#fake skin my beloathed

[velnna]

Hehe wife tattoo

[maypearlss]

𝐨𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥

call me may costa, because i'm madly in love with nona darnell. nona is kinda... everything? the plot would literally be broken without her in it, so i think she's pretty cool <3 i actually managed to crank this post out sooner than i thought i'd be able to, so i'm patting myself on the back right about now. next up is duke... yippee? anyways, onto the post! hope you like nona!

being somebody's muse gets awfully dull for a woman like nona.

there's always been something magnetic about nona, whether it be her natural, charming way with people or the adventurous and imaginative streak she's held since she was a child looking for excitement in the corners of vermillion spring. she's been enchanted by the world of photography and film since she was young and cherishes aspirations of becoming a filmmaker, but the role she finds herself in instead ends up being much different: the "rockstar girlfriend" to duke strickland, a job with little room for... well, herself. but she can't complain too much—duke is handsome, talented, and rich. every girl's dream, right? she's happy. she's so happy.

why the hell isn't she happy?

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋆｡°✩

full name: eleanora kathleen darnell

age: 20 (1985)–tbd

birthday: april 7th

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: lesbian

ethnicity: african-american

occupation: photographer, videographer

love interest(s): may costa

likes: may, comic books, playing the nintendo, ghostbusters, movies, arcade visits, mötley crüe, candid photos, strawberries, star wars

dislikes: assumptions, wearing a facade, coffee, wind, being put into boxes, tight schedules, feeling lonely

height: 5'4

build: hourglass

hair: thick, curly, dark brown

skin: brown

eyes: wide, dark brown, nearly black

noticeable features: two gold nose rings (one on each side)

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆｡°✩

⋆ nona - mötley crüe

⋆ magic touch - kiss

⋆ hide your heart - kiss

⋆ sweet child o' mine - guns n' roses

⋆ thrills in the night - kiss

⋆ girls, girls, girls - mötley crüe

⋆ looks that kill - mötley crüe

⋆ patience - guns n' roses

⋆ too young to fall in love - mötley crüe

⋆ cherry pie - warrant

⋆ don't go away mad (just go away) - mötley crüe

⋆ helter skelter - mötley crüe

⋆ think about you - guns n' roses

⋆ sticky sweet - mötley crüe

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 ⋆｡°✩

her family has always called her el and her friends have always called her nona

leia from star wars was the first girl that ever made her consciously realize that she might be attracted to women

she met duke in the audience of a show at the whisky a go go that she and may had snuck into together with fake ids may had managed to get ahold of for nona's 15th birthday

she's allergic to beestings

she's ambidextrous, but usually defaults to using her left hand, because her right wrist tends to click when she uses it and it bothers her

she essentially kickstarts the plot of the nona incident!

so, that's nona! next post will be about duke, my dearly beloathed! except, it might be a little bit longer before you see his post, because i wanna take a break from working on posts to actually work on plotting the story out and developing it a bit more :) also, i might start working on a directory post for this wip, so all the oc intros and related content are eventually in one place! okay, that's it, for real this time—

[zyrafowe-sny]

For the writer snippet ask game, could I request 5, 8, and 25?

From this ask game

5 — with description I'm proud of

Description my beloathed! (Not actually actually beloathed, but it's definitely not a strength. Except when writing drabbles.)

Here's a preview from the next chapter of phantom limb pain:

His arm came off with a soft click, and he shuddered before carefully securing it. Ballister tried to focus on pleasant sensations — the forceful water beating down, the heat easing the pain in his ribs, clean skin emerging from the grime as he scrubbed (one-handedly), the texture of the penny tiles under his feet, the (achingly) familiar scent of lavender — but an undercurrent of anxiety motivated him to keep the shower short. The soft towels still felt like heaven, and as soon as he was sufficiently dry, he popped his arm back in. The relief was instantaneous. (It was mostly relief. His current prosthetic arm was a little lighter than his very first prototype, but there was still room for improvement. He’d optimized for dexterity, strength, and sensitivity — not physical comfort.)

