#my dearly beloved that is actively making me sob

[dandydaisygarden]

i desperately needed to draw them kissing. tho it just looks like her bigass cheek is smoshing his face

anyway everytime they kiss i swear i start crying

[flokali]

— Concept: Student Yandere and Professor Darling

Warning: GN! Reader, blackmail, n/on-con, d/ub-con, age gap, student-teacher relationship, push-over reader, unfair ending, n/oncon recording, uhh ask to tag!

A/N: just a concept that plagued me for a while... hhhhhhh;; i'm so normal ab this

Any dynamic that involve an authority figure and a subordinate, no matter how innocent they may initially seem, are doomed from the start for both of the parties involved.  There’s always going to be an underlying power imbalance, someone who holds the authority over the other; there is no nice way to put it, unfortunately. 

Most of the time, in fics, I see a lot of Yan professors creeping on their students, but the thought of a student Yan harassing their beloved professor has been plaguing my mind. 

The relationship starts sweetly, you’ve noticed a certain student in your course that’s been falling behind, making mistakes that should have long been addressed, their work is always late or partially done and you’re growing slightly annoyed at them for wasting your time and misusing theirs as well. You ended up offering them private tutoring when you found out you were the only professor’s whose class who they’d been treating like a joke. 

They reject it immediately; seemingly embarrassed that you’d even offered. You try to calm their nerves down, you’re pretty young yourself, you only graduated a few years ago and you won’t charge them, it won't be a daily thing but they can pop into your office so you can review and work on assignments and other material they’ve been failing at. The hesitant look on their face seems to slowly be melting off the longer you explain your reasoning.

You continue insisting, you lay out the facts as they are; they’re a brilliant student who has been passing all other courses and extracurricular activities with flying colors, so why is that your course has become such a challenge to them? You have seen them work and the way they behave during class, you’ve even noticed how some students go to them to try and clear up any questions and ask to study together with them. You’d heard your colleagues rave about them being easily one of the college’s star students, so it’s either that they’re making shit up and lying to their peers, which you sincerely doubt since you’ve seen their works, or they were purposefully trying to fail your class.

Maybe they thought it’d be easier, decided to try it and got it in their head they didn’t have to try – after all, it wasn’t as if all of the work they’ve handed is bad, there’s some clear understanding of what they’re doing, it’s just that they keep on messing up some things, even if it means inconsistencies in their work, the assignments that made up less percentage of the overall grade were done well enough that you could fail them but anything that was actually important was clearly half-assed. They were nailing the basics in one essay and then completely misrepresenting them on the next.

You explain your concerns; you’re genuinely worried your class might hold them back from graduating with their peers, if things kept going on like this, they’d fail your class and if they did, they’d have to repeat the semester and risk graduating a year or so late. It’s not the end of the world to repeat a semester, but it’s avoidable in their case and you don’t understand why they seemingly insist on failing.

It’s then that they pull out a card they’d been holding on to dearly for a situation such as this, they’d hooked you in with a months long performance and it all relied on this moment, it was a disgustingly perfect story meant to pull at your heartstrings and lead you into their honey sweet trap;

They start going on about a sob story about their parents’ jobs and finance, how they had been struggling for a while since their parents cut them partially off for choosing a college out of their town, and how they’re supposed to provide for themselves and pay rent and bills, about how their schedule is always so busy trying to balance college, their friendships, mending their relationship with their parents, and their job on top of all the studying they’ve been doing. Your class had unfortunately been the least of their concerns and that they’re immensely sorry to have worried you and that they are willing to do anything to make up for their past grades. They can’t believe they’d let themselves go in your course and they’re deeply ashamed because they enjoyed it greatly, but there was little they could to catch up now.

You can empathize with such a dilemma, being fresh out of college yourself, the memories of balancing relationships, work, and academics are still freshly etched into your mind. 

They clearly seem burned out and your heart aches seeing a student as promising as them dim down so drastically. You’d hate to be one class that impedes them from graduating on time, you don't want to be the lone profesor responsible for slowing down such a valuable asset to society.

You sit them down and try to offer them some advice, you were in a similar situation when you were in college yourself, you try to explain the ways you managed to survive and bypass college, going into detail about your own problems and how you were able to live through it all. They seem visibly more relaxed during the conversation, nodding along and explaining their own feelings and hardships, you both manage to sympathize with each other and come to an arrangement.

It’s completely under the table since you are worried about what it might look like, but from now on until the end of this semester you’d use a more relaxed, less strict grading system for them, after all, they did have a legitimate reason for their behavior and they were willing to make up for it. That is, under the condition that they start taking tutoring classes from either yourself or a fellow classmate, they weren’t able to balance the studying schedule necessary so you’d try and manage at least one aspect of it for them to try and make their life a little bit easier. You reiterate that this must not come out, fully aware that you were breaking multiple rules but you were too much of a bleeding heart.

They agree gladly, but not before asking if you could be the tutor, when you’d questioned their request they explain themselves, seemingly embarrassed for their own reasoning;

“I don’t want it to get out that I’m failing your class, professor…” The smile they wear seems genuine and shy and you nod in understanding, college students are only older teenagers, after all, most of them are still stuck in their high school mentality and you wouldn’t put it past a bunch of immature people to try and mess with someone who was struggling. While the mindset eventually wears off, you understand why they could be self-conscious about it.

What you don’t know is that they’ve been planning for something like this to happen from the get go, always going out of their way to purposefully present themselves as a stupid, pathetic and incompetent student that would need their hot professor’s (your) help to pass the course.

During your first couple of sessions they work extra hard to make themselves seem as ditzy and clueless as possible, making as many mistakes and errors as humanly reasonable without getting you too annoyed at them. They even begin to dress in slightly more provocative ways than they would have before, their speech slowly morphs into a more flirtatious tone, their touches being lingering on your shoulders for longer than necessary, but you brush it off, trying to ignore the signs. Opting instead to think of it as a silly crush, choosing go try to focus on helping them get through this semester with either an above average grade.

It didn’t take too long for their grades to get better but with the current pace, you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

So, you ignore the uncomfortable, sinking feeling in your gut and suggest making your tutoring sessions more frequent - instead of once a week maybe twice, or even thrice if you could fit it into your schedule, if it was really necessary.

You didn’t expect them to suggest going to your place.

Originally, you’d suggested either the library or a cafe, but they said they felt too embarrassed and self-conscious at the idea of their peers watching them, they claimed they’d probably make fun of them for needing help for a course they’d been taking for almost a whole semester at that point. It’s silly, they know, but they can’t shake that shame off.

They insist on your place, but you reject the idea, they say it’s either there or at their place, they point out that anywhere else and you both risk either staff or some of the student body seeing you both together and getting the wrong idea. The conversation goes on for hours until you’re too exhausted to continue arguing with them and give in. 

They are a good person, right? Even if the thought of a student knowing where you lived made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t like they’d do anything about it… right?

You try to limit the study space to your living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen every once in a while if you notice the snacks you had brought weren’t enough, but never further than that. Your bedroom and office were completely off limits, you’d made it explicitly clear that if you caught them wandering too far you’d have no choice but to kick them out and stop the tutoring, possibly even having to call the campus’ authorities if you felt they were getting too out of line – your reputation be damned. 

They also were only allowed to come over during the weekends and on specific weekdays where no one would be able to catch them entering your apartment. You didn’t even want your neighbors to see them, even if you looked close in age you didn’t want to hear anything about a potential secret lover sneaking into your house.

They agree and promise to follow every single rule you’d put in place, they swear.

But it doesn’t take long for them to start going back on their word and start “exploring” your living space, it started small – simply walking around your living room, examining framed pictures, looking over books, memorizing the placement of your trinkets and decor, making a mental note of the colors you used in the space, they make sure to remember to try and look up where you got your cushions and everything, they start looking into you fridge and pantry to make see what you eat, if there’s any indication of a possible food allergy; it’s all investigative work for your future together.

It’s not too long before they’ve memorized your living room and are drawn to the rest of your house. They've gone to your bedroom and studied the space, taking note of the way you made your bed and how many pillows you have, they also have made a list of products you use and like, such as scents and soaps, to make sure your transition to their place is as smooth as possible. Soon, they could very well draw a floor plan of your place and recreate your home in the most basic of softwares. 

The only reason you haven’t caught up to them is because they’ve taken to spiking your drinks with sleep medication, strong enough dosages that you’ll be knocked out for a while, but not enough that you’ll realize you were drugged.

It’s during your sleeping state that the next part of their plan starts to take action. They’ll purposefully plant evidence in your home of their presence and snap pictures, suddenly their underwear is in your laundry basket, and why are you wearing their hoodies to sleep, huh? They’re meticulously planned and staged pictures that make it look like you were engaging in a romantic relationship, but it’s not enough — they need more, something more extreme. More incriminating, something that would absolutely destroy your career and reputation if it came out.

What about a picture of them going down on you? Or one with their cum all over your face? Your naked figure cuddling up to their bare chest? Some makeup to look like hickies could look realistic in pictures too, you know. Maybe them on top of you… or you on top of them? Or one where your lips are sucking their fingers like a —! Ah, the thought has them blushing! All of these photos are like their dreams come true! You look like such a perfect spouse, taking their love~ They make sure to clean up the space, but they’re growing bolder and more confident in their work.

They even have videos of themselves jacking off on top of you, but they’re always so good at making it seem like you’re awake and participating in these activities! It really does look like you’re helping them get off with your own mouth.

You’re such a naughty professor seducing your innocent, sweet student like that!

It’s sick, they’re sick and they know it fully well but they don’t care, as long as they don’t get caught – there’s no way in hell they’ll stop.

Their grades begin improving and there’s no longer any fear of them failing your class, in fact you’d go as far to say they’ve easily become one of your best students in terms of grades. Things seem to be looking up and you’re pretty proud of yourself for having had a positive impact on them, which is why you come to the conclusion they won’t be needing your tutoring anymore. 

