. Still, he took it slow that day, choosing to rabbit hole down youtube, instead of wreak his usual havoc. He was still coming down from the effects of all the anxiety he’d absorbed in Virgil’s room, after all, and he didn’t want his creations getting away from him and doing actual harm elsewhere.

But the pain only grew.

Soon, his whole back was sensitive and tender to the touch. It hurt to bend, to stand, to move, to stretch. Even resting against the couch was a no go, any kind of pressure on it hurt like hell, made him bite his lip to contain the hiss trying to escape his lips.

But he suffered through it in silence. Sometimes, he thought Janus knew something was wrong, his gaze lingered on Remus for a moment too long, he watched a little too closely as he shifted so his back wasn’t against the back of his chair, a small wince when he laughed, a forced smile here and there, Janus could see through them all, but he didn’t ask.

Virgil was almost as bad. He’d lived with them, after all, and he was almost as sharp as Janus. After the wedding, he’d been visiting more often, which meant at all, really, but once a week turned into near daily, as Remus made sure to make him feel welcome, and Janus started warming back up to Virgil, started to close the icy abyss between them.

It was Virgil who apologized first, to Janus. It was stuttering and slow, and a bit rambling and incoherent, but that didn’t matter. Janus knew what he was trying to say, could feel the sincerity of it, and before Virgil had even finished, he’d swept him up into a hug, using all of his arms, Virgil melting against him with a quiet sob, repeating the same soft words he’d said to Remus after the wedding for Janus.

“I missed you.”

…

Objectively, Remus knew the others had wings. The light sides, that is. They didn’t appear in the videos, of course, only actually manifesting in the mindscape itself. He knew Roman’s were delicate monarch butterfly wings that he usually kept folded carefully against his back like a cape, and that he loved their look but hated how fragile they were, always having to be careful not to rip the paper-thin membranes. A hint towards the fact that Roman wasn’t as strong as he said he was, that he was, in fact, easily broken. He’d been allowed to feel them, once, it was like touching a cloud, soft dust coming away on his fingers in oranges and blacks, and no matter how much they had fought and scuffled in the imagination he had never once even dreamed of going after Roman’s wings, though they were his obvious weak spot. One clean shot of an arrow, one stab of a spear, one slash of a sword, would be all it took, but despite what they all thought, he did have some morals, and he would rather kill himself than steal flight from Roman. So, wings? Off. Limits.

Patton’s wings were the incredibly soft looking, the fluffy wings of a mourning dove. Soft tan and black speckled, with a smooth cream underside, he roosted the most of all of them, fluffing up and resettling his feathers frequently, a self-soothing habit that made the moral side even more adorable than he already looked.

Logan’s were the smooth, almost blue black and white speckled sharp wings of a peregrine falcon. He usually kept his primly tucked against his back, though if you sat near him, sooner or later they would stretch out, resting against whoever was near. He’d never admit it, but he loved it when the others stroked his feathers, preened them, while he read or studied or planned out a schedule. It helped focus him, and he found that touch easier to reach out and ask for than hugs or other kinds of touch.

And Virgil. Virgil, whom had switched sides, had grown so much, had started letting them back into his life, had earned his wings through his hard work, his steady determination, through his acceptance. And they were beautiful.

He complained about them, of course, more often than not, but Remus could see through the grumbling protests, to the pride underneath. Because he’d gained the magnificent wings of a Scarlet Macaw. They were a brilliant red, green, yellow, blue rainbow, and spread the widest of any of the side’s wings, the most powerful in flight, though Logan’s were, of course, the fastest.

He’d been so self-conscious of them, at first. They’d grown in after the accepting anxiety videos, making Logan theorize that they were earned when a side was truly accepted. He’d avoided their calls for three days, after they came in, terrified out of his mind, before he couldn’t resist the pull of the summons anymore. But they’d all fawned over them, asking if he knew how to care for them, patiently teaching him how to groom them, broaching the topic of letting someone else help. It took a lot of time before he let that happen, before he trusted any of them enough to even come near his wings, to stop flinching whenever anyone reached towards him, pressing them tighter than was healthy against his back more often than not, cramping them painfully. But he got there.

He wasn’t all that surprised, even, when Janus came out of his room, not long after the whole wedding debacle part two, electric boogaloo, swearing up a storm, furious as all hell, dark black wings in disarray, just a splash of vibrant yellow marking the top of his coverts.

