#nineteen to twenty icons

[hollywocd]

nineteen to twenty like or reblog if you use them

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy. Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5, @laceandsuch, @kneelforloki

The sun is gentle on your skin—not too hot, not too cold, but just right, like a soft embrace. The rhythm of the waves rolling off in the distance is soothing, and for the first time in weeks, you feel your body truly relax. It's a rare sensation, one that you try to soak in as much as possible.

You haven't been to the beach in ages, and this trip was a last-minute idea. After a week of battling fatigue and pain, you needed a change—the smell of the ocean air, the feel of sand between your toes, the expanse of open sky. It's the perfect escape from the never-ending demands of content creation and the relentless ping of incoming messages.

There aren't many people around, which is surprising given your proximity to the only ramp designed for wheelchairs and strollers. But the solitude is welcome, allowing you to enjoy the peace without feeling like you need to perform for an audience. It's just you, the vast ocean, and the occasional seagull passing by. As you sit there, letting the warmth of the sand seep into your bones, a thought crosses your mind.

A few days have passed since you returned from your brief hiatus, and though you haven't posted anything new on OnlyFans—your fans are being sustained by the scheduled content—you know they would welcome something a little more spontaneous, something that allows them to see a side of you that isn't always on display. And when do you feel this good, this free of pain? Why not capture the moment and show your subscribers that life isn't just about overcoming struggles, but also about embracing moments of joy?

You reach for your phone, tucked away in the safety of your beach bag, and unlock it with a swipe of your thumb. The camera app opens to a view of your sun-kissed skin, looking smoother than ever under the gentle glow of daylight. You're wearing a simple bikini, nothing too flashy or suggestive, just enough to accentuate the curves you've worked hard for.

The photos you take aren't overly posed or attention-seeking—they're snapshots of peace, of contentment found in solitude. You angle the phone just right, capturing the length of your legs stretched out before you, sand sticking to the sheen of sunscreen while the indigo waves kiss the shore behind. A second photo focuses on your torso, the bikini top hinting at the shape beneath without revealing too much. It's all about suggestion, not exhibition.

Satisfied with the images, you switch apps and tap open OnlyFans, the familiar icon signalling a space where you control the narrative, where you decide what to reveal and what to keep hidden. Your subscribers relish these glimpses into your everyday life, finding intrigue in the mundane made intimate. The beach setting is a departure from your bedroom backdrop, from the soft glow of your ring light that usually bathes your videos in flattering warmth.

Caption: Beach day 🌊☀️ Taking some time for myself and thought I’d share this little moment with you all. Hope you’re enjoying your day as much as I am! 💖

Your thumb hovers over the "post" button before pressing down, a flicker of excitement kindling in your chest as the photos upload. It's a departure from your carefully curated feed—a moment of unscripted joy that feels both intimate and invigorating. Your followers will love it.

With a satisfied sigh, you let the phone slip from your grasp, the screen's glow fading against the backdrop of sun-drenched sand. A sense of tranquillity settles over you, nurtured by the rhythmic pulse of the ocean nearby. It's a rare respite from the demands of stardom, a chance to simply be rather than perform.

Minutes turn into a languid hour. The phone vibrates softly against your calf, but you don't reach for it. Not yet. The world can wait. Right now, the sun's touch is more real than any notification.

Eventually, curiosity nudges at your relaxed mind, and you sit up, brushing sand from your legs. Picking up the phone, the screen illuminates with a flurry of notifications—your followers have been busy.

Scanning the comments, you see the usual mix. Compliments on your appearance, expressions of envy at your day on the beach, wishes that they could join you. A smile tugs at your lips, not just at their words, but at the sense of connection they bring. You crafted this community from nothing, and their loyalty is a balm to your soul.

One name catches your eye: Prongs. It's not surprising to see him here—he's always quick to interact with your posts—but there’s a small thrill each time you spot his username. His comments often carry an edge of flirtation that never fails to amuse you.

ProngsPlayground_free: Beach day, huh? 😏 You look amazing. Hope you’re soaking up some of that sun for us too. 💖

You can't help but smile at his comment. There's something about the way Prongs flirts that always makes you happy—it's fun but respectful, never crossing any lines. You've had plenty of subscribers who pushed boundaries, but he's always been different. There's a sense of fun in your interactions, and you look forward to his messages.

It's not just Prongs, though. You know Moony and Padfoot are there too, watching your content with just as much interest. You think about them now, imagining the three of them seeing this picture of you on the beach and how they might react. It's funny how they've become a little group in your mind, and you think of them as a team now.

Your fingers tap out a response, the playful banter coming as easily to you as breathing.

You: Thanks, Prongs! 😘 Wish you guys could be here too—bet you’d love the view. 😉

The message sent, you lower your phone onto your lap, a sense of contentment washing over you. You don't know these people in real life, but they've become a part of your world in their own special way. As you watch the waves roll in, you can almost imagine them on the other side of the screen, faces lighting up as they read your message, huddled together in shared camaraderie.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you lean back into the sand, letting the warmth seep into your body. The rhythmic lullaby of the ocean fills your ears, drowning out the distant chatter of beachgoers. This has always been your sanctuary, a place where you can shed the weight of expectations and simply exist.

But even here, you're not wholly free. Not when thoughts of them refuse to be quieted.

Their names have resonated within you from the moment they subscribed to your page. An inexplicable pull, growing stronger with each passing day, each shared message. You remember watching their own post, feeling something akin to fascination stir within you as you listened to their voices—rich, velvety layers of sound that brushed against your senses like physical touches, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

It's an anomaly, this interest you've developed. You've always prided yourself on being professional, maintaining clear boundaries between the men who subscribe to your content and your own personal life. But with Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot, those lines are blurred. There's something about them, something different that beckons you closer even as you remind yourself of the need for distance.

You glance down once more at your phone, the screen lighting up with a new notification. A direct message waits for you, its contents unknown. You tap on the icon, a small smile tugging at your lips in anticipation.

ProngsPlayground_free: That view, though... 🔥 We're all distracted now. We should be editing, but I think we need a break after seeing that. Even Moony is a bit distracted, and he's usually the sensible one. 😏 - Padfoot

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you read the message, shaking your head slightly. The thought of them being thrown off their game because of you sends a small thrill through you.

Your fingers fly across the screen, crafting a response that matches the playful banter you've come to enjoy with them. It's flirty yet casual, the perfect blend of familiarity and charm that has become your signature move.

You: Taking a break, huh? I can't blame you—it's tough to focus with a beach in the picture. 😉 But don't get into too much trouble. 😘

The message sends, and you put your phone back down, letting out a content sigh as you watch the waves crash on the shore. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over everything, and the breeze that brushes against your skin is just the right balance of cool and comforting. It's one of those moments that make you wish you could stop time, a peaceful respite from the usual whirlwind of your life.

But even as you try to absorb the tranquility around you, your thoughts keep circling back to the boys—to their messages and how they've woven themselves into the fabric of your everyday existence. You've always been cautious about what you share online, maintaining a certain distance between yourself and your followers. But with Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot, it feels like that line is blurring, like you're allowing them to see more of you, piece by piece.

It's not just about the content anymore. It's about the connection—the ease with which you converse, the way they understand the in-between spaces of your words, the sense of camaraderie that transcends the digital divide. They've become more than just fans; they're friends, in a way that both excites and terrifies you.

And while you can't quite put your finger on when exactly it happened, you realise that you've started to look forward to their responses, find yourself thinking about them even when you're offline. It's a strange feeling, unsettling yet exhilarating all at once. But for now, you push away the questions, focus instead on the fun chats and light-hearted flirtation.

You snap one last picture of the beach—this time without you in it—and tuck your phone back into your bag. A sense of calm washes over you as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and purple. For now, everything is as it should be.

And tomorrow, when you return to the daily grind, they'll be there, ready to pick up the conversation where you left off.

[mattsangel]

writer x matt boards 🐇🩰🦢🎀🍂🪵🌑🎮

redhead, nineteen, law student, bookworm, loves pink and bows, ballet dancer, collects jellycats, fall lover, sambas enthusiast, hopeless romantic, gracie abrams girl, atwtmvftv, lip gloss, shopaholic, introvert, canadian.

brunette, twenty-one, youtuber, reads sometimes, loves blue, fall lover, likes jellycats, video game enthusiast, introvert, fashion icon, mental health advocate, clairo fan, tattooed, american.

a/n: maybe one day i’ll do a face reveal, but for now you’ll have to use this as reference!

[imusticaniwill]

A Beautiful Story of Life

Shared with me by a friend.

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me

with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?”

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.

“Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.

She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…”

“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the

next three months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us.

She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old.

If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change.

Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”

She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.”

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.

These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

“We make a Living by what we get, We make a Life by what we give.”

[floridaboiler]

source - https://twitter.com/CalltoActivism

I absolutely love this story…….. It made me cry.

"An 87 Year Old College Student Named Rose The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?”

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze. “Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.

She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…”

“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me. After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.

We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us.

She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success.

1) You have to laugh and find humor every day.

2) You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.

We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!

3) There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old.

If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older.

That doesn’t take any talent or ability.

The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change.

4) Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”

She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.

When you finish reading this, please send this peaceful word of advice to your friends and family, they’ll really enjoy it!

These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

We make a Living by what we get,

[graysoncritic]

He Walks: Dick Grayson, the Survivor

This is a meta written for the ten year celebration of Grayson. For @grayson10yearslater.

From it’s prologue in Nightwing #30, Grayson by Tom King and Tim Seeley, boldly poses its readers with the question of how to describe one of DC’s oldest and most iconic characters when he is stripped of his familiar superhero identities. Who is Dick Grayson when he can’t hide behind Robin? Nightwing? Batman?

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim; Tynion IV, James, writers. Janin, Mikel; Hetrick, Meghan; Garron, Javier; Lucas Jorge, illustrators. Setting Son. Nightwing. 30, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 30]

Divided into twenty issues and three annuals, the story explores the theme of identity from all angles, pushing Dick away from his comforts to dissect the different layers of his character. A hero, the end of the last issue seems to say, is the true answer to this difficult question.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Antonio, Roge, illustrator. Spiral’s End. Grayson. 20, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2016. Page 23]

And while that is undoubtedly true, each of the preceding nineteen issues elaborate on what traits can folded into a hero.

Dick is a storytelling, the first annual says;

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. A Story of Giants Big and Small. Grayson. Annual 01, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 11]

Dick is compassionate, the finale of Act I with the Paragon Brain proves;

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. Sin by Silence. Grayson. 07, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 19]

Dick is a partner.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. Nemesis Part Two. Grayson. 10, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 23 to 24]

I want to focus a little bit on that last one. Dick, after all, was created to be the perfect partner. In 1940, he was the sensational character find that became Batman’s other half, the missing element to his mythos. Move further along his history, and a diverse number of writers were compelled to team Dick with other characters — he’s the Titans’ leader, the missing third piece of the World’s Finest, Batgirl’s love interest.

Grayson, too, is interested in exploring this aspect of Dick Grayson. In its first act, it pairs him up with Helena Bertinelli, whose more experience, tragic background, and darker personality is meant to mirror Batman.

Tom King: For me, it seems to make so much sense because basically she almost has that Batman female origin. She shares that origin that Batman and Dick have of having gone through this violent period when she was young and coming out of that a hero. We wanted to play with that. We wanted to play with the dichotomy of what Barbara is in Dick's life versus what Helena is in Dick's life. Helena's much closer to what Batman is and much closer to the father figure Dick was related to, so I think that creates immediate tension and fun stuff we can play with.

[Katzman, Gregg. "Interview: Tom King & Tim Seeley Talk GRAYSON." Yahoo! News, 4 Jan. 2015. Accessed 8 Dec. 2024.]

In act two, he is paired up with Tiger King of Kandahar. In fact, there is a theme of duality and partnerships throughout Grayson, showing that this is a critical aspect of who is Dick Grayson.

The exception to this is Grayson #05.

A self-contained story, Grayson #05 isolates Dick to get to the core of who he is. By contrasting Dick with Helena and Midnighter, placing him in the unforgiving vastness of an infernal desert, and calling forth the tale of Robin Dies at Dawn, Grayson #05 presents us with a man who does not give up and does not give in. Dick walks, even if he must walk, at times, alone. When laid bare, without the trappings of a superhero identity or of a partner, Dick Grayson, Grayson #05 says, is, at the core of his being, a survivor.

In this meta, I want to see just exactly how Grayson #05 does that through a close reading of the issue.

Now, without any further delay, let’s get started.