You call them over to your office after classes, making sure to be as nice as possible. At first you were annoyed and put off by them, their initial behavior was unsettling and persistent, but after a couple of months of getting to know them you’ve grown to care for them and genuinely wish them the best, you’d pointed out how teaching them had been a joy and you’d always end the sessions feeling better than before, which is why you’d chosen to end the tutoring. You lay out the facts as they are, their grades have improved and there’s no longer any threat of them failing your class, you’d also be risking people misunderstanding the situation if it went any longer, if word came out you’d been using a different rubric to grade them until recently and that they’d been going over to your place, it would simply look bad for both of you. You’d risk getting sanctioned, possibly even losing your job if things were taken in the wrong way, and they could repeat the semester or even have their work in your class be null and having to take a new course entirely, if not even being kicked out.

There’s a minute of silence between the two of you, the air is thick and you wonder if you should have been softer in your delivery as you watch them process your words.

It takes them a while, you decide to give them the time because you have indeed noticed how they’d seem to grow ever so attached to you and they might take this a bit too personally, but you’re soon starting to grow increasingly uncomfortable as the silence continues.

You’re about to say something again, try to soften the blow with some generic encouragement about how they’ll do well regardless of you being their tutor or not, when you hear them chuckle softly under their breath.

You’re taken aback, your eyes widen in surprise and you unconsciously lean back into your chair, but that seems to have further encouraged their laughter as soon they’re covering their face with the back of their hand as they double over in laughter.

It’s strange but you decide to give them a few seconds to regain their composure, maybe this was a nervous habit? You’d heard of people who’d laugh when anxious, but you’d never seen something so theatrical.

They slowly sit back up, wiping tears from their eyes as a few chuckles escape their smiling lips. They haven’t fully calmed down but seem to be making an effort to continue the conversation nonetheless.

“Ah, professor,” your last name tumbles from their lips in a joyous manner but their eyes look icy as they stare at you, their voice feels more aggressive even if the words came out from a smile, “don’t be so ridiculous, I think things are working pretty well as they are, I have no desire to change our… relationship.” 

You’re taken by surprise, their word choice feels odd and purposeful, but you insist regardless.

“There is no relationship between us,” you state, “I am your professor, do you understand? That means that if I say your tutoring is over, it’s over; I have been going easy on you and helping you out but do not misinterpret my intentions, you are my student and that’s where our acquaintanceship ends. If you think you’ll continue needing help, I’m certain our TA will be more than glad to step up and help you out.”  

They smile as they take their phone out of their pocket and your stomach drops for a second, wondering what on earth they could have there. They slide it towards you after unlocking it, they’re carefree in their handling of the device and your nerves start to rise, a gut wrenching feeling settles in your stomach, you don’t really understand what you’re seeing at first but once you do you feel your blood run cold.

You don’t even realize they’ve walked behind your chair, too focused on the picture of your naked body cuddling up to their equally nude form. They’re smiling, tenderly caressing your bare shoulders, embracing your body in such a loving manner it looked like you were lovers. When… When did they take this? 

Your voice is shaking but they don’t answer you, instead opting to crouch beside you and show you the hundreds of incriminating pictures themselves.

They start telling you a story based on the pictures, the one they seemed to be telling you even if you knew that everything they depicted was fake, about a promiscuous professor that seduced their student, coaxed them into a relationship and took advantage of their position to influence the student into falling in love with them.

You want to tell them it won’t work, threaten to call the dean or the campus police, but they quickly clear out any confusion; “Would anyone believe a student would seduce a teacher and that it’s not the other way around?”

You know exactly what they mean; you’re the professor, you hold the authority. You had never been able to put a stop to it because you had no idea what they were doing but that didn’t matter, it was your word against theirs and they had “evidence”.

They seem proud of themselves too, telling you about all the ways they set up the rooms and photos to make sure they looked as real as possible. They’d taken their clothes and belongings over to your place in secret, made sure to apply makeup in the right places with the correct lighting, it seriously felt like an art they’d perfected.

You ask them what they could possibly want, clearly it couldn’t be only your tutoring if they were going this far. They smile and tell you they simply want a relationship with you, one that goes beyond a professor and a student; from that day onwards they wanted to be your lover.

You want to say no, but they remind you of the position you’re in; “You know, I’ve got these backed up in a bunch of places, it’d be a shame if one leaked, right, professor?” 

You feel numb as they lock the door of your office and guide you on top of your desk, you barely even register them going down on you - stripping you naked and giving you oral. From that day onward, you were a prisoner to your own student.

Everyday, they’d act like any other person taking your classes, going to college, making friends, as if when your work day ended they didn’t torment you under the guise of love. Making themselves into your lover without your consent, as if you weren’t their professor, as if they weren’t your student. They celebrate your birthday and make you celebrate theirs, you go on dates outside of town so as to not be caught, there are times you almost forget the perverse nature of your relationship - but it always comes back to haunt you. They always come back to haunt you.

They make sure not to show any of the images to anyone for as long as they’re going to the college. They need to keep an eye on you, make sure your looks and personality don’t charm any other student - they’d hate to get rid of their classmates due to your unknowing seduction. They’re so good at acting like they weren’t bending you over your kitchen counter the minute they followed you home, you’d almost believe they were only your innocent, well meaning student if they didn’t send you videos of you two fucking as extra-curriculum activities.   

They also take your courses religiously to make sure to always be in contact with you; you could never escape them, they’ll follow you home and come inside even if you try to shut the door behind you. Whenever you tried changing the lock they'd find a way to break in anyway, on campus they’d sneakily follow you everywhere and harass you. Those who notice, the few that do, think of it as cute, an innocent puppy crush that would fade by next semester. 

It’s not until they gets their diploma three years later that they releases a drive full of the videos and pictures, making sure to add dates and location, everything to prove you were fucking a student. You were a whore of a professor seducing their students.

You’re fired immediately and it’s not long until your friends and family cut contact with you for seducing a poor college student and using your power over them as leverage. Nobody wants to hire you, they’d make sure to document every single dirty detail of your relationship so as to ruin your reputation until you’d be forced to turn to the only person who didn’t turn their back on you.

You can only walk into their open arms as they suggest finally moving in together, possibly getting married, and maybe even having a couple of children now that they have graduated and received their degree.

But even through it all, they still have the audacity to call you their beloved “professor”. 

Characters: Lisa (GI), Scaramouche (GI), Al-Haitham (GI), Kaeya (GI), Ayato (GI), Jing Yuan (HSR), Luocha (HSR), Aventurine (HSR), Vyn (TOT), Rafayel (L&DS), Ibara (ENSTARS), Eichi (ENSTARS), Yuzuru (ENSTARS), Cater (TWST), Rook (TWST), Kylar (DOL), Whitney (DOL), literally anyone you want really (TT)

[blueberry-ink-93]

ELECTRA

beloved of my heart, special thank u to @cassentia :3

--

kindred counter: 9

ft. chrysothemis who is confusing to me (again working with half a braincell here but i just couldnt understand her lol)

i think shes honestly very neutral and on purpose, she was very young when shit hit the fan & doesnt exactly side with electras grief

but at the same time she holds her dearly and clearly cares for her (i.e she isnt a traitor siding with cly and aegisthus) but she doesnt go out of her way to go against them either? again im pretty sure shes still a child

in my mind she resembels iphigenia the most so she just gets ignored. cly doesnt actively hate or abuse her so she just chills

--

niobe iirc is nestors great grandmother who boasted she had more kids than leto which ended in her kids being nerfed by the twins

i can squint and find a parallel thing here but im too tired lol

anyway birb imagery :>

apollos prophecy abt orestes killing mother dearest

fits well with electra holding the net (counts as unarmed to me lol)

--

electras grievences, alphabetised /j

so much crying dlkjwksxgfds my heart weeps for her

give electra her brother back 🔫🥺

sibling anst for the middle paragraph, do u think electra bears any resentment to orestes for taking so long? for leaving her as he did though it was upon her insistence?

in any case there shall be angst lol. look shes accusing him of choosing not to arrive. sophocles back me up

--

all of this said while orestes was right there. im going to cry

he was hiding while all this was going down do u think he teared up hearing the pain and love and anguish and grief and hope in his sisters voice and in the words she chooses? *dies pathetically*

--

clytemnestra when i catch you

*sobs miserably*

*sobs harder*

electra @ cly: it takes one to know one

--

chysothemis again

her philosophy seems to be play it safe and stay out of sight

honestly i do not blame her in the least

they bicker a little. its sad to think that she at her gentle age has to reckon with the most dysfunctional family in all of greece

which is why shell be getting a fresh start elsewhere hehe but im getting ahead of myself lol

she brings news to electra having overheard the scheming couple, as i understand it they were going to lock her away in some dungeon (i think she was already very isolated and limited in her movement/ general freedom as implied in another scene w cly)

this one i think. idk to me i got the impression that when hes abroad security is a little looser and she can finally breathe

--

nicostratus mention? in my greek play? more likely than u think

cly is going on about iphigenia. ngl starting to get the impression she didnt love any of her kids lol. making the trifecta of abuse emotional (iphi) verbal (electra) and physical (orestes) and neglect for chryso but i digress. back to the play

--

i hate cly so much omfg. ya children be scowling and grieving bc ur a bitch who killed their dad u ever thought of that. lmao

anyway passive aggressive verbally abusive cly (for my writign)

--

take me now lord >:')

--

made me think of an arbic phrase (from a poem); but there is no life to whom you call, i.e it falls on deaf ears. good stuff

in a similar vein:

she got her ass lol

CLYTEMNESTRA SHUT TF UP

--

floof

sisterly bickering lol

chrysothemis is iconic i love her

electra is not like other girls lmao

--

cly upon recieving (false) news of orestes; death. and she has the audacity to call him son later and beseech him eugh

i love that electra was always there to sap away any peace of mind she had. go electra!