“Yellow headed blackbird. Nice.” He commented idly, Janus simply giving him a withering stare, before pulling on his gloves and heading upstairs, no doubt to rip into the light sides, not that they could change it back. It was the mindscape’s decision, and there was no going back. At least Virgil would commiserate. “At least they go with your theme!” He called, laughing as he heard the door slam.

…

In retrospect, he was an idiot.

To be fair, he was always an idiot. He was sure the others would argue against that statement, which made a soft, fuzzy feeling grow in his chest, that nearly numbed some of the excruciating agony wracking his body.

He’d been laying on his stomach, chin propped up on his hands, idly playing with some new software on his laptop. It used the camera on the computer to register where your eyes were looking at the screen, and used his eyes as the pen to draw. It was a good way to keep himself distracted, it took a lot of focus, but he’d gotten sucked in pretty quickly, excited at the prospect of trying out new styles and techniques.

So, he didn’t notice, at first, the now normal ache that had been going on for the better part of two months, starting to consolidate into lines of pain on his back. He gasped at a sudden shock of fiery heat, momentarily breathless. He moved to sit up, to try and grab a heating pack, or the heated blanket he’d snatched from Janus, which had seemed to help, but the movement sent another shock of heart rending agony through his chest, and he fell back to his stomach on the bed, hands fisting the blankets as wave after wave of piercing, soul shattering, mind numbing torment wrenched through his marrow.

It was fine, it was fine, it was manageable, he could handle this, he’d had worse, he could deal with this, figure out the rest later.

It felt like his back was aflame. He could feel sticky wetness soaking his shirt. He could feel his muscles pulsing and pounding, could taste copper in his throat, could hear his pulse in his ears, and he realized distantly he was screaming, unable to stop, tears leaking down his face, all he was aware of, all he could feel, was the lightning tracing itself down his back, burning brands into his shoulders, like he’d been mauled by a dragon, like burning, breaking, pulsing, pounding, rushing, breaking, desperate agony.

With one final pulse of flaming excruciation, he felt his back split open, the pain recedes slightly, gasping in air as his scream died on his lips, shaking from the force of his desperate, gasping sobs.

He heard footsteps pounding down the hall. Heard his door slam open, but he couldn’t look up, his knuckles white against the blanket, his teeth grinding so hard he was surprised they hadn’t already turned to nubs, and he let out a sharp, short yowling gasp as someone touched his back, trying to flinch away, the movement sending black spots across his vision. He felt a soft touch against his forehead, cupping his cheek, and he managed to blink his vision clear, surprised to see Patton’s pale face, eyes huge behind his glasses.

“hey… da…d” He managed weakly, closing his eyes against a sudden muscle contraction, barely stifling his scream to a whimper, unable to even joke as he normally would.

“Remus. We are going to help. What happened?” Logan asked, and he gasped in another breath to try and steady himself.

“Dunno know, f-or once. W-was just… dr-awing. Been s-ore, two m-onths.” He answered, unable to stifle a cry as Logan attempted to move his shirt. “Pl-ease. Hurts, please…” He didn’t know what he was asking, exactly, just that he needed it to stop, he couldn’t think, it just had to stop!

“Hey. It’s gonna be ok, ok? Just… Logan’s gonna take care of you. It’s gonna hurt, but he’s helping, ok?” Virgil, kneeling on the bed before him, covering his clenched fists with his hands, gently rubbing circles on them, pressing their foreheads together. “it’ll be ok.” Then Logan pulled up his shirt, and he screamed, blacking out.

…

“Oh. Oh Remus.” Roman gasped, face paling as he took in the red that covered his back, the two deep, pulsing slits on either side of his back, running from his shoulder blades to the base of his back.

“what… what is this?” Janus asked quietly, eyes wide, Remus’s scream still ringing in his ears. He’d never, never heard Remus sound like that, scream like that, a true, piercing, pained scream.

“two months… that was… that was the wedding. When… when Thomas accepted the dark parts of the mind.” Virgil said softly, not moving from his place close to Remus, not willing to let go.

“it’s his wings. Lo, it’s his wings! They didn’t… they must not have formed right. They’re stuck.” Patton, voice shaking and horrified. “they’re trying to get out.” Logan inhaled sharply. He could see it now, the new muscles moving and shifting underneath the skin, the wing joints struggling to free the new appendages, pulling at the rest of his skin, making the slits wider.

