#maybe they have a difficult past together maybe one of them is wholly obsessed with the other

[binghe-malewife-goals]

Ngl my brain fizzles out my ears and onto the ground when fics give us character a, who doesn't like character b, and character b, who is desperately devoted to character a despite character a being an asshole to them

With no context besides the fact [looks at notes] character b thinks character a is pretty

[sasaranurude]

complaining about a mobile game under the cut

helios frustrates me sometimes (often) because it has a lot of interesting character beats but it often reveals these in a way that does a major disservice to the characters-as-I-read-them and makes me genuinely wonder if the writers even realized what the emergent result is from all the shit they shoved into the story. I was going to say "narrative" and not story there but sometimes its hard for me to read helios as a holistic narrative because it constantly seems to read as a series of random unconnected events that dont have an overarching theme or plot except maybe sometimes basic things like "teamwork is good". I feel very "along for the ride" with helios rather than a reader who is engaging with a narrative, taking part in a conversation. idk how intentional any of the writing is. it often makes it actively harder for me to enjoy the experience because im spending my time trying to piece together things that just dont feel holistic to me at all. i dont know if a story is well-written if sitting down and writing down all of what you know about a character's history in chronological order gives you a wildly, wildly different idea of who that character is than the story-as-written does. or maybe it is. maybe that's on purpose. I don't know! I genuinely don't know! The way it's written makes it difficult to tell how intentional any of it is and makes you wonder if your reading is outright wrong and not what the authors intended. and that not knowing frustrates me, because I want reading to feel like a conversation with a text, not something that I construct in my head in spite of the text. not when ive spent the past two years immersed in narratives that are clearly, obviously, full of that intentionality and are inviting you to engage with multidimensional characters who have concrete themes and arcs that unfold from a solid starting point, from a very clear nucleus of a character that never changes. I once heard someone say that mhyk/i7 rarely reveal wholly new things to you, they just present more facets of things that you could've already guessed. well helios constantly seems to reveal new things that barely fit into what was there previously and that forces you to readjust your entire concept of a character. there is no overarching theme for a character that brings them together as an entity. they're presented as a collection of traits and the character is emergent. exact opposite of the stories ive been obsessed with for the past two years. less of an unfolding and more of a corkboard that new things are getting tacked onto. not necessarily a bad way to tell a story just a very different one. its difficult to adjust. which is ironic given that this is also how hypmic was presented, and I spent the two years prior obsessed with that. a lot of the ways im processing helios do feel very familiar in spite of how frustrated they make me. at least its better than enstars

the other frustrating thing about this is that i cant really talk about helios with my friend who got me into it because when its presented in this way im really, really, really slow to process how I feel about whats going on, but she loves helios and would love to talk about it with me. but I just don't have anything to say except confused noises until I can actually sit down and think about things on my own, either thru writing fic or just by writing rambly meta :( sorry doot we can talk about helios in a month when my brain has tied it together into a nice bow. or like three months given the pace we're reading the story at

[visionsofus]

Wanda and Vision's Mixtape

track #3: Rescue my Heart by Liz Longley

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

synopsis: In which Vision arrives to help break the Cap’s team out of Raft prison post-Civil War. Wanda recalls fond memories of the compound and comes to terms with the idea of living on the run.

CW: depiction of imprisonment

The hum of electricity was the only warning that Wanda Maximoff had before fluorescent white lights impaired her vision. For 15 seconds she was effectively blind as her eyes frantically tried to adjust to the harsh lighting. That was the 9th time she had been abruptly awoken in such a way and the panic never lessened.

Her day at Raft prison started the same as every morning that had preceded it, the door to her cage was opened and she was led to the bathroom to freshen up before being returned for a meagre breakfast. Sometimes she would walk past the rest of the team, they all looked just as battered and exhausted as she felt.

Wanda wasn’t let out of her straitjacket for breakfast and was spoon fed whatever mush they deemed nutritious enough for the day from a metal tray. It was a humiliating experience. It was made worse by the drugs they mixed into her meal each morning that were so strong she would fall asleep an hour later and often not be conscious again until the following morning. She supposed it was their way of trying to keep her under control, little did they know that it was only serving to make her angrier, more dangerous. Walking past her bruised teammates each morning filled her with rage, sitting and being spoon fed by a guard filled her with rage, but underlying it all was a sense of hopelessness, an acknowledgement that maybe she deserved to be in here. Clint had been wrong, getting up off her ass hadn’t fixed anything.

Each morning after eating her vibranium glass door was locked once more and Wanda lied back on the stiff bed that took up most of the space in her cell as she waited for the sedatives to kick in.

In the few hours she’d been conscious in the last week she’d mostly spent her time thinking. Wanda was sure that Steve had to have some sort of plan – she knew that he hadn’t been at the compound when they’d all been taken in – so she didn’t trouble herself with obsessing over a plan to get out. That would just make her panic and she didn’t want to let her powers get out of control, not in such an enclosed space as this. In the meantime, she had decided to bide her time and wait for a sign from Steve.

Instead, her thoughts were consumed with what had happened before her imprisonment. Some of the memories were painful but overall, her time at the compound had been pleasant. She was living in a better space than she had most of her life and while the empty place of her twin brother would never be filled… she was starting to heal. Working more on controlling her powers had been by far the best part of her year. The training made her feel strong, it made her want to protect people. Vision had helped a lot with training, he was one of the only ones who would last long in a fight against her, and their sparring practice had always been a great workout. Not for the first time in the last ten days did she cast her mind back to the last time they had fought.

"Don't go easy on me, Vis," Wanda said raising her hands before her and stepping into a defensive stance.

"If I had been 'going easy on you' Captain Rogers wouldn't have made us fight outside this time," Vision replied his cape fluttering in a non-existent breeze. He was right, the last time they had fought in one of the training rooms the roof had almost caved in. So, they had been forced to relocate outside where the only breakables were themselves.

"Physical combat first?" Wanda suggested. "No magic tricks."

"I am not sure that 'magic tricks' is the most suitable-" Vision began waving a hand lightly between them.

"Too slow,” she cut in, lunging forward and grabbing Vision’s arm, kicking his leg out from beneath him. Her leg swung right through him as he phased without hesitation.

Hand to hand combat without the fire power of their respective powers had always been their weak point in training, they had both come to rely so heavily on the magic of the stone that was so intrinsic to both their identities that it was difficult to not depend on it. Nonetheless, they needed to be ready for a situation where close quarter combat meant explosive power wasn’t an option.

Wanda took Vision’s next oppening to try and unbalance his other leg, but he was prepared for the kick this time and managed to dodge. They sparred for what felt like half an hour but in reality was only a few minutes, neither gaining any traction aside form a few hits to the ribs each.

In a desperate attempt to land a blow Wanda side-stepped Vision’s throw, ran for the wall at her back, kicked off it with one well-placed foot (aided in force by a little bit of her power) and launched herself at Vision. She would have landed a significant hit in the chest if he hadn’t turned and caught her just at that moment.

Wanda slammed into him and Vision was left supporting her effortlessly with one hand around her waist, she in turn pressed a steadying hand against his shoulder, immediately aware of how close they were. She was breathing heavily; her hair likely a mess about her face from where it had come loose from the ponytail she had tried to gather it up in. Vision’s eyes were focused wholly on her own, wide and darting across her face and for a moment she was tempted to reach into his mind and feel what was running through it. His mind was sometimes… difficult to navigate, even when he did let her in to communicate.

Vision slowly lowered her to the ground.

“I—” he began but didn’t have the chance to continue because Wanda had pressed her hands against his chest and sent an almighty wave of psionic energy through her palms. Before Vision could continue, he was launched into the air, flipping once before using his own powers to stop himself in mid-air. “I thought you said physical combat?” His brow was furrowed at her trick, but there was something shadowing his eyes beyond that and it made Wanda want to tease him more.

“Oops,” she said and launched herself at him again as he reached the ground. Vision hadn’t expected the fight to continue so Wanda managed to dive cleanly for his waist, hitting his chest with all the force thrown behind her shoulder in an attempt to take him down. It wasn’t a pretty or graceful move, but she’d thought she’d chosen the right moment to catch him sufficiently off guard. He twisted them in mid-air, and they fell to the ground together, his powers softening their landing.

“This is supposed to be a fight, Vis,” Wanda said content to fold her arms in mock disapproval, gazing up at him.

“I know,” he said, and they were close enough she could feel his breath flutter against her face from where he was, holding himself above her. “I’m just using the same cheat techniques of seduction that you’ve been using on me.”

A laugh bubbled up despite the embarrassment that was making her cheeks flush. Perhaps Wanda had teased him too much?

“Is it really cheating if it works?” Wanda asked deciding to push him that little bit further. She lifted one hand to his chin and trailer a single finger down his throat, she could’ve sworn his eyes started to glow a little. He lowered himself a little more until their noses were brushing and right when he closed his eyes she acted.

Taking advantage of his surprised state she lifted her leg and kneed him squarely in his chest, sending forth a second pulse of power. Yet again he flew away, this time so distracted that he fully hit the wall behind them, causing cracks to cobweb out through the concrete.

“That,” Vision said as he floated to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders, “was not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair in love and war.” Wanda shrugged pleasantly, but instinctively reached out to see if hitting the wall had caused any real pain.

“Don’t worry, it’ll take more than a concrete wall to hurt me.”

“Just checking.”

“I told you two to train, not flirt and break the walls,” a clearly grumpy Steve said as he made his way out into the courtyard. A few minutes too late the pair realised that they’d had a small audience looking on from within the compound.

“I have no idea what you’re talk about,” Wanda said crossing her arms and walking over to make her way back inside.

“Yes Captain, what exactly do you mean?” Vision asked, joining in on her denial as the pair went inside.

“Break another wall and you won’t be able to fight each other anymore,” he warned but was smiling in a way that told Wanda he was glad for their progress in training.

“Yeah, but what happens when they can’t take their tension out on each other through training?” Sam whispered to Natasha in a way that made it clear he intended everyone else to hear.

Wanda let herself come back to the unfortunate reality she was now confined to live in. She had been replaying similar memories for the last ten days, Vision was a common feature of the happy memories, but the rest of the team also filled her thoughts. It was something to keep the worse thoughts at bay and her pent-up power in check.

The loud clank of the prison gates surrounding her cage as the guards changed watch startled Wanda slightly. There was always noise here and it had been getting on her nerves for approximately eight and a half days now. Back at the compound her room was soundproof so she could enjoy silence when she needed. It had made it easier to focus on honing her powers and reaching out with her mind to try and feel the other people at the compound. That's not to say that her concentration wasn't often broken by Vision floating through her bedroom wall, usually stopping by for a profound chat about humanity or to ask her to explain human quirks he couldn't find sufficient answers to online.

Wanda missed him. As she lay on the bed waiting to be taken to the bathroom before breakfast, she closed her eyes and let her mind reach out. The noise and light made it difficult to retain focus as she reached further through the walls. She recognised the rest of her teammates minds and brushed over the guard’s minds, not wishing to delve too deep into their thoughts. The effort it took almost made her loose her breath and she let the power go. Telepathy was still a lot easier at closer proximity.

She was about to stand up and try and get a guard’s attention to let her out to the bathroom when she felt her hands begin to tingle within the straitjacket. Something was about to happen. Wanda did her best to get her hair out of her face with her hands bound. Her instincts were all she had to rely on as she turned slowly in a circle within the cage, waiting.

Abruptly, soldiers began yelling and hands flew to their weapons. Half a dozen of the black clad guards ran to her cage, circling around her and assuming a defensive position with their guns raised at the various doors leading out of her enclosure.

"Something wrong?" Wanda asked innocently.

To no surprise, her guards didn’t respond.

Wanda felt her powers rising faintly beneath her skin, calling out to an unknown force.

“Who’s there?” One guard to her left barked gruffly. Her call was answered a moment later as one of the heavy, steel doors was blown to bits. A pipe burst from above and dust fell from the trembling ceiling. A powerful steel beam flew out and struck two of the guards in front of her and they flew across the room. Wanda smiled for the first time in 9 days when she saw the figure that emerged from the dust and rubble.

Two guards made out for Vision, their guns firing but he phased easily avoiding the bullets and grabbed one guard in each hand and threw them to the side. Wanda noted how, despite everything, Vision didn’t cause any unnecessary harm to the people themselves and used only enough force to incapacitate them.

Wanda let her own power grow, feeling the straitjacket begin to strain as the powerful red mist from her hands spread and tore at her restraints. Feeling her power well up like a damn about to break she let out a yell as she tore her arms free of their constraints.  The power that exploded forth shattered the cage surrounding her, forcing the remaining guards to dive in order to avoid the flying shards. Two of them made a move to get her but she raised her hands and subdued them, sending them to the ground unconscious as her eyes burned a deep red.

Alarms were blaring now, and the lights appeared to be flickering overhead but no more guards came from the behind the destroyed doors.

Wanda turned in a full circle, expecting another fight but the only one still standing was Vision. He reached for her just as her legs, weakened from the sudden burst of power after 10 days dormant, made to give out from under her.

“Vis,” she said stretching her arm towards him as he stopped her from falling.

“Wanda,” he murmured, the relief emanating from him was clear. He gathered her up into his arms and hefted her against his chest gently, an arm tucked behind her back and one under her knees. "We must go."

“But the others–”she began as Vision rose up from the ground.

“Captain Rogers will see to getting them out safely,” Vision said and shot for the ceiling of the prison, the stone in his head sending a powerful beam through the roof and carving them out an escape route.

Wanda reached out with her hands and used her power to stop any of the rubble hitting them on the way out. The moment they hit the crisp air outside Wanda let loose a cry of relief. She was hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. It was likely due to the lack of food and sunlight but perhaps it was also because she finally felt safe for the first time in 9 days. She reached up and wound her arms around Vision's neck, pulling herself into his chest to avoid the harsh wind that was whipping the ocean below into a turmoil.

Wanda pressed one of her palms against Vision and tried to communicate her gratitude. As he flew her away from the prison, she took solace in the stability of his power, the power they both shared.

By the time Vision arrived at the coordinates Captain Rogers had directed him to, Wanda was fast asleep. The safe house was a quaint little thing, far less grand than what any of them had grown accustomed to at the compound. But it was well off the beaten track, down a winding driveway and hidden in a copse of dense trees. Still, Vision remained on guard.

The house was two stories high and distinctly cubic in appearance. Its exterior was simple and seemed more built for durability than aesthetic.

As Vision's feet reached the dewy ground Wanda stirred in his arms.

“Where are we?” She asked sleepily, slowly coming to her senses.

“Somewhere safe,” Vision said as he approached what appeared to be the door of the house. It was a small grey rectangle that blended in with fairly well with the rest of the unattractive building.

“It's ugly,” Wanda noted turning her head to look at the looming grey building.

“We can’t really afford to be picky,” Vision said in amusement before stopping abruptly as the front door opened.

“About damn time,” Natasha Romanov said smiling grimly at the pair who seemed so out of place against the backdrop of the thick forest. "You'd better get inside."

“Natasha,” Vision said nodding his greeting, and the unspoken truce now struck between them, as he passed her in the doorway.

“Vision,” Romanov returned the greeting. “How are you feeling Wanda?”

“I'm tired even though I've been sedated for the last nine days, I'm not hungry even though I haven't eaten a real meal in two weeks, and I feel like being locked in a straitjacket has done terrible things to my joints,” Wanda said looking down at her arms.

“We’ll see to it that you get fixed up,” Natasha said and began leading them through the rest of the house. “It’s not much but it’s better than nothing and we should be able to lay low for a while.”

Each room was simple with the bare minimum incorporated into the cubic design. On the ground floor they walked through a kitchen where a small table was cramped by five chairs, and beyond it was a living room occupied by what looked like a musty couch and a collection of mismatched pillows.

“There's a couple of bedrooms upstairs, I'll go get a first aid kit and see if we can get you hooked up to an IV,” Natasha said gesturing to the staircase they had arrived at and darting off down another corridor.

"You can put me down now," Wanda said looking up at Vision.

"We're almost there now, I might as well carry you the rest of the way," Vision said taking the stairs two at a time. When they reached the top, he ducked through the first doorway they found and into a small bedroom. There was a single bed in the corner, a chair opposite it and a window facing out over the forest they had come in from. Vision looked curiously at the window, marvelling at the way it had been created so that from the outside it appeared there were no windows but those inside still had the ability to monitor their surroundings. The house was effectively a bunker and seemed to be built to withstand a small attack, this helped put him a little more at ease.

Vision set Wanda down on the bed and she sagged against the pillows.

"You shouldn’t have come for me," Wanda said swallowing thickly as she turned on her side so she could see Vision properly as he stood in front of the window.

"I'm only sorry that I didn't come sooner," he said turning to face her. "I’m sorry I let you go. I should have stopped them from taking you."

"No you shouldn't have, you did the right thing," Wanda insisted, doing her best to remain seated despite every bone in her body asking for rest. "Vis you signed the Sokovia Accords, at the moment we're fugitives and if they find us with you…” she trailed off and shivered at the thought of him being caught.

"That is a risk I am willing to take," Vision said firmly, his eyes locked on Wanda's, their gaze only breaking when Natasha entered the room with two IV bags.

"I've never actually hooked someone up to one of these before," Natasha said turning the bag over in her hand as though expecting to find instructions.

"I can do it," Vision said taking them from her.

"Have you done this before?" Wanda asked hesitantly.

"No," Vision replied hooking the IV bag up to a tube and preparing a needle from the first aid kit, "but I understand how it has done and I’ve read about it online."

"Better you than me I suppose,” Natasha asked taking the seat opposite the bed.

"Just don't miss my vein," Wanda grumbled and stretched her bare arm out for Vision.

"What happened while we were locked up?" She asked, wincing slightly as Vision slid the needle into her arm.

Natasha began to describe the events of the last few days. How Tony had broken into the Raft and got information from Sam about Steve and Bucky's location and subsequently got himself beaten to a pulp. Just as Natasha finished updating her there was the sound of boots on the stairs.

"It's ok, it's just the others," Natasha assured them when Wanda and Vision both startled at the sound.

"Well, isn't this a nifty little safe house that you've got going here?" Sam said as he poked his head around the doorframe and stepped into the small room. "Wanda, Vision, thanks for leaving the rest of us behind."

"Enough Sam, without Vision things wouldn't have gone over as smoothly," Steve said clapping the Falcon on the shoulder. Steve was the only other one to enter the room and looked as though he’d spent a few days in Raft with them. His left eyebrow was split along the side and he was sporting bruises and cuts that were clearly healing more quickly than the average human but still looked painful.

"Where's Clint and Scott?" Vision asked, finishing with Wanda's drip and hanging the bag from the metal frame that Natasha had also brought up to allow the fluids to drip down.