8 — that hurt my own feelings to write

Hrm. While some of my fics seem objectively more angsty, I think it hurt more when I tried getting in Ballister's head between the Antlered Serpent and confronting Nimona in is the cop or am I the one that's really dangerous:

He knows she couldn't possibly have orchestrated the assassination. She would have needed a second shapeshifter to pretend to be the Director to fake that confession — or split herself in two somehow — and either option seems both unlikely and altogether a far too complicated plan for little miss "something something we win". Unless that was all a ruse to throw him off and she's actually a tactical genius. He thinks of her delight in chaos and destruction. He thinks of how many knights she's injured (killed? modern armor is strong but not invulnerable). He thinks of all the innocent bystanders she put in harm's way. And that girl in the monster in the scroll looks uncannily like the girl he grabbed from atop a stolen motorhorse. Could Nimona really be Gloreth's monster? Could she have destroyed their city when it was in its infancy? Did she want to burn it to the ground again? Is she capable of sowing (false) distrust to make the Kingdom harder to defend when she makes her big move? Did she identify him as the weak link in the Institute that would bring it all down? (Maybe he's questioning everything now, but her loneliness seems real. He can believe she wants an ally, someone to talk to, someone to fight with, even if she always just planned on using him.)

25 — that I consider a favorite

I'm fond of the opening of Intervention, a The Owl House fic that just had its ficaversary:

Luz reaches up to touch the sun. It's a familiar ritual — she's done it for years and years. Luz remembers being excited when she and her dad attached the glowing stars to the bottom of the top bunk. The dangling ones seemed like the coolest things ever. She must have been six. Maybe seven? It wasn’t too long after they moved to Gravesfield. Her new room seemed so scary in the dark and she kept having nightmares, so Papá wanted to make sure she’d always have a little light. “Luz para mi Luz,” he used to joke. (And it never failed to inspire a smile and/or a good-natured groan. Until he wasn't there to say it.) Dad loved the night sky so much. He’d take a telescope along every time they went camping and would point out distant planets and constellations. They were supposed to go backpacking somewhere far away from light pollution where they could see even more stars, but first she was too young and then he was too sick. After he was gone, it was nice to have a comforting reminder of him as she drifted off to sleep. But now? Now the centerpiece — a crescent moon overlapping the sun — reminds her of all the terrible things she set in motion by helping Philip meet the Collector. Who started breaking apart the Boiling Isles almost as soon as he was freed. (She refuses to remove the sun — it might be more of an accusation now than a sentimental memory, but her dad still put it there and she won't undo his work.)

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Jay's Thoughts: Extended Cut pt. 10 Let's Go!

OKOKOK SOOOOO- we're catching back up to part 1! and like can i just say- i think it's ironic that the title became "song for a caged lovebird" and in the first part we get "in some respects, peter nureyev knew he was a songbird in a cage. a pretty little thing made to sing for its supper..." AND LOOK WHERE WE'RE AT! anyway i digress.

"It was Slip. Slip Jackson. How was he... How was he here?" ya know this is cruel and unusual punishment. after today's ep- this whole thing is cruel and unusual punishment.

"Until the winter got ahold of Slip, and he disappeared into the night." We learn that Slip died in winter.

"Slip had changed. He was taller, of course, [not you shutting down my three foot king hc!] and not nearly as skinny, [plausible that Nureyev could be like this too someday] his hair shot through with white and grey, [love love love love this thought collecting it for my slip jackson hc] perfectly complimenting the neat black suit he wore. [smth smth "smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty"]"

THE DAHLIA!! THE FUCKING DAHLIA AUUUGUGGGGH- biting and eating dry wall bc i wanna give all my thoughts but if i do i might spoil some stuff you haven't written for The Public yet.

"he couldn't look at that dahlia [not just the dahlia but THAT one in particular] without thinking of his dahlia" lOVESICK NUREYEV WHY'D YOU GO AND DO IT BABE!!

aaaguuuhhhhh- like i said, after Terrible Waste Pt 1 this is cruel and unusual punishment to read

"braiding flowers into long auburn hair" We learn that Slip's hair was originally auburn before turning white and grey. also i can hear the song of new kinshasa during this scene. the calm guitar playing in the town square as Peter Ransom looks out the window.... as Petya tells Slip about what New Kinshasa meant to him.... a dream...

"There was a faint sense of panic bubbling up in him now. He began to get the strange sense that admitting his lack of memory was a bad idea, but he just kept shaking his head." YEAH NO SHIT I WOULD BE SHITTING MY PANTS TOO IF I WERE YOU NUREYEV.

"We were in love. We were going to run away together..." THE DREAM! THE PASSION! THE DESPAIR!!!

