#i just wish my money and language skills allowed me to learn about even more obscure titles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brynn-lear · 5 months ago

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[Taps mic] yes hi welcome I know I'm the one running the poll so I'll make a case for the one with the lowest points lmao (I was going to draw Keiftaal/the butler but this is funnier)

For legal reasons these are all jokes, they're my children please don't sue me hirang-

Why NOT hirang:

He'll break your bones. While sobbing big wet tears. Something something "our family is cursed therefore I'm cursed :(((("

Worst pickup lines he learned from his male best friend. Somehow fails at modern slang in the same level as the literal immortal in the group.

The most emotionally repressed out of all of them that he somehow beats the actual serial killer in terms of mental instability. Actually wait nah that's a lie, Rune is a whole nother level of fucked up HAHAHAHAHHAA

Why vote for Dr. Howell

The sanest option. You know why? IT'S BECAUSE HE'S NOT OUT THERE KILLING PEOPLE- HE HAS THE LOWEST BODY COUNT. HE'S JUST KEEPING YOU ALIVE.

He's actually so loaded. He literally had no money to his name- hell, he didn't even HAVE A NAME when you met him. So, when he studied and got his degree, he invested on hospital stocks wisely. This man is a millionaire but no one suspects it because he "looks poor." It's the malnourished upbringing + medicine course stress, honestly.

He already have gone through so much character development before you met him. Back then, he has a nicotine addition because that was the best way to stave off hunger. Howell now loves to eat mint as a substitute. He cooks and bakes all the mint treats you'll find in his house, so you bet your ass he never had bad breath in his life.

Even though he's neat and tidy, his house often becomes cluttered. That's because his dog would sometimes mess things and he can't bring himself to scold his pug when "Scuffle" is the only one in his house he can talk to. He'd sometimes take the dog out on competitions and win occasional 2nd place awards. The dog smart— he's just stubborn.

He loves taking care of plants:

"I'd wager a small fortune that the air in the good doctor's home is far more refreshing than the our now bare of trees park." — undecane

There's only 2 out of 5 men who would actively try to respect your wishes in their respective routes and that's him and the immortal one (undecane). His love language is physical touch, but he always asks for your consent.

He makes purring noises (he doesn't realize this so nobody better tell him) sometimes when you touch him. The doctor falls asleep easily when you stroke his hair for a while.

Dr. Howell's literally the most important physician keeping you alive right now, and he's not even gatekeeping the cure from you. No matter how mad he is, he'd never put you in pain, because whatever suffering you feel— he feels it tenfold.

Notice how I'm not talking at all about how he acts as a yandere- the simple fact is: no one would be brave enough to single the good doctor out, especially when he's the most agreeable among them.

When he tells you that you can't go outside due to your condition, that judgement is final. When he tells you that you can't have visitors to recuperate, that is also final.

Howell is the one carrying single mom working 2 jobs energy in this chaotic group: He can string along your brother's butler to joyfully cooperate with his demands. When the prince monopolizes your time, the doctor can make him go away— just tell him to act as though there's an emergency and he'll sweep you off your feet. The immortal man adores him since he reminds him of a deceased family member. Hell, even he and the assassin are in good terms since Howell can acknowledge the demented man's surgical skills.

No one hates Howell. He is too agreeable of a person— and he knows exactly what words to say to placate even the rudest person in the country.

Honestly? In a tier list, he's the most likely to allow a poly relationship lol. What a real G.

Note: these are all yandere characters I had back in 2022. I'm describing them very vaguely. I can't bring myself to spoil even minute details I find intruiging even though it's unlikely I'll make this webtoon-isekai-otome game concept come to life. Shoutout to mochi and harmony. I would've forgotten these men exist if it weren't for them lol

Yan!Butler: People kept mistaking your deceased brother's butler as a nobleman, especially with how you both appear to be best friends rather than master-servant. His butler is one of your greatest allies and critic; not once has he missed his chance to tease you in such “polite” yet convoluted ways. But you at least know his sharp tongue comes from a place of affection, and not from disdain as he would with other nobility. Your older brother took him under the family's care when his small village was brutally extinguished by unknown assailants. That butler thinks all other nobles deserve gruesome ends. There's not a single day where he does not feel paranoid. So when you feel as though the pavement you passed by in your private gardens had splotches of red… you turn a blind eye. You trust your brother and his allies. As long as you ignore that what he does is far beyond ensuring your brother's safety, you can go on sleeping peacefully at night.

Yan!Eccentric Immortal: You honestly thought it was so weird for a wandering pink-haired tourist to wear red shades and a short-sleeved shirt with tons of hibiscus printed on it, but whatever floats his boat. At least, that's what you thought at first before you struck a conversation with him out of pure boredom. No matter how… “modern” he looks, he was dejected enough at the time to confess that he came to see how his hometown looks— only to discover it is practically unrecognizable. He kept pointing to business shops, claiming some used to be parks, a small forest, his favorite bookstore, and a place his old buddy used to have a successful shoe factory on. And then it hit you. This man you're with… is one of your ancestor's mayor turned revolutionary best friend who struck a contract with the devil. There's one small problem... You're involved in said contract.

("Oh, so he's immortal, huh… no wonder he was burying his face in his mushroom hat when we were walking around in the museum. On one hand, impressive that he was the first man ever photographed, but he's also the first photobomber ever. He was just cleaning his shoes and got in the way…")

[More descriptions utc]

Yan!Crown Prince: He is your childhood friend crown prince, who was once a quiet and lonesome kid. You belonged to the very few children who properly befriended him, but in each playtime, he always clung to you tightly. The adult nobles in your life had always made it a point to remind you to be wary of his lineage. “The royal bloodline’s first love is their last— and such obsession reigns supreme.” There is also a legend of how the first king confessed to his tactician after the war. However, he dismembered & hid her limbs when he faced rejection. The royal family has been plagued with unrequited love and unhappy marriages since then, yet you don’t believe him capable of perverse and violent thoughts. He harbors a hopeless puppy-like “one-sided” affection on another childhood friend of yours (THE main female lead) but he takes it “like a champ”, you're sure of it!!! Plus, the prince has grown so mature and independent, always asking for your counsel on politics more than personal affairs. You haven't met a man who enjoyed his duties as much as he does. If anything, he has distanced himself from you… Right?

Yan!Doctor: As a child from a loving noble home, you had remained firm in your stance on committing acts of kindness. When an injured kid your age was starving outside your estate, you did not hesitate to order your brother's butler to fetch food and drinks. Since he was nameless and you weren't one to gloss over a book of baby names— you gave him one that sounds like a dog’s. Years later, you've fallen gravely ill. No physician across the continent could help you despite your philanthropist reputation. But there was one who had done the impossible. The doctor cured you in under a month, and when you tried to cover his services, he said everything was paid with “three glasses of milk and a box of biscuits.” Honestly, you should've remembered who he was sooner, considering how strange his name was. Despite such a grand revelation that he apparently owes you his life, there's unbridled hunger beyond his “kind” eyes. Something lonely and unhinged.

Yan!Ex-Hitman/Politician: There was a boy you've always seen each time you went to church. You see him every week that you both watched each other grow up. Apparently he came from a noble bloodline just like you, but despite being the eldest, his parents greatly favored his younger sibling. Deciding he had no talent to best him, the boy went to the monastery to practice the word of God instead. You always thought he was an ambitious and good-hearted person— especially since it's not exactly common for someone in their late twenties to aspire for the position of prime minister and appear so incredibly wholesome. On your quest to find someone to help you solve the mystery behind your older brother's death— you found out that the kind mint-eyed man who often carved wooden toys and sewed plushies for the orphans was the notorious hitman who killed plenty of corrupt nobles in his prime. Could he be behind your brother's death…?

#$ support conversations #$ a-support = harmony #yandere doctor #dONT LISTEN TO HARMONY- DON'T LISTEN TO MOCHI- THEY'RE ALL LIARS #HOWELL SWEEP 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 /hjjj #honestly i don't mind whoever wins cuz they're all my children lmfao

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eroslove88 · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Day 1: "我爱你" (Modern AU)

Pairing: Yan. Xiao x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language barrier, knife (just to cut clothes), power play???, he takes pretty pictures, noncon (fingering implied) and some ass Chinese (please y'all I'm in my first year, don't be afraid to correct me.)

Note: Y'all idk what happened. I just got the random urge to start writing for Xiao- maybe I'll write for the next days. (It's probably because of my language class)

It was time to pick your courses and for some reason you decided to learn Chinese. That was 2 months ago back when you still lived in Mondstat. The only reason you even came to Liyue was because your professor thought it'd be a good learning experience for your class.

It was difficult to get the money you needed and your parents were no help considering they always wanted to keep you sheltered because "People can be dangerous". They didn't even want you to go to college in the first place, but here you we're being "rebellious" and broke.

Luckily your luck can through and you were able to go!

It was only your first year learning Chinese, so when you got there you barely knew anything. It's also unfortunate that you never developed social skills, then maybe somebody would have realized that you weren't with them on the way back.

"干嘛呢?" You recognized the voice but not the words, you couldn't respond. Instead you froze on the edge of the bed. Your class taught you about Adepti and how they kept Liyue safe- Especially, Xiao. But being here wasn't keeping you safe. A part of you wish you could understand him but the other part was to scared to. "你哭了一整天嗎?" what a shitty class, wouldn't they have at least taught you something that could help you out right now?

Your eyes are red and your face has wet streaks running all the way down to your chin. He's quiet so there wasn't much more to say. You back up a bit as he sits down opposite from you. You're thinking now, what can I say- something I learned has to help me right now. You're so frustrated you feel your eyes burning again.

You don't want to look at him anymore, you don't want to hear him and you don't want to be here- you want to lock yourself in your parents house like they used to always want. "别哭, 你-”

"Please! I don't know what you're saying" you finally say, "I don't even know a quarter of what you've said- I wanna go home and I don't want to be here, please" He already knew that, he already knew that you hadn't even finished your first year yet. "我知道。" You didn't need to know that though, all you needed to do was look pretty and be quiet for him.

He grabs your hips and looms over your splayed out body, "保持不動。(Stay still)." You try resisting but you're stopped by the gleam steel cutting your shirt. "我說了什麼? (What did I say)?" Your eyes widen as the blade cuts open your bra. "美麗的 (beautiful)" he mutters watching you sob as you allow him violate your body. Seeing areas nobody else was- and will never see.

He slides your bottoms off and gives your little cunt a slap. God. He loved watching you twitch and squirm. He hums reaching for his phone. "微笑 (Smile)" tears stream down your face when you hear the clicking of the camera and as the bright flash passes your eye lids.

He doesn't understand why you're crying, he's only protecting you from worse people. He's really a good guy. He's even going to make tonight all about you.

He'll make sure to take good care of you. After all, that's his job, to protect. Maybe if you're loud enough for him he'll kiss you after every orgasm and use some lube next time. Don't judge him. He's new. :).

#tw yandere #tw kidnapping #yandere #yandere genshin #genshin yandere #yandere xiao #adeptus xiao #xiao #yandere genshin impact #tw noncon #language barrier #kinktober2022 Eros 💘.

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whumpersdump · 3 years ago

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Project Rebirth - CH4: Final Touches

Content! From Whumper’s POV. (They’ll get a title soon btw, I just haven’t decided on a name yet).

[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ]

TW: (None of these are graphic) Restraints / blink-and-you-miss it use of “it” as a pronoun / dehuminization / non-con surgery (non-graphic, whumpee isn’t awake) / lab whump / pet whump / sedation / sensory deprivation (not from Whumpee’s POV) / brain-fiddling? (he talks of an implant that restricts basically everything from speaking to moving. It’s mentioned, not shown)

Everything is set for the first practical stage of Project Rebirth to begin. All that is need is some final surgical attention, and a last talk to Whumper’s new investors. Also no editing we die like Toby’s previous owner...

Whumper sat next to Subject One, like he had every moment of spare time in the past five days. The last two, they barely twitched a muscle. Of course this was in part because of the starvation, but it was nice to have achieved nonetheless. Even if would wear of. Their body may be still, but the occasional twitch, hitch of a breath, told him their mind was racing.

He already picked out a name for them. Their masterpiece, even if it would take nine months before he would see their frantic eyes again. Everything was prepared. Their nursery—which was a rather misleading name, but it fit the process, and the marketing—was almost done, the housing facility would be complete in three months.

Subject One was the only one who really needed to be in the container for the sake of the time that it would give Whumper, but the aspect fit the aesthetic his investors expected. It would be what kept the program running for decades to come.

Subject One shuddered. They’d gotten the message. He’d chosen one of his newly acquired sponsors to deliver it through the earpieces. Not because it needed to be. He could just as easily move, then sedate the subject. Make the chaos in their mind spike just before they’d awake in ominous calm. Comforting calm, though it would take a while for the subject to feel about in that way. They had nine months, it would be enough.

The sponsors needed to feel special anyway. Some of them could make perfect pets, the way they seemed to crave special attention. He could try it someday. With this Project, even they could be reborn.

He nodded at Toby. “Bring them to the surgeon. It’s time for stage 3.”

Toby exited the corner he’d been standing in for the past day. It was a test, to see how obedient he really was. So far, Whumper had been pleased. Sure, seeing pets shiver at the thought of accidentally moving a muscle without permission could be rewarding, but it didn’t bring the type of productivity he needed. Toby’s compliant personality, in combination with Whumper’s training, did.

Toby reached for the subject’s shoulder like he always did.

“Not anymore, Toby,” Whumper commanded. “No more touching of any kind. You can move them, tube and all.”

Toby obeyed. With precision, he took the hand truck out of place and rolled it over to the doors that opened to the medical wing. Subject One would feel this, but it wasn’t enough to skew the results. If anything, it could amplify the result he was looking for.

He followed behind Toby, but entered the door to the watching room instead of the OR like Toby did. That’s where his funding was waiting. He hated having to care about it, but money was simply necessary for him to scale up the Project. “Thank you for coming back,” he told the seven investors waiting for him. “As I’ve said before, most of the program is completely tailored to your pet and the pet you wish they become. That means, no program looks or feels the same. This part though, they all have in common.”

He guided their gazes down to the OR—where the surgeon had sedated the subject—and begun the procedure. Toby watched from his corner, as Whumper had told him to. This would be the only time he was allowed this close to a subject before Rebirth, so Whumper made sure he knew as much as possible. The pet didn’t lie. He used to, but his previous owner trained it out of him.

If he were to fulfill any purpose at all in the future, he would have to learn to. Knowing about the stages before meeting the Reborn subjects was a good way to teach them. After all, he’d be the one to truly push the subject’s minds over the edge.

The investors patiently waited for Whumper to explain what was happening. “The implant all subjects receive is what makes this project so realistic. Like a newborn child, they have to learn everything. Eating, speaking, resisting, if you want them to. All in an effort to recreate them into the pet they were always meant to be. Now of course, some of them have skills we do want them to keep. Take Toby down there, he’s a master on the piano. For each pet, the implant’s functions can be customized.”

One of the investors raised her hand. “What are your plans for this one then?” she asked. “Does it have anything worth keeping?”

Whumper smiled. “In a less dire situation, we might have chosen to keep certain parts of them, but as you’ve noticed this is not the average pet we’re talking about. They will be reborn a blank slate. The only thing any pets are allowed to keep is their understanding of language—so they can obey commands, and their ability form minimal amounts of coherent thought and memory. We’ve found that this process works best if to some extent, the pets are aware of the changes. A risk, I know, especially with this one, but it will prove efficient.”

He straightened his tie. “This one in particular has quite the mouth, and they tend to use a bit too much of what they hear against their trainers. For that reason, we’ve limited their access to their vocabulary a bit more than usual. They’ll be able to understand simple sentences, but we won’t have to worry about their natural perceptiveness.”

“What’s he doing to their eyes?” a second investor asked.

Whumper’s heart fluttered. He’d hoped they’d ask. “Those, are highly sophisticated remote-controlled lenses.” They weren’t necessary, they function was mostly aesthetical from the subject’s perspective. They helped make it all a bit more realistic on both sides, though.

“They don’t have to be removed, ever. Which is why we’re putting them in so early. They control the subject’s ability to see color, and light. Like them implant, we can control them from behind the scenes. They aren’t vital, but they smooth out the transition from the Rebirth into the following stages of the program.”

He glanced down into the OR, where the surgeon was finishing up, and the other staff had begun to prepare the subject for stage 4’s container. “I’m afraid that I can’t show you anymore at this point, so my staff can take on this challenge with as little distraction as possible. However I’m happy to answer as many of your questions as I can.”

Several hands shot up. Whumper smiled.

“What are they doing?” Was the first question.

Whumper gazed down. Four people were removing the restraints and the jacket, and outfitted the subject in the thin white suit that would help keep them healthy and alive throughout the following stage.

They connected the dozens of tubes and wires that would take care of everything they couldn’t handle from outside the container, as he called it. “I’m afraid this is another one of those trade secrets, but what I can tell you is that in spite of how it looks, this will make the pre-Birth stage as realistic as it can be.”

“What about these nurseries that your people kept going on about. I’m sure they’re important, but it all sounds a bit too… human for my taste. I prefer my pets are used to the necessary restraints and housing conditions, so to speak.”

Whumper nodded. He wasn’t surprised to hear this investor thought his standard approach too kind. She’d demanded her pets were kept muzzled and bound at the facility’s daycare, even though they were among the most compliant creatures he’d ever seen.

“As I said,” he answered. “Everything can be customized. This subject I believe, will gain more from approach that teaches them that as a placeable pet, they will be cared for as long they don’t resist. Should you trust us with your pets though, if we decide after the evaluation that another approach may achieve the desired results more efficiently, we’re prepared. We have nurseries of all kinds, and our staff is prepared to fulfill any role they need to play.”

That seemed to please them. Whumper turned to the last question.

“How long does this program take?”

“We have multiple options. The standard program Subject One will go through can take up to sixteen years starting at the Rebirth, with a minimum time of three years. Now of course, that is a long time for a pet to be away. We have two accelerated programs that last either a few months, or even just a few weeks. You’re free to choose, but after the evaluation we will provide you with a suggestion. Not all pets need the full experience. Especially if they’re not old enough to be placed, a longer program can harm the natural development.”

A frown formed on a few faces.

“I can see you’re worried about the results I’ve promised you. You won’t have to wait long. The program may be an intense procedure, but the results will start to show after just a few weeks. The rest of the Project is about making them last, so these—” He dangled the subject’s bright red collar in front of them— “will soon be no more than a reminder of what I’ve solved.”

Whumper clasped his hands. The subject was moved out of the OR, into the container hall. “I must go now. My assistant will be up shortly to escort you out. I should mention Toby’s not allowed to be too talkative around strangers, but he’s still learning. If he breaks any rules, please contact me. He doesn’t respond well to strangers punishing him, he’s a bit too loyal for that.”

Taglist (asks are open if you wanna be added or removed): @suspicious-whumping-egg

#whump #pet whump #non-con surgery tw #lab whump #Project Rebirth #Toby is next up #After that the 'creepy whumper' aspect is really going to start rolling #Also I should mention that 'pets' aren't just used as pets in this universe #Toby for example is a genuine lab assistant. Whumper doesn't care about pet beds and the like #There is a power dynamic and he longs to keep it in place. Period.#Doesn't mean he won't play the part though

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walpurga-nacht-academy · 4 years ago

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“Any practitioner of magic that’s received even a modicum of training in the field has, at one point or another, heard of the term ‘grimoire’. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, its purpose unknown and the power that it possesses inestimable. However, their prevalence is also fading.

