#i was torn between using the pronoun she over you but i ended up choosing to use you... hope it still sounds good

[postmortemnivis]

If Dean had to die right this instant, he’d die a happy man, seeing last his most prized possession. 

The Impala roared to life as he pulled out of the parking lot of the motel he’d been staying at, and he thought that it resembled the roar of the king of the beasts, aggressive and noble. 

Sometimes Dean thought of himself as a lion, proud, courageous and assertive. He sure felt like one when he was hunting, stalking his preys, circling them before ambushing, never leaving any survivors. Never hunting in prides, he preferred to take care of his victim by himself, hardly ever accompanied by more than two other predators, but still leading the hunt. Or maybe he’d nuzzle his nose into his prey’s neck and shoulders, leaving soft kisses at the exposed skin before whispering sweet words in their ears, words he rarely ever meant.

That second type of hunt was the one he preferred, the one he needed to take the edge off from the main ones, the ones that left deeper scars and marks on his body than the other.

Rolling his window down, he sighed contently as one of his favourite albums started playing on the old stereo, running a hand through his messy hair, not having bothered to cut or properly comb it in weeks.

Harvey, another hunter he’d met when he was still a young man, following his father and his orders anywhere on the passenger seat of the Impala, had called that morning and informed him of a series of supernatural looking disappearances down a highway California, and Dean was set on finding out what was causing it.

The ride, albeit filled with old rock playing in the background, was surprisingly silent. In the past years Dean had grown close again to his brother, and he’d gotten used to Sam reading some lore out loud, discussing their theories on what they could be about to face, but the passenger seat was now empty. 

If Dean was anything, it was a family man. He’d lost the count of the times he’d put Sam’s life before his own without even thinking about it. It had become automatic, he had been doing it ever since Sam was born and he had never learned to live without doing it.

Without Sam and Bobby, Dean felt incredibly alone, helpless.

He missed pretending to detest Bobby’s cooking, Sam’s terrible singing during long rides and stupidly healthy diet, the sharp tone Bobby would use when picking up the phone or watching the game with them in Bobby’s living room with a cold beer in his hand, feet propped up on the coffee table that was covered in old lore books, empty beer cans and bullet shells scattered everywhere around the house.

Losing Bobby was worse than losing his own father, even if he hated himself for even thinking that.

He could try and lie to himself, telling himself he was better off alone, acting like he preferred to lead a solitary life, a lone wolf. He could lie all he wanted, but the lonely nights weighted on his weary soul like the whole world on Atlas’ shoulders. 

Deep down, he craved it, to love and feel loved. He could blame his mother for dying, or his father for preferring his brother their whole lives, when Dean, ever the obliging soldier, hanged from each of his father’s words, while all Sam did was challenge him.

Ironically, it was as God preferred Lucifer to Michael, the rebel son to the devoted one. Dean and Sam really would’ve been the perfect vessels to fight each other, the true match the biblical brothers could’ve used to battle the other for one last time, if the Winchesters hadn’t found their way out of that.

Kansas was playing, and like every time, Dean couldn’t help but think of his old house, his first and only one. The memories were blurry, singed by the same fire that had torn his family apart many years before. He remembered how he could smell the cherry pie baking in the oven while he was playing in the backyard with his father, his brother’s soft fusses as his mother would coo at him and sing to him to calm him down. He could almost see it in the darkness of the open road, he could almost touch his mother’s nightgown, but all his memories really were just like dust in the wind.

Without even noticing, Dean had been driving for hours, crossing state lines and he struggled to recognise in the dark the California highway he was on. 

Dean grabbed his phone from the passenger seat and dialed Harvey's number before bringing the phone to his ear.

“This is Harvey, currently I’m not available. Leave a message and I’ll call you as soon as I can.” The recorded voice told Dean, who groaned, tightening his grip on the wheel.

“Harvey, man, it’s Dean. Listen, I’m in the middle of the desert, just off I-40. Where was that place you told me about?”

All he could think about was crashing on a motel bed after chugging down half a bottle of scotch.

The motel led insignia looked almost like a mirage, and Dean pulled inside the empty parking lot, the only other car there looked like it must’ve been parked there for at least ten years, judging from its conditions.

Dean wearily got out of the car and grabbed his old duffle bag from the trunk before locking it and heading for the reception.

As he walked inside, he caught a whiff of old lady’s perfume, cigarettes and air freshener.

An old man, probably in his late sixties, sat behind the wooden desk, smoking as he flipped through the pages of a newspaper. The few hairs he had left were oily and the plaid shirt he was wearing was stained too.

“Evening.” The man grinned up at Dean, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “Welcome to the Sunset Dunes Inn.”

“Thanks.” Dean muttered, dropping his bag at his feet. “A single. Just for tonight.”

“That’ll be 95, son, unless you want a deluxe. It’s bigger and it has a beautiful desert view, the sunsets are to die fo-”

“I’ll take the basic one.” Dean replied, grabbing his wallet and pulling out four twenty dollar bills.

The man looked at Dean through his brows before he inhaled more smoke, placing in front of the hunter the guests register. “Alright, I’ll need a signature here then.”

The hunter signed as Steve Gaines before reaching for his bag again.

“Marge!” The man called, and a woman not younger than fifty five popped her head out of the back door. She was taller than the man Dean thought to be her husband, but she shared his same slimy look. “Key to room six.” 

As Marge, with a nod, went to fetch the key, the man looked back at Dean.

“Care to take a brochure?”

“I’m not staying for long.” Dean replied, shaking his head.

The man furrowed his brows. “I understand. Take one anyway, see for yourself our town.”

“Is there a diner around here?” He finally gave in and grabbed the dusty brochure the man was handing him.

“Just two miles to the left into town, hard to miss, it’s the only one.” Marge suddenly chirped up, back with Dean’s keys as she passed it to him.

“Thanks…” He muttered before walking back outside, walking down to room six.

He looked again around the empty parking lot, studying the hot night as he tried to come up with an explanation as to why they’d placed him in room six instead of one, it surely wasn’t because they were busy.

He glanced down at the brochure, which seemed as old as the owners of the motel.

Aurelia, it read, apparently located between the Nevada Border and Palm Springs, in the middle of the Mojave Desert. 

Founded in 1852 during the Gold Rush Era, was born as a mining town, now a hidden oasis not many know. Surrounded by red rock canyons, it is also known as The Golden Mirage, Jewel of the Desert, the town where the Old West meets the 20th century…

“How freakin’ old is this thing…” Dean muttered to himself.

As he looked at the passing doors for his, the flickering lights on the porch finally seemed to work, and Dean caught a glimpse of a figure standing on a doorway.

“Welcome to the Sunset Dunes Inn.”

He turned and was met with your face.

He’d met many angels in the past few years, maybe too much for his liking and surely more than the average person, and could say that you were just as gracious as the angels he’d encountered. Your face, the way your eyes shined in the dark and your lips wrapped around the cigarette you had just lit. This was his hell and heaven at the same time, the few feet of distance between the two of you was the only enemy he had in his mind.

“Thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. He was never nervous around women, stand alone pretty ones, but something about you felt completely different from any other woman Dean had ever seen in his whole life. 

“You’ll like it here,” you hummed, “it’s a really lovely town.”

“I’m not staying.” He found himself saying for a second time that night, only this time regretting it.

You raised both your eyebrows. “Oh? Just passing through?”

“You don’t get many tourists, do you?” Dean pointed out, looking down at you.

“We’re in an isolated area,” you explained, careful to exhale the smoke away from his face, “we get occasional travellers like you, we don’t get that many new faces.”

You silently handed your cigarette to him and he inhaled a few drags before returning it to you. Surprised by his own action, Dean furrowed his brows. He wasn’t a smoker, had never been one to fall into deadly vices, apart from hunting and alcohol. He felt like he would’ve done anything that you asked him to do, even throw himself down a cliff, if there had been any around.  

The soft breeze whispered in his ears, messing up his hair as he couldn’t find it in himself to stop looking at you. It sounded almost like an old song, a secretive whisper. The swish and whoosh could almost resemble words, voices carried from afar.

“You live here or something?”

You chuckled. “Yes, my parents are the owners.”

“Oh.”

How did Slimy and Grandma manage to pop out one like this? Dean thought to himself. 

“I just come here to visit, though. I moved to L.A. a few years ago.” You explained with a chuckle. “There wasn’t really much to do here after high school.”

Before Dean could answer, you pointed behind him. “That yours?”

Dean nodded at the Impala.

“Sweet ride. It’s the nice kind of old, y’know?” You finished your cigarette, stomping it on the ground, and Dean blinked, hanging from your every word.

“Was my old man’s.”

“Mine’s that one.” You pointed at car on the other side of the lot, beside the rusty one he’d first seen, and he could’ve sworn it wasn't there when he’d parked his.

“Which room?” You hummed.

“Six.”

“Next door, neighbor.” You smiled, and Dean glanced at the number on the door next to yours. Indeed six, big and brassed.

“So…” he was dying to keep the conversation going, “how’s the big life in Los Angeles treating you? You one of those brainless valley girls yet?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at him. “I’m still a small town girl, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to living in a big city.”

“I’m sure it can be fun,” he retorted, “you can meet more people than here.”

“That’s for sure. But I miss my friends from Aurelia, you know? That’s why I visit as much as I do. The people are so different there…”

Dean held back a yawn. He’d been on the road for the whole day, and could barely feel his legs any more. “Do you have anything to drink? Strong, possibly?”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Pop hasn’t kept alcohol around here since he married my mother in ‘69. He’s gone all Catholic, won’t even eat meat on Fridays and during Lent.”

“Must’ve been hell not having a liquor cabinet to steal from in high school.” Dean chuckled, admiring the way your hair ever so gracefully framed your face. Straight outta renaissance painting, he decided, just like a dream.

“If you want, I have some sodas.”

He shook his head, cursing himself for being so human, so tired. “I think I’ll go to sleep, thanks.”

“Sure, goodnight.”

“Night.” He replied before unlocking his door and getting in.

Dean dropped his duffle at the end of the bed and kicked his boots off before cracking open the window looking around the room, cleaner than the motel accommodations he was used to.

With a tired groan, he lay down on the bed, not bothering to pull back the duvet.

He started brainstorming ideas, he still needed to be sharp for the case. What could be snatching people off the highway? A woman in white, perhaps a ghost, or even a Crocotta… he’d ask you if there were any local legends in the area the following morning, even if he wanted to just knock on your door and spend the night with you.

As he tried to sleep, the wind would softly blow in the room, dancing with the curtains, whispering in his ears. He couldn’t tell if the long drive was getting the best of him and he was starting to hear voices, hallucinating, or if someone was actually talking outside, but he was too tired to care.

Dean was used to nightmares, he’d wake up sweaty in the middle of the night at least three times a week, usually recurring nightmares from his time in Hell, but dreams about girls… that was new even for him. Although he consumed more porn than the average person should, he’d rarely ever dreamt of women–the weight of his job heavy even on his psyche–and surely enough never women he’d just met, but you’d found your way into his mind, his dreams.

It all felt so real and lucid, Dean couldn’t tell if it was really you undressing in front of him, but he couldn’t get out of it, not that he was complaining anyway, the way your soft curves looked in the feeble light from his bedside lamp made him crazy.

His forehead and palms were sweaty as he tried to reach for you.

“Tut-tut…” you murmured as you slipped out of your jeans, “I want something first.”

Dean pathetically nodded. “A-anything.”

“Look up.”

As he was following your instructions, the first pale rays of the sunrise made him scrunch his eyes before they fluttered open.

He blinked a few times, his eyes met the mirror on the ceiling. He asked himself if it was some subliminal message his subconscious was sending him, maybe that he needed to get laid? He’d taken a girl back to his motel room just two nights before, it wasn’t that, it was something different. Different, like you from any girl he’d ever set eyes on in his lifetime. He needed to have you in a consuming way, one that made him ache for you even though you were just next door.

Next door.

He quickly sat up and tied his combat boots back on, immediately springing up and heading towards the door.

The early morning air was bitter, too cold, and Dean had to admit to himself that the sunrise might’ve just been as beautiful as the sunset he’d experienced while on the road the previous evening, the cool purples and blues making it feel almost unreal.

He took a deep breath, nothing but fresh air and- cigarettes again.

“You’re up early.” You noticed.

He turned to face you, just as breathless as the night before.

“Could say the same about you.”

“I have a reason, helping my parents with cleaning. What’s your excuse?” You hummed, inhaling smoke like you were immune to cancer.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He admitted, almost shy to look at you, as if he had desecrated your body by dreaming about it. If he looked close enough he could catch glimpses of what was underneath the almost see through camise you apparently wore to sleep. 

“So… you getting ready to leave?”

Dean never hated hunting more than he did right that moment. “Yeah…”

“Oh… Have breakfast with me, at least? Before I won’t ever see you again?” You mused.

Just as Dean was about to get into your room, his phone buzzed to life, and he noticed that the mirrors in your room were all covered by sheets.

It was Harvey, peskily sending him message after message.

> You’re close

> Got word that people are disappearing from this little town called Aurelia, at least four people never checked out of this Sunset Inn motel or something. 

> Also checked in with Rudy Moser from FL, thinks it could be a siren lurking people in.

> Me n Rudy are a call away if you need backup, man.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?”

“Gotta grab something first.” He muttered, quickly making his way to the Impala and opening the trunk. He rummaged through various weapons before finding the bronze dagger he was looking for. Watching your motel door over the edge of the open trunk, where you were standing, he hissed and bit onto his bottom lip as he used the blade to cut through the skin of his palm.

Dean hid the dagger in the waistband of his jeans before shutting the truck close and walking back to you, putting a smile on his face.

“Everything alright?” You asked.

If you were what Dean thought you were, he had to be careful about what he thought about you. “Yeah, just checking something.”

 His lie tasted bitterly on his tongue, and you could almost sense it.

You opened the door wider to let him in, before Dean abruptly shut it behind himself, looking at you with hooded eyes. He locked the door and took a step towards you.

“What are you?”

“I’m me-”

“No, you’re not human, you’re a monster.” Dean growled, grabbing his dagger.

“I- no-”

“Cut the crap.” He barked, and he almost grew in size too, standing so tall a flash of fear shot in your eyes.

“What do you want me to say, then? That I’m just what you hunt? Probably the whole reason why you’re here in California, Dean? Oh, yes, I know who you are. Who doesn’t these days?”

“Are you going to put up a fight or go down quietly?” He snarled, taking another step closer to you, holding his dagger tighter as you backed away. “Is it you?”

“I don’t-”

“You just confessed, it’s useless to lie now!” He pushed you to your bed.

“Do you want me to admit it? I know you’re looking for those missing people- why do you think you’re in room six? Their rotting bodies are all in the other rooms, piling up!”

Those were probably the voices that Dean had been hearing, now finally understanding their whispers as an advice to run for his life. “God, baby…” He almost dropped his weapon. “Breaking my freakin’ heart and we haven’t even slept together.”

“But I can’t stop, I’ve been doing so good in L.A., nobody cares if four people a week go missing, that’s normal there…I can’t stop, Dean, can’t change who I am.” You whined so pathetically Dean could almost believe you. “Oh, Dean, you have to believe me…”

“You’re a siren.” He finally muttered. “So pretty and you can’t even stand to look at yourself in a mirror…”

“Dean…” You breathed as he lifted the dagger to your neck, starting to press the blade into your soft skin. 

“I really wish there was another way…” Dean breathed on your skin, he could smell how good your hair smelled, how beautiful you looked now that he was so close to you.

You weren’t violent, Dean had understood that much, and you closed your eyes, accepting your cursed fate.

“No survivors behind…” He hissed to himself, still holding the bloody bronze dagger by your neck, before getting off of you and cleaning his blood off the blade on his jeans.

“Wha- no!” You protested, stumbling to get up. “You’re supposed to kill me! I can’t- I can’t live like this anymore, with who I am!” 

“Sorry, sweetheart, guess you’ll have to learn how to.” The hunter mumbled, rubbing his eyes, tired. 

“No, kill me!” You commanded, and the poison that was now flowing through his veins almost made him obey your order.

“No…” Dean grunted, taking another step closer to the door, trying to put as much distance between you two as he could. “How do I get rid of… your spell, or whatever it is that you freaks do to your victims.”

You winced a little as he called you a freak.

“I don’t have all day.” He barked, and you, almost shyly, approached him.

As you raised your hands in surrender, Dean let you get close to him, and tried not to react as your lips brushed against his. All he wanted was to pull you back into him and kiss you senseless.

“You’re free.”

“How’d I know you’re not lyin’?” He questioned, wary as you took a step back.

“You haven’t killed me when you had the chance, some part of you trusts me, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Only shame is that this pretty face isn’t real…” He reached up to brush his knuckles on your cheekbone.

“You won’t kill my parents either?” You chirped up.

He raised his brows. “They’re-?”

“I help them clean out the place from their occasional victims, guess they went too far out this time…”

“It was them?” Slimy and Grandma weren’t as harmless as they looked.

You nodded, looking away. “As I said, I help them with cleaning.”

He sighed. “Christ…”

“Dean-” You tried saying, taking one careful, measured step closer to him, but he reluctantly stopped you.

“Go back to Los Angeles.” He growled.

“Can’t…” You ran a hand through your hair, almost nervous.

Dean really didn’t understand, you could’ve killed him at any moment, he’d been under your spell this whole time, you could've told him to kill himself and he would’ve done it without even considering saying no to you, maybe even saying thank you.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

You sighed. “My parents… they're too old to do what they do, they need me.”

“Screw ‘em and leave.” Dean said, matter of factly.

“You clearly did not grow up with strict parents.” You snorted, and you didn’t know just how much Dean understood you. “I wish it was that easy…”

“So, you can't leave?”

“You go. Please, they’ll come for you too, check yourself out while you can, before it’s too late.”

He paused, sighing. He rubbed his temples.

You looked at him, expectantly.

“Useless to make eyes at me now, sweetheart…” he groaned with a grimace, “kinda ruins the mood when I know that you’re a hairless, ugly, gaunt thing. Hope you don’t take it personally-”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Knew you’d love this skin, though.”

“Oh, I loved it all right, until fifteen minutes ago.”

“You know I can read your mind, right?”

“Good for you, then you know how hard it is for me right now not to stab you in the eyeball.” He muttered.

“Meaning I can see your deepest desire, needs and… well, that dream last night? One hell of  a show.” You smirked.

“Glad you liked your own strip tease.” He grinned back at you.

You kissed his lips again, softly. “Goodbye, Dean.”

He paused, considering whether it’d be a good idea to do all the things he’d been dreaming about since the first moment he’d seen you, but then he took a step back. “Bye sweetheart, I better not see you ever again. Don’t get into any trouble, other hunters won’t be as stupid as I’m bein’ now…” 

You nodded with a gentle, grateful smile. “Won’t.”

Dean turned his back to you and walked back to his car before he could say, do anything else.

He sat in the car for a moment before dialing Harvey’s number. 

“Oh, for God’s sake, what if I was dying, man…” Dean groaned as his call was sent straight to voicemail again. “Harvey, it’s Dean. Checked that Sunset Dunes motel, it’s not there. I’m heading to the next town, maybe the siren’s on the road too. Check in with you tonight.” 

The Impala’s engine roared to life, a deep, guttural sound like a lion letting out a warning growl, its power vibrating through the metal frame. It was the same hunger that’d driven Dean for years—chasing, seeking, always so close—only then, it was no longer directed at the creature he’d let slip away. Instead, it was a growl of frustration, a raw reminder of the beast inside him that’d been tamed, held back, and left to howl in the silence of the desert night.