"They decided to stay," Steve said, eliciting a sound of surprise from Natasha, "seems that they have been negotiating with the Secretary of State who is willing to allow them to live with their families under house arrest."

"That makes sense," Natasha said nodding thoughtfully. "What about you?"

"I'm not going to serve time for something that wasn't wrong in the first place," Sam said shrugging and leaning against the wall behind him.

"In the meantime, we need a plan," Steve said folding his arms and looking at the small group gathered in the room that was far too cramped for comfort.

"Hmm not sure I feel so good about Vision, still," Sam said shrugging. "Up until last week we were on very different sides."

"I am not here as an Avenger on 'Mr. Stark's side'," Vision said stepping up to Sam and looking him directly in the eyes. "Remember I helped get you out of that prison."

"Come on now guys, that’s enough." Steve said putting a hand on each of their shoulders and pushing them apart. "We have bigger problems."

"What could be bigger than being fugitives?" Wanda asked, meaning it to sound more light-hearted than it ended up coming out.

"For now, we’re safe and that’s what matters, this house seems good enough to lie low until we figure out our next steps,” Natasha said shrugging, looking around at the grey, boxy room.

"Year that won’t be happening, the house is Stark's," Steve said rocking back on his heels, he’d clearly been waiting for the right time to break the news to them.

"What?" Natasha and Wanda exclaimed at the same time.

"Tony knows about this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"He's been acquiring safe houses like this for a couple of years now," Steve replied.

"Talk about paranoia," Wanda muttered.

"You think Tony knows we are here?" Natasha asked standing up to join Vision who had returned to his post, looking out the window.

"I do not believe that Mr Stark's attention is turned in your direction for the time being," Vision spoke up. "But it is possible that this is not the best place for you at the moment."

"Don't worry, we'll be ok staying here for the night but tomorrow you need to move out," Steve said gesturing to Wanda, Sam and Natasha. "You're on the run now, that means avoiding as many people as you can. At the moment we don't have wanted posters plastered across the media, but you can be sure as soon as the press gets word of our escape Ross is going to have them broadcasting everywhere to try and recover us."

"What about me?" Vision asked turning to face Steve.

"You're going back to base, tonight," Steve said firmly.

"I will not leave," Vision replied just as surely.

"Yes, you will, Vis," Wanda said adjusting how she was sitting on the bed. It seemed that already the drip was helping with her energy levels and Vision could see some of the colour returning to her face.

"At the moment, no one has any idea that you have left the compound and it's better if it stays that way," Steve said and gestured to the group before him, "the rest of us are outlaws, but you still have a duty to Tony and the Sokovia Accords."

"I will not leave," Vision repeated.

"He's right Vis," Wanda began reaching for his arm and gripping it tightly.

"I know logically that I have to leave but I don't want to." Vision reluctantly corrected himself gazing intensely at Wanda.

"You have to." She whispered.

The room was quiet for a moment as Vision's mind processed things at a million miles a second. Perhaps he would be of more help from the compound where he was in the know regarding all information surrounding the fugitives before him. Perhaps, as painful as the idea was to him, the best way to keep Wanda from harm would be from a distance.

"Very well,” he sighed, and Wanda's lips turned up in a small, soft smile.

"Good," Steve said folding his arms. "We leave in the morning, we'll go the same way until we reach the border and then I'll split from the group to go for Bucky while you guys continue on. From now on we're going to be doing a lot of running."

"Thank goodness, being locked up in a cage for the last 9 days was deadly boring,” Wanda said cynically.

"Damn Cap," Sam said his sigh tainted with disbelief. "I don’t wanna be the one to say it, but what’s our end goal here?"

"At the moment, stay alive and free. This might be a road that doesn't end for a while, if ever." Steve turned to leave the room. "There's some food in the kitchen downstairs but for the time being you should all get some rest. Vision thank you for your help, it was appreciated." He clapped Vision on the shoulder as he left the room, his footsteps thudding down the stairs again.

"Alright Wilson, let’s get you some food and ice for that nasty bruise," Natasha said guiding Sam from the room and closing the door behind her. Vision was quiet for a moment as he turned back to the window trying to quiet the million and one thoughts running through his head. He was so distracted it took Wanda calling his name twice for him to register.

"Yes sorry."

"I asked if you’re alright?"

"I should be the one asking that," Vision said shaking his head and turning to sit on the edge of Wanda's bed.

"That doesn't mean I can't ask you too," she said curling her legs up beneath her and gazing at him intently.

"I don't want to leave… but I have already caused Mr. Stark more than enough trouble and I fear that if I remain with you, I will only put you at risk."

"What happened back in Germany wasn't your fault Vis, I'm sure Rhodey doesn't blame you," Wanda said reaching out to squeeze his arm and the touch alone helped clear his mind.

"I'll see you again won't I?" Vision asked turning his head towards Wanda. "I have been rather….lonely the last nine days, three hours and 47 minutes."

Wanda smiled and rolled her eyes. "Of course you'll see me again, silly."

"I do not believe I was asking a silly question."

"I promise you'll see me again," Wanda said, serious this time, putting one hand over his and Vision sensed the power beneath her touch and the emotion coursing through her palm. "I'll find a way to communicate with you but for now you have to pretend that you never saw us."

Vision nodded silently and rose, the feeling of Wanda's touch still lingering on the back of his hand.

"Go,” she whispered settling back against the wall again.

Vision didn't see any point in saying goodbye, not when he was so sure that they would be seeing each other again soon. Instead, he settled for something simpler, "Until our next meeting." Before he could lose his nerve, he leant down and brushed his lips against her forehead. Wanda’s breath caught as he did but when he drew back her face was lit with a soft, gentle smile. She watched on in dismay as Vision straightened up, stepped forward, and with a final look at her phased through the wall and out into the world beyond. Wanda turned her eyes to the ceiling waiting for her exhaustion to consume her as Vision sped away, not trusting himself to leave quietly if he hesitated any longer.

They’d see each other again, he was certain of it.

[jazzforthecaptain]

Hi! I'm here to bother you with more Harkstiel :)

I was wondering how you think Cas being an angel would impact the way Jack views him, especially toward the beginning when they first meet each other? After all the years of gruesome alien invasions, man-made/natural disasters, and loss Jack has experienced in his long lifetime, do you think he'd hold it against Cas and angels in general for not being there to save people? If so, what would be the turning point that makes Cas and Jack view each other with respect instead of holding their pasts against each other?

I can't say I've seen much of Jack's character outside of just Doctor Who, but he's never struck me as the religious type (at least, not in the christian sense), so maybe he wouldn't expect angels to be kind and merciful cherubs as much as others would.

Thank you so much for answering my earlier ask, by the way! I loved everything you wrote for it, and I never even stopped to think about live music in that way, but the way you said it was so in character for Cas and Jack <3

Hi again, you wonderful person, you! I needed time to think about this one, plus I needed a keyboard, because I wasn't going to tackle this answer with just my thumbs.

The issue with Jack Harkness is that while I think some things are consistent about him, quite a lot can't be pinned down. How Jack perceives Castiel and how he'd react to the reality of him would depend an awful lot on the context through which they're introduced, and where Jack's headspace is at the time. That's also part of the glory of writing these two: a coffeeshop meetcute is honestly just as likely as Jack obsessively hunting Castiel down is just as likely as Castiel obsessively hunting Jack down is just as likely as meeting on the same side of a fight for the universe and snarking their way into an eternal friendship. They've never met in canon, and that means they can meet a million different ways, and those first impressions will transform their relationship into something wholly different every time.

So, for this, I'll stick to the context you provided, of Jack meeting Castiel after years of grief and loss on Earth. I've written Jack interacting with Castiel for the first time in similar circumstances - when I wrote them meeting in Grace, Jack wasn't too far into his offworld sojourn, post-Children of Earth.

I agree with you that Jack's not inclined to be terribly religious. I'd go so far as to say he's not, at all. Jack's been cursed with the terrible, unwanted job of watching humanity go through its patterns of behavior over and over again, and humanity's search for Something More Than This is one of its oldest. Also, he's already aware of at least one species that the universe applies the 'angel' designation to. I expect that his reaction, when and if Castiel gets around to honesty about his origins, would be cynicism. I don't think Castiel will ever, ever convince Jack that he's an angel in the sense that Castiel means it. To Jack, Castiel's just another extraterrestrial. Another person from a species he's never met before. He's met people who could do incredible things and people who hold cataclysmic power, and they were all just... people.

With that in mind, I think Jack might air some frustration with the angels over their inactivity against the 4-5-6, and I think he'd have some questions about why Heaven - if it has all this power - doesn't intercede in things like plagues and wars. But to be honest, Jack's been the cause of some of those things, and sometimes a participant. He's had his turn as soldier, jailer, war profiteer, interrogator and spy. Out of anyone, I think he's the least inclined to be self-righteous or judgmental. He didn't yell at the Doctor about ditching them during Children of Earth and Miracle Day, even when he had the chance. I think his mentality is mostly 'do what you can, when you can, but shit things happen all the time no matter what and it's probably my fault somehow anyway.'

I actually think that if he has a real problem with Castiel and they're on good terms, it's going to be about his vessel. Jack's going to be all over that. Who is that, is this consensual, what does he think about what you're doing, how is this affecting him longterm, CAN I TALK TO HIM, etc. And his impression of Castiel will be informed by the answers - and the answers will be informed by whatever point in Castiel's timeline that they meet. I tend to have them meet after Jimmy's already been freed from sharing his body with Castiel, but their relationship would take a very different trajectory otherwise (also due to where Castiel's mindset was when Jimmy was still alive vs where it is after he perished).

In response to your question about when the turning point would be from wariness to respect, I think Castiel and Jack's difficult pasts would be a unifying factor, rather than something they'd need to overcome. I'll air a little bit of my saltiness here: I ship these two more than anything else I ship, and it's because Jack is the first person outside of Castiel's own kind who sees him as a person - not a monster, not a tool, not a weapon. When I first started writing them, I didn't know what a dramatic difference that would make. But oh, how it does. Castiel, approached with Jack's calm, neutral curiosity, becomes a very different Castiel. He unfurls. He trusts. He tells stories. And he has a lot in common with Jack, especially about that whole 'I was doing fine until this passionate moron came along and made me question everything I was doing,' thing. Jack loves to talk, more than pretty much anything else. I think they'd start unlocking the Tragic Backstories fairly quickly, although the process of completing that unlocking will take... a very long time.

And, I think they'd get each other. They'd fight - honestly that's part of why I love them - but not about who was a Bad Person for Doing X Thing. They both have committed atrocities, and neither one of them justifies any of it. I think they see themselves and their past motivations with a clarity that most people don't have, because they've had the time to realize what useless, dangerous bullshit self-deception really is. More than that, I think the thing that would weld them together is their commitment to helping people. They're stuck in this life, destined to live a very long time beyond this ephemeral present. They have to live those lives with the memories of all the horrible things they've done, and no way to find forgiveness for them. I think Jack would show Castiel that the only way is forward, and that giving up would be a waste of every person's sacrifice that brought him here. And I think Castiel would be able to give Jack the gift of understanding; of being seen, fully, by someone who's dealing with similar experiences. The one person who can hear Castiel confess to killing a sibling he loves with all of his being... is Jack.

If there's a turning point, it comes when they do the thing that makes me love them most: ask each other questions.

[remywrites5]

Angst 10 and 14 please! Thank you💚

Remus knew he was making a mistake going to the party but Lily was practically forcing him to go.  Lily had recently gotten over her hatred of James Potter and had decided to give him a chance. They were going to James’ party so that she could finally tell him she fancied him. She’d threatened Remus with bodily harm if he didn’t go with her for moral support and he knew Lily was the type to follow through. It was a month before Graduation and there was a party pretty much every weekend as people got ready to never see each other again. Normally Remus wouldn’t have had an issue attending a party with his friends except that his ex-boyfriend was going to be there.

Remus and Sirius had had a very intense on again off again relationship for the past two years.  The whole school liked to talk about them and follow their relationship, something that Remus wasn’t wholly comfortable with. There was actually a twitter that followed whether they were together or not. And if that wasn’t accurate you could usually tell by Sirius’ Instagram. When he and Remus were together he hardly posted pictures about anything else. When they were apart his Insta was mostly pictures of him and James, football practices and selfies.

It wouldn’t have been so bad except that during one of their good periods Sirius and Remus had decided to live together during University. There were both going to the same school and so it had made sense. Remus had saved all his money from his part time weekend job just to be able to afford the security deposit, which they had already put down on the flat. They had yet to talk about what they were going to do about it seeing as it was a one bedroom and neither of them could really afford it on by themselves. Maybe Sirius could if the Potters helped him out but Remus certainly couldn’t.

Their most recent breakup had been because Remus had dared to mention in Sirius’ presence that he thought Fabian Prewitt was fit. It had been an idle comment and one he hadn’t thought would be a big deal except that Sirius Black was a jealous prick and a drama queen. It wasn’t like Remus had wanted to get off with Fabian Prewitt, he had just been making an observation. It had been blown out of proportion and ended in a huge row that resulted in yet another breakup.

Sirius was guaranteed to be there seeing as it was his best mate’s party and was also being thrown where Sirius currently lived after running away from home. Remus knew he was playing with fire stepping into the house but between the two of them Lily was much scarier than Sirius.

As they walked into the party, Remus stayed close to Lily. It was fairly crowded already for still being early in the evening and Remus hoped he’d be able to make it through the evening without being noticed by Sirius. Pretty much everyone he had ever known was crammed into the house with loud music playing. He thought maybe he could make it through the night without seeing the one person he was most dreading.

All his hopes were dashed as they made their way into the kitchen to find drinks. Sirius was sitting on the kitchen counter, his legs dangling over the side, with James standing beside him and laughing. Sirius grinned until his eyes settled on Remus and suddenly all trace of mirth was gone and his face fell.

Remus really hated the affect Sirius Black had on him even after all this time. He had his long hair swept up into a messy bun, pieces of it falling down and framing his handsome face. He had on his favorite pair of ripped jeans, a Bowie t-shirt and his usual leather jacket. Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away quickly, unable to continue to meet Sirius’ gaze. Why couldn’t help love someone a little less complicated?

“Alright Remus?” James spoke up. “Evans? Can I get you two something to drink?”

Lily gaze Remus’ hand a squeeze and then disappeared with James to go procure some alcohol. Remus felt himself immediately start sweating at the idea of being alone with Sirius. Just a few minutes into the party and his worst fear was coming to fruition. Sirius huffed and knocked his drink back, finishing what was left in his cup. He slid off the counter and got directly into Remus’ personal space. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

“Lily dragged me,” Remus said, narrowing his eyes at Sirius, not backing down. “It’s called being a good friend.”

Sirius snorted in derision. “Yeah? And what about being a good boyfriend?”

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re not going to go through all that again, are we?”

Sirius scowled at him in response. “I’m sure Fab’s around here somewhere if you’re looking to pull.”

Remus couldn’t resist anymore and rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in Fabian Prewitt.”

“Then why did you say you were?”

“I didn’t,” Remus said for the umpteenth time. “You’re infuriating. You can think someone is good-looking without wanting to fuck them. Like you for example. Still think you’re fit, don’t want to fuck you.”

Sirius stepped closer and Remus took a step back. “That’s a load of bollocks if I’ve ever heard it.”

“You’re an unbelievable dickhead.”

Sirius’ gaze flickered to the floor and suddenly his bravado from a moment before was gone. “Do you even still love me anymore?”

Remus took another step back, caught off guard by the question and the earnestness in which Sirius had asked it. “Pads, you’re the one who broke up with me.”

Sirius shrugged. “We do that all the time, though. It’s like a game we play with each other. But – but we had plans, Moony. We were going to have a future. Our flat –“

“You don’t get to just bat me around like a tennis ball and think I’ll always come back,” Remus said, interrupting Sirius. He couldn’t help being annoyed and angry that Sirius thought he was always just a sure thing. That he could treat Remus however he wanted because Remus was a sucker who couldn’t resist him. “That’s not fair, Sirius.”

“I know,” Sirius said softly, finally lifting his head up, his grey eyes soft and sad. “But youdon’t get to hurt my feelings and expect me to just shrug it off.”

Remus groaned and tugged his fingers through his curls. “For the last time, I don’t want to shag Fabian Prewitt! I had no idea your ego was so fucking fragile, Pads.”

“Then why did you say it?” Sirius shot back, crushing his red solo cup in his hand angrily. “We’re just deliberately trying to be a wanker?”

“It was just a dumb fucking comment!” Remus said defensively. “Like oh that was a tough maths quiz. I could really go for some Chinese Food. Fabian Prewitt is kind of fit. It wasn’t like I maliciously thought oh I know what I’ll say something to make my boyfriend feel bad. Won’t that be fun?”

“Maybe I just selfishly want my boyfriend to not talk about other guys in front of me. Wouldn’t that be novel?”

Remus took a deep breath and let it out slowly to try and compose himself. “It’s a good thing we never moved in together then. We’d kill each other within a week. It’s for the best that we ended things when we did.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide and he looked more hurt than Remus had ever seen him. Remus had to fight the urge to reach out to him and offer him some sort of comfort. “Right,” Sirius said, schooling his expression. “For the best.”

Sirius turned on his heel and rushed through the party, disappearing into the crowd. Remus pressed himself back against the counter and buried his face in his hands. Well done, Lupin, he thought to himself.

                                               ***

Remus had decided to ditch the party early and just go home. Lily had disappeared somewhere and things had gone horribly with Sirius. All Remus wanted was to just go home and wallow in misery and maybe chain smoke some cigarettes on the walk back to help calm him down. But when he started towards the exit, someone grabbed his arm.

Remus whirled around to find James. “What do you want?” Remus asked, knowing that James must be seeking him out on behalf of Sirius.

“Look, I know things are bad between you two right now but please go talk to him?” James asked, his eyes wide and pleading behind his glasses.

“I already tried that,” Remus informed him with a deep sigh.

“I know,” James said, releasing Remus’ arm. “He’s upstairs sulking. There’s only a few weeks left of school. You two are only going to have a limited amount of time to fix this. He loves you, you know? Maybe even more than you realize. I know he’s a difficult sod but he’s absolutely mad for you. Why do you think his Instagram becomes nothing but the Moony show when you’re together?”

Remus chewed his bottom lip as he considered it. He knew that Sirius and James were practically brothers and James would always stick up for Sirius. But that also meant he knew him better than anyone else. He did have a point, Sirius did become nearly obsessive when they were together. When things were good between them they were really good. Remus just wished one or both of them weren’t so bloody stubborn all the time.

“Fine,” he said, glancing towards the stairs. “I’m not guaranteeing anything but I’ll go speak to him.”