As magic studies become more and more accessible to mages of all walks of life, it is considered futile for witches and warlocks to keep personal tomes of spells and hexes anymore. The uniformization of magical practice has brought about an age in which collaboration between our kind is considered not only beneficial, but also ideal. The practice of taking apprentices is no longer an individual choice that each magician makes for themselves, and thus the need for secrecy - the fear of others invading our most personal matters and thus robbing us of our knowledge has become quite absurd.

Nowadays, grimoires have started to gain a reputation as old-fashioned magical tools, relics of the past or tools of forbidden lore. Less than 200 remain still, collected by the Ministry of Magic’s illustrious archivists and kept in many museums across Twisted Wonderland for easy access to those that seek to expand their knowledge. Yet despite their heavy efforts many of these crucial tomes fall prey to the passage of them, deteriorating as their magic fades away. Preventing the loss of these books is quintessential, if not for us, then for future generations. Thus, many countries have launched conservation projects in order to salvage what is left of our inheritance.

It is due to these projects that my own efforts have not been in vain. For years I have searched all over the world to recover and preserve the eight grimoires which had once belonged to the eight great witches of the Bald Mountain, figures shrouded in such mystery that these books are considered the only valid proof of their existence. They are thick volumes, averaging about 1,000 pages each, something quite unusual for that period, and written in codes and foreign languages that have long passed into obscurity. Translating them required intensive work and research, and even so I was able to conquer only sixty percent of the original text. The rest will be lost to history, I am afraid to say, for there are few people able to interpret the original dialects and signs of these spellbooks.

I hope that in the future there might be somebody more courageous and ingenious than me, who will decipher these tomes in their entirety. There is precious knowledge to be learned from these pages, power that has been lost over time, and power that might help the future. It is thus my request that for every person who reads this book detailing the journey I have taken since I decided fourteen years ago that I must resolve this mystery and prevent it from slipping through the cracks of progress, that you think to dedicate a little bit of time and money to the eminent researchers that still struggle to maintain their memories alive.

In this regard, I would like to dedicate this book to the many people and organizations that have made possible the publication of this volume. First, there is of course the Magical Research Board, The Ministry of Magic and the Magic University who have kindly and dutifully supported me financially. The research grant that they have awarded me with has helped me carry my investigation through several countries, as well as access resources that would have been otherwise impossible for me to make use of.

I would also like to express my gratitude towards the ruling families of the Afterglow Savannah and the Valley of Thorns, for their generosity in allowing me to study the history of their kingdoms in order to better understand the social and political dimensions to two of the witches’ that are said to hail from these places.

I would also like to thank all the translators and historians that have taken time out of their busy schedules to help with my manuscripts - pointing out translation errors, mistakes regarding historical dates and events, or even my continuous use of the word “mystery” of which I am guilty even in my opening chapter I must sadly admit! Thus, I would like to mention among many Miss Line, and her lovely daughter Safia, whose generosity saved my life when I was to drown at sea;

my Lord Duban of the Land of Hot Sands, who enchanted me with tales of viziers and street rats who court princesses;

Nefu, whose knowledge of the low town in the Savannah rivals none, I am sure of that;

Lord Himalia of the Land of Pyroxene whose heart is as great as the acres of land he owns;

old, wise Louisa who welcomed me in her hut before her beloved Cockatrice managed to tear me to shreds;

my dear friend Daphne, whose courage is greater than even the rage of a Kerberos breed when it sees its owner attacked;

Thursday, who proved to the world that despite their short stature dwarves should not be taken lightly after all;

and General Vanrouge, whose skill with the sword is as unmatched as the knowledge he possesses. To all of them, I would like to express my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude for the help they have given me. It is truly unmistakable that good friends are more valuable than a thousand golden statues!

Though they are departed, I wish to thank my parents as well, for having instilled in me such good morals and values. I am eternally grateful to all your guidance and love, and hope that you rest safely above in the sky.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my dearest Alkin, who is first among familiars and friends alike. His companionship and experience has proven to be invaluable to me during my travels, and there are no words to express the warmth with which I regard my beloved brother.”

- Introduction to Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

Grimoire of the Rose

In the sea I used to be a poet.

You do not believe me. That is alright. I understand. My speech is stilted. My pauses are long. My mind, once sharp and swift as the marlin’s gait, now always searches its corners for words that came easily before. I have forgotten them all now. I glance around with wild eyes. The vastness around us scares me.

You think, ‘Ah, this woman is not well.’ And perhaps you are right.

You think, ‘She must have suffered greatly.’ That is not so.

Please do not pity me. I do not deserve it.

As all fools I’ve made peace with myself.

As all wise men I wish to warn others.

Forgive me. Speaking in your tongue is hard for me. But please bear it. I would like to tell you my story. It is not long or sad. Just short and silly. You will surely laugh as you read it. That is alright. I wish you would laugh. It eases my soul when I hear others laugh. It reminds me of the ocean.

But I wish to tell you my story. Please listen.

It starts with a beautiful princess born in a wealthy kingdom.

No, that princess is not me. I was born on the shore, among the sand and shells, under the great night sky. I have never seen a palace, nor worn a gown. I have heard that they are beautiful. Princesses wear them at balls, with golden slippers and dance away the night. This princess must have worn one too. She must have been very beautiful. And loved. All beautiful women are loved.

No, I do not know what made her beautiful. I have never seen her. But I like to imagine it must have been so. It helps me rest.

As I said, my story starts with a princess born in a wealthy kingdom. She was her father’s only child, a sweet, delicate girl with fair hair and golden eyes.

Yes, I am lying now. For I never laid eyes on her. I say these things because it helps me rest.

I am repeating myself? Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult for me. I wish to tell you my story. Will you listen?

My story starts with a beautiful child, born to a widowed king, who paid three gold pieces to the undertaker to build a temple over his wife’s grave, where he went to pray every evening. I do not know why humans built temples. My kind does not.

I have asked him, but he did not know either.

He loved her too. They all did. She was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. I was loved too. I was beautiful too.

My story starts with the birth of a beautiful child, whose father built a temple ashore the land where my mother had borne me. It was the darkest night she had ever seen, and the stars shone bright. My mother cried as I came out, small and pink and weeping. I was so small I fit in her arms with ease. She was frightened I would die of cold. She bundled me up and ran to the sea.

You think it’s strange. That is alright. Forgive me. I will explain.

My mother ran with me to the sea, for my father was giving chase. She reached the waters before he had a chance to grab her. That is as well. For if he did, he would have pulled my mother’s skin away.

Yes, my father loved my mother. All men love us. They cannot help it. It is their sin.

He found her upon the beach and took her to his hut and made her his wife. She bore him sons, I don’t know how many for I never asked, and then me. My father’s world came crashing down upon him. My mother wept with joy. When I came she knew Mother Sea would welcome her back. She bore me upon the shore so that Mother would bear witness.

When mother’s feet touched the water, she had already been gone. I do not know if my father followed. I think he must have not. Mother Sea does not welcome his kind. You cannot breathe when Mother holds you. That is very pitiful.

Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult.

There are no men among us. It is only us and Mother. She loves us deeply and we love her. And the men that Mother hates also love us. It is a difficult love. No, I do not know if we love the men too. We must love them. We swim every year to the shore to take our skin off and be like them - the human women that they love. And they love us too. Because we are more beautiful than their women.

Forgive me.

They love us, and they desire us. They take our skins and bring us to their sheds and take us in their beds. We bear them sons and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. We cannot help but love them. No, it is not love. It is love. Your tongue is very difficult.

We love them and we love them. We must, for Mother no longer loves us when we love the men. She does not recognize us anymore. She cannot hold us when she doesn’t know who we are. She is frightened of us then. So we love the men because we cannot love Mother anymore. We miss Mother. But she doesn’t miss us.

It is very pitiful.

When we are human we cannot love Mother, so we wait for daughters to be born so she will love us again. No, only daughters. Never sons. Mother does not love our sons. They cannot see or hear Mother. But daughters - us - we can. I heard Mother before I had been born. She sang to me of the sea foam, and the waves and of my mother’s skin and where my father hid it. I told my mother this. She dug the chest buried underneath the juniper tree with her bare hands as I sang to her. She was crying because she heard Mother’s voice in mine.

I do not know what happened to my father. I have never returned to that shore. I have never met my brothers. I do not wish to. Mother does not either. She told me to be careful. She held me to her breast as we watched the angelfish, and told me to never go to the land of men and take off my skin. She told me to keep away.

But it was a waste. She knew this. We must go to the shore every year. We must take off our skin.

My mother did so the next year as well. I never saw her again. She must have been found by another man. That is as well. I would soon follow in her footsteps.

My story starts with the birth of a fair child, beloved by all, and especially by the young poet who wished to marry her. He was a handsome man, but he was poor. This is unfortunate in your land. Forgive me.

Why did he love the princess? Because she was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved.

Yes, all beautiful things must be loved.

Why?

Because they are beautiful. That is all.

The poet loved this princess because she was beautiful, but she did not love him because he was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

Yes, I loved the poet too. Because he was beautiful. No, I did not love him. I loved him. Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish you could understand.

He did not understand either. Though he was a poet. It was odd. He told me he could not hear me sing when I spoke, and did not hear me speak when I sang. But Mother hears us. She hears me and my sisters as we sing-speak and speak-sing to her. Only Mother can hear us.

But still I loved him.

Yes. No, I did not love him. Please understand.

I sang to him under the night sky and he kissed my lips. I spoke to him about love and he kissed my cheeks. He loved me on the shore until dawn. No, it was love, not love. Forgive me.

When Mother released the sun from her hold, he kissed my eyelids. He had beautiful lips. I loved them dearly. He was a beautiful man. All beautiful things must be loved.

He did not take me for his wife. He loved the princess.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

I am repeating myself. Please understand.

‘You are taking my skin,’ I told him. ‘You are taking my skin. What will I do without my skin? Mother won’t take me back without my skin.’

‘Forgive me.’

He spoke so sweetly. Do you understand? All beautiful things must be loved.

‘The princess of this land - I love her dearly. I wish to marry her. But I am poor. I am not worthy. I wish to be worthy. The princess - she wishes for a coat more beautiful than the sunrise. I have searched this land - from the mountain to the sea, from the fields to the hills, but I have not found a coat more beautiful than yours.’

‘I cannot give you my skin,’ I told him. ‘You must take me as your wife. I cannot give you my skin for another. I must have my skin to return to Mother.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids - and then he was gone. He took my skin to the princess. She loved it dearly. She loved him dearly. They were to be married within the year. She wore my skin as her veil. It was a beautiful veil. It was a beautiful wedding.

All beautiful things must be loved.

I gave chase. Yes, I did. I followed after him - my husband.

I called to him. But he did not stop.

I wept for him. But his heart did not yield.

I wept for Mother. But she could not hear me.

I wept for our Master. He said I was a fool to trust the word of man. He thundered. He roared. He drove me away with arrows made of fire and spiteful words. He did not care. He did not listen.

Please listen.

I wish to tell you my story.

There was once a child born upon the land where a temple was built with just three gold coins. This child was so beautiful that when she spoke, the birds would listen to hear her song. When she danced, the ground would soften underneath her feet so no harm would come upon her. When she smiled, the sun bowed so it would not deter from her beauty.

He loved her. She scorned him. He was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

I loved him. He loved her. I loved him and loved him.

Your tongue - forgive me.

She came to me upon the shore.

All beautiful things must be loved.

My husband - he left me upon the shore. He took my skin and left. He loved the princess. I loved him.

I wanted to return to Mother. But Mother did not love me anymore. She did not hold me. She could not hold me. I wept. Mother’s arms - they seemed to wrap around my throat. I could not breathe.

She came to me upon the shore. My Lady.

My sisters - they tore away their skin. A leg, an arm, a breast, an ear - they had sewn it all together. They gave the coat to me. They said Mother would hold me now.

She did not. She could not.

I loved Mother. I loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved Her.

She could not love me. He did not love me. She did not love him.

They were to be married within the year.

It was a beautiful wedding.

It was a beautiful veil.

‘My skin,’ I said. ‘My skin, my skin, my skin - You must take me as your wife.’

‘I do not love you.’

‘You must. Mother does not love me anymore. You must.’

His roots went deep. They touched her mother’s grave. They touched my mother’s grave.

He loved her. She loved him. No, not love. Love.

Please understand.

All men love us. It is their sin. We must love them too, when Mother no longer loves us.

Please understand.

‘My child, my rose,’ she spoke. Her eyes were so sweet. I wept. She kissed my eyelids. She kissed my tears. All beautiful things must be loved.

I loved him. I let him bloom. I gave him light. I gave him water. I fetched it every day from the well and watched him grow. My husband.

It was a beautiful wedding.

‘My child, my rose, my sweetest heart.’

She held me. Mother could not hold me. She held me and kissed me and loved me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

‘I do not love you,’ my husband lied. ‘I cannot love you. I do not want to love you. Please understand.’

All men love us. It is their sin.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

I am repeating myself.

Forgive me.

They take us from the shore into their huts and into their beds. We bear them children and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. And wait for daughters to be born.

Every year he gave me blossoms. I crushed them underneath my feet. He fed on my blood.

I loved him. And I loved her. And I loved Mother. And I loved her.

‘My child,’ she kissed me. ‘My rose,’ she kissed me. ‘My sweetest heart,’ she kissed me.

I sheath myself in wicked thorns and sing of my Lady’s love.

Please listen. Please understand.

My mother’s grave. Her mother’s grave.

He took her into his hut and into his bed. He took her into the garden and stripped her of her skin. He hid it underneath the juniper tree where mother heard me sing.

All men must love us. It is their sin.

She was a beautiful child. He was a dutiful king. He paid three gold pieces for the temple. It was made of stone and wood and the bed inside it was warm.

They take us from the shore and into their beds.

I loved him. He died in spring. I burned him. I kissed the ashes.

Mother would not listen.

Mother could not understand.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish to tell you my story.

Please listen.

Notes

“Translating this introductory part of the grimoire has proven to be by far the easiest part of my endeavour, as there has not been much to translate at all. It seems that unlike her sisters, the Witch of the Rose wrote in the common tongue of that time, which fortunately for me is not very different from our current one. Line tells me this might be because the language of the selkie has no written form. In fact, its complexity is so great, no written form could properly capture its beauty.

It is an interesting notion to me, a student with meagre interest in languages, at the very least before I become employed in this project. There is no proper way to prove this, however, as according to what Line tells me, she can barely remember even the few things she picked up from her grandmother. It is so with every selkie that lives on land for too long - slowly they forget the tongue of Mother Sea (an ancient pagan deity, I believe) and learn the tongue of their husbands. Line herself seems to remember mostly old songs that she teaches to little Safia too so she can remember her ancestors even a little. She tells me they are the last ones.

Line’s great-great-grandmother was taken from the sea by her husband as well - a practice which was considered normal back in the day - and as she never managed to have any daughters was forced to live the rest of her life on this foreign land. She tells me this story with a sort of melancholic detachment as she brushes her daughter’s long, golden hair. This is standard for their species it seems - all daughters have golden hair and golden eyes which makes them look terrible and inviting to the men that come across them.

Line also tells me that the selkie language has over 34 words to express ‘love’. She says that the witch must have been trying to capture them all as she wrote down her confession, but she can only remember a few of the ones her grandmother taught her. Thus, there is ‘love gleaned from above the sea foam’, ‘love that is realized by the stroke of midnight’, ‘love which blooms only at the wake of dawn’, ‘love which burns one as they feel it’ which is different from ‘love that scorches one as they let go of it’. She does not know the word for the love felt for one’s husband, but she tells me that the love for one’s daughter is translated as ‘love for a budding flower which blooms on the bottom of the ocean’.

She tells me all this with a mournful look - the expression of a woman who knows that when she passes there will be a little less of her legacy left. The grimoire that I show her has a shell accessory on the cover that when opened produces the most beautiful melody in the world. When I showed Line this she started weeping and once she calmed down she explained that it was the same song that her grandmother used to sing when she was little. I believe it must be an old folk song, though she cannot confirm it for me, since she admits that there are barely any words that she recognizes. Though she can tell with some certainty that it is a song of forgiveness - that the witch is begging her mother to welcome her back to the sea. Little Safia listened to the song as well, but I could tell that beyond the soothing melody nothing stuck out to her at all. It broke Line’s heart.

I stayed there for almost two months learning what I could about the selkie. It did Line good too since she felt that even if she were to die, little Safia and her children would not be robbed of her heritage. I was touched by this sentiment - so much that I swore that once I have finished my business collecting and translating the grimoires I would make sure to amass in one volume the entirety of Line’s teachings during the time they graciously let me stay there.”

- Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

“It has now been more than ten years since I have made that promise, which I have managed to keep after all. If you were to look in any library right now, dear reader, you might spy tucked away in one of the shelves a little book of no more than 100 pages, more than half filled with illustrations and drawings, while the other half is full of songs and poems and little phrases that Line shared with me as we sat huddled around the fire at night. I’ve been told it is a commercial failure - that nobody but the most dedicated anthropologists give it more than a glance. But it does not matter to me. It took four years for the 100 copies to sell. I have recently ordered 100 more.

To others these books might be nothing more than curiosities, oddities, a change of reading material - but it is not so. Not in the slightest. These are the words and experiences of a woman whose ancestry has been erased almost entirely and plunged into obscurity. By no means can I simply let her life or history be disregarded in such a manner. Especially now since I am the only one left fighting.

It was two years after I departed from Line’s house that I received a letter from the young lord who oversaw the village she lived in. I was in the midst of a lesson with Old Woman Louisa when I was informed that due to a tragic accident little Safia lost her life at sea, followed three months later by her mother who died of grief. I was left numb by the news - barely registering it at all and inconsolable for weeks after. I had to leave Louisa’s abode as my mourning made the beasts under her care uneasy, and with no goal in mind simply proceeded forward to the Isle of Lamentation. A fitting spot to vent my grief.

I have had the good mind to send the young lord a letter asking him to keep the hut in which they lived in good condition, and returned there two years after my travels ended. It is now a museum, my dear reader, dedicated to Line, Safia and all the women who suffered at the hands of their destiny by being taken from their home to live on these strange lands. The last that will even suffer this destiny, for Line and Safia’s deaths did not mark merely the loss of two great souls and hearts from the world, but also the loss of an entire species. There are no more selkie that roam the ocean, and if there are any on land they must have long forgotten they even were.

To them I wish to dedicate this small volume that I have compiled, relying on the memory of the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my life, and the innocence of the sweetest little girl that I have had the good fortune of knowing.

May their souls rest among the stars, free of pain and suffering, curled in Mother Sea’s bosom.”

- Songs of Mother Sea: A Short Guide to the History of Selkie Culture Through Poems and Music

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #astra selene #witch of the rose #selkie #twist #twisute #twist oc #twisute oc #fanmade lore #twisted wonderland fanschool #walpurga nacht academy #the little mermaid #postmodern fairytale #fractured fairytale

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper.

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee.

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip.

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them.

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so.

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man.

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check.

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head.

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.”

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.”

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself.

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now.

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly.

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover.

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

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wouldpollyapprove · 5 years ago

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A Girl That Wasn’t Meant To Love

Request: can you do a tommy x reader based on the song hell on high heels by motley crue

Requested by @magnificentzombiebasement

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, prostitution

A/n: I had a completely different idea for how I wanted to write this and what I ended up actually writing is more of like a prologue. If you guys like this, I may write a second part, but it’s not a priority at the moment. I also want you guys to know that I gave up editing this halfway through b/c it’s hella long and I’m lazy. So, that’s the reason things may be spelled wrong or not make sense at all.

Masterlist

“There’s no shame in this life,” she’d been told before. It was by an old woman, one stuck in her place at one time in her life. “There is no shame in doing what must be done to survive.” Head held high, that’s what Y/n lived by. Ugly truths and monstrous men, she saw nothing but the end of the line. Every night was touch or go, wondering if she would have enough money to make it to the next. But with each rising sun, she grew stronger and the money in her pockets started to bulge.