The open road was the one view Dean Winchester would’ve never gotten tired of, him and his car against the world, hunting things and saving people. Sometimes he’d take a moment and think of all the people he’d saved in his life, but never a monster.

He knew he was being unfair, he remembered how hard it had been when he heard the shot that loudly announced Madison’s death, and as he drove away from the Sunset Dunes Inn motel, he thought that maybe he wasn’t really clean of your poison, some of it still in his system, making it impossible for him to kill you, maybe there wasn't even a cure and you'd just pretended to cleanse him from you. Everything he believed in, killing monsters no matter how harmless they looked, crumbling down at the sight of your soft smile. 

He quickly decided that Sam was never supposed to know of what happened, and nodded to himself as the Eagles started playing from the stereo. Even if Sam was to find out, it was none of his business what Dean decided to do with his life when they weren’t together, it was Sam who wanted time apart anyway.

The wind kicked up dust behind him as he drove away. The Impala hummed along the long stretch of highway, empty for miles in either direction. 

His grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles white, but his mind—his heart—felt a thousand miles away from the road he was on.

But he’d let you go. 

The words still tasted bitter on his tongue, like swallowing dirt, but they were true. He'd let you slip away, yet your presence was still lingering in the dust and heat.

Dean could have done his job, should’ve. He should’ve turned the car around, gone back to the motel, made the call. Told Harvey everything, killed you. But there was something in his chest—a tugging, aching part of him—that made him hesitate.

The desert stretched out before him, silent and endless. There was nothing for miles but the occasional cactus, the mountains rising up like ghosts in the distance. He suddenly felt so small against it all, like a speck of dust on a windblown road.

But he was still driving. Heading west. Heading away from everything, from you. He’d spend a few days a few towns away before declaring the siren, you, gone forever, lost.

Maybe it was the heat that made his throat dry, or maybe it was the weight of what he’d just done, the lie he was about to tell. The decision sat heavy on his heart, but he had set his mind, no going back now.

Dean didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, he didn’t know if he wanted. Hell, he didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done.

But the road was long. And he was still out here, somewhere in the middle of it.

i was so torn between the siren or maybe a ghost/vengeful spirit… ugh, im still not entirely convinced maybe ill even rewrite the whole thing.

anyway, tell me how you liked this, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated

[flyingupward]

Venice the Musical Sentence Starters

all sentences taken from the lyrics to the musical venice. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

Act I

“All I hear is ‘left, right, left, right, left, right’.”

“I am your lifeline, your forward and hindsight.”

“To tell this story is a means of resistance.”

“Many no long living for not keeping themselves hidden.”

“This story needs a voice so I will oblige.”

“Once had freedom then we lost it.”

“What’s the price of living this life?”

“Darkness fell, our freedom taken.”

“We were taught to be proud to be from here.”

“The government dissolved and a corporation crept.”

“Twenty years of occupation has taught us better.”

“Left for dead, stuck here while the wealthy fled.”

“Bombs exploded round our heads. Get some rest.”

“If we don’t demand more from our lives, how can we expect our kids to thrive?”

“Separate, we are powerless, but together, we can rise.”

“After all of these years writing to you, I’ll finally be home by your side.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Today is the day that we find out our fate.”

“Home at last, our children reunite.”

“A divided nation torn in two demands reunion.”

“I hope you let us tell you a little story exploding onto the present.”

“I am alone, my own resistance.”

“Damned if I live this life waiting on the sidelines.”

“One time fool me and it’s shame on you. Two times fool me and it’s shame on me. Three times? There’s never three times.”

“I’ll be the last man standing when the world collapses.”

“Got them thinking my heart is gold.”

“I’ll never show what I’ll do to take the last stand.”

“She’s an illusion he’s choosing.”

“Peaceful revolution is always bound to be polluted.”

“Watch me stay focused, forever unnoticed.”

“The always obedient dog by your side’s got the worst bite.”

“The dream was better than the letters that we wrote would allow.”

“Could you believe those words could make us unite?”

“Is this our shared prayer to the morning light?

“Children write and hearts explode and dreams invite us to places we’d never go.”

“Someone so convicted in her beliefs, it can be hard to see.”

“The world was at war but this country doesn’t have to be.”

“We could be decent and generous. Don’t let hate better us.”

“Two worlds collide and fill his soul with wisdom we will never know.”

“This is the ballad of mismatched brothers.”

“I feel the void I left behind.”

“Am I strong enough to hold the weight of all their souls?

“From what I know this road is golden and I know I believe in you.”

“And so we sleep, hoping that the bombs don’t drop on our streets.”

“What you don’t see is the bomb that’s ticking.”

“I am hardly in step with your emotional dance.”

“Uninvited, unfound, in this hell of a home, opportunity knocks and it’s time to go.”

“There are many different weapons in this game called war.”

“The people who couldn’t leave, they were forced to accept whatever devil knocks at your door.”

“This is no fear of death if you never get old.”

“She was dropped on the city like a renegade, never with the promise of these better days.”

“Have you ever seen something like me?”

“You best believe I’ll haunt your dreams.”

“I can see the sunrise when I close my eyes.”

“As a kid you have a dream and it seems like nothing can come between what you dream and what you’re stuck in.”

“But when the moment’s there, will you rise up with your eyes up?”

“They look at me like I looked at her.”

“My blood trembles with desire to set the world on fire.”

“I feel the dark ahead of the dawn.”

“A spark of what I used to know stands before me all aglow.”

“Seen enough I’m not that blind.”

“They say she’ll bring us hope.”

“And are we all just children playing in our parents’ clothes?”

“And when the lights come on will we find out that we’re grown?”

“I would have done anything that you asked me to.”

“Where did I misstep? Where did I lose?”

“I wanna love and be loved.”

“I have all this money for nothing ‘cause what it buys is a disguise if you never loved me.”

“I’ve been waiting on that second chance.”

“It’s the lie of romance that over time it never stands.”

“Seen enough to make me blind.”

“I’m leaning on the brink of blazing a new path.”

“I know the dawn is coming.”

“We congregate freely, free from the evil.”

“Tonight we fucking party for a brand new tomorrow.”

“I know it’s been a long and brutal road.”

“Let me propose a toast and welcome in people who for years have been suffering.”

“Holding the weight of being held down, hell bound, lifted from the ashes, we naturally yell out.”

“I’ll give it one hundred and I’ll make you proud.”

“Imma be the remedy. Nah, I’m the elegy.”

“For all the pain, never again.”

“So the city is finally our own.”

“I’ll be free in my home.”

Act II

“People are frozen, pictures of panic painted onto their poses.”

“I am beholden for this mess.”

“All the people, they are screaming. I can hear my name.”

“Time slows and I know I don’t feel the same.”

“I’m running for a reason that I can’t explain.”

“Come and disappear with no fear.”

“My brain fails to explain the pictures I’m seeing.”

“Morning sky looking dreary like a painting painted by a guy whose demise was waiting.”

“Is _______________ lying dead when I should have been next to him?”

“I wish somebody else was lying there instead of him.”

“Vanish into air, come and stare into the light.”

“You never wish war on a people.”

“The seconds of your life just slow down.”

“My stomach eats itself. I see my own face.”

“Has something already determined my fate?”

“Time gives way. Am I too late?”

“I am death personified.”

“Your mind has been chosen. The lines have been drawn.”

“Take two steps, take one breath. Just accept your own death.”

“We will never forget and we’ll see you again.”

“Where’ve you gone, old friend, lately?”

“Have you left me here waiting to grow up on my own on this road all alone?”

“I am a desert of unfulfilled memories.”

“Death calls unspoken unseen.”

“If only we hadn’t listened to ambitions that were far beyond our reach.”

“If only there was a way to take back yesterday, you’d still be here with me.”

“If only you were a second late dreaming about yesterday.”

“If only you never came for me.”

“This morning I could feel the changes: Shadows on the wall laughing as we fall.”

“All of my moments are fractured behind me.”

“The toy of a girl has shattered inside of me.”

“Why does the silence emulate violence?”

“The cold and the quiet screams in defiance.”

“If only I had listened to the voices telling me to take it slow.”

“If only I had never wanted for better.”

“If only I didn’t stay up at night and miss you.”

“If only I didn’t feel like I feel when I’m with you.”

“If only I was never lonely.”

“If only I never came.”

“If only I never fell in love with you.”

“The air is scarily silent with the feeling any moment could explode into riots.”

“PTSD of twenty years of grief flooding heavy on the minds of those who never sleep.”

“Revenge is on the minds of the masses.”

“Ashes to ashes devolves into madness.”

“Have we reached the beginning of the end of peace?”

“Have we seen the end of out collective dreams?”

“There’s nothing that lasts forever. So we’ve discovered together.”

“What was white and black is now shades of gray.”

“They sit in the eye of the storm, looking at the city as it silently swarms.”

“Tell the people we are coming, declare a revolution.”

“Now it’s time somebody bled.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Alone, awake, her mind would race into her dreams.”

“Unsure of what the balance held, the girl grew up into herself.”

“When the man had got his way, he disappeared without a trace.”

“I dreamed a dream and so it seems that little girls have fantasies.”

“We are all the play things of men in this town.”

“What you’ll find, what you’ll see is that men could care less about your fantasy.”

“With flowers in their hands but pockets full of dust, ain’t no trust in a man.”

“Why am I stuck in this lie? I should’ve known better than to trust his eyes.”

“Should’ve read the signs ‘cause all my life I’ve been left behind.”

“See I had him, no denying that this love’s worth dying.”

“I’m as foolish as I ever was.”

“I came here because I believed in his love.”

“I thought the world had changed. It’s the same as it ever was.”

“How can I explain these mistakes I’ve made.”

“I wanted to love and be loved, but instead I’ve come undone.”

“How do I tell her that she has been deceived by me?”

“Our enemies showed us no mercy and we will show none in return.”

“When we needed you most, I watched you suburb.”

“Where’s all that wisdom that we saw in you, made us fall for you.”

“Is the world so fucked you’ve already given in?”

“Crumbled are the steps of the dream I stood upon.”

“As I stand dismayed by the mess that I’ve made, let me be.”

“Here you are stuck between us and them.”

“Maybe there’s a way, maybe there’s still hope,  but I don’t recognize you.”

“Don’t understand how the same damn man who gave hope to the land can stand before us and command that we’re going back.”

“This monster is growing with every breath.”

“Here I stand, a shade of a man with peace in his hand.”

“Now that they’ve tasted your dream, they can’t go back to where we were.”

“Right in this moment, you’ll find me dreaming about yesterday.”

“The soul lingers long after you pass. That’s why we feel like we’re surrounded by our past.”

“The air drenched in a bath of memories, a constant reminder of our deathly legacy.”

“I never took a risk and I’m scared to admit that this is how I lived my life.”

“‘That’s __________________,’ they told me, ‘a princess in disguise.’”

“I wanna be great for one instant.”

“I’m gonna take a risk and maybe I can save her life.”

“I have waited all these years for your face to reappear.”

“I have waited all these years for you to see me here.”

“I don’t need an icon that’s bygone.”

“When I was little, you convinced me that I belonged, but you were wrong!”

“Inside, I feel rage, and you died in vain.”

“I’m only half your babe, the other half: disgraced.”

“You took their lives in your hands and it was wrong.”

“You led those people in their very own death song.”

“You gave up being my mother - for what?”

“I can use force like you never could.”

“From what I know, this road’s still golden and I’ll always believe in you.”

“What we’ve been through, we can’t undo.”

“I have always loved and believed in you.”

“She has never loved or believed in you.”

“I done with you and the war you provoke.”

“You would push it till it burned with no concern.”

“With you, I believed in love, but you never loved me. You only used me.”

“So why should I be stuck in this lie?”

“She certainly loved you from far away.”

“Little children, they ran away a ways away where they could be safe.”

“She believed that you could be something great, someone great.”

“We need to grow up now.”

“Stop praying for, wanting more, playing war.”

“We’re not children anymore.”

“Look at what we’ve lost, what love we’ve lost.”

“We haven’t begun to see the sun. We need to set it right.”

“Let’s start anew. It’s what she died for.”

“Now this tale of love has ended, our has just begun.”

“If we Shades have thee offended, then go out and see the sun.”

“The world in here is just a shadow. We hide in these imaginary lights.”

“The world out there is a shadow of everything that might be right.”

“Rise up, shake hands, resume our days. Because this is all a play.”

“Just make believe that makes belief.”

“Give us just one moment to shine.”

[sgmwesters]

╰ ❛ 💉 — › michael b jordan. cis male. he/him. . ╯ have you met benjamin morgan yet ? this thirty five year old sagittarius has been living in the seattle area for three days. he makes a living as an otolaryngology (ent) attending, which is best suited for their protective, empathetic, conflicted, and irrational personality. take me to church by hozier is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 25, gmt, she/her, no triggers

B A S I C   I N F O R M A T I O N

full name: benjamin joseph morgan.

nickname(s): ben, bj in college.

age: thirty four (34).

date of birth: 26 november 1985, sagittarius.

hometown: manhattan, new york.

current location: seattle, washington.

ethnicity: african-american..

nationality: american citizen.

gender: cis male.

pronouns: he/him.

orientation: ??? idek why i even include this at this point???

religion: atheist.

political affiliation: democrat.

occupation: otolaryngology (ent) attending.

living arrangements: lives alone.

language(s) spoken: english, german.

accent: none.

P H Y S I C A L    A P P E A R A N C E

face claim: michael b. jordan.

hair color: black.

eye color: brown.

height: 6 ft 1.

weight: 188lbs.

build: athletic.

tattoos: none.

piercings: none.

clothing style: scrubs, smart casual otherwise.

usual expression: fairly stern, but he’s a softy deeeeeeep down.

distinguishing characteristics: dimples.

H E A L T H

physical ailments: torn rotator cuff in high school has left his shoulder somewhat fucked.

neurological conditions: none.

allergies: bee and wasp stings.

sleeping habits: fairly good sleep hygiene, sleeps well provided nothing is bothering him (maddie).

eating habits: usually fairly healthy, likes to look after himself.

exercise habits: as above, likes to look after himself.

emotional stability: sits happily at a seven, but has been known to dip in times of stress or emotional turmoil.

sociability: very sociable, likes to be around people.

body temperature: warm.

addictions: none.

drug use: none and is very against its use.

alcohol use: enjoys a drink, but doesn’t need it.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive traits: protective, empathetic

negative traits: conflicted, irrational

fears: not being able to keep maddie safe and healthy.

F A V O U R I T E S

weather: is indifferent about the weather.

colour: navy.

music: something with a heavy beat.

movies: the godfather.

sport: boxing.

beverage: fruit smoothie, bourbon.

food: hot dogs.

animal: anything small, soft, and fluffy.

H E A D C A N O N S

benjamin was born as the only child to regina and david morgan, a museum curator and ceo respectively in manhattan.

benjamin was raised in close proximity to his cousin madeleine spencer, to the extent where benjamin considers maddie to be more like a sibling to him than a cousin. this came from both of their parents busy schedules and similar lifestyles which led him to be brought up in this manner.

benjamin would like to think that his parents were happily married, but it was only as he got older that he realised the family set up that he had grown up with as a child wasn’t the same as everyone else’s. nevertheless, he figured that it worked for them as it was, and he still considers himself to have had a good childhood.

spending as much time in the spencer household as he did, benjamin sparked a genuine interest in medicine, looking up to his uncle, madeleine’s father, as a role model and idol for his future career in medicine.

benjamin was athletic in school, actively taking part in boxing and baseball. he hoped from early on in high school that he would be able to get into a good school on a baseball scholarship so he wouldn’t need to focus as hard on his studies, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year quickly killed that dream, and he came to the quick conclusion that he had to get his head in the books.

as much as he would hate to admit it, he knew that his parents pulled a few strings when it came to his offers for college, but the decision ultimately came down to him. during this time he had watched madeleine begin to spiral out of control, the concern for his cousin and arguably best friend only growing with each day that passed.

it was during this time that benjamin turned down the offer from harvard that his father had swindled for him, choosing instead to stay closer to the city in order to be nearby while madeleine got the help she had promised her parents she would get.

he was thankful for this decision as the realisation that she hadn’t been getting help came about following amelia shepherd’s overdose. while madeleine was in rehab, benjamin made a point of visiting her as much as he could, skipping classes if he needed to to make sure that she felt supported. she was basically his kid sister after all.

as madeleine got clean, benjamin took the mcats, scoring high enough to be accepted into john’s hopkins off his own back this time. as madeleine was seemingly doing well, benjamin decided to move that little bit further out, knowing he would be close enough if she needed him to return.

it was during this time that the two established their bi-weekly phone calls, no excuses allowed, his way of keeping an eye on her completely.

benjamin moved that little bit further for his residency to mayo, just as madeleine moved to switzerland for her masters. it made sense, he was happy for her and continued to adjust his schedule to make sure their phone calls went ahead as they needed to, suiting her schedule over his.he would often stay awake until the early hours of the morning just to speak to her.

his residency was fairly smooth sailing, despite a period of switching between services as he was indecisive about what specialty he was going to go into. he had always had his heart set on cardio like his uncle, but it only took one case with the ent attending to have him hooked.

as he came to the end of his fellowship, he debated the idea of having a second specialty (he’s a bit of a show off like that), but a nagging feeling inside of him told him something more important was coming.

his calls with madeleine weren’t like they used to be, years of regularity and consistency seemed to be falling apart, with nothing that he could do from where he was. he wanted to believe that this was part of the recovery, that she didn’t need him the way she used to, but he couldn’t be certain.

the night of amelia’s intervention, benjamin received a frantic phone call from madeleine and he knew then that things were not good. whether she was high or just drunk he couldn’t have been certain at first, it was only as she spoke about everybody leaving her the he snapped into action. she’d fallen off the wagon, and he’d be damned if he was going to stand by and let it happen.

benjamin packed a bag and hopped on the first plane to seattle, ready to hold an intervention of his own if he needs to. as far as he is concerned he’s here for maddie and nothing else.

2 0 2 1    U P D A T E S

turned thirty five cos that’s how birthdays work !!

after maddie decided to get clean, benjamin went with her to new york to ensure she fully embarked on her recovery. as much as seattle had only meant to have been a means to an end for benjamin, he found himself wanting to return.

he’s been keeping a low profile at the hospital, but is just kinda keeping things ticking over. he’s still ben. 

W A N T E D    C O N N E C T I O N S / P L O T S

i know i say they all deserve love but really ben deserves love

friends from med school/residency!!! 

[buckwilson]

Flood me with your trans Sam trans Steve trans Bucky headcanon you seems so cool btw

you’re gonna get some trans bucky bc i’ve been thinking a Lot about him lately

bucky uses he/they pronouns (like sam), and he’s gay!

he got a bootleg version of the same serum steve got (i hc steve’s serum being essentially just testosterone and steroids) so he’s bulked up a bit from it, but he didn’t get a flat chest like steve did

he considered getting top surgery under a fake name/alias while on the run in romania (pre-civil war), he kinda went back and forth on the idea for a while, but ended up holding off on it, and then got it while he was in wakanda (i like to think the lil end credit scene of him in wakanda is him recovering from the surgery)

he’s really emotional when he finally does get the surgery, cause in contrast to sam and steve- he’s been waiting for over seventy years for this, it’s very overwhelming for him to see his chest the way he wants it to be

he chooses his name by literally just asking his ma what he would’ve been named had he been born male, to which she responds “james buchanan”, and bucky just kinda.. sticks with it. he hates being called james because he thinks it’s an old man name, so steve gives him a nickname from “buchanan” when they’re both like 11 or 12

before the war, one of bucky’s side gigs was posing as dates/boyfriends for lesbians, and going on double dates with their girlfriends and steve (bucky and steve dated briefly) so no one was suspicious of them

he was male-passing enough to join the war, the only people he told that he was trans were the howling commandos because all of them were trans too (i literally don’t make the rules sorry)

pre infinity war, bucky has a hair crisis™ and gets really dysphoric thinking about the length (he’s constantly torn between cutting it as short as it was when he was younger and letting it grow as long as possible), then he meets thor for the first time, and sees how cool and sexy he looks with his long hair, and bucky’s just kinda like “hair can be this :)”, and decides to keep his hair long!!