Let’s start with the cover.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014]

Everything about this cover radiates heat. The sun is beaming down mercilessly, the spirals mimicking the sun rays, the color palette a strong orange that is highly saturated but not bright. The reader can feel how hot it is in this desert, and all around there's nothing but sand. Sand, sand everywhere the eyes can see, and in the center of the image, a lone black figure braving this infernal bare landscape.

This cover tells us not just the location of where the issue will be set, but it also shows that Dick will be alone out there. It tells us this will not be an action-filled story, but it will be one of survival. Man vs Nature, and nature does not discriminates with her ruthlessness. Dick stands alone facing the elements, but he stands. He is walking, he is not giving up. It would be so easy for this cover to have a close up of Dick's, Helena's, and Midnighter's exhausted expression as they each try to survive, but instead we just see Dick by himself, alone, walking. He does not give up, he does not give in. He survives.

The issue then opens in medias res, immediately presenting the readers with that main conflict: survival. It does not waste any time with unneeded exposition — after all, though Dick would hate this fact, we as readers do not need to know the name of the mother who is dying; we do not need to know the details of Minos’ mission before it all went wrong; we don’t even need to know how Midnighter managed to track Dick and Helena. All we need to know is that Dick and Helena, and Midnighter are all after the Paragon Heart, which belongs to the, as of this page, unborn baby; that ARGUS somehow tracked Midnighter who was fighting Dick for the Heart; and that mid-fight the mother went into labor.

There's an elegance in the way everything is conveyed so well and so quickly in this one page. It's brilliant storytelling from both a writing and a visual stand point.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 01]

As they crash into the desert, the mother passes away. ARGUS is gone, but our trio and the newborn baby girl are faced with a mightier enemy: The desert. The nearest town is days away, they do not have a lot of supplies, they do not have how to call for help. Here, we’re faced with this issue’s main question: Can they survive this? The answer seems to be resounding “no.”

Let’s take a look at how each of the characters approach this situation.

Helena is pragmatic. She is thinking of the mission, but her expression is troubled. She doesn't see a way out of this. She knows they have to survive long enough for Spyral to eventually find them, but the odds are against them. Given the fact she’s injured, it’s unlikely she’ll ever make it out of this desert. Still, that does not mean she’ll fall into despair. She'll do what needs to be done, but she knows this is not something they can easily get out of. If she goes down, she'll go down fighting. Like I said, she’s pragmatic.

Midnighter, on the other hand, is a pessimist. He is jaded. Why bother trying? Midnighter is a nihilist. “We’re dead,” he says not once, but twice.

Then we have Dick. Beautiful Dick, he holds the baby in his arm like she's the most precious thing in the world. And in this moment, she is. His reply to Midnighter is telling. They aren’t dead. They can't be, because if they are dead, then so is she, so death is not an option. It's not a question of what is practical, of what the mission is, of what the odds are. It's not about being an optimist, either. It's simply about her. She is all that matters and she is entirely dependent on them, so they can't be dead. They cannot let her die, this little innocent child who is not even an hour old. So what will they do instead? They’ll walk. They’ll survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014 Page 02-03]

The next page displays what will become the brilliant standard for this issue — open skies, sand, and small figures walking. Everything about it conveys this vastness that is so oppressive in its openness. It's the majesty of Mother Nature.

Note how tiny the figures are. Note how Dick leads the other two, not by a little, but by a lot. In his arms Dick holds the baby, nurses her with the formula from the mother’s bag. In the pages we see Helena struggling, Midnighter drinking water and shedding away his clothes, but Dick remains stoic. He leads, separated — isolated, distant — from the rest, determined, disappearing into the far orange of the page.

In this, we see Dick’s silent determination. It’s notable that he is not trying to make light of the situation through humor. Instead, he is silent. And he walks.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 04-05]

As the story continues, Midnighter’s pessimism deepens. It is notable that this issue is the first time Dick and Midnighter have seen each other since Grayson #01. And what does Midnighter do? He lashes out at Dick by revealing he knows who Dick is. This calls back to Forever Evil, where Dick’s identity was revealed to the world. Midnighter is weaponizing Dick’s trauma against him, trying to draw a reaction out of Dick. Not only that, he says that they only way to survive is to kill the baby and use the Paragon Heart. Otherwise, the odds are not in their favor, and he deems this "just walk" strategy is pointless. This is how Midnighter copes with the hopelessness of their situation — he dwells on the negative and lashes out.

Helena reacts to Midnighter by subduing the threat, but she doesn’t comment on his defeatist attitude. Nor on his plan. She is, again, practical. She won’t say they’ll make it, but she won’t allow Midnighter to pose a threat to the mission.

Dick, though… Not once does Dick acknowledge Midnighter’s taunting. Not once, not even to defend the baby. A weaker writer would have tried to get Dick to empathize with Midnighter, to tell him again that they're not dead yet, that they just need to keep trying. Instead, Dick’s refusal to even look at Midnighter shows how he won't even acknowledge the possibility of not surviving. His focus, instead, is all on her. That is what is driving him so that is what has his entire attention. Midnighter's temper tantrum is not even worth his time. Not when her survival is at stake.

I also want to take a moment to take in the environment. In this scene, the first panel shows how tiny the three of them are in the vast desert, the beautiful sky expanding above them. Mother Nature, the issue seems to say, is beautiful, worthy of awe. It is big, bigger than any human. More powerful, too. It is a challenge unlike any Dick has ever or will ever face. It cannot be charmed by him, it cannot be fought against, it cannot be conquered. It is not cruel or evil, either. It simply is, bare and uncomplicated, honest at all times. To survive her, Dick must also be the barest, least complicated version of his self.

While writing this, I often felt myself hesitating when writing about the conflict between Dick and desert. Phrases like “go against the desert,” often came to my tongue, and I had to swallow them back due to how wrong they felt. To “go against” someone (or something) is to have an antagonistic, adversarial relationship, and I’m not sure that is incredibly accurate to this scenario. The desert is indifferent towards Dick and the others. Midnighter speaks of fighting, of winning, of conquering this challenge, but Dick, by contrast, is quiet. He is not trying to “win” against the desert. That is not the right frame of mind. Rather, he is simply trying to survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 06 - 07]

As time passes, Midnighter continues to talk. To taunt. His negative attitude doesn’t light up, and he is still trying to get a reaction out of Dick. Here we see that Midnighter is perhaps not fully comfortable with his enhancements, like he doesn't see himself as fully human because of them. He resents them even as he trusts his enhancements more than he trusts his own abilities. He says he sees all outcomes and there are none where they survive this. Not as humans. Not without the Heart.

Note how Midnighter presents their situation as not about being tough, but about how much energy you have. This framing seems to reject the idea of survival — of “toughing it out” — and instead looks at their situation as one of victory and defeat — you have to have enough energy to make it out of the desert, and in doing so, you’ll be victorious.

Yet, Midnighter predicts himself to outlast Dick, but in reality, he falls before Dick does. This begs the question: Was Midnighter right? Must you defeat the desert and win against it in order to win?

Personally, I believe the story is saying “no.” This is not about victory and defeat, but about survival. And to survive, one must lay themselves bare of foolish things such as pride and ego. To survive, you must dig deeper within yourself, and find something that will allow you to not go against mother nature, but to continue walking along side her.

Dick has found his something deep within himself. That something is his compassion. Helena collapses, and Dick leaves with her his shirt, laying himself bare. Yet, despite his fallen partner, his priority is still the baby girl. He will survive for her, and in this action we see the depths of Dick’s compassion for others. He continues to walk. He continues to survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 08-10]

Finally, after days, Midnighter is confronted with the true force that is Dick Grayson. He was so certain he was going to outlast Dick. “I have… My… Enhancements. I have powers,” he struggles to say. But what does Dick have? How can a simple man continue to go against these conditions?

This page shows how deeply Midnighter underestimated Dick’s humanity and his compassion. Dick is not a superpowered individual, no, but Dick’s determination is unlike at other. This is who he is… Someone who walks.

Dick is a survivor. When Dick was a small boy, he lost his entire world in a traumatic act of violence. From the moment those ropes snapped and the Flying Graysons plunged to their deaths, Dick became a survivor — someone who had to figure out how to walk forward when everything seemed lost. And Dick did it.

If I can go on a bit of a tangent here, I’ll say that I really dislike whenever child heroes are characterized as child soldiers, be it by fans or by canon writers. This reading is, in my opinion, incredibly lazy and displays a lack of understanding of what superhero identities are meant to stand for. We can discuss the traumas that come along with being a child hero, but to dismiss it as a universally bad thing and equating to the real world horror of child soldiers ignores the fact that this is a fictional world in which the fantastical concepts act as metaphors for larger ideas.

Robin is not a child soldier. Robin, much like Batman, is a response to trauma. Specifically, Dick’s Robin is a response to the trauma of being a survivor of violent crime, and Robin demonstrates how a victim can regain agency and transform their tragedy into an empowering narrative. As Steve Braxi points out in his On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes essay, Batman “transform[s] trauma into will power,” and Dick, whose story is meant to mirror that of Bruce’s, does the exact same through Robin. Through Robin, Dick is able to not only find justice for his parents, but he is also to help other survivors like him. And that is what allows him to keep on walking.

This is what Grayson #05 demonstrates. It strips away the metaphor of the hero identities and the distraction of partnerships, laying Dick out bare and showing that as long as he can help someone, as long as he has his compassion, Dick Grayson can survive anything.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 12 - 13]

In the following page, the vastness of the desert is contrasted with close up shots of the baby. We see Dick, so impossibly small standing against a large desert that disappears into the horizon, and ocean of sand and oranges, and we see the whole reason why Dick is still alive. The environment that may kill him is contrasted with the reason why he will survive.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Dick tells the baby girl as she ceases her cries. “I’m still here.”

He gets up… And he walks. The repetitiveness of the action throughout the issue emphasizes the slog of the immediate aftermath of a traumatic event, those moments when you realize time is progressing forward as it always had, but your mind and heart are still stuck in that one moment that changed your life forever. All Dick can do is walk, walk, walk, yet he is still lost in this vast desert, the trauma is still overwhelming him, there’s no end in sight… But he does have his reason for not giving up — his compassion allows him to continue onward.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 14 - 15]

Robin Dies at Dawn is the title of Batman #156. In this two part story Batman finds himself in an alien planet filled with threats. Robin saves him from sentient, walking plants, and after escaping, they find a giant stone idol that comes to life and begins chasing them. They manage to leap over a deep fissure and realize that if the stone idol were to do the same, the unstable down would crumble and the stone idol would fall, securing their safety. As they wait for the idol, they see that it, too, realized the ground was unstable and it tries to figure out a safer passage to the other side. That’s when Robin provokes the stone idol, who, in fury, grabs a boulder to throw at Robin. Before it can do it, the floor crumbles and it falls, but boulder still hits Robin and kills him. Later, it is revealed that this was a hallucination induced by an experiment Batman subjected himself to meant to study the effects of loneliness in astronauts. Through the following days, Bruce has occasional hallucinations of alien creatures putting Dick in danger. It isn’t until Dick’s life is threatened by the Gorilla Gang that Bruce is able to “overcome” the lingering effects of the experiment, the threat to Dick’s life being enough to “shock” him back to normal.

[Finger, Bill; Boltinoff, Henry; Schiff, Jack, writers. Moldoff, Sheldon; Boltinoff, Henry, illustrators. Robin Dies at Dawn. Batman. 156, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1963. Page]

To the baby girl, Dick recounts this Golden Age story as if it were a dream, focusing on the part where the stone idol kills him with the boulder. In this tale, we go back to Robin, Dick’s first survival mechanism, and to the first person who first showed him compassion and to whom his survival was paramount — Batman.

Though so far Dick has rejected the idea of victory vs defeat, he presents the baby with a scenario where he is faced with such a conflict. Yet, in this case, to “go up against” the enemy is to call them forward so they will fall. Dick’s taunting leads the stone idol to it’s defeat, and this is the point which Dick says he wants the baby girl to focus on. You must welcome danger, he seems to say, and face it head on. You must walk forward instead of running away.

Yet, it is notable that the enemy is not the only one who is defeated in this story. After all, Dick “dies” at dawn. This is what Dick doesn’t want the baby to focus on, but I think it’s important in understanding this idea of survival. In the story, Dick sacrifices himself so Batman can escape. He goes up against an enemy, he achieves victory, but he does not survive. But, crucially important, Batman does.

This paints a picture where Dick's survival and his victory are not one and the same. Not the way Midnighter seemed to have believed. While Dick’s compassion is intrinsically tied to his status as a survivor of violence, this story seems to indicate that Dick will readily relinquish his own survival for the sake of someone else. In the framing of victories and defeats, other people’s safety -- other people's survival -- is Dick’s “win” condition.