There was no shame in what she did if it led to her survival.

Y/n never liked the only word ever used to describe women like her: “prostitute”. The word, unclean, allowed men to shove her face in the mud. Women, who never had to do a days work on their back to pay the bills, would spit at her, curses, even words sailors wouldn’t utter, leaving their porcelain lips. They didn’t see the pot of gold they had stumbled upon, all that they had that was out of reach from other’s. They were selfish in believing that some people had a choice in what had to be done to put food on the table.

It had always been a struggle to come by much of anything. Y/n grew up in a village in France that knew everything but wealth. People made enough to live, but never leave. War was the only thing that ever allowed boys and girls alike to wave at the village behind them. Most never returned, but there were always more to replace those in the ground. Producing like rabbits, there was no such thing as plentiful. Skin and bones, they all worked day and night to live for another hour, but it was never enough for Y/n.

Tough as nails, she was tired of living from meal to meal. Wishing for the world, she wasn’t like her mother or sisters, who dreamed of getting by, she wanted to take what was her’s. And so, with what little she had, she fled to Paris. It took days, different strangers pitying her state, the dirt stained clothes and tangled hair, but eventually she reached the golden city.

There, she could find little work with the skill set she’d acquired as a child. Laborers weren’t meant to walk the streets of the capital, they were meant for the tiny villages that she came from. And so, another line of work had to be found and that is when the woman who ran Le Sphinx pulled her inside. Knowing nothing of prostitution, Y/n was forced to quickly learn, being educated in both the desires of men and etiquette.

Once ready and thrown to the lions, she did whatever she could to stay above the sharp, white teeth. At first, there were many nights with tears streaming down her cheeks and the thought of home forever circling around her mind. It was hard to adapt to something she’d known nothing about. Even harder when she was merely competition to the other girls. No one would extend a hand, wipe the tears off her stained cheeks and tell her that it would get better. The girls at the brothel were worse than the ones Y/n encountered on the street. They did anything to start a fight and were worse than thieves. If you valued anything, it wasn’t to be kept in plain sight. It was a war zone one no man would ever have to face.

But before Y/n knew it, she was on top, the woman all the business men and visiting royals wanted to spend the evening with. It wasn’t bad to be sitting in the lap of a Norwegian royal, not once you were aware of how much their hat alone cost. Drowning in riches, this was close enough to the life she wanted. With all the money given to her by the men that believed they were her only loves, she packed her bags and moved to London.

That was where the rich became even richer and where our story starts.

Settling into her London home, Y/n decided she would rather spend her days doing anything but lying on her back. There were some clients, wealthy ones, that she’d see occasionally, but she wanted to make money in other ways. And with all that she had saved up, she did just that by purchasing a dress shop. It was the perfect quaint life that she had been looking for all along and it was finally her’s. Most of her days were spent hiring seamstresses or going over new fabrics, Y/n wanted women to flock from all over the country to buy her dresses and she would do anything to achieve that.

But like everyone, she got bored.

Wanting more than to roam the streets of London, she decided to put one of her best workers in charge and run around the English countryside. While on her little holiday, Y/n stopped in Birmingham. Meant to be the manufacturing capital of the country, it didn’t try to hide that fact. But she loved it. The dirt and grime, the sweat that covered the brow. She was raised just as they were, work until the day was done. The broken backs and accidental deaths were something she was all too familiar with.

These people were her people.

Taking in the city around her, Y/n wandered into a pub near a few factories. Whether it was accepted for women to venture out on their own in this city or not, she didn’t care. A mediocre whiskey sour was all she was asking for. Pushing the doors open, gold details ran along the wall as the sun peeked through stained glass windows. For a pub on the wrong side of town, London was all that crossed her mind. There were many pubs in the capital that held themselves like the one she stood in. Shaking off her shock, Y/n took a seat at one of the bar stools, sinking into its cushion.

“What can I get you?” the barmaid with eyes that dripped of honey and charcoal curls asked her.

“How about a whiskey sour?” she smiled at the girl. She looked to be no more than eighteen, what an age to be. By the time Y/n was that age, she was already in Paris, doing the job few women willing accepted. The girl nodded, curls bouncing around her chiseled face, before fetching the ingredients needed.

Y/n leaned back in her chair and began to search her purse for a cigarette. It was a bad habit she’d picked up from the brothel, but it did wonders at calming the nerves. She searched and searched, but it appeared that she smoked the last one that morning. “Fuck,” she muttered, doubling checking.

“Missing something?” a voice asked from across the bar.

She straightened to lock eyes with a tall man, his brunette hair shaved at the side. Unsure what to make of him, she simply nodded. He held himself like a businessman, suit and all, but all she could see were the rough edges of a working man.

“What have you lost?” he asked, waiting for a proper answer.

Sighing in defeat, Y/n placed her bag on the bar. “My cigarettes. I fear I’ve cleaned myself out.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, slowly he dug a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled a pack out. “I happen to have a few.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile seeing the canister. God only knows where she’d have to go to buy a new pack. “Mind sharing one with me?”

Waltzing over to her side, movements swift and precise, he held one out between his fingers for her to take. Gently, she slipped it between her own before placing it between her lips. Being a gentleman, the man already had his lighter out by the time it was snug between her painted lips and lit it for her. “Thank you…” she waited for a name, taking a drag.

“Tommy.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” she smiled and watched as he slid into the seat next to her. “I assume your first name’s Thomas then.”

Tommy smiled. “No, it’s Ethel.” The statement pulled a laugh from the woman sitting next to him. “And what’s your name? Or do you not have one of those?”

“Oh I have one,” she said right before the barmaid returned with her drink. “Thank you,” she smiled at the girl. Attention back on the man beside her, she took a quick drink of her better-than-mediocre whiskey sour before answering his question. “Y/n L/n.”

The man nodded, eyes going up the length of her body. The silk smooth fabric of her dress, the purse discarded on the bar top, and the jewels that hung around her wrist told Tommy all he needed to know about her. Plain as day, Y/n came from money. “What brings ya to Small Heath?” Tommy questioned, lighting his own cigarette, and leaned back in his stool, turning towards her.

“Small stop before traveling to London,” she admitted.

“London’s home, I take it.”

Y/n shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray between them. “For now.”

Silence fell between the two. For once in her life, butterflies fluttered around her stomach, creating a knot that was both nerve racking and pleasant. There was never a chance for Y/n to even think of any sort of love except that of money before moving to England. But still beside Tommy, she felt something that she had never experienced before. Her heart told her it was more than just the love that overcame a silly school girl. No matter what it said, though, her brain overruled and told her off on the silly notion.

The two spent the rest of the day talking at the bar, swapping stories of all they had done. Y/n swept her early career into a dark closet, locking it away from the young man. She knew how his sky blue eyes would turn the color of the sea with the knowledge out in the open. She couldn’t have that. For most of her life, Y/n had watched people’s views on her change in an instant based on a profession many dipped their toes into in the name of survival. She wouldn’t have that with him. Not when she could feel it in her bones that he was meant to be something more.

Eventually, Y/n had to go back to London, but she didn’t board the train without handing Tommy her address. “Write. Please. Anytime you wish, write to me. I will always answer,” a glossy smile danced on her lips, she placed a small paper in his palm.

“I will. I promise,” he answered. Though they hadn’t known each other long, both knew that they would never lose touch.

“I best be going now.” Y/n scanned the station, noticing as people began to board the train. “Goodbye, Tommy.” Before she could turn on her heels, a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. A grasp escaped her before soft lips captured her’s. Deepening the kiss, Y/n wanted to do anything but board the locomotive.

Tommy pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Goodbye, Y/n,” he said with a sad smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

They parted that day and as Y/n watched him become nothing with the growing distance, she could still feel his lips on her. Call it love, call it lust, but it was one of the great wonders of the world, that she knew.

Once in London, Y/n made haste to write to Tommy. Her friends couldn’t help but notice the smile that adorned her face when the mail was dropped by every day and the one letter she picked out of the rest, holding it to her chest. They wondered if she’d found a lover or a boyfriend, but there was no answer she could give them.

What was Thomas Shelby to her? To a girl that wasn’t meant to love?

An answer couldn’t be given in fear of ruining what had been created.

Piles of letters flowed between the pair and soon, Tommy was asking her to come to Birmingham once more. The same excuses were used each time. She couldn’t find anyone to watch the shop or money was tight and she couldn’t spare a penny. White lies left her lips dressed as the truth. She couldn’t leave the safety of her home to visit the darkness of the unknown. Everything surrounding the man was new to her and Y/n couldn’t figure out how to handle it. Run straight at it or hide in the corner, those were her options. She liked the corner.

But Mr. Shelby wouldn’t have it with the excuses, deciding that if she couldn’t come to Birmingham then he would go to London.

A knock at the front door pulled mighty barks from Pearl, the French Bulldog Y/n found starving on the streets one night. With eyes on the stove, Y/n was weary to leave them unattended to answer the door. “Be there in a minute,” she called, giving the eyes a few extra seconds before sliding them onto a plate. Pearl ran between her feet, almost tripping her, as Y/n walked to the front door. Doing her best to keep the creature in the house, using one foot to hold her back, she opened the door, body freezing when she locked eyes with the man in front of her.

“Y/n.” A smile like honey spread across his face, almost making Y/n forget why her heart seized up in fear.

“Tommy,” she breathed out in return. The dog behind her used the shock to her advantage and quickly found a gap between her owner and the door, slipping through to bark at the stranger in front of her. Y/n scoffed and quickly scooped the dog up before she could take a bite out of Tommy’s polished shoes. “Pearl, you pest,” she scolded. “Um, please, come in.”

When the door was opened wider, Tommy stepped through the threshold and began to strip himself of his coat. “I was in town for business, thought I’d come see you.”

A smile lit up her face at his words. No one had ever been kind enough to do that, not for the innocent reasons he was. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’d like some.” He nodded, following close behind as she led the way, eyes scanning the walls that past him.

“Lovely home,” he remarked as Y/n gestured for him to have a seat at the kitchen table. Doing as she pleased, he sank into the wooden chair and took in his surroundings.

The second his eyes had landed on her months before in the Garrison, Tommy knew the woman came from money. Back straight as a board, jewels dangling from her body, there was no mistaking it. He sat beside her, hoping she couldn’t sniff out dirt poor, violent prone individuals. By the end of her stay in Birmingham, it seemed she knew no difference between expensive suits obtained by gun point and those with a handful of coins.

It was foolish for Tommy to believe she would want anything to do with him. He was a poor boy turned thief turned war hero turned criminal. Little he touched after the war was legal and he knew better than to believe that a woman of her status would ever want a man like himself.

“Yeah,” she shrugged while dishing eggs onto two plates. Before placing them on the table, she set a piece of toast next to the eggs and grabbed the butter off the counter. A plate was placed in front of her guest, who wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that she knew how to cook. Anyone who owned a house such as the one Tommy found himself in usually had a few maids and a cook, but not Y/n it seemed. “What business brings you to London?”

“None worth anything,” he answered.

A groomed brow raised, she wondered why he wasted the trip. “Then why come?”

The answer that escaped his lips hit her in the heart, the one she saw coming. “For you.” For her, he had left the comforts of his home. For her, he had wasted precious time. And for her, he would surely be disappointed.

“Tommy,” she drawled, eyes gloomy to match her said smile. “You didn’t have to.”

Leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes pierced her own. His demeanor had changed. Once loving and sweet, now sharp and calculated. “You refused to come see me, decided to come see why.”

Y/n sighed, unsure whether to let her eyes wonder or stay focused on the man in front of her. “I’ve been busy,” she lied.

Her words must have been see through, not an ounce of weight to them, when Tommy rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you’ve been so busy that you’ve allowed yourself to visit the coast.” His words were bitter, laced with venom, each syllable as dangerous as the next. “Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

A foolish move to believe she could live a wonderful life. Once back in London, Y/n had done her fair share of research on Thomas Shelby. When it came to survival, it was always best to know all those around you. Y/n couldn’t allow anyone to burn her empire, no matter how much she was willing to let them. She knew Tommy was making his way up in the world, climbing the latter, each rung as illegal as the next. He was a quick witted and calculated man. Ambition seemed to always cross his mind. Tommy seemed to know as much about her as she did about him. But if he only mentioned her trip to the coast, perhaps he didn’t know all she thought he did.

Opening her mouth to say something, she was cut off before a word could get out.

“What am I to you?” The words were heavy on his tongue, even heavier ringing in her ears.

Y/n sat there, opening and closing her mouth, the breakfast in front of her completely forgotten. There was no perfect answer. No sentence that could be formulated that could wash away the pain evident in his eyes. There was no word that could be uttered to mend what she had broken but the simple truth.

Letting her eyes scour the room, she did her best to avoid eye contact as Tommy’s gaze drilled into her. “If you believe you don’t mean anything to me, you’re wrong. You mean the world to me.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

Y/n couldn’t help but flinch at the bitter words. “I…” she shook her head and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still, not with her heart attempting to beat out of her chest. “I don’t know how to love.”

The words were barely above a whisper but Tommy heard them from his place at the table. Eyes softening, he wasn’t sure he’d understood her properly. “What do you mean?”

Pacing around the kitchen, tears welled up in her eyes at all she didn’t want to say. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her past, in fact, many would find it triumphant, but it wasn’t one that bathed in love. She had never been loved or in love until she had met Thomas Shelby at a pub in Birmingham. Many only had one love and that was good enough. But with her background, love was never enough. She could love with her whole heart, but her loyalty would always come into question.

“I have never been allowed to love,” Y/n explained at the mini bar in the corner of the room. It may have been early, but it was never earlier too early for a drink. A strong on at that. Shaking hand poured whiskey into a glass, filling much more than needed. “I-I have never been in a… relationship that wasn’t physical.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of her announcement or the woman that stood before him. Whiskey pouring over the rim of her glass, it wasn’t hard for the man to see that her gentle words covered up a dirtier trust. Pushing himself out of his chair, in a few quick strides, he was by her side. Long fingers snatched the drink from her hand, placing it on the counter. “Were you a-”

“Please, please don’t say it!” she begged, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, her head resting against his chest. “I won’t, I won’t,” Tommy said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. It did little soothe her but it was better than doing nothing. “It’s alright, love.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling away enough to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not,” she cried. “I’m fucking filthy! Not someone anyone would love.”

It broke his heart to see the pain in her eyes, the truth she placed on each word. Placing a hand against her cheek, he stroked the smooth skin, letting her melt against his touch. “I love you, Y/n,” he said softly to combat her sobs. “And I don’t care how filthy you are, I love you. And if I have to teach you how to lover properly, then so be it. But if you can love Pearl then I know you can love anyone.”

She was quiet, savoring each word that was said. No one had ever said such a thing to her and meant every word. Some customers had believed they were in love with her, taken her kindness for passionate love, but it was never that. “Do you mean it?” Y/n asked as Tommy wiped her tears away.

“Every word.” He leaned down, capturing her in a kiss. Y/n grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Tommy could have stayed there, with his arms wrapped around her, forever, but Pearl had other ideas. The dog barked from the other side of the room, earning laughs from two. Turning his attention back to Y/n, Tommy brushed a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “Now, will you come to Birmingham with me?”

*~~*~~*

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

Could you combine 15 transformation and 18 amulet for Sternclay nsfw, please? Joseph can’t get close enough to any mers to study them because of how deep they live beneath the surface. Thanks to a treasure he found on the beach that’s about to change and a world he couldn’t have imagined is about to open wide.

Here you go! Barclay is an Pacific Octopus in this and Joseph is based on an Orca.

It’s such a small thing. A piece of eight, pierced and strung on a corroded silver chain; the treasure he’s searched for the last two years.

Joseph’s never been so close to tears in his entire career.

He promised his superiors he wouldn’t experiment with occult objects while working alone. But he knows for damn sure that all of them think his beliefs in the occult, or the city beneath the sea, is foolishness, the price they have to pay for an otherwise talented agent.

It’s only due diligence to see if the amulet is dangerous while he’s alone on his boat, rather than near fellow agents or innocent bystanders.

Joseph strips down to his swim trunks, climbs down into the water, amulet wrapped around his fingers so he won’t drop it. Treading water, he slips the chain over his head. His legs twists, heat engulfing his body, and he sinks beneath the waves.

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“Dani, how’s table five doing?”

“Good!” Dani picks up the two plates of seaweed salad, “think it’s slowing down finally.”

“Thank fuck.” Barclay murmurs, turning back to the cutting board. He falls into his rhythm as guests gradually filter and flit away from their tables back onto the street and towards Atlantis proper. His focus is broken by a body colliding with a chair.

“Ouch.”

“Are you okay sir?” Dani, on top of things as always.

“Oh, yes, better than if I’m being honest. I’m just, um, having some trouble with my tail.”

“Right. Uh, here, we only have room at the counter right now, but if you want a table-”

“This is perfect, thank you so much.”

A clamor, and out of the corner of his eye Barclay sees an eight top swim in the door.

“I got him, Dani.” He turns and all eight tentacles freeze mid-task. Sitting on the stool is the most incredible merman he’s ever seen. His short, black hair dusts his forehead, leading his gaze to eyes as blue as the open sea. His torso is lean, a small tattoo on either arm, two scars on his chest, and a stomach that suggests his job requires a great deal of athleticism.

And his tail?

His tail is black and white, smooth rather than scaled, and Barclay wants to wrap all eight tentacles around it while he sinks his teeth into the mers neck.

The other mer notices him, smiles politely, and goes back to studying the menu.

“Do you need a few minutes to decide?”

That perfect brow creases, as if the other mer can’t make sense of what he’s looking at, “Um, what do you recommend?”

“I mean, I like to think everything on the menu is good, but the crab rolls are really good this time of year.”

“I’ll have those then, please and thank you.”

Barclay nods, returns to his station, churning out orders as Dani and Jake bring them, and calling directions to Thacker when the older mer returns from his ten minute break. The entire time, he aches to turn around and watch the newcomer. But even though he can move through his kitchen blindfolded, he’d rather not take off his own tentacle. Sure, it’ll grow back, but last time one got bit off, it threw his whole cooking routine out of whack.

The new mers face lights up when Barclay sets the plate in front of him, and he eats with an enthusiasm that is the sexiest thing Barclay’s seen at work in years. Now and then, the mer starts to float away from his stool, or accidentally takes out the nearby furniture with his tail.

When he’s finished, he compliments Barclay profusely, smiling right up until Barclay tells him how much it will be.

“Oh no. I, I don’t, I can’t pay that.”

“If you’re a few coins short I could discount it-”

“No, no that’s not it. I, I didn’t bring any money with me. It didn’t even occur to me.” He says this last part to himself, carding his hand through his hair, “I’m so sorry, this is entirely my oversight. Is there anything else I can do to cover the meal?”

Barclay bites back his first thought, schooling the tentacle creeping towards the mers hand back into line, “Uh, you know how to wash dishes?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m pretty good at it.”

This does not turn out to be a joke. His new dishwasher is somehow meticulous and efficient, leaving not only the plates but the entire kitchen spotless by the time Barclay tells him he can go. He’s still bumping into things, his tail obviously not doing what he wants it to.

“If you don’t mind waiting a bit, I can swim you home. This neighborhood isn’t as bad as most mers think, but it’s still not a great place to be drunk and alone.

The mer blinks, taken aback, “I’m not drunk.”

Barclay raises his eyebrow.

“Really, I’m not.”

“No offense, but your tail only works like sixty percent of the time and, going from those bruises on your side, looks like you’ve been having that problem most of today.”

“I mean, I have but, um, not for that reason. I’m just very clumsy.”

“O-kay” Barclay’s about to reiterate his offer, but the other mer is already swimming out the door.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry, thank you again for being so understanding about the meal!”