[palomvs]

     insert a GOOD tik tok reference here ! hey , i’m izzy ( my middle name , my actual first name is lola , but i thought having my character’s nickname and my name be the same might be confusing , but you can call me either ! ) , i use she / her pronouns , i live in the est timezone and i haven’t left my home in a solid FIFTY-THREE days ! i’m so , so , so excited for this group and to finally give netflix even more real estate in my brain — they really do own this ass ! 

     ( ester expósito , cisfemale , she / her , muse b ) — oh my god, i totally just saw PALOMA VIDAL walking through greenwich village ! you know, she plays VALENTINA ROMERO on that new netflix show, the village ? i can’t believe they’re already famous at TWENTY. i’ve watched all of their interviews, and they totally come off as BRAZEN and STOIC, but they can also be DEBONAIR and CONSCIENTIOUS. based on their social media, i’d describe LOLA like ( script pages covered in notes , silver rings , iced matcha on a warm day , coconut-scented sunblock ) — totally makes sense that people call them THE PRODIGY.

𝐢. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

full name : paloma isabella vidal. nicknames : lola , loma & palo. age : twenty. birthday : september 15 , 1999. sun sign : virgo. gender : cisfemale. pronouns : she / her / hers. romantic orientation : heteroromantic. sexual orientation : heterosexual. relationship status : tbd ! passports : spanish & american. languages spoken : spanish , english & a few words of french. label : the prodigy. pinterest board : click here !

faceclaim : ester expósito. height : 5'5". eye color : hazel. hair color : blonde. dominant hand : left. tattoos : a moon on her left shoulder blade , which she got in memory of the long nights she spent on the beach in california ( malibu nights by lany , anyone ? )

positive traits : debonair , conscientious. negative traits : brazen , stoic. enneagram type : type seven , the enthusiast. hogwarts house : gryffindor.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

     paloma was born to cristian and alina vidal ( respectively a producer for film and television , and a retired actress turned director ) in los angeles in september 1999 , and grew up in the GLITZ of hollywood from a young age. though many would think a life of premieres , backstage passes and paparazzi would go straight to a little girl’s head , paloma’s parents both made sure her life was kept as normal as possible. she was raised in l.a. , and spent most of her time either in school , or by the water. 

     despite her parents’ backgrounds and careers , it was never really written in the stars for paloma to follow in their footsteps. growing up , she was a particularly active and outdoorsy child , with a penchant for sailing , surfing ( see her HEADCANONS below for more on her surfing ! ) and photography. guidance counselors thought she might choose to become a pro athlete of some kind , or perhaps some kind of sports journalist or photo-reporter.

     throughout high school , she felt a certain lack of direction , feeling torn between her childhood interests and the pull of hollywood , and what she’d seen her parents do their whole lives. in her junior year of high school , the opportunity to audition for the role of audrey in her school’s rendition of LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS came up. landing the role , and the subsequent weeks of rehearsals and performances , cemented the idea of a career in the arts for paloma.

     she eventually made a move towards the industry by attending the savannah college of art and design ( scad ) , as a performing arts major. the opportunity to audition for the role of VALENTINA , in netflix’s upcoming show the village was brought up by one of her professors ( along with her parents’ connections ) , who urged her to travel to new york. within a few weeks , filled with travel and a flurry of online assignments , paloma landed the role and decided to move to new york full-time to be present for the filming of the show.

     though she’s always been known as quite a workaholic , taking on the role of valentina has amplified it greatly. she’s usually the first in and last out on set ( actor-wise , at least ) and is known to prioritize making sure she knows her lines and blocking over beauty sleep. at present , this hasn’t devolved into anything too SERIOUS , but definitely could in the future ( will it be a slippery slope to a caffeine addiction and perhaps something more , or will she correct course in time ? stay tuned to find out ! )

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚

     VALENTINA ROMERO , known as val to friends , is the village’s resident pretty girl ( with a brain ). she’s what would result if serena van der woodsen , cher horowitz , cordelia chase , elle woods and summer roberts were put into a blender. from a prominent political family , she was raised between party fundraisers , easter egg hunts on the white house lawn , campaign trails and society gatherings.

    much like SERENA , her life has happened under the warm glow of the spotlight , and things always seem to have come easy to her. she’s a little more tame than serena though , and rarely ends up on page six ( when she does end up in the pages of magazines , it’s usually for something a little more decent ).

    much like CHER , she’s known for her fashion , and is the darling of amateur photographers in greenwich village. she’s not really the type to bring anyone down for their taste , but rather one to remark when someone wears something she’s into.

    much like CORDELIA , she’s not one to bite her tongue when something’s on her mind. she’s got a sharp wit , and adores honesty over everything else. again , she’s not known to bring people down for sport , but will rebut anything that comes her way if it’s meant to be damaging to her , her family or her friends.

   much like ELLE and SUMMER , she’s a lot smarter than she looks. she doesn’t always try as hard as muse a , but often ends up with good grades anyway. she’s often underestimated by group project members or fellow students , who see her as the stereotypical DUMB BLONDE. proving them wrong is her favorite sport.

𝐢𝐯. 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

     she took up surfing at a young age , and made it her primarily source of exercise growing up. for a while , many thought she’d either go pro , or end up photographing surfers professionally. since moving to new york , she’s had to CHANGE workout regimes , but that hasn’t stopped her from decorating her apartment with surf memorabilia.

   she loves experimenting with fashion , and is known for her BOLD red carpet looks. from bright colors to unusual materials , nothing is off limits ( as long as it’s ethical ! ) she chose her stylist specifically because both saw eye to eye when it came to taking a risk , rather than playing it safe.

    her favorite scents are coconut sunblock and surf wax , which she found is CANDLE form and is always burning in her apartment when she’s running through lines , practicing her blocking , or hanging out with castmates / friends. it’s also one of her favorite ‘ first day of shooting ’ gifts for the cast and crew around her.

    dried mango is her ABSOLUTE favorite snack , and she’s always carrying some around on-set. her mother used to give her that and frozen grapes growing up instead of candy ( since she has such a sweet tooth ) , and she’s been hooked ever since.

    she’s not one to name-drop her parents’ connections and friends in the industry , but the one connection she’ll proudly let people know about ( when they ask ) is that , yes , hugh jackman is her godfather. he and her father met when the latter produced x-men in 2000 and have been INSEPARABLE ever since. if paloma’s ever able to fake a believable aussie accent , it’s thanks to hugh.

    her script pages are usually covered in notes , made in pencil , highlighter , markers , or whatever else she can get her hands on. over the past few months , and during her time at scad , she found that jotting down her IMMEDIATE thoughts on a scene , her lines and / or her blocking always help her remember things better. she keeps all of her notes and script pages in binders back at her apartment , so she can always look back on her character arc and make sure she stays true to who valentina is.

𝐯. 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

     give me the WILL THEY , WON’T THEY ? , where the paparazzi and magazine editors are all convinced there’s a relationship bubbling below the surface. and who wouldn’t ? paloma and your muse have incredible on-set chemistry , are always seen hanging out outside of work hours , and are expertly paired by their publicists during press rounds. that said , when removed from the flashes of the paparazzi , nothing seems to have transpired ( yet ).

     give me a RYAN REYNOLDS TO MY JAKE GYLLENHAAL ( see this video ) , where our muses cannot be paired together for interviews anymore , after cracking jokes every five seconds instead of promoting the village. they’re fused at the hip on-set , and are usually the ones to go live on instagram during filming breaks , to the delight of fans.

     give me an EX , because working with someone you used to date ( or just sleep with ! ) creates so many great possibilities. was it awkward for them to see each other’s names in the press when casting for the village was revealed ? or did one ( or both ) of them see it as an opportunity to build a friendship ? are they jealous on-set , or can they keep it together ?

     give me CHILDHOOD FRIENDS , with bonus points if the friendship exists because of their families’ ties to the film & tv industry. if people dig deep enough through google images , there’s bound to be a picture of them together as children on some red carpet. perhaps the years of knowing each other have turned them into best friends , or maybe they now can’t stand the sight of each other. after all , hollywood can get competitive and ugly.

     give me the BROTHER SHE’S NEVER HAD , who teases her mercilessly , but will always protect her from the paparazzi. they’re protective of one another and are each other’s rock in the new world that is sudden overnight fame. 

     give me the PLATONIC LIFE PARTNER , whom paloma loves more than her own self. they have the login information to all her devices , they text people back in her stead , they sleep in the same bed , they readjust each other’s clothing on red carpets. one is rarely seen without the other , and the village’s fans revel in the two’s friendship.

     i also have a full WANTED CONNECTIONS tag right here , if you want to peruse and find something that suits you , your muse and your own wc !

[fandumb-thoughts]

Summary: Jophiel, the First Angel, was tasked with caring for the rest of the Heavenly Host. It became her duty, her post, her calling. For all intents and purposes she was their mother. A mother who loved her children beyond love--more than the sea or the earth or the sun or the moon or Heaven itself.

Relationships: Jophiel & The Heavenly Host, God & The Heavenly Host, God & Jophiel, Adam/Eve

Characters: Jophiel, God, Raphael, Uriel, Jegudiel, Michael, Selaphiel, Brachiel, Gabriel, Ariel, Kokabiel, Belial, Mephistophelees, Procel, Adam, Eve, Cain, Lucifer

Additional Tags: creation myth, heaven, hell, archangels, unique formatting, there’s not supposed to be quotation marks, absent parent, non-typical pronouns, pronouns are all over the place, blatant abuse of capitalization, the garden of eden, earth, brief/non graphic child abuse, technically, blasphemy probably, the tree of knowledge, baby angels, fall of humanity, fall of lucifer

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jophiel was once an angel.

The very first angel, as it was. There was nothing but her and her Father in the vast space of oblivion. It wasn’t lonely because she didn’t have anything to reference against. Mostly, it was just calm.

And then there was light.

God made more like her within the light that was Heaven. Archangels, He called them. His children.

Raphael, and Uriel, and Jegudiel, and Michael, and Selaphiel, and Brachiel, and little Gabriel.

As the eldest, Father told Jophiel, you must watch over them. I have much work yet to do.

Jophiel did as He asked.

The archangels varied in stages of development--from Raphael who had very little physical growing left to do, to Michael who had yet to fly, to Gabriel who couldn’t walk. They were difficult to handle, but Jophiel managed: answering every one of Jegudiel’s questions, singing with Selaphiel, playing silly games with Brachiel, praising Uriel’s drawings. She taught Raphael how to heal, and coached Michael in how to fly, and held Gabriel’s hands as he stumbled on round legs. She made sure to kiss every scraped knee and to listen to everything they had to say.

The archangels grew until they were capable of doing nearly everything by themselves, even if Jophiel made sure they would never have to. They had her, and they had each other.

Why? Jegudiel asked one day. We are grown. You have fulfilled what Father has asked of you.

Because, Jophiel answered, taking his hands in hers, I love you all.

Jegudiel said he didn’t understand. Father said to love all things, of course Jophiel loved the archangels. But it didn’t explain why Jophiel went so above and beyond Father’s orders.

Because, said Jophiel with a lowered voice, I love you all more than anything else Father has made. More than the sea or the animals Father made to fill the Earth or the moon or the sun or Heaven itself.

Is that allowed? Jegudiel asked, gasping as the concept.

Jophiel shrugged, uncaring.

Then God decided that there should be more angels. Many, many, many more angels.

The archangels shall help you, He told Jophiel.

Jophiel didn’t want to pull Uriel from his work or force seriousness onto Brachiel, or make any of them shoulder the heavy burdens of responsibility. But she didn’t have much of a choice.

If you have any questions come to me, she told them.

You are already doing so much, Raphael protested. In her arms she held two of Heaven’s most recent arrivals.

Come to me, Jophiel insisted. I’ve done this before, and you needn’t struggle.

The archangels listened, as they always listened to her.

Jophiel made a point to listen and speak to and praise the archangels as she always had. She tried as much as possible to bear the brunt of the rearing of the new angels: bedtime stories and hugs to make the bruises better and help with walking and then flying and singing lullabies and rocking to sleep and conversing with them even when it was half nonsense. She whispered to each and every one of them that she loved them more than the sea or the animals Father makes or the moon or the sun or Heaven itself.

Every time she thought that Father might stop creating more angels, another feathery bundle with a cooing fledgling within would be handed to her with a reminder to look out for them. She always held them close and kissed their head and committed herself over to them.

You deserve a title, Gabriel told her once. Like how I am the Messenger and Michael is the General and Uriel is the Grand Painter.

I am the Eldest, the First, Jophiel reminded. I need no more than that.

Yes you do, argued Ariel--one of the older angels who dedicated much of his existence to the care of those younger, though Jopheil never allowed his burden to match hers.

You’ve cared for us all, you have loved us beyond love, Brachiel added.

Mother, Ariel suggested. Like the mother animals who take care of their young.

Why? Jophiel asked. I did not make you. Father did.

But you are our Mother, Gabriel insisted. You may not have birthed us, but you have raised us and loved us beyond love like a mother should. You are no sister, you are more.

So the angels began to call Her Mother and loved Her all the more. 

More than the sea or the animals Father has made or the moon or the sun or Heaven itself, they told Her just as She told them.

God was not around to hear Her new title. He was busy with what He called His Greatest Creation. Not that He had been around much Before. At least He had used to make time for the archangels--His Eldest, His First, His Best.

Jophiel had not known anger Before. She had never had a reason to feel anger. She just did as God said, following His orders. Then again, the angels and archangels had never been carelessly caused pain Before, especially not by the one they called Father.

She had not known anger but She recognized it. Knew what it was that She felt when God turned Selaphiel away from Him, and when He ignored Uriel’s newest and most beautiful inventions of the sunset, and when He refused to answer Jegudiel’s questions about the newest addition to Earth.

I am Finished, God announced, long after the archangels stopped trying for His attention and the angels learned not to expect to feel His presence with even the most sporadic frequency.

What is it? Jophiel asked while everyone else remained silent.

Man, said God. My Greatest Creation. I want you to serve them and love them more than anything else I have ever made, and ever will.

No, Jophiel said. Her anger from the past resurfaced and grew in strength.

God forgot how to speak. He did not expect Her of all His angels to speak back, if any at all.

Mother, the angels murmured, as one. Mother do not fight Him, Mother do as He says. Do not disobey, Mother.

What is this? God finally spoke.

The murmuring quieted but did not end.

I will not love Man as your Greatest Creation, Jophiel told Him. Your Greatest Creations have been in front of you since the Beginning.

Do not be Prideful, Jophiel, He said like thunder over a plain. You are not My Greatest Creation.

I’m not, agreed Jophiel. But they are.

The archangels inched closer to Her side, eyes averted from the sheer force of His glare. The angels shivered behind Her, but they still closed rank.

As for loving Man more than anything else, I cannot, She said. For I have loved these angels more than love. More than the sea or all of the animals You have created or the moon or the sun or Heaven itself. I am their Mother and they are My children.

If you will not Obey Me, said God with righteous fury. Then you are no longer welcome Here.

I will not leave them, She said, Her wings spreading wide before Her children like they would shield the hundreds behind Her from God Himself.

You will, God decreed, and pulled.

Mother! The angels cried.

Father, stop! the archangels pleaded.

Jophiel forced Herself to stay on Her feet even as blood flowed down from the stumps of where Her wings should be.

Father! Father! the angels screamed.

Mother! they wailed.

I banish You to Hell, Jophiel, and take Your wings in penance, He said and She was Falling.

What She was not there to hear was God’s demands. The angels must choose: Him, their Creator, their Father and Heaven or Her and Hell and Eternal Damnation.

Hundreds of angels Fell. More stayed.

When Jophiel awoke to find so many of Her children strewn around Her, injured by the Fall from Heaven to Hell, wings torn from them without regard--from Kokabiel, the Star, one of the eldest, to tiny little Belial with her face still round with fat, never given the chance to use the wings God had given her--She felt rage.

How dare He.

All for what? His newest creation? The one He claimed to be better than anything else He made Before? After He ignored His proclaimed children He had no hand in raising, passed to Her mere moments after their births?

How.

Dare.

He.

She held Belial close to Her breast, smoothing away her tears and whispered, I love you more than love, more than Heaven itself.

How could He, Mother? My wings, Mother! Mother, I just wanted to stay with you! Heaven is our home, Mother! He made me choose, Mother!

Their voices rose together, crying out for Her to comfort.

I am so sorry for what God has done to you, She said. I will not let Him go unpunished for what He has done.

What will you do? Mephistophelees asked, clinging to Her arm.

I will destroy the Man that He so loves, Jophiel proclaimed.

The Garden, Procel whispered, more and more of xir brethren picking up the chant. The Garden, the Garden, the Garden on Earth. He keeps Man there. The Garden, Garden, Garden.

Look after each other, said Jophiel. I will be back as soon as I have accomplished what I seek. I love you all more than the sea and the animals and the moon and the sun and Heaven itself.

Love you, love you, love you.

And She set off to destroy God as He destroyed Her--making Her children choose between Her or Him, when He knew that many of them could force themselves to leave. She could never ask any of Her children to Fall for Her, though it warmed her Heart that some of them were willing to do so.

She would make this Man choose, and She would make sure they wouldn’t choose Him.

There were two of them. Man and Woman. Adam and Eve. Full grown even though they were only days old. Jophiel watched and waited and listened. They were not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. She would insure that they did.

Eve was difficult to persuade, but not impossible. Jophiel just told her the truth of God, how truly awful He was. How He abandoned His first “favorites” for Man, and very well might do so again.

God threw them Out when He learned that they had eaten from the Tree. Without the Garden they were helpless in the desert, surrounded by hostile animals and harsh vegetation.

Jophiel watched as Eve carried and bore the first son, Cain. Adam struggled to tame and fend off the wildlife in order to provide for what was his. Better than God had ever done.

Jophiel pitied the Man and Woman and Son. She hadn’t thought God would abandon them so harshly, not so soon after making them.

She went to Eve one day, when she was heavy with her second child and Cain was just learning to walk.

Who are you? Eve asked fearfully.

I am the Mother of Angels, She said. My name is Lucifer Morningstar, the Bringer of Light.

Because She had brought light, hadn’t She? Without Her there might be no light at all, for all She knew. God might not have ever began creating if He had never created Her. Without Her there would be no real light, either. Without her none of the angels would be anywhere close to what they were. There would be no stars, and no sunrises or sunsets, no flavors in the food the mortal beings needed to live, or colors that bloomed in all things, or music everywhere. 

Why are you here? Eve asked. Cain peered from behind her legs and made Jophiel’s-no, Lucifer’s heart to clench with remembrance of little angels that were always around. She may not be an angel, may have rid God’s given name for Her, but Before was still a sweet memory.

You are a mother, like I am, Lucifer answered. A mother who has been spurned by the one you call Father, a Father who has left your children to pain and harshness.

I know You, said Eve. You are the Snake from the Garden.