"Nothing concrete." this is the second time that nureyev has had "nothing concrete" and if it doesn't happen a third time then I'll riot. Rule of Three my beloved beloathed.

"... is why you didn't come for me when I called.'" IT'S NOT A QUESTION. IT'S A DEMAND. and srry slippy, the old petya cant come to the phone rn. why? bc he's fuck'n dead juno. (SORRY I AM SO SORRY-)

and each time Slip says Petya makes my skin crawl like in canon each time "someone who wants to be my parent calls me Pete" ya know? same vibes.

"Surely you remember our little games and the fairy tales we liked to tell each other.'" Slip. Slip what do you mean. What does this mean. What fairy tale. What did you mean about "when i called for you".

"And then the vague fear cemented [CLOSE ENOUGH TO CONCRETE I'LL TAKE IT] itself into solid, steel [HAHAHHAHAH-] panic. He couldn't speak." THIS THIS THIS THIS- making me think now of Terrible Waste and when 'reyev and Juno were choking out. had me going here thinking that that is what was happening in this scene

"He initially thought it was a side effect of being- dead? Was he actually dead?" parallel to when Buddy woke up and she got pissed she wasn't dead. and also Nureyev trying to speak and can't parallel to Buddy trying to lift her arms and move and can't

"ushering a barely conscious and panicking Peter" My boy is Not Here. He is mentally clocked out (which, same tbh. me when I am at the deli and work past 8 o'clock)

I love how Slip sees absolutely nothing wrong with this situation. He doesn't see the fucked up power dynamics at play here at all.

"You wouldn't be paid..." SHUT THE FUCK UP NO NO NO NO NO NOOOO- LABOR WITHOUT PAY!! THIS IS NOT OSHA APPROVED (I am pretty sure OSHA has nothing to do with this) but also smth smth the miners in the company town sixteen tons smth smth-

"anger rising in his hear like a hurricane flood" oooooo this fucks.

"only to be told his voice is now gone, perhaps forever." OH WAIT YEAH WAIT- THIS IS HADESTOWN AU- HADESTOWN BASED OFF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE- gnawing on drywall. he died calling out for Juno and when Juno tries to walk them back he likely won't have his voice to reassure juno that he is following.... grrrr.... Evil.

"All he wanted was to get away from poverty and trouble" fucked up because of what we know in part 1 bc Nureyev is working working working and he did find his out but at what cost?

the juxtaposition of flipping between Nureyev, Peter, and Petya. treating them like different people, reserving them for the right time. m'wah chef's kiss.

HE FUCKING PUNCHED HIM LETS GOOOOOOOOOO long legs nureyev for the win actually.

"And Nureyev had already been a master of disappearances while living." mmmm- What happened to Mag? Is there a Mag this au? bc Mag was the one who taught him how to Disappear. he was the one who called it Peter's greatest strength. his hidden talent. secret weapon.

"More of a ghost [get it, bc he's in hades? hell? the underworld? the afterlife?] than any of the souls here could hope to be."

"He was helpless [oh boy you got me helpless- sorry. sorry. wrong moment], a child who walked into the deep end of a pool too soon and was now floundering." Fun, Not So Fun Fact: I almost drowned in a pool as a kid. And it was indeed bc I walked into the deep end. I did it because my sister and cousin were over there and I was sick and tired of being alone.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes." parallel to Juno in Terrible Waste "Smart people, do dumb things" And Nureyev you idiot no- no you do not deserve this. you were starving and sick and tired and lonely. you did something dumb but that does not mean you deserve this

"Pull yourself together, Nureyev." = "Get your shit together, Detective." (disco elysium me beloved, i will find you everywhere intentional or otherwise.)

BENZAITEN??? AS IN- BENTEN???? BROOOOOO- benzaiten was a goddess. Goddess of knowledge, music, art... (also wait has anyone actually looked up Benzaiten and seen the stuff about Saraswati? cocking a brow at Kabet rn cause uhhh. huh.)

"Gods, he missed him." oh.... part 1 again "and now he was thinking of him again- sweet innocent Juno"

GLASS!! BECAUSE HIS GLASSES ARE BROKE OH- oh that's funny.

A party... will there be by chance, party hats?

"a little wine, a little dancing, a few flowers here and there..." oh oh oh shit. 1) Ben doesn't know about the eternal winter up above probably. this will/may come as shock to him when he does find out 2) this is the boozy oozy fun delighted Persephone from the musical and i fucking love Amber Gray

"I'll introduce you to the whole gang, Glass!" ooooo- who else are we gonna meet? hmmmm.... annie wire? mick's dog?

