#don’t mind my liberal use of pronouns for Cold. it’s because of the Gender Not Found hc I got for her lol

[salty-an-disco]

🦾 For Cold :)

🦾 Disability headcanon

OK SO–

Cold is both an autistic with low empathy and alexhytimia, and has antisocial personality disorder. He often acts impulsively, with a disregard for his own and other’s safety, struggles connecting to other’s emotional struggles, sees things in a very distant and pragmatic manner etc etc.

They’re also hyposensitive, which is why they can never tell how bad an injury is. Its chronic depression makes it even more difficult for them to get serotonin or dopamine, which can make it irritable and restless alongside the usual numbness it feels.

I also think her joints are kinda fucked up. Unusually stiffy and sometimes turn in weird ways. Just have a Feeling.

[initiala]

Casual Intimacy - COMMENTARY

@spartanguard and @yayimallamaagain both asked for me to do commentary on this Captain Hood AU. It’s sexual and slashy, so if it’s not your cup of tea, please keep scrolling

Thanks @unfolded73 for bringing this back, it was fun!

It felt like they’d known one another forever. They moved together on the field with ease, passing without thinking, sensing where the other was – just knowing they would be there with the assist. They stayed up late in the common area, going over plays and devising new ones, finishing each other’s thoughts late into the evening until someone inevitably reminded them about morning drills and the need for sleep. When one had a bad day, the other knew and was often the first to drag him out for a pint and some mindless entertainment to cheer him up. They had similar pre-game rituals, sat next to each other on roadies, and their teammates were surprised when one was seen without the other. They laughed and took the piss out of each other like the oldest of mates, but Killian and Robin had only been playing together since their first year at uni – sorry, freshman year.

Let’s start off with the hows of this story. Tina and I were chatting while I was at work one night and we were mostly bemoaning the fact that Oncers tend to stick very... safe and vanilla with their ships and smut. (where is the Sea DeVil tentacle porn I ask you??) It turned into how it’s interesting to actually have a fandom where there’s so much f/f compared to the sea of m/m, but then we were like “... okay but outside of Captain Charming ARE there any serious m/m ships?” And so here we are.

(Killian still had some trouble wrapping his mind around the linguistic differences between American and British English. At least he’d known better than to ask to borrow someone’s rubber in the middle of class.)

Sorry, Emma Watson, it’s just too funny not to throw in.

Regardless, he’d certainly heard of Robin Locksley before decamping to America and Robin had heard of Killian Jones; the amateur competitive football world was small back home and everyone knew who was being scouted by the leagues and by the universities. Locksley was good, a striker with the makings of an excellent skipper one day. They’d never played against one another, but everyone kept tabs on the big names.

There was a big to-do about if they’d play on the same team or just run into each other in the locker rooms a lot, but I’m me and it got sticky on the sport schedules. Killian was on the swim team for a while at the beginning but Robin was always on the footy team and so Killian eventually made his way over there to make it easy.

(No one had ever thought to mention how ruddy fit Locksley was. Oh, he’d noticed at first – beautiful people drew his eye in that way – but he’d had a few other dalliances before realizing just how bloody fucked he was when it came to Robin Locksley. It was during a rain delay that Killian had realized he was absolutely fucked when it came to Robin. They’d gotten caught in a downpour during warm-up drills and everyone had gotten soaked through, but Killian had zeroed in on how Robin’s kit clung to his well-defined muscles and the water ran down his chiseled jaw and bloody fuck he was well and truly fucked.. He’d also decided then that an artist should capture Rob’s beauty in marble, like the Greeks. Though it wouldn’t capture the way the sun glinted off his hair and made it shine, or the way his cheeks dimpled when he laughed, or the cold fury in his eyes when another player committed an unnecessary slide tackle and injured one of their teammates.)

The fact that they’d both been scouted for this small university’s football team – rather, soccer, as the Americans stubbornly continued calling it – just happened to be a twist of fate.

A rather cruel one, if he was going to be melodramatic about it – which he was apparently rather adept at, according to Swan.

Swan was his roommate, a lacrosse player with a mean right hook, a passion for grilled cheese, an old Volkswagen Beetle that he was constantly trying to keep running for her, and a penchant for throwing her pre-law books at him when he was in one of his “melodramatic moods”. And yes, Emma Swan was a girl – woman, as she and her friend Snow were fond of reminding him.

The university’s rather liberal policy of gender neutral residence halls had ended up quite in his favor, despite the book-throwing. While even he could admit that Swan was a striking example of womanhood, his tastes ran more towards the men. And sharing a room with another man had always run hit-or-miss for him in the past. Swan hadn’t even batted an eye that first year, offhandedly mentioned an ex-girlfriend named Lily, and then asked if his practice schedule was as grueling as hers.

This is also the “everyone is bi/gay AU”. And let me tell you, I was so happy to go to a university housing conference and learn all about the (slow) changes being made to allow different genders rooming together! While it’s VERY SLOW GOING (this is higher education we’re talking about, it’s slow turtles all the way down), most public universities and quite a lot of private ones are shifting policies to accommodate preferences for LGBT students.

They’d been the best of friends ever since.

“If I have to hear you sigh over Robin’s quads one more time, I’m banishing you to the lounge for the night,” she grumbled, highlighting something in a textbook.

“They’re just so–”

“Perfect, so I’ve heard. Just ask him out already.”

“I had to wait fifteen minutes before I could shower,” Killian said, flopping back on the futon with one of his lit texts. “Bloody git took forever.”

“Scandalous,” she remarked, her voice dry. “Can’t even shower together. Oh wait, yes you can, because half the LAX team is gay and we have no problem.”

“Women don’t have knobs, bit different,” he retorted.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “There is nothing sexy about a locker room, Jones. Quit being a – a, what is it you always call Will?”

“Bellend,” he deadpanned.

British insults are a delight and thank you Gavin Free for using them constantly so I’m on form.

“Right, that. Stop being a bellend and just say something. And don’t give me another speech about ruining the team ‘vibes’.” She actually used air quotes, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue. “If nothing else, you have to learn to keep personal shit off the playing field. Or use it as fuel during a game.”

Either Tina or Steph were like “oh thank god you made ‘vibes’ sarcastic I would not allow this otherwise” during the beta/preview process, I forget. But either way.

Killian sighed, resting his book on his face. She was right, he knew she was right, but when it came to actually admitting his own feelings, he was the biggest chickenshit – one of Swan’s delightful Americanisms that had rubbed off on him.

He just didn’t know how Rob would react.

Tina has never gotten over calling Robin Hood Rob. It’s hysterical to me.

It wasn’t as if his teammates didn’t know about his sexuality; as Swan had said, coming out to his mates hadn’t ruined any of the team’s closeness. Locksley had clapped his shoulder, thanked him for his trust and honesty, and assured him that the team would do their best to return that trust and honesty.

Well, that was all very well and good when stating a general interest in men and women, but in Killian’s experience, men who had no interest in other men tended to react… poorly.

To put it mildly.

“Rob’s not like that.” Swan’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.

“What, are you a mind reader now, love?”

She snorted. “No, that’s you. I just recognize that silence.”

“Come here.”

She did, dragging her textbook with her and settling against his side on the futon. She could be a pain in his arse sometimes, but she also knew the value of physical contact; he was, admittedly, more free in his general affection towards friends, but he counted himself lucky to be one of the small handful of people that Swan regularly showed any sort of affection towards.

Hi, my name is Amanda and I’m a goddamn CS shipper until my last breath on this miserable Earth and I WILL MAKE THEM SNUGGLE. PLATONICALLY OR NOT. It was SO HARD to keep their hands off each other, seriously. Just... jump on in there, Emma. You, Killian, Robin. It’ll be a grand time.

“I’ll bring it up tomorrow,” Killian said quietly.

Swan made a noise as if she didn’t entirely believe him, and truth be told he didn’t entirely believe himself, but it was said and it would be enough for her to hold him to it. “I have a test tomorrow,” she told him, settling more comfortably into the crook of his arm.

He breathed a laugh and pulled her in closer, picking his own book back up to get some reading done before he was too inconsolable to think of studying.

Perhaps Swan was right about his inclination towards the melodramatic.

His body may have been at practice, but his head clearly wasn’t. He was passable at drills, but he was easily distracted during the scrimmage and it did not go unnoticed.

“Jones,” Robin called.

His skip’s voice cut through the locker room chatter. Killian paused only after securing a towel around his own hips, ready to half-drown himself in the showers after that abysmal practice. “Aye, mate?”

Robin made his way through their teammates, giving Killian a critical once-over before speaking. “You alright?” he asked, dropping his voice now.

Even I don’t know if Robin was checking him out or not. Also, same sex pairings make pronouns THE W O R S T.

Killian glanced up, then away, irritated at himself for a multitude of reasons now. “Aye. Long night. Sorry, skip, I’ll get right tomorrow.”

Robin was silent for a moment, then reached out and clapped Killian’s shoulder. Killian had to fight the urge to lean into it, to show how the familiar gesture affected him as he stood there half-naked in the bloody locker room. “Shower up, we’ll go for a pint and a chat,” Robin ordered and turned before it could be argued.

So much for locker rooms not being sexy.

Killian stared after his friend’s retreating back, taking a long moment to compose himself and adjust the towel a bit before grabbing his caddy and stalking off to the showers.

The hot water and soap didn’t make him feel anything other than clean of sweat and grass stains. Try as he might, letting the water beat against his skin did nothing to relieve the guilt of giving less than his best or the anxiety gnawing at his gut at the conversation to come.

After he dressed, he went out into the hall to find Robin waiting for him. Wordlessly, they fell into step together, practice bags slung over their shoulders and hands shoved into their pockets. He followed Robin’s lead as they left the training facility and went down the street to their favorite dive bar – fairly empty at this hour, which would make Robin’s scolding easier to hear.

I don’t know why but I always envision this as a pub. I also have no idea where they’re going to university, so maybe there is an English-style pub near their facilities.

They ordered, and after the waitress brought their pints, they each took a long drink as Robin regarded Killian thoughtfully over the rim. “So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Something’s eating at you. And don’t give me any nonsense about everything being fine or I’ll go talk to Emma and she’ll tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Killian winced, setting his own glass down. Swan absolutely would, if for no other reason than she was an abysmal liar. “That’s a low blow, Locksley.”

“Aye, but you’re a right stubborn bastard when you put your mind to it, so my hand is forced. You’ve never played so badly, not in all the years I’ve known you. Even after the mess with that lass Milah and then your disastrous rebound with Jefferson.”

Those had been easier to handle – after Milah left, there had been nothing for him but throwing himself into the game, leaving everything on the pitch until he was spent, an empty shell left for Swan to care for, making sure he ate and had a decent night’s rest. Jefferson had been an angry affair, both of them lost and angry and winding up hurting the other more. But it had only led to more fuel, something like a dam breaking in Killian’s soul that flooded his body with pain and rage and powering his game until he was left with only quiet and acceptance inside.

Please join me in a vision about Killian and Jefferson, basically hatefucking each other until they can’t breathe, but there’s a bunch of h/c involved too. Like the most ridiculous S/M relationship ever where they just use each other until they don’t need one another anymore. 