I was angry at God, She admitted. He had taken My wings and threw Me to Hell, and then forced My children to choose. The ones that chose me were exiled from Heaven. It was only fair to return the favor.

Eve didn’t speak, but Lucifer could read her eyes.

You know it was fair. You would do the same for Cain.

Why have you come? Eve asked, voice trembling.

I bear apologies, and gifts, Lucifer told her. I apologize for the way God has thrown you out, and the part I played in that, and I bear the gift of a title.

What good will a title do me while my son starves and my husband toils all day? Eve asked.

Titles give power you do not know, answered Lucifer. You shall be known as the Mother of All Man, and with it you will raise many children who will do many good things. With this title, you become powerful. And power is something to be sensed by every living thing.

Eve understood, and nearly cried out in thanks when thunder crashed across the skies and rain poured down from Heaven.

You must go, said Gabriel from the door. Or Father will force you to.

Gabriel... Lucifer murmured. It had been longer than any time Before since She had last seen him.

Father says you are to leave Earth and his Humans in peace, Gabriel insisted.

Lightning forked across the sky.

Mother, please, go, Gabriel whispered. His wings wilted and his eyes cried their pain.

I will, said Lucifer. If you will carry a message for me.

Gabriel nodded and the Mother of All Men watched on with the First Son.

Tell all of the archangels and angels still in Heaven that I wish them the best, She said. Tell them I am sorry I left, that I love them beyond love. More than the sea or the beasts or the moon or the sun or Heaven itself.

Gabriel began to turn away.

And tell them that they will always be My children, She called after him. You will always be Mine.

I know, he answered. We know.

So he returned to Heaven, and She returned to Hell, and Humanity forgot the name Jophiel. But angels were not Humans.

They would never forget.

[leviosarpg]

Congratulations, JESS! You have been accepted for the role of ODIN CLEARWATER! Jess, I must admit, I am just insanely in love with the Odin you’ve created here. My favorite thing about your app was how seamlessly and creatively you were able to weave the 1940s setting into your writing-- from the headcanon about his grandparents to Odin’s letter to Evan, I was floored by your ability to ground Odin in both the muggle and wizarding world. Furthermore, I absolutely loved the humor you brought to Odin’s character (the tidbit about him being a “chronic club joiner” had me cracking up). But it was the additional mention of his Head of House giving him a warning, that had me losing it, as quickly realized I had something very special here. Jess, you brought such a wonderful energy to Odin that I simply cannot wait to see on the dash.

Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: jess/22/she,her/gmt+10

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Odin Clearwater – I liked the description of him as a ‘renaissance’ man, with interest in a wide range of things. Someone warm-hearted but unrebellious, because I can see some interesting feelings and plots there with him being in the midst of a war – wanting to do right and help others but not really a fighter or a leader so what place will he find? Especially as a person who seems defined by not choosing a side or limiting his options. But that’s not out of cowardice or selfishness, just engagement and interest in everything and presumably, care about everyone.

extracirriculars: Hufflepuff seeker, Astronomy, Charms & Potions club member

para sample:

The Hufflepuff common room was never quiet, even at night. For one thing, the kitchens were right next door. Curfew or not, there was a steady stream of students going back and forth for a late night treat. Then there were the younger students, too afraid to put down the quills for the night, overwhelmed with work. No Hufflepuff would ever let them sit alone. Odin himself was one of the older students who frequently stayed up to all hours helping anyone who was behind. If he was honest with himself, he much preferred that to doing his own work, which he tended to find quite uninteresting.

Well, perhaps uninteresting wasn’t the word exactly. Just – very contained. Even in NEWT years, the teachers did seem to have a schedule to stick to. As for Odin and schedules, well, everyone had agreed he wasn’t best suited to be President of the Charms club. He had trouble sticking to one topic in the course of a conversation.

That didn’t matter much to him. If he’d been asked, he wouldn’t have described himself as a leader anyway. Perhaps a guide, if necessary, like now. “You’re thinking of levitation,” he said gently to the second year, as he read through the girl’s essay. “Enchanting an object to fly is similar, of course, so it’s quite a good way to start off describing it, really.” He preferred to encourage rather than dismiss anyone’s ideas – you never knew where an idea might lead you.

Unfortunately, he knew from bitter experience that professors had rather different ideas about what they expected. “But don’t forget to add a little bit at the end distinguishing the two. To fly it needs to be able to extend itself upon its own powers, levitation is you doing all the work.”

He rubbed his eyes, body weary despite his determination to stay up for anyone who needed him tonight. That didn’t matter, though, his mind was, as ever, firmly alive and vibrant.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

No changes!

Headcanons:

Odin is a chronic club joiner, right now in addition to being on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, he’s an active member of Astronomy, Charms and Potions club. He really enjoys talking to people about his interests because there’s no better way to learn than sharing (a true Hufflepuff philosophy). He tried to join the Herbology club as well, but his Head of House gave him a little warning about overstretching himself and the fact that his classwork could use a bit more attention than he’s currently giving it.

He’s aware of the Liberation and supports them, but truthfully, he’s a bit frightened of it. Odin is no fighter and certainly not the type of person who sets the world on fire. He’s a comforter more than a protector and he knows it. He certainly understands why the Liberation are getting ready for a fight, but he truly hopes it never comes. The world has been torn apart already and Odin would hate to see it split further. He knows in the eyes of many he seems naïve, but he can’t see why it’s so ridiculous to believe that they can be better, choose better. If there’s one thing he knows, from all his cobbled together, melting pot of interests, it’s that the easiest and best thing in the world, is to learn.

An only child, his paternal grandparents were both Muggle-borns. He has some distant cousins in the Muggle world, but has never met them. As a child, he would walk down to the local village with his grandfather, who showed Odin the oddity of the Muggle post office, as that side of the family did not like to receive owls. Odin was very interested by this and wanted to send off his very own letter through this curious means. He corresponded with a cousin around his own age for a few years, discussing their lives and families, how different they were. It was an equal and lively correspondence, with affection between the cousins, but also slightly detached and forensic, as if they were studying each other as a strange and foreign creature. But it was then cut short when the Clearwaters received word this cousin had died overseas in the Muggle war. Odin felt a chill when he read this, the man who seemed so alive to him through words, to be gone now, was perplexing and devastating. Guilty that he looked on Evan’s life as a bystander, did nothing for his cousin who he could perhaps have saved with magical interference, he looks at Odette and Apollo and worries that the same thing will happen again, due to his inaction and unwillingness to get involved in a fight.

The last letter, not sent in time to be read by the recipient:

Dear Evan,

I’m writing to you from the Hufflepuff common room. I told you about the houses before, didn’t I? It’s a curious thing, to be catalogued along with your peers. But I hope we don’t make the mistake of thinking we know everything about each other because of it. It’s rather like you and I, in a way. Our differences bind us too, far more than what separated us. I can’t imagine you would have corresponded with me for so long if you didn’t like hearing about the magical world! Funny then, that you being a Muggle and I a wizard is what took our lives in different paths. We might have grown up together had things been otherwise. But it’s also brought us back together, for I have found each letter you have written to be indispensable.

I was alarmed by the tone of your last missive. Grateful as I am that you are taking the time to write to me, still, when your circumstances have become so dire, I feel I should be your last priority. Your mother, for instance, could certainly benefit from more letters from you, I am sure she treasures them. My grandfather tells me she is rather short with him in their own correspondence, apparently, she feels I take up rather too much of your time.

But there you go, I have gone off topic again. I meant to give you counsel. I cannot imagine what you are living through. Letters may have served me before in this matter, to see a picture of your life, but war is something else entirely.

Evan, you asked me what I think of death and maybe you hoped I knew something more than you did. But this isn’t like flying broomsticks, or Charms that turn dogs into rats. We don’t know a thing about it either.

I believe there are people who study it in our world, at our Ministry. They are called Unspeakables, and as you may guess, if there is knowledge they have that the rest of us do not, they do not share it. I had dreams of being one of them once, but to delve into the deepest secrets of the world and then keep it to oneself – you can perhaps see why I cannot even fathom it any longer. Why, think of all the secrets I have revealed to you! I must speak my ideas once I have them, for truly it is the sharing that begets the idea in the first place.

Ah, but I am a hopeless correspondent and talk of myself when you asked for specific answers. You have my apologies, a thousand times over. Cousin, I wish I could tell you something different. As I have described to you before, ghosts do live among us. They speak of something beyond. But they choose to remain behind, so they are as doomed to ignorance on the full truth as we are. All I can say is that I believe your kindness entitles you to a heavenly reward, if such a thing does exist. Truly, Evan. I’ve thought about it myself – you know I fancy myself something of a great philosopher, but my mind is quite unmanageable, elusive even to me on occasion, and so it seems, are any answers. I think, if there is such a place, we will end up there together. Muggle and wizard alike.

But that is not an encouraging thought. I should like to meet you, face to face, very much, but it will be in this life. It is quite against the law, naturally, but I will show you Hogwarts one day, if I can, Evan. You can show me Cambridge. I always liked the sound of it, when you described it. A place of higher learning. The wizard world could indeed learn from Muggles, just as I have always learnt from you.

Until we do meet – and let it be soon!  

Your faithful cousin,

Odin

[thefairefolk-rp]

Welcome, Joss! Your application for Mikhael Thorson has been accepted!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Nickname: Joss

Age: 31

Preferred Pronouns: She/her

Timezone: MST

Activity and Availability (Please answer in words as well as rating your availability from 1-10): I’d say about a six, I work and go to school, but I like to be on most nights. At least once a week is my go-to, preferably at least twice a week.

Have you read the rules and FAQ? Yes. I couldn’t find any password or phrase but I did read both over twice, so if I missed it, sorry.

IC INFORMATION:

Desired Character: Mikhael Thorson

Second Choice Character: Gunnar Hawke

What made you choose this character?: I was incredibly torn, there were far too many characters that I was really interested in, and I’d already decided on one when I read Mikhael’s bio. His was the first one where I just knew what his voice would be. This gruff man who hides how much of a soft touch he is, who does terrible things for good reasons, and who’s surrounded by people he can’t and won’t trust, the worst of the bunch being the one person he has to protect with his life. An affectionate father who’s also an iron-wielding beast kept around like a dog on a leash to frighten visitors and show off. I just had an image in my head of a man who couldn’t trust his own senses and yet they’re all he has to rely on. He doesn’t have the Sight like his daughter, he’s vulnerable, not just physically, but emotionally and psychologically as well. He lives in a world that he can’t fully see, where he’s viewed as beneath the populace and where his own daughter is beginning to thrive, despite his best efforts. I personally find magic fascinating, but I think it’s important to remember that in a world of magic, it would probably be a mixture of terrifying, frustrating, and alienating to be someone who had none. Perhaps that’s what I like most about Mikhael. He has such a human perspective about the fae, uncharmed by them. You need someone like that around.

Are there any changes you would like to make?: None, I love Joe!

Questions/Comments: I’d just like to add a time spent in war between being apprenticed and inheriting the shop, to explain knowing how to use a sword so well. I imagine him either joining up with a mercenary band to see a bit of the world or perhaps being shanghaied in order to fix some army’s weapons but ending up seeing a good bit of fighting as well.

Writing Sample (Must be 300 words or more, third person limited, in the character you’re auditioning for’s point of view):

Oberon was beautiful. This wasn’t unusual at the Unsidhe court, everyone was beautiful. But it still bothered Mikhael, even years after he’d been pressganged into serving as the king’s own bodyguard. The line between beauty and beatitude didn’t exist, as far as Mikhael was concerned. If anything, the more beautiful someone was, the more evil they could be counted on to inflict upon their fellow man. Or faerie, since it was hard to call the members of the court men when they looked so foreign. And there again was the trouble. Oberon was beautiful, and foreign, and evil. Perhaps evil wasn’t even the word for it, for he wasn’t human enough for it to suit. He was … wrong. Unnatural. Malevolent. All nature of words that Mikhael was only learning now that he lived among the glittering throng who never seemed to age and had all the time in the world to spout poetry at each other.

But, still, the king was beautiful and looking at him, even knowing all the things he’d done, wasn’t enough to make him grotesque. And Mikhael wanted him so. He wanted to look upon the king and be repulsed. He was, often enough, when Oberon gave him one of his orders, bloody and cruel and petty as they most often were. But when in repose, the king, never his king for Mikhael refused to think of himself as belonging in any way in the infernal court he’d been caught up in, was as elegant and lovely as any of them. Cold, yes, and too sharp around the edges, but that just made him more beautiful. Like a shard of ice, bloodless and pure in its glory.

There were moments, few though they were, and Mikhael thanked whatever God might be able to reach him in this land that seemed to have never known the touch of Him, when Mikhael found himself undone by them all. Red-gold hair that seemed to be spun from flame itself, glowing dark skin that smelled like copper and spices, eyes that stared into him, so old and yet so young at the same time, childlike and wise, that he yearned to reach out for. To hold close to him, to warm himself against the light that even the darkest and most devilish of them seemed to possess, and let himself be devoured.

It would not be a warrior’s death, or a Christian man’s at that, perhaps not even a true death at all but merely the loss of everything that made him who he was, the memories of his home back in the world of men, of the already fuzzy pieces of his dead wife that he clung to even as they slipped away, the smell of his daughter’s skin when she’d first been born, all of it gone and replaced only with desire and devotion. And he would be devoted. Everything that Oberon demanded of him, he would have given to another willingly, if only to have them look at him with the same longing that he felt for them.

While even the best of them struggled to take him apart in battle, he could be undone like the laces of a shirt by kindness and affection and even such base feelings as lust. He wasn’t made of stone, though sometimes he pretended to be, to try and master himself. But he denied himself the longing, knew it to be the same kind of lie as any other kind of glamour. The whole court was a lie. His father had told him tales that the faire folke couldn’t tell a lie, but they could spin the truth until you couldn’t tell the difference. Better to assume all of it was false than be fooled.

Standing behind and to the right of Oberon, watching everyone but the creature on the throne, Mikhael vowed again, as he did everyday when on guard, that he would find some way out of this court. Even if it required him to cut his way through it from one bloody end to the other. Every day that he stared at those faces, his own implacable and emotionless as a statue, was one day closer to the one where he would no longer fear them more than he craved them.

[shcotingstar]

what’s up, i’m blossom, i go by any pronouns, and am currently in the est timezone ! i got benched for a week today, but at least soon i get to get a little bit closer to my goal of taking a shot in every country, so there’s that ! i’m really not that interesting or funny, but sometimes i say dumb things & people think i’m joking ! that’s all there’s to know about me. FIND HER PINTEREST HERE.

moving to the main attraction: andy ! the world’s piss poor job of a psychic. i’m extremely excited for her, and hope you come to be, too ! check under the cut for a short bio & some wanted connections.

( LANA CONDOR, GENDERFLUID, SHE/HE/THEY ) — ✧ that looks like ANDROMEDA ISLEY-QUINZEL! they’re the TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD CHILD of PAMELA ISLEY & HARLEEN QUINZEL (ADOPTED). [ they are also an UNDERGRAD at paragon. ] i hear they’re DEBONAIR & GREGARIOUS, but tend to be CALLOUS & RANCOROUS. their file says that their power is PRECOGNITION.

tw : ( parental ) death, ( family ) abuse, blood ment, teen pregnancy, dissociation ( sort of ), mentions of depression

born on a blistering gotham day, andromeda was the child of a sixteen-year-old heiress with a long string of bad choices behind her. she was seen as an inconvenience, a stain on their family’s spotless reputation.

she was very barely tolerated in her own home. any fraction of disobedience or insolence was seen as ungratefulness. she was constantly having her mother’s actions thrown against her, even at such a young age.

but andy didn’t let it break her spirit. she worked harder, trying to reach a goal she couldn’t even see. she was put into ballet when she was only four-years-old, a sort of penance.

she was not good at it — she excelled. by the time she was seven, ballet was the only thing she did that got her the attention she so desperately craved. but between practices, when she knew she wasn’t going to get caught ( because andromeda was armed with the knowledge that it would definitely get torn from her perfectly painted nails ), she would draw.

pencils and markers and anything that she could get her hands on. she’d create collages sometimes, or flowers, men made of hearts & women made of smoke. she made universes with strokes of a brush.

it’s then it happens. she’s seven & has a rehearsal in a few days and that’s all that matters in her life. not school, nor health, nor sleep. just practice. a part of her knows this is wrong. that she’s a kid, that she’s not supposed to be working this hard for a dream that’s starting to seem unreal, but she ignores it. thoughts like that go nowhere in her life.

it’s almost like a dream. one moment she is sitting, eating dinner with her grandparents, her mother gone ( as she frequently is these days ), and she looks up to her grandmother for a flit of an eye, then away. suddenly, she is gasping, filled with mental images that aren’t fitting to what she knows the bands of her imagination to be.

❝ blood, ❞ she says, reeling, the word coming out before she even means it to, ❝ why are your hands covered in blood ? bà, why are your hands covered in blood ? ❞ her grandmother, of course, demands to know what she means, and when andy tells her she does not know, sends her away, back to her room without finishing dinner on the promise she gets some rest.

two nights later, in the middle of the night, her grandparents get an urgent call from the hospital with words of andy’s mother and an accident. she’d be in a passenger in the car of a drunk driver, and upon impact into another vehicle, had been thrown from the car and through the windshield.

by the time they get there, it is too late. they barge into the room, doctor’s standing all around, grim eyes set to the floor. a moment of silence one sees only in movies.

andy can’t take her eyes off her mother’s, glazed and empty. she’s rooted in the stop. her grandmother, however, has no such qualms. she lunges forward, grabs onto her only daughter and yells for the doctor’s to do something, uselessly pressing to a wound that had caused her to bleed out.

it is only after the fact, hours later, after the bui family leaves the emergency room, goes home, that the night’s second tragedy occurs.

the door shuts, and andy walks on numb feet towards the stairs. her eyes hurt from crying. she wasn’t close with her. her mother had not been much of a mother at all, never showing her interest or even bare minimum affection. but she was a kind, sensitive person, and the thought of her being gone hurt so badly.