This, I believe, demonstrates how Dick's compassion allows him to pass own his survivor status to others, even at the cost of his own life. By shielding them and giving them the opportunity to move past a trauma, Dick creates other survivors. He becomes their protector, their patron saint.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 16 - 18]

Dick Grayson is a lot of things, and he has numerous qualities. He is a partner, a hero, and a friend; he’s good, he’s funny, and he’s brave. While all of those are important aspects of his character, they can also distract from one characteristic that is crucial to Dick’s genesis.

Before he was Agent 37, before he was Nightwing, before he was Robin, Dick was a survivor. Having survived violence, Dick used his compassion to transform his trauma into power. Grayson #05 isolates Dick from the world, putting him in a dangerous and revealing desert to expose his ability to survive through his compassion. This, the story says, is who Dick at the core of his being, when stripped away from the distractions of partnerships and superhero metaphors. This is who Dick Grayson is: He is a man who walks.

Bibliography:

Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021

Finger, Bill; Boltinoff, Henry; Schiff, Jack, writers. Moldoff, Sheldon; Boltinoff, Henry, illustrators. Robin Dies at Dawn. Batman. 156, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1963

Katzman, Gregg. "Interview: Tom King & Tim Seeley Talk GRAYSON." Yahoo! News, 4 Jan. 2015. Accessed 8 Dec. 2024

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. A Story of Giants Big and Small. Grayson. Annual 01, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. Sin by Silence. Grayson. 07, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. Nemesis Part Two. Grayson. 10, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Antonio, Roge, illustrator. Spiral’s End. Grayson. 20, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2016

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim; Tynion IV, James, writers. Janin, Mikel; Hetrick, Meghan; Garron, Javier; Lucas Jorge, illustrators. Setting Son. Nightwing. 30, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

[sylvan-librarian]

Nissa Revane, William Wordsworth, and Me

Introduction:

We are not isolated individuals but an interconnected web. Part of embracing green's philosophy is understanding the importance of how each of us figures into the lives of the others. Grasping the role this larger group plays is a vital piece in understanding how the world works. - Mark Rosewater: “It’s Not Easy Being Green Revisited” … Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. - William Wordsworth: “Tintern Abbey” How wonderful there should be a thing we don't yet know. - Magic Creative Team: “Renewal” 

What do Nissa Revane, elf animist who had a good run in the 2010's as Magic’s iconic green planeswalker, William Wordsworth, nineteenth century British poet and the godfather of English Romanticism, and I, a mentally ill librarian who spends all his free time playing a children’s card game, all have in common? Not much, really. I’m neither a lesbian that wields earth-shaking magic nor am I the founder of a poetic movement that English majors still fawn over. However, thankfully for me, the human experience transcends time, gender, sexual preference, and even reality. There’s a lot to learn from both fiction and poetry, and I’m nothing if not a curious student. In particular, though, I’d like to talk about transitions. 

The past couple of years for me have been packed full of constant transitions: I had an emergency move away from the city I had built a life in, I finished a master’s degree in library science, and I began the long, arduous process of changing careers. Not every transition has been so traumatic, though, as I am also now in a joyful, peaceful relationship and have finally achieved a modicum of financial stability on my own terms.

Needless to say, these transitions have had me feeling introspective (even more so than usual), and I have found myself seriously wondering about my place in the world. That probably sounds dramatic (well, if the shoe fits), but as an elder millennial who was around to witness when the first acorn fell from the first tree and the first scene boy put on girl jeans to pair with his trucker’s hat, I honestly just kind of gave up on that brand of stability at some point; after all, I was fifteen on 9/11, nineteen and living in Louisiana when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and washed away whatever trust I had left in our institutions, and twenty-one when the Bush-era recession nailed my post-undergrad job prospects into a coffin. Of course, at the risk of sounding like I’m trying to appeal to your sense of pity, I’ll admit that today’s generation coming of age during Trump and and Covid have probably had it worse than I did and have also proven themselves much stronger and more resilient than I ever was, but nevertheless, a swirling concoction of circumstances and terrible mental health habits left me feeling for decades that I’d never have a place in the world to call many own.

All that said, in my attempt to carve out a life for myself and discover my role within my larger community, I started rereading Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats (the poets of English Romanticism were my favorite discovery as a literature student and some of the only writers I have carried with me beyond academia), since their poetry also dealt in themes of self-discovery, memory, and transition (also, their poetry is broody and navel-gazing - something I definitely relate with). However, as a Magic: The Gathering Vorthos with basic forest brainrot, I was also struck on this reread just how close my own experiences and the themes of the Romantic Poets mirrored how my favorite green characters from Magic fiction navigate their world. At first, I felt that this is fairly low-hanging fruit, since on the surface, themes like “finding yourself in nature,” “the rejection of social norms,” “celebrating your connections,” etc. are common enough to be found in all sorts of literature. However, the more I thought about it and connected the dots in my head, the more I realized just how much green’s themes in modern Magic fiction, particularly as expressed through Nissa Revane, helped me understand my own place in the world.

Indeed, while this essay grew out of the concept of tracing the similarities between Green Magic and Romantic Poetry (not the most riveting read for most of you, I’m sure), this particular tale kind of grew in the telling (to loot a phrase from Tolkien) until it became my own personal journal of self-discovery. If the entire m.o. of my online presence didn’t already give it away, my love of Nissa Revane - planeswalker, animist, green mage, icon - colors most of my thoughts about Magic: The Gathering, and this is no different. Compiling Nissa’s arc throughout Magic’s Story, synthesizing it with the things I love the most about the Romantic poets, and letting it stew around in my brain for the last year highlighted something of vital importance to me: the message, one that weaves its way throughout Nissa’s entire narrative, that personal growth means learning that the definitions I have held onto for my whole life - of myself, of other people, of even nature and the universe itself - are but a narrow, small part of a greater whole; that embracing healthy connection with the world around me and seeking to understand my place within it helped change parts of me that I thought were intrinsic to my very nature and helped me bloom into the best version of myself.

Part I: 

(me, trying to juggle graduate school and work)

Last year around this time, I found myself struggling. I was wrapping up my last full semester of my graduate program, failing miserably at balancing school and work, isolating myself from my friends because of how busy I was, and unhappy about living in Central Texas again after I swore I was done with the region. Throughout all of this, following Magic Story was a boon to my shocked nerves, though I rarely found time to follow it completely. It wasn’t pure joy, however, because as a result of stress mixed with the, at the time, untreated depression and anxiety, Nissa getting compleated - with “no way” of getting healed - during the “All Will Be One” story (not to mention that her tragic loss happened OFF SCREEN - the disrespect) severely bummed me out, so I tuned most the “March of the Machine” stories out to focus on wrapping up my semester. That is, I tuned it out until the final story, K. Arsenault Rivera’s “Rhythms of Life” was released in late March. Letting Chandra and a healed Nissa kiss at the end was a nice touch, but it was not for another month until we found out what happened to them after the climax of the Phyrexian stories.

When that month passed, however, on May 1, Grace P. Fong’s “She Who Breaks the World,” was released in tandem with previews for “March of the Machine: The Aftermath” products. Of course, I was going to like this story because I like Nissa and Chandra, and I have been a proponent of them being romantically involved since “Zendikar Resurgent,” but this story struck a deeper chord in me than I expected. I felt an immediate kinship with Fong’s representation of Nissa, a character who is also in a state of transition: in a place she doesn’t want to be, isolated from her friends and loved ones, and trying to redefine who she was after traumatic events left her floating listlessly throughout her world. 

The events of “All Will be One” and “March of the Machine,” after all, were Nissa’s darkest hours in a life full of dark hours. Her mind enslaved and her bodily autonomy stolen from her, Nissa was forced to do things in service to the Phyrexian matriarch Elesh Norn that horrified her. However, due to the nature of Phyrexian compleation — having her mind and body altered on a genetic level — she performed these actions in the moment with fanatical zeal, even pleasure. We are told in the first episode of the March of the Machine arc, “Triumph of the Fleshless” that Nissa “is the finest gift the Planeswalkers have given Phyrexia. Even standing at Norn's side, she can steer Realmbreaker's attention. To say nothing of her combat capabilities. If things continued at this rate she might overtake Tamiyo as Norn's favorite new servant.” Later on in “She Who Breaks the World,” while Nissa is reflecting on this, she notes that the alterations the Phyrexians made to her “granted her the ability to unleash a call through the branches of the Invasion Tree and speak the glory of Phyrexia to every plane in the Multiverse. And right now, Nissa is disgusted with herself because—despite her friends' sacrifices, despite Chandra's sacrifices—part of her misses hearing those planes.”

On the other side of these events, Nissa is mostly healed from what the Phyrexians did to her (outside of a metal cage imprisoning her chest and some scarring on her limbs where metal was grafted on), her mind is returned to her own control, and she and Chandra are finally sharing mutual love and affection instead of being mired in “will they/won’t they” hell like they had been for nearly a decade of Magic Story. However, the trauma of knowing, remembering, and feeling intimately all of the terrible things she did understandably leaves her feeling like an outcast among loved ones, and to make matters worse, she is now with a planeswalker spark, meaning she got depowered significantly and can no longer go back to her beloved Zendikar, her homeworld that she has a close intimate connection with. All this is to point out that Nissa finds herself in a spot where she has to completely redefine who she is. Nissa took great pride in being animist; now, she cannot hear the voice of the planes and her magic is basically useless. Nissa had previously discovered meaning for herself being a member of the Gatewatch: traveling the planes doing good where can and making connections with new worlds and interesting people; now, she is trapped on a plane that does not listen to her among people she very directly harmed when her mind and body were not her own. 

After a failed attempt to connect with the world of Zhalfir, Nissa begins to despair, believing that the planes have rejected her because all of the social connections she has made over the years. Nissa believes that “[s]he has spent so long connected to others that she has smothered her own connection to the Multiverse. Whether or not those bonds were made of her own volition, the planes have rejected her.” While she recognizes deep down, even if she can’t forgive herself for it just yet, that what happened while she was a Phyrexian wasn’t her fault, Nissa comes to believe that her original sin that led to this was in getting involved with the wider universe in the first place. She (and everybody who suffered from her actions as a Phyrexian) would be better off, she believes, if she had remained in her primordial, untarnished state of a champion of nature.

At this point in the narrative, Nissa’s experience reflects the way poets and writers of the Romantic Period mythologize their own world. Canadian literary critic and theorist Northrop Frye (a theorist who, truth be told, I disagree with in many respects, though his work on the Romantic Period is exhaustive and insightful) called this the “Romantic Myth.” In “A Study of English Romanticism,” Frye describes how the Romantic Myth delineates from traditional mythology:

In the older mythology the myth of creation is followed by a gigantic cyclical myth, outlined in the Bible, which begins with the fall of man, is followed by a symbolic vision of human history, under the names of Adam and Israel, and ends with the redemption of Adam and Israel by Christ. The two poles are the alienation myth of fall, the separation of man from God by sin, and the reconciling, identifying, or atoning myth of redemption which restores to man his forfeited inheritance. Translated into Romantic terms, this myth assumes a quite different shape. What corresponds to the older myth of an unfallen state, or lost paradise of Eden, is now a sense of an original identity between the individual man and nature which has been lost.

Ignoring, for a moment, the gender essentialism Frye uses, note how the lost Eden of the Romantic period was connection to nature itself. Joining society, spending precious hours having “dialogues of business, love, or strife” - all of these things are the sins that tear us away from our original, perfect self. William Wordsworth begins his “Ode: Intimations of Immortality” this way: 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,     The earth, and every common sight,                        To me did seem                    Apparelled in celestial light,          The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;—                    Turn wheresoe'er I may,                        By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

To the persona of Wordsworth’s poem, this sense of identity was lost in childhood; in Nissa’s head, she “smothered her own connection to the Multiverse” when she started to value her connections to other people — Chandra, the rest of the Gatewatch, Yahenni, and many others she let into her life — at the expense, apparently, of the natural world. What’s left for her except to turn back to nature and attempt to find herself again?

Part II:

(Nissa's oath to protect the life of "every plane" plays a huge role in her identity)

What does “finding herself” look like for Nissa, though? To answer that, let’s look at a few different things. Here, we’ll examine Nissa’s place as a green character in Magic’s color pie and pick apart the ludonarrative elements in Nissa’s card designs that informs how she approaches her idea of self.

Nissa is the only planeswalker of the original five Gatewatch to have cards that branch out to other colors. At heart, though, she is a green character. Even though she has some blue elements in her personality (curiosity) and black (the ambition to make her ideals reality, whatever the cost), Nissa’s heart is “green to the very door.” 

