#the original side households all died in the plague :)

[aviandtheseals]

The Rowntrees Ultimate Decades Challenge - 1360

content warning: mention of death (as always lol)

1359 was a difficult year for the Rowntrees due to the deaths of Arthur and Alexandria. However, for Kymmie there was one point of light in the darkness: she was now the head of the household. When Kymmie first married David Rowntree, Arthur and Sarah's father, she was ignored by the others in the house. Now, as the mother of future heir Finnian and the only adult, Kymmie saw a bright future for the first time: running her own farm and family. She started woodworking, which she always loved, and her little statues made most of the money for the family. She knew in order to keep this freedom she could never marry again, but that was okay. She could still have other close relationships, like with Touilda. Kymmie was starting to realize she wanted something different than a regular friendship with her, and she tried to get the courage to talk to her friend about it.

But then terrible news arrived: a fire started in the Bridgford home, and while the rest of the family was fine, Touilda was badly burned and died from the injuries. This death was very sudden, and especially affected Kymmie. She managed to push through Arthur and Alexandria's deaths, but now her only friend was gone? She kept imagining a future with Touilda, a future she could barely think of without waves of shame washing over her, a future that was now impossible. Kymmie spent the rest of the year dealing with the waves of anger and sadness constantly hitting her.

Meanwhile, the kids continued to grow. Ursula was a healthy baby and survived the first few months of life, aging up to an infant. Being the only adult around meant that caring for little Ursula and Jacquette fell to Kymmie. But she was happy to take care of these little angels. The children were the main points of happiness in her life, the only distraction from her sorrows.

Little Finnian also started helping out more with the farm. He enjoyed the work. As a hot-headed sim, Finnian often got frustrated easily by small problems, and getting to run around the farm doing various chores and switching up activities kept him happy. He was glad to grow up and have responsibilities rather than just staying home all day.

Jacquette was also happy. While she was sad to lose her mother, time moved fast for a little toddler. She quickly got used to being taken care of by Kymmie and Sarah, and was happy to play on her own and explore the house as long as there was an adult around.

Fifteen-year-old Sarah was not doing as well as her younger brother and nieces. She had to step up and help take care of the children. While she spent a lot of her childhood fishing to make ends meet, Sarah wasn't used to being in charge of taking care of kids or cleaning the house. Sarah found these tasks very frustrating and was completely miserable at the end of each day. But she kept being the good girl the family needed her to be, and never complained.

To relax, Sarah took to playing the lute that Alexandria loved to play. She started playing to feel closer to Alexandria, but then found she enjoyed it.

Sarah thought the lute would be her one refuge from the daily grind for the next few years, but during the fall of 1360, a miracle walked into her life. She went to visit the Hedgeford family along with Kymmie to trade, and was re-introduced to Gilbert, their son about her age who she used to play with when they were little. Gilbert had grown up to be a handsome and responsible young man, and Sarah was immediately attracted to him. They got along great and Sarah felt more comfortable talking to him than anyone else she knew. Gilbert was also an orphan, and the middle child in his family. They both knew what it was like to be forgotten, to feel lonely. Sarah missed him as soon as they went back home.

Soon after, they ran into each other while collecting berries in the forest. Things quickly turned romantic - he told her how beautiful she was and they held hands. Sarah was over the moon. She couldn't stop herself from smiling. Gilbert was more subdued, but Sarah could tell he was enjoying himself as well.

For the first time in years, Sarah was blissful. The usual wall she locked her feelings behind, the voice in her head that told her to be good and agreeable, the expectation to work tirelessly for the family just to be ignored -- these were all gone. There was just her and the trees and a gorgeous boy. So she planted a kiss on Gilbert's lips.

Gilbert smiled afterwards, but he was a bit awkward, and quickly ran away. Sarah didn't care though. This was the best day of her life. She now had hope for a future she'd never imagined for herself before: one where she would be taken care of.

[mask131]

Egyptians gods: Bastet

Bastet is without a doubt one of the most famous goddesses of Ancient Egypt today.