“I need to manually free them, or there may be permanent damage to both his wings and his spine. It’s not going to be pleasant. Patton, can you go heat up some water and bring me some soft towels? Roman, go get the first aid kit from under the sink. We’ll need the bandages.” They both complied with a lingering look back at Remus, who was trembling, moaning softly in his uneasy unconsciousness.

“What do you need from me, Logan?” Janus asked, eyes meeting Logan’s, who adjusted his glasses.

“Help hold him down? I don’t know if he has the strength for it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to thrash or lash out. I certainly wouldn’t underestimate it from him.”

“I’ve got his arms.” Virgil said, startling them both. They hadn’t realized he was paying attention. Logan nodded sharply, and Janus climbed onto the bed, pinning down Remus’s legs. Logan pulled on latex gloves, taking a large breath, before carefully reaching into the leftmost slit.

Remus did thrash weakly, falling still after only a moment, though soft whimpers escaped his lips, breath gasping and stuttering, Virgil ceaselessly murmuring to him, trying to convey safety. Slowly, Logan navigated the crumpled wing out into the open, feathers matted and sticky with blood. The other was a bit trickier, it seemed to be caught on something, and he winced as he had to painfully wrench it to get it out, concern growing as Remus didn’t react to the movement, even his whimpers ceasing.

“Good. That went well.” Logan mumbled, looking up as Roman and Patton reappeared in the doorway, faces paling at the bloodied wings. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I hope.” Only Janus and Virgil caught those two mumbled words, as Logan ushered the two over.

“Each of you take a wing. We need to stretch them out to their full length to try and get circulation going. Cleaning them thoroughly with the warm washcloths and water should also help in that department. Once we get all the viscera off, we can work on grooming. I’m going to attempt to clean his back and asses the total damage to it, I expect he’ll need stiches up and down his back, once we get the bleeding staunched.” Logan explained, already dabbing at Remus’s back with the cloth, relieved to find most of the bleeding had already stopped, it was mostly dried blood coating his back.

“Virgil. You don’t have to keep going.” Janus said softly, catching Roman’s attention, who was working on Remus’s right wing.

“I do. I… all the times, he’s helped me, I have to at least do this.” Virgil answered, eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead.

“what do you mean? What are you doing?” Patton asked, not looking up from his work.

“He’s absorbing Remus’s pain. Taking it on himself so Remus doesn’t feel it. Remus can do the same, and often did, helping when Virgil’s anxiety was at unsustainable levels.” Janus explained, pushing back his hair before replacing his hat.

“Virgil-“

“I’m fine, ok? He’s the one who needs help right now.” He snapped, the room falling into a tense, focused silence as they all worked, carefully dabbing, sewing, straightening, trying to get his wings into any semblance of normalcy.

Virgil just prayed that they’d still be usable. Two months. Two months, it must have hurt like a son of a bitch, and Remus hadn’t said anything! He was supposed to be the observant one, the worry wart, he was supposed to expect things to go wrong and keep an eye out for when they did. He should have known, should have realized, after Janus got his, that of course Remus wouldn’t be far behind. Especially after he’d helped him, when no one else had and he knew, knew, in his soul, that Remus helping him that day was what shifted everything. It was his fault, Remus was like this because of him.

“It isn’t your fault, Vee.” Janus murmured, sitting down beside him, setting his gloves aside. “I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t think it was this severe. He hid it well.”

“He always does. He’s an actor, remember?” Virgil mumbled back, letting himself lean back into Janus’s embrace, letting the silent tears slip down his face.

“We’re finished.” Logan said, wiping sweat away from his brow, cleaning up the washcloths and repacking the first aid kit, leaving it tucked under Remus’s bed. “I’ve sutured and bandaged his back, and it should heal up nicely, given time. His wings will need daily stretching, it may be hard for him to flex them to their full length on his own, given their extensive cramping, so we may need to help him hold them there. But the overall condition of the wings themselves is encouraging. Given time, he should be able to fly and they should have no lasting permanent damage.” Patton let out a deep sigh, sinking to the floor in relief, arms wrapped around his knees. Roman sunk down beside him, pulling him into a hug, Patton wrapping his wings around the both of them.

“Thank you, Logan.” Janus said softly, teasing his fingers through Virgil’s rainbowed feathers, feeling him melt against him with a shudder.