In his near ten year old article, Mark Rosewater writes this about the philosophy of Green: 

The natural order is a thing of beauty and has all the answers to life's problems. The key is learning to sit back and recognize what is right in front of you. Each individual is born with all the potential they need. The secret to a happy life is to recognize the role you were born into and then embrace it. Do what you were destined to do. The world is this elaborate system, and each one of us gets to play a part. And it's not something we have to guess about; it's imprinted on us, it's in our genes. Just look within.

It’s very easy to see Nissa in the first paragraph: even though she is a warrior out of necessity, she too craves peace and acceptance and this is revealed in one of her favorite hobbies: meditating. Nissa’s animist powers (more on that here) let her reach her consciousness into nature itself so that she can just exist among the wonders of life. Take note of this gorgeous passage near the end of “Renewal,” the last story of the Kaladesh block:

There were rivers in the air; they carried her like a mote of pollen. Great hearts were pounding in the deeps of the sky, singing slow symphonies of joy. Wordless, they expressed the sun breaking over the edge of clouds; the sharpness of stars over frosted peaks; the awareness of a new life growing within, nestled and patient, waiting for its first breath of radiance. She drifted bodiless among the singers, listening. Back and forth they called, echoing across cloud and current, composing shared dreams of weightlessness, rain, and memory. An eye the size of a house blinked. Radiant curiosity washed over her, like the return of sunlight from beyond the edge of all things. There is something new in our sky, it sang in language of sensation and vibrance; quickened heartbeats and quivering muscle; caught breath and a hundred shades of blue. How wonderful there should be a thing we don't yet know.

Nissa is an expert at recognizing “what is right in front of you,” though due to her connection to nature, “right in front of you” could mean just about anywhere on the plane itself. 

To cycle back to Rosewater’s statement, however, it’s important to take consideration of the fact that a green character does not just treat the wonders of the natural world as a conduit for inner peace, they also believe that the “secret to a happy life is to recognize the role you were born into and then embrace it. Do what you were destined to do.” What does Nissa believe the role she was born into is? What drives her throughout much of Magic’s narrative?

To put it simply, Nissa believes that she is the champion of nature itself, the chosen one of Zendikar’s worldsoul. Whenever she planeswalks to a new world, she adopts the worldsoul of the plane as her own; the first thing she usually does when touching down on new earth is to attempt to connect with the soul of the plane. Throughout whichever story arc she takes part in, she usually comes to see herself as the voice of that particular world and acts as its champion as well.

Let’s take a look at the second Innistrad block, for example. Even though her role in this story is quite small, this template still applies. Jace, after unraveling the mystery of what was happening on Innistrad, goes back to Zendikar to fetch the rest of the Gatewatch to help stop the rise of Emrakul. As she planeswalks to the battlefield, the “hill rumbled slightly, the only herald of Nissa's arrival. She frowned as she knelt down, placing her palm against the ground. ‘The mana here is dark. Twisted. It's in the soil, the trees...Emrakul did some of this, but’…‘This is your first time to Innistrad, right? “Dark and twisted” is kind of a regular feature,’ Jace continued.” 

Presumably at some point later on in the story, on the flavor text on the card Splendid Reclamation, Nissa says “No matter how much a plane has suffered, there is a way to restore it." Of course, this line appears nowhere in the story, but there has always been a conflict between what has been written in Magic fiction versus what is printed on the cards. Furthermore, it’s possible that this card was a bottom-up design with the mechanics designed first and Nissa pasted on later since there wasn’t another “green character who cares about lands” present during the battle against Emrakul. Either way, Nissa comes across as a character who sees herself as the champion of nature.

Nearly all other stories Nissa takes part in give her a similar arc. In "Amonkhet," she is the first to identify just how sick and distorted the world had become under Bolas’s influence, and after a trial with the ibis god Kefnet, she ends up believing that she set herself up as a rival to Bolas, able to manipulate the leylines and the gods attached to them just as efficiently as the dragon. During :War of the Spark," in a move that would earn her the disgust of the Selesnya guild, she animates Vito-Ghazi, the home of Ravnica’s worldsoul Mat'Selesnya, in order to fight against Bolas and the zombified gods. In "Zendikar Rising," Nissa’s journey takes front and center, with her conflict with Nahiri ending with Nissa as the one true savior and liberator of Zendikar. Her brief stint during the "Brothers' War" side stories end with Nissa swearing an oath to Gaea, the worldsoul of Dominaria, to personally destroy the Phyrexians herself, no matter the cost. 

Even while she was a Phyrexian during “All Will Be One” and “March of the Machine” and her mind not her own, Nissa follows a similar arc, though a twisted variation: after her capture and transformation, Nissa becomes the voice of Phyrexia, as the card All Will Be One showcases, proclaiming the plane’s glory and, through manipulating Realmbreaker (likely the single largest and most powerful living thing in existence at the time), sending “Phyrexian perfection coursing across the Multiverse.”

You can certainly see Nissa’s confidence in her station as the champion of worldsouls multiverse-wide in her cards: “Nissa, Voice of Zendikar,” “Nissa, Who Shakes the World,” “Nissa, Ascended Animist,” etc. All of these designs showcase Nissa’s might as a master of land magic. Loyalty abilities on these cards almost always animate a land into a creature that can then fight alongside her. The most powerful variation of this ability was on “Nissa, Who Shakes the World”:

On a narrative level, however, what these abilities showcase is that Nissa during this era saw herself as less a friend to nature than a master of it.

Fast forward to the aftermath of the Phyrexian invasion and Nissa is in a much different place mentally, emotionally, and even physically. As Nissa struggles to (literally) bury the physical remnants of what the Phyrexians did to her body, she feels an immense sense of loss that stems from more than just guilt. Fong describes it this way:

[Nissa] felt cut off, lost in the Multiverse with no voice calling her home. Maybe no plane would hear her ever again. They'd all lost their sparks, but only Nissa still wanted to planeswalk. Even if her friends seemed to be moving on without her, she still cared about their happiness. So not wanting to bring down the spirits of their celebration, she excused herself.

I recall seeing a few half-hearted takes on social media after this story was released expressing frustration that Nissa spent so much time in this narrative grappling with the harm that was done to her rather than acknowledging guilt for the harm she inadvertently did to others. First of all, she clearly does feel guilt for the harm Norn wrought through her:

[Her] copper skeleton is covered in mangled spikes, and those spikes are covered in the dried blood of her friends. She rubs one, and dark residue flakes off on her fingertips. She wonders whose blood it was. Maybe Koth? Maybe Wrenn? Maybe Chandra? Chandra. She had hurt Chandra, almost killed her.

Secondly, exploring Nissa as a green character shows us that Nissa has lived her life believing firmly that she was alive for a purpose: to be the voice of nature and act as its most ardent champion. However, now worldsouls won’t speak to her and her magic barely works at all. Her spirituality that drives her and her magical might that allows her to act in service of that spirituality have been unceremoniously ripped away from her. Everything Nissa has ever believed about herself has come dramatically (and traumatically) crashing down.

Nissa is a character whose entire system of beliefs has now been obliterated by her experiences, and as mentioned in the previous sections, she believes it was because her original mistake was in seeking her identity in her relationships with people rather than with her relationship with nature.

I asked at the end of part one, what’s left for Nissa except to turn back to nature and attempt to find herself again? Perhaps, however, a more apt question to ask is what’s left for Nissa at all? Yes, she and Chandra are (mostly) on the same page about their feelings for one another and yes, she is alive and physically healthy (though weakened and scarred), but notice that even if Nissa despairs about what she has lost, she shows little desire to go “back” to nature. Even though she believes with absolute certainty that “the planes have rejected her,” she stays true to her duty as one of the stronger warriors left among the surviving Mirrans; when faced with decision to either explore the brand new omenpath or to help the survivors, Fong writes, “as much as Nissa loathes to abandon the portal, she knows Koth is right. As much as the war took from her, others have lost even more. They need to help first.”

Though separated by over two-hundred years and in different genres altogether, what Nissa is going through reminds me of what Wordsworth writes in “Tintern Abbey”:

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.—I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more.

You see, Wordsworth — like Nissa, like me, and probably like you at some point in your life — found himself in the late 1700’s grieving a deep sense of loss as everything he believed in came crashing down around him. Spellbound by the fervor of Revolution-era France, he lived on the continent for years and had a child with a woman he fell in love with there, but France’s tense political relations with his home country and the Revolution descending into the Reign of Terror forced him to return to Britain. Witnessing what he saw as his utopian beliefs plummet to irredeemable violence utterly broke him (on a personal note, I likely have a different view than Wordsworth on the merits of putting aristocrats to the guillotine, but that’s another essay entirely), and — like Nissa, like most of us — had to rebuild himself from the ground up.

What a relatable human story, right? As someone who is closer to forty than he is thirty, I have stumbled upon this crossroads multiple times in my life. Years ago, it involved disentangling myself from my evangelical upbringing and accepting the fact that, though my parents and (just to give them the benefit of the doubt) many of the religious adults who helped raise me had my best intentions in mind, instructing an impressionable, vulnerable, and anxious child that deep down in the center of his being he is evil and deserves eternal torment for the crime of being born was pretty fucked up. It took years of therapy, medication, and daily affirmations to finally feel good about myself. More recently, as alluded to, going through a tough breakup, wrapping up a master’s degree, and beginning the process of changing careers all within the span of roughly two years left me scrambling in my pursuit to create a new self to be a better fit for my new circumstances.

What choices did I make at this crossroads? What about Nissa or Wordsworth?

Part III:

The answer to that question is that the three of us (Nissa, Wordsworth, and I) all came to similar conclusions. This answer is two-fold, and I hope you’re not expecting some life-altering nugget of wisdom here, because — true to the heart of a green mage — the first lesson we learned is, quite simply, the art of acceptance: acceptance of the world that is, not the world that was or the future world our anxiety creates in our mind. Rosewater writes,

Green wants acceptance.

The other colors are all focused on how they'd change the world to make it better. Green is the one color that doesn't want to change the world, because green is convinced that the world already got everything right. 

There is, of course, something to be said for improving your circumstances — especially if the environment around you is toxic — and the relentless ambition to mold your life into one you are happy with, but in Nissa’s case, what she needed most was to accept that she was living in a different world than was previously. Bereft of the planeswalker spark that gave her a sense of purpose and traumatized by remembering what she did when her body and mind were being puppeted by the Phyrexians, Nissa finally comes to understand and acknowledge her new place in her new world. 

Early on in Fong’s “She Who Breaks the World,” Nissa attempts to connect her soul to the leylines of Zhalfir, but instead of basking in the orchestra of the planes, the music is drowned in all of the other songs that have influenced her, her tune “muffled by dozens of new, alien voices she recognizes and despises: the Eldrazi, Bolas, and finally, loudest, Phyrexia.” This leads to her belief that was discussed previously that her original sin was embracing human connection instead of remaining the voice of Zendikar’s worldsoul. 

However, at the climax of the story, Nissa shares this struggle with Chandra when the two of them are trying to fight their way out of an impossible situation. A wild, out-of-control storm elemental was threatening the Mirran survivors of the Phyrexian invasion, and Nissa and Chandra were defending the populace against it. However, the two of them are not working well together, and the elemental manages to capitalize on their poor tactics and absorbs copious amounts of steam arising from a burnt baobab tree to become a colossal being whose head caresses the sky. After they get trapped in a hole with no way out, Chandra suggests a plan of attack reminiscent of the channel-fireball combo the two of them used to destroy Ulamog and Kozilek all the way back in “Oath of the Gatewatch,” and Nissa finally admits to Chandra that her magic no longer works and expresses her deep anxieties about why: “‘it's like my voice isn't my own,’” she admits. “‘Like it belongs to Phyrexia instead, like everything I've ever connected to is drowning me out.’”

Chandra, however, does not see it that way. Choosing, for once, to think before she talks (a skill she no doubt learned from her years around Nissa), eventually concludes “‘you know … you have good connections, too.’” She continues:

‘It's true—you did bad things while they had you. But everyone you've connected with over the years with the Gatewatch, we're just happy you're still here. With us.’ Chandra sets fire to a chunk of moist dirt that was about to fall on Nissa, turning it into a soft rain of ash. ‘With me.’ For the first time since she awoke in Zhalfir, Nissa smiles. Chandra, sweet Chandra, even if she doesn't realize it, has always understood and explained emotions better than Nissa ever could. Chandra continues, ‘Your connections aren't drowning your voice, Nissa. They're changing it into something new, maybe something even more powerful. Infinite voices, infinite possibilities, right?’