Barclay’s not about to chase down a customer, but his tentacles go a little pale the rest of the night whenever he remembers he never even got his name.

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“My, my good sir, this is quite a treasure trove you’ve brought me!” The merman with a gold and orange tail who introduced himself as Ned Chicane, preeminent archiver of human items. Were they on land, Joseph would be positive that Ned has several warrants out for his arrest. For all he knows, that’s the case down here too, but he hasn’t gotten to learning about the Atlantian legal system yet.

“What can I say, I’m an expert on humans.” Joseph smiles.

“I can make a whole new wing of the museum for these. Now, about your payment, I can give you, hmmmmm, two hundred coins?”

“Five hundred.”

“Two fifty.”

“No.”

“Three hundred.”

“I can just take it all back.”

“Fine, fine, four fifty but now higher.”

Joseph flicks his tail, pleased, “Deal.”

Ten minutes later, he’s cresting the subterranean hills, Atlantis glittering in the distance. The ruins of the sunken city form the skeleton of it’s current incarnation. The whole city is now a reef, a rainbow of coral growing from once proud columns or taking the place of formidable walls. The buildings are made of stone or glass which, upon further research, he learned was made by enchanting sand, in much the same way the coins are. But even there, the stones are speckled with sea plants or coral.

It’s beautiful, and if he has his way he’ll explore every street. He’s already swum the length and breadth of it, half to build up his skill with his tail and half to create a map of it in his mind. The center of the city shines like sunken treasure, unmistakably built and maintained by forces other than nature. The outer neighborhoods are rougher around the edges, more of the houses built into the environment rather than from it. That doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

Besides, it has the best food in the city.

He’s used the same trick of asking what his cook or server recommends to hide the fact he can’t read the language on the menus, and after selling a few things second hand, he stumbled on Ned’s museum and knew he could make enough in one go that he won’t have to surface for several days. None of the places he’s gone can even compare to the first establishment, but he’s been unwilling to go back to it until he’s damn sure he can pay the handsome cook what he’s due.

“Hello again.” He waves politely from his spot at the counter.

The cook turns, tentacles still sitting and chopping and flipping away, “Hey! Good to see you again.”

“I even have money this time.”

“Dunno, might just make you do dishes again. Cutlery’s never looked so good.” He winks. One tentacle sets down a spoon, creeping towards Joseph. Barclay notices, pulls it back, and asks, “what’ll you have?”

“What’s good today?”

The answer is shrimp wraps, seasoned so perfectly Joseph wishes it was customary for merpeople to lick their plates.

“So good” He sighs, more to himself than anyone else, as he watches Barclay work. Do all tentacled mers take up this kind of profession? It seems like mechanics or other hands-on jobs might also benefit. Do they use them to show affection? Is that allowed?

“All done?”

“Yes. It was incredible, just like last time.”

“Glad to hear it. So” his tentacles clear the counter as Barclay continues talking with him, “you enjoying Atlantis? Seems like you’re pretty new here.”

“Very. I’m from a ways away. I...I’ve never seen anything like this place. It’s breathtaking. I’m even getting better at not just bumbling my way down random streets, hoping to find something interesting.”

“Uh, if, if you want, I’m happy to show you around, Can’t get you into hip parties or anything, but I know where all the good food is, and some of my friends work at some really cool places.”

Joseph tries not to squeal with glee, “That would be fantastic!”

Barclay grins, blush creeping up his cheeks, which Joseph sincerely hopes has the same meaning it does for humans, “I get off at sunset.”

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

“You know, when I asked you to take me to your favorite place, I suspected it was food based, but I never envisioned this.” Joseph stares at the massive marketplace, the woven seaweed ceiling studded with glowing shells and the floor is filled with miles of stalls, piled high with all kinds of ingredients and delicacies.

As they swim deeper into the market, Barclay stops to examine different foods, chatting with vendors and buying Joseph so many snacks he jokes the mer will have to carry him home.

“Happy to” Barclay rubs his cheek against Joseph’s own. This startled him the first time it happened, but he hid it well enough to not reveal his secret. It seems to be a general expression of fondness between mers, but he gets pleasant chills whenever Barclay’s beard tickles his skin.

The first time it happened, Barclay had taken him to see the massive aquatic gardens that form one of the central rings of town. Barclay’s friend, Duck, is head gardener and was more than happy to answer Joseph’s many, many questions. At some point, Joseph apologized for asking so much. Barclay swam closer, rubbed their cheeks together, and told him not to be sorry for being excited about something.

“I don’t know, I’m not a small mer.” He teases; his height stayed with him when he put on the amulet

Barclay twines three tentacles around his waist and yanks him closer, “Trust me, I could carry you and the groceries home without getting the least bit tired.”

“I see that.” He whispers.

The mer leans in a millimeter then stops, letting Joseph go, “C’mon, gotta show you the place with the best sea blossom wine you’ve ever had.”

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“This was incredible, thank you so much for bringing me.” Joseph bumps their shoulders together as they swim out of the Atlantis History Museum. The other mer’s face lit up when Barclay showed him where they were, making him so handsome that Barclay nearly missed his tentacles trying to pet his tail. Joseph will swim arm in arm with him, rub their cheeks together, even dance with him the one time they went to a party that didn’t involve Duck eagerly teaching Joseph new board games and Aubrey beating him at them. But getting felt up is a conversation they haven’t had yet.

At least he finally got an explanation for why Joseph seems so lost at times; apparently, the town he’s from is so remote, the dialect of Atlantian he knows is different enough from the standard that he can’t read the signs in the city. Which meant Barclay read the informational plaques in the museum to him. His throat is a little sore from all the talking, but Joseph’s delight is more than worth it.

They say goodnight, Joseph keeping them cheek to cheek in order to hug him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s nearly out of sight when Barclay realizes he still has the robe Joseph bought as a souvenir in his bag, so he swims after him, using his tentacles to track his trail when he loses sight of him. Soon he’s outside the bounds of the city and wondering where in the hell Joseph even lives, because the homes out here are sparse.

When Joseph turns surfacewards, Barclay wills his tentacles to propel him faster; doesn’t the other mer see the hull of the boat above them? Someone could see him, hurt him, or he could get sliced by a motor.

Barclay’s about to call his name when Joseph breaks the surface. The words die in his mouth, their corpses floating out and away in the tides as his friend’s tail turns to legs. He swims upwards, and when he peeks into the air a human with an unmistakable face is drying himself off on the deck of the small boat.

“What the fuck, Joseph?”

“SHIT!” Joseph jumps backwards, startled, then seems to register who Barclay is, “shit, Barclay, I can explain everything.”

“You don’t need to, it’s pretty fucking obvious you’re human and you’ve been pretending to be a mer for, for what? So you can tell the other humans where we are? How to catch us?”

“No” Joseph drops to his knees, shuffling to the edge of the ladder, “no, never. I’d never let anyone hurt you, or any other mer. I’m an FBI agent, with an assignment to learn whether or not merfolk exist and, if they do, what that means for humans. I...I’ve searched for some kind, any kind of proof that mers exist, and that led me to this” he holds up the necklace he always wears, “which transforms me into a mer.”

“So I was what, a research subject?” Barclay crosses his arms to cover the crack he’s certain his forming in his chest.

“A guide. A friend. Barclay, I thought Atlantis was more incredible and wondrous than anything else in the world. Then I met you, and saw it could be even more wonderful when seen through the eyes of someone I care about.”

“If you care about me, why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want to blow my cover. Even if I told you, if the word got out that I was really human, everyone else may have barred me from the city. Kept me from all the things there are to learn. Kept me from you.”

Barclay wants to say it’s fine, that he understands and isn’t angry, that he’ll see him tomorrow. But his heart feels like it’s been dragged across miles of jagged rock.

“Well, good news, Joseph. The rest of the city won’t keep you from me, because I don’t wanna see you for a long, long time.”

He sinks before Joseph can reply and trawls the sand all the way home, too tired to swim.

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

Joseph stays out of the water for two weeks. He sails into port, stocking up on supplies and using the wi-fi in the little library to send in his reports. He’s never lied in a report before. First time for everything.

When he finally slips the amulet on again, the plan is to swim the opposite direction of Atlantis, looking for new pockets of mers to learn from (and how aren’t angry with him). The trouble is, he’s only submerged for a few minutes when his whole body shudders and his head aches. He feels feverish, frantic, like he’s on the edge of the panic attack. Then he’s in the center of a panic attack because he realizes his foggy and pounding head has led him the wrong direction and he’s now floating aimlessly through a familiar neighborhood. Then his abdomen cramps and he doubles forward with a groan.

“Joseph?”

He manages to turn, finds Barclay peering out his door, worried.

“H-hi. I, I didn’t come here on purpose, I swear. I, I don’t know what’s happening. I feel sick.” He closes his eyes as another shudder rattles his spine.

A tentacle gently wraps around his wrist, guiding him into the house, “Joseph, I-”

“Wait, please, let me say something first. I, I’m so, so sorry Barclay. I should have told you sooner, should have trusted you, you deserved to know I was human. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I hope you know I regret it with every fiber of my being.”

Strong arms loop around his shoulder and a coppery beard tickles his cheek, “Apology accepted. Yeah, it fucking sucked to find out you’d been lying but, uh, I realized I didn’t want to lose you. I just couldn’t figure out how to reach out again and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph clings to him, “Thank the lord. I have no idea how severe this illness is, and if it turns out to be fatal I didn’t want to die without you knowing how much you meant to me.”

Barclay laughs, the most confusing reaction possible.

“You’re not dying, Joseph. You’re in heat.”

“.....I didn’t know that was a thing that could happen. How could you even tell?” He pulls back, finds Barclay’s pupils so wide his eyes look black.

“I can smell it. Most mers can, but these suckers are especially sensitive to it” he wiggles his tentacles.

“So I need to get off and I’ll stop feeling like this, right?”

“Basically, yeah. You’ll probably be really horny for a few days, but the aching and stuff will stop. Oh, that probably feels like you’re dying; if you didn’t know this was a thing you could experience, your body probably thought all the adrenaline you’re supposed to use to help you have a bunch of sex in a short amount of time was a sign something was seriously wrong.”

“That makes sense.” He tentatively rubs his stomach, trying to make the muscles ache less, “uh, how should-”

“Oh fuck, right, uh, I’ve got a little guest room. You can hole up there if you want.”

He’s so sweet. He’d be such a good mate.

“I’ve got a few toys too. I could, uh, clean ‘em so you can use them.”

He’s thoughtful too.

Joseph shakes his head to clear his increasingly Barclay-focused thoughts, “Thank you. I’ll use the room but not the toys. The problem is I, um, literally don’t know what to do.”

“.......”

“......I figured out how to go to the bathroom but that was the extent of my exploration of that area.”

“.......you didn’t get the least bit curious?”

“I had lots of other things to focus on. I didn’t have time to masturbate when there was an entire civilization to learn about!”

Barclay full on guffaws, draping his arms around Joseph’s shoulders, “That is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever, babe.” He nuzzles Joseph’s hair, several tentacles gently stroking the tip of his tail.

“Barclay? Will you, um, will you help me?”

A darker chuckle, “That’s cute too. My favorite interloper needs me to help him find his dick.”

“Ohmylord” He shivers as the hold on his tail tightens.

“Got yourself the best fucking body I’ve ever seen on a mer but not idea how to make it feel good.”

“Barclay please” He whines, only for a tentacle tip to press against his lips, shushing him while Barclay firmly but tenderly rubs his back.

“I’ll help you babe, don’t worry. First you gotta tell me how you like it.”

“I, um, I like being tied down. And given orders. But, but we don’t have to do any of that if you don’t want to. All I want is to be with you.”

“I wanna be with you too, babe. And I’ve got an idea.” The mer guides them into his bedroom; it’s so charmingly Barclay-like, pictures of food and friends on the walls, deep green and blue in the windows and the glass containing the lights.

“Lay down for me.”

Joseph wriggles down onto the bed. Barclay opens a carved coral dresser, pulling out two lengths of seagrass rope. He settles at the foot of the bed, begins tying one rope around the base of Joseph’s tail as his tentacles caress the black and white skin, “I’ve wanted to touch your tail since we met.”

“I c-could tell.”

“That why you were always waving it in my face?” Barclay ties the rope to one of the bedposts.

“I did no such thing.”

A tentacle tightens around his waist, “Don’t lie, babe.”

“Okay, I did it once or twice.”

“That’s better. Wrists in front of you.”

He obeys instantly. Soft green rope twines around his wrists, Barclay checking to be sure it’s not too tight before lifting his hands to his mouth to kiss each in turn.

“Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. Since you’ve got no idea how to get off, I’m gonna tell you exactly what to do. Then you’re gonna reward me like the well-behaved mate I know you can be.”

“Holyshityes.” He strains up to kiss him. Barclay obliges, kisses slow and deep until heat rippled up and down his tail.

“Let’s see” Barclay continues kissing him, cupping his face in his hands, as two tentacles tease the upper part of his tail, “guessing you don’t know what kind of set-up you have.”

“Not at all. You’ll have to explain it to me. Which is in stark contrast to how I usually have to explain my dick to partnersOH, ohshit” He bucks his hips as one tentacle presses a sensitive patch of his tail.

“There it is. Start touching there, you should be able to reach it.”

Joseph slides his hands down to where the tentacle is still tormenting him with pleasure. Barclay pulls back, watches hungrily as Joseph rubs himself. Whenever the sensation intensifies the tip of his tail curls, so he chases those sensations.

“Go faster.”

He moves his fingers in swift circles, gasps as a slit begins opening beneath them.

“That’s it babe, open up for me.”

“I, it’s, ohwhatthefuck?” small tendrils emerge from the slit, three of them curling around his fingers. He tugs experimentally and moans when it sends a wave of delight from head to tail.

“Oh this is gonna be fun” Barclay watches his hand toy with the tendrils, the thicker ones hardening when he rubs them, “you’re doing so good, Joseph, you’re getting the hang of it real fast.”

“ThaAAAAnk you.”

“Get some of those fingers inside, babe, fuck yourself for me.”

He pushes two fingers in, his body slick and oddly ridged the further he gets. Joseph has to curl forward to go deeper, whimpering as the tendrils catch and tug on his hand.

A tentacle wraps around his tail and twists, making him cry out in surprise and delighted pain.

“What part of fuck yourself was unclear?”

He moves his fingers faster, adds a third one and hears Barclay growl in reply.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good, so good, fuck, Barclay, I think I can cum from this.”

“You better. Keep playing with those upper tendrils, they’ve got more nerves in them.”

“Nnngh” following Barclay’ instructions sends a spike of pleasure into his stomach, “shit, I never cum this fast.”

“Could be the heat” Barclay swims closer, “or being a mer instead of human. Or maybe” a slit opens in the fold between his front tentacles, “maybe you just needed someone to tie you up and boss you around the right way, because you’re a horny little thing who needs to be put in his place.”

“Ohfuck.” He cums, tightening around his fingers, tingling from the slick they’re now coated in. It’s much slower than a human orgasm, and as he shakes and whimpers Barclay uses all the appendages he can to soothe his burning muscles and caress his too-sensitive skin.

“That was so good babe. You pick stuff up so quick, you’re so smart, love that about you.”

“Lord almighty” he gulps down oxygen, “if it’s that good on my own, I can’t wait to see how it is with you.”

“You still wanna do that now? We don’t have to, you can rest, I can bring you lunch-”

“Barclay, if you do not claim your reward right now I’ll, I’ll” he searches for a threat, but all he comes up with is, “I’ll find someone who will.”

A tentacle yanks his wrists up and back, pinning them above his head.

“Not a fucking chance, babe. Why do you think I tied you down? You’re all mine” another tentacle drapes across his neck, “and you’re gonna do what I want, for as long as I want you to.”

“Yes” Joseph arches off the bed, allowing Barclay to loop an arm beneath his shoulder blades. His free hand rests on Joseph’s hip, keeping him in place as a long, ridged cock presses into him, “shit, Barclay, that’s incredible, fuck that feels good.”

“Glad to hear it, handsome, because that’s where my cock is gonna stay for at least the next hour.” He rocks his hips, and Joseph’s tendrils cling to the base of his cock, making Joseph moan with every motion.

Barclay pauses, looking down with a thoughtful expression, “You know one of the best things about this kind of set-up?”

Panting, he shakes his head.

“You can take a whole hell of a lot at once.” With that, two tentacles shove in alongside his cock.

“SHIT!” He thrashes as Barclay snaps his hips, his cock driving deep with every thrust and the tentacles writhe and press and stroke, and at this rate he’s certain he’ll lose his voice

Barclay brings them face to face, “H-here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna kiss you, and you’re gonna kiss back like a good mate, and you’re not gonna stop kissing until I cum. If you’re gonna scream and beg like a needy little mer, it’s gonna be only me that hears it, not the, fuck, the whole fucking neighborhood.”

Joseph nods and Barclay smashes their mouths together. To his joy, he discovers that gills mean you can kiss for as long as you want without stopping to breathe.

When Barclay comes it’s with the most delicious sound he’s ever heard. The two tentacles alongside his cock press Joseph further open, which turns out to be very necessary because Barclay immediately begins fucking his cum back into him. At that sensation, Joseph cums a second time, wrists twisting in the rope.

Barclay grins at him, “You see how things work now?”

“Definitely. But, um, I think I could use as many demonstrations as you’re up for.”

“In that case, babe, it’s time for your next lesson. Open your mouth.”

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

“Hey Barclay, Dani asked me to drop--woah, what the fuck happened to you?” Aubrey takes in his disheveled state and the bite marks covering his chest.

“Joseph and I made up.”

“Clearly. Didn’t know humans bit during sex.”

“I think that might just be a him thing. Uh, what did Dani want?”

“We made some cookies! They were supposed to be a feel-better present, but I guess now it’s a” she bounces her eyebrows “congratulatory one.”

“Get outta here you” Barclay smiles, “and tell Dani thanks.” He waves goodbye, shuts the door, and carries the treats into the bedroom where Joseph is fucked out and fast asleep. He knows Joseph has to go to the surface today for work, but they can eat these when he gets back. After all, they’ve decided they’re mates now, and Barclay couldn’t be happier.

He should probably get him a guide to learning Atlantian, though. He;s gonna flip his shit when he finds out about the Atlantis Library.

#sternclay #agent stern/ Barclay #mermay #mermay fills

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quitethepirategal · 3 years ago

Text

An Analysis in Threes

❥ TAGGED BY: @emcads like 30 years ago ❥ TAGGING: @riidcr @starsailingcaptain @covencrown @hookd @all-fleshed-out @evermxre @motherofredemption @bup1957 @conquistadoradelmar @seaprofound @tcthinecwnself @withinycu @windguided @daevilhorns @concordia-cum-sinistro and YOU and I spent like 8 hours on this so pLEASE READ IT PLEASE I AM BEGGING I NEED VALIDATION I’M-

repost don’t reblog. yall dont have to type this much.

MUSE: Captain Red Handed Jessica

Three Strengths:

Her adaptability and resourcefulness. Is she brave, yes. Is she lucky, also yes. But over all, she can roll with the cards she’s been dealt in a way that many would call inhumanly clever. Her intelligence, her perception, and her charisma are all different ingredients of this indomitable characteristic of hers. She can see the value in just about anything and anyone, can pick up on clues and tangents few others can follow, and can remember seemingly endless details, tho unfortunately not on command. But even then, her patchy memory seems to contribute to this adaptability as well, as it usually allows for detachment. If she can find resources everywhere, it means she can survive everywhere. There have been countless times where the wheel of fortune has suddenly turned on her and she’d lost near everything and her response was more or less Damn, ok I need food water and shelter lets go. No food? Grow food. No water? Ask someone if they have water. No shelter? Sleep outside. No money? Steal money. Can’t hear anymore? Cool I can use loud weapons. Crashed on an island? My island now. Shot? Free bullet. She knows when to push, she knows when to quit, and sometimes she knows when to gamble based on her ability ( what a man can do and what he can’t do and all that ). Strong she may be, she knows its foolish to rely on strength. Survival of the fittest actually rarely means survival of the strongest. ( edit; this is the theme for the entirety of her character. I will say it 50,000 times. I am very sorry ). And as a student of philosophy and biology, she understands that phrase better than most. Leading to our next point.