Also Milah didn’t die in this one, I don’t know the story but she’s still alive somewhere.

But this, this situation held more at stake.

Swan’s voice was in his head, telling him she’d hold him to his statement yesterday, but he reasoned that if such a confession went poorly he would have nowhere to turn. He’d left his feelings out on the pitch after Milah, after Jefferson, but the pitch was where Robin was. Robin was his friend, his teammate, his skipper.

Robin kept things grounded with the rest of Killian’s world had fallen apart.

No matter the universe, Killian always seems to have someone he revolves around. He needs a center!

Killian took a long pull from his glass, stalling for time. Thankfully, their food arrived, and both young men were too well-mannered to talk and eat at the same time – Robin’s family descended from some stuffy upper class lot, Killian’s mum drilling the mantra of “manners maketh man” into his head as a lad. During a lull, he finally said, “All twisted around about someone, s’all.”

His burger sat heavy like lead in his stomach, watching Robin’s face. Robin’s eyebrow lifted. “Enough to ruin your football? Don’t tell me it’s Emma.”

Killian tried not to laugh. Swan was gorgeous, but it wasn’t meant to be. “Roommates are off-limits, remember? Or have you and Regina started sharing a bed as well as a room?”

From Tina: “Or we could just go full on polyamorous with CS/OQ all fucking each other *___*”

Robin’s cheeks pinked and he stabbed a chip into the ketchup. “I should bloody well think not… Very well then, who are they?”

I do think there was a little something between them though. Killian is very comfortably bi in this universe, but Robin... he’s not really sure what he is, and he’s okay with that. I think he’s more pansexual than anything else but he’d probably be most comfortable with the catchall “queer”.

His mouth felt dry, no matter how much of his beer he drank – indeed, he drained the glass and still felt parched. The waitress came and got him a refill and Killian stopped himself from guzzling it down lest he hurry along his buzz. He hardly thought a drunken confession of attraction would make things any better. “It’s… complicated,” he finally said. “Telling them, it would change a great many things that I’m loathe to give up.”

He met Robin’s gaze then, willing him to understand the words he wasn’t saying, but he knew it often took a straight answer for things to sink in. Robin’s blank look confirmed that. Killian swallowed hard, then said, “I value our friendship too much, Rob, to allow my personal feelings to get in the way if it makes you uncomfortable. I apologize if this admission alters the way you think of me –”

Robin’s eyes widened and Killian shut up fast; Robin was a good man, but he’d known plenty of men who turned on a dime at the thought of a man desiring them. “Bloody hell, me?” Killian’s mouth opened wordlessly, an icicle of fear slicing down his back as he tried to figure out whether he should run for it now or go down swinging. Robin blinked, shaking his head. “Well. I have to admit, Jones, this is a surprise, but I can’t say I’m not flattered.”

Well, he does look at himself in the mirror every day.

It was Killian’s turn to blink, his emotions a complete jumble. “You’re not…”

Robin met his gaze. “Killian, don’t be a tosser, I’m not upset.”

Sometimes it’s just nice to have a fic where everything goes according to plan. No gay angst, no “never fall in love with a straight boy”, nothing. Just two boys who like each other and would look really good in bed together. I was very, ANNOYINGLY conscious about how “but is the other person gay” fanfic works and actively wanted to subvert it.

“Well, you don’t go shouting about your conquests in the locker room, so I couldn’t be sure if it would be received well or not.”

Robin grinned. “No, we’ll leave that to Will. As it happens, I suppose it’s never really mattered to me.”

Will Scarlett loudly and hungoverly discusses his Friday nights with anyone who will listen. Usually his teammates, not by choice.

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

There was a long pause and Killian fought the urge to gulp half his beer to fill the silence. His fingers must have twitched towards his pint, though, because Robin started to grin. “So, is this a date, then, or should we do one proper another time?”

Sometimes to break an awkward silence you created, you give a character a joke.

Killian stared, flabbergasted. “One - what? And two, are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“Well, you should probably be the one to do the asking, but you seem – for the first time in your life, I might add – at a loss for words.”

“Rob, don’t indulge me if you’re not serious about this.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“You’re being awfully flippant.”

“I’m not getting on one knee, if that’s what you want.”

No, Rob, he wants you on both knees. Preferably naked.

Killian felt his ears burning and he wasn’t sure what the cause of it was: embarrassment or anger, possibly a mix of the two. “Look, just forget it,” he said, balling up his napkin and tossing it on the table. He dug in his back pocket for his wallet, trying to look anywhere but at Robin; but when Killian opened the tri-fold to look for cash, he stilled when Robin’s hand covered his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Killian looked up to see a soft, earnest look on his face that matched his voice. “I thought – well, occasionally humor helps to ease tension, and I see now that it was a mistake.”

“Too bloody right,” Killian muttered.

Robin’s hand was warm, an odd but nice mix of calluses and softness against his own skin. Killian called up every ounce of courage he had, then turned his hand over to clasp Robin’s. His friend looked surprised at the gesture, perhaps a little unsure of how to handle it, but seemed neither disgusted nor displeased. “We’ve got a match Saturday afternoon, but how about after dinner we ditch the team and take in a movie?”

Haaaaaaand poooooornnnnn.

There were normally team dinners after matches, so it made sense – no need to alert anyone of anything new developing. And Killian and Robin normally went out after matches, though normally with Emma or Regina and their friends (they’d agreed that both of their roommates were useful in separate situations: Emma might not be a wild party girl but her LAX teammates knew how to celebrate a victory, while Regina and her group knew the perfect way to drown out any anger at a loss)

“Alright,” Killian said. Then, feeling bolder and remembering Robin’s remark about humor, added, “Though just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

Robin blinked and Killian thought his joke may have missed the mark, then Rob started to laugh. “You’re probably a bloody awful kisser anyway.”

He thought about proving him wrong right then and there – he’d received approximately zero complaints about his technique, thank you very much – but in all honesty Killian was too busy trying to hide the fact that he was now very much staring at Robin’s mouth, wondering how he kissed and what the combined sensations of their beards might feel like.

I’m very glad to never have to find this out. Folks with beards who kiss others with beards -- chime in.

Swan, bless her, did her best not to gloat when he told her what had happened later that night.

Now please imagine Killian screaming into his pillow and then panicking about their date.

Though given the fact that he couldn’t stop grinning, he probably wouldn’t have minded a bit of gloating anyway.

Their style of play didn’t falter and Killian’s ability returned now that he was free of the stress of any difficult conversations. He’d been out with Robin before and though he fundamentally knew this was different, part of him wasn’t able to truly understand that this was a date and not just two friends out on the town. Perhaps that’s why he could keep his head on straight over the next few days, even managing to score a goal and assist on two others to help win the match on Saturday.

It wasn’t until after the team dinner that Robin caught his gaze and gave him a meaningful look.

That’s when the waves of butterflies hit.

They took Robin’s truck – Killian had never gotten the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road and happily allowed others to chauffeur him around – and headed out to the shopping mall on the far side of town. There was a theater there that gave student discounts. Knowing their teammates, no one would be out that way celebrating, and it wasn’t likely that they’d run into Emma (the LAX team was on a retreat for the weekend) or Regina (who had an organic chemistry exam on Monday and had threatened to set anyone who disturbed her on fire).

A few things here. I (and Tina) really enjoy the image of Killian going “fuck it, no” and just demanding others drive him around. Usually with his feet on the dash of Emma’s Bug and she wants to smack him for it. It’s also very hard sometimes to do like... little canon nods without beating people over the head with it. Particularly with magical shows like this. So I took a concept that I (and Tina) really enjoy, that Regina is a science nerd with her little potions kit, and translated it to the worst possible subject, organic chemistry, and viola, a perfect excuse for a super stressed student to want to light someone on fire.

Killian had found that there was always an odd moment concerning who paid when on a date with a man, but it seemed that Robin had already thought of that. “You get tickets, I’ll buy snacks?” he asked as they jumped out of the truck.

“Sounds good to me.”

GOING DUTCH, WHY DO ANYTHING ELSE ahem

They wound up eating most of the popcorn halfway through previews, making snide comments to the other about trailers for this overblown blockbuster or that lackluster comedy. By the time the lights went out, Killian was feeling more relaxed, though it still felt decidedly more like friends hanging out rather than a date.

About forty-five minutes in, he decided to make it feel like a date.

It took another fifteen minutes to build the courage to do it, sneaking glances at the armrest that lay between them and Robin’s arm casually resting on it.

He felt Robin still when Killian took his hand, and almost withdrew, but then Robin’s fingers laced with his and Killian’s heart soared.

He couldn’t remember the rest of the movie if he tried.

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddddddd poooooooooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnn I have a thing if you didn’t notice

They were quiet as they left, Robin’s hands casually tucked in his pockets. There weren’t many people leaving the theater at the same time, so Killian pretended to stumble, bumping their shoulders together and making Robin laugh. He nudged back and it turned into a little game, shoving one another until Robin finally just threw his arm around Killian’s shoulders. It was almost a headlock, and to anyone observing it would appear so, but he recognized it for what it was.

Maybe Robin understood the value of physical contact, too.

“So,” Robin said as he pulled up to Killian’s dorm a while later.

“Yeah.”

“That was nice.” Killian scoffed and Robin grinned. “Right, you have a better adjective?”

“I had a good time,” Killian said, his voice pitching high at the end, silently asking if Robin felt the same.

I always picture Killian’s voice cracking a little here, not just questioning but just nerves making his voice crack like he’s going through puberty all over again.

Robin smiled and reached over the center console to take Killian’s hand again. “I did too. Though perhaps next time we not dine with our teammates beforehand?”

“Is there a next time?”

“I’d like there to be.”

They stared at one another for a long moment until Killian smiled. “Alright. Next week?”

They had two more dates before the championship tournament hit, and Killian didn’t like to admit how it frustrated him to put whatever this was between them on hold for the sake of the game. At the same time, he knew it was more important to focus on winning, that there would be more time in the off-season, but he was frustrated all the same.

More because Robin seemed to hide behind his skipper mask, even when it was just the two of them discussing plays after a scrimmage.

He missed his friend. Or his… whatever this was.

~labels~

They won the next game, solidifying their place in the quarterfinals, but only by the skin of their teeth. Everyone was frustrated after the game, Robin snapped at everyone in the locker room, and Killian’s own frustrations at his own poor play combined with his personal frustrations towards Robin. He managed to hold his tongue until everyone else had gone, finally lashing out, “It’s enough that we’re aware of our own mistakes, mate, there’s no need to be a prick to us all on top of it!”

“I’m skipper, Killian, it’s my damn job to be a prick when you all deserve it!”

“And whose job is it to put you in your place when you’re being an unjust prick?!”

“Not yours, that’s for certain! Take it up with the manager if you have a problem with my skipping!”

now angerbang

this isn’t commentary so much as it’s me pointing out where they could have fucked before they actually fucked, but I wanted angsty shower sex so we had to wait

Killian fumed. “It’s not enough to know your team isn’t happy with their treatment? You stubborn arse, we selected you and we can damn well take that away. We know we won by the skin of our teeth, we know we need to do better next match, and trust me when I say we’re all going to be beating ourselves up over these mistakes until the next time we can go out there and prove we can do better than before.”