--

[yellowhearther0]

Of Travels and the Inbetween

A little drabble thing? I wrote based off the Karls who lost their way in the Inbetween as I listened to Dearly Beloved (but Evil) on loop for 30 minutes

TW: Vauge Mentions of Death, and thats it I think. Lemme know if I should tag anything else ��� 

I’ve been here for as long as I can remember. The Inbetween is a lovely place, you know. It hurts from time to time, but truly, it does mean well. It is a comfort. A constant.  Every new travel is a push in a new direction. It’s our duty.

New Karls pass through the Inbetween rather often, always with confusion and naïve trust. They either never come back or they return to stay forever.

The Inbetween corrupts, you know. It corrupts your memories of a past life, the only true constant being your travels. You get used to it after a while. It’s not that bad really. Unless there are Newly Forgottens around.

Newly Forgottens are trapped here like the rest of us. But they still remember. They know they’re actively forgetting. It hurts to see. They cry, they sob, they beg even- to be let back to their worlds. They never can.  They are simply sent on travels until they can’t remember anymore.

Then they’re just like the rest of us.

I wonder how my world is doing. I can’t remember anything from it. I wish I could. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if the ones I loved are okay.  I... I wonder if they’re even around anymore

The tales some of the Newly Forgottens tell about their timelines are so despairingly dark. It makes me fear that.. that my timeline is like theirs.

The Inbetween shut down the other night, you know. Well. You wouldn’t know huh.  You just arrived today. Like I said, the Castle shut down. You, see a Karl went through the Guarded Portal. No one’s gone through the Guarded Portal. It’s interesting actually.

There have been multiple Karls from multiple timelines that have tried to enter that portal. They never make it though. The Inbetween either corrupts their mind fast enough to stop them

Or.

Or they die.

The Inbetween corrupts.  It keeps us safe though. It cares, I know it does. ... It doesn’t really matter, now does it. We are stuck here, with nothing but white walls and tales to tell.

Stay safe on your travels, New One, and may the Wither Rose guide your path.

[sserpente]

As a last resort

A/N & Synopsis: Based on a prompt sent to me by @imboredsueme:

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes--they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble: “...didn’t know where else to go...”, then collapse into the villain’s arms.

Sometimes, inspiration strikes you and when it does, you have to strike back. Featuring one of my favourite AU’s. 😉

Words: 2542 Warnings: Loki wins AU, mentions of drug use, drink spiking and attempted rape, fluff

Things were different around New York City ever since the Chitauri attack. Ever since the Avengers, hope of civilisation, society and humanity, had lost Earth to a man as beautiful as he was dangerous and the disappointment and anger the people had met you with on the streets had driven you further into living a hazardous life in the shadows.

Loki had announced a hefty bounty for your capture. Yours, and that of his adoptive brother Thor, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Heavens knew whether Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Clint Barton were still alive after they had disappeared in the Avengers’… Loki’s tower around six months after the alien invasion. But the remaining Avengers were out there somewhere, hiding and planning to overthrow his ruling.

You had long given up on them trying to find you. Perhaps they thought you were dead—that you, a young woman with mere combat skills and two failed assassination attempts before you were recruited by the man you had been assigned to kill and became part of the Avengers only a few days after the God of Mischief had arrived on Earth to claim it, could not possibly survive this long in a realm ruled by chaos and malice.

They had left you and given up on you, choking you with all the hope that had swelled up in your chest every night before you curled up in a dirty rain barrel you had found to sleep in. Realisation had hit you after almost two years hiding among the homeless. You were alone in this world. You always had been. You had just been naïve enough to believe that the Avengers would finally change that.

Sure. The word, in the truest sense of its meaning, had sealed your fate tonight. You had shaken the devil’s hand, unsuspecting of the fatal deal you had struck. He was supposed to be an ally. Henry lived near the eerie scrap yard in the suburbs. He made money by stealing cars and selling the parts to shady dealers and they paid him enough to afford a flat he shared with friends. You had never asked but according to their looks, they were both drug dealers.

You had agreed to join them for a drink in a bar they knew would be safe for you to stroll in. Your face was all over the news, after all, the sum announced on your head making most people around New York City dizzy. It was high. Not as high as the bounty promised for the capture of Thor but higher than the bounty placed onto Captain America and Black Widow. Loki and you had fought in the past, regardless of you getting overwhelmed by the much stronger Asgardian, numerous times. He had offered you a way out to join him and you had refused. Now, self-preservation and the will to survive this hellhole New York City had become urging you on, you wished you hadn’t. Loki was a cunning and arrogant man. Something about you had fascinated him enough not to kill you when he brought you to his feet, disarmed and breathing heavily. But he had sworn revenge for your denial and rejection, for attempting to foil his plans.

When you realised that Henry’s friends, having asked for his consent prior to their actions, had spiked your drink, it was already too late. Whatever drug it was that now attacked your blood so aggressively and messed with your mind and thoughts, it burned like liquid fire in your stomach.

They had underestimated your combat skills when they dragged your weakened form outside through the back door to tear your clothes off your body which resulted in ugly holes revealing your skin on your thighs, stomach and chest. And you had fought back, striking with all your might and reaching for every body part that might hurt upon being hit as they had almost taken from you what you protected and cherished so dearly. Blood was streaming from your nose and the throbbing cut on your lip as well as a wound on your forehead. There were more injuries, for sure. The adrenaline cursing through your blood merely shut out the agony.

Bruises already formed on your stomach, one of the straps of your bra broken and revealing another cut right above your breast. A knife. Henry’s knife had done that. You would kill him for that and this time your assassination would not fail… if your survived this.

You moaned in pain when you heaved yourself into a dark alley to shield yourself from unwanted gazes. This was bad. This was really bad. You needed help but a hospital was out of the question. They would not help you without costs you could never cover without any insurance and if they recognised you…

Tears spilled from your eyes when another wave of sharp pain tore through your body, numbing your senses. You knew what fainting felt like… and you would lose consciousness soon if you didn’t act now and wanted to die in this alley. Your threw your head back, taking a deep breath which turned into a desperate sob.

Your sight blurred when you looked up into the cold night to see Loki’s tower protruding from the other buildings like an active volcano.

-

There was no need for Loki to guard the lobby downstairs, his Chitauri had made sure of that. He had made sure of that. People who walked into his tower usually did not make it back out unless they worked for him.

Sighing, he ran his fingers over his lower lip and tore his blue gaze away from the blond man who, only weeks after his victory over the Avengers, had volunteered to operate as his personal assistant and spy. He was a decommissioned politician, his motives questionable even to him—but thus far, he had proven to be useful.

His daily reports were beyond tiring and Loki could certainly think of more interesting activities to spend his evening. It was dark out already, thousands of artificial lights illuminating the nightly skyline of New York City and turning the many buildings beneath him into a murky sea.

He could use some distraction right about now. An attack, perhaps. Thor paying him a visit and starting yet another futile and brainless attempt to overthrow him with the sheer strength of his beloved hammer… sighing once more, he dismissed his lackey mid-sentence and leaned back in his cosy armchair, enjoying how silence spread in his living room and for once, letting his guard down.

That’s why the silent pling of the elevator caught him off guard, surprise and confusion rumbling inside of him as he stood to face the metal doors open to reveal… you. Loki closed the distance between the armchair and the elevator so fast any other human would have been intimidated but in your current state, you did not even notice.

What in the nine realms had happened to you? What were you doing here? If the Chitauri had caught you, one of their leaders would have been with you. If a bounty hunter had dragged you up, they would be demanding their reward right now.

Narrowing his blue eyes at you hostilely, he only took the time now to inspect your pathetic form. You were bleeding from several wounds, your clothes torn, skin covered in bruises and even cuts. Angry handprints and marks staining your flesh. Finally, you gathered the physical strength to look up at him shivering and scared, your eyes glazed and somewhat… abstracted. It was obvious you had been drugged by someone. What had happened?

“…I didn’t know where else to go…” You croaked out. Then, your eyelids flattered close and you collapsed into Loki’s arms.

-

The room you woke up in was not familiar. It was huge and spacious, neatly filled with dark brown furniture accentuated by golden engravings and green fabrics. The bed sheets covering your almost naked body were green too. Swallowing, you bit your lower lip to help ignore the pain and sat up a little to study your foreign surroundings.

A hot wave passed through you when your memories returned and hammered against your brain like Thor’s mjolnir, the amount of green and gold in the room a mocking reminder.  Loki.

“You are awake.” Flinching hurt when his voiced pulled you back to the present. Next to him, the entire room appeared meagre and tiny, like his mere presence shrunk it all down. Your eyes locked with his, a scrutinising glare boring into you. Another memory. You had passed out in his arms. Your lips parted to respond but Loki cut you off before you could utter a single word.

“Tell me what happened to you.” It was not a question, it was a demand. But an explanation for why you had showed up at the very man’s doorstep who had suspended a bounty of a million dollars on you was the least you owed him.

I didn’t know where else to go, you had mumbled half-unconscious. Loki doubted you remembered your words and yet they had been echoing in his head ever since he had called for some nurses and a doctor. They had patched you up quickly, sewing the laceration on your forehead and tending to the wounds on the rest of your body. They had taken a sample of your blood, too, quickly finding the right antidote to fight the drug in your blood. You would recover.

What had you meant by “I didn’t know where else to go”? Surely, whoever was left of the Avengers would have come to your help nobly sooner or later. Loki wondered, genuinely, why they hadn’t. But even more important was the question why he had helped you.

He could have let you die and bleed out on his green carpet then and there, saving the bounty and announcing yet another victory to the already terrified people living under his reign in New York City. To decide against it had been impetuous and he had spent hours watching your sleeping form in his own bed attempting to figure out his motives.