Her understanding. As I stated, her charisma is something unmatched, and is a key element in all three of her strengths. This charisma might not exist as prominently were it not for her ability to understand. She has limited ( I’ll get back to that ) but deep running empathy and while not terribly observant all the time, she is always perceptive. Not only that, but she’s personally known abuse, hardship, and uncertainty, and understands that hate or anger can be rooted in similar pain. She was schooled lightly in both Christian and Buddhist values before diving heavily into democratic philosophy, meaning she believes all being experience suffering and therefore kindness is a powerful sign of strength, but also that suffering while free and equal is better than comfort in oppression. And between her sweet words and beautiful face, she can get most people to open up in ways they themselves my not have expected. Being very good with people means she can learn from them, gain something from them, lead them, and/or use them. But Jessica isn’t a manipulator in truth; her intentions are almost always kind or healthy ones. She absolutely uses people from time to time but not EVER without them consenting to or being made aware of such because again, unlike a manipulative person, she understands that can ruin a relationship and therefore ruin a resource. What it makes for is an excellent leader, a beloved captain, and a trusted ally at most and an excellent conversationalist at the least. But her understanding isn’t just social, oh no. It’s academic as well. Armed only with his little library and the lessons of his own teachers, Jessica’s foster father tirelessly smithed her into a not just a girl who knew a lot of things, but a truly intelligent, thinking mind. He’d die before learning he’d succeeded tenfold. Jessica isn’t one to just except things as they are, facts or otherwise. She usually needs to prove it, experiment, see things from a new angle. Debates with her are fun! She has no issue admitting she’s wrong or confessing she’s never thought of it that way, and is actually wrong a lot of the time. It doesn’t bruise her ego, it excites her. It means there’s more to learn. And her ability to constantly understand new concepts paired with her ability to overwhelmingly understand people combine to make for a very powerful core idea of hers: We are fittest to survive because we all fit together. Our humanity, our empathy, our community are our strengths because they keep us united, which keeps us the fittest. No one is independent, no man is an island. People are power. And thus her final strength is just that.

Her power. While she and I still firmly state that strength isn’t everything don’t be disillusioned; its very goddamn important. And it’s something Jessica has plenty of. She is durable and clever because of her rocky early childhood, she is quick and versatile from her youth in a pirate port, she is physically strong and mighty from her years training in martial arts, and she’s an absolute crackshot after years of diligent practice with her trusty pistols. Her true strength may lie in her brains and in her allies yes, but even without them, Red Jessica is a powerhouse of a warrior. She can end fights extremely quickly or run from them without a prayer of catching her ( no shame in the later, both skills keep you alive ). And it may be in bad taste to say, but ever since loosing most of her hearing, Jess swears up and down it’s made her vision better, her reaction time faster, and her quick thinking even quicker. Yes of course she’s slowed down with age, but a bullet shoots at the same speed no matter how old you are. And you best hope she didn’t bring her firecrackers, because while sudden loud noises will absolutely temporarily discombobulate or debilitate an opponent with healthy hearing, it’ll hardly effect her at all and suddenly, you’re a sitting duck. You see those thighs? You see those calves? She can crush PINEAPPLES with them! People have seen her do it! Do you know how many micro-fractures broke and rebuilt those hands? Thousands! She can crush a trachea like a fucking beer can! She can kick you to death! One ill placed curb stomp and you are DECEASED. Sometimes she’ll just psyche you out because she KNOWS you know she can kill your stupid ass! But while her strength, mental and physical, have always been there, her power is relatively new. As stated before, people are power. Not knowledge, not money, not strength. People. She’s a fearsome warrior but she’d be useless if outnumbered. Shes a very successful pirate, but she’d never make it out of port without a crew on her ship. She found a gorgeous island, but it’d still be wild without those who built it’s piers and buildings. She manages orchards and tends to them and harvests them herself, but she would loose all of her crop without the helping hands of her employed farmers. And like I mentioned, she deeply understands this. Freedom is not independence or vice versa. Did you make the clothes on your back or the fabric that made those clothes? Did you write the books you read to make you smarter or teach you that skill? Did you plant the seed years ago that grew that orange you’re eating? No, of course not. Jessica didn’t either. Another human did. We all need each other to fill the holes in our lives that we can’t fill ourselves. Humans are puzzle pieces in that way, there is no bigger picture or prayer for survival on our own. And because of this, we can do anything we as a community, as a SPECIES work together to achieve. There is no knowledge if there’s no one to learn from, there is no money if a society don’t give it value, your money is worthless if those you’re paying decide to rise against you, your role as leader only exists at the consent of those you lead, and your strength won’t save you from a sinking ship. People are, and always will be, power. And as someone who is exceptionally strong and exceedingly smart, Jessica has slotted herself in the humanity puzzle thusly: The strong exist to protect the weak, the smart exist to educate, and the lucky exist so the unlucky may be given aid. And it is with this fairness and compassion that she has won the trust of so many. She has a great many friends and allies even outside of those in her crew or on her island. And she can make many more with ease. That kind of power is not a power to be trifled with, even if she can kick your ass six ways to Saturday without it.

Three Weaknesses:

She suffers ADHD. Now before ANY OF Y’ALL SAY ANYTHING, I myself also suffer ADHD. And yes I do say suffer because well that’s what it causes for Jessica and I, suffering. Yes, it is ableist language to say ‘suffering from’ rather than ‘has’ or ‘is diagnosed with’ and yes it perpetuates a stigma against us but god DAMN IT in both Jessica’s case and mine, it make life much much harder than it needs to be. At the end of the day, Red Jessica is a fantasy of mine; I pour myself into her whether I mean to or not. She’s the adult I wish I was, the person I might be if I had no anxiety, or brainfog, or lived in a world were I didn’t need a credit score or a degree. And even then, I can’t say I know anyone else’s problems better than my own. So if my character has problems, by sheer osmosis they are going to reflect some of mine. Both of the characters I write have ADHD because I have ADHD and I couldn’t even begin to know how a non-ADHD mind works to write it properly. And no, I’m not being dramatic when I say it causes me suffering. I can’t drive, I can’t hold down a job, I nearly flunked out of school, I still cant read very fast or spell very well, I am constantly overwhelmed by mundane things, I’m a slow learner, I forget very important things or recent things, I forget about things that mean the world to me, I forget about people, I stumble through tasks, I procrastinate hobbies and basic hygiene, and everything I do takes all goddamn day and I can only really do one important thing at a time and in order of importance. If I have a date at 4pm, I’m dressed and ready at 11am because I’ve gotta do the important thing first or else I will forget to do the important thing. I started typing this at a little before 5pm. It’s 7;30. It’ll probably be 10 o’clock at night by the time I fucking finish ( edit: l m a o its 1am bitch you thought ). I’m 26 and am just medicated enough to barely function. So yeah. Suffering is the word. Though for Jessica, perhaps suffering is a tad strong of a word. Her ADHD affects her ability to function in far less debilitating ways ( though whether that’s a result of a less severe diagnosis than me or the result of the society, situations, and responsibilities she functions in and around are far different from mine, who’s to say ). For her, she has very consuming hyperfixations that can last anywhere between weeks to decades, a spotty memory that is detail and memento oriented, she’s scatterbrained more often then not but can focus with amazing clarity on her interests or in high adrenaline situations, is is ABYSMALLY bad at math and EXCRUCIATINGLY bad with numbers ( as opposed to me, who is good at numbers but shit at spelling or reading ), she can forget anything no matter how important it is to her or to anyone, she’s bad with names and dates, is COMPLETELY time-blind, has trouble prioritizing, and of course, wile not actually that materialistic, she absolutely has the ol’ magpie instinct. While her poor memory assists in her adaptability and ability to move on, it also means she forgets things she needed to remember, like when the last time she bathed was and who this person is and what happened between her and someone else or what conversation’s shes had. Unfortunately this means she’s a very good friend and leader... while you’re around and interacting with her on at least a weekly basis. It’s almost a lack of object permanence in both a social and very real sense. If something is not right in front of her, odds are she’s not going to think about it. And while its something she constantly kicks herself for and actively tries to be better about, it applies to people too. Face to face is the best way to interact with her; she won’t think to write you and in her modern verse she won’t think to ever call and she’ll text you back in perhaps a few days. She doesn’t value you any less, I promise. She’s just either distracted or overwhelmed. Also, for someone as understanding as her, she is surprisingly self-centered. Not selfish, self-centered. She’ll talk about herself more than she should, and will assume people understand that she’s doing so as a form of showing empathy rather than bragging when they may not know this at all. Actually she accidentally assumes all the time. It was far worse when her hearing was functional; she’d finish your sentence for you or guess what it was you were going to say ( again, not to talk over, you but to show she understands you and the conversation, tho it usually came of as annoying or patronizing ). Sometimes she mistakenly assumes you believe or know the same things she does without even realizing it. Maybe she perceives the right idea off of someone but isn’t observant enough to notice anything past that. And while she is willing to change her mind about things, she might change her mind a tad too quickly. She’s an over-sharer and is horrible at keeping any kind of secret. Romantic relationships tend to fizzle out. Her impulse control is improving but has a VERY long way to go. She’s always chasing something new. All and all, when you’re a pirate, a librarian, or even a captain, all of these things may be irritating and inconvenient, but are overall manageable in chunks. ...But as a governor to her island, as a leader of an entire population... oof. In the position of leadership that she’s in, she can’t afford to make too many massive mistakes, and she knows this. ‘There is no power quite like the power of being underestimated’ is a phase you’ll hear her say a lot but for her, there is a shift in connotation. If people expect less and you do more that’s a great upper hand in any situation but for her, it was a safety net. Having ADHD sometimes means going months or years being fine and then eventually you fuck up and everyone around you wonders how in the world you managed to do that. She has only barely avoided disaster more times than she’d like to admit. Even with the resourcefulness, the understanding, and the power she wields, she’s finally starting to realize that she’s bit off more than she might be able to chew, with the entire well-beings and livelihoods of others on the line. And she fears that one day she’ll play her cards wrong and everything she’d built, everything she’s done, will all come crashing down in ruin.

She is Hard of Hearing. This one is literally as simple as it sounds: she has moderate and degenerative hearing loss and tinnitus after years of canons, explosions, gunshots, and a definitive, scale tipping attack in her early 30s. Her ears just don’t work at all like they used to. The whole world sounds like it would if everything was underwater: she can’t pin point the location of sounds, how far off or close sounds are, and barely registers changes in volume. And it only gets worse the older she gets; one day she won’t hear anything at all. And while yes, again, it might be very harsh and ableist to say, the truth of the matter that being deaf a “ weakness ” more often than its a strength. That said, it very well can be a strength. I’ve already mentioned that trick with the firecrackers and let me tell you it is a DAMN EFFECTIVE TRICK. Shes around explosions and canons and guns all the time and now she can focus while being around them five times better than she could in the past! But unfortunately it also means she’s very easy to sneak up on, she sometimes isn’t aware of danger until it’s nearly too late, no one can get her attention or warn her across any distance, it’s very easy to escape from her, and it’s easy for her to be just... left out of things. She might hear you talking, but she has little to no idea what you’re saying without sign or lipreading. Some people don’t have the patience or even just the courtesy to speak slower, or clearer, or repeat themselves a lot. Though, those last too thinks aren’t weaknesses of hers so much as they are the weakness of others, but they still negatively affect her self esteem and her effectiveness as a leader. All of this has taught her to pick her battles carefully, and plan around the elements of surprise and discombobulation. And while communication was tricky at first, it only got easier, and now she can talk to you almost like anyone can, so long as she’s looking you in the face.

That damn bleeding heart. We have established a number of things that should easily add up to an overly empathetic, trusting, fight-the-good-fight, martyr-some, idealistic pushover; she believes humanity and kindness are strengths, she has taken on the role of leader and then a provider, she has known suffering and tasked herself with ending the suffering of others to the best of her ability, she lacks the clarity of mind to assume people aren’t just as good or capable as her automatically, she can have poor impulse control at times, she wants to have relationships, and ( while I never stated this outright yet it can be inferred ), she believes that being able to see yourself in others is the foundation of humanity and ( as i did say outright ) humanity is what keeps us unified and unity is what makes us fit and strong. Keeping up? Good. Here’s the curve ball: How can she whole hardheartedly preach and believe all of this, to the point of it being the foundation of her character, WHILE BEING A VIOLENT THIEVING AND BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATE?! HOW, MANGO? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!! Ok, fine, sure, I will. I’m sure about one half of you are looking up from the screen and going “ Oh yeah, wow I totally forgot that bit. “ and the other half got about two and a half paragraphs in before squinting and silently calling bullshit. So let me explain. In short, she’s a detached hypocrite and is well aware and unashamed of her hypocrisy while far less aware of her detachment. I’ll cover both: Western culture as a whole seems to be under the impression that hypocrisy, despite context or importance, is automatically bad. I don’t know where this comes from personally ( my bet is Christianity but I have exactly 0 evidence ) but its a very... flawed idea. Take the freedom of speech vs racism problem; say you owned a bar where all could speak their mind freely over cold drinks. Excellent concept without context, right? Sure. ....Then a die hard racist covered in slurs and symbols walks in and orders- what are you going to do? The correct answer is to throw him out instantly. Not let him sit so long as he doesn’t cause trouble, not just ignore him and hope he doesn’t return, you throw him out. Is it hypocritical? Yep! Sure is! But it is also 100% necessary to protect your other patrons because if you don’t, the racist starts feeling safe and bringing his racist buddies, literally everyone else starts feeling unsafe and starts to hang out elsewhere, and two months later, ta da! You now own a n*zi bar and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Jessica is in a somewhat similar situation. You as a pretend bar owner need to make a decision as who to let into your bar and who to throw out for the good of all of your patrons. Jessica too is faced daily with that decision. If she want’s to help as many people as possible, the only realistic way she can do that are by protecting those under her leadership... only. She is surrounded by hateful, angry, sneaky, traitorous, abusive, or otherwise evil people. Piracy as a profession and poverty in general can do that to a person. Of course there is a clear difference between those down on their luck and desperate, and the truly cruel and twisted, but unfortunately both types of people yield the same wrongdoings. It’s absolutely her nature to extend a hand to anyone and everyone but.... she just can’t anymore. Too many times has her trust been betrayed, too many times has she gotten in peoples business trying to be helpful, only for her to absolutely bite her in the ass. Too many time the extended hand is bitten and once or twice, she’s actually made things worse. Now, she will only help someone she loves, someone under her leadership, or someone who seeks her out. That’s it. And even then, sometime it manages to bite er in the ass. But she had to set that hard limit for herself out of necessity, one she does her absolute best to adhere too and... these days she adheres a little too well. That leads us to our next point; what I was alluding to at the beginning of her Understanding essay when I said she has limited but deep running empathy. That detachment again, courtesy of a very unattached mother and unchecked ADHD. ( It isn’t a strong enough characteristic to even rank as a strength or a weakness but damn if it isn’t an undercurrent to a lot of her motivations and experiences. ) Strangers are fair game that she tries to ignore, but if she even perceives you as a threat, you could be in danger. Like anyone used to violence or perhaps anyone trapped in an us verses them mindset, she can just... flat... turn her empathy off. Not on command, she’s not a socio or psychopath persay. But she has become totally numb to the horror of violence via her warrior upbringing that, in her mind, violence can actually be rather fun. Pair that with the fact that she purposely tailored herself to only be empathetic to her allies and boom. You get a kindhearted killer. Cops and soldiers in our world do it literally every day. Actually anyone can do it really, even you if you tried. You don’t have to be evil or even angry to kill or steal or lie... you just have to believe you’re right.

Three Secrets:

WHAT SECRETS?! LMAO this bitch is the oversharing queen!! I’ve been typing and pondering her character for literal hours ( its currently 11:16, fuck you adderall ), and I still can not think of a single goddamn secret. There is nothing about her that at least five random people don’t fucking know about!! The only secrets she has are secrets she knows about other people and even then she is!! literally the worst!! She spills her guts left and right and yet she wants to be a mysterious bitch SO BAD like BABE I love you, you’re precious, but you are a dumbass attention seeking validation chasing adhd CLOWN girl!! Stop telling random people about your hermaphroditism or your dairy allergy or your dead dad or that time you fell asleep in a barrel like that is literally your uber driver Jessica honey come ooooon. I’m skipping this section mom holy fuck.

Three Fears:

What if she does wrong by everyone who trusts her? As stated at the end of the ADHD essay, she’s terrified of failing those she leads. Where it as simple as personal failure, she’d be fine. Ever if her entire world came crashing down on top of her she’d either die or start back from square one. Death is a fact of life and her adaptability means she can just dust herself off and move on, so neither her death nor her failures really scare her... But it isn’t just her life and happiness at stake, is it? Not anymore, right? What started as a leader of a small gang of rebels became a full crew, then a crew became a slew of allies, then those allies built a town and now... now she’s the governor of the Crimson Isle and there are nearly twenty five HUNDRED lives at her mercy. HER mercy. One really, really bad mistake could ruin their livelihoods or spark disorder and disloyalty. And if she died? Would whoever it is that will take her place be as good to them as she is? Is she good enough to begin with in the first place? Every day the paperwork gets a little bit thicker, every year there’s a new baby or two. And the isle has fertile soil sure but will it last? Are they prepared for a raid or a hurricane? And if Jessica trusts the wrong people, where her people right to trust her? ...can I protect them? Can I protect them?! CAN I PROTECT THEM?!

Who am I if I’m not interesting? This is, literally, an entirely subconscious fear. She’s not at all aware it exists and therefor this entry is short. But between her short time with her very unimpressed mother, her own ADHD, she is constantly hungry for attention without even realizing it. She must be interesting and intriguing and engaging, and I did mention she wants to also be mysterious. She wants not so much your input or even your validation - but rather if shes not perceived then.... is she really there? Remember, she is unaware of any of this. And fortunately she’d never been starved for attention to act out over it in the first place, even when her disinterested mother was alive. Look at her; she’s radiant, she’s beautiful, and she’s 6′4 / 195 cm shredded and covered in cool scars. Without even opening her mouth, without even her colorful clothes, she’s kind of automatically interesting. So she’s never been so desperate for attention that she acts out because she’s never been without it for very long. But it’s there. Hungry, aching, silent. Those years after the M branding were horrible and she could never really explain why. She still throws parties, organizes festivals, and talks to damn near anyone who will listen. Look at my art! Look at my library! Listen to how much I know! Let me tell you how lovely you are! Look at my scares! Look at my hair! Look at me haha, please, please look at me.