What Nissa needed was not to perform some kind dramatic penance or to reject society for asceticism once again but to simply accept that the world around her had changed, that she had changed. This fact is hammered home by the next section: agreeing to try connecting to Zhalfir’s worldsoul again, 

Nissa closes her eyes. She retreats inward and listens for her inner voice. It's hard, much harder than before, but Chandra is dutifully helping her concentrate, blasting the falling rock away before it can reach her. Nissa is greeted by ringing deep in her ears, but she refuses to be deterred. With her connections in mind, she picks the static apart into unique melodies, the individual songs she picked up from all around the Multiverse. She arranges them, harmonizes them, and this time, when she calls to Zhalfir, her voice is amplified in chorus. She offers an apology. The plane answers. It too was cut off from everything it knew, from the connections it had made. It, too, was scarred by Phyrexia and is growing into something new. It forgives her, and Nissa can finally forgive herself. Magic floods her flesh, her blood, her bone. She hears Chandra laugh, delighted by their success.

It’s only through accepting that her life now is different from what is used to be, through confessing that her priorities had changed, through acknowledging that presence of others in her life had made her stronger, and most importantly, through forgiving herself for what’s she did when her mind wasn’t her own that Nissa is able to reconnect to the source of her magic and her joy. 

Nissa learns to reinterpret her world in a new way. This can be seen in mechanical elements as well. Most of Nissa’s planeswalker cards have her manipulating lands, either by animating them into creatures to be controlled or by fetching them from the library. Nissa, Resurgent Animist, however - the first time she has been printed as a creature since the flip-walkers of 2015 - does not do any of those things. The text on this card reads:

Landfall — Whenever a land enters the battlefield under your control, add one mana of any color. Then if this is the second time this ability has resolved this turn, reveal cards from the top of your library until you reveal an Elf or Elemental card. Put that card into your hand and the rest on the bottom of your library in a random order.

The act of playing a land during the narrative of a game of Magic is the act of a planeswalker establishing a mana bond with a certain place in the multiverse. ‘Mana bond’ is a term almost never used in Magic fiction anymore, but as far as I know, it has not been retconned either. Even if not explicitly stated, there are nods to the act of creating mana bonds throughout the tie-in fiction. Look at this section from “Nissa’s Origin: Home,” for example:

As they picked their way deeper into the marshland, Nissa formed a connection with it. She saw the beauty in the moss-laden trees, felt the magic in the mists that rose up from the brackish waters, and swayed to the song of the swarms of lion flies that circled them. She never would have believed a bog had so much to offer.

In the narrative of a game, this paragraph would simply read “Nissa plays a swamp.” Explicit or not, establishing a mana bond with a particular piece of geography means that the planeswalker can, among other things, draw mana from that place no matter where in the multiverse they are. This is why, flavorfully, a player can play Ravnica shock lands alongside Tarkir fetch lands: in the narrative of a game, your planeswalker avatar has gone to these places and forged a bond with those pieces of land.

To cycle back to the card, however, instead of manipulating the land itself, having Nissa, Resurgent Animist alongside the player allows them to, firstly, hypercharge their link to the lands they play, giving the player extra mana for the act of forming connections with lands. Secondly, the player forming connections with as many lands as possible in a single turn (two in this case) allows Nissa to discover other creatures to fight alongside them. Instead of being the champion of all nature, Nissa now fights alongside nature as an ally rather than a general. This makes it all the more fitting that according to the “Aftermath Set Design” article published last year, the original name for this card during the design process was “Nissa, Friend to Nature.”

The journey Nissa goes on lets her reinterpret herself from champion to friend, but celebrating things others consider dark and reinterpreting the world in a way to showcase its beauty was close to the heart of many Romantic Poets as well. In “To Autumn,” John Keats celebrates the season of change, a season so often characterized as a time of preparation and vigilance for the coming winter. Keats writes,

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,    And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn    Among the river sallows, borne aloft       Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies

Keats argues that we should not characterize an entire season through the lens of humanity. Instead of pining for spring, we should live in the moment and appreciate what fall offers us. Similarly, Nissa learns to appreciate the current, sparkless season of her life with Chandra instead pining for the life that was.

Keats again argues this in “Ode to a Nightingale”; a creature poets often infuse with sadness is only that way, he argues, because of how it is interpreted:

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!          No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard          In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path          Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,                 She stood in tears amid the alien corn

 “Thou wast not born for death,” Keats writes, meaning that the nightingale is not infused with sadness by nature, but only because that’s the emotion humans have assigned to it. Nissa too learns to stop infusing her world with despair by labeling herself as powerless, damaged, and guilty, instead choosing to enjoy the moment she is in.

It is through accepting that age and experience has changed how he views the world that Wordsworth also is able to move forward. Instead of treating nature as his “all in all,” he writes,

For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man

Instead of nature being the only thing in his life, nature is now simply one of the important things in his life, a feeling too that Nissa wrestles with. Instead of hearing only the song of the leylines, the worldsoul’s tune is now just one of many melodies she sings.

Acceptance is a song I too have been singing. As a staunch leftist, living in Central Texas is not particularly suited to me, and I have left here once before. Swearing never to move back, I moved away in the 2010’s for a relationship with a woman that ended up failing some years later. Financially desperate, broken emotionally, in the middle of a graduate degree, and not having anywhere else to go, I moved back to Waco to live cheaply, wrap up my online library science degree, and re-constitute my support network. It was not easy reacclimating to life here. Though I love the people I know in the area, I felt then and still feel now haunted by the ghosts of old memories, all of which had become flavored by loss. After I finished my degree in mid-2023, it did not get much better; even though I’d become ambitious and committed to looking for work elsewhere, the job market for librarians kept me here (entry-salary positions asking for five years of experience and all that). Note that for as much as change scares me, I had dared to face those fears and dared to dream only for it to come to nothing - not an uncommon story these days, I’m afraid.

Now, however, I’m working at the public library in Temple, Texas (close enough to Waco to commute) and settled myself down for the time being. Composing a new rhythm for my life has drastically helped heal the damage that almost three years of rejection, chaos, instability, depression, and anxiety wreaked on me, but that journey began, I think, with acceptance. I’m not currently where I want to end up, but despite what my anxiety and self-doubt tell me, that’s okay. I had to accept that this is where I am at in my life right now, confess that my ambitious priorities were probably going to be achieved at a much slower rate than I had hoped, acknowledge that people in my life made me stronger, and most importantly, forgive myself for the many mistakes I made over the past three years. Only then was I able to truly move forward. 

The second lesson we all learned was to embrace connection with people in our lives rather than reject it. In Nissa’s case, as previously alluded to, part of the process of accepting where she is at in life involved understanding that becoming part of the Gatewatch pursuing romance with Chandra had made her better and happier than she had been before. Once that hurdle was crossed, Nissa was able to come to terms with just how different Chandra is from Nissa in how she thinks, feels, and loves. Chandra tells Nissa:

I realized I can't just burn through any relationship I care about. Love leaves room for the other person to be who they are. I have to make room for you, too. I want to." "Like fire needs oxygen . . ." Nissa asks her final question. "You have room for someone who can't planeswalk?" "Yes. I'll make it. I will falter, I will be tempted, but I will make it. Fire's going to burn, no matter what you do, but you can shape it if you try. And I want to try. For you." Nissa thinks for a moment. Finally, she nods. "I can handle that."

Later on, Nissa describes the omenpath she ran into earlier:

“I think I can still hear Zendikar out there, strange and distorted, but possibly still out there. I could just be imagining it completely, but I think I would risk that unknown to see home again." Chandra nods firmly. "And I'll be walking right alongside you." Every Planeswalker can go anywhere they want, but Nissa recognizes Chandra's need to roam runs deeper than that. It's part of who she is, and part of what Nissa loves. So Nissa offers, "Maybe, after that, I wouldn't mind seeing more. As long as it's with you." Chandra breaks into a wide smile. "Let me be your torch, then.”

Compromise is an important part of any relationship, and through embracing change in her life rather than running from it, Nissa is finally able to compromise with Chandra in a way that should fulfill both them - something Nissa has clearly wanted since at least the Kaladesh arc (though I would argue these feelings began long before that). Pursuing connection and intimacy with Chandra at this crossroads allows Nissa to blossom into a much happier and more self-actualized character than she has been in Magic fiction so far. Once, back in “Renewal,” the last story of the “Aether Revolt” arc, Nissa - deep in meditation and basking in her connection with the worldsoul of Kaladesh - watches the birth of a new aetherborn and ponders:

How could she tell this new life to laugh and weep without reservation or regret; to sing to the stars and waters, or to nothing at all; to love unreserved and unguarded; to treasure every moment with those beloved; to forgive any regretted trespass; to dance when moved to; to savor long silences in warm company; to greet each dawn, each face with the thought, this will be an adventure; to be brave, and kind, and trusting, and... ...like Chandra.

Years later, Nissa has finally learned to be more like Chandra, and she is better for it.

For his part, Wordsworth famously had a great relationship with his sister Dorothy, and part of the change he embraces throughout “Tintern Abbey” involves reclaiming himself through her:

…in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! 

Earlier in the poem, Wordsworth lamented that he could not “paint / What then I was.” In this passage, Wordsworth finally finds himself again through communion with his oldest and dearest friend.

As for me, I’m in a happy romantic relationship again after years of trying to rebuild myself. Additionally I've made friends with people I wanted to meet, and I’ve managed to carve out a small niche for myself in my own small corner of the world: I realized last summer that I thought about Magic: The Gathering in a much different way than many of my local friends do. As a game that occupies much of my social life and possibly more of my internal life, I searched for an outlet for these thoughts, and that led me here, where I’ve made good friends and joined an online community that I once looked at from afar. If you’re reading this, thanks! I’m happy to be here and to know you.

Conclusion

Relearning ourselves, redefining ourselves, and finding a place for ourselves is a journey most of us must embark, whether of our own volition or not. I’m certainly not a master of this process, so I’d like to leave you with the following thoughts:

One of the more, well, magical things about Magic The Gathering’s tie-in fiction is the fact that you could put just about any character from across the entire history of the game into a random number (character?) generator and the character that gets selected will be near and dear to some Magic player’s heart. In a game as wide and varied as Magic, there is a massive range of experiences portrayed throughout the stories that someone will personally identify with. I’ve seen communities big and small form around fans’ shared love of popular characters like Liliana, Vraska, Oko, and the entire concept of Phyrexians, but also less commonly known characters like Kallist Rhoka (who doesn’t even have a card) and less commonly liked characters (if we’re using loud people on the internet as a gauge) like Jace, Nahiri, and yes, even Nissa.

The biggest lesson I learned from my time as an English major (whether my professors meant for me to learn that is another thing entirely) was that there is no such thing as good and bad literature; there is just literature. Magic story has varied in quality drastically over the years, but one of my main reasons for writing this piece is to emphasize that Magic fiction has a place in the world of literature. It’s not likely to be studied by English students decades from now, but that says nothing about its ability to delight, upset, soothe, and even instruct those of us who enjoy it.

As for myself, I’m eternally grateful to writers who have picked up the task of writing Nissa over the years, because even when she is written poorly (ignoring that one instance where her characterization was butchered beyond recognition), I see much of myself reflected in her deep sense of conviction, in her struggle to express true feelings to people she loves, in her obsessive loyalty to those she lets into her life, in her adoration of the natural world, and even in her love of music. More specifically, I’m especially grateful to Fong and the story team behind “March of the Machine: The Aftermath” for giving me exactly the right Nissa story for exactly the right time in my life.

Whichever omenpath you personally are crossing through, I hope that you find what you need to come out of the other side of it happy, healthy, and ready for the next adventure.

References

Davidson, Nik. (2016). Battle of Thraben. 

Fong, Grace P. (2023). She Who Breaks the World. 

Frye, Northrop. (1968). A Study of English Romanticism.

Humphreys, Dave. (2023). Leading March of the Machine: The Aftermath Set Design 

Keats, John. (1819). Ode to a Nightingale.

Keats, John. (1820). To Autumn.

Kreines, Kimberly J. (2015). Nissa's Origin: Home.

Magic Creative Team. (2017). Renewal. 

Rivera, K. Arsenault. (2023). March of the Machine | Episode 1: Triumph of the Fleshless. 

Rosewater, Mark. (2015). It's Not Easy Being Green Revisited. 

Wordsworth, William. (1798). Lines Written (or Composed) a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798. 

Wordsworth, William. (1807). Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. 

[hotvintagepoll]

tossing in a new pitch for new How to Marry a Millionare casting— Sophie Turner, Ayo Edebri, Jasmin Savoy Brown. I don’t know which is which to be perfectly honest. We have to make at least one of them gay. Women can be millionaires too!!