“That’s all I ask,” James said, grinning at him. “Thanks Moony.”

Remus made his way through the crowd of people, being careful not to bump anyone’s drink, and finally got to the stairs. He found Sirius in his bedroom, sitting by the window with his knees pulled up to his chest. He didn’t say anything as Remus entered the room and came to sit down beside him.

“Sirius – “

“No.”

“Come on – “

“I said no,” Sirius said, uncurling himself and dropping his feet onto the floor loudly. “Just shut up for once in your fucking life, Remus.”

“Fine,” Remus snapped, standing up to leave. He worked his jaw for a moment and then sat back down obstinately. “You know what, no.”

Sirius glowered at him. “This is my room. Get out.”

“I’m still in love with you,” Remus told him, staring him down. “And if you don’t stop you’re going to run out of chances.”

“Me?” Sirius said incredulously. “It’s not just me, Remus. Don’t pull that shite. You fuck up just as much as I do.”

“Okay fine, I’ll admit that,” Remus said, conceding that just as many of the breakups had been his doing as well. “But we can’t keep up the way we’ve been going because eventually one of us is going to stop coming back. I’m not going to let you keep pushing me away. We have to get better at talking to each other and not just exploding. I don’t want to keep doing this, Sirius. I want things to be good.”

“I want that too,” Sirius said softly, reaching out and taking Remus hand, lacing their fingers together. “Every time we break up I’m a fucking mess. You can ask James.”

“Then stop breaking up with me, you plonker.” Remus lifted their joined hands up and kissed the back of Sirius’ hand tenderly. “We might have to actually learn how to apologize to each other,” he managed to joke.

Sirius chuckled quietly and gave Remus’ hand a squeeze. “I still want to live together.”

“Me too,” Remus said, giving Sirius a small reassuring smile. “It’ll be a disaster, but fuck me, I want it.”

“It’s only you, Moony,” Sirius said, wiggling closer and kissing him sweetly. “For me. It’s only you. We’ll figure everything else out but I want you to know that.”

Remus slipped his free hand into Sirius’ hair, resting it on the back of Sirius’ head, bringing their lips together again. “I don’t want anyone else,” he whispered against Sirius’ lips. “Even though most of the time you drive me fucking crazy.”

Sirius smiled and pressed kisses along Remus’ jawline before burying his face in Remus’ neck and nuzzling him affectionately. “I’ll try my best not to drive you crazy anymore.”

Remus laughed and pressed a kiss to Sirius’ temple. “I don’t mind as much as I let on,” he confessed. He supposed that was just the nature of being in love with Sirius Black.

[airquietworks]

How Izuku Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy Being in Love (IzuOcha Oneshot)

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is struggling in his newfound romance with Uraraka. He continues to stumble when he is with her as nerves get the best of him. He wonders how he can get better at love but the answers he's searching for are closer to his heart than he thinks.

Izuku Midoriya considered himself a man of many failings.

As he idly scrawled in a small pink notebook before class, he could not help but reflect on those inadequacies. He was not always as strong as he needed to be. He still struggled in a lot of social situations. He could lose control of himself when it came to his hero obsession.

But more than any of those, he hated that he had no idea how to be a good boyfriend.

It was not for a lack of trying. He had dedicated a lot of time studying the subject, dedicating the whole pink notebook to it. Every piece of advice that far too many people had bestowed upon him was carefully recorded, from strategic romantic lines to subtle romantic movements. It was all in the vain hope he could decipher the bizarre machinations - and palpitations - of his own heart.

And much more importantly, Uraraka's.

Izuku had few troubles facing down villains with lives on the line. But facing down the greatest woman he had ever met to woo her on a semi-regular basis was proving to be far more challenging than your average ne'er-do-well.

"Heya, Deku. Whatchya working on?"

"NOTHING, NOTHING DON'T LOOK!" the boy screeched as he leapt upward to stare into the person of his affections. Uraraka hovered over his desk, eyes left blinking at his sudden outburst.

His face burned; he would sooner face Todorki's flames than this kind of heat.

"Oh, okay then. That's fine," Uraraka replied with a tight-lipped smile, completely inscrutable.

"It's just...it's something particular and really rough and kind of private I'm sorry it's not you it's me and I really want to-"

"Good morning class. To your seats," Mr. Aizawa ordered loudly as he grumpily entered their homeroom. The students quickly acquiesced, Uraraka included, as she moved to take her desk near the back of Class 3-A.

"Talk after class," she whispered as she turned her back to him.

Izuku breathed a deep sigh, resisting the temptation to leap out of the room.

Boyfriend. Girlfriend. The words still felt strange bouncing around in his head. The past few weeks had been chaotic. Having Uraraka ask him out. Having an awkward but wondrous first date. Having a first, terrifying, glorious, first kiss. Carefully exchanging their first utterances of "I love you." Riding out the highs and lows of a hormone-driven storm, as young lovers did.

Neither of them had much experience but they worked it out, mostly.

But as fall gave way to the start of winter, the fires of their newfound romance were quickly extinguished under an avalanche of schoolwork and their own nerves. Their easygoing friendship of two years was now fraught with this new element hanging ominously over everything. It seemed their every interaction somehow ended up the same - him blurting out something stupid, or something else going terribly wrong before they both retreated to safer spaces.

He did not regret dating Uraraka - something he had not realized he really, really wanted. But it made everything between them a lot more difficult to manage.

They were burning, passionate people. They cared about one another. But so often, figuring out their relationship under the scope of romantic social conventions made their interactions more glacial than they had been in a long time.

A part of him longed for the more easygoing days. Surely, they could get back to that. Love should not be this hard - or frightening.

"Midoriya?"

Izuku snapped upwards to attention at his teacher's question. He stared straight ahead at Aizawa's unimpressed grimace. He must have zoned out harder than he thought.

He could hear a few giggles buzzing around his ears.

"Sorry, what was that?" Izuku asked quickly, hoping he could wing whatever response was necessary.

Aizawa gave him a tired sigh. "Keep your head out of the clouds and pay attention."

"Right, sorry sir!"

The giggles turned into full-blown laughter at his uncharacteristic spaciness. Izuku blushed deeply, thoroughly humiliated. He relished the chance to plunge his mind into class, something troubled heart.

He leaned on keeping his thoughts preoccupied the entire day, pointedly limiting his interactions with Uraraka until class let out. It was easy enough; their third-year schoolwork was no small task and necessitated the focus.

But the end of the day did arrive and with it came Uraraka marching over to his desk. Much as it was never an unpleasant sight - her lively gait was always a pleasure to watch - he had mixed feelings about the romantic maneuvering their talks now required.

"You seem really out of it today. Something the matter?" she asked, voice light but full of sincere concern. She was always looking out for him; he wished he could pay her back for that, somehow.

Despite bracing himself for conversation, he found himself wholly unprepared for the question. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired I guess?"

Uraraka gazed intently at him, her usual bright smile absent from her face. She did not appear too convinced by him but mercifully let it slide. "Well, I can understand that. But I was wondering…" she trailed off, her eyes suddenly falling to the ground. "Maybe...we could study together later?"

He could see the rosier complexion on her face, something his surely matched. Once, that question would have been simple. A casual night between two friends. Now, the idea carried a lot more baggage - but a lot more promise, too. The promise of the things teenagers in love did.

How could he refuse?

"Sure!" Izuku replied, a little too loudly. He took a breath to try and steady himself, even as his shirt suddenly felt like it was choking him. "You could stop by my room...maybe around seven?"

Uraraka nodded with more vibrancy than he might have expected. "Alright, sounds good! See you later!"

Izuku watched as she rushed out of the room, clearly as eager to end the awkward exchange as much as he was.

"You two make me sick," Bakugo grumbled as he walked by Izuku's desk.

Izuku scrambled on instinct, readying himself for any further barbs. Most of their class was all-too-happy to see him and Uraraka get together after years of pining, but Bakugo had made no secret of his disgust for it.

"You need to get your head out of your ass," Bakugo murmured before walking angrily out of class.

Izuku breathed a sigh of relief, glad nothing worse came of it. Their relationship had cooled over the years, but he could never be certain about what might set the explosive boy off.

"How uncouth," Iida said from behind him. Izuku jumped slightly, startled. How had he missed his friend approaching? "Well, forget him. The pair of you seem to be getting along alright. Though admittedly, I'm not the most knowledgeable about this kind of thing."

Izuku stood up, relieved to get back to his dorms in search of respite. "Neither am I, to be honest."

"Well, I suppose experience is the best teacher," Iida mused as the two ventured out of class together. "But you two have been practically inseparable since we first got to U.A. You've always been there for one another and I have no doubt you'll work through your current tension."

"That obvious, huh?" Izuku replied, sighing. He did not fault Iida, but he could very much do without the rest of their class tirelessly watching their relationship.

But there was something to Iida's perspective. They had been in lockstep since before they even entered the building. The many times they teamed up and drove one another - the jitters of the heart were there, but it still felt so natural. Simple. He would forever look back at those days of friendship fondly.

Surely, that was a foundation for a relationship to last. He had jotted that down in his notebook, anyway.

"Pardon me, I don't mean to pry or anything. You two just stand out. And I do care about your well-being, after all." Iida bowed his head slightly in apology, formal as always. It was good to have a constant pillar like Iida. Unlike some things, their friendship had remained a steady constant.

"Don't worry about it," Izuku replied, laughing for the first time all day.

Izuku eventually arrived back at his room, gleefully getting into a comfier T-shirt and shorts. He jumped into his bed and breathed, basking in its softness. It was good to find peace after a difficult day.

With the distraction of school gone, his thoughts turned back to Uraraka, his heart skipping as her adorable face sprang back to his mind. He idly began to tidy up his room to prepare for their study session.

He had seen his fair share of depictions of love in the media, which often made it seem like the greatest joy imaginable. Which he had felt, certainly. But now, he couldn't help but think media undersold the anxiety, the nerves and the work it all involved.

Even in the act of cleaning his room, he found himself second-guessing himself. Should he put away more of his All Might figurines? Have a scented candle to provide a better atmosphere? Was now even the right time to be thinking of romantic gestures, or would she just focus on studying, given her drive?

"Get a grip, Izuku," he mumbled to himself, pulling at his chin. He really was too tense.

He settled on a more minimalist effort, clearing off his desk of memorabilia to give plenty of room for studying. They could leave it at that. Just another session, like the plenty they had before they were dating. No need to get stressed out.

The knocking on his door at 7 p.m. sharp seemed to pulse through his entire body. He sat still for a moment, a sudden onset of nerves freezing him in place.

Maybe a little reason to get stressed out.

With a breath to re-animate himself, he rushed over to the door, opening it widely to see his Uraraka standing there, beaming brightly with a stack of books. She wore a casual pink hoodie and a pair of jeans - nothing out of the ordinary and yet, still radiant.

"Heya Deku!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her cheeks looking exceptionally rosy. He blinked, finding it hard to look at her - not an infrequent occurrence. But there was something different about tonight. Her face looked...shinier, somehow.

"HiUraraka," he said quickly, gesturing for her to enter. "You look beautiful!"

The words stumbled out of his mouth without him thinking, and he immediately clamped it shut afterward.

Uraraka nearly stumbled into the room after the compliment, managing to save herself from falling by roughly sliding into the extra seat at his desk. "Thanks, Deku!" she said loudly with her hands balled in her lap. "You look hot!"

The statement hung in the space, quickly expanding to smother out any other sound they could have made. Deku could hear his own pulse ringing in his ears at the proclamation. His eyes bulged outward, but he dared not look directly at her.

She broke the suddenly frosty atmosphere first. "I mean, I mean because you're in a tight shirt! Wait, no, I mean, because you're wearing a shirt and I just noticed they started the heater in the building today and I just wondered if you were feeling - is it warm in here?" Uraraka suddenly pulled at the neck of her sweater, mouth moving more rapidly than he could ever recall.

Watching her murmur like he himself might, looking so flustered - by him, of all people - and feeling tension thick in the room, Izuku could not help it. He burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. He had a much better understanding of why all of this was so often a subject of comedy.

Mercifully, Uraraka joined, laughing with him, clearly relieved. The two dared a glance at one another, eyes full of mirth.

"We're hopeless at this, huh?" Izuku dared, smiling at her.

"Yeah, definitely," Uraraka replied, grinning back, rubbing at her brow. "Who would have thought dating would be so hard?"

"Both of us before we started, I think," Izuku said honestly, shifting to take a seat next to her. He opened his own workbooks, excited to get into the meat of their evening.

"True," Uraraka said with a sigh, shaking her head. "Still, I somehow didn't think it would be this difficult."

"Sorry that this hasn't been my strong suit." He did sincerely wish he could do this better. Be suave or whatever it was. She deserved it.

"Me too," Uraraka responded, giving him a smile that somehow made it all worthwhile. "Shall we get started?"

The two got into their homework in earnest - English, math and finally heroics law. Things fell into a more casual routine, each of them falling back to the patterns they would have as friends. It was nice. Cozy. Comfortable, like crawling under the covers on a cold day.

But Izuku found himself watching Uraraka more intently tonight than he might have before they started going out. He could not help but admire when her face got scrunched up at a difficult question. Or when it morphed into a glorious smile when she gained some new understanding. Or how intense she could get when she focused in on something, so determined and driven in a way he always admired.

He noticed other things, too. Like how soft her hair looked. Her cute, pink cheeks. Her skin, which looked strangely, especially vibrant today. It shined more than usual, which was saying something.

It clicked for him suddenly. He blushed and turned his eyes to his notebook, not bold enough to ask the question directly to her face.

"Are you...wearing makeup tonight?" Izuku inquired, breaking their silence.

He heard Uraraka shift but did not dare to look over.

"Err...yeah. You noticed?"

"Yeah…" Izuku responded, feet tensing beneath his chair. "...It looks good."

There was another awkward moment of noiselessness. Izuku stared intently at his textbook, eyes listlessly reading over some obscure law like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He prayed the compliment landed safely.

"...Thanks," she responded quietly, not saying anything more. Izuku dared not glance over to her.

The two worked for a little while longer, falling back into their routine. They eventually decided on a five-minute break, using it as a reprieve to dissipate the tension stored up in their bodies.

Despite everything, they had once again fallen into a comfortable companionship - until Uraraka broke the spell by reaching out for his hand.

It was far from the first time they had held hands, but it never failed to send a pleasant shock up his arm. Her hand was callused, worn as his was from many hours of training. Yet it still always felt pleasant to his touch and he was eager to grasp it.

He glanced up at her as she squeezed her hand in his, carefully keeping her pinky separated to stop her quirk from activating. She was beaming up at him from beneath her eyelashes, eyes warm as ever. He gulped, his free hand starting to quiver as he lost himself in the wonder of the moment.

She inclined her head ever so slightly, but he did not move. He was frozen still, enraptured, unable to think of anything beyond the feeling of her hand and the light upon her face.

He tried to snap himself back to reality. He should say something. Probably. This was a good time for a romantic line. He just had to wing it.

"You're-"

"Deku, I-"

The two were in-synch enough to speak in unison. But Izuku still felt it just added to the increasingly tense moment.

"You want to go first?" Izuku suggested, forcing himself to smile best he could despite his nerves.

Uraraka's face fell under the shadows of her locks. "No...well, sure, I guess. I just...I don't know. Maybe the moment's lost if that makes sense?"

It did but it did not make Izuku happy. How had he lost a moment so quickly, when he was barely cognizant of it even starting? It was frustrating.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Izuku responded, sighing mournfully. He let go of her hand, reaching out to rub at his temple. "It was a lot easier talking when we were just friends."

He did not think much of the question. They were open enough about some of the hiccups of romance. They trusted each other to talk through it.

But the statement carried more weight than he had imagined.

"Should we...should we just go back to that?"

Izuku let his hand fall to the side and sat up straighter, shocked into alertness by the sudden question. He looked at Uraraka, who was staring away from him, biting her lip.

A chill settled over him, the teasing embers of their teenage love suddenly seeming a distant memory.

"I...um…" he stammered, throat suddenly feeling clogged. His mind whirred, trying to find a suitable answer. "Why do you ask?"

He internally chided himself on the deflection. But he had no idea how to respond. Despite all the awkwardness, the moments of romance they had shared were blissful. He had never even thought about turning away from it all, so soon after starting to experiment with it.

Or had he? Why had he even suggested being friends was easier?

"It's just... you're right. It has gotten harder," Uraraka murmured, staring forlornly over her work. "I was worried before we started going out. I was worried about what it might do to our friendship or whether it would just distract us. And I can't help but feel like it has."

Izuku's mind flashed to that morning when his head got fogged up overthinking about her. She had a point.

He could feel it. A wall of ice, slowly coming between them, each of them burning up on either side of it. Maybe they could break their way through together but that appeared an increasingly monumental task. Especially when his own speech was so artless, with all the grace of an iceberg.

He could remember the days when such barriers seemed smaller. He had to admit that a part of him wanted to go back to that.

But other memories flooded into his mind too. Walking with her, hand-in-hand, after class. Laughing with her on their first date. The scorching heat of their first kiss. Even tonight, watching her, noticing things he realized he never properly appreciated.

"I...I didn't mean anything by it," he stated carefully. As soon as the words left his mouth, it sounded lame, even to him. Why could he not say the right thing? "I still like being with you like this."

"I do too," she responded quickly, looking up at him, a deep frown etched into her face. He hated seeing that on her. "I like it too. It hasn't been bad or anything. I just worry you know?"

"I get it," Izuku replied, reaching out to clasp both her hands, nerves dissipating in a bid to hang onto what they were starting together.

But the contact was fleeting. She gave a quick squeeze but withdrew quickly, eyes glancing to the side.

"Sorry. I was probably just being silly."

"You weren't," Izuku insisted. "I know it's been hard. And I know I've been getting distracted lately. But we can keep trying to get better at this, can't we?"

Uraraka nodded in response. "We always have, right? Still driving each other to improve."

The pair shared a strained laugh at that. It was strange, framing romance like heroics when the two things appeared worlds apart. But both took passion and work ethic. That was something they each had plenty of.

But the peace they returned to was poisonous. His mind wandered into more doubt as he mulled their frosty relations. He wanted to put his all into their romance but he wondered if they really had it in them, especially given the strains they were under as heroes-in-training.

The two exchanged only the lightest of pleasantries, any lingering trace of fleeting romance thoroughly doused by their talk.

"...I think maybe I should get going back. I've been missing out on sleep, so I want to turn it in early," Uraraka said suddenly, stretching out to depart.

It was a full hour sooner than she might normally go on a study night. But Izuku could not blame her for being eager to get away from him.

"Oh, alright. See you...around?" Izuku wished he could have set a date with more confidence, but work-studies and training would keep them busy. Nights like this were fleeting. He wished he had not wasted it.