GHOSTS. NOPE. No. NO. Fuck ALL of that noise. Stay dead, go to hell, eat a dick. Red Jessica is a scientist and superstitious atheist. As an academic and somewhat bi-cultural woman she simply thinks there are far too many religions with far too much history for any of them to be considered The One True Thing You Must Believe Or ElseTM and she tends to not truly believe anything until she finds some kind of proof. Shes not afraid of the unknown, shes thrilled by it. She’s not afraid of death or the afterlife, that’s beyond her control. She’s only superstitious because she does believe in and value luck, and also its a bit of a cultural habit. BUT IF SOME SHIT STARTS MOVING ON ITS OWN OR IF SHE SEES SOME BULLSHIT IN THE CORNER OF HER EYE THEN SHE IS OUT OF THERE. OUTIE 5000. She has heard the tales of lost souls from purgatory or the eternally ravenous Pret or dangerous Phi Tai Hong or the tragic and startling Banshees or the creepy Santa Compana and she wouldn’t believe a word of it where it not for one thing. SHE FUCKING SAW ONE. She’ll never forget it, it was the first and last time she EVER attempted to plunder a tomb all Skyrim style and at first she thought it was one of the crewmean being creepy as shit until she got a good look and he was SEE THROUGH AS SHIT AND SKINNY AS FCUK AND SHE GOT LITERALLY CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT JOINT. She does not CARE that some ghosts are just apparitions she does not CARE that some are friendly and trying to warn her of something if you are MOVING and DEAD at the SAME time get FUCKED. If any of y’all cringe try-hards bring a Ouija board to the party you are getting SENT HOME and BLOCKED. NO CAP.

Three Goals:

She really only has one left. Listen its... almost 1am and ive been typing since like 5pm i think i covered goals somewhere in here but ive gotta throw in the towel but even then I’m kinda being serious. Her only remaining goal is to find a suitable heir of some kind. She wants what she’s built to fall into worthey hands but she could never seem to find a good parter and even when she did she couldn’t sustain a pregnancy ( you’d think that would be a huge deal but it hardly mattered to her oddly ). So at 50 the option of having kids is out but there’s still plenty of hope for either adoption or a protege. But then again, she’s so busy these days that she hardly prioritizes it like she wants to.

holy shit i need some water...

#i.... i did it.. its done.. its DONE #...this took my entire saterday #i will literally pay yall actuall dollars to read all of this please... it took so long i dont want it to be for nothing qwq #x; EVER PLAYED CRAZY EIGHTS? { dash games }#x; QUITE THE PIRATE GAL { portrait }#x; WHY AREN'T YOU A CLEVER ONE? { meta }

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aal-archaeology · 5 years ago

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Ph.D. Applications for Anthropology/ Humanities/ Social Sciences (with examples from a success story)

Doing a Ph.D. is a really scary thought. Especially in humanities and social sciences. Especially in today’s job market.

Here I’m going to speak a little about my approach to Ph.D. applications, why I chose to do what I did, and how I put it all together including examples.

1. The Doubt

After coming out of my Master's degree, I already had a year of research set up, so I didn’t have to think about jobs like all of my friends I had made during that degree. I watched many of them struggle to find a job offer. Some were successful in attaining a job in Cultural Resource Management, a couple got smaller jobs in local museums, but for the most part it induced a lot of stress to have come out of a Master’s degree with no prospects.

How I imagined my future at that time: I knew I didn’t want to work in a museum, I knew I didn’t like Cultural Resource Management, I knew that after all this hard work I didn’t want to end up underpaid somewhere doing data entry.

A Ph.D. has always been something that I wanted. Ever since entering the Anthropology discipline, I imagined myself working towards becoming a Professor.

Here’s what I was told when I started to consider a Ph.D. Program:

“Don’t do it” (said by someone who already had her Ph.D.)

“I wish I had gone into something with more money, even after my Ph.D. its been difficult to find stable work”

“If you’re doing a Ph.D. in social sciences, ONLY go if you are fully funded, otherwise it is not worth the financial debt”

“Most people don’t get in their first try, that's why people apply to 10+ schools”

Coming up with a plan: After hearing this, I came up with a couple different options. Plan A: Apply to Ph.D. programs, if I get into one my first try and it's fully funded then I’ll do it. Plan B: Find a job in Environmental consulting, I could put my GIS experience to use, make some money, and then try again for a Ph.D. later down the road if I wanted. Plan C: Move to Japan and live out my weeb dreams (I’m part Japanese and have a lot of family there so this wasn’t as crazy as it sounds).

I was genuinely okay with any of these options. They all involve things that I enjoy, none of them are bad options, none of them would feel like “failure” if I ended up not getting into a program. I think this step is very important because it forces you to figure out what you care about, and allows you to be open to change if plan A doesn’t work out.

2. Choosing a Program to Apply to

I knew that I didn’t just want to apply anywhere. Getting a job outside of a PhD is already hard enough, and I wanted the school that I chose to reflect the work that I would put into it. As much as we want to think that name brands don’t matter when it comes to education, it sure as heck does help when it comes to opportunity and being selected amongst 100′s to 1000′s of applicants. Therefore, why not shoot for the stars? What’s the harm in trying. For this reason, I decided to only apply to schools that:

Had a prestigious name

Had a program that supported what I wanted to study and allowed for cross-disciplinary research (Digital Archaeology focused on SE Asia)

Had an advisor that had done research paralleled to mine (whether that included SE Asia or just Digital Archaeology in general).

I started research into programs with the Ivies and went down from there, also cross-comparing programs that had been ranked as best schools for studying Anthropology.

At the time of researching, the programs that stood out the most to me were:

Stanford (ideal because it was close-ish to home, fully funds their Phd students for 5 years, has opportunity for additional funding, had professor working with digital archaeology in Asia)

Harvard (had professor working in Digital Archaeology though it wasn’t in my preferred region, also has good funding, and its Harvard)

U Chicago (traditionally one of the top schools for Anthropology, however I had heard that a lot of this is because of “legacy” professors, and not much has come out of the department in recent years. Did not have someone specifically in my region of focus)

ASU (Also considered one of the top Anthropology schools, but funding is often fought for between students)

UC Berkeley (Had professors studying Asia, but it is a public school and also has limited guaranteed funding)

I sent e-mails to advisors that I thought I could support my research (this was probably around May, when applications are due Sep-Dec).

Hello Professor______,

My name is _______ and I am interested in applying to ________’s Doctoral program in Archaeology beginning in the fall of 2020. I would like to inquire whether you are accepting graduate students for this period, as my research interests align well with your research. I received my B.A. in __________ from _________ in 2017 and am currently _______. [Enter what you’re doing now, and any relevant experience that shows what you’re interested in researching]. [Enter something about their research, and why you’re interested in working with them/why you think you would work well with them]. I am eager to continue along this path and I feel as though your experience with _______could provide an interesting opportunity for future research. I would also be interested in working with [enter any other faculty that have similar interests, this shows that you’ve done some research into the program and the school in general] For your convenience, I have attached my CV here. If you have the time, I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with you further about the program and future research.

Best,

Full name

I also researched the financial aid provided to incoming Ph.D. students. After doing this, the only schools that sounded good to me were Stanford and Harvard.

Yeah, I know, only applying to Stanford and Harvard was a “big risk,” but this is how I thought about it:

I don’t want to commit to a Phd program for 5+ years if it's not fully funded, doesn’t have a big name, and isn’t going to guarantee opportunity after graduating.

I wanted an environment where I knew I could be happy under immense amounts of pressure (California by family, Boston by friends).

If I didn’t get in, I had back up options that honestly sounded really fun to me, so I was okay with pursuing those instead.

I didn’t want a Ph.D. just to have a Ph.D., I wanted a degree that would set me apart from others so that I could give myself the best chance for success afterward. I wanted one that, if pursued, could lead me to become a professor.

So I applied to 2 Schools.

I got scolded for this by many people... but whatever...I got in, so ha. Why spend money and time on an application for a school that you don’t really want to go to? :P

3. Applying to a Program

What an application looks like:

1. At least 3 recommendation letters:

Mine were:

Undergraduate Anthropology Advisor who has been helping me throughout the years with grant applications, etc. She knows me well, can speak well to my accomplishments. She is also a very well decorated anthropologist.

Undergraduate Professor of Geography who can speak to my GIS coursework. I’ve been updating him with my whereabouts and successes since graduating, so we have kept in touch regularly since taking his course.

My Master's dissertation advisor (he stressed me out submitting his letter 3 hours before the deadline >:| )

It’s good to have your recommendation letters come from people within the academic world. These people can write on your ability to achieve your research goals, your drive, etc. It’s okay to have maybe one letter from a workplace environment, however, it’s best to get as much street cred as you can from these letters, and this comes from Professors that know what they’re doing.

2. Curriculum Vitae (C.V.): This is important because it shows everything you’ve accomplished up to this point. This is how mine was set up:

Full Name, Current Position, Email, Phone Number

Education: University Name, City, Degree in ____

Publications: In Edited Volumes, Journal Articles, Manuscripts in Preparation

Conference and Workshop Participation: Papers, Presentations

Grants, Awards, and Fellowships:

Research Experience: Project Roles, Fieldwork

Teaching Experience

Additional Employment History

Leadership and Extracurriculars

Skills/Languages

A C.V. is a list of EVERYTHING you’ve done in your career, unlike a resume which is tailored to the specific job that you’re applying to. If you’d like a specific example, send me a DM.

3. Personal Statement: This is where you tell them why you want to be there and what makes you qualified. Why should they consider you?

Personal Statement Example

1st paragraph, introduce the program and your research interests: I am applying to _____ for admission to the Ph.D. program in Anthropology with a focus in Archaeology. My research interests are to explore [the consequences of ..... on the environment and human responses to environmental change] in [region of the world], and how these actions of the past can be visualized through the use of remote sensing and GIS applications to archaeology.

2nd paragraph, why you’re interested in what you’re doing: I learned the value of digital applications in archaeology through my undergraduate and master’s degree. [Digital archaeology] is appealing to me because [.........]. I first became interested in [example of why you’re interested in the topic/what inspires you]. After witnessing this, I began to seek out opportunities to partake in similar research.

3rd and 4th paragraph, what makes you qualified to pursue this degree?: I have many research experiences that qualify my pursuit of a Ph.D. dedicated to using digital methods in Anthropological research. [Talk about your undergrad experience, do some name-dropping of professors you’ve worked with], [why did these experiences inspire you to take the next step?], [how are you where you are now because of them?]

5th paragraph, what are you doing now?

6th paragraph, why this school in particular?: This is where you name drop the professor you are interested in working with, talk about how their research aligns well with yours by mentioning specific things that they’ve done such as theoretical approaches. What are you interested in doing that would fit well within this program? Are there any facilities on campus that you are particularly eager to work with? Show that you’ve done your research.

7th paragraph, what do you plan to do after you get your Ph.D. from this institution?: With goals of continuing archaeological research in ________ and expanding off the networks that I have established in _______, ________’s doctoral program in Anthropology is the ideal match to further my career as a Digital/Landscape Archaeologist. The Ph.D. in Anthropology at _______ allows for _________[reasons why you like the program]. Ultimately, my postgraduate goals are to remain in academia by continuing research and gaining a university faculty position. My foundation in archaeology gained in my undergraduate, graduate, and ______experiences have equipped me with a unique set of abilities to offer to ______’s Anthropology graduate program, and I look forward to the opportunity to exchange ideas with faculty and students alike.

Have your resume and statement looked over by as many eyes as you possibly can. It took me a good 6-10 revisions before settling on something that I liked.

4. Let the professors that you’ve been in contact with know

This puts you at the front of their minds when application review comes around. They’ll be like “oh yeah, this person messaged me about this.” I hadn’t spoken to the professors that I reached out to since those first few exchanges back in May, so sending this message was very valuable to remind them of my existence.

This email can be as simple as: Hi Professor ____, I hope you have been well since we last spoke. I am writing to inform you that I have submitted my application to _______. Since our last chat I’ve been [whatever you’re up to now that's relevant]. I look forward to hearing from _____ soon. Best, Me.

5. Productive Waiting

Yay, you’ve submitted! That was hard, but you made it through. Time to start diving into those other plans you’ve been thinking about. What will you do if you get into your top school? What will you do if you don’t get into your top, but you do get into your 2nd or 3rd choice? What if you don't get into any of them?

Remember that none of these options are bad, and in this world, you have to be open to change and welcome it. A Ph.D. is a really long commitment, and it doesn’t have to happen right away.

If you get in, accept only if:

It has the research you’re looking for

It has an advisor that’s supportive of what you’re doing

It’s transparent about what it offers its students

The current students are happy with the culture of the program and quality of life

The location is something you're comfortable with (for me having family nearby was a very important factor)

The money you are offered is enough to live the lifestyle you need to maintain good mental health

There is an opportunity for networking and expansion of your research outside of the university

As always, feel free to reach out with any questions at @aal.archaeology on Instagram or DM here! I’m happy to share my documents with you.

Happy writing!

-Lyss

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but-first--tea · 4 years ago

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LFRP: Omori Kaya

THE BASICS

Full name: Omori Kaya

Pronunciation: Oh-Moh-Ree Kay-Uh (Omori is her surname, Kaya is her given name)

Nicknames: n/a

Height: 5'6" (quite tall for a midlander hyur)

Age: “A lady never reveals her age.” (adult)

Nameday: 32nd Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Languages: Doman, Common

Occupation: Not getting caught.

Current Residence: "Traveling abroad.“ (Basically living a tourist’s life in Eorzea, hoping to never be called out as the fraud she is. She’ll spend time as someone’s guest here, staying in a hotel elsewhere the next month, etc…)

Relationship Status: While she has never actually been married, the identity of the woman she pretends to be is a young widow and heiress. (Single)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Pale, silvery grey

Skin tone: Fair

Body type: Slender, athletic but not in an obvious way.

Scars: none

Accent: Doman

Posture

Poised, athletic– though she’s no master shinobi, she is her mother’s daughter. Her training began at the age of four, and it’s still evident in the way she moves, observes, and behaves. Others who have trained would likely notice it easily. She carries herself with quiet dignity, and moves (or refuses to) deliberately, as if she expects each action to be read for significance, and takes great care not to reveal too much unintentionally. Though, in the very rare instances when she lets down her guard, this facade can fade away, revealing that she’s still a girl who can be amused, and charmed, and is easily mesmerized by beautiful places and things.

Accessories

She’s almost never seen without jewelry, though all of it is merely decorative– the trappings of the life she’s stepped into. None of it is personal, or carries meaning beyond appearing as she’s expected to.

Apparel

Her taste ranges from the classically dramatic to the outright exotic- not out of a sense of vanity, but in an appreciation of what is more or less wearable art. She most frequently wears black and white, though she also favors blue and occasionally red. In keeping with her heritage, she tends toward modesty in her dress. Of course, most of these clothes once belonged to a woman whose identity she has stolen, and she’s begun to add Eorzean fashions to her wardrobe to stand out less. The more she blends in, the fewer questions about her past she needs to dodge...

CHILDHOOD

Place of Birth: Doma

Siblings: none she knows of

Parents: The samurai Masanari and an Imperial Shadow named Harue, though Kaya has never known her biological father, as she was still less than a year old when he disappeared.

Upbringing: Raised initially by her mother, and later trained by grandmother once her affinity for magic became apparent. (More details can be found in her character history.)

PERSONAL

Personality

Outwardly, she is polite and mysterious, with a demeanor ranging from businesslike toward strangers, to an unexpected sort of mischievous and rebellious streak around the rare soul she’s begun to feel comfortable around. She’s evasive and distant. She rarely connects with others easily, which leads to most people assuming she’s either very shy, or rather snobbish, at first impression. She doesn’t trust easily, isn’t prone to showing any emotion in public if she can avoid it, and is often the one who, from an outward appearance, seems to be just another quiet wallflower enjoying the view.

Beneath the surface, however, she feels everything perhaps far too much, watches everyone with the wariness of someone who knows all too well what people are capable of, and deeply craves the connections to others she doesn’t seem to be able to form easily. She’s always searching for the few who can see the world the way she does- as something equally beautiful as it is deadly, meant to be lived in, not just endured. She’s a powder keg of passions always kept under a tight lid, hidden away for safe keeping.

Still, she is difficult to anger, and it’s a cold anger when it happens. She knows that engaging in violence and revealing her training would likely break character entirely, and being discovered as a fraud wouldn’t end well for her. As a result, she’ll try to think her way out of any situation, instead.

Motivations/Goals

If asked what she wants more than anything else in the world, she’d probably say to be able to do what she wanted, not what she was told, or allowed, or expected to. She craves freedom in all its definitions, but nearly always denies it to herself out of fear or pragmatism. While playing the role of a young, noble heiress she feels the restraints of her gilded cage all too keenly. She must behave in the way one raised to the role would be expected to. As a result, she finds small ways to rebel that aren’t likely to be noticed. Her fierce and defiant nature, thus repressed, will see her doing seemingly pointless things like rearranging the furniture in hotel rooms, stealing small items she could easily afford, or finding ways to secretly get even with those who have behaved poorly.

Financial Status

Ostensibly wealthy, though not one gil of it was ever truly hers. Still, she feels no guilt in obtaining the Omori family’s accounts considering they would have otherwise been seized by the Garlean government following Lord Omori’s assassination.

She has been quietly seeking a way to invest ‘her’ money in a way that would divorce it from her stolen inheritance, make it more truly hers, and greatly reduce the risk of losing everything should her false identity be uncovered.

Weapons

While she was raised to the blade and bow for most of her childhood, she hides her training and doesn’t carry a weapon openly, if at all. If cornered and forced to defend herself, she’d mostly likely attempt to disarm an opponent and steal theirs, or improvise.

Vices

Seemingly none, as she has striven to present herself as a woman of proper graces. However, she is prone to self-indulgence and spending far too much gil merely because she can, which she considers a vice in herself and tries to resist.

Likes

People who are intelligent, interesting, vibrantly passionate and alive. Watching people do things that require specialized skill, especially combat training or constructing something.

Constructive debate and interesting challenge. Trying/learning new things.

Music, dancing. She’s often wished she could play an instrument, but has never learned to.

Nature, gardens, fireflies, birds, waterfalls, the ocean/seaside. Traveling to anywhere with a spectacular view or vibrant culture. Learning about said cultures.

Exotic spiced foods or just about anything she hasn’t tasted before that doesn’t look absolutely disgusting. Tea. Fruits, chocolate, and spiced cider or tea. Have I mentioned tea?

Unusual crystals and/or gemstones. While she’s generally unfazed by wealth or status, she appears to be positively mesmerized by sparklies.

Dislikes

Politics, rumor mongering, cattiness, insults, and general poor behavior.

People who think getting drunk is the best kind of fun to be had.

Addictive drugs, and those who sell them.

Being forced to do anything, feeling not in control over her own life.

Overly objectifying unwanted attention, awkward social situations/obligations/expectations.

Being cold, biting insects.

Hobbies

Reading, especially the arcane.

Learning the history of different places and cultures.

Collecting small, easily transportable items (generally clothing or jewelry) in local styles from each new place she visits.

Pets: None, currently. She once had a magpie as a pet when she was younger, and maintains a fondness for birds of all kinds.

RP HOOKS

She’s looking (quietly) for a way to launder, er... invest her money to gradually eliminate the need to rely on her stolen identity and foreign contacts for access to funds. Have an opportunity?

A trusted lady’s maid, retainer, or guard type to help her maintain appearances.

It’s possible that someone from her past in Doma might recognize her, or perhaps have known the real Omori Kaya.

The woman she is impersonating is an ill-fit for her. She is fierce, independent, and rebellious... the exact opposite of the demure and soft character her stolen identity demands. But, her mother risked everything to secure her new identity, and she won’t cast it off unless forced to. Still, she isn’t perfect. Someone could catch her in a mistake, and become curious...

The Lady Omori Kaya appears elegant, mysterious, ...and wealthy. Potential suitors aren’t unlikely. (Romance is an option, though she’ll be hard to pin down at first, for obvious reasons.)

She has a (stolen) soulstone in her possession, and has been working to unlock its secrets.

Open to brainstorming other connections, past associations, or jumping into -your- existing plot!

OOC

I make my own schedule. I can be available pretty much any time from 8 am to 9pm CST. Sadly, I can rarely do late nights because I need to do that sleeping thing.

OOC communication is a priority for me.