"perhaps something worthwhile might come out of this disaster after all." oh babey- oh sweet sunshine- this can only end in tragedy.

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 10

wahoo!!! yippie!!!! part 10 and over 10k written!! let's go!!!!

this part is like. lowkey weird to me. and i don't know why. lmk if any choices i made here were a bad/weird idea bc i feel like some of them might have been lmao

MY PERSONAL CARTE BLANCHE CREW: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

Nureyev struggled to get his jaw working as he stared at the man across the room. 

It was Slip.

Slip Jackson.

How was he…. How was he here?

He knew he had known this man when they were kids. They had been close, Nureyev supposed, from the fragments of memories he had of him.

Until the winter got a hold of Slip, and he disappeared into the night.

Nureyev never saw him again.

Slip had changed. He was taller, of course, and not nearly as skinny, his hair shot through with white and grey, perfectly complimenting the neat black suit he wore. His eyes looked harder. Not so much careworn as workworn, sharp and clever. His mouth was set into a stunning grin. In the buttonhole of a suit jacket was a perfect, red dahlia.

Nureyev had to look away at that point. He couldn’t look at that dahlia without thinking of his dahlia, left behind on the surface, probably was wondering where he was by now. Probably out in the snow looking for him. Probably confused and scared and- why are you like this, why do you make these choices that hurt other people and only benefit you, what’s the matter with you-

“What’s the matter, Petya? Don’t you remember me?”

He shook off the guilt and tried to think. He couldn’t remember a lot of their time together. He remembered laughing, an echo of a feeling warmer than the glow of the sun, braiding flowers into long, auburn hair, and splitting an apple, fresh off the tree, with a small, bone-handled knife, the same one he carried now in his left pocket. Nothing concrete. Nothing to explain why he now stood in front of this man, who was now the king of the Underworld.

He shook his head slowly.

Slip’s grin slid slowly off his face. His voice was far deeper than Peter could ever remember having heard before. “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy to see me again.”

There was a faint sense of panic bubbling up in him now. He began to get the strange sense that admitting his lack of memory was a bad idea, but he just kept shaking his head.

“Well, then. Allow me to jog your memory. My name is Slip. Slip Jackson. We knew each other as teenagers. We were practically inseparable. Spent every day together. We were in love. We were going to run away together until I caught pneumonia one night and passed away. That would be as much of the story as you know, I think.”

Nureyev liked to think he remembered most of the big pieces of his time with Slip, but the two of them being ‘in love’ was new. He examined his memories a bit more closely. He did seem to recall a few shy kisses, huddled in the alleyway behind a bar, and maybe a few cuddles. Nothing concrete. Nothing to suggest they were ever in love.

“What I would like to know from you, Petya, is why you didn’t come for me when I called.”

The confusion must have been obvious on his face, because Slip sighed deeply before continuing.

“Oh come on, I know it’s been a long time, Petya, but I didn’t realize you would have forgotten so much about us! Surely you remember our little games and the fairy tales we liked to tell each other.”

Nureyev opened his mouth to speak.

And then the vague fear cemented itself into solid, steel panic.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t speak.

His throat and lungs had already felt strange, empty and airy and wet and sticky all at the same time, like the air in them wasn’t escaping through his nose but his throat instead. He initially thought it was just a side effect of being- dead? Was he actually dead? It didn’t matter. Whether or not he was dead, there was nothing coming out of his mouth.

He tried again in case it was a fluke, but with the same results. Nothing.

His voice was just. 

Gone.

“Ah, I suppose I should have mentioned that to you sooner, Petya,” Slip said gently, ushering a barely conscious and panicking Peter over to a chair in front of the large mahogany desk at the center of the room. “Sometimes, the ways people die on the surface have…. side effects in the afterlife. I’m afraid your death is such a case.” 

He settled into his chair behind the desk and began shuffling some papers around. “I am looking into a way to get your voice back but chances of a good outcome are low, I’m afraid. Past experiments haven’t exactly been promising. But in the meantime, you are more than welcome to work for me! You wouldn’t be paid, but it would be something to do to pass the time.”