“It’s not enough,” Robin said, scowling.

“What should we do, Robin, become gods? Invest in a Time-Turner? Because the only way we can fix what already happened is to–”

Anything else he might have had to say was abruptly cut off, his ability to speak lost as Robin surged towards him, gripped his shoulders, and fused their mouths together.

If Killian had any lingering doubts about Robin’s intentions – if he was merely indulging Killian’s crush or humoring him so as not to cause any alienation or hurt feelings – they vanished. Hands moved slowly, from clutching to embracing, fingers tentatively twining in hair. They both were in need of a haircut, too superstitious about it at this stage in the game, but something deep and primal in Killian’s bones liked being able to twist his fingers through Robin’s hair as his tongue traced the seam of his lips and begged for entrance.

writing kissing is hard. I wish I could wax poetic about the difficulties of it, but really, writing about kissing fucking sucks sometimes. Kudos to everyone who can do it well.

He hadn’t any expectations for what kissing Robin Locksley would be like, hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead or get his hopes up. But even in his wildest fantasies he couldn’t have imagined this – there was a soft urgency to his kiss, unsaid words pushed into actions and touches and the soft glide of their tongues, and Killian could feel Robin’s restraint, how much he was holding back, his inability to lose control in this moment and give in to the feeling.

He vowed to work on that.

Both were breathless when they parted, only enough to get air. Their foreheads touched and Killian almost chuckled when Robin’s mustache tickled his lip. He liked this – really liked this – the feeling of Robin’s arms around him and their bodies pressed chest to thigh. Though, he did try to angle his hips away, feeling his cheeks heat up as he realized Robin could surely feel his erection pressed against his thigh.

But if Killian wasn’t mistaken, and he’d bet a lot that he wasn’t, Robin wasn’t feeling very calm after that himself.

“Bad form,” Killian said finally, giving in and resting his head on Robin’s shoulder. It was a bit awkward, as Robin was actually a bit shorter, but he liked it anyway.

“Are you really commenting on my technique?” Robin asked, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“No,” Killian said with a laugh. “Bad form for shutting me up in the middle of a tirade. As for the actual kissing, that’s a solid eight out of ten.”

you will also pry feminist Killian Jones from my cold dead fingers. While this isn’t a particularly feminist point at the moment, there’s an annoying trend in media where a heterosexual couple is arguing and the woman is rightly mad about something, and the man stops her yelling at him by kissing her. Don’t kiss someone to shut them up, especially in an argument. Anyway, that was the point of that line, to point out how it’s dumb.

“I’m going to regret asking how one scores a perfect ten, aren’t I?”

Killian only grinned.

It was a hard loss.

The weeks leading up to the finals had been good ones. Robin had eased up a little, leaving any discipline discussions up to their manager and refocusing his energies on team morale. He’d confessed to Killian that part of his outburst had been fueled by his nerves about advancing their relationship.

Killian, in turn, was too stunned about Robin defining this as a real relationship to comment.

Little touches had helped. Lingering shoulder claps or gentle touches when they thought no one was looking. Spending time together after practices also helped; Swan knew enough that they could hang out in Killian’s room without much fuss, but Robin wasn’t sure about Regina’s reaction just yet. If anyone asked, they were studying together. If anyone took a closer look, they’d notice Killian’s hand on Robin’s thigh, or the casual way Robin’s arm slung around Killian’s shoulders.

Well, maybe one didn’t need to look too much closer.

about as subtle as a kangaroo in a flock of flamingoes

Still, playing the last few matches with that kind of support, that kind of assurance, helped. They’d entered the final match with their heads held high – all of them, everyone on the team – but losing in the championship would sting regardless of their pre-game morale.

Losing 5-0 basically annihilated whatever morale they had left.

I had to do a lot of research on how soccer playoffs or whatever works. In case you were wondering, Stanford won the championship I researched.

The team was slow to leave the locker room. Robin had no rousing speeches or kind words – in fact, he had no words at all. No one spoke, the silence dulled only by the steady hiss of the showers and punctuated by the occasional slam of a locker. Everyone trickled out in ones and twos, their heads decidedly less high than they’d been earlier that morning, until only Killian remained in the main room.

Sometimes he did this, lingering in the locker room, letting himself feel whatever emotions he felt after a match without worry that anyone would see. Today he sat with his head in his hands, going over every play in his mind and trying to find what he could have done differently, what plays they could have made instead.

He heard both Robin and Swan in his mind, telling him not to do this to himself, that he knew better.

Well, he did know better, but it was all he could bloody think about.

Disgusted with himself, Killian stripped off his grass-stained jersey and shorts, tossing his dirty uniform into a bag to be washed and grabbing his towel and shower things; everyone else would be back at the hotel by now and he’d join them later, but right now he had to wash off the stink of failure.

It appeared he wasn’t alone in thinking that.

He hadn’t noticed the water still running, but there was a lone occupant in the communal showers: Robin. Killian tried to think back to the last time he’d seen him and concluded that his boyfriend had probably been trying to literally drown his misery for at least three quarters of an hour.

Thanks, crazed Quidditch captain of my heart Oliver Wood, for the inspiration here.

Boyfriend. That was still strange.

Killian dropped his things in the partition, then stepped into the steam. “Rob.”

Robin turned slightly and Killian’s heart broke all over again at the self-loathing and anguish on his face. It mirrored his own feelings, but actually seeing it made him push them away and focus on trying to make Robin feel better. Or at least stop looking like he’d never feel happiness again.

They are in a gay relationship and there is angst. It’s different than gay angst, and I had suuuuuuuuuuch a hard time making myself comfortable with that and hoping I wasn’t going to be another hum-drum angsty slashfic.

As Killian went to hug him, it dimly registered that not only was this the first time in several years that he was seeing Robin naked, it was the first time they were even touching one another in an intimate way without clothes. And there was nothing sexy about it. And that was perfectly fine.

They didn’t speak, the water beating down on both of them and keeping them warm as Killian held Robin close; and it wasn’t as if he disliked the way that Robin clung to him, he just wished it were for any other reason than misery. And he really had no idea how to make it better.

For anyone keeping score at home, Sean is 5′9″ and Colin is 5′11″. For your height difference needs.

“You’re going to prune,” he finally said, voice barely audible over the hiss of the water. Robin only nodded, tucking himself under Killian’s chin. “Did you wash at all?” This time Robin shook his head.

Well, that was easily taken care of. Killian eased back to grab his things, then set to work.

He always found value in casual displays of affection. Whether it was hugging friends or letting Swan sleep on his lap when they watched telly or now gently washing Robin’s hair, Killian knew that simple touch, simple gestures of care, warmth, and safety were so scarce these days that the extra effort was appreciated by anyone on the receiving end.

Preening or grooming is an important mating habit, jsyk

He raked his fingers through Robin’s hair, massaging the shampoo in and scrubbing out the sweat and lingering feelings of defeat. Robin’s eyes were closed and slowly his features relaxed, following Killian’s gentle lead to tip his head back under the spray to wash away the soap suds. Then came the body wash and Killian was hesitant as he lathered up his hands and spread them across Robin’s chest. It was then that Robin opened his eyes, meeting Killian’s hesitant gaze with his own. “Can you handle it?” Killian asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Robin said; it was hard to hear him over the sound of running water, his voice hoarse from shouting on the pitch and likely from the emotions that kept him shut away in his self-imposed confinement.

Killian nodded and stepped back, going to scrub his own hair while Robin got the soap.

He sighed as he stepped into the spray, scrubbing his fingers against his scalp and inwardly bemoaning the fact that he desperately needed a haircut. With finals coming up he’d be hard pressed to find time to get it done, though perhaps he’d ask if one of Swan’s teammates knew how to cut hair.

“Killian.”

He jerked up, wiping water out of his face as Robin took a step towards him. Their lips met and Killian grunted in surprise, hands automatically moving to cup Robin’s head and circle his waist. “Make me forget,” Robin whispered against his lips. “Make me feel good, Killian, please.”

Initially I set out to do like actual penetration sex, but then every single slash panel I’ve attended was like “LUUUUUUUUBEEEEEE” and I can’t just magic lube here like I could elsewhere. So then it came down to “well, sex can be a lot of things, and not all m/m sex is penetration”. Hence how it became trading angsty blowjobs.

His cock swelled at the words and nudged Robin’s. Killian swallowed hard, pulling back only enough to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t want this to be something Robin regretted, this large of a step in their relationship brought on only by the urge to expunge negative feelings. But by God, did he want to.

Robin gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Killian surged forward, their lips crashing together and making Robin stumble back slightly. They turned so that Robin was practically pinned against the wall but for Killian’s hand reaching down to grip his ass. They both groaned, Robin’s hips jerking up as Killian kneaded and squeezed the firm muscle. Killian moved quickly, kissing a path down his jaw and gently biting the thick cords of Robin’s neck before reaching the juncture. He bit a little more hard, then sucked. Laving his tongue against the skin, desperate to mark him in some primal need to stake his claim, and squeezed Robin’s ass in time with his sucks. Killian pulled back with a slight popping sound, then dropped to his knees, ignoring the hard tile as his free hand traced the muscled lines of Robin’s stomach. Even over the water, Killian heard Robin suck in a breath when his hand reached his cock; glancing up, Killian saw he was being watched with an intense expression and hooded eyes. “You like this?” he asked, running gentle fingers over Robin’s cock before wrapping his hand around it.

He gave it an experimental pump, watching Robin’s eyes flutter shut and his head fall back against the wall. “Ah, ah,” Killian scolded, getting used to the feel of Robin’s cock and moving his hand in firm, even strokes. “Watch me.”

Killian Jones, voyeur extraordinaire.

With that, Killian leaned forward and flicked his tongue against the head. He heard Robin groan as he tasted the salty precum leaking from the tip, then wrapped his lips around the head.

Robin’s hand fisted itself in Killian’s hair as he promptly put every other blowjob he’d ever given to shame. His tongue swirled around the head and traced the fat vein pulsing along the side of the shaft. Robin’s cries echoed through the room, his hips jerking in Killian’s hold and forcing his cock further down Killian’s throat. He only gagged the first time, not expecting it, but relaxed and tried to keep a stronger hold on Robin as he continued.

See the nice thing about giving and receiving the same things is that I only have to do details like this once. The other time is just all reactions and I can go on autopilot. It’s hard to write this stuff and make it seem fresh every time.

When one hand went to fondle Robin’s balls, that seemed to be the breaking point. Killian eagerly swallowed his release as Robin came with another shout, only wincing slightly as the hold on his hair tightened. Only when he’d licked the last of it away did Killian sit back on his haunches, looking up to see the results.