I was realizing, as another anon kind of alluded to, that I can’t think of that many actresses now who are as young as the original trio with as much like star power and to an extent acclaim as the original trio (at least, not as much in film, maybe more in television). Idk if that’s a product of my retroactive view of especially Marilyn and Lauren as huge Hollywood icons (though they were both already big when the movie came out) or like. Maybe we’re cooler with somewhat older women now? Though I’m not sure if that’s all that true. Or the movie/tv differential… idk!!

Great list! And yes, we're making the new one gay. And on your second point, I think the early 20th century had a different approach to early-twenties people than we have today—I think there was more of an assumption you'd be a full-flown adult by nineteen back then, so fully diving into a career or a marriage and what have you, whereas nowadays society lets you age a bit slower, and doesn't expect you to be fully grown up in your early twenties. (I think. This isn't a full fledged idea.)

[definegodliness]

Richard C. Garamond, Private Eye

(...)

Persephone pulled out a cigarette from an ornamental silver box she had stashed in the pocket of her army coat, loosely draped over my run-down Chesterfield. I got my hands on that iconic piece of English furniture when I helped Gertrude, my upstairs neighbour, move into her appartement. The smell came out all right, and after some saddle soap the quality leather had somewhat recovered from the years and years of abuse as a cat claw sharpener, so that now the chair emitted my much desired air of sophistication, when glanced at for a short second through your eyelashes.

I watched her glossy black nails rummage through the ornamental silver box, a fascinating spectacle. Her middle and index finger lithely flicked over the rolling white cylinders, as if pale legs in a cancan dance, while she held the cigarette of her choice still between her ring and pinkie finger like a straight cane: 'Hello, my baby, hello, my honey, hello, my ragtime gal…'

The dance was over when she had exposed the slender Bakelite tube, a cigarette holder, and pinched it from under the insubordinately rolling ivory columns. At that she slammed shut the silver box and ended my entrancement. Only just in time for me to intervene as she had already tucked her cigarette and was bringing the slender Bakelite tube to her luscious lips' soft pink.

I said:

"Madam, you can't just go out and smoke like it's the nineteen twenties in here!"

She lifted her hand flat in apology, took the cigarette from its holder, and pulled up a surprisingly bourgeois neon green Bic lighter. I had expected a silver Zippo with some sort of historical relevance, or, no, matches, in fact, but it was a Bic lighter. Hers must have had a plastic wrapping at some point, with some kind of frivolous Hallmark post card-esque design, and I would have loved to have known what would have been the design of her choice. That being said, the deeply ingrained beer cap scratch marks at the lighter's bottom already told a story of their own.

Persephone lit her cigarette, and with a sigh exhaled a big puff of thick blue smoke that swiftly expanded across the room, scattered by the docile zephyr of my slowly turning ceiling fan.

I said:

"Better."

I love the classics, but I draw the line at a cigarette holder. That's just pretentious. So, anyway, I opened my bar globe and poured us both a snifter of fine cognac, then turned the volume down on the crackling vinyl playing the USC Trojan Marching Band's rendition of Air's Moon Safari, and gesticulated Persephone to state the intent of her welcome. She tardily swirled the deep amber coloured eau de vie in her glass, and puckered her lips pensively. Then, her Beau blue eyes turned distant.

"Mister Garamond, it's about my husband…"

As the last word rolled off her tongue, and lingered, her gaze all of the sudden turned penetratingly clandestine. I could feel an odd sensation in my gut that held the middle between thrill and fear. In hindsight, I should have pulled my hands from The Case of Persephone that instant. But I didn't.

[simmingwithabs]

day one: neo soul/boho

day two: black panther

day three: 70s

day five: afro futuristic

day six: hoochie mama

day seven: grunge

day eight: 00s

day nine: dark academia

day ten: streetwear

day eleven: bougie

day twelve: vixen

day thirteen: alternative

day fourteen: anything (I picked haute couture)

day fifteen: black sitcom (miss Hilary Banks from Prince of Bel Air)

day sixteen: 90s (inspired by Nia Long)

day seventeen: coquette

day eighteen: royal

day nineteen: city girl

day twenty: old hollywood

day twenty-two: black icon (Rihanna at the iHeartRadio Awards 2015)

day twenty three: church

day twenty-four: model

day twenty-five: carnival

day twenty seven: old money

day twenty-eight: cottagecore

day twenty-nine: preppy

hello everyone, this is my very, very late BHM CAS challenge post. it took me all of a week and half to complete this with Sims nightmare - ish updates and my game constantly crashing leading me to redo most of the outfits, which was very much a big struggle.

I'd like to give credit to @tetesimsT and @sisisimss for starting this challenge, giving us the chance to shine during a month dedicated to black excellence.

thank you to creators such as @serenity-cc, @sentate, @dreamgirl, @jius-sims, @sheabuttyr, @arethabee, @aharris00britney, @simstrouble, @gorillax3-cc, @seoulsoul-sims, @greenllamas, @charonlee, @christopher067 and many more for their incredible work with their beautiful custom content.!

also would like to thank @helgatisha for the in cas poses, I love them!

love to send a shout out to my friends @simmervlogs, @victoriaplays, for all the love and support. I appreciate you guys so much.

[anitalenia]

hiii i was wondering how you get ur post texts to be pastel pink :) instead of this hot pink

Hiii 💕💕 okay so it actually has to do with coding 😭 I’ll try my best to explain. So basically, I go to this website ( https://jsfiddle.net ), this is where you can make any color text you want.

— STEPS BELOW —

Step One: So, once you’re there you’ll see this screen, I’m on mobile so it might look a lil different.

Step Two: Once there, you’ll go to the right side where the text boxes are.

Step Three: In the top box, you’ll want to type in whatever text you want to make a different color.

Step Four: Next, where the red and green color dots are, click on the red dot. This is going to be where the color starts. You can make the text whatever color you want.

note: you can make your text gradient, as in two different colors. I make my text just one color ( that pale pink color ), which means both the red and green dot must be the same color. For gradient, the red and green need to be whatever two colors you want to make gradient. For example, if you wanted to do yellow and purple gradient text, change the red to the color yellow and the green to the color purple.

*FFE5FA is the color of my pink text.

Step Five: After you’ve changed the color, hit the run button in between the text boxes.

Step Six: Once you’ve hit run, the text box below will generate the coding for your colored text.

Step Seven: Once it’s there, you’ll want to click on it and hit the ‘select all’ button.

note: I am using this on an iPhone, so it may very on a Samsung or computer. Just make sure you copy the whole thing of code

Step Eight: Once you’ve hit select all, hit the copy button

Step Nine: So now the text should be copied to clipboard and available to past where ever you want. After that, and this is an important detail or else it won’t work, you have to go to Tumblr Online, not the app.

Step Ten: Once you’re on tumblr, go to make a new post.

Step Eleven: Once you make the next post, you’ll want to go to the top right corner and click on the settings icon

Step Twelve: You should see a screen like the one below. At the bottom of that pop up where it says TEXT EDITOR, the icon next to it should say Rich Text.

Step Thirteen: Click on the Rich Text box, and options should pop up saying, Rich Text, HTML, Markdown

Step Fourteen: Click the HTML option

Step Fifteen: You should see this screen next

Step Sixteen: You’ll want to paste the HTML code you just copied next to or after the code already there like this

Step Seventeen: Okay then you’ll want to make sure it’s saved as a draft

note: if you go to your drafts first and then create a new post, then it should automatically have the save as draft option at the bottom. It’s quicker than doing it like normal and having to select save as draft.

Step Eighteen: It should look like this now

Step Nineteen: Congratulations! You’ve done the hard part. Now go back to mobile or the app because it’s easier for these next steps in my opinion.

Step Twenty: In the app, go to that saved draft and make the text bold if you so choose, it makes it stand out more that way

Extras: you only need to make one colored text when you make a post, which means you don’t need to go through that whole process for each line/word you want to make colored.

— just type whatever words you want colored next to the already colored text, then move it down a space.

— however, once you delete that line of colored text it cannot be recovered, you’d have to go through this process again.

ANYWAY, I hope this helped. I tried to make it as step-by-step as possible. 😁😁💕💕

[hollywocd]

nineteen to twenty like or reblog if you use them

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content (video of female masturbation, male masturbation), mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy.

The room is filled with the soft glow of their phone screens, illuminating each face in the dimly lit apartment. The air is warm, thick with a quiet that wraps around them like a blanket—a comfort despite the undercurrent of unspoken tension that has lingered since the night before.

For once, they are not creating but consuming, fingers lazily scrolling through feeds and messages, the world outside their walls momentarily forgotten. It's a rare reprieve from the constant hum of production—the filming, the editing, the brainstorming of ideas that usually consumes their every waking moment. But tonight, it is just them.

Sirius lounges on the couch, his long legs draped over James's lap. His head rests against the armrest, one hand absentmindedly playing with the fringe of the throw pillow beneath him. Remus sits across from them, curled up in an armchair, a mug of tea steaming gently beside him as he reads something off his screen.

"Anything interesting?" Sirius asks without lifting his gaze from his own device. His voice is low, almost indifferent, belying the restless energy that always seems to simmer beneath his calm exterior. Always looking, always reaching for something—distraction, validation, connection—it doesn't matter as long as it fills the void.

James doesn't answer immediately, his thumb hovering over a new notification. A familiar username flashes across his screen, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him, quickening his pulse. He swipes it open, and there you are.

"Yeah," James says, sitting up a little straighter. "From her."

This draws Sirius's attention. He shifts, removing his feet from James's lap to sit upright, his gaze already moving to catch a glimpse of the message on James's screen. Even Remus looks up, though he says nothing, observing with that quiet intensity of his.

"What does she say?" Sirius asks, leaning closer.

James opens the message, and there it is—your latest pay-per-view, delivered through DMs, accompanied by a simple, teasing note: A little spontaneous self-love 💋 - $20.

"Listen to this," James murmurs, his voice rich with anticipation as he reads aloud, "A little spontaneous self-love." His words hang in the air, charged with promise, and though he knows it's a PPV, he can't help but feel his pulse quicken at the thought of what images might await behind that price tag. He'd willingly pay double for the privilege of seeing more of you.

Sirius lets out a low whistle, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Spontaneous, huh? Wonder what got her all hot and bothered."

Remus merely raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. But James catches the flicker of interest in those amber eyes, a subtle tell that betrays his stoic facade; Remus might be the picture of restraint, yet beneath that calm surface, curiosity stirs and there’s no hiding it from James.

James doesn't hesitate. He clicks on the message, quickly paying the $20. His movements are swift, almost desperate, as if he fears the video will disappear before he can claim it. The transaction goes through, and the lock icon next to the video turns green. Unlocked.

"Ready?" James's voice is hoarse with anticipation. It's a redundant question—he knows they're ready. They've been waiting for something like this since they first discovered your page.

Sirius leans in, eyes glued to the screen, while Remus perches on the arm of the sofa, his usual composure giving way to a hint of eagerness. James hits play, and the video begins.

There you are. Framed perfectly within the confines of the screen, you lie back against your bed, the soft light casting shadows across your bare skin. There's nothing left to the imagination now—every curve, every line of your body is on full display—but it's the way you touch yourself that draws them in further. Your hands explore with a slow, deliberate pace that leaves nothing untouched, and the camera, unflinching, records every sigh, every shudder.

James's eyes remain glued to the screen, his breath hitching as he watches you take the dildo in hand. You're gentle with yourself, guiding the tip to your entrance and pushing it in slowly, deliberately. His heart pounds in his chest as he takes in every detail—the way your muscles tense, then relax; the little gasp that escapes your lips.

Then, you reach for the vibrator. It's small but powerful, and as you press it against your clit, James can't help but imagine what the sensation must feel like. Witnessing this intimate act, seeing you so lost in your own pleasure, sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his trousers suddenly too tight.

"Fuck," Sirius murmurs, his voice a low growl. He's already moving, hands reaching for the buckle of his belt. There's no hesitation in his actions—Sirius Black has never been one to deny himself what he wants when he wants it. And right now, what he wants is release.

James glances up at Remus, his eyes also locked onto the screen. He sees the subtle clench of Remus's jaw, the faint flush on his cheeks, and recognises them for what they are. Restraint, and barely held restraint at the.

"She's…" Remus starts, voice barely above a whisper, but he doesn't need to finish. The sentiment hangs in the air, understood by all.

"Yeah," James agrees, his own throat dry. This video feels different from the others—less staged, more intimate. As if you'd simply set up the camera and let whatever happened next unfold naturally. That thought alone makes his heart pound harder against his ribs.