And he had come to a conclusion. No matter whose side you had fought on two years ago, the moment you had stepped into that elevator, you were an innocent and likely assaulted woman in the need of help. You had come to him, of all people, knowing there was a chance he would bury his pointy sceptre deep in your stomach as soon as you stepped over the threshold. You had laid your life in his hands, presenting your head to him on a silver platter… and despite everything that had happened, you had trusted him enough to save you.

His question stirred up memories you did not want to harbour. Squeezing your eyes shut, you took a deep and painful breath.

“They tricked me. My drink… it was spiked. Outside, they tried to…” Your voice broke, tears worsening your sight. “They tried to rape me.”

Loki’s poignant expression darkened. “Who?” He growled. Would it make any difference to him if he knew? He could send for the Chitauri to kill whoever had dared to lay a hand on you and ravish you against your will. He clenched his fists. But why, by the Norns, would he care?

“Henry… his friends… I should have known better, I considered him a friend! He… he shared his food with me.” Out on the streets of New York City, starvation was one of the most common causes of death, right after death from exposure, drug use and alcohol poisoning and murder. Sharing food was a big deal.

Another look into Loki’s blue and nearly unreadable eyes made you burst out crying. You had no power to stop it, nor to hold it in until he had left. It must have been some kind of delayed shock that made you shake and sob uncontrollably with a start, hugging your knees to your chest for some sort of comfort.

Loki began pacing up and down his bedroom, unsure of how to deal with the situation in the most calculated way possible.

“You came to me fully aware of the consequences.” He stated bluntly, his voice surprisingly quiet. Another sob of yours tore through the air before you looked up at him so helplessly Loki felt a strange sting in his heart.

“You… treated my wounds. You won’t kill me now, w-will you? I know you are not that cruel, Loki.” Loki demanded respect and he demanded being addressed properly. As of right now, he was the king of this realm—he was your king. The provocative undertone in your voice when you spoke his name, despite your devastation, did not go unnoticed. It suited you and intrigued him. You had not lost your fire then.

“I just… I’m all alone. I didn’t know where else to go and you…” You did not finish your sentence as you did not know how. But there it was again. I didn’t know where else to go. You were right, of course. He would never kill you. You might have been an Avenger but you had not been so with all your heart. You acted out of desperation and the need of recognition, affection and praise—in which aspect, when he had first met and fought you, he had seen himself.

He had approached you before he knew himself, his feet taking control of his actions. You leaned back intimidated when he came to a halt right in front of you. Your fear of him was palpable. Loki was right. You had come to him knowing the consequences. Without probing you knew that he would not let you out of this tower again—and only Heaven knew if you would live long enough to deal with the gravity of your actions.

Yet, at the very same time, you felt an overwhelming gratefulness washing over your mangled body when your eyes locked with his once more. Loki could have let you die pathetically. He could have killed you the moment the elevator doors opened to reveal your weakened form… and he did not.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

What he did next surprised you both. Loki lifted his arm, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek. Long and soft fingers caressing your wet skin. It was a light, gentle and hesitant touch as if he was trying to figure out what to do with you—and the odd sensations in his chest ever since you had collapsed in his arms.

Your lower lip was shaking as your eyes fell shut upon his tender touch. You did not realise you began sobbing again and wrapped your arms around his middle until you were already holding onto him, desperate to forget your assault. Loki… held you. Hesitantly and rather maladroitly, he pressed you against him almost possessively. In any other situation, you would have snorted at your stupidity. You were hugging the villain. Why… did this feel so right?

He would positively kill Henry and his friends, slowly and intimately, to avenge you. But first, he would have to thank them for driving you into his arms.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! kofi.com/sserpente ♥

Additional disclaimer: The original prompt that inspired this story seemed to have originally been posted by @one-lonely-whumperfly.

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, LEO! You’ve been accepted for the role of PARIS with an approved FC change to JI CHANG WOOK. Admin Jen: Wow, I literally have to stifle the urge to keysmash my way through this note because THAT is how over the moon I am about your application, Leo! Your analysis of Priam was so intricate and it touched on various nuances in his character that I was very excited to see people explore and peel apart - his moral compass, his honor, his purpose, and most importantly, his masks. The interview was quite riveting to read and I adored how prominently your portrayal of him shone in the narrative. I particularly enjoyed observing his mannerisms and how they contrasted with his thought process but in general, the interview was full to the brim with interesting details to observe and inspect. As soon as I finished reading, I was certain that you would be perfect for Priam. I can’t wait to see him on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leo.

Age | 18, though I still feel like a prepubescent teen oops.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’d give myself a seven outta’ ten for activity levels.

Timezone | ‘m in France, so the timezones might be wonky.

Current/Past RP Accounts | [ x ]

In Character

Character | PARIS ; If possible, I’d like to use Xavier Serrano or Ji Chang Wook. [clutching fcs and sobbing as they spill over my hands.]

What drew you to this character? | “… the world in which he was a child was starkly black and white.” This, I feel, reveals the crux of the matter: that Priam Taravella, born with steel fused into his spine and rigidity formed into his very being, is now such a man of metamorphosis. And, yet, his core hasn’t changed at all. Something like there is enough in me to swallow the world and this body of mine can scarcely contain this hunger would be an apt description for the void that lingers in him. No ambition? What a lie. The ant who dreams of becoming a lion is merely a dreamer of impossibility, but the lion who dreams of becoming a king? There’s the ambition that his family refused to see in him. Priam Taravella was always a man with his feet rooted to the earth and his eyes fixed upon the horizon line because there’s where the gold glitters. Nothing is impossible, for he simply doesn’t deign to dream of impossibility. And, yet, his family mocked him for this and gave him the cold shoulder simply for daring to dream of things tangible. Maybe he cared about this, once upon a time, but nowadays he scoffs at the past, preferring to keep his sights on the present, and oh, there’s simply nothing like it.

There’s this, as well. “Verona’s underworld has made him apathetic towards most things but he has no tolerance for men without honor.” Oh, Priam. In a world where people may say that the sky is green and the water purple without an inflection of remorse, his honor brings such an interesting dimension to his character. He is, for all intents and purposes, a man who still adheres to the ‘black and white’ view of his youth; despite his hollow core, despite the blood that runs from his hands, despite the boundless ambition that serves as a never-ending bloodhound, he still places honor as something important to him, something that’s integral to his very being. And, isn’t this a paradox? In order to move up in the underworld, one must draw their lines of morality in sand, to be washed away and redrawn with every situation that follows. And, yet, Priam’s rigidity doesn’t allow for him to do this: there are some lines that he would never cross, even given the pros and cons of such an action.

He is a man of honor, and aren’t honor and glory both one and the same? Many would beg to differ, but the truth in his mind is the truth of the world. God made man in the image of Himself, the humanists would say, and isn’t this the primary facet of life in a search for unending glory? Verona is a city of divinity; a god without glory is no god at all. Likewise, a man without honor isn’t even worth a single good-natured thought. I think this makes him so very interesting, that in his rigidity and in his purpose, he sees himself as an honor-bound man. Are the three mutually bound? Is he truly a man of honor?

Is it even possible for a man with boundless ambition, crown tilted upon his head and smile slanted across his mouth, to be a man of honor?

(priam, what happens when you end your search? could the void inside of you ever be satiated?)

Which, speaking of, is such a fascinating concept. The void inside of him can be for many things, but the fact that Juliana is the first (and perhaps the only) person who has ever made him feel as if he belonged hints towards a boy who was starved of affection. Yes, he has potential, he knows that he has potential, but what I find interesting is that the Taravella name means something to him. It’s a shackle that he bears with his head held high; he is a boy of only twenty-three, and I think that this bears emphasis, that he is twenty-three and already believes that the only true part of his identity is his name. And, yet, at this age he already takes for granted that love and that sense of belonging are worth something. These are concepts that are not given freely; if he’s not useful then he isn’t worth being loved. This concept is found again in the way that he believes that his name might be the only thing that allows him to belong.

And the only way he would be loved is if he put on the mask. This, in turn, reminds me of a quote: “There was no one in him; behind his face (which even through the bad paintings of those times resembles no other) and his words, which were copious, fantastic, and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one.” There’s something in this that causes one to wonder: where does the mask end and the man begin? Who is he, underneath the habits and personas that he had to adopt in order to realize his ambitions? Iago claims “I am not what I am,” and is this, too, true for Priam?

God, he’s just such a fascinating character, wow, and I could go on and on and on. I’ll leave you with this last quote: “History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of God and told him: ‘I who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself.’”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | I really want him to be submerged into a situation where he must lose his sense of purpose or honor-bound duty or even a situation where he has to redraw his lines of morality in order to feed his ambition. The simple anguish in the fact that he must be, perhaps, somewhat like the men he hates, those men of no honor and of no purpose, would be absolutely lovely. Would he rationalize it to himself? Would he choose honor over ambition or vice versa? In a world that seems to be doing its damned hardest to kill them all, what could he possibly choose?

Why does he hate Boris so much? Is it simply because he can’t stand his ways? Is it truly because the Kovrov man reeks of shameless disloyalty? Or is it because he could see himself in the way he hungers for something more than the lot he was given in life? (maybe it’s because he knows, somehow, that this is the man he could become, that this might be the man he is.) I’d love to explore this.

Oh, Juliana. Dearly beloved, my tender heart, mio tesoro. In a man who’s more steel than flesh, she’s the tenderness of his childhood days in an era void of softness. Maybe this isn’t love—something about her eyes, her smile, the lilt of her voice—but it’s close enough. It’s good enough. (or so he hopes.) And, yeah, she makes him want to believe in the concept of loving and being loved. But, God, fuck, in a world such as this, any hint of tenderness is a hint of weakness. And Priam Taravella has long had enough of being weak. God, there’s so much space for nuance here. Does he truly love her or is it just the knowledge that they know so much about each other? Oh, and there’s this: in those moments of tenderness, in those moments when he’s pressing gentle lips to her forehead and folding his fingers over her hand, is he still acting?