Robin slumped against the wall, head tilted back as he caught his breath. As his eyes opened, Killian grinned. “Get up here,” Robin practically growled, taking the offered hand and hauling him up.

smol and sexually frustrated Robin Locksley

Something had snapped in him; Killian felt it as Robin’s kisses became fiercer, more possessive. Killian groaned deep in his throat as Robin practically shoved him back against the wall, his mouth tracing a similar path that Killian’s had done earlier, though Robin paid attention to different areas of his body. Robin nibbled his ears before nipping his way down Killian’s neck; his hands weren’t idle either, running down Killian’s sides and kneading his ass in a decidedly greedy manner. Killian shuddered as Robin’s fingers danced along his thighs, wondering what it might feel like to be pinned to the wall and properly fucked – but that would have to be another time, when they were prepared and not trying to distract each other.

My small reminder to myself that no, we can’t penetrate here. Also a side note: I’m really conscious of how often Killian is portrayed as the “feminine” one in pairings like Captain Charming. Like, going so far as to give him “feminine” descriptors such as “whine” or “mewl” and making him the reciprocator in anal penetration. So yes, Killian likes to be fucked, (and tbh I like writing him getting fucked) but I did a lot of rereading and conscious word choice throughout this piece so it wasn’t like a “oh just replace one character with a woman and it’s the same” thing. Which happens SO MUCH in slash it’s incredible. and by incredible I mean infuriating.

As he mused, Robin slowly dipped down, pausing briefly to pay attention to Killian’s nipples and nose through the thick, wet hair covering his chest. (One of the many things Killian appreciated was that Robin was nowhere near as hairy as he was; only one of them needed to be part-wolf.) His breath hitched as Robin ran his tongue along his abs, tracing a path down to Killian’s aching cock and wasting absolutely no time at all before wrapping his lips around the head.

somehow this didn’t turn into a lycan-fic

Killian would have to take a moment later, when he wasn’t about to collapse from pleasure and when he wasn’t trying to contain screams, to appreciate that as both of them were uncircumcised, both knew exactly how to handle the other’s cock. It was a marvel, and one he would put into appreciative words.

Later.

Eventually.

Apparently this means that docking is possible, but from what I understand docking is very unsafe, so don’t try this at home unless you want ripped foreskin. #safesexwithAmanda

When his boyfriend wasn’t going down on him so earnestly, one hand playing with his balls and the other teasing Killian’s ass and making him want to melt into a puddle of goo.

He tried so hard not to rut his hips, not to fuck Robin’s mouth, but God he couldn’t help it. He did his best to keep his thrusts shallow, but then the goddamn son of a bitch sucked hard and Killian’s body jerked involuntarily; he felt the head of his cock brush the back of Robin’s throat and almost came right then.

He decided to copy Robin’s earlier move and threaded his fingers through Robin’s hair; he silently urged him to move faster, desperate for more and half-wild from the need to come. Robin obliged, his tongue swirling and his teeth ever-so-slightly grazing along the shaft and Killian vaguely tasted blood from biting his lip too hard to keep from crying out.

He didn’t remember an orgasm that powerful before, his hips rutting and rutting into Robin’s willing mouth as he came down his throat. He sagged when it was over, when he was finally spent, and released Robin’s hair to let him up. Killian fell gratefully into Robin’s kiss, both of them more relaxed and their touches more tender, less frantic than before. “Water’s getting cold,” Robin said softly, cupping Killian’s face briefly before tracing the line of his jaw.

using up a university’s ENTIRE supply of hot water, w2g boyos

“Someone interrupted my wash,” Killian said, his weak joke earning a grin in response.

Robin ducked out first, letting Killian scrub himself, though he was a bit more reluctant to wash away the feeling of Robin’s lips over his body. It was a consolation to realize they could do it all over again another time, with more time and more preparation and less chance of someone walking in on them in a somewhat public locker room.

Nothing sexy about locker rooms, he thought, Swan’s words from several months ago coming to mind, we’ll see about that. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell, but he’d give a mild update to Swan when they returned.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he’d keep this new, warm feeling in his chest to himself for a while longer. His own private happiness to keep the demons of defeat away.

Or perhaps it was a private happiness to be shared by two people; Robin’s face when Killian went to change was a complete 180 from before, soft and with a glow that matched the one Killian felt.

They kept sneaking glances at each other as they dressed, smiling when their eyes met. When Killian’s head popped through the opening of his shirt, Robin was there, moving to gently cup the back of Killian’s head and touch their foreheads together. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Anytime,” Killian replied. “Really.”

That made Robin laugh. “Next time let’s be a bit more private, though, eh?”

They slung their bags over their shoulders and Robin took Killian’s hand as they left the facility. Killian gave it a squeeze, a reassurance that it would be okay – and it would, they both knew it. Their shower dalliance bled away most of the poison but some of the sullenness would return.

But it would be okay. They had each other.

They’d be okay.

and they’ll wear each other’s jerseys and have plenty of time to get better at sex during the offseason! :D Thanks for rereading with my SUPER ENLIGHTENING commentary!

[redcrownkrp-blog]

Could I see a sample app? Or get pointers on how to fill in the app?

As far as pointers go I would just suggest making sure you have a clear idea of what you want for your muse, possibly a plan or a simple series of events. It’s really up to you, we are not strict with how people format the biography section of the app as long as we can get a true feel for the muse.

I can provide a sample app though for my muse, The Hellblood, under the cut. Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse (of all kinds), sexual themes. And a note that bios do not have to be this long in any way, shape or form.

About the muse

which skeleton are you applying for? The Hellblood

muse name: Park Minho

age: 724

appearance age: 24

gender and pronouns: Cismale, he/him

species: Vampire

face claim: Min Yoongi

aesthetic: stained linen, empty bottles, ripped books, open courtyards, silk sheets, broken chess pieces, bleached hair, wet eyes.

song:  broken crown by mumford & sons

biography: 

The entire history of his clan had been told to Minho over and over, practically beaten into him as a child, teen and eventually vampire. How long they had existed, how their bloodline was birthed from one of the first vampires to walk the earth and how they had kept that bloodline going. The process and traditions he was all too familiar with as he had been born of them.

His mother was a whore. That’s what they called her anyway. A beautiful human stolen away from her family and home to be a breeding pet for the clan, only those of strength and beauty were blessed enough to carry the children that would one day be turned into the newest members of their clan. Minho still remembers her vaguely, how she wore her hair lower than was considered appropriate, the way her eyes creased when she smiled, how her voice became so horribly hoarse when she cried. From the moment he was brought into the world his fate was set. He would live his formative years with the rest of the children, at his mothers bosom when she was available and at the hand of vampiric nannies when she wasn’t. He was to keep out of the sun and listen to his schooling. He was to eat well, diet only consisting of foods that were known to make the blood sweeter, richer, all the more delectable for when his turning would finally come. And he lived in the fear they all did. That if they put a toe out of line the blessing that was offered to them would be pulled out from under their feet and they would be bled dry.

It would be wrong to say he flourished or that he particularly suffered, Minho merely existed. Went along with what was set out, did as he was told. The only time he broke was when his mother passed, she grew too old, hadn’t produced enough healthy offerings to be kept around. He had considered running away after that. Of finding a stake and pushing it through the vampire that had killed her. But he was too well groomed for that. Instead two years later he was finally mature enough for them. He kneeled and bared his neck for his turning trying to not focus on the eyes of what was seconds away from being his sire, how they bore through him, cut him apart reminding him of every ounce of humanity he was giving away as he let them feed. Wondered if his mother had felt the same piercing fear about those eyes before they ripped out her throat.  

He was not a subtle fledgeling. His blood lust came fast and violent. Consumed by a primal urge to feed on anything close to him, any drop of blood, any pulsing vein. It was customary for fledgelings to spend their time in solitude until the worst of the blood lust passed, no matter how long it was, food regularly supplied so that they don’t go mad. It was so dark in that room, impossible to see what he was ever feasting on. Enough awareness to know it was human and warm and oh so delicious. He had been raised with constant descriptions of how blood tasted, the different flavours and feelings it could provide but to finally have his mouth full of it, drinking person after person until he was dripping in it…it was heaven. There was a hunger in him never experienced before but it was worth it for every second he could spend quenching it.

Only after the worst was over was light allowed in, the door opened and Minho got the first true look at all he had done. At first, all he could see were bodies, one on top of another and another. Mutilated and bloodied. But then he caught a pair of eyes and the scream that came out of him was all that could be heard throughout the palace.

The children of the clan were all raised together, played together, it was normal for them to form bonds. Never discouraged. And the bond he had made with her was something he failed to ever describe. Sides of the same coin pulled together by a thread, the readers of each other hearts and minds. It was fair to assume she would be turned just as he had, no reason to doubt when she was ten times as smart and talented than him. Yet there she lay. Eyes wide, neck ripped to shreds, pale flesh dyed crimson.

All his mortal life Minho had dreamed of being turned, drunk on the promises of vampires so so much older than him, their gilded promises and yarns of a better life. Now it was forever stained, overshadowed, tarnished by one of his first acts as the blessed being. His sire was never a kind man, Minho did not expect him to be, but he didn’t think he would be so low in the man’s eyes. Just yet another night child for him to control and have do his bidding and Minho was good at it. How many people he had stolen out of their beds and brought back he did not have a count for. How well he had bent and bowed to his sire and his bloodline, those that ruled over them all. How he had sat in wait, dutiful and good and bloodthirsty all in hopes that one day all that was promised would still come. That the image of stained skin and blank eyes would one day fade.

Life, even immortal life, does not have a simple way of panning out though.

Carpe Noctem came over them like a shadow. First, everything was fine and next there was only screaming and bodies. He ran, as fast as he could. Didn’t consider fighting for a second because he would be damned fighting for these creatures, for this clan, he would run as far as he could and accept the death from whatever vampire managed to catch him. Simply fell to his knees when cornered. A sick fascination and satisfaction overcoming him as he watched his sire get decapitated, the figure that did it seeming so much stronger and more imposing then the ancient being it had just killed. As if the world slowed as the executioner moved towards him all Minho could focus on was what he thought would be the last moments of his inaptly named immortal life. Sweat clung in droplets to the back of his neck chaffing his skin against the silks slowly slipping off of a single shoulder, barely staying in place in the chaos that had fallen. Strands of raven hair had fallen in his face, resting against his cheeks and neck. A neck that was soon to be cut, slashed, ripped, detached. And still, he never raised a hand to protect himself.

No violence ever came to him though. Instead, a cold hand took his chin, not gentle but firm and commanding lifting his head. The same hand would drag him out of the palace, past the fallen of his kin, his bloodline, his clan, his life. Minho had ideas of what would befall him being taken by the clan that had just murdered his own, knew the horrors that might await but none of it seemed to matter. All he could focus on was the relief running through his veins but more strongly the freedom. He was bond, shackled and gagged going to the devil knows where but it was the freest he had felt his entire life.

That feeling did not leave. Not even when the cold firm hand dragged him to a room, decadently decorated with a far too large bed in the centre. It took no genius to connect the dots of why he’d been taken and why the body of the other felt so much closer than before. There was an unspoken choice for him to make and Minho made it embarrassingly quickly. Maybe other vampires would spit on him for it, his own kin would have, he didn’t much care for their opinions though. All he had done is turned and finally truly taken in the man who had stolen him. He didn’t look kind, no person who could disseminate a clan like he had could be kind, but Minho has never trusted kind men. No, he was cruel, violent, in a way terrifying but by the laws of their species and the laws of their time he was so fair. Undressing for him had felt like more of a liberation than a new way of chaining himself.