Peter was staring, mouth slightly open. He was pissed now, anger rising in his heart like a hurricane flood. What kind of bullshit was this? He got murdered by the henchmen of a childhood friend/lover who he barely remembered, dragged down to the Underworld, only to be told his voice is now gone, perhaps forever. All he wanted was a job. All he wanted was to get away from poverty and trouble.

And now he was right back in it.

Slip got up from his seat behind the desk and tried to block Nureyev’s path to the door, babbling something about giving them more time to find a solution and how all he wanted was for Petya to stay a while longer.

Nureyev punched him straight in the jaw. He didn’t give a shit anymore.

Slip stumbled backward onto the floor and Nureyev glided over him in two long, neat strides. He was out of the door and down the hallway in two more. By the time he had reached the front door, several of the henchmen who had brought him here earlier were barreling down the hallway after him.

But the funny thing about being dead is that you lose a lot of what makes you human. Heartbeat. Breathing. Pain. And without those, it becomes a whole lot easier to disappear.

And Nureyev had already been a master of disappearances while living.

He was already safely tucked away in a nearby alley by the time the executives charged out into the street in search of him. More of a ghost than any of the souls here could ever hope to be. He watched as they walked straight past him, never knowing that he was only a few feet away from them. He could reach out and brush the dust off of one of their lapels, but he stayed as still and silent as a stone statute. As soon as they were gone, he huffed out a quiet sigh of relief before the anger began to fade away and the reality of his situation hit him.

He was alone, penniless, and voiceless in a strange city a thousand miles from home.

He had nothing to his name except, well, his name.

He was helpless, a child who walked into the deep end of a pool too soon and was now floundering.

In spite of his best efforts, Peter Nureyev began to cry again.

What was that saying that Buddy was always so fond of repeating? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. He supposed, in some sick and twisted way, that he deserved this. He had made this situation, and now he had to live with it. Gods, he hated that he was like this.

Pull yourself together, Nureyev. You’ve gotten out of tougher deals than this.

He took a minute to breathe and pull himself together. He had no plan, but was almost prepared to go before he noticed the figure standing off to his left, watching him. Instinctively, he leaped up and grabbed the knife from his pocket, holding it out in their direction. The figure raised their arms in surrender.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m sorry! I just- you were sitting here all by yourself, and well, I thought you looked a little lonely. Do you need any help?”

Nureyev opened his mouth to make a snarky comment in return, but no sound came out. He silently cursed his rotten luck.

“Ohhh, did you lose your voice?” The figure took a few steps closer into the light.

The knife nearly dropped from Nureyev’s hand once he saw the man’s face. This person was…. 

That was Benzaiten Steel. Peter would have bet his life on it.

He was nearly an exact replica of Juno if life hadn’t been quite so tough on him. Same wide and curious eyes, same nose, same jaw, same glimmer of mischief and compassion lurking at the edges of his expression, dressed in denim overalls, heavy work boots, and grease-stained shirt. Juno didn’t talk about his brother often, but when he did, it was always with no small amount of pain and grief. He had always wondered what had happened between the two of them that had caused Juno so much hurt. Now, perhaps he could find out.

Nureyev hesitated, considering his options, then nodded, and dropped the knife back down to his side.

“Shit,” Ben said, real concern lacing his voice as he dropped his hands. “And you’re new here too, aren’t you? I can’t say I’ve seen you before.”

Nureyev nodded again.

Ben blew out a long breath, clearly thinking. His brow furrowed in the same way Juno’s did when he was trying to work out a particularly tricky problem. Gods, he missed him.

“Okay then, you’re gonna stick with me from here on out, okay? Heyyyy, don’t give me that look. Everyone who comes down here thinks they can take care of themselves, but they can’t. They always need help. And I’m gonna be your helper! Oh, and where are my manners! My name is Benzaiten, but you can call me Ben. And because you definitely can’t tell me your name, I’m going to call you… Glass. Because your glasses are broken. Is that okay with you? I thought it would be. I am pretty good at naming things, if I do say so myself. I can fix your glasses when we get back to the party.”

A party? Down here? Nureyev narrowed his eyes. That seemed… suspicious.

“Ah. That’s right. Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” Ben said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but when the bosses aren’t looking, some of us like to have a little fun. A little wine, a little dancing, a few flowers here and there… it does wonders for the soul, I’ll tell ya. I’ll introduce you to the whole gang, Glass!”

The faintest of smiles crept across Nureyev’s face. Perhaps something worthwhile might come out of this disaster after all.