And, also, we cannot forget about this: is he even able to discover himself underneath those layers and layers of masks? We can see that his sense of honor is a way that allows him to hold onto something even through the switching of personas, but isn’t there something more than simply that in a person?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Oh, God yes. The more tragic the death, the better.

In Depth

Priam, with a sickly-sweet taste sitting on the root of his tongue and fingers digging into the blankets, wakes up underneath someone else’s sheets at ass-o'clock in the morning. It’s slightly sticky. His mouth pulls into a slight grimace, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes as he breathes out a longer breath than usual, but the glint in his gaze is devoid of any natural feeling save for a vague sensation of apathy.

There’s a flash of what might be faint amusement as he flicks a glance towards the remnants of last night—scattered items of clothing, the lingering scent of sex, the marks on his companion’s skin—even as he ruffles his fingers through his dark curls, languidly arching his back into a stretch. The arm slung around his waist tightens with his motion before relaxing—Priam carelessly curls his grip around the appendage and tosses it away from him and towards its owner—and there’s a grunt as the man wakes up, lounging in bed and watching lazily as Priam retrieves his pants. “Leaving so soon?” husked out from sleep-ridden vocal chords.

There’s a pause as Priam tilts his head back, flicking an idle glance towards the speaker. Already, the apathy in his gaze had vanished, leaving behind only gentle amusement and a form of satisfied grace. His mouth tilts into a grin. “Mm,” all movement and indulgence as the sound of a zipper rips through the 3am aftermath, “I’d love to stay, mi amor, but I have work in the morning.” The slant of his mouth is a finely crafted thing—God, he’s too tired for this right now, something screams in him, but his every action is mechanically precise—as he quirks his lips upwards towards the other man, roguish charm in the echo of his gesture. Priam Taravella has a reputation to uphold and God forbid he ever forget about those layers of masks weighing upon him like Atlas’ skies.

(Sometimes, he’s frightened by his own capacity for all of this. It comes easily, now, like habit. Other times, he gazes at himself in the mirror and tells himself something like i built myself from the ground up and this is the result of my pride. It’s a delicate balance between irony and smug self-satisfaction.)

Despite the annoyance he holds for clingy lovers—simply the fact that he has had to answer tedious questions in the morning annoys him—his lovely features light up into that charismatic feeling of promise.

(When he’s feeling particularly ironic, he calls it smile number thirty-five where the corners of his lips are tilted at a precise angle of 68 degrees, teeth showing ever-so-slightly and eyes softening. It imbues a feeling of earnestness, as can be seen from all the times he’s practiced in front of the mirror when he was younger.)

“You must be tired,” and there’s that artificial flare of heat that seeps through his gaze as he, seemingly reluctantly, drags his attention from the lines of the other man’s body after lingering upon where the drape of the sheets hid the contours of the man’s lower abdomen. He flicks his glance away after precisely three heartbeats of time, knowing that this gesture was sufficient enough to allay all concerns. “Rest.” He stands. There’s a brief bit of pause when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror—sometimes he thinks that the day when he can’t even recognize himself is near—though the movement seems more like it’s a hesitation to leave. “I’ll see you around,” lying through his teeth with a smile of no substance.

“Will I see you at your favorite place?” exhaled from behind him as his fingers linger at the nape of his collar. Inch by inch, he drags his sleeves up over the breadth of his forearms, folding them below his elbow with the tuck of a button.

“My favorite place?” echoed, though his motions never cease. He refrains from looking back at the other man, knowing that the microsecond of disdainful amusement would show in the curve of his mouth. “Yes, of course,” knowing, too, that favorite hardly means favored.

“The Hotel Emilia?” again, from behind him, and there’s a note of expectation that’s laden within the drowsy voice. Priam simply abhors the expectation that this man has of him and his gaze grows dark, though there’s a careful regard as to how the slope of his shoulders tenses; simply put, he doesn’t let himself do anything except to retain movement in the form of satiated grace.

“You caught me,” a deep timbre laced with fond laughter. The Hotel Emilia? A lie that he’d concocted once he saw the interested flicker of the other man’s lashes on the afternoon of the day before, sunlight streaming in from stained-glass windows and lingering upon handsome features. Something to arouse sensation; oh, the Taravella scion has a weary side, a human side, and wouldn’t onlookers feel honored for the ability to see that soft smile upon Priam’s face?

He knows very well that humans are more likely to worship perfect idols, but that growing close to people requires various imperfections. (He has those in spades.)

Priam slips on his gloves, flexing his fingers against the cool fabric, and takes long strides to the exit of the house. Once he’s graced by the dusk, gentle breezes tugging at dark curls and nipping lightly at his nose, a faint smile slants across his mouth before being obscured by a brighter grin of greeting—still as hollow as ever—towards the few who are still on the streets.

A woman wanders up to him, fingers digging into her pockets and ruby-red lips tilted into a sly grin. “Priam Taravella,” voice low and suggestive, “exiting a random house in the early morning. I wonder, is this something you do every day?” Her gaze flicks up and down, blatantly admiring the way his clothes fit to his body.

He snorts, a sort of glacial coldness readily receding from the shallow depths of his eyes at the interception, even though he gives into the indulgence of tapping his fingers against his thigh once in a subtle show of irritation. “It could be,” allowing a slow, flirtatious grin to cross his mouth, “Miss?”

“Not important,” airily waving her hand. She rocks back and forth on her heels, eyes bright as she peers at him. “What do you do every day, then, Taravella?” The mockery in her voice is evident, as is the almost-envious idolization in her gaze.

He feigns a glance at his watch and watches as the woman’s eyes lingers on his exposed wrist. A Patek Philippe, circa 1997, and as expected, she involuntarily sucks in a breath. Priam doesn’t allow his mouth to twist into an expression of indulgent disdain, but it’s a near thing. “I eat breakfast,” drawled dryly, “just as you do, I’d assume.”

A wry grin slips onto his features like something that belongs. “Then, I get to work. Afterwards, I might go for a drink or two, maybe to an opera or an art exhibition, and then I attempt to buy presents for my beloved fiancée.” He lowers his voice, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes in an artful show of candor and loving laughter, as if the simple thought of Juliana was enough to bring him joy, “Between you and me, the only reason I’m not sleeping on the couch every night is because of this.”

“Do you buy her flowers?” eager curiosity.

He makes as if to reply, but then he places a finger to his mouth. “Some things are meant to be a secret,” tucking his hands into his pockets and nodding at her. “Have a good day.”

God, it’s like he tasted something sour. He’s barely crossed a street before his gaze flickers towards another hovering figure, watching as they attempt to watch him. It’s almost four in the morning and still he is besieged with flies from all sides. Best to get this over with.

Priam beckons, gentle laughter in his eyes. “You have a question for me?” low and soothing. They yelp, almost scurrying off, before they think better of it and sheepishly wander closer.

“Y-yeah,” a soft whisper. “I just- I, uh, I-”

He watches them patiently, even though faint exasperation is bubbling up from the depths of his chest. “Mm?” prompting them with a noise that slicks from the back of his throat, though the smile tilted upon his lips hardly budges.

“I-” They take a deep breath, as if steeling themselves, “I just- You know,” they twitch their fingers and Priam’s eyes narrow towards the motion before flickering towards the bulge underneath their coat, near the side of their waist. He makes some effort to relax his musculature even further into a state of apparent languidness. “The war,” blurted out as they fidget.

Oh. Such an ugly concept. “What about it?” Subtly, he directs them both towards a nearby alleyway, an easy grin donned upon his lips as he clasps their shoulder.

“I- I feel so useless, not being able to do anything,” absently fisting their hands, “do you think I should join? At least then I’d be able to play a part.”

“I honestly can’t profess any experience with the war,” a blatant lie, not even twitching though the word drags itself tastelessly from his tongue, “but I believe in my fiancée and in the inherent righteousness of my betrothed’s family.” Conviction is rife in his voice and in the shift of his gaze as he continues, “This will end, soon,” soothing the other—oh, there’s something in his eyes that unfurls like twin flames, something that gives credence to the lilt of his voice and the slant of his mouth—“and the winner will be in the right.”

“Until then,” gently placing a knuckle underneath their chin and tilting their gaze upwards, towards the looming silhouette of a grand church, “pray.”

Of course, he himself knows better than to pray to other gods.

headcanons:

ok so picture this: you take for granted that the smile slanted across daddy’s mouth is because you did well in school. you take for granted that mom’s words of adoration are because you’ve won some competition or the other. love’s something that isn’t yours to keep. and yeah, yeah of course he coulda’ been worse off. he coulda’ been begging in the streets or barely surviving or thrown into some sorta’ gimmick that he couldn’t have left, but there’s this. there’s this and then there’s those moments when he looks at the people who don’t wear crowns—he’s just a boy and this crown is too heavy for him to bear—and watches their fingers curl around their parents’ hands and watches their smiles—before he knows it, he’s learned how to curve his lips in the exact same way because wasn’t this called happiness?—and he wants.

took him years to realize that this wasn’t for him, but he’s still left wanting.

baby you know the closest you’ll ever get to god is in a cemetery and, oh, he’s visited many. at first, it was the death of a beloved pet. nowadays, it’s to somehow atone for all the sins he’s ever carried, ‘cos god knows he can’t go to a confessional. the dead, at least, tell no tales.

he totally brings back tons of presents for juliana and those he calls friends from his business trips 'nd stuff

okay okay okay hear me out; he’s totally got his fingers in all sorts of pies after leaving his family’s legacy behind. there was something in him that wanted recognition for himself, rather than for his name, and so he’s a fairly well known philanthropist and semi-political figure within the city. semi, as he doesn’t hold a specific position but he’s still rather visible. he also organizes fundraisers and galas and all those kindsa’ parties. whatever it takes for him to be known 'cos it’s something like yeah, i’m gonna’ take the highest position you know and force you to look at me without this goddamn legacy

prolly has a buncha’ hidey-holes. evil lairs. nah, but he does have places within the city where he can pretend, at least for the moment, that he’s just priam. just priam taravella ('cos yeah, even now his family’s name means something to him) on a rooftop and watching the stars. god knows if he didn’t have these places, he’d lose himself even faster

also a tsundere asshole. doesn’t act like it, usually, and it’s easy for him to smile and say stuff he doesn’t mean, but when he does mean something, something that’s either fuckign sappy or really heartfelt, it’d take a miracle for him to admit to it

twenty-three y/o dork, actually, despite all the airs he puts on. juliana knows.

v’ v’ v’ flirtatious. knows he’s pretty. knows how to use it.