( and though andy refuses to admit it to herself. there’s a nagging part of her head that knew this was going to happen. that saw it coming in a way she does not understand. )

her grandmother turns on her, looking so tired, but there’s something behind her eyes that scares the younger of the two. it looks like hatred. like fear.  ❝ what are you ? ❞ she hisses.  ❝ what have you done with my cháu ? meant to lead us astray ? how did you know ? ❞

andromeda has been so upset, she hadn’t noticed, but now she does. her grandmother’s hands are covered in blood, just like she had said. it doesn’t feel like some sort of coincidence.

vile is spewed at her. accusations she cannot begin to wrap her head around. there’s only so many times one can deny something without sounding uncertain, and the truth is that andy has no idea either how she knew that. she tries to explain, but all she does is further prove how much of an outsider she is. something evil. something to pray against.

they put her up for adoption the day after, and andy never gets to go to the funeral. she bounces around after that, and by a fated chance, lands in the arms of the isley-quinzels when she’s only nine.

they meet her as andromeda rosalie, the kid with the 100-watt smile with pockets of sunshine to hand out. maybe a bit sad in the eyes, and a bit too willing to speak her mind, but it all adds to the endearing qualities.

andy instantaneously grows attached with the smallest bit of preference towards harley, though she’s eternally grateful for them both. she’s adopted only a few months after that, but it isn’t until she’s eleven does she tell her family about that thing in her head.

she sits them all down, laying it all down as it as, and as she knows it. she calls it her ‘ khùng ‘ ( vietnamese for crazy ). she doesn’t think of it like it is but hopes they can understand. and she tells them even more, things she never admitted out loud.

about how she gets dreams and flashes of pictures and sometimes she sees people she knows aren’t real, but none of it ever makes sense until it’s too late. andy shows them pictures in her sketchbook, the nice one harley & pamela bought her, the kind she drew in that state. she tells them the meaning behind the ones she can.

the thorns she drew before an upsettingly ended friendship. the mirrors in the practice room of her new dance academy before she even stepped inside. the long tidal wave she drew in such a hurried frevor the day before being overcome with an overpowering cold.

andromeda is expecting the worst. but she knows she can never live here with these amazing people who help her and don’t push her in bad ways if she can’t tell them her secret. she understands they will want to see her gone, too, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

but. they aren’t angry. happy, rather, that she felt comfortable enough to tell them. and entirely willing to help andy understand herself better, and what’s going on better. her mutation. the one thing she had never considered.

without the weight of it so pressing, now knowing she has her family’s support, andromeda is a new person. she is finally given time to grow up, at her pace, and does it in every way she can. tries thousands of things she wasn’t allowed back when she was younger. she never quite realized how much of the world she was kept from.

she gets enrolled into dance academy and learns to enjoy ballet without having to constantly focus on the idea of being the best. she takes art classes on the side, grows a collection of brushes and paints and pencils.

she always paints and draws in color, but when her visions come over her, it’s in black and white. she doesn’t like to think about it, though.

she’s widely surrounded by the sort of degenerates you grow used to living in gotham, but it’s not a lifestyle that she’s ever given much thought to. she rather enjoys focusing on her hobbies, more so than causing trouble.

when andromeda gets into her teenage years, she’s attracted all kinds of attention. an overachiever & a generally beautiful person, especially with such an interesting power ―  that’s what they all think of precognition. the bags under her eyes, the days of worry, the chronic migraines do not speak for themself. 

along the line, she’s dubbed shooting star. affectionate, at heart, but she hears this: one day she’s going to burn up in the atmosphere. andromeda chooses to take it, run with it, wears it like a brand. she calls it her secret identity.

she’s told that in a week, it won’t matter anymore. she’ll get over it. she doesn’t.

after graduating from the academy, she takes a gap year. she calls it her forgotten year, but only to herself. she makes up elaborate stories of a string of parisian lovers and rowboating in bangladesh and a beautiful mountain in ireland.

the truth: she doesn’t remember half of it. she remembers taking a plane to europe. backpacking towards north. for months at a time, it fades out. she remembers waking up in spain in a room covered in finished canvas. zoning back in at a cafe in the netherlands with pages of her calendar missing. this is the year she learns to fear her powers.

she forces herself to go home, or at least the next best thing. paragon, double majoring in art and dance, trying to keep herself busy. andy isn’t interested in slacking, is just trying to stay awake.

soon after that, she meets them. her first real relationship. to this day, she calls them her first love in her head. it burns fast and bright, and after they end it, she’s heartbroken. rejection isn’t something she can deal with without an entire relapse in personality.

she’s told she’ll get over it in a week. it’s been five years.

andy starts looking for love in places it’s not. she wears her heart proudly on her sleeve, the perfect place for the thieves of gotham to pick it off. she falls in love with a new face every day. she’s never interested longer than a week.

it’s the kind of activity that gains a reputation. it only cheers her on.

when her brother dies, things change. andromeda’s convinced she should have known. if she could only understand her powers, maybe she would have been able to do something. if she could try harder, she’d be able to figure it out, before it’s too late.

she’s so tired of it always being too late.

but she’s spent years covering her sadness, so much so her friends become worried for her mental state even during such clear tough times, and it’s ugly and it’s terrifying, but it’s the only thing she had. during it, she took more time away.

a part of her wanted to be gone again. she went the latin america this time. brazil, then venezuela, and then colombia. but she doesn’t stay gone long. she doesn’t make peace with it, either, but she can’t let herself fall any deeper. it feels like it’s been years since she’s felt like herself.

by the time she gets back to paragon, so is quin. she doesn’t believe it at first, but soon realizes it makes sense. she’s been drawing amorphophallus titanums for days. corpse plants.

she gets back into the swing of things. starts painting in color again, for her, not whatever has been eating at her that day. she’s starting to feel a bit more human again. a lit less like something being controlled.

widely known as ‘ the dramatic one, ‘ andromeda is overly friendly with her same old love fever attitude. she makes friends of all types, as well as enemies, and even does a few palm readings on the side.

wanted connections :

best friend ! someone who she gets along with more than complacent fakeness. someone who gets her a bit more than she’d probably like. someone who gets it.

exes ! she has literal LITERAL hundreds. a new one each week, she’s the type to string someone on, but when she’s doing it she devotes the passion of a thousand suns to every molecule of their being.

gotham kid ! a person who knew that interesting little human with the sense of naivety that only creeps up on her sometimes these days. whether she enjoyed their presence or not, or even knew them before becoming an isley-quinzel, there’s plenty to work with.

something precog-y ! maybe, for once, she got it right, or at the very least tried to forewarn. or maybe she played it for kicks and gave them a fake as hell psychic reading for shits and giggles. dealer's choice.

anything else ! i’m always done for plotting, and you can message me here or at discord @ 2857.

[sgmwesters]

╰ ❛ 💉 — › michael b jordan. cis male. he/him. . ╯ have you met BENJAMIN MORGAN yet ? this thirty four year old sagittarius has been living in the Seattle area for three days. He makes a living as an otolaryngology (ent) attending, which is best suited for their protective, empathetic, conflicted, and irrational personality. take me to church by hozier is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 24, gmt, she/her, no triggers

B A S I C   I N F O R M A T I O N

FULL NAME: Benjamin Joseph Morgan.

NICKNAME(S): Ben, BJ in college.

AGE: Thirty Four (34).

DATE OF BIRTH: 26 November 1985, Sagittarius.

HOMETOWN: Manhattan, New York.

CURRENT LOCATION: Seattle, Washington.

ETHNICITY: African-American..

NATIONALITY: American citizen.

GENDER: Cis Male.

PRONOUNS: He/him.

ORIENTATION: ??? Idek why I even include this at this point???

RELIGION: Atheist.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Democrat.

OCCUPATION: Otolaryngology (ENT) Attending.

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Lives alone.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, German.

ACCENT: None.

P H Y S I C A L    A P P E A R A N C E

FACE CLAIM: Michael B. Jordan.

HAIR COLOR: Black.

EYE COLOR: Brown.

HEIGHT: 6 ft 1.

WEIGHT: 188lbs.

BUILD: Athletic.

TATTOOS: None.

PIERCINGS: None.

CLOTHING STYLE: Scrubs, smart casual otherwise.

USUAL EXPRESSION: Fairly stern, but he’s a softy deeeeeeep down.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: Dimples.

H E A L T H

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: torn rotator cuff in high school has left his shoulder somewhat fucked.

NEUROLOGICAL CONDITIONS: none.

ALLERGIES: bee and wasp stings.

SLEEPING HABITS: fairly good sleep hygiene, sleeps well provided nothing is bothering him (Maddie).

EATING HABITS: Usually fairly healthy, likes to look after himself.

EXERCISE HABITS: As above, likes to look after himself.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Sits happily at a seven, but has been known to dip in times of stress or emotional turmoil. 

SOCIABILITY: Very sociable, likes to be around people.

BODY TEMPERATURE: warm.

ADDICTIONS: none.

DRUG USE: none and is very against its use.

ALCOHOL USE: enjoys a drink, but doesn’t need it.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

POSITIVE TRAITS: protective, empathetic

NEGATIVE TRAITS: conflicted, irrational

FEARS: Not being able to keep Maddie safe and healthy.

F A V O U R I T E S

WEATHER: Is indifferent about the weather.

COLOUR: Navy.

MUSIC: Something with a heavy beat.

MOVIES: The Godfather.

SPORT: Boxing.

BEVERAGE: Fruit smoothie, Bourbon.

FOOD: Hot dogs.

ANIMAL: Anything small, soft, and fluffy.

H E A D C A N O N S

Benjamin was born as the only child to Regina and David Morgan, a museum curator and ceo respectively in manhattan.

Benjamin was raised in close proximity to his cousin Madeleine Spencer, to the extent where Benjamin considers Maddie to be more like a sibling to him than a cousin. This came from both of their parents busy schedules and similar lifestyles which led him to be brought up in this manner.

Benjamin would like to think that his parents were happily married, but it was only as he got older that he realised the family set up that he had grown up with as a child wasn’t the same as everyone else’s. Nevertheless, he figured that it worked for them as it was, and he still considers himself to have had a good childhood.

Spending as much time in the Spencer household as he did, Benjamin sparked a genuine interest in medicine, looking up to his uncle, Madeleine’s father, as a role model and idol for his future career in medicine. 

Benjamin was athletic in school, actively taking part in boxing and baseball. He hoped from early on in high school that he would be able to get into a good school on a baseball scholarship so he wouldn’t need to focus as hard on his studies, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year quickly killed that dream, and he came to the quick conclusion that he had to get his head in the books.

As much as he would hate to admit it, he knew that his parents pulled a few strings when it came to his offers for college, but the decision ultimately came down to him. During this time he had watched Madeleine begin to spiral out of control, the concern for his cousin and arguably best friend only growing with each day that passed.

It was during this time that Benjamin turned down the offer from Harvard that his father had swindled for him, choosing instead to stay closer to the city in order to be nearby while Madeleine got the help she had promised her parents she would get.

He was thankful for this decision as the realisation that she hadn’t been getting help came about following Amelia Shepherd’s overdose. While Madeleine was in rehab, Benjamin made a point of visiting her as much as he could, skipping classes if he needed to to make sure that she felt supported. She was basically his kid sister after all. 

As Madeleine got clean, Benjamin took the MCATs, scoring high enough to be accepted into John’s Hopkins off his own back this time. As Madeleine was seemingly doing well, Benjamin decided to move that little bit further out, knowing he would be close enough if she needed him to return.

It was during this time that the two established their bi-weekly phone calls, no excuses allowed, his way of keeping an eye on her completely.

Benjamin moved that little bit further for his residency to Mayo, just as Madeleine moved to Switzerland for her masters. It made sense, he was happy for her and continued to adjust his schedule to make sure their phone calls went ahead as they needed to, suiting her schedule over his.He would often stay awake until the early hours of the morning just to speak to her.

His residency was fairly smooth sailing, despite a period of switching between services as he was indecisive about what specialty he was going to go into. He had always had his heart set on cardio like his uncle, but it only took one case with the ENT attending to have him hooked. 

As he came to the end of his fellowship, he debated the idea of having a second specialty (he’s a bit of a show off like that), but a nagging feeling inside of him told him something more important was coming. 

His calls with Madeleine weren’t like they used to be, years of regularity and consistency seemed to be falling apart, with nothing that he could do from where he was. He wanted to believe that this was part of the recovery, that she didn’t need him the way she used to, but he couldn’t be certain.

The night of Amelia’s intervention, Benjamin received a frantic phone call from Madeleine and he knew then that things were not good. Whether she was high or just drunk he couldn’t have been certain at first, it was only as she spoke about everybody leaving her the he snapped into action. She’d fallen off the wagon, and he’d be damned if he was going to stand by and let it happen.

Benjamin packed a bag and hopped on the first plane to Seattle, ready to hold an intervention of his own if he needs to. As far as he is concerned he’s here for Maddie and nothing else.

[sketchyfletch]

The Art of Self-Defence (The Arcana drabble)

Well, this started as a drabble and then ended up about three pages long. Nadia wants MC to learn some practical fighting skills. Nothing explicit, but behind the cut for safety. Technically written for a female MC but there aren’t any gender pronouns in use so you can read it as you wish. Might put this on AO3 later.

“Do you know how to defend yourself?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you glance up to find Nadia studying you. You are sat at right angles from each other, at the end of the long table with the remains of breakfast scattered between you. This has been your seat from the third day in the palace, when Nadia insisted that you move close enough that she can whisper asides into your ear. This places you mere inches from her, and you see the small furrow between her brows that betrays concern. She isn’t merely curious.

“Well, I have magic that can protect me.” You trace your finger on the tabletop, outlining the pattern of the sort of glyph you might lay at your door or across windows to prevent entry from, say, the malignant goat-faced ghost of your lover’s former husband. “I have been taught spells that can attack as well, but I prefer not to use them if I can.”

“No, of course not.” The answer hasn’t soothed Nadia. Her face remains tense. “But should your magic fail you – it has been known to happen, please do not take this for doubt in your abilities – can you use your fists? Do you know how to use a dagger to buy yourself some time?”

You shake your head. “I never had need of it. At least, so far as I can remember.” Who knows what happened before your memories were swallowed by the great expanse of blackness that fills your mind when you try to recall? Nadia appears to follow the same thought.

“Curious, what that time might have taken from us. Perhaps you were quite handy with a weapon. Or a champion pugilist.” A small smile crooks her mouth at last, but it sinks again quickly. “We must remedy this. I will make arrangements immediately; Portia will fetch you once everything is ready.”

And with that, she rises, kisses your cheek, and sweeps gracefully from the room.

You choose to spend the rest of the morning in the library. Julian left behind many scrolls and scribbled notes, and while you don’t think anything will lead directly to him, no further leads have come to light. A distant clock chimes eleven before Portia arrives, smiling in her usual sunny manner. “The Countess requests the pleasure of your presence in the fencing hall,” she announces, looking somewhat amused. You are less amused; while you know Nadia would never hurt you, the thought of doing anything with swords makes you uncomfortable. You know the pointy end from the grip, and that’s it.

You’re given no time to protest. Portia can be as forceful as her mistress in her own way, and you’re propelled out of the library and along the hallway before being turned into a room you haven’t entered yet. Wood lines the floor and one wall; overhead, rich golden carvings adorn the ceiling, pictures of battles and myths that even you remember reading of. Another wall is floor to ceiling windows facing out over a good portion of Vesuvia, and the sunlight pours through it. In the center of the room, hair glowing richly, is Nadia.

She has changed into the same boots and breeches she wore for riding, but her shirt is a simpler, open-necked one, tucked into the high waist and with sleeves that billow before pulling tight around her forearms. Her hair is back in the plait that you ran through your fingers on the way back from Vlastomil’s estate. She is as beautiful and immaculate as ever, but she looks ready to fight.

“My magician.” She smiles. She is unarmed; a table lined with weapons rests against the wall. Nervousness curls through your gut as you take in brass knuckles, stiletto knives, a brace of pistols, and paired rapiers, as well as others that just appear to be various forms of stabbing implement. Nadia closes the space between you and cups your face between her hands. “I swear I will bring you no harm. I believe that regular lessons will be required, but for now, I simply wish to see what you can do to begin with. Are you amenable?”

You nod. There is more to this than satisfying curiosity, and behind Nadia’s reassuring looks are fresh lines of tension. More than one person might take an objection to the Countess of Vesuvia consorting with a common-born magician. They might even attempt to disrupt it. Nadia, as ever, wishes to protect you. And while you can protect her now, anything else that might help…so much the better. You start towards the table, and she shakes her head.

“Bare hands, first. Come at me.”

You don’t want to attack her. Not that you don’t think she couldn’t handle it, but the thought of raising a fist to her is sickening. But Nadia stands ready, and this is for her piece of mind, so you take a stance that you think might be all right and run at her.

Then you’re on the floor. Nadia’s hands are on your shoulders and you’re on your back. “How did you do that?”

Nadia pinks a little at the awe in your voice. “Well, my sisters may have treated me like a baby, but I took some matters into my own hands. I felt that I should be able to defend myself.” She’s still on her feet. “I side-stepped you and dug my heel into the back of your knee. Normally it would be more painful and I wouldn’t guide you to the floor, but I don’t exactly relish hurting you.”

Her mouth draws level with your ear. “Not unless you explicitly request it, anyway.”

Oh, that does not help. She knows it too, and she chuckles a little before helping you up and demonstrating again what she did so you can get it. The next few attempts go better; Nadia has more training than you, and is faster, but is reluctant to risk causing actual harm. You manage to grapple with her for a few moments, strength to strength, Nadia’s arms coiling with yours. She wins when she slides your foot out with hers, as slick as a dancer, and tumbles you back onto the floor; but this time you don’t let the fight be over. You roll over your shoulder and regain your feet. The look of comingled surprise and pleasure on Nadia’s face makes you grin like an idiot.

“Very good! You are learning. Now I will come at you.”

Nadia bears down on you like lightning on a hillside, and you have to move without even thinking to block the blows she aims for your face, ribs, stomach; glancing blows keep sliding past your guard and you’re giving up space, backing up along the room. Then you start to notice a pattern and suddenly it’s easier. You even get her to move back a little. Then some more, and some more. Nadia is surrendering ground and you don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re almost at the opposite end of the room. In amongst the blows she’s smiling at you with a wild, fierce expression you’ve never seen on her face before, and you both drag in air like you’re drowning. Small curls of hair slip free from the hard knot of Nadia’s plait and cling to the sweat lining her face; her eyes glow with the exertion of the fight. If you get her back against the wall, you win. You move forward to close the distance –

She grabs your arms and spins you, slamming you hard against the woodwork. In a continuation of the same movement, she pulls a small dagger from her boot and presses it to your throat; a dirty trick, for a bare-handed fight. You start to make a playful accusation of cheating, but then you catch the look in Nadia’s eyes and your own lungs pull tight. The prick of cold metal at your throat is a stark counterpoint to your own warmth and that of Nadia’s body pressed hard against yours. To expose your throat to the knife, Nadia has pulled your hair back.

For a long moment you stare at each other. Nadia’s eyes are those of the lioness, contemplating her next meal.

Steel clatters dully against the floor as the knife is cast aside and Nadia seizes you, the hand not in your head winding tight around your waist, and kisses you more deeply and harder than you could have thought possible. You return it immediately, consuming more of this wild, gorgeous woman with every second, and she growls – not moans but growls – in response.

When she drags you down this time, you don’t even try to rise.

When sense returns, you are draped across her on the floor. Most of your and her clothing is scattered every which way; some of it is torn. Your heart is still hammering but is finally beginning to slow, and your breaths start to ease from short, hard gasps. Your hair clings damply to the nape of your neck. Nadia smiles lazily, but affectionately, one finger tracing over the marks she’s left on your neck.

“I will confess.” Her voice is a low purr. “This was not actually my intention when I arranged for us to spar.”

“No?” You can’t resist teasing her. “This wasn’t just a plot to get me hot and flustered and unable to resist your whims?”

“There was not much resisting that I detected.” Even within the afterglow, Nadia is able to make you blush again. You did not want to resist, at all, and you made that almost embarrassingly obvious at points. You change the subject.

“What was the dagger about?”

Now she blushes. “I was going to use it as a demonstration of why it is best not to underestimate an opponent, or assume you have the upper hand. It did not work as planned.”

“I think it worked very well.” You initiate the kiss this time, a slow, tender echo of the ones that came before. “And I should have known better than to try and push you against the wall.”

“I was quite impressed,” she admits. “I believe you may well have had some training in the past after all. You were pushing my capacity to fend you off.”

You lapse into silence for a moment. What were you before? Asra’s apprentice, but obviously more than that. Could you have been a fighter?

It’s hard to stay focused on this chain of thought for long when Nadia wraps one leg around yours, and places a light kiss on your nose as her fingertips run down your stomach. You giggle, a little, and her eyes light with mirth. It is no secret by now that you’re ticklish. She doesn’t prolong the torture, though, and curls some of your hair around her finger. “I am reassured that you clearly know something of how to take care of yourself. Outside of your obvious skills with magic, I mean. But we should do some actual training at some point, so you are versed in self-defence in as many ways as possible.”