I have been RPing for 20+ years. I am comfortable with both in game or Discord RP, and anything from short, quick posts to multi para. I do this because I enjoy writing!

I am not interested in random ERP outside of a long-term character interaction. I do love writing ships as long as there's strong chemistry between the characters, and both the character and the writer of said character are mature adults. However,I will not consider ships with alt or AU characters, as this is my one and only RP character. (No multi-shipping.)

I prefer a RP style that works with what is plausible within the scope of the lore. I'm open to creativity, as long as it makes sense. I prefer to stay away from void-heavy, AU, inserts from other universes, and anything involving cross-breeding with non-playable races/beings. (These are only my personal preferences, and everyone else is free to do whatever they like!)

Absolutely no: rape, harm to children, or graphic torture.

I do enjoy game content as well, and prefer company over doing so alone! I am currently sitting in my own personal FC house, but would consider joining a real FC if it makes sense for my character.

Confession: I probably spend way too much time decorating virtual houses.

#ffxiv rp #updated character sheet #Omori Kaya #hyur midlander #Doman

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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The OTHER Members of Eve’s Coven

Me and @lilmissrantsypants couldn’t fit all the coven in as cameos in chapter 3, so here’s a rundown on the members who didn’t make an appearance. I added some of the stuff that inspired us into making the characters, My wife just went crazy with descriptions for her characters.

Aleister & Tantomile Deering: A pair of twins who were orphaned during WWII. They had to scrape by to survive, with Tantomile whoring herself out for drug money. They were turned when Aleister begged for help as his sister was overdosing. They were plagued by psychic visions as mortals, their powers awakening fully when they were turned. They are practically inseperable nowadays.

Power: Aleister and Tantomile have innate psychic abilities, activated by touching someone. Tantomile can see into a person’s past, while Aleister can see multiple outcomes the future could hold and then latch on to the most likely scenario. Their vampiric power is a twin link that allows them to experience the emotions the other one does, as well as keep them connected.

Inspiration: The psychic cat twins Tantomile and Coripocat from Cats

My wife came up with the basic concept and we workshopped them together from there; it’s a joint effort. She does Tantomile, I do Aleister.

Bartholomew Comstock: An overly aggressive puritan who was despised by his fellow townsfolk, he was banished from his New England home and forced to start a farm on his own. He nearly perished in the winter before Eve turned him. His hatred at being a disgusting, demonic creature such as a vampire is only ameliorated by his knowledge that Eve, having once been the angel Samael, ‘confirms’ his beliefs and allows him to eternally punish those he views as sinners.

Power: He believes his power gives him great strength against sinners, allowing him to inflict pain upon those who have done foul deeds. In truth, it is actually his own sins that give him strength, though his power does weaken as he exerts himself or runs low on blood (he cannot become unstoppably powerful).

Inspiration: The dad from The VVitch

Beatrix Cullen: Beatrix Cullen was a happy woman once, a skilled seamstress in the 1950s who simply loved the act of creation. She had an adoring boyfriend, and the two were set to be married, with Beatrix making a gorgeous wedding dress for her special day. But on that day, her groom never arrived, as he had been killed in a car accident on the way. Stricken by grief, Beatrix was easily convinced by Eve to join her coven, with the promise that perhaps her power could help her bring her husband back some day...

Power: Beatrix can imbue any object such as a sculpture or statue with life, essentially making golems without a magic scroll. Her most trusted golem is her mannequin, Manny, who often tries to steal her wedding dress. Her ultimate goal is to use her natural skills and her power to bring her husband back to life, stitching a Frankenstein monster of him and pieces of sleazy men who hit on her into a perfect flesh golem.

Inspirations: The bride from the Haunted Mansion, Kill Bill, Frankenstein, that one Tumblr post about 50s housewives fighting zombies with chainsaws, La Pascualita, Pegasus from Yu-Gi-Oh

Blanche Atterton: Daughter of Lady Drusilla Atterton, she grew up wanting nothing more than her mother’s love, though her mother was often far too preoccupied with “other things” (which she later learned was all of her plotting and planning to ensure her riches).When given the choice for vampirism, she excitedly vowed her loyalty to her mother and Eve. As she was only 15 at the time and children would not survive the turning, her mother waited until she turned 21 before turning her.Blanche does everything for her mother’s attention and love. She doesn’t hesitate to do her bidding in hopes of her mother praising her for it. She’s misguided, not evil, though her mother’s praise has given her a superiority complex and she’s a bit of a narcissist.

Power: Blanche’s power gives her a powerful, painful scream. Those within 5 feet of her screaming will suffer from temporary deafness for 5 minutes. Whether they fall deaf or not, bleeding from the ears is very common, especially among mortals.

Inspiration: Drizella from Cinerella

Dee Comporre: Giorgio Nero’s faithful, somewhat obsessed bodyguard. She quite obviously has a crush on him due to her hatred of any woman who so much as interacts with Giorgio, though Giorgio just sees her as being a bit overprotective. She has a shaved head, and paints her face to look like a skull.

Power: She can secrete and spit a powerful corrosive acid that can melt through even metal.

Inspirations: D’Compose from InHumanoids

Dorian Ferris: A serial killer known as “The Ferryman,” who always leaves coins over his victim’s eyes. As a mortal, he had far too many close calls, and was nearly caught several times, particularly during a bout in a town back in 1999. He tends to target wicked people such as domestic abusers, rapists, crooked cops, and so on, sending them down the River Styx ahead of time to make the world a better place. He willingly joined the coven to escape punishment. More than anything, he just wishes to live a quiet, peaceful life.

Power: Has luck manipulation, which can allow him to do everything from dodge attacks by near misses or turn his surroundings into a Final Destination movie for opponents. He tends to activate a particular mode based on the whims of a coin toss.

Inspirations: Jinx from Teen Titans, Final Destinatiin, Two-Face, Yoshikage Kira

Elizabeth Bathory: The Blood Countess herself. After evading death in the 1600s thanks to Eve, she became a loyal follower of the demon, and was recruited into the Order of the 1800s. Dracula and Rasputin managed to defeat her and supposedly kill her, but Bathory is notoriously hard to slay. True to her infamous reputation, she tends to “Feed” by bathing in the blood of her victims.

Power:Bathing in blood gives her an insane power boost; the longer she soaks, the stronger she gets. She can also absorb blood through her skin, though she can’t absorb the blood of supernatural beings this way.

Elvis Rey: Growing up near the border, Elvis always wanted to be like his hero, Elvis PResley. He obsessively watched the man’s performances and learned his every move. When the man died, he vowed he was going to become the greatest Elvis impersonator that ever lived. The 80s weren’t too kind to him, and drinking, gambling, and overeating left him looking like chubby later-years Elvis. With debt collectors crawling down his neck, he turned to Eve, and became a powerful vampire.

Power: He is capable of replicating any non-supernatural ability he sees. For example, if he watched a martial arts movie, he would be able to pull off those moves. Think the comic book character Taskmaster.

Inspirations: Elvis (Presley), Elvis (God Hand)

Giorgio Nero: Giorgio Nero was a member of Cosa Nostra who attempted to retire from this life due to his wife and child. However, his past would eventually catch up with him, and his child was nearly killed, which lead to Giorgio accepting an offer he had once rejected, but now couldn’t refuse: vampirism and joining with Eve’s coven. Despite everything, he is an honorable man who dearly loved his wife and adores and accepts his child.

Power: You know Magneto? Like from X-Men? Imagine that but instead of a Holocaust survivor it’s an Italian guy. Boom.

Inspirations: Magneto, Risotto Nero from Vento Aureo, Metlar from InHumanoids

James Wilson: James was born in 1812 as a slave. When he was 8, he was gifted to the man one of his master’s daughters married, along with 13 other slaves. As his former master’s name was Wilson, he took that as his surname. He worked as a stablehand until he became a farmer at age 12. After a rather brutal beating when he accidentally dropped a bag of freshly picked potatoes at age 25, James encountered Eve. She promised to help free him. She turned him into a vampire (1837). He lived on the run until the Emancipation Proclamation was issued and went into full effect in 1863. James used to speak in thick, Gullah speech, but over time, it has lessened as he acquired modern language.

Power: James’s power gives him the ability to summon and play with water. He can use it however he wishes: to drown someone, to create a small unnatural pool to swim in, or to cool someone off with a quick sprinkle. This comes from his silent love for water, though he wasn’t ever allowed to swim or play in it.

Inspiration: Splash Mountain

Juno Nero: The child of Giorgio Nero. They tend to wear long black coats, masks, and facial bandages to hide their face and body due to extreme anxiety. They are mute as well, and communicate via sign language. They are nonbinary.

Power: They can stretch their body like rubber (think Elastigirl, Rubber Band Man, Plastic Man, you get the idea).

Inspiration: Tendril from InHumanoids

Lady Drusilla Atterton: Born in 1852 in England as Drusilla Graham to a middle-class family. She grew up idolizing the wealthy and decided she would do whatever it took to become wealthy herself.Met Josiah Kipling, a 28 year old man, when she was 22. He fell madly in love with her. She was overjoyed as he was quite wealthy. They married in 1874 and had two daughters together (Katharine [1875] and Blanche [1877]). However, after 8 years of marriage (1882), Drusilla (now age 30) fell out of love with him and secretly laced his food with rat poison, ultimately killing him. As they had personal chefs, it was deemed to be the fault of the chef, who was arrested and charged with the crime. As his widow, she inherited a share of his wealth.Over the next 10 years (1882-1892), Drusilla married 8 other wealthy men from all over the country, all who mysteriously died less than a year later in what were deemed to be unfortunate accidents.

Donald Thompson, married in 1883, died in a carriage accident.

Maurice Parker, married in 1884, died of a laudanum overdose.

Timothy Edwards, married in 1886, died by drowning

Christopher Watson, married in 1887, died by falling out of a second story window

Nathaniel Harris, married in 1888, died of apparent suicide

Bernard Carter, married in 1890, died of a hunting accident

Percy Clarke, married in 1891, died after being attacked by a burglar

Timothy Atterton, married in 1892, died in bed (cause unknown)

She met Eve in 1892 shortly after marrying Timothy Atterton. Eve had heard of her reputation as the Cursed Widow (but knew full well her husbands’ deaths were her doing). As Eve was extremely weakened, Amon turned her. With Eve’s assistance, she killed her final husband by scaring him to death by introducing him to Eve. Drusilla vowed her loyalty.With the knowledge of how to turn another from Eve (as Amon refused to tell her how), Drusilla offered the gift of vampirism to each of her daughters. Katharine ( refused and cut herself off from her mother, instead choosing to live a full and honest life. Blanche, on the other hand, being so keen to be accepted and loved by her mother vowed her own loyalty to both her mother and Eve. When she turned 21, Drusilla turned her as well (as she was informed that youth would not survive the turning).

Power: Her power allows her to paralyze her target with a simple cold stare for a full 5 minutes.

Inspiration: Lady Tremaine from Cinderella

Lord Gordon Ruthven: A rich, aristocratic vampire who enjoyed luring in and preying on young women. He was part of the Order of the 19th century. He is currently a severed head, as his body was destroyed by the Silverwings.

Power: Can exude a charm aura that makes women more susceptible to his commands and desires, though it only works on women capable of being attracted to him (it would not work on lesbains, for instance).

Mabel Lockhart: A sickly young girl whose father made a deal with Eve to keep her from dying. Her dad is currently missing, and she is unsure if he’s even alive.

Power: She has the ability to absorb energy, such as steam energy, electrical energy, etc and gain boosts and power depending on what type she absorbs. For example, absorbing electrical energy would allow her to to shoot lightning. She can also absorb a person’s energy, but at most she can make them very lethargic and gets little else from absorbing that sort of energy.

Inspiration: Loosely based on the Pokemon Magearna

Maddox Hinton: Maddox was born in 1863 in a small town in England. He doesn’t talk much about his past, but he does boast about how he and his father were valued hypnotists in their small town. He was his father’s apprentice, learning how the art of hypnotism worked, though he wasn’t quite as successful as his father. This was what Eve used to convince him to turn to vampirism. It occurred when he was 25 and preparing to take over the family business.His power helped him convince his customers that they were actually under the effects of hypnotism. His father simply believed that taking over the business helped him tap into his true potential.

He continued this way until Eve demanded his help. He lied to his dad, telling him he was going to travel abroad and spread their business, causing his father to take over the business once again.Maddox served Eve for a few years before she told him she didn’t need his help anymore. It was likely this that irritated him so much that he eventually became loyal to Amon while under the very convincing facade he’s loyal to Eve.

The rest of his past is unknown. All he will often tell people is he traveled all over the world, performing great feats under fake names as “world-renown hypnotists”. Maddox is a wild card. He does things for the fun of it or for his own pleasure, often without any sympathy towards others.

Power: Maddox’s power allows him to take control of another (similarly to Gabby’s). However, he can take control of up to two people at once. Instead of physically puppeteering them, he simply suggests they do something and they do it.

Inspiration: Vex from Lost Girl

Margaret Derwin: Margaret was born in New York City in 1902. She grew up with a love for music, particularly singing. She had dreams of becoming a famous singer.When she was 18, she pursued these dreams. She got a job as a dancer at a speakeasy with hopes of, eventually, being able to become one of their singers in time. It was there that she met Elizabeth, one of the other dancers. They secretly fell in love (which answered Margaret’s confusion about why she wasn’t interested in men). Eventually, they decided to run away to California together. They made plans and prepared for this, but on the day it was to happen, Elizabeth never showed up. Margaret later discovered she had changed her mind and, instead, was going to marry a man she’d met at the speakeasy.Eve found Margaret heartbroken and wandering the streets looking for a new job after quitting at the speakeasy (as it was too difficult to continue working there when Elizabeth was still there). Eve easily wooed her to her side. Though, as Margaret had good intentions, Amon had eventually been able to convince her to assist him instead as he wanted to ensure Eve would stop preying on innocent people like herself.

Power: Margaret’s power involves her voice. Through singing, she can influence one’s emotions depending on her intentions (anger them, seduce them, calm them down, soothe them to sleep).

Nora: Nora’s memories are very faded. She knows she was born to a very poor family in Ireland. She knows she was sold as an indentured servant at age 13 in exchange for her tickets to America, board, and food. She knows she worked for that American family for 7 years. She knows she caught influenza and was promptly fired by the family for fear she’d infect them all. She knows she was near death, wandering the streets alone, when a massive black snake promised to save her. At the time, Nora believed it was just an illusion. She found out the next day, however, that it was not. She’d been saved by the gift of vampirism.Nora lived a long, long time as a homeless woman. She watched as America grew into a country of its own. She preyed on any she could find in order to survive. Eventually, she took residence in an abandoned house on a street. Over time, rumors spread that a ghost lived in the house on Blackwell Street. Her appearance and her power did much to add to this as well, as did the occasional mysterious deaths of those who wandered into the house hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost.

Power: Nora’s power allows her to become visible or invisible on command. She can only switch from one to the other every 10 minutes. She often uses this to frighten mortals and uphold her identity as the Ghost of Blackwell Street.

Tony Sugar: Tony Sugar is the owner, spokesman, and iconic figure of the Lost Paradise Candy Company. With the help of Amon, he became one of the first successful Black candy makers in America. He’s very flamboyant, campy, and charismatic—essentially a black Willy Wonka. He is pansexual because, in his own words, “everyone deserves a little Sugar.” He is also an avid beekeeper.

Power: He has the power to “mellify” corpses, filling them with a honey-like substance and turning them into zombies.

Inspirations: Tony Todd’s Candyman, Ruby Rhod, the song “Sweet Bod,” the myth of the mellified man

Walter Sherman: Formerly a college professor and devoted family man from the dawn of the 20th century, Walter was a good man known for always thinking forward and being able to accept new changes in the world. However, when a freak accident claimed the life of his wife and child, he couldn’t handle it and attempted suicide before being saved by Amon. He’s mostly in the coven out of loyalty to Amon.

Power: He has the power of adaptability, allowing him to easily adapt to any situation. For example, using lightning against him would make him adapt lightning resistance.

Inspirations: The Carousel of Progress

Wayne Nicol: A formerly friendly clown who was forced to witness unspeakable horrors during WWII. He survived the horrors, but was left fundamentally disturbed by the nightmare he had lived through. He joined the coven hoping to find some sort of safety, but as it turned out, Eve had other plans.

Power: Has the power to control and manipulate a person’s fears to weaponize against them.

Inspirations: Scarecrow (Batman), Pennywise, Freddy Krueger, The Day the Clown Cried

#The vampirino story

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 5 years ago

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Disability and Loren

@zarohk asked for my thoughts on a Disability Studies/Media Studies perspective on the disability depictions in Animorphs. Which was foolish, because I’m teaching an entire dang class on the subject of superheroes and mental health, so I have Many Thoughts. [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Loren’s role in #49: The Diversion does a lot of things right, and a lot of things wrong. She incurs a traumatic brain injury that results in memory loss and blindness a couple of years after Tobias is born, and lives with said injury for about ten years before Tobias finds her and gives her the ability to morph, which restores her sight but not her memory.

A few places where I commend the depiction of Loren:

It gets into the massive underemployment of disabled Americans. Loren is smart, canny, athletic, compassionate... and working a call center job in exchange for state benefits. Said state benefits do not afford her a decent standard of living; Tobias notes that she has few possessions and almost no time for leisure activities. Americans with disabilities are twice as likely to be unemployed as those without, and those who do have jobs are ten times more likely to be paid less than minimum wage, e.g. in sheltered workshops.

It shows how inaccessible a lot of systems are in the U.S. Tobias notes that Loren accidentally grabs an expired quart of milk — because nothing on the label is printed in Braille. Putting raised text and/or Braille on food packaging is a health and safety issue, one that the U.S. ignores even though it violates its own laws (e.g. the ADA) because companies tend to do what they want and “what they want” is usually not to spend more money on packaging. The call center and bus system are both marginally more accessible, especially when Loren has Champ to help, but they’re still clearly spaces set up for sighted people that don’t take blind users into account very well.

It shows some of the workarounds that help deal with accessibility problems. Loren’s house is set up so that there are clear paths to and from all of the relevant spaces. She’s doing that to allow herself to move around comfortably in that space, because she’s made it accessible for herself. She memorizes the layout of the local store, and uses that to get around as well. All of those details help show that she’s adjusted, and actively interacting with her own circumstances.

It drives home the difference between service dogs and pets. This distinction is extremely important, and it gets ignored all the time by entitled ableists who want to bring their pets into stores. Tobias and Marco both assume from the outside that it can’t be that hard to become a service animal — just do what Loren says to do, right? — but it takes Tobias 0.02 seconds to realize that it’s not that simple and that he cannot imitate Champ’s lifetime of training on the fly. He says that he manages to get his mom home in one piece, and that that’s about all that can be said for his sad performance as a guide. Champ has skills like ignoring interesting smells and applying exactly the right amount of pressure to the harness that most pets don’t have and also most pets can’t learn. Champ is not a pet, at least not while he’s in that harness; he’s a gainfully employed expert assistant.

It rounds Loren out as a character, and definitely does not just make her into a lesson or problem for Tobias. Loren is gently humorous, tolerating her coworkers’ teasing and Ax’s attempted juvenile delinquency with an eye-roll. She’s compassionate, listening to other people’s problems on the phone with genuine concern and not swatting flies if she doesn’t have to. She’s tough-minded and stupidly brave, chucking rocks at Visser Three’s head and flying at attack helicopters as a three-pound bird. She’s fallible, unable to support Tobias emotionally even when he asks her to do so and unwilling to check in on him after leaving him with her sister. She’s a fully rounded person, one whose personality is informed but not defined by her disability.