DO NOT get into a drinking contest with this boi cos he will either get piss-drunk and say he’s not or you’ll get shitfaced drunk

prolly goes to the fighting ring ngl when he’s feeling too annoyed by the state of the world 'cos he’s still that same stubborn priam, jus dressed up prettier

is??? actually touch-starved like woah

tldr; doesn’t know how to be human 'cos no affection was given to him when he was younger and wow no wonder he’s kinda’ sorta’ feral but he’s learned how to put on masks THEREFORE aggravating the problem rather than solving it

priam aka mister 'ive got 99 problems but acting ain’t one of them’

[thepelagoislands]

New Island: Mokupuni o ke Ahi (Island of Fire)

This island was written by Rachel-mun!

@gun-nun | @violinsnotheanswer | @jake-out-the-humans | @lannathepopstar

One must sail for hours upon hours before finding this island. As the voyagers draw closer to the island, they will see that it is a volcanic island and is currently active. As a matter of fact, it’s always been active and has never ceased spewing its molten rock. There are lava flows that fall off of the edge of the water, raising its temperature to dangerous levels, so be sure not to fall into the ocean. Steam rises from the water surrounding the island, giving it a sort of mist that shrouds the outskirts. There is a black stone port in which you can dock your boat.

As you venture through the island to go inland, you will see several glowing flows of lava headed towards the edges of the island. It moves much like a river of molasses. There is no explicit path for the voyagers to follow, so it’s up to them to navigate the way towards the center of the island. As the voyagers travel closer to said island’s center, they will come across a village that has been burned down. The insides and outsides of the stone buildings are covered in a black char and some of the roofs have collapsed in. In one of the houses, if one was able to pry open the drawer to the desk, they will find 2,000g. There is nothing else to be found in the village, as everything else has been burned to ash.

At the base of the volcano there will be a temple decorated in red and gold, but the stone that makes its walls is pitch black. Hot lava runs in a river on either side of the temple, but seems to have naturally (or unnaturally?) avoided it. The temple is raised up on black stone pillars and can only be reached by ascending a long, narrow staircase with no railings. A pretty dangerous architectural move, actually. Once you reach the top, you’ll see that the floor is made from beautifully smooth obsidian, gold specks throughout it. The temple doors are heavy black stone, though, and are hard to open on your own. Enter the temple and you will be in the main prayer room.

Main Prayer Room: This room is the largest in the temple, the floors of obsidian continuing throughout here and the rest of the temple. However, there is something amiss in the room. The altar that is at the back of the room has been desecrated. The offerings of gold coins and rubies have been thrown off of the altar and are sprawled about the floor. Gather up the gold and it will come to 1,000g. Gather up the rubies and you’ll find eight. Nothing of consequence will come from taking these items. There is nothing else to be found in the main prayer room, but there are four doors: one to the left, one to the right, one with a gold door to the left of the altar, and one with a red door to the right of the altar.

Left Door (Dining Room): Enter this room and you’ll come to the dining area. There is a table that previously had a meal set up on it, but everything is once again destroyed and thrown about the table and the floor. The paintings that hang on the wall are ripped to ribbons and scraps of them lay on the floor. The kitchen has been torn through as well, all of the pots and pans and utensils on the floor and counters. There is some broken glass there, too. The knives from the block are thrown at the wall across the room, sticking out like someone was playing a game with them. If you look closely, you’ll find that one is missing from the set.

Right Door (Bedroom): This room appears to be a bedroom of sorts, but for only one person. The bed in the center of the room is regal, tall beams on every corner that hold up a red canopy made of silk. It’s comfortable but ashy. No ash can be found in the room besides on the bed, though. In the bedside tables you will find some love letters signed from a woman named Aredhel. One of the letters has some tear stains on it, and reads:

Dearest Dominic,

While we remain apart in land I know that we come together every night in our dreams. My heart aches for your touch every minute that we are separated, but I know that we will be reunited someday.

Our plan to remain in the sky is proving to be most wise, as we have gone undetected for some time now. However, one of the lookouts noticed something pass by in the clouds. We are unsure of what it could be. A scout? A dragon? We haven’t the slightest idea. All I know is that we are on alert, but feel that we remain safe up here. 

I wish dearly that I could descend down once again and be with you on your island. To live among the molten earth whose heat could rival our passion; how exciting it must be! I pray daily that we will soon be together and I can rejoice in being within your grasp. I dream nightly of the night we shared when we first met and how your whispered affections never leave my ears. I fear I’ve become distracted again whilst thinking about it… 

Dominic, I hope that you are living well and have prospered in your new position as the temple’s leader. I know that you will make the other fire mages proud of you, as I am. Be a good leader, and remember that your power does not define who you are. Only you have the power to define yourself. 

With as much love as the Sun has light, your beloved Aredhel.

There are a few other letters, all from the same woman and the dates on the letters span over the course of a year. Also in the bedside table is a ring with silver metal and an obsidian gem in the center. Perhaps it’s an engagement ring? There are some clothes in the closet, but otherwise there isn’t much else to be found in the bedroom.

Gold Door (Library): Enter this room and you’ll come into the library where there are rows of shelves, all stacked full with books. It appears that ancient information has been re-recorded into these books for better storage. The language is all in an indecipherable language, but there are a few books that have pictures of people using moves that involve fire magic. Some books are records of the people who have lived on the island. According to the most recent records, there should have been around twenty people living on the island of varying ages. There lies the question: where are they? The burned village obviously doesn’t bode well with this information. At the back of the library you’ll find a spell book that looks ancient as ancient can be. It’s large, far too large actually. It looks impossible to carry and annoyingly and cartoonishly big. Open it and you’ll find pages upon pages of the same indecipherable language as in other books. There are maps, however, and some descriptions of the small sections of map. It all details other islands and there are four islands in particular who have symbols next to them. One that resembles flowing water is by one island, one that depicts a flower growing from soil next to another, some squiggly lines next to another that looks like wind, and finally one that has a flame drawn next to it. The only thing that is readable to the voyagers is a word written down, but with no island to name: Exire. There is nothing else to be found in the Library.

Red Door (Long Hallway to the Balcony): Enter this room and you’ll be taken down a long, narrow hallway. There is nothing on the walls and only a few torches to light the way, the light of them reflecting off of the shiny obsidian floor. You can hear someone… sobbing? It’s coming from the end of the hall. Continue down the hallway and you’ll come to the balcony.

Balcony: Open the door at the end of the hallway to come onto the balcony that face the spewing volcano. The glow of the lava lights the scene (at night) and you’ll see a man in official-looking priest robes standing at the end of the balcony. He’s holding the missing knife from the balcony and is about to stab himself in the heart when the voyagers come onto the balcony. He’s a tall man with black, long hair and there are two wolf ears that sit atop his head. When he notices the voyagers enter, he snaps his head towards them with bared, fanged teeth. He begins to speak. 

“Who are you?! Why have you come here?!”

The voyagers can attempt to explain that they are from the islands and just happened upon the island, but the priest will hear none of it. He doesn’t hold the knife to his chest anymore, but he still holds it in one hand as he faces the voyagers. 

���If you’ve come to tell me she’s dead, I already know. I learned long ago…”

It seems he won’t listen to what the voyagers are saying. He’s stuck in his own world of hurt and grief. 

“I couldn’t be the man she wanted me to be… The people who lived here, those fire mages I was supposed to protect and teach… I was the one who killed them in the end. How could I have done such a thing in my anger at the gods for taking her away from me?” 

So it turns out he was the one who burned down the village. The voyagers can determine how they feel with that information. He will still continue talking. 

“What did she do to deserve such a fate?” He looks at the voyagers wildly, tears falling again and voice on the verge of hysteria. “Why couldn’t they have sent that dragon here to kill us all instead?! At least we’d have had a chance to survive! And now, look!” He gestures wildly to the volcano. “The Gods are furious with me! I’ve been the most foul, murderous, awful priest! I don’t deserve this!”

At this point, he will procure a flame and hold his hand to his own neck, burning himself. He lets out a scream of pain and drops to his knees. If the voyagers attempt to come close to him, he will use his fire magic against you to keep you away. He burns his throat until it is charred and bleeding and he speaks again, his voice a strained scream. 

“I’ll be with her again! I must! I’d rather die like this than live another day on this fucking planet without her!”

After that, the priest will grab the knife and stab himself in the heart, screaming in anguish once again before collapsing to the ground and dying. The voyagers can do nothing to stop his death, but his last word uttered before he finally stops breathing is his lover’s name in a gargled whisper.

Once the priest has died, the ground begins to shake with the power of the volcano. It seems like it’s about to erupt violently and you have only a short head start to make it back to the boat. There is a boom like thunder as the voyagers run back to the port, the volcano shooting molten rocks into the air. The voyagers must dodge the falling hot rocks and escape the fury of the volcano as it erupts. The ground shakes and the voyagers must tread carefully so as not to fall into any lava. 

Once you get to the boat, you’ll be safe to escape but you will see the violent eruption spew molten lava across the island, the explosion as it does so deafening and can be heard even on Leuda and Arcadia. The island’s volcano will become dormant as soon as the final eruption is completed, eruption possible in the rune sphere is ever removed, but will remain dormant until then. 