Everybody heard of the cult and worship Ancient Egyptians dedicated to cats. Cats were sacred animals for them. Originally domesticated around two thousand years before our current era, they were loved due to their habit of hunting, killing and eating rats. When you had cats around, plagues were less likely to break out AND the harvest and fields were safe! Through time, this love took on a religious and sacred aspect, and cats became honored, respected and pampered members of every household. When a pet cat died, the humans that lived in its house had to shave their eyebrows to signify their grief. When the cat of a temple died, the entire town mourned. Each pharaoh had a personal cat, dressed in jewelry and that shared their master’s meal. Cats were mummified, just like humans, and were placed inside a necropolis – showing how important they were for Ancient Egyptians. Egyptians even had a firm belief that when a fire broke out somewhere, cats would just jump in the flames and stop the fire by their sheer power! Cats were a BIG deal in Ancient Egypt.

And the goddess of all cats, the cat-goddess, was Bastet (or Bast), the goddess of the city of Bubastis (a name that means “the house of Bastet”, Per-Bastet in proper Egyptian), in the Delta. However, originally Bastet wasn’t a cat goddess: in her oldest incarnations, Bastet appeared as a woman with the head of a lioness, usually wearing the ankh and a scepter. It was only later that she became a cat – somewhere around the Third Intermediate Period. Sometimes a full cat, wearing jewels or nursing her kittens, other times a cat-headed woman holding a sistrum.

Bastet was, just like several other goddesses (Maat, Hathor, Sekhmet, Tefnut), considered one of the “daughters of Ra” – which meant more than just her having the god as her father. The daughters of Ra were goddesses that embodied the power of the sun, each one reflecting a different side of the sun’s light. Each of them was another identity of the “Eye of Ra”, whose function was to help create and re-create life on Earth, by bringing light and by fighting off the darkness. While sometimes merely depicted as sisters, for many others Bastet and Sekhmet were actually one and the same: a same feline goddess, that when angered or triggered, became the furious lioness embodying the destructive and killing aspect of the sun, while Bastet was rather the benevolent and kind side of the solar light. It was for example written in some texts that Bastet became Sekhmet for the night, to protect ferociously Ra during his journey throughout the dangerous and demon-filled underworld, only to return to being Bastet in the morning. Starting in 2500 BCE, many lioness statues were replaced by cat statues in Sekhmet temples, which with time became Bastet temples. [It is theorized that maybe Sekhmet and Bastet began as one same entity, which was later split into two]

But who was Bastet, by herself, on her own? Bastet was, as I said, the kind and benevolent aspect of the light of the sun. Bastet was the embodiment of sweetness, gentleness and tenderness. People depicted her as calm, peaceful and loving. She was a benevolent and very popular deity associated, just like Hathor, with music and dancing – her rites in Bubastis included musical ceremonies, religious dances and ritualized sex. The festivals of Bastet also included a LOT of alcohol – which was justified by the need to prevent Bastet from becoming Sekhmet, putting the burning lioness to sleep by making her drunk. Bastet also embodied maternal love: she was often depicted taking care of kittens, either breast-feeding them, or keeping them in a basket. She was a goddess prayed to at every birth, so that she would protect the newborn. In fact, Egyptians had the habit of making a small cut in the inside of the elbow of the baby, and place in it a few drops of cat blood – this was to make sure the child would attract the favors of Bastet. Keeper of peace, protectress of the house, Bastet was also believed to prevent the spreading of contagious diseases, and to protect humans from evil spirits. No need to say that her cult was practiced more intensely by women, since Bast was the goddess that helped them give birth and take care of the home.

A fun fact: when the Greeks established a correspondence between their gods and the Egyptian ones, they decided that the goddess corresponding to Bast would be… Artemis! It might be surprising to choose the goddess of the hunt and the wilderness for a goddess of peace, maternity and home, but this is actually easily explained by Bast’s “primitive” form as a lioness goddess, which made the Greeks confuse her with another lion-goddess, Tefnut (who they also identified with Artemis).