"Yeah, sure. We'll figure something out," she replied sincerely, with a smile. Without any fanfare, she walked out of the room, waving before shutting the door. "Good night!"

"Good night," Izuku responded, the light slamming of the door rudely banging against his eardrums. He waited a few seconds before letting his head fall to his desk, burying it in his notebook. He gazed into the seemingly endless expanse of white emptiness.

Haywire emotions clashed within him, keeping him locked a strange stillness. Frustration at the icy state of his first love. Anger at his own ineptitude. Anxiety over the endless uncertainties love brought with it, something no amount of effort seemed to help him figure out.

He had messed up somehow. He knew that. He had spoken unthinkingly and he was paying the price.

Izuku set his face into a hard line. His mind conjured up the images that were plaguing him more and more - the two of them, easygoing, meeting up after school, working together at the sports festival, training together in their first year. The nostalgia tasted sweet, his heart eagerly basking in the rays from the suns long set.

But those days were gone now. He had to move on if he wanted to experience what lay within love's confounding mysteries. He might not know what would happen but he would have to trust himself.

More importantly, he needed to trust her. It was Uraraka, after all. She had never let him down.

With a groan, he got out his little pink notebook. He would need to think up an apology - the perfect one. Get a plan ready and act quickly. He would rehearse it, to ensure he avoided shoving his foot in his mouth again.

"This is going to go perfectly," he murmured to himself, before submerging himself in his studies.

Despite his oft-messy exterior, Izuku could operate as efficiently as a well-oiled machine when he put his mind to it.

Today, he went into overdrive. He woke up a half-hour early to put some extra effort into his appearance, combing the messier strands of his hair and ensuring his uniform was neat.

He practiced words to her, mumbling up a storm as he went about the rest of his morning ritual.

He adjusted his green winter coat in the mirror carefully, trying to ensure he did not look weird. Uraraka may not care that much about his appearance - he doubted she would be dating him if she did - but it couldn't hurt to be as proper as possible. More than a few people had given him that advice, anyway.

Satisfied enough, Izuku ran out the door, deftly avoiding a few of his classmates to make it out. A rare snowstorm had hit the area hard last night, leaving the ground coated in a garish mixture of snow, slush and ice. It was early enough that the walkways were still covered.

It was not exactly a picturesque scene, but it would do well enough. Speed was important here. He did not want their terrible conversation from the previous night to fester. Best to face it head-on, like he would a villain.

As he expected, Uraraka was the next person to come through the doors. He knew she had pushed herself to become one of the earlier risers in her class. He had timed his own exit from the dorms accordingly.

Once again, she took his breath away. Dressed in a brown coat and an adorable pink hat and mittens, it seems strange to him how effortlessly she shone. He blinked, as stricken as the first time he laid eyes on her.

"Oh, hey Deku!" she said with her carefree bubbliness, flashing him a smile, seemingly untroubled by the events of the previous night. "Didn't think I'd see you here!"

He gulped, struggling to think with how smitten he was with her. But he had practiced more for this - to avoid his heart tying his tongue. He just had to stick to the script. He could do this.

"Yeah, I thought we could walk to class together this morning and just talk a bit." He kept his voice even-keeled and smooth, displaying little of the nerves he felt. He had to steel himself for this. She deserved that.

Her eyebrows flew upwards on her face, her lips loosening slightly as she appraised him. The expression did not last long, morphing back into another delighted smile. "Sure!"

Thrilled at the early success, Izuku made his way down the front steps. This was good. He had already cleared the first hurdle and she seemed receptive. All he had to do was repeat a few key phrases and he was sure they could put that night behind them. That she could see his commitment. Everything would go exactly as he planned it.

He felt his feet suddenly give way. Before he realized it, he was slipping on a patch of ice. He flipped upward into the air and soon found himself falling rapidly, his eyes gazing upon the overcast skies above.

Izuku prepared to meet the ground and welcomed his own destruction.

Before everything broke apart with his fall, he found himself floating in mid-air. He blinked for a moment, his mind not immediately processing what exactly had happened. He got a strange sense of vertigo as his body adjusted to its sudden weightlessness.

"You okay? We better be careful with all this ice!" Izuku inclined his head to see Uraraka, eyes focused intently on him. She still wore her beautiful smile, her suddenly ungloved hand extended, connected to his upper arm. When had that happened? She had quick reflexes.

Uraraka had saved him. Again.

His mind suddenly flashed, his heart hammering as he found himself warping back two years. He occupied two spaces, two times, at once. The pair of them together before their entrance exam. Both of them here, together, now. A strange, cute girl going out of her way to stop him from face-planting. His wonderful girlfriend preventing him from falling, rescuing him once more. Uraraka grinning at him in both places, friendly as always. Him, completely flabbergasted.

Oh. Oh. Right. It had always been this way.

She had always sent his heart flying with the greatest of ease. She had always gotten him flustered. Since they came to U.A., she had always been there for him. Had always been a friend, a companion, a saviour. At the core, nothing between them had changed.

She was one of his heroes. What had he ever been so afraid of?

In his mind's eye, he could see the wall of ice that had formed between them. That he had formed between him with his own glacial thinking. With a thought, the ice broke apart, no longer separating him from his best friend.

"Err...Deku? You alright?"

Izuku flew back into the present, his head no longer feasting on the sweet mixture of nostalgia and love. He saw Uraraka waving her bare hand before him, trying to bring him back to reality.

Without thinking, he grabbed a hold of the hand, making it fall still. He lowered it, giving her a wide grin.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry about that!"

He noted a blush flooded her cheeks, but she did not react otherwise. However, her expression faltered after the moment lasted a few seconds too long.

"Hey, Deku?"

"Hmm, what is it?"

"I need my hand back if I'm going to release you."

"Oh, right!" he laughed as he let go. A voice inside nagged at him for the blunder, but in this instant, he no longer felt worried about such missteps. Suddenly, he felt surer about their bond than he could ever remember being.

She took off her other glove and carefully brought her fingers together. He oriented himself to land on his feet, taking care not to slip this time.

He had a script he could launch into right now. Prepared, rehearsed, proper. The words would not lead him astray.

But that speech would not do for him now. He let it scatter to the far reaches of his mind. His faith in his carefully prepared romantic notes went with them.

A true hero spoke directly from the heart. He could not be afraid of that anymore.

"I love you, Ochako Uraraka," he stated unabashedly, reaching out to grab one of her hands again. "And I want to stay with you."

The silence was palpable. Uraraka blinked rapidly at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "...What…?"

"Sorry, I just felt I needed to say that." Izuku kept his muscles lax and his voice even-keeled. He refused to get budged by nerves again. His feelings for Uraraka were an unshakeable pillar now; his actions would reflect that. "I messed up last night and I'm sorry about that. I couldn't wait to apologize. I don't want there to be any doubt about how I feel about you. About us."

"Oh. Oh." He felt a hard squeeze on his hand and watched as Uraraka suddenly inclined her head downward. "This is a lot to take in, Deku."

He reached his free hand out towards her, wanting to comfort her. "Sorry, Uraraka I didn't mean-"

"I wanted to say sorry, too. I felt awful about what I said last night," she said softly, her eyes flying upward to meet his. She stared forward, her irises displaying a powerful intensity. "But I guess you beat me to the punch this time."

He breathed, a pressure lifting off his chest. "Well, that's-"

Before he could react further, Uraraka pounced on him, throwing her full weight into it. He caught her easily enough, but he was left defenceless as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips into his.

His pulse raced as he pushed back into her, drinking all of her in. Their kisses before were chaste, delicate, his insecurities often freezing him in place. This was different. They were melting in a passionate inferno, the two heroes pushing, driving each other, harmonious as they ascended to the heavens.

Uraraka pulled away first, but did not separate, keeping her forehead connected to his. Her brown eyes shined brighter than ever, like stars lighting the way in the sky.

"Wow."

"Wow," he echoed.

"Love you, Deku," she stated simply, surely. "Sorry, I wanted to get you back for surprising me, somehow."

She gave him a cheeky grin and he laughed at that.

"Not how I expected we'd next say that to each other, but I'll take it," she continued.

"I guess it had been a while." He could not remember exactly when they had last exchanged simple affirmations of love. Had it been that first date? Was he so lost in his own head that he had forgotten to repeat it?

"...Too long, I think," she replied grinning back. "We both got a little lost."

"Well, I promise I'm going to say it more often," he murmured sweetly to her, inclining his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm done with worrying. I love you, Uraraka."

"...Were you planning this?" she questioned, her head hot under his lips.

"Not exactly. My idea kind of...went up in the air."

She giggled at that. "This is because I caught you?"

Perhaps that should be embarrassing but he nodded without hesitation. "I realized how much you've been there for me. And how things don't have to change so much between us. We're still friends."

"The best," she corrected.

"And we'll be there for each other, right?" He raised a fist towards her. "Every step of the way."

Uraraka completed the fist bump. "Same as ever."

"So should I really worry about if we're dating?" It was a rhetorical question, now. At that moment, he knew he would not be inhibited by those doubts again. Most of the time, anyway. But they would work through any hurdles together.

"Not at all," she answered anyway, for herself and for him.

She suddenly opened her hand, grabbing onto him and triggering her quirk. He went weightless once more, allowing her to more easily pull him in and share their love together once more.

Forevermore.

AN: Written for the IzuOcha Discord server writing contest. Prompt: Ice breaker.  Forgot to post this on Tumblr a couple of weeks back, so I decided to add it here. 

Thank you to the organizers. I hope you all enjoyed one of the fluffiest things I've written.

Let me know what you thought! Leave a like and a reblog if you can. They are important nourishment for us writers ^_^

[silkandconvalescencerpg]

The day has finally come in which all of the prompts are completed! To make things easier for you all, I’ve placed each of the skeletons’ prompts below, so that you’d save yourself the energy having to seek each individual one out. These have been a long-while in the making, so I truly hope they help, even the smallest bit, in your application process. I bid you all good luck!

RUFESCENT.

 001.  Honestly, while writing Rufescent I was just giggly the entire time (hopefully nottoo obvious to you guys), so I’d love to read a para sample that is completely filled to the brim with quirks and jokes, if only for the laugh. It would be a nice nod to the circumstances of their birth into the group, and a firm representation of one of their main facets. Moreover, it doesn’t have to be entirely silly, and it’d be lovely to read a scene in which they manage to incorporate their blazing wit and comicality into a situation in which it might be uncalled for or inappropriate, which makes it all the better. Surprise me, shock me, make me bite my lip hard enough because I have to hold back vicious laughter ⏤ that’s how the rufescent rolls.

 002.  Another detail that I implanted in their skeleton is the “you know, when they ask for silence in a library, they don’t exactly mean your kind of locked lips” line, and I absolutely adore it. The subsequent para doesn’t necessarily have to fall into this scenario, but this blunt, rebellious cheekiness is one of my favorite aspects of the rufescent, and I’d be a fan to witness a situation where this quality of theirs is magnified and shining brighter than a lumos. They’re just someone that you can’t help but snort at, really.

003.  Something that I feel would be overlook in the rufescent is their absolute, uncannily sharp wit. They are charming, they are hilarious, they are outspoken, they are a flirt to a fault, but they are also perceptive and clever beyond belief, which is how they get by. Write something that zeroes in on this, and how they use this to their benefit, or on the opposite spectrum, how perhaps it’s a “loss of potential”. In the same vein, maybe write about the cowardice they may be rooted in, the “carefully crafted bush” of theirs and how they “just wouldn’t fly away” from their current setting. Write about why! Write about pressure, and shedding personas, and just everything. I’d love to see your take.

NEMESIS.

001.  As stated explicitly and dramatically several times within their skeleton, nemesis is what I would call a double-edged dagger, a dichotomy if there ever was one. It may prove difficult narrowing this down into tangible words, or elucidating this into a specific scene where it can be properly captured, but I urge you to try. They are the extremities you wish you hadn’t touched, miraculously burnt and frozen over from simple contact, be it flesh, words, a look. Then again, fire is always mesmerizing before you get burned and ice is stunning before it pierces your heart ⏤ a vicious, beautiful cycle, one a healing charm can’t magically cure. They are fatally complex, and it’s a noble cause to attempt to corral them into mere words ⏤ an honorable challenge!

002.  I’m personally quite attached to the “cursing one parent while clinging onto the other” line, so I definitely wouldn’t object to seeing this sentiment portrayed in some form or another. Which parent did you pick; how do the dynamics differ; how do you suppose the parents react? All questions that can be carefully weaved and crafted into a passage of a scene, and my curiosity is certainly peaked.

003.  The biggest question you can ask when faced with nemesis is why ⏤ why are they the way they are? How do they cope without turning to ashes inside out? I want intimacy, an inside look into the labyrinth that they sheathe. Who are they? A clear answer, a stark analysis. I need to be shown an understanding and development of what exactly they have become and will continue to be. The five W’s and H would be a fun tactic with nemesis, if I’m being honest, because I want to see that transparency that proves you know them inside and out, even the mangled, molten parts that nobody else can define. “What’s it all for anyway?” You tell me.

THRASONICAL.

001.  One of my favorite little snippets about the thrasonical was making them a history-loving fool! I’d love to see how this obsession began, how it coiled into the very core of who they are. Perhaps a scene where we see them in the middle of a particularly vigorous session where they just went deep, completely encompassed within their own world of the past and its greats ⏤ the thought process, certain mannerisms, anything and everything that just embeds you into the world with them. Moreover, reveal some of their favorite pieces and periods of history! Strictly magical (here, you can really have fun and make up some lore on your own) or do they have a soft spot for muggle history as well, and how do the two mix, if so? How does the study and love of history complete them, and why?

002.  Now, I wouldn’t be hyperbolizing if I said they were fuck-all, one hundred percent, tits-up charming, so much so it’s nasty. In fact, you could accuse me of understating it. Capture this in action. The suaveness, the delicately tempered eyebrows that can throw the strongest wills into frustration, the quirk of lips that can shake foundations. Please ⏤ this is their arena, and I’d pay to watch, so make the show worth an audience.

003.  So, I kind of threw that line of “balling up fists and growling deep in your throat and calming the temper of a furious forest fire (sometimes it’s too late, sometimes you burn)” abruptly into the end, but that certainly doesn’t lessen it’s impact; perhaps it creates an emphasis, even, and I want to see that notion explored, abused, and taken advantage of. This is a bomb, and I want to see it detonated. Write an instance where they did allow the temper to catch fire and burn, and the consequences and clean-up of such a disaster. Or perhaps detail a moment when they could have, were so close to blowing up, but reined it in at the last second; capture the strength and will that it took, and how they blew off the steam in the aftermath. Go crazy together.

ACHILLES HEEL.

001.  One of the funnest qualities of the skeletons was coming up with the names for each and every one of them, and how exactly they would be molded to fit their titles. For achilles heel, there’s a lot of weight behind their name, for it’s perhaps the most well known out of all of the skeletons. I know why I picked it, but I want to know why youthink it’s well-suited. How do you tie it into your character? Do you prioritize the myth, the biology, or the general meaning behind it the most? Maybe show me a scene where the name just clicks so perfectly with who your character is. It’s a classic that has survived centuries, and I’d love to witness the clash between old and new ⏤ your interpretation against the very own Achilles.

002.  I instilled somewhat of a religious aspect within their skeleton ⏤ “analyzing scripture with your father in the italian countryside to fill up endless summer days, screaming at the top of your lungs blasphemy the next” ⏤ and it’s something I’d dearly love to see emboldened. I genuinely didn’t have any details in mind for this other than what I wrote, so I’d love to see any take on it whatsoever; it was a very impulsive inclusion, but one that I knew I couldn’t replace, simply because there’s so much that you can fabricate from that one line. Moreover, the Italian countryside is mentioned, and I’m curious to see how you would pave a subsequent path from there. This is where you can build up on the idea of their childhood (religion, family, residence), and there are so many roads to explore, it’s difficult to choose just one. The constant of achilles heel is their back-and-forth dance that is embedded into every facet of their existence, and it’s again apparent here. How did they go from point A to B? What is their relationship with religion and how does it affect them in their daily life? It’s a very boundless arena, but one that can only declare a single champion.

003.  To me, one of the most gut-wrenching pulls of the achilles heel is their complete ability for self-destruction, not to mention adeptness as self-deception. It’s like a demented game of whack-a-mole, and it’s fair to say there’s no winner. I want to see this underlined, magnified in the harsh and bright light that it deserves. This is the most imperative facet of who I introduced them as, and it’s something I’m beyond thrilled to see come to life. I want to see how they face this in their daily life; paint an instance where “playing peek-a-boo with feelings” radiates from a passage or dialogue, where it can be seen without being explicitly told. To pull achilles heel off, a tender and clever portrayal is needed, and I’m excited to see what you can pull out of the bag. Moreover, your interpretation on the unrequited torture aching within their bones is a particular desire of mine, and I want to see it exploited and dissected. Do with this what you will!

ACCISMUS.

001.  The driving force behind accismus is their undying and fervent passion. Beyond all else, they are like the unyielding embers in a stark winter; if you were to strike their bones together, a flame would appear. However, it’s almost as if this is lost on them. There is a certain desperation that trails their every breath, and every moment of their existence is spent trying to coax something deeper, something more, out of themselves. There are several lines within their skeleton that touch upon this, but “visiting the forbidden forest just to feel the thrum of explicit life around you, reminding you of your own blood pumping in your veins” works wonders to accentuate this point, and I want to see your own rendition of the meaning behind this. In order to wholly portray accismus, you must have a strong grip onto who they are, what their mindset is, the core understanding beneath it all. It’s complex to untangle and pinpoint, but I want to be shown that you know every single centimeter of the map of who they are.

002.  Truly, it wouldn’t be unfair to call them a mess. They really, really are. In their skeleton, it’s touched upon that they nearly gave up the honor of head student, and I want to tour the thought process behind this. There’s a subtle tragedy that lurks beneath the surface, and it needs to be exploited. Perhaps it’d be interesting to see the snapshot of when they found out they landed the position, and how they news shot through them. Who did they tell? Did they keep it to themselves for a while? Did they laugh, cry, go numb? It might be difficult to capture, but that’s exactly why I want to see it. I want them to be empathically, appallingly human ⏤ after all, so they do.

003.  For me, accismus is the rare introvert-extrovert type. It’s hinted at several times throughout the skeleton, such as “knowing the answer in class and waiting for the professor to call on you as a last salvation, drawling response and shy smirk at the ready.” They’re a beloved fixture within Hogwarts, despite not trying to call attention to themselves, especially in any boisterous or rowdy way. One of my main excitements relies on interactions, and so I’d love to see any dialogue between accismus and others. How do they react around others, what is their general temperament, if they were interrupted in a thrilling part of a book, how would they lash out, if at all? Really try to dig into their very essence.