The rune sphere of the island is buried deep in the volcano’s side, impossible to retrieve.

[socialjusticeartshare]

Deported with their children separated, mothers hope to be reunited years later

President Biden is expected to sign a series of executive orders this week on immigration, including one setting up a task force to reunite families separated at the Mexican border under former President Trump’s "zero tolerance policy." Amna Nawaz reports on two mothers in Central America who have been waiting years to be reunited with their children.

Read the Full Transcript

Judy Woodruff:

President Biden is expected to sign a series of executive orders on immigration this week, including one setting up a task force to reunite families separated at the Mexican border under former President Trump's zero tolerance policy.

We connected with two mothers in Central America who have been waiting years to be reunited with their children. We begin with one of their daughters, who is now living in the U.S.

To protect your identity, we don't show her face.

Amna Nawaz is back with that story.

Amna Nawaz:

It's Saturday morning, and that means horseback riding lessons for Maria. Her life today is a world away from the life she left behind.

In August of 2017, she and her mother fled violence in El Salvador after local gangs threatened to kill Maria, a name that we're using to protect her identity.

Maria and her mother requested asylum at the U.S. border, but, like thousands of other families at the time, were separated by U.S. officials under a Trump administration policy. Maria was 12. Her mother was deported, and Maria was left behind.

Maria (through translator):

She was sent to El Salvador, and I stayed here. I didn't know anything about all this at the time.

Amna Nawaz:

More than 2,000 miles away, her mother, Yeni, remembers the last time she saw her daughter.

Yeni (through translator):

The idea was to protect her, not make her suffer. I cried to the officer. I cried and told her: "I don't want to be separated from my daughter. I don't want to be separated."

Amna Nawaz:

Yeni says U.S. officials told her, if she signed a document dropping her asylum case, she and Maria would be reunited and deported together.

Yeni (through translator):

And I showed the officer the paper I signed. I had it in my hand. It's all I had to show them, because they said my daughter was going to come with me.

And he said: "We don't know anything about that."

And I had to go home alone, and I left my daughter.

Amna Nawaz:

Back in El Salvador, Yeni reunited with Maria's father. She has her hands full with their 2-year-old twins, while he runs their small grocery store.

As much as Yeni misses her daughter, she knows Maria is safe from the gangs that threatened her. Meanwhile, after more than seven months in federal custody and two difficult temporary homes, Maria now lives with a stable family in Wisconsin, who are also hosting other migrants.

Danae Steele:

Honey, I think of you all the time, just so you know.

(LAUGHTER)

Amna Nawaz:

Danae Steele And Marijke Van Roojen are Maria's legal guardians in the U.S. In nine short months, they have tried to help her build a new life, with school, friends, and family activities.

But the separation, they say, has traumatized her.

Danae Steele:

I will tell you one story. We went camping one night.

So, I went to look for her. And she was in my car curled up in the backseat just sobbing. And so I just — I will cry when I say this. But so I just sat there and held her. She kept saying: "My heart is broken. My heart is broken."

We cannot replace her relationship with her family. We love her dearly, and I know she loves us. And it's still like, if you have a beloved aunt or your grandmother, they still do not replace your parents.

Amna Nawaz:

Maria's immigration case to decide if she can stay in the U.S. or not is pending. Phone calls and video chats like these are the only contact she has with her mother.

Yeni (through translator):

Sometimes, I tell her to please forgive me for taking that decision. I know, though, that I did it to protect her, not to hurt her more. But, sometimes, things don't turn out like you think they will.

Amna Nawaz:

Experts have been raising concerns about the harm caused to nearly 5,000 children like Maria, separated from their families by the U.S. government in 2017 and 2018 after arriving at the U.S. border.

Only under a court order did the separations end and the reunifications begin, propelled by advocates and activists fighting to reconnect families.

At the "NewsHour," we followed the story of 3-year-old Sofi, separated from her family at the border and reunited after seven weeks in custody.

But months of chaotic separations, done with no central tracking, nor plans to reunify, have left a long shadow. The parents of more than 600 children have yet to be located, and hundreds of children remain separated, even though lawyers have tracked down their parents. Even for those reunited, experts say the trauma will be lifelong.

Wendy Young:

In the 30-plus years that I have been doing this work, I have never seen such an inhumane policy implemented by an administration.

Amna Nawaz:

Wendy Young is the president of KIND, an organization that advocates for unaccompanied migrant children.

Wendy Young:

And what we saw with many of the kids, it was that they were angry with their parents or they were confused. They shut down. In their child's mind, the parent had abandoned them because they didn't understand that it was the government, the U.S. government, that was doing this to them, and that their parent had no choice.

Amna Nawaz:

Sandra, who lives by herself in Guatemala, was separated from her two children after requesting asylum at the U.S. border in May of 2018, the height of the zero tolerance policy.

They, too, had fled violence. Her kids are now 13 and 14, living with their uncle in Cincinnati. After two years apart, this is how the family spent Christmas.

Sandra (through translator):

When I left for the United States, I never thought that they would separate us. When I got to the border, when immigration picked me up, they told me that they had to separate mothers.

For me, it's difficult. It isn't easy for a mother or her children. It's very difficult.

Amna Nawaz:

After being deported, Sandra first returned to her rural village in the highlands. Six months later, she tried again to enter the U.S.

Sandra (through translator):

Why did I go back? Because I wanted to be with my children. I don't want to live here without my children. I went back, and I had to pay someone again to take me.

Amna Nawaz:

And once again, she was apprehended by U.S. immigration officials.

Sandra (through translator):

They told me, why did you come back, if you already had a deportation order from the last time? Because I was separated from my children. That's why. I wanted to come back to be with my children.

The judge gave me a 30-day sentence. I was in jail 30 days, and then they deported me again.

Amna Nawaz:

She's at a loss of what to do, and desperate to reunite with her children, who don't see any future for themselves in Guatemala.

Sandra (through translator):

They tell me: "Mama, come. You're alone there. We need you, mama."

Amna Nawaz:

Wendy Young says the Biden administration can and should act to reunite families quickly and help them to heal over time.

Wendy Young:

We have done these families incredible harm, and we really owe it to them to do the best we can to provide them with that protection, with that status, bring them back together, and then also provide them with support services to recover from this trauma that they have experienced.

Amna Nawaz:

Back in Wisconsin, Maria is focused on her studies, and says she now wants to become a doctor.

Maria (through translator):

God willing, if I can stay here and finish my studies, I want to have a profession where I can help people.

Amna Nawaz:

Her mother, Yeni, has her own dream.

Yeni (through translator):

Every parent dreams of always being by their child's side, never being separated, watching them grow up, seeing every stage they go through.

Amna Nawaz:

Do you and your mother talk about when you will be able to see each other again?

Maria (through translator):

Sometimes, we talk about how we might see each other. We talk about how we aren't going to see each other, perhaps for many years.

Sometimes, it's very difficult to answer that question, because it's out of my hands. There's no way to know when I will see her again.

Amna Nawaz:

And no way to know yet where that will be.

For the "PBS NewsHour," I'm Amna Nawaz.

[mxrtifero]

PLOT CALL !

mun:     like i said, i won’t do unplotted threads because they end up hitting the wall or they just keep going in circles until god knows how long so here’s some plots i’d like to write !  If you like one ( or more ) like this post and i’ll come to you so we can further plot.

━━━━ Lily. •  Plot  ;  “  You caught me fucking your lover and you stormed out and i really don’t care because this kind of thing always happen and it’s none of my business why your lover is cheating on your in the first place, i’m just trying to fuck but i’m leaving the hotel and i find you sobbing by the steps and fuck !  Now i feel bad about it and i’m trying to make it up to you by being nice and ... you’re really cute  ” •  Plot  ;  A boy Lily always messes around because she loves to make him sexually frustrated only to always leave him hot and wanting and all while this all play for the demoness, your muse developed something more than just a boner  —-  he developed feelings too. •  Plot  ;  “  I don’t know you but you seem like you know me and what ?  You need sexual advice ?  And someone i’ve been with sent you to me so i can teach you about sex ?  ”

━━━━ Thanatos. •  Plot  ;  “  I always come to the graveyard to pay my respect to the people whose life i took but there’s this one person i regret killing the most because of all the pictures of this person in their room who seemed to mean a lot to them and i can’t sleep when i think of how that other person lives on without their beloved. someone approaches and hey !  You’re that person in all those pictures. I confess to you and i’m now doing everything you want me to do to make it up to you ”

━━━━ Morpheus. •  Plot  ;  Morpheus visits many dreams but ever since they visited your muse’s dream, he can’t stop visiting because he thinks he developed a crush on your muse and he thinks your muse feels the same too but no one would talk about it because Morpheus is unfamiliar with these feelings and assumes that your muse thinks he’s just a figment of his imagination. Soon, Morpheus meets your muse outside the dream realm and your muse can’t believe that Morpheus is real.  //  Male muses only.

━━━━ Aurora. •  Plot  ;  “  I finished all my assignments early so i’m volunteering at the university’s nurse office because i love helping others and one day, you come with a few cuts on your arm and the nurse starts to tell me about how you’re one of the most active visitor to her office and i think its funny but more importantly, i think you’re really cute so i ask the nurse if i can tend to your wounds instead of her. You start coming almost everyday and i start getting concerned about you and ask you to be safe but then you just stopped coming and i really wish i didn’t tell you that because i miss you now. After a week, you come and tell me that you’ve been hurting yourself on purpose because you like me and wanted an excuse to come see me. ” •  Plot  ;  Someone who gets on Aurora’s nerves but also makes her melt yet she also hates them a lot because they follow habits that harm mother nature and it makes her cry to see someone she loves hurt her mother and she’s completely torn. A push-and-pull relationship that never seems to work because of your muse’s habits.