[novaalexanderwrites]

Blood and Thorns - Chapter 9 (Part 1)

Chapter 9 (Part One): Indictments and Informants (Read Chapter 1 (part one) here) - (See here for a complete list of chapters)

(Author’s Note: uploading this a bit later as I wanted to revise the first half of this chapter before it went up. This is one of my two favourite chapters and y’all deserve Perfection. Despite my failure to provide perfection, here’s the closest I can come to it, please enjoy and let me know your thoughts, comments, opinions, theories, or even anon hate is fine.😆) **Updated May 2, 2023 - Title change

   The coven’s meeting room had been set up with a broad table with enough chairs for the nine Head of Households and their heirs. The room usually was vacant, but for today’s impromptu trial it had been set up special. The walls and floors were dark, star constellations twinkling on the ceiling reflecting their real-time positions, a project by two of the coven’s heirs from the year before. The walls were constructed of dark wood paneling, save for one which was lined with large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forest to the south.   In addition to the coven members, Sapphire Thorneheart had invited key township leaders, namely the mayor and head of the guard. It was unusual they would be in attendance, but this last-minute meeting was not a normal coven gathering.   At the head of the table on rather grand seats sat Sapphire and Frigga, denoting their esteemed position as the First Family. The previous week had left Frigga in a fragile state, nightly nightmares plagued her nights and stress her days, so she was thankful her part to play in this meeting was small. It was a small comfort against the pit of dread that had settled in her gut. Frigga was dressed as simply as her aunt would allow, though not nearly as comfortably as she would have liked. Her ritual dress wasn’t bad, but the earrings and bracelets were heavy. She’d been able to negotiate her way out of the choker, thank the gods. 