GORDIAN KNOT.

001.  The inspiration behind gordian was clearly the old legend, and the very idea has been a tug at both my mind and heart for a while. The character concept was one of the first that I came up with, and this core of tangled ties, of a mangled and impenetrable mess, is the center of this skeleton that truly draws you in. Of course, it’s nice and complex on paper, but I am eager to see how you can enact this through dialogue and a realistic and meaty characterization, in which I can truly envision your muse coming to life. I want you to make this hidden and intricately tortuous character utterly transparent to me, to prove that you know them inside and out, knotted soul and all. They may be a complete riddle to everyone else, but you must be inside that sphere, right inside their head. I want to be excited to figure each facet of them out, bit by agonizing bit.

002.  One of my favorite injections within their skeleton was this idea of existentialism and their own curiosity with it. I was quite vague with the concept, for I wanted this to be the field where you can totally go off the tracks. What does this mean, specifically to your muse? How far and creatively wild can you go with this route? To me, gordian is a weird one, and I’m truly so excited to gather your interpretation of their mindset and how this idea became rooted in them. There’s a huge well of opportunity here, and I want to see how deep you’re willing to go.

003.  There are some gothic themes implanted within the group, and gordian is one of the tiers in that aspect. Within the line “chasing (my bad ⏤ walking, casually, slowly, always on the disinterested front) fulfillment in empty corridors tense with brimming old souls of centuries past ; what is it that deceiving emptiness can lend you that a breathing, talking human can’t? is it the breathing or the talking part ; or both?” there is plenty to uncover and explore with, and I want to this notion to somehow, in some (obscure or not) way, be addressed. I mean, just dissecting that part of the skeleton can lead you in so many directions, with a plethora of insanely delicious storylines to trek into. I want to see you blossom in this element, and really run with it. Give me something to sink my teeth into and groan in appreciation. Moreover, take into account their three words: stoic, precarious, nomadic. How do they fit your version of gordian? Do you disagree with them? Really show me your vision, in whatever capacity you deem best.

PROCRUSTEAN.

001.  The procrustean is quite the heavy character, and it’ll take a bit of skill to maneuver their characterization into something legible. The main notion attached to their skeleton, the very core of who they are, is this gilded cage that is shackled to their bones. The definition of procrustean reads “enforcing uniformity or conformity without regard to natural variation or individuality,” and it’s a perfect exposition of the center of the character. That latter part rings especially true, and truly emphasizes that not only are they weighed down by familial (or whichever direction you took) pressure in their future, but also their soul, their heart. They are clearly affected, but how? Strip every shackle off and reveal to me who they are underneath. Even more, show me who they could have been, had they not been born into a cage. Have they ever wondered this themselves? What is their mindset? Divulge these possibilities, these truths.

002.  A section of their skeleton focuses on that “if anything, you own the distinct talent of fabricating an escape in any pleasure or pain, tiny crevices or eyebrow-raising reaches alike, you can find, seeking out with a desperate vengeance that momentarily grants you a shortly saccharine fantasy, even if the tang of blood is more bitter than sweet ( can you even tell? )” line, and my, does it pack a punch. This introduces a whole realm of possibility, and I’m keen to see what kind of vices you have affixed to their character. It even hints at delusional fantasies and lapses of desperation that may be all too disastrous for them. How dark are you willing to go, and how do you interpret the direction of the last few words within the line? Include a scene or snippet of how cavernous this vein really runs.

003.  A regal mien is somewhat embedded into the flesh of their skeleton, and it doesn’t necessarily conclude that they’re born with a silver spoon in hand. They just naturally exude this palatial air that bears an imprint on anyone who crosses their path. I’m somewhat desperate to see procrustean in action, to be given a diagram of their mind, soul, and everything more. What are their interactions with others like; how do they react and how are they reacted to? The cloak of a coward conceals them, but how is this a player in the game of their life? How gracefully do they fit into their predestined box?

LOTUS EATER.

001.  The very concept of lotus is derived from the greek myths and legends in which, “as a result of eating the fruit of the lotus plant, a group of people were stuck living in a state of idleness and dreamy forgetfulness.” This is one of the more interestingly based skeletons, and there’s so much that you can do with this. I wanted to pack in everything I could into this concept, and I want to see all possible fronts exhausted. This notion of laziness beautified and an extravagant stupor is etched into the very fragrance that islotus eater, and I want to see this grand sloth reverberate a heartbeat. Perhaps even weave a tale that compares them to their namesake, how they would bear in such a mythological tragedy (or peace?). Hearten me to their lethargic existence.

002.  Moreover, an idea that can be warred within your application is the question of: how much of their soul is true, embedded laziness, and how much is clouded with the fear of change; of achieving the bare minimum so that perfection is the lowest bar to attain? Lotus is truly a tricky one, for their intentions are up in the air, floating in bliss among sunsets and daydream clouds. Take this line: “layering jewels upon jewels as they catch a shimmer and shine, layering shadows upon shadows of a girl, catching personas like light on diamonds” and wholeheartedly rip into it. You can take so much from those words, and I’m excited to witness your interpretations. As for scenes in which you can enwrap this into dialogue and interaction, perhaps a piece of synergy in which you highlight the conversation happening both inside and outside of their head. You do what feels most comfortable, as well as what can portray your enriched understanding of their character.

003.  There are several hints of a rather rough exterior inside the skeleton, such as “running idle circles barefoot in an orchard, playing hide and seek within the groove of trees and healing scrapes and bruises on knees with the soft caress of emerald grass and blooming flowers” and the only foul word (“shit”) found within any of the skeletons, battled against a delicate, mortal softness that begs to be damaged: “careful, don’t prick your delicate veins on a rose’s thorns ; your flesh is too brittle.” I want to see this played out brilliantly, in a bright, sunshine gold light that catches the eye. With lotus specifically, I think the childhood facet is an important one to explore, for a section of the skeleton directly refers to it, and how they evolved from there to here. Thrill me with tender and bittersweet nostalgia!

PRESCIENT.

001.  The prescient is a funky one, and I’m gearing for this to be played out spectacularly. Off the bat, you are drowned in this Alice in Wonderland swirl of an identity ⏤ except darker, funner, and snarkier. Truly, their skeleton holds some of my favorite lines, and one of them is this introduced notion of a holier-than-thou attitude regarding Divination, reminiscent of our favorite Brightest Witch of Her Age, while desperately gripping with both hands tight onto their own eyebrow-raising “prophecies”: “coughing bitterly on the dense fumes that cloud the divination classroom ( a roll of your eyes here, a barely disguised scoff there ), but clinging tightly onto the prophecies designed by your leftover tea leaves from that morning’s cuppa.” It’s honestly just so like them, and I want you to attain your own comfortability with the lunacy raging inside their head: not simply understand who they are, but sacrifice a piece of yourself to adopt their madness; Alice, meet your Mad Hatter.

002.  I don’t typically like to reveal certain fictional characters who have played a role in the initial, loose characterization of the skeletons, but in this case, I don’t see it deterring you from your own interpretation, but rather pinpointing some new perspectives to get your mind turning where it may have not been. That said, particularly in the Harry Potter universe itself, I drew some influence from Luna Lovegood, Lavender Brown, Hermione Granger, and even Tom Riddle. They each lent something to the building of the skeleton diagram, and from there, I expanded it and fluffed it with a lot of my own twists from how these “seer-esque” characters are usually done ⏤ it’s safe to say I had a little too much fun with prescient. They are truly different at every turn, and mangle expectations inside out: thus, I want you to shock me with your application; surprise even (and especially) me.

003.  One of the three words I included for prescient was meddlesome, and boy, oh boy, is that the truest thing I’ve written. This, mixed with their fatal curiosity, is a disaster brewing in the horizon. A large section of their skeleton reads: “everything and everyone has a rhyme or reason and oh, oh, oh, you’re too curious for your own good ⏤ what do you exist for if not for prodding and poking into a semblance of understanding / after all, one can be pushed down the rabbit hole or jump ; what difference does it make in the end if you’re the one to prod them off the ledge, as long as wonderland is reached at the crash of the fall?” and if anything, this is what you must pick up on in your interpretation. They can almost be suffocating in their ways, and that makes for some nasty interactions; or perhaps not? Detail their relationships across the sphere, or highlight a scene or dialogue in which their meddling ways are magnified for my viewing. Is the cat killed, or brought back?

FAVONIAN.

001.  The tug of favonian is this grand, old-fashioned fairytale hook, which cloaks you in its worn, mysteriously-shadowed aura (I generally get more descriptive the longer I write for periods at a time, my sorrowful, regretful bad). Their skeleton is actually one of my shorter ones, but I believe it to be more within less. This idea of a desperation to find oneself magically within the pages of a storybook leads to a more grandiose and perhaps even tragic analysis, for who must you be ⏤ what life must you live ⏤ to wish to exchange your reality for fiction (says I, the hypocrite)? Moreover, the line: “worn copies of beedle the bard graining your fingertips as age-old excitement pulls you to turn the page, again and again” hints that this pull has seized favonian since childhood, and what can you twist and weave with this piece of news? Is this fascination like the roots of a tree, growing sturdier and stronger with each passing day, until oh!: an evermore, majestic oak? In a world of magic, with goblins, and spells, and wheezes ‘til the eye can see, what more can you long for?

002.  I’ve been asked about this in the past, but allow me to reiterate and truly expand on my answer: a darkness clings in between the lines of favonian, and it’s hinted at through the “at least try and shave that hairy heart of yours, before they catch onto you” line. Like I said before, this is referring to the short story within The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and it’s perhaps the short story that reeks the most of the gothic theme, a thread that is most definitely deliberate. How you choose to incorporate or address this vein is up to you, but I suggest you get clever with it ⏤ if you’re having fun with it, I assure you that the same elation will radiate to me. Not all enchanted forests have a Tinker Bell, so run with it; after all, Hogwarts does have its very own forbidden forest to venture. A dark seed must always first be tainted.

003.  An extremely vital part to favonian is the “plucking your way through your garden, dismembering one flower at a time, chanting childish demands of ‘will they love me … love me not’ ( try : will i love me, will i not? pity, my dear : not )” line, which is why it was chosen as the crucial sentence to highlight within the masterlist. Here, darker themes are also underlined, for the innocent children’s act of plucking petals from a flowers is twisted into a literal, crippling action, maiming what was once sweet into something pungent. Even further, an insecurity is introduced in the parenthesis, sharp enough to prick your finger on. It’s truly key to at least talk about this in some capacity, so search for that dark, deep crevice within yourself and channel it.

PHAETON.

001.  The phaeton was a concept that was very original in the entire premise and creation of the roleplay, and I’m elated to see them finally flapping their wings out in the wild. Like essentially all of the skeletons, there is a soft dichotomy edged between the lines: arrogance versus inherent destruction. They are a very difficult concept to skillfully grasp, and can only be achieved with an exquisite and keen hand. They are wholly based upon the greek phaethon, and the myth instantly affords the skeleton depth where it may be hidden within the text: “inexperience proved fatal” is the theme that strikes severely, the chord that must be struck. However, legends may not be whole reality, and thus, I urge you to create a new picture rather than coloring within the lines.

002.  Following that same vein, arrogance is a key factor that is deeply implanted within the bones of the skeleton. Moreover, you can play on the “inexperience” and conceit by meshing them to attack the Head Student position that has been gifted to phaeton. “Arrogance is a certain type of breed, but are you a perfect design or a mangled mutation?”: where can this lead them? What part does this line play in their future / potential storyline? How will this fail them or uplift them? You can address these questions in whichever format you may wish to use, as long as the grip you have on their mind, heart, and soul is stable and obvious to my own eyes.

003.  A clever little input within the skeleton was “smirking dimples into fruition ; narrowing twinkling eyes into slits” and this truly warps what you thought the skeleton was into something else. This introduces a mischief to the concept, a fun gist and flowing wind that injects an acrid jest that you simply can’t help but inhale until you’re sneezing to the nines. Moreover, phaeton is perhaps the skeleton with the most singular lines, in which each new fraction amounts to a different meaning, and so much like the previous line, “heavy hearts weigh on the heaviest minds” is one that speaks thousands, and opens dozens of doors, without revealing much within the direct words themselves. Expand on these notions, and how they affect the vision of your own character; how they coil and root to encapsulate the core of your muse. Really wrap your fist around the center of their stem and tug.

[foundcarcosa]

cccviii.

Do you still remember your first kiss? >> Yes. It’s kind of branded into my brain for a couple of (not nice) reasons. Are you happy with where you are relationship-wise now? >> I’m happy with the relationships I have. I wouldn’t even consider myself emotionally available for any others if I wasn’t. How many kids do you want to have? >> One. I suppose we should think about a pair for the sake of said child not being lonely, but I don’t know. There are possible pros and cons to both situations. Have you ever purposely given someone the wrong number? >> No. Who’s the last person you smoked weed with? >> Sigma.

Are you mad at the last person who called you? >> --- Who was the last person you talked to, other than family? >> Sparrow. When was the last time you flew in a plane? >> This time last year. Is there a girl you absolutely can not stand? >> I mean, somewhere, definitely.

Have you ever set anything on fire? >> Sure. Have you kissed the last person you texted? >> Yes. Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos? >> I am always up for more body modification. I just don’t have the money for it. Do you find tattoos attractive in the opposite sex? >> Generally, sure. Who is the person you have hurt the most? >> I don’t know. That isn’t really my thing to determine, I don’t think. Who is the person that has hurt you the most? >> That’s also difficult for me to determine because... shit is connected. No one person is wholly responsible for the damage done to me, because sometimes the damage they caused wasn’t a direct product of them but of... a combination of nature, nurture, and whatever era of life I was in. So while I can blame them, it’s not the full picture, and once you start getting into this stuff it gets real wibbly real quick, so. Yanno. Have you smoked a cigarette today? >> No. Are you listening to any music? What song? >> Yes. Conformist, by XTRMST. It’s a Davey Havok project I’m not entirely sure how I feel about, but I do like a few of the songs at least. Ever had a person who was obsessed with you so much that it scared you? >> No. Is there anything silver near you? >> I mean, probably, but I’m not going to turn the light back on to check. Has anyone ever mistaken you for someone else? >> Yeah, a few times. Who are you talking to right now? >> Blayke on Discord, telling me more about that damn MTG Planeswalker that I now can’t stop thinking about. Enablers, one and all... Have you cried this past week? >> Yes. Say your last ex walks up to you and hugs you, what do you say? >> Relationships have been so nebulous for me lately (I guess part of that is my fault, stupid Mercury making it hard for me to put boundaries around things until it’s too late) that I’m not even sure who my last ex actually is. I never actually broke up with Phoenix, but we... haven’t spoken in months.... so........???? I guess I deserve this, lmao. Anyway, using Phoenix for the sake of simplicity: I don’t know what I’d say, but I’d be confused because like... we don’t live anywhere near each other. Would you date someone right now if they asked? >> Depending on who it is, sure, maybe. Has someone recently told you something you didn’t want to hear? >> Probably. Who was the last baby you held? >> Vlad’s son. Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you? >> I think Lucian’s (of misterlucian.tumblr.com fame) birthday is either the day before or the day after mine. And I think darzie’s is really close too, and Bisho’s... I feel like I do know someone on tumblr whose birthday is the same day as mine, but I might just be getting it confused. Would you ever get a tattoo? If so, of what? >> I have three tattoos, but of course I’d definitely get more. Have you purposely flirted with a friends crush? >> I don’t think so. Do you have any siblings that moved away to college? >> No. Have you had any beer this week? >> Yes. Is there anything you need to talk about with someone? >> Probably a lot of things. But “someone” is... whomst???? I’ll stick to Can Calah for now, because no one else has proven trustworthy with this chaos. Are you wearing a necklace? >> Yes, always. What does text 10 in your cell say? >> You know, phones don’t do it like this anymore... Who was the last person who cried around you? >> Uh... well, like the only person I see on a regular basis is Sparrow, so I’m gonna assume it was her. What was the last thing you cried about? >> Being ill from drink and irrationally hating myself for it. (I didn’t really hate myself for being blindsided, I hated myself for being so hard-up for social interaction that I stayed at Gardella’s longer than I planned to and let Erin give me tastes of drinks that interacted badly with what was already in my system.) Who’s the last guy to give you roses? >> I’ve never received roses from a guy. Do you think relationships are hard? >> I think being a person is hard, and being a person with another person in a way that fits together well is also hard. But I think that sometimes another person is okay with that, and if you’re honest about it with each other, and let each other mess up at it sometimes, it doesn’t have to be as hard as you’d imagine. Did your parents do drugs when they were younger? >> My father didn’t. What color are your eyes? >> Dark brown. Do you listen to music while you fill out surveys? >> Yes. Would you date someone that had a different religion from you? >> If that religion was Christianity or Islam, it’s extremely unlikely. If that religion is another, then it’s possible. It’s really a case-by-case basis because people react with religion differently. (Christianity and Islam are harder to be okay with because the fundamental tenets of those religions are counter to how I live my life, and the way people interact with those religions is often even more counter to how I live my life. There are things about both religions that I appreciate greatly, obviously, but I... I just can’t.) Would you rather have nice eyes or nice lips/smile? >> Well, see, I have both, soooOOOoOOoo Do you have any secrets? >> No. What’s your current problem? >> The littlerbox odour in the closet is never going to go away. Ever. For a year Sigma kept a litterbox right on the carpet in there and was, true to form, terrible about cleanliness, and now the smell is just. Baked the fuck in. And I have to live in here. And smell it. And it’s like a fucking ghost that I can’t exorcise. And operating at this level of sensory processing makes it an even worse time for me. It’s such an appropriate legacy. I’d like to laugh about how appropriate it is, because it’s kinda funny when you’re at a distance... but I am so deeply, coldly angry.

[secondhandstarchild]

People I’ve Known or Loved

Aries: 

Dear Aries, I haven’t spoken with you in almost ten years. When I think back to it you were my first love, so passionate about the things you were interested in, such an easy smile. You were the first person I ever thought about to the point of obsession because your passion was that infectious. You were the first to hold my hand, the first to pull me close and hold me and now all I crave everyday is that same kind of affection. You are the archetype of the men I’m attracted to but you didn’t know who you were then and I hope you know now.  We left on bad terms and the last thing I heard about you is that you’re married. I miss that innocent love we had.

Taurus: 

I’m mad at you, Taurus. I have no real reason to be, but I am. You made Gemini fall for you and I don’t know if I could ever forgive you of that. You’re not someone I’m in love with, or someone that I know that well, but you’re not a bad person. You’re intelligent and handsome and I think I dislike that more than I’d really like to admit. Not that you could ever think you had any bad qualities. You’re a narcissist like Gemini and maybe that’s why you two get along so well. You’re full of yourself and think you’re hilarious, and unfortunately for me you actually are very funny and charming. So, I’ll probably always be mad at you, Taurus, for taking away the affections of the person I tried not to fall in love with. 