The tempo quickens, your hips tilting with a sharpness that betrays the urgency in your movements. Your hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white against the dark fabric. The sounds you make—soft moans that grow louder, more desperate—are all the proof they need of the pleasure coursing through you. You're on the brink, teetering on the edge of release, and that's what keeps them riveted to the screen.

A heat stirs low in James' belly, winding tighter with each passing second. His hand twitches toward his lap, seeking relief from the pressure building within him. He unzips his jeans, taking himself in hand without a second thought for the presence of Sirius and Remus. This is nothing new to them; it's part of the intimacy they've built over time, a testament to the trust and understanding that binds them together. And in this moment, it feels right, as if they're reaching out across the distance to share in your pleasure.

Sirius is already there, his own hand moving in a slow rhythm that mirrors your pace. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he watches the video play out. There's a hunger there that James recognizes, one that has always set Sirius apart. Out of all of them, Sirius has been the most expressive about his admiration for your work, and seeing him so visibly affected by you only adds fuel to the fire smouldering within James.

Remus, however, still holds himself in check, but James isn't fooled. He sees the way Remus's eyes darken, how his breath hitches just slightly when you come into view, your body quivering as you ride out your climax. The sound of your soft, pleading moan fills the room, and James swallows hard, his own body responding as he follows Sirius's lead.

The tension between them is almost palpable, a current of anticipation that charges the air. They've watched countless videos together before, but this… this feels different. More intimate. Perhaps it's because they've been following you for so long, tracing the curve of your journey even as they remained shadows on the periphery. Or maybe it's the way you responded to their messages, teasing and tantalising, playing into their fantasy until it felt like this video was made just for them.

James's hand moves in a steady rhythm, his breath hitching as he watches you on screen. The sight of your pleasure, the sounds of your satisfaction—it's intoxicating. And even though you can't touch him, can't see him, he feels intimately connected to you in this moment.

You're coming down from your high, body still twitching with aftershocks as you slowly pull the dildo out, your legs quivering from the intensity of your orgasm. Seeing you so raw, so undone—it makes his own release feel imminent, pushing at the edge of his control.

"Fuck," Sirius groans next to him, his own hand moving faster now, his body taut with the strain of holding back. His eyes are glued to the screen, watching every detail unfold, and when he speaks next, his voice is a low rasp. "She's… incredible."

James doesn't trust himself to respond, the pressure growing more insistent with each passing second. He knows he's close, but he also knows that Sirius is right there with him, teetering on the brink.

Even Remus, usually the most composed among them, has abandoned any pretense of restraint. His own hand dips below the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the quickened pace of his breath. He's quieter than the others, his moans swallowed by the night, but the desire in his gaze is just as potent as he watches you on the screen.

It doesn't take much longer after that. James's hand becomes a blur of motion, and his breathing grows ragged as he finally lets go, body straining against the back of the couch as he finishes, a low groan escaping from deep within his chest as he keeps his gaze fixed on the screen. Sirius is right behind him, body stiffening as he curses through gritted teeth, eyes rolling back into his head as he comes undone.

Remus is quieter, but James can tell he's just as affected by the way his body goes rigid and his breath hitches in his throat. It's rare for them to be so in sync, but when it happens, it's nothing short of powerful.

The video ends just as they're all coming down from their highs, with your body relaxed and satisfied on the screen, a soft smile playing on your lips. It feels like the perfect ending to an unexpectedly intense moment, and the room falls silent for a few beats as they each struggle to catch their breath.

Sirius is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky. "Fucking hell," he breathes, leaning back into the plush couch, his body humming with a satisfaction that he wears like a second skin. "That was…"

James can only nod in agreement, his heart still racing from the rush of release. His muscles feel warm and loose, languid in the aftermath of his orgasm. "She's incredible," he manages to say, though the words don't seem nearly enough to capture the depth of what he's feeling.

Remus doesn't speak, but the quiet intensity in his gaze as it remains fixed on the screen speaks volumes. He sits back, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, the lines of his body relaxed yet charged with an undercurrent of desire. His lips curve into a faint smile, not quite smug but undeniably pleased.

For a few beats, no one says anything else. They simply sit there, the air between them heavy with the shared experience of release and the lingering echo of your voice in their ears. It's a rarity for all three to be so visibly affected, so captivated by one woman, but it's undeniable—you've reeled them in, hook, line, and sinker.

His fingers hover over the screen, still warm from the video that has just ended. He reads your message again, the words teasing at the edges of his mind. "A little spontaneous self-love," you had called it, but he can't help but wonder if there was more to it than that. If maybe, just maybe, you had made this video with him in mind.

ProngsPlayground_free: Just watched this… and damn, it was exactly what we needed. Whether it was spontaneous or not, you've got us all hooked. 😉 We're definitely addicted now.

His fingers hover over the keys as he imagines your reaction. He's not usually so bold, but the way the three of them were drawn to you, compelled by your presence even through a screen, emboldens him. You're no longer a stranger—not after the nights spent replying to your messages, each one laced with just enough intrigue to keep them coming back for more. With a final tap, he hits send and leans back in his chair, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Sirius senses the shift and turns his head slightly, just enough to catch the tail end of James's expression. "What did you say?"

"Only that we quite enjoyed her… spontaneous creativity," James replies, his grin broadening as he runs a hand through his already tousled hair.

Sirius chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "Always the charmer, aren't you, Prongs?"

James simply shrugs, his smile unwavering. "Just stating the obvious, Padfoot. She should know the effect she's having."

Remus, who has been conspicuously quiet, finally breaks his silence. His voice is measured, but there's an undercurrent of something deeper, more profound. "It's not just about the effect, though, is it?" He shifts slightly, fingers absently straightening the wrinkles in his shirt. "She's good at what she does—remarkably so."

"Good?" Sirius echoes, his grin broadening until it's a mirror of James's own. "Rem, that's an understatement. She's bloody brilliant. Did you see how she—"

He cuts himself off with a laugh, shaking his head as if to clear it. "No, 'brilliant' doesn't even begin to cover it."

James' fingers tap absently on his phone, his mind already scrolling through the messages from subscribers on their OnlyFans pages. It's strange, this balance they've found between being creators and consumers. They're always mindful of their own content, managing messages and comments with a professional ease that belies the hours spent behind the scenes. But nothing captures their attention quite like your updates, especially when they're unexpected.

It's not that their own fans aren't important—they are, each one a vital part of the intricate web that supports their lifestyle. But there's something about you that draws them in more deeply, more personally. Maybe it's the mystery, how you reveal so little of yourself beyond your content. Or maybe it's your attitude, a quiet confidence undercut by a playful edge that keeps them coming back for more.

Remus clears his throat, drawing the eyes of both James and Sirius. He doesn’t speak right away, just holds their gazes with a look that’s too deep, too practiced in hiding secrets. It’s a look that has always made James wonder about the thoughts swirling behind those amber eyes.

“You both sense it as well, don't you?” Remus finally says, his voice softer than before, threaded with a seriousness that tugs at the edges of James's awareness. “That we’re… perhaps a bit too into her?"

Sirius laughs, the sound bright against the growing tension. He leans back into the plush cushions of the couch, stretching out his legs with a contented sigh. “That's the whole point, Rem," he says, grinning as he meets Remus's gaze. “We subscribed because we were already too into her.” His smile widens, a teasing glint appearing in his grey eyes. “And don't try to play innocent. We've all seen how you watch her videos.”

Remus doesn't deny it; instead, his faint smile deepens, the corners tugging just slightly at the edges, revealing nothing and everything all at once. It's a silent admission that speaks volumes in the quiet room.

James can't help but feel a rush of exhilaration at the realisation. Even Remus, always the voice of reason, hasn't escaped your allure. There's something about you that's different, something that calls to them, despite the miles and screens that separate you. This shared intrigue binds them tighter, their camaraderie now laced with a tangible curiosity that makes the air buzz with anticipation.

Sirius leans forward again, his grin now mirroring that of the Cheshire Cat. "Don't you wonder if she knows? That she's got us hanging on her every word?"

James lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug, his gaze flickering back to the phone as though expecting it to spring to life any moment. "Maybe. But if she does, she plays it well."

Remus chuckles softly, the sound muffled behind his hand. "Isn't that part of the thrill, though? The not knowing."

"Exactly." James nods, eyes still locked on the screen before him. There's an intensity to his gaze, a focus that hints at something deeper than mere interest. It's as though they've stumbled upon a game whose rules are still being written, where each move is a step into the unknown.

A soft buzz draws their attention back to the phone cradled in James's hand. Another message from you lights up the screen, and his heart does a strange little flip at the sight of your words.

You: I’m glad you all enjoyed it. 😊 I’ve got plenty more spontaneous moments like that coming your way. Hope you’re ready. 😘

Sirius leans over James's shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation as he reads your message aloud. "She's teasing us again. I love it."

James chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. His fingers hover over the screen, the excitement of your interaction coursing through him like a live wire. This connection, as strange and unexpected as it is, feels almost… exhilarating.

"So do I," James murmurs, his eyes closing as he leans back into the couch. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a faint smile. "We're hopeless."

Remus shakes his head, a chuckle escaping his lips despite the gravity of their conversation. "Well, if we are, at least she's worth it."

The sentiment hangs in the air, an unspoken agreement between them. They don't need to voice it; they can feel it in the way their hearts beat faster when they think of you, in the way their minds wander back to your voice, your touch, your smile.

Sirius stretches languidly, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. He stands with a groan, padding towards the kitchen. "I don't know about you lot, but I'm starving. That took more out of me than I anticipated."

James chuckles, watching him go. "You're always hungry after."

"Can't help it," Sirius replies, a grin tugging at his lips even as he rummages through the cupboards for a quick meal. "Seeing her like that… it does something to me."

Remus stifles a laugh, pushing himself off the couch and stretching languidly. "He's not wrong."

James lingers on the couch, staring at the screen of his phone where your message still glows. He knows he shouldn't be this intrigued, this ensnared by the allure of something so intangible and yet so compelling. As a creator himself, he knows better than to get lost in the illusion. But there's something about you, something about this world you've woven that beckons him with an irresistible pull.

It's more than just the content, more than the fantasy. It's the personal touch, the way you interact with each comment, each piece of feedback. There's an authenticity to it that sets it apart from the usual sterile interactions online. Maybe that's why he's allowing himself to get swept up in this, to lose himself in the narrative you spin, even if only through the confines of a screen.

He doesn't know what will come next or how long this will last, but for now, he's content to let things unfold naturally. Whatever direction you choose to take, whatever spontaneous moment you conjure up next, he'll be there—watching, enjoying, and perhaps even becoming a little more entangled in the web you weave.

For now, though, he tucks his phone away and heads for the kitchen where his boys are congregating, their voices a comforting hum in the background. The warmth of your words lingers, a reminder of the connection that, however fleeting, has sparked something within him, within all of them.

[persepinas]

Starting off Kinktober 2023 @vampirefest with a playlist! Sexy songs for sexy prompts of many types. No set ship so we vibe with every pairing. Whatever feels right, is right. ❤️🖤❤️

No more sunlight. The moon awaits us. ⚰️

Now, on to your knees to click that link, my companion heart.

31 tracks for 31 days.

one: mack loren/if i didn’t know better

I take my time and study your face

Thinking of a different place for it to be while you keep

One hand on my waist, you grip my thigh

Heart starts to race

Like you could taste what I'm tryna hide

two: zolita/holy

I can fight but the devil wins

And I will fall like a saint who sins

Forgive me Father, I am weak

And it's not forgiveness that I seek

three: the marias/hush

Don't think you've made it under my skin

Could never get in

Forget about it

Don't talk so much

Your tongue is burning up

I've had enough

four: elley duhe/middle of the night

These burning flames, these crashing waves

Wash over me like a hurricane

I'll captivate, you're hypnotized

Feel powerful, but it's me again

Come, lay me down

'Cause I know this

'Cause I know this sound

five: saint mesa/lion

You burn everything you see

Gold are your fingers

Leaving traces everywhere you go

Diamonds in your skin

My blood flows

six: chloe adams/dirty thoughts

I'm frustrated

Do you really look good naked

And I know that it ain't that holy

But Lord I need this one night only

The more that I push 'em away

The more that you're stuck in my brain

The more I mentally undress

I confess

seven: king mala/she calls me daddy

She's a little bit psycho

But she follows

When I call in the middle of the night

She's got you wrapped around her finger

You try to linger

But she's already on her way to mine

eight: hey violet/unholy

Say your name while our tongues are tied

Getting shivers all down my spine

We're in bed, we're embedded in my mind

nine: hozier/eat your young

I'm starving, darling

Let me put my lips to something

Let me wrap my teeth around the world

Start carving, darling

I wanna smell the dinner cooking

I wanna feel the edges start to burn

ten: chandler leighton/when you say my name

Does it scare you

That I already know what you're into?