  In contrast, Lady Sapphire wore her most extravagant coven meet ensemble to date; an intricate dark navy dress inlaid with gold thread and beading, her arms thick with gold bracelets. On her brow was strung a delicate circlet from which a single tear drop sapphire reflected brilliantly. The woman was the very picture of the authority she would exercise today.   All the heads of the families, as well as their heirs, were in attendance as per standard coven meeting procedure. They sat around the large table in no particular order except for the Rynaulds, the history keepers, at Frigga’s left-hand side, the Magnus-Monroes at Sapphire's right-hand side, and the second family sat exactly opposite to the Thornehearts. Victoria sat straight and proud while Rosalind leaned on their armrest, staring out the windows with no detectable expression.   As everyone took their seats, Lady Sapphire rose from her place, her hands held open in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome friends, and thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to attend this unscheduled meeting.” She raised her chalice, and everyone followed suit. They all took a sip from their chalices and placed them back on the table. A hush fell upon the room, and the meeting began.   Sapphire sat back down and Stephan, her personal manservant, brought over a towering stack of documents and placed them in front of her. “As everyone is aware,” she began, “Last week there was a break-in in my home and we believed it was an attempt to steal information. During this invasion, my nephew was assaulted and would have died if not for a servant who happened to be nearby when the attack took place. An investigation was launched, lead by the honourable Blackwoods, and we’ve determined the attack’s origin.”   A tense mood settled over the room as Morgan Blackwood, the Head of the Blackwood family, rose to speak. He was an older man, deeply respected in the coven, and was always sharply dressed in his suit and his famous divination pocket watch peeked out of his jacket’s breast pocket where a pocket square might sit. “Thank you Lady Sapphire,” he acknowledged before taking breath, as if to gird himself for the difficult speech ahead. “Our findings indicated the information the bandits were after was very specific. The books they were interested in involved our coven’s history and founding.   “As everyone here knows, there has been some debate regarding leadership over the years. We all have our opinions on the matter, but the fact is the Thornehearts are wonderful leaders and have led our coven successfully for nearly a hundred and thirty years. Today is not a day to debate the role of leadership, but a day to hold someone responsible for harming a child of the coven, for trespassing, and for attempting to take what was not lawfully theirs.”   A murmur of agreement was heard throughout the room. Frigga glanced around, and her tired, reddened eyes met Rosalind’s. They were clearly not thrilled to be here and visibly uneasy; this specific topic always involved their mother. They maintained eye contact for a meaningful instant before purposefully glancing at their mother, then back to Frigga. She did not reply beyond the barest of nods. Rosalind returned their eyes to the windows, their posture wilting with a slight sigh.   Moira Blackwood, a sturdy middle-aged woman, picked up where her father left off. “The authorities detained one of the thieves to extract more information. This stack of documents we’ve presented to you, Lady Sapphire, is a summary of all the compiled evidence, and we’ve drawn an incontestable conclusion.”   Morgan bade Moira sit and turned towards the opposite end of the table. “Victoria Bloodswell, you’re accused of treason and conspiracy.”   Nobody was shocked.   She jumped up out of her seat, her dark eyes narrowed. “How dare you?” she seethed. “What kind of evidence? This is nonsense, malicious, incompetent nonsense!”   Morgan held up a copy of some of the evidence. “Lady Bloodswell, these notes were written in your hand. These detail plans to steal information, and they were taken from your desk.”   Victoria snarled, her rage manifesting as a soft red glow at her hands. “Excuse me? I don’t recall allowing you or anyone else near my home, Morgan, so how was this so-called evidence retrieved? I have been nothing but loyal and have been an invaluable member of this coven for years, and this is how I am thanked? Being senselessly accused of-“   “Mother, shut up and sit down,” Rosalind interrupted, their sharp voice cutting through her protests. Everyone’s eyes shot to them and Victoria fell silent in her surprise. Rosalind did not historically speak during a meeting unless there was a specific need for necromantic knowledge, and when they did speak it was always polite, measured, and succinct. Frigga couldn’t remember them ever demonstrating anything but respect, and she was sure they had never publicly contradicted their mother.   Rosalind looked to Victoria and stood to their feet. “I assisted them. Sit down.” Victoria spluttered, wordless in her shock, but yielded and sank into her seat. Rosalind took a deep breath and looked around the table like they were trying to escape a trap. But their voice was as calm as it ever was, “Friends, when the honourable Blackwoods arrived at our doorstep yesterday, I received them and reviewed the evidence presented to me. There was very little, but the pages they retrieved from the thief’s fireplace undeniably had my mother’s writing, and so I allowed Sir Blackwood to search her office and he was able to fortify the existing evidence with documents from the desk.”   Everyone stared in shock. Rosalind’s face had cleared of their momentary discomfort and was now void of emotion, but their tone of voice suggested absolute distain for their mother’s actions. Frigga locked eyes with them once again, shocked that a person known for shunning the spotlight at all costs would volunteer to testify against their own mother and willingly turn her over to be punished. Unthinkable.   They bowed in respect, hands at their side, and continued, “I apologize on behalf of my family. Needless to say, course nothing can make it right, and I express my deep regret that young Leland was so badly injured. I ask only, on my mother’s behalf, this esteemed company show mercy despite it being wholly undeserved.” They returned to their seat, their mother’s anger radiating from her. Rosalind seemed immune to it, however, and reassumed their previous position of apparent disinterest.   The evidence was shared to the rest of the coven and it was as clear as day. Written correspondence regarding the break-in, documents going back months planning a fully-fledged coup, a few pieces of evidence collected from the scene of the crime, and a full confession from the thief naming Victoria as his employer. The scheme was laid bare, months in the making, interrupted by Razi the night the plan had begun.   With every page she read, Frigga became more and more upset, her frail hands shaking while passing documents around the table. She had been privy to some of the evidence before the trial but most of this was new to her. How dare she? How much nerve did Victoria have, feeling so entitled to what was not hers and so entitled as to risk harming someone else? How could she have gathered up such courage when she knew how fearsome Sapphire could be? Was Victoria really that powerful herself, or was she just stupid?   Frigga skimmed a page and her heart sank when she received her answer. It was a copy of a letter written by Lady Bloodswell:

As the Thorneheart heir-apparent is soft-hearted, I anticipate convincing the coven she is unfit for such a demanding task will be simple. She certainly doesn’t believe in herself, this is the opportunity we’ve been looking for.

  Another page read:

We must hasten our plan. Before it seemed the Thorneheart heir-apparent would complete my task for me, but these thieves have another option. Now is the time.