Gemini: 

Gemini. Oh, Gemini. It isn’t surprising that sometimes your avatar has two faces. I know that’s a generalization, but how true it is here. You show one face, friendly and open and caring to all the people who don’t matter and the one I see is closed off, annoyed, and distant. I wonder often if other people know how quiet you really are. You’re smart as a whip, you’re intelligent and always have a solution for everything. You’re so fucking beautiful I can hardly look at you sometimes. I think that every time I see you; not just you’re face but your smile, your laugh, your everything. But you’re closed off, you don’t want anyone who wants you because you’re always secretly looking for something better. I have always craved closeness with you, but when I try you pull away and when I give up you try harder, it’s infuriating. I know we’ll only ever be friends, Gemini, but you and I both know you’re afraid of commitment because you’re afraid of being hurt, despite how many times your words have knowingly hurt me. You may have two faces, Gemini, but I love them both despite how you pushing me away more often than not. I think I always will.

Cancer: 

Cancer, I didn’t know you long but you were such a lighthearted person that I still think about you sometimes. We worked together but your head was always focused somewhere else. I guess with you, Cancer, I was more interested in you carnally than emotionally, not that we would have ever gotten to that point. But you were fit, you seemed to care about that kind of thing so I noticed. Boy, did I notice. But you also had a deep love inside of you, and I think that lent to your lightheartedness. I want to find someone like you, Cancer, an endgame for my love life who can make me laugh so hard I cry and who can make me want to be a better healthier, person.

Leo: 

I think Summer was my favorite season because I always fell in love during the Summer. For some people it was Spring but for me it was always Summer. Leo I count you in the top five greatest loves of my life. You are pure adrenaline, always going. You have so much boundless energy, so much reckless abandon, and an answer for everything. Its almost admirable, but I always wondered if that energy was actually you running from something. It was cute how you would sleep in my bed, no one else has ever done that. But you didn’t want me, not like that, not in any real way. You literally lived with me, Leo, but only between girlfriends and jobs. You wouldn’t even call me your best friend, that was an honor reserved for our Gemini friend. How funny, and maybe a little ironic that you’re both on this list and I keep going back to him. It amazes me how I can still miss you because that running you did so much finally took you so many states away, but I can still feel your heat in my bed on the night’s I’m lonely.

Virgo: 

Virgo, you are the only person on this list I sometimes hate. You’re so wish-washy, you flip flop on everything. You worry, you pry, you’re sarcastic and bitter and sometimes you’re so full of vinegar I wonder if your heart has pickled. I’ve always been so critical of you because I don’t know how else to judge you. You try so hard at everything, and you want so much to be the good in someone’s life, you want someone to love you so badly that you lose yourself and I’m sorry its like that. I want to fix you but I don’t know how, you’ve always thought you were broken somehow and no one has ever helped you figure out why. I want   to tell you to keep trying, keep your head on straight, stop lusting and falling in love with people you know won’t love you. I’m afraid you do that on purpose because you know the only person that will disappoint in the long run is yourself. I want to tell you that this is a bad mindset to be in, but I know you won’t believe me. 

Libra: 

You’re so sweet, my Libra friend. You were honestly the first person who made me feel like I didn’t have to keep up a performance of always being happy, always being funny, always being on. It took us a while to get there, but now we are and its helped me out so much. You’re too hard on yourself and you live in your nostalgia more than you should, the past is good to remember so it can help your future, I’ve told you that. You give so much of yourself, you should take more. That hyper-nervous energy you have is because you regret not doing more for yourself. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, Libra. 

Scorpio: 

I’ve never officially met you, Scorpio, not yet anyway. If I can ever make my way to Britain then I’m sure we’ll hook up.  We’ve been pen pals for a number of years, we met on a dating app, isn’t that funny? I hate the thought of them now. Scorpio, I’m afraid you have an impressionable, fledgling image of me in your head, more so than I am now. You know the younger me who wanted to please everyone and you still hold me to his standard, but I’ve grown so much more as a person than who I was and I don’t know how to tell you that, you seem to like things between us sedentary. However, you’re a wanderer Scorpio; you don’t know where you’re going but you know you’re going to party and enjoy the way there. 

Sagittarius: 

I’ve been jealous before, Sagittarius, but oh not like this. I don’t like you much, which isn’t like me. I don’t normally wholly dislike someone, but you rub me the wrong way. Your vanity and egotistic ideology rivals and then outweighs Taurus and Gemini both, combined. Or maybe its the magnetic quality you seem to have that makes people who aren’t me like you in spite of your flaws. So yes, I am jealous of you, Sagittarius, of how gorgeous you are, how effortless everything is for you, and how easily you hide your real feelings.

Capricorn: 

Our relationship is probably strained, Capricorn, because I immediately caught feelings for you that you in no way, shape, form or fashion returned. But you were a good sport about it. You’re an interesting person, Capricorn, you want so badly to be innovative. You want to fit in and you want to stand out at the same time, almost like you live in two worlds. You’re a little all over the place but you have so much beauty I easily overlooked that. I want you still, you have that kind of bewitching quality Capricorn, but you’re also not meant for me. I suppose I can always just admire you when we talk and always wonder what if.

Aquarius: 

I’ll bet its some kind of fate that Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You came on my playlist as soon as I thought to write this about you, Aquarius. It isn’t true, but its a fun sentiment. I think you finally came out, and I’m proud of you for it, your denial of self was a difficult thing to watch. I’ve never been in a will they won’t they situation but for me it surely felt close to one every time I would see you at those house parties, and maybe we would have if you would have been more comfortable in your skin. You did make me feel good about myself, Aquarius, I think that’s why I liked you so much. Quick with a pat on the back and a good word and I need that like someone with a thirst needs water. You’ll succeed at anything you do, Aquarius, as long as you remember to stop hiding so much.

Pisces: 

I wonder if all Pisces are as carefree as you are, my friend? You have never worried about a single thing in the long number of years I’ve known you, even things you probably should have been worried about it. Remember when neither of us had jobs but we kept an apartment for a whole year? That was on you, you were the only reason we didn’t starve and get kicked out and I appreciate that so much. You’re clever and quick witted, Pisces, and mischievous – the shit you get into, bih. You’re also stubborn and hardheaded though, which is probably why your personality works so well. You stick to what you believe no matter what and I like that about you, even when you’re proven wrong. I miss you, and I wish I was a better friend to you every time I see a text pop up from you, but you’ve never held anything against me, and I’m glad.

[theseventhhex]

Kacey Johansing Interview

Kacey Johansing

Photo by Aubrey Trinnaman

After the breakup of her band Yesway, and an abrupt falling out with her closest musical collaborator, Johansing set out to record a new batch of songs that resulted from the sea change in which she had now found herself. Instead of drawing from her regular band, Johansing pulled from a wider cast of players that she’d come to know in the community of musicians throughout California and the West Coast. The resulting sound is one based wholly and unabashedly in pop. Kacey’s latest release serves as a document of her time spent traveling in search of the sound she was after. Landing somewhat-blindly in Los Angeles, she continued to work on the album and hold it close. The end result is ‘The Hiding’, a tone poem about loss and growth. The release of ‘The Hiding’ comes at a time when Johansing is deeply longing to emerge from her extended absence and reconnect with her desire to create and share her music… The Seventh Hex talks to Kacey about travelling, Netflix and bathing monkeys…

TSH: As you readied ‘The Hiding’, did you outline certain ideas with regards to your overall sound palette?

Kacey: ‘The Hiding’ was very much an act of me cutting ties or dependencies from other musicians that I’d leaned on in the past both emotionally and musically. I wanted to try working with different musicians as well as try out new ways of working in the studio. I asked my friend Eric Johnson to help me produce the record because I respect him so much as a songwriter and as a singer. It was nice having somebody to help me prep myself creatively for getting into the record making mode. Once I’m in the studio it’s sort of a letting go process while also fighting for creative control - not just with other musicians but with yourself. I think albums tend to have a life of their own and no matter how much you think you know what you want sonically or stylistically to sound, albums tend to come out as authentic entities that you couldn’t really plan for. That’s the magical and exciting part of recording for me.

TSH: What was at the heart of your songwriting expressions?

Kacey: I feel like I was in such a soft and vulnerable place while recording, I really wanted that feeling of strength and sorrow to come through emotionally even in the more upbeat “pop” songs. Some of my songs come to me in one sitting and many of them do take a couple years to really feel complete. Some songs have different incarnations. I knew that this album could maybe feel a bit disconnected to listeners as it was recorded in different studios at different times, but I trusted that the emotional content became cohesive in my need to let all of those songs go and release at that time.

TSH: How would you sum up your daily surroundings as the record was coming to fruition?

Kacey: I recorded most of the album at Panoramic Studios in Stinson Beach, CA not far from where I was living at the time. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. I was very heartbroken at the time but was surrounded by so much beauty so I definitely looked to nature for strength and inspiration. I also really tried to have a creative routine which is difficult for me. I made myself write and make demos every day leading up to going into the studio.

TSH: Can you give us more of an insight into yourself spending time traveling in search of the sound you were after, how this came into play?

Kacey: I think I’ve spent a lot of time traveling alone which I think has played an important role in my creative growth. That’s not so much how I am anymore as I’ve found a musical/travel/romantic partner to share my time with. I do treasure my time alone though and even though it was lonely at the time I’m glad I spent that time on the road playing music. It was very valuable to me and I encourage other musicians to experience something similar.

TSH: What sort of motivations do you draw on to pen a track like ‘Hold Steady’?

Kacey: That song was a really fun song to write and honestly I wrote it years ago so it’s hard to recall the exact motivation. It was sort of about being in a toxic relationship and was also about my friends band “The Range of Light Wilderness”. They are one of my favourite bands. They were three best friends and made such magic and beauty together but had a passionate side that was also destructive to the group dynamic. They aren’t playing together so much anymore but I highly recommend listening to them.

TSH: Moreover, what factors would you say were defining in getting ‘Take One, Leave One’ to sound so concise?

Kacey: That recording was actually a demo. I was writing as I was recording it. I think that’s maybe why it sounds so concise. It came out all at once and is very pure because of that. I tried to record it in the studio but never liked the new versions as much as I liked the demo so we decided to just mix it as best we could and put it on the record. I’m so glad we did, I love that song. Very much from the heart and about letting go of friendships.

TSH: Do you at times outline the approach of wanting the music to feel less treated and more organic?

Kacey: Totally, I usually know when I’m writing a song that wants to sound more polished and produced or one that is more about the song. “Old Feeling, Old Foe” is a good example of that. I recorded a slower more produced version of it but never liked it. I recorded the version that is on the album very casually with friends in Big Sur (The Range of Light Wilderness). I didn’t think it would ever be released but was so in love with what we recorded I decided why not put it on the album. It captures the spirit of the song that maybe was too light hearted for a formal studio setting. It needed to be sung with friends in a small room rather than under the microscope of a studio setting.

TSH: How liberating and powerful is it when a song just comes to you at the right time?

Kacey: It’s one of the best feelings in the entire world. I treasure those moments. It makes me believe in magic and a higher greater something or other. It’s a divine feeling - totally liberating and powerful.

TSH: With your live performances, what sort of atmosphere and momentum do you look to generate?

Kacey: I just want to have an authentic and sincere experience with my music and with the people who are there listening. I prefer more intimate settings always. It’s very important that I find a way to connect to my voice and my music - that way I trust that I’m doing something that’s from the heart and hopefully people who are in the room will connect with that and best case scenario, will be moved.

TSH: How vital can it be when forming new music to step outside of your comfort zone to allow for new perspectives?

Kacey: I think it’ really important to step outside your comfort zone. It’s easy to get bored or feel uninspired if you’re playing the same thing all the time. I have a guitar that I have a really strong connection with so I tend to write most songs on it, but I do think that writing songs on a different instrument than you normally do or even trying out a new pedal can be huge. I want to try writing songs starting with the beat. Hoping that will help me write songs that I can dance to.

TSH: Do you personally look to certain non-musical avenues to give you a wider scope to work with?

Kacey: Not as much as I’d like to. I have friends that write songs based on books they’ve read or movies they’ve watched or about what’s going on politically… I’m always envious of that practice. I tend to just write about what’s going on in my heart.

TSH: How important is your private reflection time in helping you to keep your mindset fresh?

Kacey: Very! Songwriting can be very cleansing sometimes if I’ve been ruminating on an emotion and writing a song can really help me let go of that pain. So songwriting and self-reflection go hand in hand.

TSH: What sort of hobbies and activities would you say are a nice counterpoint to music for you?

Kacey: Running or working out while listening to music. Reading, being in nature, swimming and astrology.

TSH: What gets viewed most on your YouTube binges and Netflix watches?

Kacey: Eeek.. I can be so bad! I love The Handmaids Tale, Wild WIld Country, The Great British Bake Off and Glow. On YouTube I’m maybe a bit too obsessed with the news… and love going back in time. Recently I’ve got into old live Cyndi Lauper videos. I also love Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers.

TSH: How amazing was it to experience monkeys bathing close-up whilst in Nara Park, Japan?

Kacey: That was one of the best experiences of my life and was a total dream come true! I feel really lucky that we got to see them as we did. Japan is one of my favourite places in the world. I’m so so honoured that we got to play music there too.

TSH: What sort of preferences do you have in mind for future music?

Kacey: I just am eager to really dive into my next record. I feel like I’ve been trying to enjoy this period post releasing ‘The Hiding’. It’s been really heart opening for me to be able to play as much and to hear how much the album has meant to so many people. I was so afraid to release it for so long, so I feel like a huge weight was lifted and I just wanted to enjoy that feeling for a while. Now I’m feeling the need to write and record again so I’m just sorting out what that’s going to look like. I’m hoping to record most of it at home.

Kacey Johansing - “Do You Want Me”

The Hiding

[fathersonholygore]

Followers. 2018. Directed by Ryan Justice. Starring Amanda Delaney, Justin Maina, Sean Michael Gloria, Nishant Gogna, David E. McMahon, Emily Steward, Esmeralda Chapa, & Bianca Taylor. Justified Films Not Rated. 82 minutes. Horror

★★1/2 out of ★★★★★

Disclaimer: The following contains significant spoilers about the film, in connection with the themes discussed.

Followers wasn’t my cup of tea. That doesn’t mean there isn’t anything worthwhile. Sometimes, even the movies that don’t land every punch they try throwing can still capture attention. Personally I dig found footage, and so I’m always willing to give these sort of flicks a chance. Granted I’ve seen plenty of bombs, there are a lot of titles in the found footage sub-genre I’d consider worthy pieces of work; particularly in terms of horror. Found footage is also a prime sub-genre for examining postmodern issues in society. That’s not to say Followers capitalises on its premise or any of the plot and character which comes out of it. There’s potential wasted. There are also things to be said, and maybe learned; you decide. The story concerns Brooke (Amanda Delaney), a YouTube yoga and lifestyle guru, and her boyfriend Caleb (Justin Maina) – a couple whose lives are lived in the public eye constantly; maybe not 24/7, but damn close to it. They head out for a camping trip that’s relatively cut off from the internet, though cameras and phones with cameras are along for the trip. Also along, unknown to the couple, are Jake (Sean Michael Gloria) and Nick (Nishant Gogna), who’ve been making a documentary about how easy it is to track people who live their lives online, and to show how potentially easy it’d be for someone to do something awful to them.

The whole movie takes on postmodern ‘internet famous,’ or Instafamous culture, if you prefer. As opposed to full-fledged celebrities and those who’ve reached whatever you’d call true fame – specifically in an era after Björk’s stalker Ricardo López and Hinckley nearly killing Ronald Reagan in a twisted attempt to impress Jodie Foster – Instafamous people are without security in the world. They go about posting their near every move, including locations, and untold amounts of random people follow them; many of whom are even relatively anonymous themselves. This is an even newer danger than some of the cyberstalking cases that have already emerged in the early days of the internet, simply for the fact the info doesn’t need to be acquired by a predator through risky means: it’s all put out there willingly by those seeking fame, recognition, and purpose in a postmodern society that’s celebrity + internet obsessed. Even the camping trip Brooke and Caleb go on isn’t wholly natural anymore, as is the case with so many people out there, not just those getting money for what they post. The average Instagram user posts 80% of their life online. Instagram culture makes camping just another off-shoot of suburban living, rather than anything like it was once upon a time. Cameras, cellphones, champagne; a far cry from Jack London.

“You think because you watch some videos that we post online that you know who we are?”

In this day and age of social media, we’re forced to reevaluate our preconceived notions of public v. private, as well as what public itself means (i.e. the extent to which a public figure is indebted to their public, et cetera). Moreover, there’s a judgement aspect in there, as well; one implicating the audience. It’s all about perception, after all, and sometimes the audience/viewer does not perceive everything, which inevitably leads to some particularly judgemental judgement. There’s an almost-superiority in the viewer, who comes to see themselves as part of the lives of these people, and in feeling so they likewise believe they’re able to pass judgement. This is partly what plays into Jake and Nick, as the two documentary filmmakers hoping to make “cinematic history” by shooting what they believe is a groundbreaking documentary on contemporary social issues surrounding the thoughtless use of social media. Of course it’s ironic, after we see that one of the pair is out there for an entirely more sinister purpose. At least, so we think. This further allows a full circle-style justification for why people ought to be concerned about and careful with their online privacy. A cautionary tale of postmodern human horror, when the private crosses over into the public without enough consideration of the ramifications. We’re led to believe Jake intends on affecting change in a horrific, violent manner. Except everything is not as it seems. There’s an interesting technique used, where we see an event from the POV of Caleb and Brooke, then cut back earlier in the story from Jake and Nick’s POV. The big issue is, this technique, as well as the mystery/suspense surrounding Jake, are squandered when a final twist comes into the picture. Everything Followers builds up in its first 3/4 is fumbled in the final 1/4. There are a couple creepy scenes (Brooke seeing Caleb’s intent for proposal is a knife in the gut), and the intensity of the suspense building up until the last 25 minutes is top notch. Unfortunately none of that’s used effectively, which dashes the movie’s hopes of a genuine statement about postmodern fame seeking and internet culture.