“Will you be my teacher?”

“Of course.” Nadia considers. “But perhaps we should have somebody else in here with us on occasion, to ensure we stay on track.”

That gives you pause. “Wait, when did Portia leave?” You had completely forgotten she even accompanied you into the room.

Nadia’s eyes widen, and she looks towards the door, before the corners of her mouth curl and she presses her head against your shoulder, starting to laugh. “I forgot to dismiss her. She must have…excused herself.”

You let your head flop against the floor, laughing as well. It’s easy to see the funny side when Nadia is pressed so close to you, her giggles shaking your body as well. “Oh, gods. She’s never going to let me forget about this.”

[theartofdyingrp]

Congratulations!

Welcome, Courtney! You’ve been accepted as Lucia Moreno. Choosing between applications was difficult, but I believe you’ve really captured Lucia’s essence with this application. I’m excited to see how you mold her further on the dash.

Please send in your account to the main within 24 hours and be sure to read our New Member Welcome Page.

OOC INFORMATION -

N A M E

Hello, I’m Courtney, and i use she/her pronouns.

A G E

I’m twenty two years old.

T I M E Z O N E

Pst! sorry dumb, but that makes me laugh because makes me feel i’m whispering to you.

A C T I V I T Y  L E V E L

REMOVED FOR PRIVACY

A N Y T H I N G  E L S E

REMOVED FOR PRIVACY

IC INFORMATION -

D E S I R E D  R O L E

I would like to play Lucia Moreno.

W H O  A R E  T H E Y  T O  Y O U

Lucia is a woman conflicted. Her life path hasn’t exactly mirrored what she’d seen for herself. In her younger years she was a charming social butterfly with her heart as open as wide as the smile that graced her face, but that girl was torn from her. The rose colored glasses she once wore had cracked and Lucia was changed.She had become more guarded, careful of who she let in and the intentions of those around her. Of course, the charm had followed her into her new life, but the sincerity that came with it, well it was reserved for who she allowed it. The change hadn’t all been negative though, with the help of an old friend Lucia had a new job, and more importantly learned to protect herself.

Arms dealing for the Ross family had become the perfect job for Lucia. She knew how a gun could make a person feel and she wanted to lift up people as she had been. The traveling part of the job also allowed her some distance from the past and the true realities of what she was part of. Lucia knew about it, she wasn’t an idiot, but it was easier to turn a blind eye when you were able to separate from it once and awhile. Her carefully crafted bubble however was burst with the assassination of Victor. Suddenly she was face to face with reality of what she’d be doing, with how she had change, and with how she truly hadn’t.

The tension growing within the organization had made Lucia realize that maybe she didn’t have the heart for all of this, or maybe she did. She wasn’t sure where she truly lied, and with the time she had with the family she never actually allowed herself to explore it. Lucia had never questioned what would happen as she healed, never reconciled who she’d been and who she was becoming. Did she want to be the dynamic and trusting girl she had been before, or was she the charismatic, albeit jaded woman who she became within the family? Could she live with the actions of their lifestyle even though deep down she didn’t agree? Would she find a way to agree?  Maybe she never asked because she was afraid of the answers and what it’d mean for her. The answers to the questions though were becoming more important each day and yet she still found herself at a loss. As Lucia searches for her answer she tries to continue life as usual, though she knows those close enough to her can sense the anxiousness in her actions no matter how she tries to hide it.

Overall, I find Lucia to be a character that keeps ahold of my attention because she is very moldable. She has many facets of herself, though she’s never really found her true self in it all. Lucia has been living her life with a degree of separation and denial, and I think that leaves her open for so many ways to develop. She could find that her truest self is the one she left in the past and try to find her way back no matter the consequences. She could find a way to bridge the conflicting part of herself, making peace with the life she’s in and find contentment within the grey world around her. Or she could eventually find a home in the darker parts once she fully allows herself to dive in. There is so many ways the world could take her and I’d really enjoy the chance of seeing how she develops and what she turns into.

C R E A T I V E

I have made a pinterest board which can be found here . I tried to do it on the bottom is her younger years and then it goes up to now.

Mock blog: mocklucia

Hopefully, I will be continuing to update both of these!

Para sample:

Easing her foot on the break Lucia released a heavy sigh, it seemed to be a never ending game of red light green light. Her stare lingered on the line of cars in front of her so intently one might think she was trying to make them disappear. As someone who had grown up in LA she was well aware that the traffic was utterly unpleasant to drive in, but that didn’t stop her from wishing for it to miraculously clear up. Lucia lightened her grip on the steering wheel, trying to at least relax herself a bit. She knew why she was so worked up and it wasn’t actually the traffic, as much as she wanted to blame it, it was her destination.

She was on her way to Hoppers to meet Marcus, something normally exciting for her and something she hadn’t done in awhile. Ever since the assassination of Victor Ross she had found herself avoiding him. It had started out gradual, but it’s become rather obvious she was distancing herself from him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him, of course she wanted to, but it was just harder to be around him as she became more unsure of her place in the Organization. He was one of her oldest friends, any unease she had wouldn’t take him long to spot. She already felt bad enough having the doubts when they’ve, when he’d, done so much for her that she wasn’t ready to fully admit it to him. Though she wasn’t entirely sure how long she could keep it all from Marcus.

Finally the traffic began to thin out and Lucia could make her way to the bar and grill with much less interruptions. Yet any relief that brought to her was short lived as what was left of her frustration returned to it’s true emotion, anxiety. Lucia bobbed her head to the music trying to distract herself from the growing pit in her stomach. She stared at the road intently, a focus she definitely didn’t need as she’d drive to Hopper’s what felt like hundreds of times without much direction, but by focusing on it and the road before her. She didn’t need to stare so intently on road she’d driven to Hopper’s what felt like hundreds of times and didn’t need to worry about getting there, but it kept her mind busy.

It didn’t take nearly as long as Lucia would like for her to reach the restaurant and an even shorter time to find a parking spot. The irony wasn’t lost on her, she had spent so much time wanting the traffic to disappear, but now that she was here she wished she had more time. Maybe it was for the best she couldn’t push it off anymore. She’d been sitting in the car too long, had too much time to over think, maybe she was worried for nothing- if anything letting it fester much longer would probably only make it more obvious. With a deep breath, a last attempt to calm herself, she pushed the car door open and stepped out. She walked towards the door knowing he was probably inside by now, after all she had to be at least twenty minutes late. “ Here we go.” She muttered to herself as she opened the door. Once Lucia stepped inside she began her search for Marcus, it only took about a minute to find his familiar face. As she made her way to him she couldn’t help the smile growing on her face, yes she’d been rather nervous about this meeting, but she did miss him. And in the end her joy to see him won out, at least for the moment.

[didsomebodysaychaos]

An abandoned outline for a story I nicknamed “The Pirate Story”

Prompt image:

Most epic adventures don't start out with an application and an insurance waiver. That's why Freyja-Frey for short, thank you very much- was confused when, after having promptly sunk the ship she was on along with everyone else aboard, the pirates who had taken her prisoner handed her her suitcase, then asked her, rather kindly, if she would mind filling out some paperwork.

BEFORE ALL THAT SHIT HAPPENED ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Freyja packed up all the stuff she cared about into a single suitcase, all the while making various disgruntled noises. She was being forced to move across the Atlantic Ocean to *get married* of all things. Having discovered she was asexual almost six years ago at the age of thirteen, Frey was thoroughly DONE with the assumption that she was going to get hitched to some rich douchebag in Portugal, of all places. She didn't even speak Portuguese, for crying out loud! If that wasn't bad enough, her family insisted she take a ship there. Bluh Bluh Bluh.

Frey was frogmarched from the ship she had been on and onto the pirates' ship, where she was promptly restrained. She was vaguely proud of the fact that, in the process of being restrained, she had managed to claw one pirate's arm. *Huh. Turns out those damned acrylics Mother Dearest made me get are good for something,* Frey thought. After attempting to use the aforementioned plastic nails to saw through the rope restraining her and failing (and realizing exactly why people with acrylics hated having broken nails so much), Frey contented herself with heckling the pirates as they went back and forth between the two ships. "You call that a jump? My grandmother could do better, and she's in a wheelchair!", "Are y'all just taking your time or are you so idiotic you haven't realized there's a hold full of valuables yet?", and "If y'all unloaded any slower, you'd be moving backwards!" were just a few of the myriad of insults yelled. Frey got so caught up in her heckling (which she was enjoying quite a bit) that she failed to notice the awed looks the crew were shooting her, as well as the muttered comments about how she would make a good <captain? first mate? idk>. The captain was especially amused by her antics, chuckling quietly as he started inventory on the freshly-stolen goods.

"Sorry about the rough treatment earlier. We had to make sure that if there were any survivors, they wouldn't spread the story that we offer people jobs on the ship instead of taking prisoners."<said> a man with a mop of brown hair. Still thoroughly confused, Frey asked the only question on her mind. "What the actual fuck is going on?" she exploded. "Why do you guys want to hire me, anyways? Oh GODS, is this some kind of pervy thing? Cause let me tell y'all, I'd rather jump off the ship into a shark's mouth than sleep with any of you guys." The expressions of the crew ranged from shocked to amused as they all worked together to move the sunken ship's cargo belowdecks. "What? No! Why would we-Ohhhh. You think that since it looks like there are only men on this ship except for you, we're all desperate for release. Well, normally, you wouldn't be wrong. Luckily for all of us, there are a few misconceptions in that statement. First of all, there are other women on the ship, as well as some people who don't identify with the gender binary. Also, all of us don't limit our romantic and sexual interests to people of the opposite gender. In fact, all the people on this ship were rescued from being mistreated or even killed because they're interested in other people of the same gender, or don't like the gender they were born as and want to change genders, or fluctuate between a few. That reminds me, I forgot to ask: What's your name, pronouns, and orientation?" Brown Hair Guy asked. "My chosen name is Freyja, Frey for short, no you can't know my given name. I've honestly never thought about what pronouns I'd choose, and my orientation is no," replied Frey with a wry smirk. "None of the above, not interested, can I have cake instead?" Frey's dry sarcasm elicited more than a few amused huffs from various members of the crew, including Brown Hair. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Frey. Nice namesake, by the way. I'm Jormungandr, Jor for short. I'm the captain of this ship, the *<World Serpent? IDK>." said the man, apparently called Captain Jormungandr. Frey was, again, confused. "What do you mean, namesake? I found the name Freyja in a book of names in my parents' library, and decided it fit better than what I used to be called." Frey asked. "Well, both of our names come from one of the oldest mythos that exists, which many people consider to be very close to the truth. Your name is shared with the goddess of war, love, magic, and gold, among other things. My name comes from the name of the serpent that is said to encircle the world, sleeping at the bottom of the ocean until Ragnarok, the end of the world." "Huh. That's cool." "Yep! Anyways, back to the boring stuff. What do you say to the job offer?" "Hmmm...Let's see. You sunk my parents' ship, made it so I can't get to where I was being sent, and killed anyone who could send help to get me where my parents were sending me. Hell yeah, I'll take the job! You saved my ass from a forced arranged marriage with some rich douchebag in Portugal!" "Oh really? What was the person's name?" "Uhhhhh... I don't remember. I've just been calling him Mr. Douchebag." "Well then. Guess we'll keep an eye out for anyone flying the Portuguese flag." "If we find him, I have just one request." "What is it?" "I get first dibs." She grinned maliciously. A few of the men shivered at her sudden shift from

Important genderfluid name shturf Unusual pronoun set Frey uses sometimes: Ze/Zir/Zirs. As in "Oh, that's zirs" "Ze left an hour ago" "That's zir jacket" Boyfriend/Girlfriend/Enbyfriend(or SO/significant other or MINE)

Who to write in and as who ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss A (Long, blackish brown hair, green eyes, glasses, mega bitch): some kind of snooty, stuck-up governess who tries to get Frey to "act like a proper lady" and Frey's like "Bitch what part of 'WE'RE RAIDING YOUR SHIP' do you not get? Also, not a girl right now." and miss A is like "My goodness! Such language!" and Frey fuckin' smirks and just starts swearing a blue streak for no reason. Jor hears them, goes to see if something's wrong, and sees Frey grinning like a loon with Miss A looking like she's gonna faint. Frey just says "So this dumbass basically asked for it. Told me to act like a proper lady." and Jor just does the Obama "seems legit" face, laughs, and proceeds to empty the room of valuables and supplies while the sputtering governess is just like "Oh goodness! Stop that! Come back!" and Frey and Jor just start fuckin' cackling then in sync yell "SUCK MY DICK" and walk off, still cackling

[finding Douchebag scene: One day they target the ship of Mr. Douchebag, and the whole crew's like "Oh no" and frey's like "OH YES" and she's literally the only one to board the ship, but she takes out EVERYONE through sheer anger, and you can hear her yelling "THAT WAS FOR TRYING TO MARRY A NINETEEN YEAR OLD, AND THAT WAS FOR TRYING TO MAKE ME MOVE TO PORTUGAL, AND THAT? THAT WAS BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT" and Jor's just like "That's mah girl" and everyone else is like "Holy shit it's a good thing she's on our side"]

"Ship off to starboard! Flying the Portuguese flag!" *Excited Frey noises* "Hand me the <spyglass? Telescope? IDK>." Frey looks over and starts cackling rather loudly "Alright y'all can relax. I can handle this one. It's *HIM*." everyone is like "Oh shit, on your own?" Jor is like "Guys. This is Mr. Douchebag we're talking about. The only thing we should worry about is securing their ship to ours and thinking about how much fun this is gonna be to watch" Jor steers the ship over, and the crew make sure to use those holdy rope thingies Frey fuckin' vaults onto the other ship screaming "DOUCHEBAG YOU USELESS FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" For a while, the only things you can hear are angry/sadistic Frey noises, screams, and blood spattering. Then she gets ahold of him and fuckin' drags him up to the deck hogtied, and says "I found him. Y'all wanna watch this next part?" and everyone's torn between staying and going to watch Frey fuck the guy up. Jor tells the first mate to stay behind and make sure nothing goes horribly wrong, then goes to the other ship, sneaks down into the galley, gets SOME FUCKIN' POPCORN, and sits down to watch Frey do the classic "You done fucked up, it's torture time for you and rant time for me" thing. [end]

[Weapons training scene, use whenever] "So, we figured since you're on our crew and all, you should have some weapons training." "Oh, cool! So, what weapon will we be starting with?" "Well, we figured you'd rather have something that didn't take as much physical strength, so we're gonna start you off with a pistol." *Amused, condescendingish laughter* "You do realize I have quite a bit of physical strength, right? After all, who do you think moved half the cargo from that Cuban ship while y'all were dealing with the guards?" "Alright then, what weapon would *you* like to learn how to use?" "Hmmmm...Oh, hello"(practically purred) "This is mine now" (pointing at cutlass) *under breath*"Should've known you'd like the sharp, pointy things." (LATER) Frey is slicing the shit outta a training dummy and saying "Did I forget to mention I was trained in fencing? Got to Nationals one year!" and everyone is even more terrified of pissing her off. [end scene]

[Snake eye scene] It was half past midnight, and there was no moon. Frey was wandering the decks aimlessly, Jor not far away, when she saw a glow under the water off the port side that reminded her of Jor's eyesocket tattoos. However, there was one key difference: The glowing area was MASSIVE. She padded over to the glowing water, and froze. Underneath the murky waters, a  golden, slit-pupil eye easily four times the size of the ship stared back at her. As soon as she recovered from the initial shock, she tried to get Jor's attention. "Jor! Get over here! You're gonna wanna see this!" she hissed. "What is it? Is it one of those glowing squid again?" he murmured back, already on his way over. "No. It... Uh... Well, it looks like your namesake." Frey muttered as Jor peered over the side of the ship. Immediately upon looking down, his jaw dropped and he began to murmur something in what sounded like Old Norse.

One time some dumbass on a ship they're raiding tries to flirt with/do the naughty dance with Frey. He's like "Hey, hot stuff. How about you come back to my cabin and I show you a good time" and Frey looks at him with this "You dumbass/wait what the fuck" look, and he keeps going and Frey's holding in zir laughter until Jor walks by with the guy's money and shit and makes an amused snorting noise. Suddenly Frey just LOSES IT and starts dying of laughter and the guy's like "What's so funny" and Jor just turns around, tilts his head back, and yells "ZE DOESN'T WANNA FUCK YOU" (a la that one guy from a slap on titan) and just walks away howling with laughter. The guy gets offended and tries to go after Jor, but Frey stops him  and pulls out zir sword and the guy's like "Whoa there where'd you get that? A nice girl like you shouldn't have things like that" and the ENTIRE CREW JUST FREEZES and Frey's like "Care to repeat that?" so he DOES and everyone's like "Hooo boy he's dead" and Frey just says "Okay, fine. I'll go below-decks with you. I wanna show you something" and ze basically drags him off to somewhere dark belowdecks, then turns around and just says "Boo" and since zir tattoos are glowing THE GUY PRACTIALLY PISSES HIMSELF and tries to run but Frey blocks the exit, and does a Chaotic Neutral-style murder (aka just desserts style) and like 10 minutes later ze comes back on deck fuckin' covered in blood, and Jor's just like "The scare 'em and pare 'em thing again?" and Frey's just like "Yep! He nearly pissed himself!" and Jor's just...SO GONE for zem. Like, he starts calling zem "Mina hjarta" which means "My beloved heart" in either old english or old norse or maybe a mix of both I don't remember but it's just SO CUTE and hE SLIPS UP AND CALLS HIM THAT ONLY ONCE AND IT'S THE SCENE WHERE FREY ALMOST DIES and when Frigg shows up she sees Jor cradling Frey's body like he's made of glass, and after Frey's healed, Frigg's just like "oh btw adorable nickname for your not-bf" and they both just fuckin' FREEZE and Jor says "W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT-BOYFRIEND?! WE'RE JUST FRIENDS!" at the same time as Frey says "Well, guess THAT cat's out of the bag. Also, thanks for checking pronouns" and Frigg is just...So Done(TM) and is like "OH FOR MY SAKE JUST KISS ALREADY" BECAUSE DEUS EX MACHINA IS THE BEST and Jor's just like wait how did you know about the nickname and Frey is like "You do realize like half the crew's psychic and you're loud, right?" and Frigg just starts snickering because JOR'S FACE IS THE *EXACT* COLOR OF A TOMATO and HE SOUNDS LIKE A SKIPPING CD AND IT'S HILARIOUS

[Frey's coming out scene!] "Hey Jor?" "Yeah?" "Uhh...I've been thinking about the question you asked me when I first joined the crew." "Which one is that?" "The one about which pronouns I prefer. I've been going around and talking to a whole bunch of the crewmates who changed their pronouns, and it made me realize something." "Mmmm?" "Jor, I...Uh...I think I'm genderfluid." The words came out in a rush. "Alright then," He smiled gently, "Which pronouns would you like me to use for you right now?" "Right now, I'm nonbinary, so they/them works for me." "Do you still want to be called Frey, or is there another name you'd like me to use?" "Well, Frey's a gender-neutral name, so I'll stick with it" They grinned. "Looks like I made the perfect name choice back then" "It would seem so" Jor chuckled softly AAAAAAAAAAAAAA THEY'RE SO SOFT I CAN'T ASOJDLGJDFLKGDFLOEIRJEDFNKV

Things Frey will say to scare the crap out of people "You know, having a hangover is exactly what it feels like to thirst to death. I wonder what would happen if you combined the two." "I heard you can kill someone if you hook them up to a water IV. By the way, are you a light or a heavy sleeper?"