One night, months into his stay in Carpe Noctem, his eyes were drawn out of the window. Lazily watching the moonlight streak into the room and illuminate the sheets curled around his waist, crumpled beside him, briefly he wondered if he looked as desirable as that first night surrounded by carnage. Probably not, the executioner had a penchant for blood that was absent from this scene. His mind slowly filled with a different idea, a need more than anything, and before he properly processed what he was saying the words were out of his mouth. “I’m not a bird.” He didn’t turn to look at the other, didn’t feel the need, instead simply pressed on. “People keep birds in gilded cages because they think they’ll be useless anywhere else. I’m not a bird.” Two days later he found that need fulfilled stood between the lower ranks, a mess of fledgelings, doing something for what felt like the first time in years.

It would be easy to argue that Minho climbed the ranks of Carpe Noctem through favouritism. Being the one who got on their hands and knees for their leader has its perks, he would never deny that but he would never be in the position he is now if it wasn’t for his own strengths. He wasn’t suddenly the Second in Command. It took years. Years of showing just how quiet he was on his feet, how he moved like a shadow and how useful that was in hearing the conversations those of powerful stations have after dark. That skill growing into being an assassin even more deadly than he had been in his old life, as talented with a knife as he was with his fangs never leaving a soul alive to tell any tales. And years of proving that his tongue was skilled at many things but especially business. That’s what lead him to where he is now. Feared for how he is favoured, feared for the secrets he knows, feared for the blood on his hands, feared for how he is skilled.

extras: i actually don’t have anything to put here which is rather embarrasing asdewkl

I hope this helped tho ‘nonnie!!

[laqueerstorian-blog]

A Space of Privilege at T* Camp

By Eve Moreno

 Who has survived sexual assault? Eyes shifted left and right and silence lingered in the room as folks walked into the center. My breath shortened as I placed one foot in front of the other. My chest tightened and my vulnerability began to rise. Who deals with addiction? Again, my heart raced as I placed myself in the center of the room. Anxiety and validation filled me as other folks revealed themselves the first night at T* camp.  

Who is transgender? The room’s energy rose when almost everyone attending camp walked into the center of the Main Lodge at Pilgrim Pines campgrounds. This camp is a safe space for transgender youth to come together and share their struggles, trauma and empower one another with our personal stories.

Southern California T* Camp is an inter-campus transgender retreat hosted by the University of Riverside at Pilgrim Pines campgrounds in San Bernardino. I was very excited to represent Los Angeles City College alongside Javi Sebastian at this three-day inter-campus retreat composed mostly of schools from the University of California and Cal State system.

Waking up the next morning to a cabin full of trans people was a very unique feeling. I identify with the gender-neutral pronouns: they, them, and theirs. My identity felt so respected by the community at T* camp. Often times at LACC I don’t see the same respect and compassion from my Cisgender peers. Cisgender means that you identify with the gender you were assigned to at birth. Transgender means that you do not identify with the gender you were assigned to at birth.

Being at T* camp with other folks who identified with the same pronouns as myself filled me with immense validation. It empowered me to see that more non-binary transgender people existed, and these identities were working to make their campuses an inclusive space for transgender people all across the spectrum. Spaces like T* camp are hard to come by in our society because transgender people are seen as less then or are identities are seen as an illness.

The first workshop I attended focused on the experiences of trans feminine campers. Although I felt comfortable in the space, I couldn’t help but feel isolated due to my non-binary identity. I identify as a non-binary trans person, meaning that I don’t identify as a man or a women because my expression does not align within the gender binary. The workshop allowed us to share our experiences as trans feminine people, and also brought a spotlight to differences in sex and gender.

 Sex and gender are two different constructs that have been forced onto us by colonization. Sex is based on the biological factors that make up our bodies. Gender is a forced ideology that comes with societal expectations due to our sex. Gender is a spectrum and looks different to each and every one of us. Connecting male and female to pronouns is inherently problematic because of the fluidity of the gender spectrum transgender people encompass. The translation to this: Saying exclusively, “I identify with female/ male pronouns”, puts other trans people in an exclusionary position. It is important to separate sex and gender when navigating spaces with trans people.

Campers were pre-selected into groups referred to as home groups, and were told to name our groups and I suggested because we all are radiant to be called, the Gems. Besides the facilitator, the student facilitator and myself, everyone in the Gems was white and or from middle class narratives. I tried to settle into my group with an open heart and mind despite these socioeconomic differences. The discussion in our group was about our chosen name and why is our name important to us.

 I chose the name Eve because of the history it has being associated with the first women in existence. In our society the identities of women and femmes are objectified, ostracized, and constantly fight to prove their humanity in this misogynistic culture. My identity is a clap back to the patriarchy,I hope to someday create an organization called “The Age of Eve”, where transgender people and femmes are empowered through multimedia knowledge as a form of self-care and activism.

  After breaking from our home groups I attended a dance workshop at the main lodge led by Riy, a black non-binary trans person who majors in dance studies at UCLA. Riy taught us how to cabbage patch, nay nay and shared with us the violence that women and femmes experience when growing up in dance studios. After the age of 12 women are taught to dance in ways that cater to the gaze of men, supporting the institutionalization of objectification that women and femmes experience.

The breakout that followed was a people of color (POC) workshop where the POC who attended the camp could come together and center our intersectional identities away from the white folks attending T* camp. The empty fireplace allowing excess ventilation made the room cold and damp. The room was packed with eager faces and whispers of revolution. We talked about navigating our identities in school and the ways we are misgendered at the institutions we attend back home. We came to the conclusion that we cannot allow educators to misgender, and disrespect our trans identities.  Our tuition is the reason why the institution can operate. Students give the educators the ability to work, sustain a space for their careers and it is imperative for these educators to hold themselves accountable for creating a safe space for transgender students.

 We also discussed the anti-blackness that plagues our communities, however, a dialogue addressing the problem facing our communities of color wasn’t talked about. What was talked about was that it was too difficult addressing anti-blackness when individuals were dealing with their own cultural identities being trans, and didn’t have the strength or capability to address any other problems at home.I felt a rush of anger race inside of me. T these racist ideologies didn’t resonate well with me. Although as POC we cannot be racist, we can definitely perpetuate anti-blackness. Ways that this happens is using the “n” word as non-black POC, as well as allowing our communities to express racist ideologies. Communities of color fail to see that black people exist within all cultures and that without the liberation of black communities, we cannot experience collective liberation.

The walk back to the dining hall to meet my home group was cold, dreadful, but I had to keep it together. The lights at Pilgrim pines began to flicker on and off as darkness settled in around me. It was so cold that I could see the warmth of my breath, and I figured it was just the anger I felt inside of me becoming physical right before me. I felt ostracized being back in the Gems after the POC breakout.I live my truth every second i breathe, every second I exist is an act of resistance and I strongly believe that I’m my ancestor’s wildest dream. The facilitators asked what was our favorite thing about us I responded: “My favorite thing about me is that I am a trans, queer brown and poor person surviving in a society that works against my existence! I made it clear to the Gems that my experiences navigating the world were far different than their own.

Paddles, whips, floggers, clamps and ropes were spread across a table as I walked into the last break out of the night. The facilitator Cadence has been involved in the Kink scene Los Angeles offers for over a decade. Cadence educated us on the three “C’s” of Kink culture: Consent, communicate and care. The most important part of Kink culture is being safe and consenting to everything happening during playtime. My favorite toy from the workshop was a paddle that a heart in the middle.  Cadence explained to us that kink culture is much more than just toys and inflicting pain for pleasure, but understanding what your playmate wants, consenting to the play and taking care of each other after the session. The most dangerous part of kink culture is us. The neuron-chemical reaction that happens during playtime takes us on a journey that must be taken with caution.

The final day of T* camp went by so fast. I explored the campground with my new friends and we came across the field of dreams. The organizers of the camp asked us to work on a writing piece called, “A Letter to myself”, for our future selves to read. I laid in the Field of Dreams at Pilgrim Pines and wrote affirmations and empowering words, “I am light, I am magic and I am power. I am loved and appreciated by my community. Although my recently passed grandmother is not here with me physically, she is watching over me and my chosen family. Never give up Eve”. The Field of Dreams is a lush greenery area that is surrounded by all kinds of plant life.

 The final group activity was at the main lodge of Pilgrim Pines. It was an exercise where we formed a circle and had our backs turned from each other. One at a time, each home group went into the middle of the circle and tapped the back of someone that resonated with the statement said by the facilitator. Something that resonated with me was when the T* camp staff went into the middle of the circle, and was told to tap the back of someone that made their camp experience memorable, and who will be a good leader this upcoming year. I felt so much warmth and love run through my body as hands tap my shoulder over and over again. My eyes welled with tears and my heart rushed to the vibrations in my body created by the taps of my fellow campers.  

 I knew that my experience at T* camp would be unforgettable because I made an impact on so many people. It was like I wasn’t leaving T* camp that afternoon because T* camp was leaving with me. I was taking all the siblings I made at camp back to my community here in Los Angeles. The people I met at camp were real, they were real because I didn’t have to be anything but myself around them. They saw me for me, for my non-binary transgender and queer identity. I look forward to coming back with the resiliency and magic I had the privilege to experience at T* camp, and pass on the leadership next year as a student facilitator.

[oxfordeliterp]

CONGRATULATIONS, NEHA!

You have been accepted to play the role of ARIA BELLEFONTE with the faceclaim of CRYSTAL REED. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. First of all, we would like to apologize for the delay regarding your application and thank you for your cooperation. We certainly hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience, because we are so excited to have you and your Aria on the dashboard that, to us, a day worth of delay felt incredibly late. Your application showed clearly and loudly that you connect extremely well to your character and that you understand her to perfection. Personally, I believe you demonstrated you get Aria’s dynamic with Elizabeth so well that, if she were still alive, I would have no problem giving you both characters, and that is no understatement. 

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns:

Hi guys! I’m Neha and I prefer the she/her pronouns

Age:

18

Time-zone:

EST

Activity level:

I can have a pretty high activity level because I’m on summer break! I start work in a week, but even then I’ll only be part time.

Triggers:

No triggers!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character:

Aria Bellefonte. I chose her because in a lot of ways I can relate to her, especially in life irl. My friend actually pointed her out to me when we were both going through your rp and said, “look, that’s you”. Apathy, though not to as high of a degree as Aria, I’ve been told is something of a specialty of mine (though I swear I try not to be as pessimistic as I come out to be). Of course, not a great introduction to me as a person and I promise I’m not horrible, that’s just what really connected me to her, because I have that aspect of not caring but I’m still explained as usually the happiest in the room by my friends. All a mystery. I also really loved the part of her story that defines her, the part about Elizabeth being the first thing/person she really, really cared about. And the “gal pal” love doesn’t hurt.

Gender and pronouns of the character:

Cis female, she/her

Changes:

none!

Traits:

Hedonistic- Aria is a reveller, and has been since birth. Why not, when you have anything you would ever want and more at your fingertips? The drinking started early with champagne, thousand dollar bottles of wine, and hundred year old cognac. It was old hat by the time she turned eighteen, then it turned to sex, drugs, and adrenaline.