You can say less, I bet I can guess

That'll you say whatever to get me undressed

Double dare you, tell me two lies

Don't need no truths

'Cause I can see right through you

You're no good at pretend

I'm using your tricks that you use with your friends

eleven: dezi/sinner

Lead us not into temptation

Your touch is feeling like salvation

If you're down for misbehaving

If you're liking this sensation

Pin me on your wall like an icon

And I pray that you leave the lights on

twelve: banks/fuck with myself

You're in the corner waiting for my love

I put two walls behind you just to lean on

Kinda need 'em 'cause I stood you up

'Cause I fuck with myself more than anybody else

thirteen: dove cameron/breakfast

I'm sick, yeah, I'm sick

And honestly, I'm getting high off it

Do you wanna see a magic trick?

'Cause you don't know what you don't know

But I know

fourteen: lana del rey/freak

Flames so hot that they turn blue

Palms reflecting in your eyes, like an endless summer

That's the way I feel for you

If time stood still I'd take this moment

Make it last forever

fifteen: ari abdul/taste

I'm begging you, untie this noose

Want your hands 'round my neck

I'm begging you, come be my muse

You're all that I have left

sixteen: ag/terrible thing

Oh honey, you're so cold

I lose my self-control

seventeen: jesse joe stark/fire of love

Your kiss rips through the shadows

Lipstick poisons this black rose

Haunted and torn from the heavens

You pull the petals from my mouth

They fall and tenderly black out

Baby, it's been so lonely

eighteen: zaryah/deep dive

Deep dive into my lips

Heat of your breath takes me into your abyss

Hold tight, I'll fulfil every need

Head up, you got me down on my knees

nineteen: lana del rey/gods & monsters

In the land of Gods and Monsters

I was an angel looking to get fucked hard

twenty: darren hayes/insatiable

Breathe in breathe out, there is no sound

We move together up and down

We levitate our bodies soar

Our feet don't even touch the floor

twenty-one: melanie martinez/high school sweethearts

If you can't handle a heart like mine

Don't waste your time with me

If you're not down to bleed, no, oh

If you can't handle the choking, the biting

The loving, the smothering

'Til you can't handle it no more, no more

Go home

twenty-two: ramsey/daddy

Baby, you're divine, I leave my body

Suckin' on your tongue, gold teeth, come find love

twenty-three: massive attack/paradise circus

Love is like a sin, my love

For the ones that feel it the most

Look at her with her eyes like a flame

She will love you like a fly will never love you again

twenty-four: aeseaes/desire

I'm an old

Desire

Sleeping in your skin

I'll take you over

And let you hide

And let you hide

twenty-five: natalia kills/problem

Sweat, dripping down your chest

Thinking 'bout your tattooed knuckles

On my thigh boy boy boy

Cold shower... you got no power to control

How I make you my toy toy toy

My hips rocking

As we keep lip locking

Got the neighbors screaming

Even louder louder

twenty-six: the pretty reckless/going to hell

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells

twenty-seven: meg myers/desire

Baby, I wanna fuck you

I wanna feel you in my bones

Boy, I'm gonna love you

I'm gonna tear into your soul

twenty-eight: soap&skin/me and the devil

And I said hello Satan, ah

I believe it is time to go

Me and the devil walkin' side by side

twenty-nine: chymes/gity

You can trust in me, no, you don't have to hide

Have anything you want, just tell me what you like

Bring out the devil in you, it can't hide

I feel the fire trapped inside

thirty: banks/gimme

At the rock bottom baby crawl, crawl

I let you lick it from the ground, ground

'Cause I've been drippin' for your love, love

You can call me that bitch

thirty-one: nine inch nails/closer

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

You just have to nod your beautiful head and say yes 🩸🩸🩸

[park-jimin-isnt-real]

"dusk" masterlist

pairing(s): yoongi x reader (endgame); kai (exo) x reader; kai x oc (endgame); side namhope, jinkook, vmin rating: PG-16 genre: twilight au, urban fantasy(ish) romance current total wc: n/a

summary: When you moved to Forks, Washington, you only expected awkward conversations with your adopted sister's biological father and a lot of rain. You did not expect to see the love of your life walk through the high school cafeteria doors - especially when you thought he died back in 1918. But Yoongi doesn't remember you, and believes you to be fully human. With the seemingly endless amount of danger coming your way, how long can you keep the act up?

tw: angst, depression, suicide attempt, violence, fights, murder, blood drinking, liar revealed storyline, fluff & crack, yoongi and a piano, mint yoongi, so many kpop groups and soloists, chaotic taehyung, covering twilight-new moon-eclipse, i am not touching breaking dawn, nearly everyone goes by their real name not their stage name ~ this will be updated as the series goes on!

read on ao3 ~ read on wattpad character profiles playlist ~ faq moodboards ~ characters ~ pt.1 main masterlist

act i ~ dusk

prologue: when dusk falls ~ one: and they were roommates ~ two: just another fucking monday

three: they always say 'i can explain!' but they never get the chance to ~ four: in case you haven't noticed, i'm weird. i'm a weirdo. ~ five: rule #1: the doctor lies

six: get in loser, we're going shopping ~ seven: hi, welcome to chili's ~ eight: my brand of heroine

nine: "be myself", what kind of garbage advice is that? ~ ten: late-night interview with a vampire ~ eleven: and then i didn't

twelve: the iconic baseball scene ~ thirteen: there's only one snacc here and it's me ~ fourteen: how to run from the mess you've made

fifteen: not everywhere you fit in is where you belong ~ sixteen: was that the bite of '87?! ~ seventeen: it's just a flesh wound

act ii ~ dark

eighteen: and you did it at my birthday dinner ~ nineteen: as if i never existed ~ twenty: don't cry, craft!

twenty-one: it is wednesday my dudes ~ twenty-two: top 10 anime betrayals ~ twenty-three: take a number

twenty-four: at least there's a dog ~ twenty-five: wishful thinking, mindless dreaming ~ twenty-six: a world so dark

twenty-seven: so maybe i'm not okay ~ twenty-eight: v is for validation ~ twenty-nine: we could be

thirty: my past, my future, my hell ~ thirty-one: now would be a good time to be anyone but me ~ thirty-two: orpheus and eurydice

twenty-three: late-night interview with a half-vampire ~ thirty-four: feel my wrath and extreme self-doubt ~ thirty-five: how to be a failure 101

act iii ~ dawn

thirty-six: oh my god they were roommates ~ thirty-seven: howdy-do, fellow kids ~ thirty-eight: it's murder time

thirty-nine: the fine art of bullshit ~ forty: hey guys, i'm really trying here ~ forty-one: alexa, intruder alert

forty-two: thanks, i hate it ~ forty-three: you, bulletproof, in black like a funeral ~ forty-four: prom (an important high school rite of passage)

forty-five: there's no 'i' in 'justice league' ~ forty-six: the blood on your hands ~ forty-seven: probably unethical experimentation

forty-eight: i promise to love you forever ~ forty-nine: late-night interview with a werewolf ~ fifty: murder time is now almost exclusively the time, always

fifty-one: for what it's worth ~ fifty-two: t.g.i.f. ~ epilogue: dawn was breaking

[apt-comix]

[Image Description: the following images are from a (badly cut out) hand-drawn and -written mini comic, purple ink on white printer paper, folded over and stapled into sixteen pages, one panel per page. A gloved hand can be seen holding the pages open.]

[The cover. In cursive it says "Akin To A Feeling Of Loss". It shows a family tree, starting with the printed box for "Papaw", who is partnered to boxes labeled "Step Mamaw", "Nana", and far to the right is a box labeled in cursive "For Judith". From the lines leading down from Papaw and Step Mamaw are two boxes, one labeled "half uncle" and the other "half aunt". The sibling line also stretches out past the page margin. Both half aunt and half uncle each have a line going down to boxes labeled "Cousin", one Cousin has another box descending from it unlabeled. From the Papaw and Nana line is a box labeled "Mom", and descending from Mom is the A.P.T. Comix logo (described in user's icon description). From the Papaw and Judith line is a box labeled "Half Uncle", who leads to three Cousin boxes, each of which have unlabeled descending boxes. At the bottom of the page, a chain linked line goes across.]

[The first page says "She wasn't my ancestor ['my' is underlined]. In proof my life is a cosmic sitcom..." The page image shows a crudely doodled stage in front of a silhouette crowd, showing a balding old man holding a paper that says "DNA", an aging woman with beehive hair looking on angrily, and a man in a black jacket in front of an open door, a sweat drop on the side of his face as he holds his hand out in a shake. There is a suitcase by his feet. Above the stage is a light-up sign that says "Laugh". The narration continues "...I had a long-lost uncle." The second page shows a dainty hand with a simple chain bracelet lightly touching fingers with a bigger, chunkier hand wearing a large watch. The text says "Don't know what went down between her and my grandfather. She was only eighteen when she had my uncle."

[Third page: the same dainty, braceleted hand, held up weakly with a pool of purple scribbled blood beneath it. "She died only a year later. Gruesomely and tragically. Car, meet train." Fourth page: "The asshole who drove her under the descending barrier lived until the age of eighty-one. His obit was...something" The image is of an obituary page with a silhouette portrait. The birth year is nineteen thirty-four and the death date is twenty twenty-one. The obituary is mostly made up of scribble lines, except for the middle sentence "To his credit, he was sober when he died." At the bottom of the page the narration continues "He was never found liable in Judith's death, not that I could find. Drunk driving wasn't illegal yet."]

[Fifth page. Drawings of lipstick, the chain bracelet, cat eye sunglasses, a fabric scarf with flowers on it, and a lit cigarette. "Maybe she was in love with the guy. Maybe she just wanted a normal night of teenagerhood age a year of motherhood. I'll never know." Sixth page: "My uncle died early on in the pandemic. I think I met him maybe 5 times." The picture is of a poorly-drawn Pokémon card game and a Pokéball off to the side. "Mostly I just remember playing Pokémon with his son."]

[Seventh page: "I don't know is my cousins even know who she was. No bad blood, but I haven't spoken to them in years." The image is a laptop with a background window that says "NEWS: World is in bad shape. See how our–", and an email window that says "hey cuz, no n.E thing bout your dead–". The narration continues "Not sure how to broach this subject out of nowhere." Eighth page: "The records show that the only grandmother they ever knew was Judith's own mother." The picture shows another family tree, all unlabeled. At the bottom of the tree are the three Cousin boxes, leading up to the Half Uncle box, which first leads to box that has been scribbled out, then another line goes up to a different, higher box. "Her mother's obit lists Judith's son as her son. Even differentiating my uncle from her actually adopted children. (Did they keep her a secret?)"]

[Ninth page: blank but for the words "But that's not your story. Judith. That's theirs. I want to know you." Tenth page: "The newspaper articles on the crash don't say anything besides your name." The picture is of a pile of pages with scribbled line words. The top page shows silhouette portraits beside their respective paragraphs. "From then on, you only exist as a name in the obits of your parents, and siblings' obituaries, having pre-deceased them. That's all I can find."]

[Eleventh page: "I can't even find your own obituary." There is an uneven, blank box. "You only exist in a train crash and as a footnote in the Ancestry trees of people I don't know." There's a smaller box, with an arrow cursor in it. "And now, mine." Twelfth page: "It's not fair. You existed ['you existed' in allcaps and underlined]." The picture is of the braceleted hand, done in incomplete lines. "But I can't even find a photo of you. I made up your simple bracelet."]

[Thirteenth page: "I hope you had a good enough life. I'd understand if you felt ground down by life though." There is a table with a sheet of ruled paper, a pencil next to it, and surrounded by teddy bear, pacifier, and rattle. The page has a list of three items: the first being a scribbled line, the second being the words "Nolite te Bastardes carborundum", and the third is blank. The narration continues "I hope my grandfather was kind to you. You were both so young." Fourteenth page: "I'll never know what you were like. Everyone who ever knew you is gone." There's a thought cloud with a question mark, an A.P Bio textbook, a ballerina, and a painting of a mountain with a paintbrush. "Surely, you had dreams? Goals? Even if you kept them to yourself. You had them. I know it.]

[The end page. "We're from the same city, 3 decades apart. Your grave is right by the lake I nearly drowned in as a child." There is a simple headstone that says "Judith, I can't get your short story out of my head." Beneath it says "Next time I'm in town, I'll put flowers on your lonely grave." End I.D]

Formatted and I with Electric Zine Maker