“Of course. I would suggest we all go get some rest. I would expect him to stay sleeping for quite a while, given the amount his body needs to heal. I’ll check on him this evening, to change his bandages, but he should be alright. Virgil, you can stop, now. He should be in a relatively minimal amount of pain, now.” Logan added, shooting a quick look at Virgil that held an entire lecture, and Virgil sighed, letting go, slumping further against Janus at the exhaustion washing over him.

“alright. Let’s go, Pat. I’ll keep you company.” Roman helped Patton to his feet, hesitating a moment, stroking Remus’s new wings gently. “Get well soon, Rem. I can’t wait to fly with you.” He murmured, smiling once at the others as he departed with Patton in tow.

“I’ll be going as well. I know there’s no use in trying to convince either of you to leave, though I would encourage you both to try and get some sleep as well, especially you, Virgil.” Logan said, nodding sharply once in farewell, closing the door behind him.

“They are stunning. I expect he’ll be pleasantly surprised, at how they turned out.” Janus mumbled against Virgil’s back.

“We match, kinda. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.” Virgil replied, smiling as he felt Janus’s laugh against his back.

They were beautiful. They shimmered like gemstones, sparkling and shifting iridescence. They started off a sparkling amber, before fading into a soft yellow, then glimmering green, which shifted into vibrant reds, bright oranges, deep blues, at the slightest shift of the light. They were relatively small, compared to the other’s wings, but that was natural. They were easily recognizable as hummingbird wings, rather fitting for the ever-energetic chaotic side. Logan had carefully shifted them so they were tucked against Remus’s back, in the position that would cause as little discomfort as possible, though no matter what he did, they were going to ache a bit.

“He’s going to be ok, Vee.” Janus murmured, wrapping his wings around Virgil, cocooning him in dark softness and warmth, something that never failed to put Virgil at ease, and soon enough, he was drifting off. Janus yawned himself, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, knowing he’d regret falling asleep like this in the morning, but he couldn’t help it as his eyes drifted shut.

…

He was sore. But less sore than he’d been in weeks. He shifted, wincing at the dull ache that came with it, before realizing he felt something soft and light against his back, against his skin. He knew, before even opening his eyes, he knew.

He should have figured it out sooner. Should have realized, and maybe he had, but he’d hoped he was wrong, been in denial, because why would he have gained wings? He hadn’t done a thing to earn them, he didn’t deserve them, maybe he should just cut them off himself, before the others saw them and started asking questions.

“Remus.” Well shit. There went that plan. He managed to crack his eyes open, looking up at the slightly blurry face of Janus. “You do deserve them. You have earned them. Everyone was worried about you.” He winced, Janus always could tell just what he was thinking. “only when you’re lying, to yourself or to others. Which you are doing now.”

“I’m not. I don’t deserve them, they’re probably horrible anyway, ugly and twisted and unusable and good for nothing, just like me.” He mumbled, looking away as he felt Virgil take his hand.

“They’re beautiful, Ree. I promise, they’re none of those things. Logan said you’ll need to stretch them and build up strength, but you’ll be flying in no time. Take a look, yeah?” He agreed grumblingly, letting them help him to sit up, legs dangling off the side of the bed. Carefully, Virgil grabbed hold of one of the wings and stretched it out to its full length, Remus’s breath catching as he stared, incredulous. Slowly, he reached out, running a hand through them, marveling at their softness.

“I’m gonna let go. Try and hold it here, okay?” Virgil asked, and he nodded. Virgil let go, and for a moment, it stayed extended, before it slowly curled against his back. With a small shake, Remus ruffled and resettled them, wincing at the tug moving them caused.

“That’s good, Ree. That’s really good.”

“I… I’m really gonna be able to fly?” Remus asked, voice small and almost afraid, and instantly, Virgil wrapped him in a hug, letting Remus tuck his head against his shoulder.

“Yes. We’re all going to help teach you, help take care of them, help take care of you, and we’re all going to be there for your first flight. I promise.” Janus joined in, hugging Remus from behind, careful of his wings, a steady weight against his back.

“You’re going to be a magnificent terror of the skies, Remus.” He let out a small laugh at that, hiccupping on a sob that escaped his lips instead, as he pressed tight into his best friends’ arms, both of them murmuring reassurances and encouragements and compliments, and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere, anywhere else.

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