Reckless- The drugs and alcohol are just stand ins for what Aria really craves — the quickening of her heartbeat, the pumping of her veins, that rush of adrenaline is the only thing that makes her feel alive, makes her feel like she may not be a robot or a block of ice after all. It was part of the reason she loved Elizabeth at first, before it turned into something so much deeper than that. Now that she’s gone, Aria has no more outlet, and might be heading for a crash sometime soon

Intuitive- Aria Bellefont is not smart. She wasn’t dumb, but she certainly wasn’t Oxford levels of smart, something established long before her eyes first alighted on ivy-covered walls. The thing she is though, is intuitive. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of observing human behavior from an emotional distance, or maybe it just comes from the fact that if she couldn’t beat them through the books, she’d have to at least keep up with them on the social side of things.

Nihilistic- Of course this is kind of a given, but it’s important to note how Elizabeth swept into Aria’s life and altered her perception of the world. Going from caring about nothing to loving something, one thing with all your heart is a huge change, and having it ripped away from you hurts worse than anything, perhaps proving that you were always right — but now, you don’t want to be anymore.

Extras:

Major- International Relations, because it is one of the easier majors and she’s pretty sure she could fairly easily become an ambassador due to her family money and the international connections that come with it. To say that she doesn’t care about her major would be an understatement. She wasn’t as much persuaded to do IA, as much as it was forcing her to do IA. It doesn’t hurt that her mother is already the French ambassador to Belgium.

Family- To say the Bellefonte family is old money is like saying water is wet. The thing is, even Aria’s parents don’t quite know how old their money is. Rumors say that they can trace their lineages back to the old nobility of France and Russia, but who, how, and when is all lost to the sands of time. One thing is for sure, they are rich beyond comprehension, and take it for granted too. But money isn’t everything, and the bonds between the three are brittle from the coldness that surrounds this family. Aria’s mother and father live in separate countries for “work” and as far as Aria’s concerned, the only thing tying her to them is money. So, as King Midas discovered long ago, wealth can be a poison, and it has poisoned this family perhaps beyond repair.

Sexuality- Aria’s never been much one to put labels on things, partially because she just doesn’t care enough to. Poor v rich, sinful v pure, liberal v conservative, gay v straight, none of it matters to her (a viewpoint that is very easy to carry through her privileged life). So putting a label on her sexuality has never been a priority. She likes who she likes, she hooks up with who she hooks up with, and usually it’s just spur of the moment. Perhaps it means something that she’s only truly loved someone in mind, body, and soul, but Aria isn’t about to go psychoanalyzing it just yet.

Aesthetics: there’s some stuff i made and some stuff i reblogged here: http://neharps.tumblr.com/tagged/aria

PARA SAMPLE

The news found her in someone else’s bed, head pounding and stomach turning. The messenger was a callous and cold campus alert text reading: “Oxford student body found, counseling available if needed.” She didn’t know it at the time, but that text was the end of the world as she knew it. The light didn’t go all at once, it faded slowly, starting with the text, and ending with the sorrowful face of the first person she saw that morning. “She’s dead Aria. Elizabeth’s dead.” She should have known the pit in her stomach wasn’t from the alcohol.

Aria had never reacted quite the same emotionally to anything as a normal person did. When she was six and her cat died, she had stared at him in “quiet reflection”, then ran off to go play with her other toys. As her parent’s marriage broke down, she had looked at it with apathy that sometimes even bridged on a sick sense of satisfaction. Things and people didn’t mean quite as much to her as they meant to other people, but in this case, she was perfectly with the norm, cycling through the first two stages of grief almost instantly.

At first, shock and denial. It just simply had not happened. They had been together last night, a night Aria could barely remember filled with booze, drugs, and the general revelling of two girls who could do and be anything they wanted. It was sad, wasn’t it? That she couldn’t remember the last night they’d spent together. They’d left each other at some point in the night though, and next thing she knew it, her best friend in the world was dead, lying in some cold morgue on a slab, the light in her eyes gone.

It couldn’t all be gone, that was the thing. Elizabeth’s eyes, so full of life and love, cosmic wonders in themselves couldn’t be flat and dull. Her lips, soft and pink, curving gently over fond smiles and boisterous laughter couldn’t be cold. To never see the indescribable face Elizabeth made when she took a shot, to never laugh until they were wheezing, to never touch her lips again, it was unthinkable, unlivable. A stupid, scary lie that wasn’t about to fool her.

And though the pain was immediate, the guilt came later, stage two. They had been together, they had been together, until they hadn’t. She could have saved Elizabeth, god knew Elizabeth saved Aria everyday. It didn’t take long for Aria to convince her it was her fault. They were best friends and more, they were supposed to protect each other, know each other’s limits, and have those bad gut feelings before things went wrong. But quickly, as the police reports and gossip starting spreading, those feelings started to pale in comparison to another: anger.

Emotion was something of a new thing for Aria, introduced to her by the girl she’d love to her death. This emotion in particular had been one of the strongest she’d ever experienced. “Seeing red” was a phrase she finally understood, and a fire started to burn, and burn, turning the ice queen into something much darker, someone whose disconnected from the world was finally going to come in handy. See, when she cut down the person or people that had made this happen, she wouldn’t even blink an eye, or feel a thing. It was what made her dangerous.

And so, the person that had made Aria lighter, better, was finally bringing her down deeper into the world she had built around herself, a world where nothing mattered easily turning into a place where nothing mattered but revenge. The world had taken the one thing she cared about, and that was unforgivable.

[love-life-and-punk-rock]

What I believe in.

I’m a centrist. I struggle to choose what I am really. On some days I I’d say I would be a right winged liberal or on other days I would say I’d just be a conservative. But now I’ve decided to stay as a centrist. However my views change over years. Seeing how things have been going lately I’ve really hate to say it but…these SJW’s are really tearing this country apart. It’s gone to a point where we are looking at the 1960s but worse. I have never seen a nation so divided thanks to this social justice bull crap. It’s he main reason why trump won. People are sick of seeing this constant flow of riots and protests all over the United States. Not only that people are tired that this ‘snowflake’ mentality it shoved down our throats. I don’t speak on behave of anyone but myself and here’s what I want. To bring us together. Whites, blacks, asians, Latino, etc. the 80s was a great example. Hands across America, live aid, etc. it was an era of peace. We saw the Cold War end in 1985 and a few 6-7 years later the collapse of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union spilt apart. So what went wrong in our time? Social justice. The main reason why we can’t get along. The snowflake mindset plays in where we are forced to use these made up pronouns, make up new genders, have white people the enemy, and the ‘holy wars’. What’s the holy wars? Basically where religion plays in to cause wars. Islam being the main cause. Megadeth actually predicted this back in the 90s. ‘Brother will kill brother Spilling blood across the land Killing for religion Something I don’t understand Fools like me, who cross the sea And come to foreign lands Ask the sheep, for their beliefs Do you kill on God’s command? A country that’s divided Surely will not stand My past erased, no more disgrace No foolish naive stand’ It’s the hard truth that we live in. People struggle to trust muslims because of what’s going on in the Middle East. I don’t blame them. Honestly what’s going on in Europe is bad with the refugees. It’s also causing the rise of nationalism in Europe. A strong following because of how open minded their country has become that the country losses focus on itself. Anyways besides all of that I have a huge hatred for modern day feminism. Not Early first wave or second wave feminism. Modern day feminism. Why? Look at how much has been accomplished by feminism in its early stages. Woman are able to vote, woman are out of the house and have the ability to do what they want without a mans consent, and they can have equal pay (if they pick the right jobs). Now what’s the issue with modern day feminism? It’s caused division. It hasn’t accomplished anything but cause more and more division. Men are now this figure of oppression in which a simple glance or stare at a woman can make you a rapist. In fact it’s one of the more sensitive bullshit I have seen. Feminist have gone and tried to ban the word bossy. Why? Because apparently it hurts their feelings. Well tough luck. Men get their feelings hurt half the time and I don’t see them out naked in their underwear protesting about 'rape culture’. I just absolutely hate what feminism has become. Dear feminists, stop complaining about what’s happening in this country and focus on the outside world. Look at the Middle East! Woman are killed for disobeying a man. Look at South America. Mostly Mexico. Men are still seen as a dominant figure where the woman must trust their lives with men. My mother who is from Mexico actually doesn’t know what feminism is. It’s not because they don’t care about woman’s rights, it’s because they don’t press their focus on woman’s Rights at the moment. They look more towards focusing on family, work, staying alive, etc. in fact Mexico is pretty damn dangerous if you’re a young woman. You’re more likely to get raped, killed, and kidnapped in that country. I’m still confused how that country isn’t campaigning about woman’s rights as much as the US. Maybe because they’re focused on fixing their country or something. Then again that brings me back to my other topic. Immigration. More Importantly, illegal immigration. What’s my stance? Illegals don’t belong here. Why? Because the main issue is how problematic the drug war has become. It’s gotten so bad that’s its irreparable. The drug war cannot be won, but it can be 'cooled down’. Hell if I ran for president I would create an easier method for immigrants from foreign nations to come in quicker and easier. However we need to increase our border security tenfold. Why? Because sure some illegals want a better life, but it’s impossible doing it like that. Why? Because my parents are illegals. But I understand why they did it. We came for a better life. My grandfather came here legally because back then Ronald Reagan made every illegal in this country legal. My parents missed out on that chance because they were young. However my grandfather was a piece of shit. He could’ve gotten my mom and dad their US citizenship. How? My grandfather was a citizen and my dad was his son. But he refused. Sadly my parents came here illegally and later my older siblings came. We have been living here for years now. I was the only legal son thanks to the 14th amendment. Even though my parents are illegal I feel shame for the route we took. Sure we didn’t have money but if we waited longer we could’ve gotten here with us citizenships. Then again I wouldn’t of been born. Or probably earlier. Who knows. My parents are not criminals. We never broke any laws. We pay our taxes, speak English, have a house, etc. we are like every other American. Just a bit more discrete about our status. Anyways we need to find a new method of keeping illegals out besides this fence in our border. My first steps would be making it easier for immigrants to come here. Now then…do I seem like some right winged dick who just wants to keep immigrants out? No. I want criminals out. Not immigrants. I want our country safe. Speaking of which. @hyenatiddy. This son of a bitch. This pathetic manipulative piece of shit. He’s the main reason why I shot myself on a livestream. And some of his followers actually wished death on me. Oh don’t even get me started on some of the shit they said 'this world is better without him’ 'he was a right wing troll’ etc. Somehow they believe in him. Thinking that he’s the victim here. Oh how much he has fucking lied to you. First of all he’s lied to me. The first thing he did was when he played as some girl telling me that he killed himself and she took over. I knew he was lying when he’s posting art and pics of himself without mentioning suicide. Next thing he does? Of boy. This son of a bitch tells me he’s in the hospital for for what…three weeks? I dunno. But he reused the same pic of a hospital band saying he’s still in the hospital. I was so confused. I knew something was up since he said he 'took’ a picture even though it was reused from last week. (Not really last week but awhile back.) oh and then he tells me he loves me. I actually felt happy for once. I actually felt joy in my life. I felt loved. And then this piece of shit drops this on me. He asks if I’m right winged. He doesn’t even give me time to explain. The bastard just leaves. Blocks me and makes me feel like shit. I felt abandoned. This manipulative trash never loved me. I found out because he was already dating someone else. Hell I was gay for awhile. I admit it. But now I’m sticking as a straight Latino male. I don’t trust any trans person. Sure one mistake doesn’t represent all trans but I’ve encountered a lot of trans and they always treat me like trash. I can’t take that encounter anymore. Oh but hey I’m a 'transphobe’ for not trusting trans people but oh wait I hear a bit of hypocrisy coming from the snowflake! What’s that? You don’t trust all males for the actions of a few? Then that doesn’t make you sexist one bit according to your agenda. Anyways moving back to the subject this son of a bitch is the main reason I have a higher hatred for SJW’s. He lied. He was a sick liar. I don’t have proof because why should I keep the messages from him? It makes me feel awful and I needed to get rid of something that hurt me. He would say some bullshit like 'that’s why I got rid of you because you hurt me’. My response is how? How do I hurt you? For stating the truth? For stating my opinions? My political views? Fuck off. How can you not feel safe with someone who has not brought up their political opinions directly. How can you not fucking feel safe with someone who said they love you and care for you. How? How the fuck can you not feel safe? It’s absolute bullshit. I had a friend call the cops but they couldn’t do shit since wherever he lived wasn’t in their power since it’s a different state. Then again my friend though I was dead when I hit my chest. I laid on the floor for awhile. When I shot myself i went into some type of shock. I didn’t move. I was unresponsive. I was like asleep. The pain was just so unbearable I think I must’ve passed out. Then the cops and paramedics arrived and they closed my laptop which ended the livestream. Someone reported the stream and it got taken down. When I was in the hospital i was already awake but I was in so much anger. I had to go through heavy treatment. I had to be away from my phone. I had to. But I decided to stay away from tumblr. I recently came back since I feel better and I’m up to confront what made me feel like this. I’m not running away like hyenatiddy does by abusing the block button to hide from arguments and people confronting him. I’m up to fire back if someone shoots at me. I’m not fucking scared. I don’t care for the thousands of followers he has. I’m not scared of they get manipulated by his beliefs. I came to confront my fears and take on what made me shoot myself. The hatred of other people won’t take me down. It’s why I made this post and why I won’t stand down. I’m a Latino male. Straight. Centrist. I won’t be silenced by a bunch of horny bastards who believe in hyenatiddy’s lies. Now I wanna thank a few friends who supported me. @takashi0 @boss-hoody @fatponyroleplays @forgottonbutstillbreathing And some other friends who’s URL I’ve forgotten of lol. Thank you all. I know some of you didn’t notice when I got shot but I knew some of you were worried for me. My friend tried his best to spread that I shot myself but some wouldn’t believe him. I’m fine however. I’m just glad that you guys are still up and running. Thank you so much. I no longer fear people who just…hate. In fact I’m gonna be more open about my opinions. I just need help to recover from this first.