━━━━ Pancake. •  Plot  ;  “  I’m in public and i’m really anxious because my bag is full of women panties and i’m scared that someone will find out that i like to wear them and you bump into me and all my panties fall on the ground. Mortified, i run away as fast as i can but the next day, you knock on my door and return my items. When i ask you how you know where i live, you said that you recognize me because i once baby-sitted for a close friend of yours. I beg you to not tell one me but apparently —-  i have to do something for you first.  ”  //  Male muses only, smut. •  Plot  ;  “  I’m sitting alone in the middle of the park having a tea part by myself and i’m pretty sure that i look embarrassing sitting all alone in this tiny plastic chair but none of the kids i invited came so now i have to finish drinking this invisible tea and eat cardboard cookies because i’m too sad to get up but you see me and join me. ”

━━━━ Mercury. •  Plot  ;  Your muse’s grandmother’s necklace ( which your muse values dearly ) have been accidentally sold to an antique shop owner and after your muse have been in almost every antique shop in the city, they come across Mercury’s shop and when your muse shows the picture of your grandmother wearing the necklace, Mercury is stunned to recognize the lady as his lover from centuries ago. Mercury begins to tell your muse all about his relationship with her grandmother and as it developed into a budding friendship  —-  Mercury begun to fall for your muse, seeing parts of her grandmother in her but also a beautiful person but he’s found constantly battling these feelings because of the age gap between them.  //  Female muses only, age gap required.

━━━━ Sycamore. •  Plot  ;  “  I’m homeless and i always stay in the park because i like to sleep there and after that night we met where i told you about my home planet, you kept coming back and i’m shocked because people always make fun of me when i talk about my home planet but i think you like me because you always visit me at night and whenever we get together, i tell you all that i know and in exchange, you bring hot meals for us to share under the starry sky. I like you a lot and i start telling you about how i feel about you but you think i’m just fooling around and it’s making me really sad that you can’t see it when all i see is you.  ”  //  Male muses only.

[dorkcresswxll]

i went...... hard y’all this is so extra and embarrassing but i spent like,, over an hour writing this down so ur all gonna see it u better.

Why did you choose to play the character that you do at Crimson Revolt?

im gonna be honest like………………………………. i picked dirk bc i wanted to play ezra miller lmao. I KNOW HOW SHALLOW THAT IS DONT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT OKAY I CAN EXPLAIN!!!!!!!! alright so before i apped for crt the first time i was at…… a pretty low place confidence-wise bc i’d just left the first rpg i ever joined (also the first rp thing i ever did) and it was a pretty,,,, messy departure lmaoo i gotta admit i could’ve handled that better orz. BUT ANYWAY so i went looking through the ezra miller fc tag bc i’d just discovered this fabulous person and had vague ideas about a character that could fit the fc (dramatic, cheeky, a lil flamboyant) and was also thinking “i will never fall in love with a character the way i did my previous ones again” and more dramatic bullshit along those line bc like i said,,, bad time. obviously i didn’t find any active rpgs that had him in use so i checked crt bc i’d seen it around before and liked the look of it, so i sent the main an ask like “do you see ezra miller working for any of your open characters?” the admin at the time pointed me to barty crouch, peter pettigrew and dirk cresswell.

i just want to take a moment to digest that i could literally have played any of these three, cause all i had at the time was a vague idea of a character and a fc to match. i remember i spent days trying to decide between barty and dirk cause neither skeleton fit my vision perfectly and they both seemed aimed more towards an angry jock-type character (especially dirk his fc was miles teller which…. should give u a good idea of what the admin at the time had in mind for him) ( i mean the first skeleton. the one on the main now is one i rewrote after the main crashed back in june.) (just to clarify: the original skeleton had just as much potential to evolve to a complex and intriguing character as any other skeleton here at crt. i just had my vaguely dramatic ezra miller bby and i wanted it. lmao.) but i liked challenging set characterizations and bringing unique perspectives to contrast against any expectations the admin/s might have about a character. which is why i tend to go for skeleton rps, you get more freedom with those. eventually i decided on dirk bc i liked the sound of aversio and grey moralities appeal to me greatly. i spent a long time delving into the character’s backstory and personality and all those deep-seated insecurities and compelling contradictions that make dirk up to be the person he is now. by the time i submitted the app i was thoroughly in love with the character and haven’t stopped since. he’s my most developed and my most beloved character to play thus far.

Do you have a favorite holiday?

NOPE. as long as im surrounded by people i love and a lot of snacks im good.

Do you prefer coffee or tea? Perhaps neither, or both?

coffee. coffee coffee coffee.

What is your personality type?

INFP-T. the mediator. 86% introverted lmaooo.

What is your Hogwarts House?

ahhh. when i first read the books a few years ago i was like ‘iM A SLYTHERIN DONT TOUCH ME!!!!!’ but i…………literally have the subtlety of a bulldozing stampede of rhinos im sure y’all noticed. i took the pottermore test and had the glaring red n gold show up on my face and i shut the laptop down so fast like liES I BELIEVE NONE OF THIS. then i took a fan-made test that put me in ravenclaw and i was like…………….. ok i accept this compromise i can work with that. lmao im such a gryffindor tho don’t look at me im just *flops* pottermore was right….. i accept my place now i have stopped running from the truth orz.

What is your Zodiac Sign?

Taurus.

Three most recently watched on Netflix?

SURPRISE! i don’t have netflix. most recent stuff i watched tho are Stranger Things 2, IT (2017) and…. i can’t remember orz. but im obsessed with stranger things taLK TO ME ABOUT STEVE HARRINGTON PLS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH *SOBS*

Describe your ride-or-die friend.

don’t call me out like this…………………………………. i don’t make friends in real life people are difficult and i am awkward orz.

If you could have any superpower, what would you choose?

the ability to focus whenever i want at whatever i want for however long i want and actually manage to be productive with my time. what do u mean this is not a superpower i need it to be one.

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

i have no sleep schedule to speak of. sometimes i sleep at five am and wake up at eight am to get to my classes, then have a six hour nap when i get home and stay up until four am again. sometimes i go to bed on eight pm and wake up at four in the morning and still sleep through my classes, take a small four hour nap when im home and spend obligatory time with the fam for a couple hours lmao. it’s like im just sleeping or waking up either way im always a step removed from a zombie. there is. no reason for any of this i just do it.

What is your favorite color?

YELLOW. it’s so bright and sunny and iouwodc. i love it.

What is the last book you read? What is your favorite?

ahhhh i can’t remember my memory is failing me. which is sad cause i used to pick up a new novel every other day but i just can’t be bothered anymore ugh. i think my favorite was the whole PJO & HoO series’ – i haven’t read the last book yet tho, so i’ll start rereading all ten books when i get the chance.

Where would you rather be right now?

on a bed. sleeping. alone. with a lot of blankets. solitude appeals to me on such a deep level guys u don’t even know.

Have you ever watched the sunrise?

the ones i remember are three – once when i was a kid with my mom, bc i wouldn’t go to sleep and it was approaching sunrise and i rambled about wanting to see the sun come up so my mom was like………………… ‘*throws hands up* ok u lil monster u win’ and took me to the roof to watch the sunrise lol. it was glorious. and cold. bc winter. the second time was with my cousins who were sleeping over (for the first time in a loooong tiiiimmmeeee) and we decided to spend the night up on the roof bc why not. the last time was with my brother i think he was up there fixing something or the other and i was just there….. to be annoying lmao.

Do you listen to music when you write? If yes, what kind of music?

oh no i can’t. i need everything and everyone to be quiet or i can’t write a thing.

What’s the one thing you especially love about roleplaying your muse/s?

what do i love about playing dirk…… his impulsive and his bright attitude and his endless optimism. he has such an uplifting presence and a cheeky sort of charm that makes it impossible for people not to love him, that makes his worming into other people’s hearts so entirely predictable and entertaining to play out. he is a myriad of contradictions – the difference between what he thinks everyone deserves and what he thinks he deserves is appalling, and with time it becomes clear that when he says things like “everyone needs someone to lean on” or “everyone could use some support” he is not referring to himself as a part of this ‘everyone’, if even on a subconscious level, does not find himself worthy of such kindness. he is a character so full of love he is spilling and overflowing with it, his raw emotions and his turbulent nature one of the dearest parts of him to me. the thin line he walks between being kind and violent, loyal and unforgiving, genuine and secretive. all the little details that make him up are reason for me to love him as dearly as i do.

What’s your favorite type of weather?

cold, but not too cold, y’know? just enough to wear a jacket but not so much you spend the night under five covers and a thermometer lmaoo.

What’s your best RP experience?

crt. no contest. and im not just saying that cause i’ve been in a bunch of rpgs by now and they all either a) lack dedicated admins/members b) are cliquey and non-inclusive at all or b) fall into inactivity a meager month or two after opening. crt is one of a kind.

Who inspires you?

this is actually a tough question cause i never really stop to think about it?? i draw inspiration from everything around me and it’s kinda like…. im constantly absorbing stuff from the environment im in and it’s like i’m always half-thinking about writing at any given moment, if that makes sense?? dunno.

Spread some love: mention someone you’ve met that has influenced you or your writing in a positive way and explain how!

ahhh okay so. before i tried roleplaying i stumbled upon this rpg in the fandom tag over a year ago and it’s basically been the catalyst for my time in the rpc. i was looking through the character’s blogs and found someone playing peter and i was like……….. not fond of peter at the time tbh but this person’s writing was so fucking incredible i checked their blog daily, just to see how this thread or that thread would go. their take on a character i’d only held distaste for before was so compelling and complex i was drawn in all the way, i’d even come to love the character so much and was constantly disarmed by the smallest to the biggest details in that person’s characterization – at least the details i could pick up on, some i’m sure went way over my head at the time. some details i still remember vividly and they’ve helped me shape my first character and have influenced my writing thereafter. i learned a lot about the duality of a character’s mind and how to express inner conflict by observing that person’s writing. (yes i sent them a nerdy af message gushing about all that bc they hadda know man…. they hadda know.)