“I’ve tried to be what you want me to be”

The entire runtime of Followers, I rooted for its themes to really break out and explode across the screen. They didn’t, and it’s really a shame, because Ryan Justice has a fantastic, compelling premise which needs exploration. And horror, being my favourite genre, is – and has always been – a perfect genre to tackle difficult issues. Sadly, the ending really breaks down. If it weren’t for the last twist, perhaps the Jake and Nick side of the plot would’ve been able to cut deep. There was just no need for that last addition; the movie wouldn’t have suffered a bit if that element were cut out, and instead Jake and Nick’s characters were played out more to the end it seemed they initially aimed towards. More than that, some bits about Brooke’s character never played out in any meaningful way, so they were just loose threads that were left dangling. Either way, despite Followers not hitting its mark, there are interesting things at play. Justice does excellent work in the first hour of his movie, and that’s undeniable to me. The acting works, as does the writing and the story itself. It’s only in the finish, those last 20 minutes or so, where the acting goes downhill alongside the string of plots tangling together. If you can look past the surface enough, there’s commentary within speaking to how deeply our society is falling into the rabbit hole of technology, and what that means for humanity, safety, and, yes, depravity.

The Dangers of Electronic Validation in FOLLOWERS Followers. 2018. Directed by Ryan Justice. Starring Amanda Delaney, Justin Maina, Sean Michael Gloria, Nishant Gogna, David E.

[chwpromoblog]

MALLORY HONEY. high school senior; seventeen. nana komatsu. OPEN.

and, as matilda wormwood once said:

"No more Miss Nice Girl."

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Mallory's entire life had been a long con on all fronts, though she didn't know it. That had been everything. And given a few more years, and a few more wrong turns, her path could have been entirely different. But she doesn't try to think of that. What's the point? She ended up okay, finally surrounded by enough, able to be enough. That's it. That's all there ever is.

Most children are born to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if their parents won't ever admit it. Some are band-aid kids to save relationships. Others are the second chance kids to help patch over the ugly, unruly first attempts. Mallory was born a product. At least, that's what she thought of her life. There were too many blanks for her to fill on her own to be entirely sure. But that's how her parents treated her. She was the cute little girl who smiled and waved at her neighbors, who made nice with the local librarians. And then she smiled and waved at a new set of neighbors, and a new set of librarians.

Her family was constantly on the move, ever-changing: new hair, new clothes, new names, new life. She went through several sets of bangs, unfortunately shaved eyebrows, and even a tragic bleaching job done in a hotel bathroom sink in just a few years.

School was almost impossible to keep up with, but not because she didn't understand the material; she was far beyond her peers, but was never able to take her end of year exams. Her parents begged and begged for her to stop going, stop caring — because they'd barely gotten past their schooling years, and look how they turned out? Mallory was devastated, because she loved school. She loved the math, the science experiments, and she especially loved to read. Not that she read much, with all the library books she'd abandoned in former homes, too heavy to carry, and all the ones her parents had ripped apart to get her attention. As precocious as she was, she knew there was no point in school if she couldn't advance, so she agreed to give up on it.

And just like that, Mallory was given a purpose, far beyond the reach of playing nice with others. She was a distraction, a pawn. She pointed out lockets in jewelry stores that she begged attendants to let her try on and then fumbled with clasping them around her neck while her parents went behind the counter and got themselves a few knick-knacks. At the supermarket. Saks. Anywhere her charm could possibly work. Her father's supposed international business dealings and mother's supposed hair and makeup artist freelancing for bigwigs were never a thing at all. This was their thing. This was how they survived. And Mallory was their lynchpin.

For all their sticky fingers, Mallory's parents were truly and painfully dumb, which meant that she increased their success tenfold. No more random nights spent with one parent and not the other, which she finally deduced were twenty-four hours in the local jail. And, blessedly, they stayed put for longer than they'd ever had, which Mallory loved the most. She had all of the book smarts in the world for having read so few books, but no common sense — so it had been difficult to even figure out what her life was all about, though she was right in the middle of it. Once she did, it was the little things that kept her afloat, like the ability to grow attached to places, and to people. Maybe in the end, that made leaving worse, because she would sob each time they did. Once, she even cut her own hair in anguish, leaving the remnants in yet another hotel sink, her ends as frayed and uneven as can be. And she didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't care.

Sure, her parents yelled, but they didn't hit. Sure, they had their expectations, but at least they could continue to scrape by if she met them. Sure, they looked absolutely nothing like her, and something told her that she was just another thing they'd stolen, but maybe the alternate reality she could have lived would have been worse. Silver linings, silver linings, silver linings. Never a wholly great picture, or a wholly great life. She spent every waking moment miserable. Everything felt like a complicated math equation with no worthwhile end. Sure, her parents could get arrested and sent away for a long time, but where would she end up? Sure, she could go back to school, but how would she catch up?

And, finally: sure, she could get arrested, but...? She couldn't manage to conjure up a question in her head. Honestly, she had no idea what would come of her, or what the police would make of her. And that was terrifying. But one day, her parents asked her to distract a mother and her young child while they opened her car, turned the key into the ignition, and waited for her to run in before they sped away. Mallory looked downwards at the young girl, who stared up at her with stars in her eyes, still at the stage in which she looked at everything in the world with such awe. And with that, she knew this was the one heist she couldn't help make happen. She blew their cover, screamed bloody murder, and they all went in handcuffs.

Mallory didn't even know she was Mallory, but that was apparently her name, attached to a mother who had adopted her when she was just a baby and had waited since the day she was taken for her to come home. She'd never adopted again, just held within her a resilience and an assuredness that told her that Mallory was out there somewhere. She'd been kidnapped as a three year old, as smart as her captors thought she was, because she'd been taken by a woman who'd faked her credentials to become a first grade teacher — and who had zeroed in on Mallory, because of her age, her natural wits, and her lack of understanding about the world. That was who she'd called her mother for her entire life, while her actual one had been in some town in Illinois, suffering. And suffer she still did, as she painstakingly sought out the best lawyers to get Mallory's record expunged.

She'd been wanted for years, as a victim and as a criminal. But she was a child, just barely fifteen, and her lawyers claimed Stockholm syndrome. Mallory had never heard her pain described so succinctly. She still managed to love her supposed parents while on the run, though their lives inflicted nothing but grief. She'd been scared to run, to separate herself, to do anything other than listen. They'd emotionally abused her, turned her away from everything else she'd loved, her attachments, to get what they wanted out of her. And for all the intelligence Mallory always thought she had, she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life.

It took a while to rebuild herself from the ground up. Even now, she considers it a work in progress. But she's back in school, at least on pace with where she should have been all along — but too afraid to go any further, even though the material bores her. People are morbidly fascinated with her, a career thief with a conscience. She's built to be a subject of a Lifetime movie, and, believe me, she's been approached. But instead, she lays low. She gets to know her mother, over and over again, and doesn't make her job as headmistress any more stressful than it needs to be. She thinks over where she's been, and where she's going. A quiet girl with a personality in construction, too smart for her own good. Even now, that's all she knows. But it's a start.

DURING THE PARTY;

Surprisingly, she liked parties. She didn't get to attend very many, having an understandably overprotective helicopter mom, but she'd always heard that the party that opened the school year was not to be missed. So, she crawled out of her window. Clumsily, considering she was out of practice with the whole sneaking out of places thing. And nearly broke her ankle in the process of making her way down from said window. But she made it in one piece and dashed towards Rosewood's campus before the porch lights could come on and alert the headmistress.

She hadn't made very many friends in Rosewood, truth be told. Nearly everyone was obsessed with the stories about her, not necessarily interested in getting to know who she'd become. So, she liked parties, but they were a painfully awkward experience for her.

She'd stood in the corner of some room for nearly an hour, simply observing, before a blasted Rosewood student accidentally sloshed some of the contents in his Solo cup on her shoes and then shoved his incredibly expensive camera into her chest. He mumbled something she couldn't really understand, but considering he quickly doubled back to his group of friends, who were posed for a photo, she pretty much got the message.

Holding up the camera in their direction, she examined the viewfinder, the smiling faces of each and every kid, until she'd realized she accidentally started recording them. At her profuse apologies, they simply started laughing, cackling, filled with the kind of animation and glee that only came from their togetherness, this kind of camaraderie. And right at that moment, she realized — everyone had been obsessed with documenting her story for her from the moment she made it out into the light. But what if she could do it for herself? What if she could document Rosewood?

She'd heard whispers of a gossip blog from years past, the stories crackling with something insidious. But this would be different. They could all write about and record one another. They could be the makers of their own stories. Things could be different — for herself, and for everyone else.

Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Wood, which will be replacing the gossip blog as the news source on all things Rosewood and Ravenwood. Her player will be involved in the running of The Wood if they so choose.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[chwrpg]

MALLORY HONEY. college sophomore; nineteen. lauren tsai. OPEN.

and, as matilda wormwood once said:

"No more Miss Nice Girl."

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Mallory's entire life had been a long con on all fronts, though she didn't know it. That had been everything. And given a few more years, and a few more wrong turns, her path could have been entirely different. But she doesn't try to think of that. What's the point? She ended up okay, finally surrounded by enough, able to be enough. That's it. That's all there ever is.

Most children are born to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if their parents won't ever admit it. Some are band-aid kids to save relationships. Others are the second chance kids to help patch over the ugly, unruly first attempts. Mallory was born a product. At least, that's what she thought of her life. There were too many blanks for her to fill on her own to be entirely sure. But that's how her parents treated her. She was the cute little girl who smiled and waved at her neighbors, who made nice with the local librarians. And then she smiled and waved at a new set of neighbors, and a new set of librarians.

Her family was constantly on the move, ever-changing: new hair, new clothes, new names, new life. She went through several sets of bangs, unfortunately shaved eyebrows, and even a tragic bleaching job done in a hotel bathroom sink in just a few years.

School was almost impossible to keep up with, but not because she didn't understand the material; she was far beyond her peers, but was never able to take her end of year exams. Her parents begged and begged for her to stop going, stop caring — because they'd barely gotten past their schooling years, and look how they turned out? Mallory was devastated, because she loved school. She loved the math, the science experiments, and she especially loved to read. Not that she read much, with all the library books she'd abandoned in former homes, too heavy to carry, and all the ones her parents had ripped apart to get her attention. As precocious as she was, she knew there was no point in school if she couldn't advance, so she agreed to give up on it.

And just like that, Mallory was given a purpose, far beyond the reach of playing nice with others. She was a distraction, a pawn. She pointed out lockets in jewelry stores that she begged attendants to let her try on and then fumbled with clasping them around her neck while her parents went behind the counter and got themselves a few knick-knacks. At the supermarket. Saks. Anywhere her charm could possibly work. Her father's supposed international business dealings and mother's supposed hair and makeup artist freelancing for bigwigs were never a thing at all. This was their thing. This was how they survived. And Mallory was their lynchpin.

For all their sticky fingers, Mallory's parents were truly and painfully dumb, which meant that she increased their success tenfold. No more random nights spent with one parent and not the other, which she finally deduced were twenty-four hours in the local jail. And, blessedly, they stayed put for longer than they'd ever had, which Mallory loved the most. She had all of the book smarts in the world for having read so few books, but no common sense — so it had been difficult to even figure out what her life was all about, though she was right in the middle of it. Once she did, it was the little things that kept her afloat, like the ability to grow attached to places, and to people. Maybe in the end, that made leaving worse, because she would sob each time they did. Once, she even cut her own hair in anguish, leaving the remnants in yet another hotel sink, her ends as frayed and uneven as can be. And she didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't care.

Sure, her parents yelled, but they didn't hit. Sure, they had their expectations, but at least they could continue to scrape by if she met them. Sure, they looked absolutely nothing like her, and something told her that she was just another thing they'd stolen, but maybe the alternate reality she could have lived would have been worse. Silver linings, silver linings, silver linings. Never a wholly great picture, or a wholly great life. She spent every waking moment miserable. Everything felt like a complicated math equation with no worthwhile end. Sure, her parents could get arrested and sent away for a long time, but where would she end up? Sure, she could go back to school, but how would she catch up?

And, finally: sure, she could get arrested, but...? She couldn't manage to conjure up a question in her head. Honestly, she had no idea what would come of her, or what the police would make of her. And that was terrifying. But one day, her parents asked her to distract a mother and her young child while they opened her car, turned the key into the ignition, and waited for her to run in before they sped away. Mallory looked downwards at the young girl, who stared up at her with stars in her eyes, still at the stage in which she looked at everything in the world with such awe. And with that, she knew this was the one heist she couldn't help make happen. She blew their cover, screamed bloody murder, and they all went in handcuffs.

Mallory didn't even know she was Mallory, but that was apparently her name, attached to a mother who had adopted her when she was just a baby and had waited since the day she was taken for her to come home. She'd never adopted again, just held within her a resilience and an assuredness that told her that Mallory was out there somewhere. She'd been kidnapped as a three year old, as smart as her captors thought she was, because she'd been taken by a woman who'd faked her credentials to become a first grade teacher — and who had zeroed in on Mallory, because of her age, her natural wits, and her lack of understanding about the world. That was who she'd called her mother for her entire life, while her actual one had been in some town in Illinois, suffering. And suffer she still did, as she painstakingly sought out the best lawyers to get Mallory's record expunged.

She'd been wanted for years, as a victim and as a criminal. But she was a child, just barely fifteen, and her lawyers claimed Stockholm syndrome. Mallory had never heard her pain described so succinctly. She still managed to love her supposed parents while on the run, though their lives inflicted nothing but grief. She'd been scared to run, to separate herself, to do anything other than listen. They'd emotionally abused her, turned her away from everything else she'd loved, her attachments, to get what they wanted out of her. And for all the intelligence Mallory always thought she had, she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life.

It took a while to rebuild herself from the ground up. Even now, she considers it a work in progress. But she's back in school, at least on pace with where she should have been all along — but too afraid to go any further, even though the material bores her. People are morbidly fascinated with her, a career thief with a conscience. She's built to be a subject of a Lifetime movie, and, believe me, she's been approached. But instead, she lays low. She gets to know her mother, over and over again, and doesn't make her job as headmistress any more stressful than it needs to be. She thinks over where she's been, and where she's going. A quiet girl with a personality in construction, too smart for her own good. Even now, that's all she knows. But it's a start.

DURING THE PARTY;

Surprisingly, she liked parties. She didn't get to attend very many, having an understandably overprotective helicopter mom, but she'd always heard that the party that opened the school year was not to be missed. So, she crawled out of her window. Clumsily, considering she was out of practice with the whole sneaking out of places thing. And nearly broke her ankle in the process of making her way down from said window. But she made it in one piece and dashed towards Rosewood's campus before the porch lights could come on and alert the headmistress.

She hadn't made very many friends in Rosewood, truth be told. Nearly everyone was obsessed with the stories about her, not necessarily interested in getting to know who she'd become. So, she liked parties, but they were a painfully awkward experience for her.

She'd stood in the corner of some room for nearly an hour, simply observing, before a blasted Rosewood student accidentally sloshed some of the contents in his Solo cup on her shoes and then shoved his incredibly expensive camera into her chest. He mumbled something she couldn't really understand, but considering he quickly doubled back to his group of friends, who were posed for a photo, she pretty much got the message.

Holding up the camera in their direction, she examined the viewfinder, the smiling faces of each and every kid, until she'd realized she accidentally started recording them. At her profuse apologies, they simply started laughing, cackling, filled with the kind of animation and glee that only came from their togetherness, this kind of camaraderie. And right at that moment, she realized — everyone had been obsessed with documenting her story for her from the moment she made it out into the light. But what if she could do it for herself? What if she could document Rosewood?

She'd heard whispers of a gossip blog from years past, the stories crackling with something insidious. But this would be different. They could all write about and record one another. They could be the makers of their own stories. Things could be different — for herself, and for everyone else.

Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Wood, which will be replacing the gossip blog as the news source on all things Rosewood and Ravenwood. Her player will be involved in the running of The Wood if they so choose.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[chwpromoblog]

MALLORY HONEY. high school senior; seventeen. nana komatsu. OPEN.

and, as matilda wormwood once said:

"No more Miss Nice Girl."

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Mallory's entire life had been a long con on all fronts, though she didn't know it. That had been everything. And given a few more years, and a few more wrong turns, her path could have been entirely different. But she doesn't try to think of that. What's the point? She ended up okay, finally surrounded by enough, able to be enough. That's it. That's all there ever is.

Most children are born to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if their parents won't ever admit it. Some are band-aid kids to save relationships. Others are the second chance kids to help patch over the ugly, unruly first attempts. Mallory was born a product. At least, that's what she thought of her life. There were too many blanks for her to fill on her own to be entirely sure. But that's how her parents treated her. She was the cute little girl who smiled and waved at her neighbors, who made nice with the local librarians. And then she smiled and waved at a new set of neighbors, and a new set of librarians.

Her family was constantly on the move, ever-changing: new hair, new clothes, new names, new life. She went through several sets of bangs, unfortunately shaved eyebrows, and even a tragic bleaching job done in a hotel bathroom sink in just a few years.

School was almost impossible to keep up with, but not because she didn't understand the material; she was far beyond her peers, but was never able to take her end of year exams. Her parents begged and begged for her to stop going, stop caring — because they'd barely gotten past their schooling years, and look how they turned out? Mallory was devastated, because she loved school. She loved the math, the science experiments, and she especially loved to read. Not that she read much, with all the library books she'd abandoned in former homes, too heavy to carry, and all the ones her parents had ripped apart to get her attention. As precocious as she was, she knew there was no point in school if she couldn't advance, so she agreed to give up on it.

And just like that, Mallory was given a purpose, far beyond the reach of playing nice with others. She was a distraction, a pawn. She pointed out lockets in jewelry stores that she begged attendants to let her try on and then fumbled with clasping them around her neck while her parents went behind the counter and got themselves a few knick-knacks. At the supermarket. Saks. Anywhere her charm could possibly work. Her father's supposed international business dealings and mother's supposed hair and makeup artist freelancing for bigwigs were never a thing at all. This was their thing. This was how they survived. And Mallory was their lynchpin.

For all their sticky fingers, Mallory's parents were truly and painfully dumb, which meant that she increased their success tenfold. No more random nights spent with one parent and not the other, which she finally deduced were twenty-four hours in the local jail. And, blessedly, they stayed put for longer than they'd ever had, which Mallory loved the most. She had all of the book smarts in the world for having read so few books, but no common sense — so it had been difficult to even figure out what her life was all about, though she was right in the middle of it. Once she did, it was the little things that kept her afloat, like the ability to grow attached to places, and to people. Maybe in the end, that made leaving worse, because she would sob each time they did. Once, she even cut her own hair in anguish, leaving the remnants in yet another hotel sink, her ends as frayed and uneven as can be. And she didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't care.

Sure, her parents yelled, but they didn't hit. Sure, they had their expectations, but at least they could continue to scrape by if she met them. Sure, they looked absolutely nothing like her, and something told her that she was just another thing they'd stolen, but maybe the alternate reality she could have lived would have been worse. Silver linings, silver linings, silver linings. Never a wholly great picture, or a wholly great life. She spent every waking moment miserable. Everything felt like a complicated math equation with no worthwhile end. Sure, her parents could get arrested and sent away for a long time, but where would she end up? Sure, she could go back to school, but how would she catch up?