[spiteweaver]

Interview #3: Phantasos

[ From the private files of Delucius Shadowheart ]

How does one describe the clan heir?

When he first came to me expressing interest in being interviewed, I turned him down. “You’re a kid,” I said. “Get back to me when you’re old enough to have something interesting to say.”

To tell you the truth, I’m still not 100% on how he managed to talk me into this, but here we are. He’s sitting across from me, smiling like a tom cat, and I’m shuffling my papers like I always do before a big interview--and this is going to be a big interview, because everything Phantasos does, I’ve noticed, is big.

So, if I had to pick a single word to describe him, it would probably be “ambitious.”

But describing him in just one word doesn’t do him much justice.

“Are you gonna write down everything I say?” he asks.

“Well, yeah,” I reply. “That’s generally how interviews go.”

“Dede told me you’re sneaky and untrustworthy,” he says, “so I just want to make sure you don’t leave anything out to make me look bad.”

“I’m not that kind of journalist,” I assure. “I won’t deny that I’m sneaky and untrustworthy, but I’m not trying to make anyone look like anything. I’m just trying to fatten up my files.”

“Why?” he asks.

“You know I’m supposed to be asking the questions, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s still looking at me expectantly, so I sigh and resign myself to a fate worse than death: babysitting. “It’s my job to gather information on other dragons,” I explain. “Interviews are a good way to gather a lot of information quickly. That information goes into my personal files, and I refer to them when I or one of my customers needs to know anything in particular.”

“What if someone tells you something really personal, though?” he asks. “You won’t sell that information to anyone who pays, will you?”

“I will.”

“That’s mean. I don’t like it.”

“Tough.”

“You’ll think ‘tough’ when you’re dead, mister.”

The scariest thing about Phantasos is that you can never know when he’s being serious. He got his father’s friendly disposition, but he’s got plenty of Dreamweaver in him, too; by which I mean, most of the time, he’ll be your best friend, but if you do or say something that doesn’t gel right with him, he’ll threaten you with a smile, and you won’t know whether to laugh or piss yourself.

I didn’t learn that until after this particular interview.

“Anyway,” he says, “what d’you wanna talk about? Papa and dede told me you asked them about me ‘n Faded. I can talk about them if you want. I like talking about Faded.”

I consider it for a moment, because, let’s be real, no one knows anything about Faded that Faded hasn’t made public knowledge--except for, maybe, this kid, this single little boy who somehow managed to worm himself right into Faded’s cold enigma of a heart. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, probably the best shot I’ll ever have at unraveling some of the mysteries surrounding Clan Aphaster’s most secretive member.

Then I think about what they’ll do to me if Phantasos tells me a little too much.

“I’m good,” I say. “This interview’s about you, not them.”

I can see it in his eyes, in the way his smile grows just the slightest bit wider: he knows I’m afraid of Faded, and that tickles him pink. “Ok,” he says, “I like talking about myself too!”

“What’s it like being the heir?” I ask.

Phantasos doesn’t hesitate. “Boring!” he cries. “It’s super boring! Dede makes me study all the time! History, language, politics; and they make me sit in on diplomatic meetings sometimes too, and it’s so, so, so, so, so--” I’ve cut out a few of the “so’s” for my own benefit. Just a note, to future me: he said “so” twenty-three times. “--boring!”

“You aren’t excited about your future as a diplomat?” I ask.

“No, I am!” he replies. “I like meeting new people and learning new things, but not, like, not in books! I wanna go out and learn from experience, but dede says I’m too young! I’m already three eons old! Don’t you think that’s old enough?! Most dragons are grown by then!”

He has a point. Faust and Holloway’s children, born just before the Jamboree, have already left Feldspar and joined other clans across Sornieth--yet Phantasos, born three full eons before them, still has the mind and body of a child.

“You aren’t growing at a normal rate,” I note. “Any clue why that is?”

“Dede says it’s ‘a shape-shifter thing,’” he replies sullenly, then crosses his arms over his chest and slumps down in his seat. “We don’t grow as fast as dragons. They said they didn’t ‘reach maturity’ until they were in their hundreds.”

“You’ve got a long way to go, huh?”

“No.” He perks up a bit. “I’m half-dragon, so dede said I’ll probably be fully grown sometime this cycle! I hope it happens before Brightshine Jubilee! Then I can start looking for a mate! Papa and dede were married during Jubilee, so I think it would be nice if I could get married around their anniversary!”

“That’s...” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “That’s really cute.”

“You sound surprised!” Phantasos says. “I’m always really cute!”

“So you’re eager to find a mate then?” I ask. “Any candidates thus far?”

“I told Faded I wanted to marry them when I grew up,” he confides, “but they weren’t interested! It’s ok, though, because I’m happy being friends with them!”

“You wanted to marry Faded?”

“Yeah! Who wouldn’t wanna marry Faded?!”

“...Any other candidates?”

“I thought about asking Junior,” Phantasos says, “but Zo got to him first! I thought about asking Zo too, actually! I wonder if I could marry both of them...”

I’m beginning to think “ambitious” might be too mild a term.

“What’s your dede think about all this?” I ask. “They’re pretty protective of you.”

“Dede wants me to marry someone like papa,” he says. “I love papa, but he’s not very good at political stuff. I want a mate who can hold his own in court. Also, someone really strong. Maybe I’ll ask Crucis...”

“Don’t ask Crucis,” I insist. “I shudder to think what would happen to your clan with him at the helm.”

“I guess he is kind of bad at dealing with people,” Phantasos concedes.

“Speaking of people who are bad at dealing with people, what does Winter think of you being the heir?” I ask. “He’s your older brother, so, traditionally, the title would fall to him.”

“Papa and dede asked him if he wanted to take over for them when he was younger,” Phantasos says, “but he turned them down. Winter doesn’t like politics, and, well, like you said, he’s no good at dealing with people. I think he’s really glad I came along; it kind of takes the guilt of refusing the title off of him.”

“I don’t suppose Silas and Samuel mind?”

“Gosh no!” Phantasos exclaims, as if the very idea is laughable at best, completely mad at worst. “They told me one time that if papa and dede had asked them to take over, they would’ve buried themselves all over again!”

“That sounds like them.” I glance over what I’ve written down thus far. “All right,” I say, “let’s get a little more personal.”

“Mmm, I ‘dunno,” Phantasos says. “If you’re gonna sell my secrets to strangers, I don’t think I wanna share them with you. Talking about mates and heir duties is one thing, but...”

“I was just going to ask about your journey of discovery,” I inform. “Dreamweaver is a genderless, sexless being of dreams--at least, that’s what we’ve all been told. They don’t identify as any one gender or sex, but you identify firmly as male.”

“Oh!” Phantasos pops a sugar cube into his mouth. I don’t know if he just has a powerful sweet tooth or if he honestly doesn’t realize it’s meant to go in his tea. “That’s ok then!” he says. “You can ask about that, and I won’t mind so much if you share it with a customer--though I ‘dunno why they’d pay you for it when they could just ask me!”

“How did you decide you were male?” I ask.

“I didn’t ‘decide,’” he replies. “I just am.”

“Ah, right, sorry. I’m not too well-versed in things like this.”

“It’s ok.”

“How did you know, I mean? What tipped you off?”

“That’s kind of tough to answer,” he says. “It was a lot of things. I hated taking on female forms, for one thing. Dede encouraged me to try out lots of different ones, for practice and to see what I liked best--and any time they told me to change into a girl, I hated it. It made my skin crawl. I even hyperventilated one time, when I was really young, because it felt so wrong.

“I didn’t like being called ‘she’ either. Dede doesn’t care what people call them. Most of us use gender-neutral pronouns for them, but if someone calls them ‘he’ or ‘she,’ they don’t care at all. I did. I didn’t like being called ‘she,’ or even ‘they.’ I wanted to be called ‘he.’

“The thought of not having a gender or a sex was really upsetting too. For dede, it’s liberating; they can be whatever they want, whenever they want. For me, it was scary. I knew what I was, and what I was wasn’t supposed to change. It wasn’t supposed to be so vaguely defined. I was really jealous of normal dragons, because they were always one thing or the other--they were male, or female, or neither, or both, and they were always male, or female, or neither, or both. I didn’t have that.”