It talks about some of the unromatic aspects of a Traumatic Brain Injury. Too often in other works of fiction, we see a person get bonked over the head and wake up with no episodic memory but all other brain functions intact (*cough* Rachel in MM1 *cough*). Loren actually gets into the fact that she forgot huge chunks of language, forgot how to brush her teeth, forgot how to walk across a room. She obviously lost her sight as well, and she mentions lifelong balance and coordination problems. Even her amnesia isn’t absolute — she has some traces of recall, but can’t make anything coherent of her impressions. Her injury isn’t 100% realistic, but it’s more so than many TBIs we see in fiction.

It focuses on the intersection of disability and social class. Tobias notes that Loren is under a compounded threat because of her inability to move to a more secure neighborhood and her obvious vulnerability. He feels a lot of disgust with himself when he and Marco and Ax are harassing Loren, because it’s so clear that this isn’t the first time she’s been harassed. Tobias understands that his experience with poverty as a nondisabled male minor is different from Loren’s for those reasons.

A few places where Loren falls into the common traps of implied ableism creeping into fiction, as written about in Narrative Prosthesis:

She gets “cured.” Loren falls into the “kill or cure” dichotomy, like most of the other disabled characters in Animorphs. In her case, it’s that she gains the power to morph and in the process regains the ability to see. It isn’t a complete cure, true — she still has no memory — but it means that she’s no longer blind for the rest of the series. Having the occasional character no longer be disabled sometimes isn’t automatically problematic; having every disabled character get either “fixed” or killed off inherently treats the disabled body as a problem that needs to be solved, through sci fi nonsense if no other way is available.

She implies that she’d rather die than continue to be disabled. When injured by dracon burns, Loren initially refuses to morph out even though Tobias tells her she’ll die if she remains a bird, because (they both assume) to morph out is to return to her blind human body. This moment buys into the stereotype that it’s better to be dead than disabled, again inherently devaluing the lives of actual blind individuals.

There’s a certain amount of mystery around how she became disabled. It’s interesting that we never actually get a definitive answer on that one — Loren says she was told it was a car crash, but there’s also an implication that she was attacked by controllers, and we don’t know for sure. However, the fact of her disability is treated as an aberrant state that needs to be explained, the book inherently asking “why are you like this?” By contrast (for instance) she doesn’t ask Tobias “why are you in the body of a hawk?”

She views herself as a burden, and the narration doesn’t do enough to contradict her. Loren says that she couldn’t possibly be expected to raise a child while also blind and coping with a TBI. Real blind people raise kids all the time, however, including blind single parents, and it’d be nice to see some evidence in the story that Loren’s assumption is wrong. Loren also apparently assumes that she can’t begin to play a role in Tobias’s life even now that Tobias is more self-sufficient, again because she views herself as relatively helpless and non-contributing due to her disability. There are some hints that she’s wrong, but we don’t really see her either begin to contribute to the resistance or build a relationship with Tobias until after she’s become un-blind.

Tobias’s view of Loren is often pitying. As much as Loren doesn’t initially view herself as a potential maternal figure to Tobias, he doesn’t view her as a potential mentor either. He repeatedly expresses horror or sadness at her life circumstances, and assumes that her life must be barren due to the spartan nature of her home. (Of course, that begs the question of why the hell a blind woman living alone would ever bother hanging pictures on her walls or putting doilies on her coffee tables, but Tobias doesn’t consider that angle.) Again, Tobias is allowed to assume that her life must be meaningless if she’s disabled, but it’d be nice to see some contradictory evidence in the form of her having close friends or inane hobbies or some other proof that to lead a disabled life is not to automatically lead a lonely one.

Loren expresses bitterness and desperate desire to be nondisabled. Again, it’s fine for any character to say “I wish my life was different,” and it’s a common consensus among blind writers/bloggers that being blind is often a pain in the butt. However, views as extreme as “you need vision to have a fulfilling existence” or “vision is part of what makes us human” are ableist crocks of shit. Loren doesn’t go so far as to espouse those extreme views, but she also doesn’t seem to view herself as having a well-rounded life in spite of her disability. It’d be nice to see Loren talking about sight as handy or enjoyable or a thing that the designers of 99% U.S. environments assume everyone must have, rather than a necessary precondition for a minimum standard of life.

Loren’s disability is somewhat medicalized. Same caveat as above: disabilities are by definition medical things that some bodies do or have that other bodies do not. However, discussing disability primarily through “this is how your body is different from Implied Normal of Nondisabled Body” and focusing on doctor’s notes, diagnoses, physical differences, etc. can serve to disconnect the lived experience of the individual from their body. It also tends to focus on the ways that the body is “the problem” rather than focusing on the ways that environments and attitudes are problematic, which then prevents anyone from asking hard questions about the environments and attitudes. Loren’s doctor’s note, discussion of scarring and loss, and repeated physical descriptions are somewhat more medical than social. It’d be nice to see a little more emphasis on the social factors that make blindness a disability (e.g. improperly labeled milk), and less on “your eyes are different from those of Implied Normal Nondisabled Person.”

#animorphs #animorphs meta #long post #loren fangor #ableism #disability studies #disability representation #accessibility #social model of disability #animorphs criticism #blindness representation #49 #the diversion

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seaofthesoul · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by @strawberrylight to answer a few questions that dig a little deeper, thank you ily dshfgs 😚💕🌻

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen?

Mmm don’t have a particular preference for either

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or in the city?

An in-between? Big cities overwhelm me and the country bores me - for me the perfect balance would be a quiet location close to nature, either in or on the outskirts of a small-ish city ✨

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

It’s impossible to only pick one! Most of all I’d like to know even more languages and writing systems (including all the ones coined by Tolkien), become an expert at shooting the bow, get back to doing fencing, and learn to play the drums and the cello/double bass 😍🙏

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

I only drink tea, and nope, never!

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I read eight or nine times as a child sdgfs ⚡️

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

I rarely ever take baths but find them more relaxing and satisfying than showers

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?

How do you expect me to choose when I obv wanna be all of them??? 😩😭 In terms of what fits me best, maybe a wood fae/fairy/sprite - and if specific fantasy worlds are allowed, a hobbit in Middle-earth and a sea witch in the Continent 🍃

8. Paper or electronic books?

Paper books for sure!

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

My black TPWK hoodie 🖤

10. Do you like your name? Would you like to change it?

I like it and defo wouldn’t change it 😊 It comes from Robin Hood and exists in some variation in many different languages, which I find brilliant :’)

11. Who is a mentor to you?

Mmmm probably my closest friends bc I look up to them and value their judgement so much 💞

12. Would you like to be famous? If so, what for?

Nope hahaha, too much stress and pressure 🙈

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

Unfortunately yes rip

14. Do you consider yourself to be a romantic person?

Omg I’m probably the most romantic, cheesy and extra person you’ll find out there shfgsd 😂

15. Which element best represents you?

Water 🌊

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

Physically - my friends who live abroad 😭 Metaphorically - it’s homophobic that I’m not besties with ot5 and Henry Cavill 💔

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

My friends from Norway in particular, and yesterday night I dreamt about my German host mum so I’m missing her a lot today :(

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

I remember playing lava and recording radio shows/podcasts on cassettes with one of my sisters 🌸

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

No idea haha

20. What are you most thankful for?

The love in my life, and the fact that I’ve been able to live my dream of travelling for the past ten years or so 💖💖

21. Do you like spicy food?

My nose starts running and I lowkey die when it’s very spicy sdhfs (typical weak white person behaviour lmao), but I do like when it’s just a little spicy 🙈

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

Quite a few, yes! Was VIP at a Tokio Hotel show, got autographs from Simple Plan and All-American Rejects, etc. Not sure it counts as ‘meeting,’ but I also passed some of the guys from Avenged Sevenfold on the street in Montréal once 😌

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

I’ve tried many times but always end up giving up after a while bc it’s too time-consuming and I can’t be bothered rip

24. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

Mmm maybe pen?

25. What is your star sign?

Cancer ♋️

26. Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

CRUNCHY OMG, pls take soggy cereal away from me 😳

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

Warmth, love and kindness 🌻

28. Do you like reading? What was the last book you read?

I studied literature for five years - does that answer the first question? haha 😅 Last book I read was Andrzej Sapkowski’s Sword of Destiny sdhfgs and it broke me so bad I haven’t been able to read anything else since sdgfs bye

29. How do you show someone you love them?

I check up on them, send them stuff that reminds me of them, make time for them, share the stuff I’m interested in with them and create a good environment for them to do the same, etc. 💕

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

Yes

31. What are you afraid of?

Pain and loneliness

32. What is your favourite scent?

My cat’s smell 😭💗

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

Surname, unless we’re family / well acquainted (but I’m gonna have to change that habit when I live in Norway since practically everyone is on a first name basis there haha)

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

This is tricky bc I can’t imagine what it’d be like living life without having to think about money at all 🤔 But I think I’d travel a lot? Ideally I’d love to be working in something Tolkien-related (but not full-time sfgsdd), and I’d probs spend my free time with friends, out in nature and maybe doing some volunteering :)

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

The ocean for sure! Or a lake ☀️

36. What would you do if you found $50 on the ground?

I’d keep it, except if I knew who it belongs to and how I can give the money back to them

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish?

Yes and yes, though I can’t remember what my wish was 💫

38. What is one thing you would want to teach your children?

That it’s okay to be whoever they are, and that they should accept others for who they are too and show tolerance and openness as much as they can 🌷

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

I’ve been considering so many tattoo ideas but always end up changing my mind after a while... Would really like something Harry or 1D-related and also some more Tolkien tattoos - it’s just super hard to decide on what exactly 😭

40. What can you hear right now?

My step-dad’s coffee machine working + workers doing renovations outside

41. Where do you feel the safest?

Mmm that’s a hard one, maybe when I’m with people I trust?

42. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

It’s difficult to pick only one bc I’ve got quite a few issues I need to improve on (anxiety, bad self-esteem and insecurity to name only a few) 🙈

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

The Viking era hands down! ⚔️

44. What is your most used emoji?

All the pink hearts 💗💓💝💞💖💕

45. Describe yourself using one word.

Passionate

46. What do you regret the most?

I’m always most mortified to think back on instances where I accidentally hurt/upset someone in any way 💔

47. Last movie you saw?

Mudbound, which was very heavy but excellent!

48. Last tv show you watched?

Dear White People 🌈

49. Invent a word and its meaning

I feel like my cat Mia’s name sould become a verb that can be conjugated 💁

Tagging @amantisegreti @technicallysideacc @micshiefmanaged @gcralts @goldenfive @going-there-and-back-again @peachtimelord @feanarofinwion @daggryet @zenmalik - no pressure of course! 🌸💛

#strawberrylight #amantisegreti #technicallysideacc #micshiefmanaged #gcralts #goldenfive #going-there-and-back-again #peachtimelord #feanarofinwion #daggryet #zenmalik #interactions #about

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infj-zen · 4 years ago

Text

#GetSorted challenge

#GetSorted from mbti-sorted

Okay, for interest’s sake I’m going to answer a few of these questions in writing. It’s almost midnight, we’ve been in COVID-19 lockdown for a while now and I don’t look camera ready.

Actually, that’s an excuse.

I would not go on camera even if there were no pandemic.

To everyone who does the video challenge, congratulations on your bravery.

So, here goes...

Tell us about a teacher or a coach who left a big impression on you. I had a longstanding EFSJ music teacher who would probably be considered charismatic, dominant, driven, hot-tempered, sometimes extremely funny. She emphasized repetition so that all her students had as close to perfect technique as possible. You were not allowed to have any input into her methods and students with a lot of opinions usually left or were asked to leave. She was very good at teaching the way she taught and for some students her methods worked particularly well. I learned that I did not like learning by repetition and did not retain as much that way. However, by subjugating my own preferences I was forced to address my weaknesses. Maybe it resulted in personal growth in terms of seeing the value of repetition in developing physical technique, muscle memory, and the memorization of music. I think it would have helped to also have combined the emphasis on repetition with explanations of the history and theory of the music in order to more fully understand and retain what I had learned. I also learned how to be self-effacing when I needed to be and not to insert ego or opinions where they were not wanted when I later had bosses with similar personality traits. I learned to be more selective and to actively try and put myself in long-term situations where I would be learning/working in the ways most conducive to me. Besides this learning experience, I had some really amazing science and English teachers in later years of high school and university. These were mostly ENTPs along with a few ENFPs and ENTJs. I found the ENTJs often had the most clear explanations for complex subjects. The best ENTP teachers were often very personally considerate and good at explaining things in ways that were easily understandable to me; I was good at synthesizing their ideas. The ENFPs were probably more smooth speakers and yet somewhat less easy to follow for me (they probably also addressed weakness in how I learned, for example, by not always explaining what they wanted super clearly beforehand; learning was a lot of trial and error; we did a lot of acting and oral presentations in class; Ne and Te make for a different way of thinking theoretically, of connecting ideas and facts).

What was your favourite subject in school and did you pursue it as a career? English and Chemistry. I pursued English in University and probably would have gone into Chemistry otherwise. However, I then realized I liked researching as an activity more than actually doing all that academic English involved and ended up studying and working in social sciences - somewhere I never considered when I was younger. A background in literature and writing is generally useful in the various jobs I’ve had though.

Do you have any athletic injuries and how did you get them? Yes, tendonitis from dancing (repetitive jumping and landing on the ball of the foot). This was as a child and it was not permanent.

Do you believe in any supernatural phenomena? No, but I can imagine a lot.

Tell us about a recurring conflict with a family member. Probably the most recent common recurring conflict revolves around being in a conversation with ‘a family member’ who is not listening and responding appropriately. For example, I am talking and ‘a family member’ to whom I am speaking responds by addressing something that takes on a totally different issue from that which I just referenced. Is the listening fine and the responding not? Is the listening poor and the responding good? Are both the listening and the responding off? Is my articulation poor? Is it mind manipulation?

What character do you identify with the most and why? The closest thing I’ve seen on screen is probably Caroline Turing in Person of Interest. Episode 23, Season 1 of POI features an INFJ actress playing something very close to an INFJ psychologist. Her mannerisms, speech patterns and interactions with her ISTP co-star (playing an ISTP former-military-guy-acting-as-a-patient-to-save-her-from-hitmen) are pretty realistic. Unfortunately, her real character, Samantha Groves aka Root, a serial killer for hire is only pretending to be Caroline Turing in order to gain access to the ISTP’s INTJ computer genius boss (played by an INTJ) and his AI surveillance system. So, the portrayal of this character only lasts for one episode.

How many languages do you speak? Is English your first language? If it isn’t, answer a question in your native language (please summarize it after in English!). Two. English (native speaker) and French.

What advice would you give to your younger self and what would they think of where you are now? Would you warn them about anything? Maybe just that what fields you enjoy studying in and working in may end up being different areas. In terms of having better job prospects, I might advise my younger self to study a subject like software engineering (which I didn’t have a lot of knowledge of or exposure to through our high school education system). That might be very useful in finding a fulfilling job now or in complementing the degree or field I went into. Also, I was extremely driven when I was younger and I would probably advise myself to take school more slowly, less courses at a time, more time to focus on course work, and generally to manage things in a way that resulted in less burnout.

Do you people-gather? (If you’re unsure, ask others in your group(s) if they’re there because of you.) How many groups do you belong to, and what do you think of this? Not so much for the people-gathering. I do not join a lot of groups. Usually, when I do, it is because I got dragged into it by someone charismatic and friendly. I often stay with the group for a relatively lengthy period. I end up feeling highly committed out of a sense of loyalty to the recruiter/group. At some point I end up leaving the group (often involves physically moving away to justify) and having a sense of extreme burnout when the mention of joining anything similar comes up.

Are you passionate about your career? Tell us about it. Sort of. I went into my career with the idea that I would have less chance of burnout if I went into something I was dispassionate about. For example, less interaction with people (using Fe) and more paperwork (using Ni and Ti). Some of my jobs have involved a lot of customer service and the use of Fe all day was overstimulating and emotionally draining. The best jobs so far involved working at a desk 9-5 and basically using a lot of Ni and Ti while organizing information in systems. This felt like meditating; I would achieve a zen-like state and feel energized afterwards. I would not say I was passionate about the nature of the work but the zen-like feeling was nice. In terms of being passionate, I think I might prefer a job that involved more of a research component. I think I would like to feel more challenged, to learn a lot of new things every day. However, I would not like to be in a career that feels too passionate for really long periods of time, or in a high-stress environment that would result in burnout. I would like more of a balance. You can always find hobbies you are passionate about on the side.

Which holiday brings you the least joy? Labour Day. The thought of going back to school or work ruins it.

Are you a heartbreaker or a heartbreak-ee? 50-50.

What is your dream car? Or if you aren’t into cars, what piece of technology do you dream of owning? I really like my laptop.

Would you rather make a lot of money at a job you hate or do a job you love that keeps you below the poverty line? I would rather have a job I love that keeps me below the poverty line because I don’t spend a lot. However, I would not like to have a job that keeps me way below the poverty line, because then I would feel used and would start to hate the job that kept me so much below the poverty line.

Do you collect anything? Other than information gathering, not really. The idea of accumulating large quantities of physical items and taking care of all of them sounds like a lot to think about or unnecessary stress.

Have you ever had any alternative career paths/life gameplans? Do you wish you had taken another path in retrospect? Sure. Chemistry or Software Engingeering looked interesting and probably would have helped in the job market, even in combination with the field I’m in. That way, my skills might have been more of a focus than personality, career-wise.

Do you have a good sense of direction? How do you navigate (when you can’t rely on GPS)? Do you navigate new places/buildings the same way you navigate your home town/familiar buildings? Is your sense of time better or worse than your sense of direction? No, I do not have a good sense of direction. Mbti-sorted is the only person I know whose sense of direction is worse than mine. And that only applies when walking somewhere. When driving somewhere, she has a better sense of direction. I am decent but not excellent with maps, professionally made and drawn by me. With a place I know well, I just walk around without thinking much. Usually it’s okay. Sometimes, I’m surprised to be lost in a place I thought familiar. With new places, I usually plan ahead. I study maps, bring them with me, compare the map with the physical reality around me for similarities and differences, get upset by perceived inaccuracies, visualize the layout of the land if the land and the map were flipped in different directions, try and detect logical patterns in street layouts and names, I try and remember locations of importance and what they look like, directions between key starting points and destinations, and I take down numbers for taxis in case of failure. Sometimes I walk new streets rather than drive in order to actively experience routes more slowly and have time to memorize them better. My sense of time is okay but not great. I feel the need to meet deadlines. I remember I used to rush to classes at the last minute for school, but I guess I did feel the need to get there on time. I have learned to avoid rushing, to be more responsible and set alarms and to carry a cell phone with a clock around with me to arrive on time and often early for important events. Probably my sense of time is better than my sense of direction.

Credit to Temple Grandin for this question: if I tell you to think of a church steeple, what’s happening inside your head? (You could also talk about a clock tower, or a water tower, or a minaret - something you are familiar with, but have less personal connection to works best.) I immediately thought of a white, aluminum sided cube topped by a black pyramid with light blue sky in the background. My mind was adverse to or somehow felt it unnecessary to think beyond that.

Would you be unable or unwilling to answer any of these questions? Which? No, in that I answered all the questions. I guess I did so in writing and was unwilling to answer them on video. I think you can almost always figure out how to phrase things in a way that is acceptable to you in writing. Yes, in as much as message is affected by medium.

C. ANSWER THESE THREE QUESTIONS (30 seconds):

How much preparation did you do before making this video? If you have an interviewer, did you pick the questions or did they? Who decided to do it that way? A bit / no interviewer / me

What type do you think you are? INFJ

In 1-3 adjectives, describe how you think others see you. Calm and conscientious (from collegues and acquaintances), scrappy (from family).

#mbti #infj #getsorted

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