Somehow work in the phrase "Entire countries haven't known what to charge me with for *years*, and you got it in a glance. That's kinda hot"

Description of peeps Freyja (Frey for short, birth name Francine or some shit, no last name bc she renounced it): Skin color: PALE AS FUCK at first then tan Hair:reddish-brown, wavy, reaches little bit below shoulders Eye color: Height:5'4" Build: Not very curvy, but has a fencer's muscle combined with enough muscle to have the upper body strength to do acrobatic pirate shit Personality: WILL kick your ass, but has a soft spot the size of the sun if she trusts you (fuck up ONCE and you're in the doghouse for a LONG time) Outfit: baggy but easy to move in pants and a loose t-shirt, uses a cloth strip to keep her hair back

Captain (Jormungandr, Jor for short): Skin color: Very tan Hair: Windblown, medium brown, cut shortish Eye color: this gorgeous golden color that he was bullied for (got called "snake boy" a LOT) Height: 5'10"ish Build: Pretty thin but with whipcord muscle Personality: Kind of laid-back but still keeps the crew in line, will let Frey kick your ass if you pissed them both off, but if you hurt Frey you're F U C K E D Outfit: Celebrity lookalike bit Personality: Jack Sparrow meets Appearance: Voice: Brandon Urie-ish

Crew members' names (need anywhere from 25-125, with around 40-80 being a deceint amount): Sigyn [Norse goddess of ](Trans mtf), Kali[goddess of ], Caerus [Greek god of opportunity, luck, and favorable moments], Phobos [Greek god of fear] and Deimos [Greek god of dread and terror](Twins/boyfriends? IDK?)(Part of raiding party), Babd Catha (Celtic goddess of war. Symbolizes life, enlightenment, wisdom, and imspiration. Name can mean "boiling", "battle raven", and "scald-crow". Has cauldron filled with boiling mixture that produced all life. Other spellings are Badhbh, Badb, Banba), Bel (Celtic fire and sun god, also god of purification, science, fertility, crops, and success. Symbolizes element of fire, health. Closely connected with druids.),

Scene where they're on this island where there's some kind of drug (Weed? Lotus flowers? I DUNNO) and EVERYONE on the island is addicted. Like, you walk through the streets and people are just sitting around mumbling things. The song High by Sir Sly would ABSOLUTELY be in the background. The crew'd all have bandannas around their noses and mouths to avoid breathing anything in, because none of them wanted to get addicted to something like that. (Some of the crew's parents mad trouble with drugs/alcohol)

Captain: Jor First mate: Quartermaster[in charge of supplies and in charge of dealing with minor problems]: Sailing Master[navigation and piloting]: Gunners(leaders of artillery groups[4-6 men per gun]. Watch for safety and usually aim the cannons): Boatswains[supervisors]: Surgeon(s): Airmid (Celtic goddess of medicinal plants. Can revive the dead), Cook(s): Cooper[in charge of maintaining barrels]: Carpenter[maintained ship's wood]: Musicians: Angus Og (Celtic; Has harp that plays irresistible music) Mates[Apprentices to ppl w/ big jobs]: Riggers[worked rigging and unfurled/furled sails]: Mages: Mostly just raiders: Arawn (Celtic god of the underworld, terror, revenge, and war),

People who are just kind of existing around the world as Frigga's "disciple"y people: Arianrhod (Deity of Air element, reincarnation, full moons, time, karma, retribution), Aine of Knockaine (Celtic goddess of love and fertility, later known as fairy queen. Goddess related to moon, crops, and farms/cattle. Revered among herbalists and healers and is said to be rreponsible for body's life force.), Artio (Celtic wildlife goddess), Blodeuwedd (Celtig maiden form of triple goddess. Symbolizes wisdom, lunar mysteries, initiations. Helps gardens and children grow), Flidais (Celtic goddess of forest, woodlands, and wild things.),

Frigg's alt. IDs: Anu (Goddess of manifestation magic, moon, air, fertility, prosperity, plenty. Mother earth goddess and maiden aspect of Morrigu)

Brighid (Celtic goddess of fire and water, in charge of midwifery, healing, crafts, smiths, poetry, and inspiration; basically human potential. Possibly began as a sun goddess. Imbolc is her day. Aka Brigit, Brigid, Brigindo, Bride)

Cernunnos (Celtic god of virility, life, animals, forests, and the underworld. Symbolizes element of earth, love, fertility, death, the virile male aspect, and the dark half of the year. Sacred animals are bull, ram, stag, and horned serpents. AKA Cerowain, Cernenus)

Cerridwen(Celtif moon, grain, and nature goddess. Patron of poets, greatest of all the bards. Symbolizes luck, earth, death, fertility, regeneration, inspiration, the arts, science, poetry, and astrology. Sacred animal is a white sow.)

Cyhiraeth(Celtic goddess of streams, her scream fortells death)

Dagda (God of earth/all father. God of death. Symbols are harp, 2 swine, and bottomless cauldron of plenty)

Danu (Celtic goddess of rivers, water, wells, prosperity, magick, and wisdom. Patroness of wizards)

Diancecht(Celtic god of healing and medicine. Sacred to druids bc healing powers. Lost hand, got new one made of silver, then got his hand back. Killed his own son bc he was a better healer.)

Don (Celtic Queen of Heavens and goddess of air and sea. Ruled over land of the dead, corresponds to Danu. Symbolizes control of the elements, the moon)

Druantia(Celtic Queen of the Druids. Fir goddess and mother of tree calendar. Symbolizes protecc, knowledge, creativity, passion, sex, fertility, growth, trees, and forests.)

Dylan (Celtic sea god. Silver fish is symbol)

Goibhniu (Celtic god of blacksmiths, weapon-makers, brewing. AKA great smith)

Gwydion (Warrior and magician god, god of enchantment, illusion, magick. Symbol is white horse)

Llew Llaw Gyffes (Celtic god of harpers, healing, poets, smiths,

TITLE IDEAS ~~~~~~~~~~~ Rainbow Sea Of Pride and <Truth? Love? Becoming? Joy? Blessings?> The Pride of the Chosen Few A Pride of Pirates Of Snakes and Wings

Hello naughty children it's anachronism time ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Doesn't exist ------------- Planes Freight ships (like the metal behemoth ones) Cars Coal power plants (They're mostly/all ocean wave-based, solar, and wind-based) Oil-based plastic (they figured out how to make it out of corn!) Big factories (Most things are still made local)

Exists ------ Homophobia Pride flags Acrylics Glow in the dark tattoos (Bioluminescence FTW!) MAGIC(BUT SCIENCEY MAGIC)

How le fack magic works ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Healing: Basically able to release pulses of bioelectrical energy from hands (esp. fingertips) that communicates to the body "Okay, you gotta heal faster! Go make more xyz cells!". Takes a lot out of both the person healing and the person being healed. (unless you're frigg. frigg doesn't give a frigg about logic) Can also send electrical "orders" to make muscles relax. Massage w/ healing magic built in is A M A Z I N G Fighting: Basically sending conflicting and overloading signals to the person's nerves and muscles via touch (most of their weapons are staffs and the like coated with a superconductor so they don't have to actually TOUCH the person)

HOLY SHIT COMBINE THIS WITH THAT PAINTING PROMPT AND HAVE IT WHERE PLANES WERE NEVER INVENTED BC THEY'RE BAD FOR THE ATMOSPHERE BUT THEY FOUND ALTERNATIVES FOR MOST THINGS IUSDHUDIFJVHN IN THIS FRIGG'S CHOSEN ONES ARE THE GAYS(TM) ASDFGHJKJ WHAT IF WHEN THEY DO RAIDS AT NIGHT THEY HAVE GLOW IN THE DARK TATTOOS SO THEY SCARE THE CRAP OUTTA THE ASSHATS THEY'RE RAIDING

SHIPS CAPTAINS CAN MARRY PPL JOR OFFICIATES J=HIS WEDDING TO FREY FOR LAUGHS BUT RIGHT AFTER IT STARTS FRIGG SHOWS UP AND DOES IT :D

[Sleep deprived ramblings] Fuckin what if Frey gets pissed off and somehow fuckin summons Kali into her body She's like "HELLO MOTHAFUCKA HEY HI HOW YA DURN BOW DOWN BITCHES" and there's just blood and fire everywhere and she's got glowing extra arms, like a LOT of extra arms, and she's just glowing blue, and Jor's like "Oh shit what just happened?" then Frey's like "Oh they pissed me off a little too much btw gimme banan and choc" and he's just like FRIGG HELP US ALL IS SHE GONNA BE LIKE THIS EVERY MONTH and Frey's just like "IDK depends" and then goes back to being her best Kali self and the ship they're raiding just kind of... disintegrates right after she's done and the THOUSAND FUCKING GLOWING ARMS just fade away and Jor's like "Feel any better?" and Frey's like "Eh? Kind of??" and everyone just kind of collectively pisses themselves a little.

FREY DOES THE DICKING DOWN SOMETIMES AND JOR'S A POWER BOTTOM [End]

The glowy bits look like ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frey ~~~~ Face: Bright turquoise in eye sockets and on eyelids, but more drippy blood red below eyesockets down to jawbone. Chest: Gold swirly thing on collarbone Back: White feathery wings with red bloodstains Arms:Gold bands around forearms, red on hands that looks like blood dripping off Abdomen: Legs:

Jor ~~~ Face: Yellow in his eye sockets and on his eyelids, with a black bit so that his eyes look like snake eyes when he closes 'em, GLOWING CANINE TEETH Chest: patches of green, red, and glowing black scales that get bigger as they go down Back: more parches of scales Arms: Ghostly blue snakes coiling around his arms all the way to the shoulders Abdomen: gradually becoming more and more snakeskin covered from top to bottom Legs:

What if I bring in a whole bunch of stuff from ancient myths? They're definitely gonna be sailing along one night and the ocean will seem to have a golden glow and they'll look down and see one MASSIVE (like, 5 or 10 times the size of the boat) glowing amber-yellow snek eye looking up at them

One day, Frey gets hurt in a night raid (like, bad gash bad, not OH SHIT SHE GON' DIE bad that's a different bit) and Jor FUCKING LOSES IT, calls everyone back, and CHARGES ABOARD THE OTHER SHIP IN FULL GLOW MODE AND just says "Hello naughty children. It's murder time." and then just...Death and destruction to the asshats. When he's done, he comes back fucking COVERED in blood and Frey looks at him all worried and he says "Don't worry, none of it's mine" and Frey's just like "K good" nad everyone's like "Yeah they're meant for each other now if they would just GET THEIR HEADS OUT THEIR ASSES"

Another time, Frey gets hurt bad enough to be almost dead and Jor kills the one who did it but then afterwards he's just all sad and when Frey's about to die he prays to Frigg and FRIGG SHOWS UP LIKE "Hey, don't worry my child/friend. I'll heal her. After all, this ship is full of my chosen ones" and everyone's like WAIT WAT DE FAK and she stays and tells them the story of the other blurb I wrote and she's like "Yeah and this is the FIRST TIME someone has asked me for help in the last thousand years guys what the fuck" and everyone's like "Oh yeah monotheism took over and fucked shit up" and Frigg's like W H A T THIS IS NOT PERMIT and goes off pocahontas style to kick ass and take away people's monotheism cards.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SHOULD JOR BE A FATHER/UNCLE FIGURE OR A ROMANTIC INTEREST HELP Mmmmmmmm...Lurve, but Frey gon' be genderfluid, so this is gonna be a fun ride

Animatic to phietto remix of lone digger where the beginning sound fade in fade out thingies are warning shots, the bass coming in is the footsteps of the pirates boarding, and the shit rlly starting is when Frey gets stolen, then it cuts to a montage of the beginning

THE GAY PIRATE NERDS HAVING DANCE(GAVOTTE?) NIGHTS THAT ALWAYS WND UP TURNING INTO ORGY NIGHTS And Frey is just in the corner/on deck like "Oh look there's all SORTS of nope over/down there. Lots and lots of nope! I don't want any, thanks" and she doesn't realize she yelled this aloud until the orgy devolves into laughter

FREY AND JOR DRINKING CONTEST WHERE THEY BOTH DRINK "EXTRAOOOOOOOOOOOOORDINARY AMOUNTS OF ALCOHOL" AND THEN GO ON A RAID AND EVERYONE'S TERRIFIED BECAUSE THEY'RE BOTH CRAZY DRUNKS (Frey tying herself to the front of the ship and shrieking IM A MERMAID BITCHESSSSSSSSSSSS)

Jor started the pirate ship because he was abused by his mother. His mother verbally and emotionally abused him, and when he tried speaking up for himself, he got yelled at and called horrible, horrible things. He eventually couldn't take it and left, saying he would never return. He packed up everything he owned into satchels and bags and joined a crew. He was safe there, until something went horribly wrong, and everyone onboard died except for him. He rechristened the ship, and began doing what he does now. However, certain swear word combos will make him flinch. The crew know this, so they have an unspoken list of "You can swear, but you can't use these specific combos" going on

PLAYLIST ~~~~~~~~ Writing it: doing it right daft punk

Actual themes: Lone digger phietto remix Little swing aron chupa

Frey: Confident demi lovato Black betty caravan palace <Maybe>

Jor: The Greatest Show Panic At The Disco

OH SHIT IS FREYJA THE GODDESS OF FANFIC? AFTER ALL, LUST, WAR, LOVE, DEATH, FERTILITY. BESICALLY FANFIC. Again, if anybody wants to flesh this out or add something to it, feel free! Just please don’t steal it or use it without credit

[elysiumrp]

Congratulations EMMA! You have been accepted as Tereza Castelo. Please go through the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours. If you need more time, make sure you send a message to the main.

Emma!! I’m so excited to see you back, and to see you as Tereza no less is absolutely amazing. She is one of my favorite characters I wrote for this new Elysium revamp, and the first I wrote as well, so to see her picked up again is absolutely awesome. I loved your sample para, and I also completely support your headcanon that you mentioned in your anything else section. I know that you’ll do Tereza justice, and I can’t wait to see you play the beautiful Camila Mendes on the dash. Welcome to Elysium!!

OOC INFO

Name: Emma Age: 21 Timezone: CST Preferred Pronouns: She/Her  Previous RP Experience: [RFP] Activity Level:  I should be on fairly often. I am also a full-time student and have a job. However, I tend to make time for my rps. Anything Else: Nope

IC INFO

Character Name: Tereza Castelo Why did you choose this character:

When I was looking to rejoin this rp, I had originally been debating on reclaiming one of my old characters. However, I saw the most wanted characters, my attention fell on Tereza more than it fell on Alexandra. I read her bio and fell in love though it definitely helps that Camila is totally my woman crush. I feel that Tereza has the great opportunity to be a very complex and amazing character that I would love to breathe life into.

Describe your plan for them:

I would like to help and watch Tereza grow in her relationships, as well as just growing on her own. I feel as a 700+ vampire, Tereza has absorbed a great deal of knowledge throughout her years. However, she continues to crave that desire and passion for knowledge. She has done everything she can to learn as much as she can about how to hack to help her cause. I would like to watch her use her own knowledge and wisdom to help herself in situations, as well as teach others around her. I feel I would like to explore how she is dealing with the pain of not seeing her son grow to a man, as well as Tereza still attempting to justify the decision to herself. I also am interested in playing out how she manages being an older vampire while still keeping her species a secret in a world that knows about the supernatural. I feel that it takes a great deal of cunning on her part.

Describe your character’s feelings and reactions to the initial reveal of the supernatural world:

When Tereza received the news, she was stunned. It meant a drastic change from the world as she knew it for people like her. One of the reasons she left her son was the fact that she was what she was. Tereza had lived long enough to see the damage that humans can cause. When she found out that the supernatural world was now in the open, she could not help other than to think that certain humans would try to drive out or destroy the supernatural population. She only believed certain humans though because Tereza knows there is bad and good in any species. All she could hope was that her fears were not going to come true. Yet, after witnessing someone like Hilter firsthand, she was sure that she would sadly be right in her fears.

Describe your character’s feelings and reactions to the current state of the world, and how it impacts them as an individual:

As a vampire, the outing of the supernatural was very substantial to her and she was very weary when they starting registering supernatural. There was only one time she remembered people being registered and it did not end pretty for the people who had been registered. The fierce woman is not going to allow her people be taken out without a fight. In order to have this fight, she remains in the shadows about what she is and uses her computer skills to give her side information. While she knows the fight for equality is a dangerous path, it is one that she is extremely passionate about and she wouldn’t be doing anything else.

Para Sample:

It was ironic that she was cornered by the fire when Tereza always felt that her specialty over the years had developed to be ice. Life had grown cruel to her through the years that she had been with her husband that she felt herself changing from her once bright self to someone a bit more bitter towards the world. The only light that she found in life at the time was Andres, her only son. However, as she stared at the flames before her feeling herself almost melting away, she couldn’t help other than to wonder what it would be like if she just let the fire consume her. So, she stood there watching the flames dance before her like her own personal show that was growing closer and closer. It was when the fire began to touch her that she began to scream and question her decision. The fire was more painful than what she could imagine. Tereza had been wrong. This entire idea was utterly insane. How could she have believed that this was the right way out. What would Andres do without a mother? The woman began to search madly for an escape, for an exit. Her breathing became labored as the smoke continued to fill her lungs and began to faint just as a dark figure caught her.

The next thing Tereza remembered was waking up to the cool air freezing her skin. The burning pain of the cold felt oddly similar to the fire that she had just escaped from. The young woman didn’t understand why the man was forcing some liquid down her throat that still felt as though it was a flame. She hadn’t even realized that it was blood from a vampire that she was tasting as she slowly fell into what felt like a deep sleep. Tereza woke up hours later feeling better than ever. The world seemed a whole lot more vivid like she had been living her entire life with the dimmer switch on low. Everything was brighter, more colorful, stronger smelling and certainly louder. She could hear the footsteps coming towards this bedroom that wasn’t hers and when the door opened, she was greeted by a kind gentleman.

“¿Cómo está usted?” The man asked her to gauge how she was doing after the transition. He was a beautiful man and she had felt she had seen him around though she did not leave her house to often because of her husband. However, she wondered why he had brought her here instead of a hospital. Yet, the man must have been a doctor with how well she was feeling now. The only issue that she had was the itch in the back of her throat that was telling her that she was thirsty.

“Bien, ¿y usted?” Tereza responded politely as she sat up to face the man fully. “                ¿Quién es usted?” She asked curious of who the man was and why he brought her here. That question began a series of many questions that night as the vampire began to explain everything that happened to her and what she had become. Tereza listened to every single word that came dripping off of his tongue as though her own life depended on it because it very well did. The man who stood before her, a man whose name was Matias, had given her a new life. His very name meant gift from God was this a sign? Was he her savior and escape from a life that she was not meant to live? He offered her to stay with him and offered her a home that he would help her with her transition into the life of a vampire. She thanked him then told him she needed a moment to think everything over, which the man respected and left her to be alone.

All the thoughts she had during the fire seemed to come back. Could she really leave Andres without a mother? Now, she was a vampire that feed from the life essence of living beings and did not age. Would she be able to fulfill her role as a mother while living in the shadows? It would be a few years and people would be bound to notice that she was different from the rest and not in the way that she used to be. She was no longer different by the way that she held herself or her beauty, but different in a twisted way that set her free from the hands of time. As she thought of that, she thought of how beautiful freedom would taste. Tereza thought of how this opportunity provided her a chance to become her old self again. She would be able to love life and live free of the chains that her husband had placed on her so many years ago. Tereza called Matias back into the room and told him that she would like to learn from him. Even though her heart broke for her son as she admitted her true desires, she was finally free.