“Sounds complicated,” I say.

“Yeah, it is,” he replies, “but it’s not so bad now that I’ve figured out I’m a boy.”

“How did Dreamweaver and Banrai take it?” I ask.

“Really well!” Phantasos beams at me proudly. “They weren’t upset or confused at all! I was really afraid they would be, but dede told me this sort of thing happened sometimes, that beings like us don’t always have to be genderless! It’s not weird or unnatural, it’s just uncommon! That helped a lot!”

“What about Holloway?” I ask. “Did he have a hand in it?”

“Yeah! Dede asked him to come over and talk to me, and he did, and a lot of my experiences lined up with his! Holloway acts like he’s above everyone, but, really, he’s super nice! Faust too!”

“Really?” I raise a brow. “I wouldn’t have guessed. They kind of keep to themselves.”

“That’s just how demons are,” Phantasos replies. “It’s hard for them to relate to dragons, so if there are other demons or half-demons in a clan, they tend to form groups! That’s what dede told me anyway! Trust me, if you put in the time and effort to get to know them, they’re great!”

“Well...” I give my notes another cursory glance. “I think I’ve got enough to go on for now,” I say. “If I need to know anything else, I’ll be sure to invite you back. That probably won’t be until you start taking over some of your dede’s duties, though.”

“That’s fine!” he says. “I was getting kinda hungry!” He drains the tea in his cup (it’s more like milk, he’s put so much cream in it) and stands. “Oh, by the way...”

It is at this moment, this exact moment, that I realize how much like Dreamweaver Phantasos really is. I look up, and for a split second, I think I’m staring into the founders’ eyes, not their son’s. “If I ever catch you selling really, really personal information to strangers for a quick buck,” he says, “they won’t find your body.”

Then he’s gone, and I don’t know if I should be relieved or petrified.

[obclus]

hi guys ! it's me, sapphire !  AKA your local loki enthusiast ! i’m from nyc so i live in / the / EST. all u need to know about me is that i pretty much an adult baby and love metaphysics. remember that one time voltaire pretty much rousseau’s book a pos ? what a fake binch, i mean ? and alright... i mean i’m obv pretty late, i get it. let’s talk about my lil star, adalinda !    —   ( tw abuse and death, also bear in mind that this is rather long #srryntsrry )

ok so i got this lil info / page up, it’s semi finished but if you want any other basic info there’s that. click me !

if i had to to sum them up in three words they would be gilded, adaptable, and perceptive. i’ll briefly touch on why, you can read the bio for more details.

gilded and adaptive: covered or highlighted with gold or something of a golden or having a pleasing or showy appearance that conceals something of little worth. this is so important! adalinda is in every essence, gilded. always. they always have some sort of mask on, it would be completely out of character and rare for them to show their true colours. they will lie, device, and manipulate any and everybody. it’s another way of her being so in tune with society’s values and ideals. they’re very aware that if they act one way or another, the outcomes will be different. whatever the situation calls for, she will  ““““transform”””” their personality to gain the upperhand in the conversation. there is an art in lying, and adalinda might as well be fucking picasso or van gogh bc honestly, she’s insane.

perceptive: having or showing keenness of insight, understanding, or intuition. i choose this one because adalinda is a manipulator. that’s about as cut dry as i can put it. to them, knowledge is power and knowledge is of course not limited to street or book smarts. although she does love reading the works of machiavelli and hegel, but knowledge is grander than that. it is intuition. to know what drives things to happen in certain ways, to know what difference lies between a hand on top or on bottom of a handshake. she is very in tune with both verbal and nonverbal communication and will use these things at her leisure for advantage. if a certain topic comes u[ in conversation and the person she’s speaking with become distant in the slightest way, she’ll notice and make a note of it.

would like to introduce you to mommy and daddy issues 101, welcome please have a seat. both adalinda’s parents are deceased, rip. the relationship between all of them is extremely virulent. eloise and maximilian ( mama & papa ) abused their child from a very young age. but what is different about this ( i mean how different is it really idk ) is that adalinda does not fault her parents for this, not in anyway. they see it as a form of discipline and teaching her how to be strong, how to beat pain and fear. her father gave her the burn scars on her back and well her mother... what didn’t she do, lmao. kneeling on salt for extensive amounts of time, cold hands meeting soft cheeks, sharp words at every turn. above all this however as i said, there was love, twisted and incredbily fcked up, but love nonetheless. when their parents died adalinda mourned, but not with tears and black clothes, but with ferocity and the drive to ascend to become something greater — like her parents had taught her, and so the moth girl became the moth eater.

the relationship between her and her mother was strained bc i mean, adalinda has a thirst for power, she get’s that from her dad. but her mom was the god damn crown princess to the dutch throne, and adalinda is like u gave that up for a man !? tf when u’re supposed to inherit a country, but ur mom ceases her position in the line of succession for some dick.

ok here comes the inspo from one of my fav things, dc comics! my inspo behind the business is the one and only — lexcorp. dils enterprises is a company that specializes in developing new technologies for aerospace, medical discovery, while also having ties to resource exploration ( like renewable enegries and whatnot ). being the power hungry lil binch she is, when adalinda turned eighteen she reached out to her grandmother and uncle, in order to expand the companies ties in her mother’s homeland. though tbh, adalinda is hardly extensively involved with the companies endeavors, at least that’s what it looks like. think bruce wayne’s “fake” interested in the inner working of wayne enterprises. 

*** rl quick, please fluctuate between she/they pronouns when referring to adalinda, don’t stick to one or the other. you, the mun are aware of my muse’s gender ( agender jsyk ) , but adalinda, has not made this public knowledge, mostly because there are certain perceptions and ideas that come to mind with gender in society. this obvs does not delegitimize their gender because that’s something they prefer to keep private. tl;dr if your character speaks about adalinda with another character it would be like this. “ do you know that girl adalinda? she’s one fcked up binch!” but if u, the mun, is writing u can use she/her or they/them like “she stood at five foot eleven inches but they were still short compaired to idkurcharanamehere”. if u don’t understand feel free to mssg me!!

also, in reference to their titles, politically she goes by adalinda, otherwise in an effort to be more "approachable" — they use the name AMARIS. they NEVER use their first name, eliza.

i sort of changed up the original plan for my muse to include a brother. their relationship would be extremely toxic as they would feed off of each other’s negative characteristics and be loyal to a fault to no one but each other. i’m perfectly fine with accommodating with other muns, and it doesn’t even have to be a brother, could be a sister too, but i would love to keep the dynamic the same. but if no one ends up applying for that sort of position i can always rework my original idea back in ! if anyone's interested, here's a sample para on what / how i think they interact with one another.

explanation of how adalinda got reinstated into the royal house: their mother, elosie had an older sister named silvia. This of course would have put elosie second in succession to inherit the throne. however, during liberation day, the state had organized a festival of sorts that would have been held nationwide. the royal family was also going to make an appearance in participation but while on the way there, the family was attacked and silvia suffered a gunshot wound and would eventually succumb to the injuries later that day. following this, elosie becomes crown princess, set for coronation on her twenty first birthday. enter maximilian dils, the British entrepreneur taking the world of philanthropy and developmental sciences by storm. at the time he an elosie met he was already twenty-four and she was eighteen. the two fell in love and since Maximilian was a well known atheist, it brought a serious issue within Elosie and her parents. the royal family was protestant and to marry someone who was not only of that faith, but denounced all faiths was extremely problematic. the two wed without seeking preliminary approval thus removing elosie's ability to inherit the throne and leaving her offspring with the titles of count and countess. by the time she’s twenty-three, elosie is now living in britain and pregant with twins. Both are ecstatic and they tell elosie’s parents before revealing the news to the nation. adalinda and eriadon ( adalinda born first ) are born in the netherlands through a water birth. the years pass by up until they turn seven years old, two weeks after their birthday, their parents are murdered in cold blood. they two children find their parents after returning from school. lying on the cold marble floors are the bodies of their parents marked with gunshots both to the head and heart. to this day the motive and killer(s) are unknown. this in turn leads to fleur and janus taking the children in to live with them. fleur is severely affected at the loss of both her children at the hands of such violence and has the twins very carefully cared for. though their early life ends up being excessively cloistered, adalinda doesn’t mind it. the seclusion allowed for her mind to develop in such ways that she feels are unparalleled if she were to have continued on in public school. by seventeen she he graduated from college and convinced her grandmother to allow her a bit more freedom. adalinda takes up volunteering at churches across the nation and the people of the netherlands start to take notice of the daughter of their dead princess. public opinion on her grows in appreciation as she is seen helping out the needy instead of attending extravagant balls held in the palace. all the while, the company her father built has been waiting for her eighteenth birthday to put her as acting CEO. when the day arrives, at her very first board meeting she realizes that the majority of the members have been preparing to auction off parts of the company for profit alone. they lie to her face and tell her that the company has been dwindling and that their best would be to sell it to off shore conglomerates. but the truth is that the company appeared to be doing fantastic, up until you realized that the highest bidders were men involved with war lords and liars. as she now sits as acting CEO she empties the board of all the existing members and replaces them with new ones, while also publicly outing the former as greedy thieves and giving the company a fresh new image. the absence of my father seems to have led them to become foolish. dils enterprises stands as a union helping those that suffer from world hunger, terminal illness, global warming. those that are displaced by war with a government who refuses to help them. these men who made the mistake of assuming this company was a step on their latter to greatness are now well aware that their brash actions will leave them with nothing but their names. let this be an example of what happens when we allow society to place such an unhealthy obsession with money. the lives of innocents are priceless. no amount of money should deter those who have the capability of doing something. to stand aside and allow it to get worse means you are allowing children to grow up without their mother and fathers, and i — i, stand here to tell you, that a lot of these children are not as lucky as my brother and i were. they all deserve the chance live their lives as exactly what they are, children. they shouldn’t have to wake up to the sound of bombs, or spend a childhood in a hospital. dils enterprises is committed to helping in any way that we may, to lift the burden off whomever we can, while also working to make the world a better, safer, and cleaner place. she stated in front of crowd of cameras outside HQ in downtown London. her plan is to expand what her father built and bring on new projects like partnerships with what we view in our society, people like Elon Musk — CEO Tesla Motors and SolarCity, the UN’s program GirlUp, and UNICEF. she takes two years off away from the company leaving it in the capable hands of her brother while she goes off to  service in countries like Ethiopia, Uganda, India and Liberia. giving a speech to world leaders at the UN about the state of their world, unity, and the future of what is to come. because though adalinda is conniving, she understands that in a world of black and white, sometimes things bleed into gray, and whatever is found there should not be left to fade away. for humanity to grow, there needs to be an even playing field where education is provided to even the poorest of countries. she is just about to turn twenty when she returns back to the netherlands. her grandmother pulls her aside one afternoon, they walk about the gardens and fleur tells adalinda that parliament plans to reinstate her brother and her back into the royal house. you and read a bit more about this in a meta post i'll be posting before i go to bed! i would suggest reading it very much because it leads to the year and a half gap that lands adalinda at xaiver's school of all the places.