And, finally: sure, she could get arrested, but...? She couldn't manage to conjure up a question in her head. Honestly, she had no idea what would come of her, or what the police would make of her. And that was terrifying. But one day, her parents asked her to distract a mother and her young child while they opened her car, turned the key into the ignition, and waited for her to run in before they sped away. Mallory looked downwards at the young girl, who stared up at her with stars in her eyes, still at the stage in which she looked at everything in the world with such awe. And with that, she knew this was the one heist she couldn't help make happen. She blew their cover, screamed bloody murder, and they all went in handcuffs.

Mallory didn't even know she was Mallory, but that was apparently her name, attached to a mother who had adopted her when she was just a baby and had waited since the day she was taken for her to come home. She'd never adopted again, just held within her a resilience and an assuredness that told her that Mallory was out there somewhere. She'd been kidnapped as a three year old, as smart as her captors thought she was, because she'd been taken by a woman who'd faked her credentials to become a first grade teacher — and who had zeroed in on Mallory, because of her age, her natural wits, and her lack of understanding about the world. That was who she'd called her mother for her entire life, while her actual one had been in some town in Illinois, suffering. And suffer she still did, as she painstakingly sought out the best lawyers to get Mallory's record expunged.

She'd been wanted for years, as a victim and as a criminal. But she was a child, just barely fifteen, and her lawyers claimed Stockholm syndrome. Mallory had never heard her pain described so succinctly. She still managed to love her supposed parents while on the run, though their lives inflicted nothing but grief. She'd been scared to run, to separate herself, to do anything other than listen. They'd emotionally abused her, turned her away from everything else she'd loved, her attachments, to get what they wanted out of her. And for all the intelligence Mallory always thought she had, she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life.

It took a while to rebuild herself from the ground up. Even now, she considers it a work in progress. But she's back in school, at least on pace with where she should have been all along — but too afraid to go any further, even though the material bores her. People are morbidly fascinated with her, a career thief with a conscience. She's built to be a subject of a Lifetime movie, and, believe me, she's been approached. But instead, she lays low. She gets to know her mother, over and over again, and doesn't make her job as headmistress any more stressful than it needs to be. She thinks over where she's been, and where she's going. A quiet girl with a personality in construction, too smart for her own good. Even now, that's all she knows. But it's a start.

DURING THE PARTY;

Surprisingly, she liked parties. She didn't get to attend very many, having an understandably overprotective helicopter mom, but she'd always heard that the party that opened the school year was not to be missed. So, she crawled out of her window. Clumsily, considering she was out of practice with the whole sneaking out of places thing. And nearly broke her ankle in the process of making her way down from said window. But she made it in one piece and dashed towards Rosewood's campus before the porch lights could come on and alert the headmistress.

She hadn't made very many friends in Rosewood, truth be told. Nearly everyone was obsessed with the stories about her, not necessarily interested in getting to know who she'd become. So, she liked parties, but they were a painfully awkward experience for her.

She'd stood in the corner of some room for nearly an hour, simply observing, before a blasted Rosewood student accidentally sloshed some of the contents in his Solo cup on her shoes and then shoved his incredibly expensive camera into her chest. He mumbled something she couldn't really understand, but considering he quickly doubled back to his group of friends, who were posed for a photo, she pretty much got the message.

Holding up the camera in their direction, she examined the viewfinder, the smiling faces of each and every kid, until she'd realized she accidentally started recording them. At her profuse apologies, they simply started laughing, cackling, filled with the kind of animation and glee that only came from their togetherness, this kind of camaraderie. And right at that moment, she realized — everyone had been obsessed with documenting her story for her from the moment she made it out into the light. But what if she could do it for herself? What if she could document Rosewood?

She'd heard whispers of a gossip blog from years past, the stories crackling with something insidious. But this would be different. They could all write about and record one another. They could be the makers of their own stories. Things could be different — for herself, and for everyone else.

Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Wood, which will be replacing the gossip blog as the news source on all things Rosewood and Ravenwood. Her player will be involved in the running of The Wood if they so choose.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[chwpromoblog]

MALLORY HONEY. high school senior; seventeen. nana komatsu. OPEN.

and, as matilda wormwood once said:

"No more Miss Nice Girl."

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Mallory's entire life had been a long con on all fronts, though she didn't know it. That had been everything. And given a few more years, and a few more wrong turns, her path could have been entirely different. But she doesn't try to think of that. What's the point? She ended up okay, finally surrounded by enough, able to be enough. That's it. That's all there ever is.

Most children are born to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if their parents won't ever admit it. Some are band-aid kids to save relationships. Others are the second chance kids to help patch over the ugly, unruly first attempts. Mallory was born a product. At least, that's what she thought of her life. There were too many blanks for her to fill on her own to be entirely sure. But that's how her parents treated her. She was the cute little girl who smiled and waved at her neighbors, who made nice with the local librarians. And then she smiled and waved at a new set of neighbors, and a new set of librarians.

Her family was constantly on the move, ever-changing: new hair, new clothes, new names, new life. She went through several sets of bangs, unfortunately shaved eyebrows, and even a tragic bleaching job done in a hotel bathroom sink in just a few years.

School was almost impossible to keep up with, but not because she didn't understand the material; she was far beyond her peers, but was never able to take her end of year exams. Her parents begged and begged for her to stop going, stop caring — because they'd barely gotten past their schooling years, and look how they turned out? Mallory was devastated, because she loved school. She loved the math, the science experiments, and she especially loved to read. Not that she read much, with all the library books she'd abandoned in former homes, too heavy to carry, and all the ones her parents had ripped apart to get her attention. As precocious as she was, she knew there was no point in school if she couldn't advance, so she agreed to give up on it.

And just like that, Mallory was given a purpose, far beyond the reach of playing nice with others. She was a distraction, a pawn. She pointed out lockets in jewelry stores that she begged attendants to let her try on and then fumbled with clasping them around her neck while her parents went behind the counter and got themselves a few knick-knacks. At the supermarket. Saks. Anywhere her charm could possibly work. Her father's supposed international business dealings and mother's supposed hair and makeup artist freelancing for bigwigs were never a thing at all. This was their thing. This was how they survived. And Mallory was their lynchpin.

For all their sticky fingers, Mallory's parents were truly and painfully dumb, which meant that she increased their success tenfold. No more random nights spent with one parent and not the other, which she finally deduced were twenty-four hours in the local jail. And, blessedly, they stayed put for longer than they'd ever had, which Mallory loved the most. She had all of the book smarts in the world for having read so few books, but no common sense — so it had been difficult to even figure out what her life was all about, though she was right in the middle of it. Once she did, it was the little things that kept her afloat, like the ability to grow attached to places, and to people. Maybe in the end, that made leaving worse, because she would sob each time they did. Once, she even cut her own hair in anguish, leaving the remnants in yet another hotel sink, her ends as frayed and uneven as can be. And she didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't care.

Sure, her parents yelled, but they didn't hit. Sure, they had their expectations, but at least they could continue to scrape by if she met them. Sure, they looked absolutely nothing like her, and something told her that she was just another thing they'd stolen, but maybe the alternate reality she could have lived would have been worse. Silver linings, silver linings, silver linings. Never a wholly great picture, or a wholly great life. She spent every waking moment miserable. Everything felt like a complicated math equation with no worthwhile end. Sure, her parents could get arrested and sent away for a long time, but where would she end up? Sure, she could go back to school, but how would she catch up?

And, finally: sure, she could get arrested, but...? She couldn't manage to conjure up a question in her head. Honestly, she had no idea what would come of her, or what the police would make of her. And that was terrifying. But one day, her parents asked her to distract a mother and her young child while they opened her car, turned the key into the ignition, and waited for her to run in before they sped away. Mallory looked downwards at the young girl, who stared up at her with stars in her eyes, still at the stage in which she looked at everything in the world with such awe. And with that, she knew this was the one heist she couldn't help make happen. She blew their cover, screamed bloody murder, and they all went in handcuffs.

Mallory didn't even know she was Mallory, but that was apparently her name, attached to a mother who had adopted her when she was just a baby and had waited since the day she was taken for her to come home. She'd never adopted again, just held within her a resilience and an assuredness that told her that Mallory was out there somewhere. She'd been kidnapped as a three year old, as smart as her captors thought she was, because she'd been taken by a woman who'd faked her credentials to become a first grade teacher — and who had zeroed in on Mallory, because of her age, her natural wits, and her lack of understanding about the world. That was who she'd called her mother for her entire life, while her actual one had been in some town in Illinois, suffering. And suffer she still did, as she painstakingly sought out the best lawyers to get Mallory's record expunged.

She'd been wanted for years, as a victim and as a criminal. But she was a child, just barely fifteen, and her lawyers claimed Stockholm syndrome. Mallory had never heard her pain described so succinctly. She still managed to love her supposed parents while on the run, though their lives inflicted nothing but grief. She'd been scared to run, to separate herself, to do anything other than listen. They'd emotionally abused her, turned her away from everything else she'd loved, her attachments, to get what they wanted out of her. And for all the intelligence Mallory always thought she had, she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life.

It took a while to rebuild herself from the ground up. Even now, she considers it a work in progress. But she's back in school, at least on pace with where she should have been all along — but too afraid to go any further, even though the material bores her. People are morbidly fascinated with her, a career thief with a conscience. She's built to be a subject of a Lifetime movie, and, believe me, she's been approached. But instead, she lays low. She gets to know her mother, over and over again, and doesn't make her job as headmistress any more stressful than it needs to be. She thinks over where she's been, and where she's going. A quiet girl with a personality in construction, too smart for her own good. Even now, that's all she knows. But it's a start.

DURING THE PARTY;

Surprisingly, she liked parties. She didn't get to attend very many, having an understandably overprotective helicopter mom, but she'd always heard that the party that opened the school year was not to be missed. So, she crawled out of her window. Clumsily, considering she was out of practice with the whole sneaking out of places thing. And nearly broke her ankle in the process of making her way down from said window. But she made it in one piece and dashed towards Rosewood's campus before the porch lights could come on and alert the headmistress.

She hadn't made very many friends in Rosewood, truth be told. Nearly everyone was obsessed with the stories about her, not necessarily interested in getting to know who she'd become. So, she liked parties, but they were a painfully awkward experience for her.

She'd stood in the corner of some room for nearly an hour, simply observing, before a blasted Rosewood student accidentally sloshed some of the contents in his Solo cup on her shoes and then shoved his incredibly expensive camera into her chest. He mumbled something she couldn't really understand, but considering he quickly doubled back to his group of friends, who were posed for a photo, she pretty much got the message.

Holding up the camera in their direction, she examined the viewfinder, the smiling faces of each and every kid, until she'd realized she accidentally started recording them. At her profuse apologies, they simply started laughing, cackling, filled with the kind of animation and glee that only came from their togetherness, this kind of camaraderie. And right at that moment, she realized — everyone had been obsessed with documenting her story for her from the moment she made it out into the light. But what if she could do it for herself? What if she could document Rosewood?

She'd heard whispers of a gossip blog from years past, the stories crackling with something insidious. But this would be different. They could all write about and record one another. They could be the makers of their own stories. Things could be different — for herself, and for everyone else.

Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Wood, which will be replacing the gossip blog as the news source on all things Rosewood and Ravenwood. Her player will be involved in the running of The Wood if they so choose.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[chwpromoblog]

MALLORY HONEY. high school senior; seventeen. nana komatsu. OPEN.

and, as matilda wormwood once said:

"No more Miss Nice Girl."

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Mallory's entire life had been a long con on all fronts, though she didn't know it. That had been everything. And given a few more years, and a few more wrong turns, her path could have been entirely different. But she doesn't try to think of that. What's the point? She ended up okay, finally surrounded by enough, able to be enough. That's it. That's all there ever is.

Most children are born to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if their parents won't ever admit it. Some are band-aid kids to save relationships. Others are the second chance kids to help patch over the ugly, unruly first attempts. Mallory was born a product. At least, that's what she thought of her life. There were too many blanks for her to fill on her own to be entirely sure. But that's how her parents treated her. She was the cute little girl who smiled and waved at her neighbors, who made nice with the local librarians. And then she smiled and waved at a new set of neighbors, and a new set of librarians.

Her family was constantly on the move, ever-changing: new hair, new clothes, new names, new life. She went through several sets of bangs, unfortunately shaved eyebrows, and even a tragic bleaching job done in a hotel bathroom sink in just a few years.

School was almost impossible to keep up with, but not because she didn't understand the material; she was far beyond her peers, but was never able to take her end of year exams. Her parents begged and begged for her to stop going, stop caring — because they'd barely gotten past their schooling years, and look how they turned out? Mallory was devastated, because she loved school. She loved the math, the science experiments, and she especially loved to read. Not that she read much, with all the library books she'd abandoned in former homes, too heavy to carry, and all the ones her parents had ripped apart to get her attention. As precocious as she was, she knew there was no point in school if she couldn't advance, so she agreed to give up on it.

And just like that, Mallory was given a purpose, far beyond the reach of playing nice with others. She was a distraction, a pawn. She pointed out lockets in jewelry stores that she begged attendants to let her try on and then fumbled with clasping them around her neck while her parents went behind the counter and got themselves a few knick-knacks. At the supermarket. Saks. Anywhere her charm could possibly work. Her father's supposed international business dealings and mother's supposed hair and makeup artist freelancing for bigwigs were never a thing at all. This was their thing. This was how they survived. And Mallory was their lynchpin.

For all their sticky fingers, Mallory's parents were truly and painfully dumb, which meant that she increased their success tenfold. No more random nights spent with one parent and not the other, which she finally deduced were twenty-four hours in the local jail. And, blessedly, they stayed put for longer than they'd ever had, which Mallory loved the most. She had all of the book smarts in the world for having read so few books, but no common sense — so it had been difficult to even figure out what her life was all about, though she was right in the middle of it. Once she did, it was the little things that kept her afloat, like the ability to grow attached to places, and to people. Maybe in the end, that made leaving worse, because she would sob each time they did. Once, she even cut her own hair in anguish, leaving the remnants in yet another hotel sink, her ends as frayed and uneven as can be. And she didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't care.

Sure, her parents yelled, but they didn't hit. Sure, they had their expectations, but at least they could continue to scrape by if she met them. Sure, they looked absolutely nothing like her, and something told her that she was just another thing they'd stolen, but maybe the alternate reality she could have lived would have been worse. Silver linings, silver linings, silver linings. Never a wholly great picture, or a wholly great life. She spent every waking moment miserable. Everything felt like a complicated math equation with no worthwhile end. Sure, her parents could get arrested and sent away for a long time, but where would she end up? Sure, she could go back to school, but how would she catch up?

And, finally: sure, she could get arrested, but...? She couldn't manage to conjure up a question in her head. Honestly, she had no idea what would come of her, or what the police would make of her. And that was terrifying. But one day, her parents asked her to distract a mother and her young child while they opened her car, turned the key into the ignition, and waited for her to run in before they sped away. Mallory looked downwards at the young girl, who stared up at her with stars in her eyes, still at the stage in which she looked at everything in the world with such awe. And with that, she knew this was the one heist she couldn't help make happen. She blew their cover, screamed bloody murder, and they all went in handcuffs.

Mallory didn't even know she was Mallory, but that was apparently her name, attached to a mother who had adopted her when she was just a baby and had waited since the day she was taken for her to come home. She'd never adopted again, just held within her a resilience and an assuredness that told her that Mallory was out there somewhere. She'd been kidnapped as a three year old, as smart as her captors thought she was, because she'd been taken by a woman who'd faked her credentials to become a first grade teacher — and who had zeroed in on Mallory, because of her age, her natural wits, and her lack of understanding about the world. That was who she'd called her mother for her entire life, while her actual one had been in some town in Illinois, suffering. And suffer she still did, as she painstakingly sought out the best lawyers to get Mallory's record expunged.

She'd been wanted for years, as a victim and as a criminal. But she was a child, just barely fifteen, and her lawyers claimed Stockholm syndrome. Mallory had never heard her pain described so succinctly. She still managed to love her supposed parents while on the run, though their lives inflicted nothing but grief. She'd been scared to run, to separate herself, to do anything other than listen. They'd emotionally abused her, turned her away from everything else she'd loved, her attachments, to get what they wanted out of her. And for all the intelligence Mallory always thought she had, she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life.

It took a while to rebuild herself from the ground up. Even now, she considers it a work in progress. But she's back in school, at least on pace with where she should have been all along — but too afraid to go any further, even though the material bores her. People are morbidly fascinated with her, a career thief with a conscience. She's built to be a subject of a Lifetime movie, and, believe me, she's been approached. But instead, she lays low. She gets to know her mother, over and over again, and doesn't make her job as headmistress any more stressful than it needs to be. She thinks over where she's been, and where she's going. A quiet girl with a personality in construction, too smart for her own good. Even now, that's all she knows. But it's a start.

DURING THE PARTY;

Surprisingly, she liked parties. She didn't get to attend very many, having an understandably overprotective helicopter mom, but she'd always heard that the party that opened the school year was not to be missed. So, she crawled out of her window. Clumsily, considering she was out of practice with the whole sneaking out of places thing. And nearly broke her ankle in the process of making her way down from said window. But she made it in one piece and dashed towards Rosewood's campus before the porch lights could come on and alert the headmistress.

She hadn't made very many friends in Rosewood, truth be told. Nearly everyone was obsessed with the stories about her, not necessarily interested in getting to know who she'd become. So, she liked parties, but they were a painfully awkward experience for her.

She'd stood in the corner of some room for nearly an hour, simply observing, before a blasted Rosewood student accidentally sloshed some of the contents in his Solo cup on her shoes and then shoved his incredibly expensive camera into her chest. He mumbled something she couldn't really understand, but considering he quickly doubled back to his group of friends, who were posed for a photo, she pretty much got the message.

Holding up the camera in their direction, she examined the viewfinder, the smiling faces of each and every kid, until she'd realized she accidentally started recording them. At her profuse apologies, they simply started laughing, cackling, filled with the kind of animation and glee that only came from their togetherness, this kind of camaraderie. And right at that moment, she realized — everyone had been obsessed with documenting her story for her from the moment she made it out into the light. But what if she could do it for herself? What if she could document Rosewood?

She'd heard whispers of a gossip blog from years past, the stories crackling with something insidious. But this would be different. They could all write about and record one another. They could be the makers of their own stories. Things could be different — for herself, and for everyone else.

Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Wood, which will be replacing the gossip blog as the news source on all things Rosewood and Ravenwood. Her player will be involved in the running of The Wood if they so choose.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.