Any questions/concerns/things you’d like to change: (siblings to add, pronouns, sexuality you’d like to specify, personality, face claim, history, etc., etc.)

I have a head canon that I wanted to include in my app if that makes sense:

Medieval Spain had been a scene of almost constant warfare between Muslims and Christians that Tereza had witnessed. I have a head canon that during her lifetime, she was a devote Catholic. During her times where she was torn between her own desires and being a dutiful wife for her husband that she did not love, Tereza found herself at the alter praying for guidance. Though she became a vampire and left her family, which were both actions that she believed God would damn her for, she kept her faith. As she traveled throughout her long life, she had visited many Cathedrals that were absolutely breathtaking. While she is not the most open to admitting her religious views, she would definitely not deny that she believes in a God. However, she also believes in a God that would most likely send her to hell for the species she is and part of her past. Due to this belief, she tries her hardest to redeem herself in helping others when she can.  

[ryanngarambe-blog]

Contextual Studies: Gender discussion

The Gender Inequality Index (GII) is a report prepared by the UN which looks at gender inequality in three aspects of human development: health, power, andeconomics.

A recent Guardian article was entitled: ‘UK gender inequality as bad as 10 years ago, EU league table shows’.

                                                                       The Guardian [online] October 2017

The gender binary is being deconstructed.

Despite the fact that gender inequality still exists, many are opening their eyes to the possibility of gender being less binary than formerly accepted.

In 2014, Facebook introduced 71 gender options which users can now choose from. Users are also able to choose their preferred pronoun.

The ‘individual' self 

René Descartes, a French philosopher and his idea was ‘cogito ergo sum’ - ‘I think; therefore I am’; in which the rational self is the centre of a variety of linked practices of ‘knowing’. This rational ‘self’ is what most liberal politics are based upon - with individual rights etc.

The ‘collective' self 

In the 1800s, Karl Marx wrote about the ways in which humans are shaped by capitalist society. He believed that work environment would shape who you were as a person - for example, someone who worked in a factory might have a different kind of self to someone who owned a factory.

He thought the economic system was the controlling factor, and came up with the idea of the ‘collective self’ - terms such as ‘collective consciousness’ can be traced back to Marx.

The ‘subjective' self

Sigmund Freud came up with some different ideas surrounding the self, many involving the subconscious. He called the ‘self’ the ‘subject’, and he believed the process of becoming is an endless process in which the subject is torn between desires and drives on the one hand and cultural and social demands on the other.

Gender and linguistics are closely linked. In the English language, nouns which are feminine tend to have negative connotations like the word ‘sissy’ is used to describe girls, so when a boy is called that word it’s meant to be even more demanding that they’re being compared to a female. Also in many languages  such as German and French nouns are directly gendered.

The Male Gaze - Laura Mulvery (1975) suggests that women are portrayed a certain way in the media to appeal to a male audience this is normally done by over sexualising women, the idea that sex sells. The male gaze theory still applies to the media today.

  Gender performativity

It is based on the notion that gender is a social construct, and it’s important to note that she does not see gender as a performance (something that starts and ends) but rather as performative.  Judith Butler (1990)

Differences between...

Biological sex: a label you are assigned at birth depending upon various physical factors including hormones, chromosomes, and mainly genitals.

Gender identity: the perception of someone’s own gender, which may or may not correspond with their biological sex.

Gender expression: the (culturally- specific) way in which someone expresses their gender identity.

Though it appears natural, gender (as opposed to biological sex) is a social construction. Evidence of this can be seen in:

cross-cultural and historical differences in acceptable gender norms,

social institutions such as patriarchy which reinforce gender inequality,

sexist examples of language

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, IZZIE! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard AGAPI, known as JOSEFINA ROMERO, with a faceclaim of KELSEY MERRITT. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: Agapi had a lot of competition, which made choosing a suitable character near impossible. We went back and forth between the apps, but eventually, Izzie, you won us over with your portrayal of Agapi. Josefine is passionate, burdened, and you really managed to capture her free spirit. We really loved the little sprinkles of history throughout your application, and you had so many little one-liners that just blew us away (Don’t you remember, daughter of love? You once wanted a life like this, too.) Well done!

NAME/ALIAS: Izzie

AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 22, PST, she/hers

ACTIVITY & EXTRAS: Currently juggling an internship and freelancing, but I’ll be able to post replies at least once or twice a week. Ideally, I’d get on around every other day. I’ll be pretty active OOC for anything else, and I’ll be around most of the time for any plotting and chatting! So I guess around a 7/10 for activity.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Agapi

CHARACTER NAME: Josefina Magdalena Romero

AGE & GENDER: 271 ( immortally 22 ) & cis female

FACECLAIM: Kelsey Merritt, Nadine Lustre, Liza Soberano

BIOGRAPHY:

I. Trinidad Romero is trouble, so the rumors go, the wildest of the mayor’s three daughters. Mothers attempt to keep their sons from falling for her, and wives hold their husbands closer as if it would be her fault if she is pursued, but she has no need of barrio men when she loves a god.

Not that she knows he is one.

All she knows is that stories of lands beyond Ilocos fall from his lips, and that he does not care she is bold and defiant and careless. That it does not matter to him she does not want to run a house and bear responsibility like her mother does and her sisters will. She loves him because he lets her be who she is, and she loves him even when he leaves, abandoning her and the baby in her belly to the sharp thorns of scandal.  

II. Death takes Trinidad as her daughter enters the world. Josefina has a nose like her mother’s, and her aunt hopes she will grow just as beautiful but nowhere near as bold. Doña Emelda decides that her niece will not answer for Trinidad’s transgressions, and that she will be raised properly so that her life might turn out better than her mother’s.

Unfortunately for Emelda, Josefina grows to be almost as beautiful and twice as bold. She makes up for it with magnetic charm and easy grace, and she is a clever child with her younger cousins under her thumb while she chases after her older ones. The foundation of her life is a happy one—she learns to sing and to play piano when they can get her to sit still, and she is bursting full of stories no one knows the origin of. As the years pass, she makes many friends and admirers among her peers. She enchants her elders so they forgive her faults just like they did with her mother, and she becomes so loved that they all might forget how she came to be.

III.  Her father first comes to her in a dream.

Or, at least, she thinks it is a dream, for the only God she knows is the one she asks for blessings at dinner, the one she worships every Sunday with a lace veil draped over her bowed head.

But who is to say gods like him, other gods, do not exist? Did not her ancestors believe they walked among deities, that diwata lived in mountains and the moon and girls turned into flowers? They believed until the Spanish told them not to, until conquistadors and priests brought God with them and crushed the tales of old beneath their righteous feet. And the world is wide, much wider than she knows. Who is to say her father is not really who he claims to be?

( And it would make sense her proud, enthralling mother would ensnare a god. There are many stories and falsehoods about the brightest of the Romero sisters, but this dreamworld with its ethereal man and suspension of reality, this is the truth. )

Eros does not visit her often, but she can tell he is proud of her, of how freely she loves though her heart is broken again and again and her world whispers she is sinning. To love without abandon. To love with disregard for consequence. Is that not the essence of who he is?

IV. Ang ganda naman, murmurs the wind like an omen, carrying the thoughts of the townspeople. How pretty she is. How like her mother. How many hearts she will break.

But what about her heart? Is it not a fragile thing, too?

V. She loves a boy whose heart belongs to their country more than to her, who comes to her in fleeting moments when time bids him so. But he does not, will not, root himself to her, even for all her honey-sweet words and tender touches. Even for the power she infuses into all she does for him so he may laugh for her. What good is being a god’s daughter if she cannot enchant him more than the idea of change? Of freedom? How can she when she wishes for the same? They are both fighting losing battles, and her heart breaks when he leaves her, death close at his heels and a false promise on his lips—

She swears not to love again, though she knows this is a falser promise than his.

She loves a girl who she kisses under starlight because day will not let them be anything other than cherished friends. She does not even have to do anything at all to get the girl to look at her, does not have to pull at invisible strings. And she loves her more for it, loves her until she cannot, until the girl is promised to another and Josefina must plaster a fake smile on her face and spit out fake well-wishes. Until they can no longer pretend they live where girls can love girls without fearing danger for their souls and star-crossed lovers are not fated to be forced apart by the end of the story—

She swears not to love again, though she knows sorrow will not stop her heart from bleeding.

A man loves her and she does not love him as much back, feelings fading as stone is worn away by rain until she might no longer love him at all. He plies her with flattery and gifts and grand declarations, but they are not enough for the girl who has loved too much.

For this is what she wonders: Does he love her for who she is or for her father’s blood running through her veins, casting a spell that pulls others into her orbit when she smiles and holds their gaze? Or have the lines blurred, the spell broken, yet he is still enamored all the same? She does not know, but she knows his touch feels more like damnation than salvation, like four walls closing in rather than wide open space. I will have you until the end of time, he says, and it is poetic. Death do us part. But her life is hers and hers alone, and she knows she cannot stay—

She does not love again. She shuts her heart closed to be free.

VII. You ungrateful girl, Emelda hisses as they watch the smitten man leave for the umpteenth time. Josefina hopes it is the last. See, here is a man throwing himself at you, a rich man who would give you all you desire and keep you happy. It’s a good match. You’re lucky he loves you.  

Yet Josefina is not happy. And he cannot give her what she desires, for she wants freedom that he will not give. That his love will not give, and not any love after that because all her loves take too much of her even when she should know better. Love, exhilarating, maddening thing that it is, leaves her both voracious and spent.

But she cannot tell anyone this, for who will listen to reckless, passionate girls who do nothing but disappoint? Who defy all that’s expected of good, virtuous girls? She prays and she prays for someone to hear her, rosary beads smooth under her fingers. It is not God or saints or the Virgin who answer her, but a moon goddess with a bow and a promise: Give up love and you will be free. Give up these earthly ties and you will not be buried in the ground.

( Hearing the call of Artemis and her hunters now, Josefina imagines this is how the rebel she once loved must have felt when he could not keep from reaching for the horizon even when he was held back. )

Her father visits her again, the anger and disappointment etched onto his face matching her aunt’s, but somehow it is worse. Shards of guilt cut at her, but why must she feel guilty for wanting to be happy? You are lucky to love, he tells her. Lucky to be loved. Love is everything you are. A bitter laugh rises in her throat. She should be so lucky if love’s tangled web only ensnares her and another.

Even if she is his daughter, Eros does not care if love brings her joy or leaves her heartbroken, for love is both beautiful and ugly, both fleeting and steadfast. It has the power to uplift and destroy. It is the essence of who he is. And who are you, daughter of love, to dare defy that?

Oh, but she dares. Just as her mother dared to love a man—a god—she was never supposed to, Josefina dares to choose a life she was never meant to have. It breaks her heart to turn her back on her father, but she does.

If this is what she must do to snip this lovespun web, then this is what she will do.

( She hopes her mother is watching her from wherever she is, be it Heaven or the Underworld or elsewhere. Are you, at least, proud of me? )

VIII. The first time she sees snow a smile as bright as day breaks across her face.

Her bird of a heart swoops and soars, freed from its cage of expectation. When she tastes the cool melt of snowflakes on her tongue, she thinks for not the first time since she has become a hunter: This is what it means to be free. Sometimes, she wonders what would have happened if she had not turned her back on all she knew and all she loved. What if she had married that rich man with his beautiful house and beautiful words? She would have been rich, too, but might have grown bored. Perhaps he would have sought a mistress, like so many men she knew did, and torn her heart out in the process. And what if she married a poorer man who offered little but his heart? Would she be happy then, or would she still want for material things and a better life? And what if she grew again not to love a man at all? The secret of it might grow too painful to bear. What if, what if, what if—

She comes to the same conclusion every single time: Different fates, but prisons all the same. Ilocos and heartbreak would be all she knew, but now— the world is so full of wonder love can never give her.

It has not even been a decade since she has taken the oath of Artemis, and perhaps this is why immortality has not weighed on her like some of her sisters. Perhaps this is why it is still so easy for her to scorn love for the poison she believes it is, for the trouble it has brought her more than joy. But even when decades pass and the world changes, she is unwavering. Even when her favorite hunter, Beatriz, falls in love with a boy with a tender heart and skin like mahogany. Her love for this boy might be so valuable a jewel that she would risk Artemis’ wrath for it, but Josefina isn’t convinced it’s worth it.

Or so she tells herself.

Because when she visits them decades later and they are old while she is young, she sees how much they care for each other. How much love is passed between them in the cooking of a meal, a few words, or the entwining of hands. And it hits her like an arrow. This could have been her. This would have been her.

Don’t you remember, daughter of love? You once wanted a life like this, too.

IX. She has seen her country break free from the conqueror’s grasp only to come under the hands of another and another until finally, they have the freedom she sought herself centuries ago. So many lives have touched her soul; so many lives leave this world while she remains. So many wars she’s seen, and so much violence and treachery and vengeance. There is blood on her hands, but she would rather have that than her own ichor spilled onto the weapon of another.

But amidst the suffering and tragedy is good in the world, in how people love each other in so many ways more than the one she took an oath not to, in their laughter and triumph and kindness. It is this good she wants to protect, so when she is called to join this quest, she doesn’t hesitate. She has seen enemies come together to fight before, and she can only hope history repeats itself this time.

( Let us play a game: What is worse, the depth of darkness in humanity or the malicious hunger of a waking Earth goddess? )

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC:

She loves wholly and passionately without regard for consequence until it is too late. It’s only later that she sees she’s spent too much on herself on someone who does not care as much as they should, or that someone who loved her too much and she did not love as much back sacrificed too much of themselves for a capricious girl whose eye was turned somewhere else. Naturally, neither make for very good post-break-up relationships, but they won’t kill her. Her heart has broken again and again, but it is still beating, and it will still beat until she gives herself into a love that will lead her to death. Love can be fatal if she wants to die for someone she loves, and she would walk through fire for someone she’d give all of herself to. But as a huntress sworn off love, that can’t happen, right?

EXTRAS

pinterest board

musings tag

stats

horoscope graphic

Headcanons:

Knows several languages and dialects, including Tagalog, Spanish, Ilocano, Bicol, Visayan, English, Greek, Latin, Mandarin and Cantonese Chinese, Italian, and French. She’s got a lot of time to learn languages.

Likes singing, dancing, and playing the piano.

Is constantly fascinated by technology. Doesn’t always keep up. Likes playing Animal Crossing. Has to have memes explained to her.

Has an unplaceable accent. Doesn’t really use slang. Probably texts with good grammar and proper capitalization.

She’s always been clever, and she’s been quenching her thirst for knowledge with a variety of subjects: linguistics, politics, the arts, strategy.

When she’s not in battle or hunting, she likes favors comfort and simplicity in her clothing. If we look at trends now, she’s a big fan of culottes. Likes long skirts, flowing dresses, and linen blouses and pants. Detests jeans and tight-fitting dresses. Tends to dress modestly without really making a conscious effort, as this is simply what she knows best and is comfortable with, but doesn’t care about the clothing choices of others. The only items of jewelry she owns are a necklace from her mother and a bracelet from her aunt.

Camp Half-Blood is her second home. Her first home is with Artemis and her fellow hunters, of course, but CHB offers a sense of stability. It’s nice, being around demigods. It makes her understand herself a little better even if she’s gotten centuries to get to know herself. Other than the archery range, her favorite place is the beach. The strawberry fields are a close second.

Personality:

Her impetuous nature has been tempered by time, and she no longer wears her heart on her sleeve like she did before ( or at least, not as much ), instead coming off as lot more composed with a thread of vivacious youth running through her. Endlessly curious and finds how society is always changing fascinating. Things have come so far since she was born, and she’s glad for it.

There’s still some of that passion she was so known for before she took the oath of Artemis, and she’s quick to jump to the defense of her sisters, friends, and those who cannot defend themselves. She would say family, as well, but she’s lost track of her descendants long ago. Hates injustice of any kind. Advocate for fighting your oppressors and the patriarchy.

For the most part, she’s outgoing and amiable, always eager to meet someone new or venture into the unknown, but there seems to be a wall put up between her and others. She’s always afraid to get too close to someone in fear she’ll inevitably lose them, whether because of distance or death, or that she won’t be able to keep from finally falling in love after all these years. You might not notice it at first, as she’s perfected the art of casual friendliness and guileless smiles, but there’s something withdrawn about her. There’s a reason she’s not keen on accepting the help of others aside from her fellow hunters, and it’s not because she’s unappreciative.

In moments she keeps to herself, she grows weary—as if the weight of all the time in the world is too heavy and all she’d like to do is get rid of it. But that comes at too high a cost, so she swallows it down and carries on.

aesthetic: a smooth bow held in capable hands. the rosy glow of sunrise. dark hair tumbling down shoulders like a river. lace embroidery. the sweet taste of ripe mango. words rolling off your tongue like a song. faded pages of worn sheet music. an ache you can’t place, or perhaps are too afraid to.

Plots/Arcs:

I. Not only did she face pressure from her father, but also her family and the society she left behind. If she married, it would be to a man, and even better if it was a rich man. A poor man would only result in disapproval and hardship even with the promise of happiness. Josefina might fall in love as easily as a bird taking flight and as wholly as a person possibly can ( it runs in her blood, after all ), but what’s the point of loving when you aren’t even allowed to love who you want to? In 1769, the year she turned 22, she thought it was easier to just run away from love than dealing with the pressures of it. Her options were either to join a nunnery or join Artemis, and honestly, becoming a hunter with promises of immortality, sisters-in-arms, and endless travel sounded much more enticing than pledging her mortal life to God.

But now, nearly 300 years later, with a much freer world with looser morals, as her aunt, God bless her soul, would have put it, Josefina notices it’s much easier now to love who you want to. There are difficulties all the same, but still not as constricting as she once knew it. This is all to say that, in her opinion, if she wanted to fall in love, this is the century to do it. But she can’t! Because she’s a huntress and pledged not to ever! I would love for her to grapple with that choice she made so many years ago because she thought it was right, and now she’s wondering if she’d been wrong, or she’s only beginning to second-guess herself because of all the time that’s passed. And maybe she could fall in love along the way at the threat of possibly ruining her life and losing the hunters and her immortality. ( She’d really like to not be turned into an animal. )

II. Her first love died when she was 16, executed along with the rest of the rebels during the Silang Rebellion; she learned grief at an early age. This comes into play with her connection with Apatheia, who she treats kindly if only because others rarely do, but still keeps her distance. Maybe eventually, she could close that distance. Could bring herself to ask what’s happened to that boy she loved so long ago, along with everyone else she ever loved or couldn’t bring herself to. Maybe that would bring some closure to her, or maybe it would let loose a river of grief she wouldn’t know how to stop. I’m here for internal turmoil.

III. Here she is, thrown on a boat without one of her sisters in sight. Instead, she has thirteen other demigods for company, and half of them detest each other. Makes for great team-building. It’s been a long time since it’s been like this—she’s pretty much always had the company of her fellow hunters. I think she’d adjust well enough, but maybe this would allow her to question herself more without constantly being around the whole “you never fall in love” thing. Is freeing herself from love really freedom? Should she have fought for both instead? Was she brave for cutting off her father and everything he stood for, or was she really just a coward, running from her problems?

I think it’d also be a good opportunity to make deeper friendships, because while I’m sure she’s friends with other demigods, I don’t think she’s as close to them as she could be because she has her sisters-in-arms and doesn’t really think she needs to go any deeper. ( They’ll all leave her, anyway. ) But I want at least someone to break down that wall she has. Get her to open up, see that people are worth trusting and depending on even if it might not be forever. Maybe even be friends with a Roman.