  A shadow settled over Frigga’s mind and guilt into her stomach. “Soft-hearted”? “She certainly doesn’t believe in herself”? Victoria had been emboldened by her doubts, had hope to overthrow the First Family because Frigga was hesitant. Had Frigga not been doing a good enough job? She’d been doing her best, but was her best not good enough? Was this all her fault?   After everyone reviewed the documents, Sapphire rose to her feet. “Ladies, Gentlemen, and esteemed guests, I now give Victoria a chance to defend herself, and then the floor will be open for deliberation. What do you have to say for yourself, Lady Bloodswell?”   With everyone’s eyes on her, defeated by the crushing weight of the indisputable evidence, Victoria stood to her feet. She had nothing to defend herself with, and her heir had abandoned her. With her posture penitent and her voice weak, she spoke, “My… my intentions were never for Leland to be wounded. Of that I can only apologize from my soul. As everyone saw, I expressly ordered nobody be injured, but that does not change the fact a child was almost killed on my behalf. I’m so sorry, and I will accept the guilt on that charge.” She then straightened her posture and held her head up with pride once more. “I do not, however, apologize for my effort to uncover the truth of our coven’s history! Our family possesses records claiming the leadership should have fallen to us, and I believe the Thornehearts have documents affirming it and are withholding them. I’ve submitted multiple times for an investigation to look into the account of my great grandfather, and both requests were denied without any consideration. I then inquired through legitimate channels to access the Thorneheart’s private library to conduct the investigation myself, but was denied entry. With all legitimate options exhausted, I did what was necessary for my family’s sake.”   After pleading her case, she reclaimed her seat, maintaining her prideful posture. Rosalind rolled their eyes, and everyone else whispered to their neighbour. The floor was open for others to defend her, but the minute passed in silence; nobody came to her aid. After the minute expired, Frigga stood to perform her role and conduct the vote. “All those who find Lady Bloodswell guilty, raise your hand.” And slowly hands rose all around the room. A lot of them. Notably, Rosalind did not raise a hand. Frigga looked to Ophelia Rynauld, the keeper of the minutes, who scribbled down the votes from each family. When given the go-ahead from her, Frigga continued. “All those who find Lady Bloodswell not guilty, raise your hand.” Not a single hand rose for this vote, so Frigga continued. “All who abstain, please raise your hand.” And a few hands did rise, including Rosalind’s; it was their usual vote regardless of the topic.   Once Ophelia’s record was complete, Frigga thanked her and sat back down. Sapphire rose to officially pronounce the decision. “Victoria, you’ve been found guilty. For your transgressions, the coven’s tradition dictates excommunication. Due to the nature of the bodily harm committed against my nephew, this case will be handed over to the local authorities. They will try you, find you guilty, and deal with you further.”   There were a few “hear, hear!”s in response, and Victoria remained expressionless in her prideful posture. She was escorted out of the room by the guard’s captain, and her name was struck from the coven’s member registry. While it was, Frigga looked at Rosalind who was no longer feigning inattention but was heavy with the weight of what was happening. They were usually a fair individual but they’d lost what little colour they had; Rosalind would be head of the Bloodswell family. They had assisted in handing over their own mother for judgement, and had immediately and dramatically altered the course of the next twenty years of their life by doing so.   Once the paperwork was completed, Sapphire handed the records to Ophelia for safekeeping. She stood again and faced the rest of her coven. “I would like to thank you, Mx Rosalind Bloodswell, for your aid.” Everyone looked to them, who shifted in their seat and fixed their eyes to the stack of documents they were being given by Stephan. “Without you, the evidence would not have been so concrete, and more harm may have come to others. It must have been distressing for you, and I recognize your honesty.”   The witches raised their chalices in Rosalind’s direction, who started scratching at the back of their neck while avoiding everyone’s eyes. Frigga didn’t know Rosalind well, but in this moment she was proud to be part of their coven. She raised her glass and drank with the rest in gratitude.   The coven’s leader concluded the meeting, stating arrangements for Rosalind’s official succession ceremony would start immediately and their assembly at the next full moon would be cancelled to prepare for it. The table was dismissed and most left in short order. After a few moments, the only people remaining were Sapphire, Frigga, the Magnus-Monroes, and Rosalind, who Lady Sapphire had asked to stay behind. Business first with her as always, Frigga supposed, and once her brief discussion with them was completed, Rosalind turned to leave. Frigga held them back to talk.   “Thank you,” she said placing a hand briefly on their shoulder.   Rosalind recoiled at the touch and frowned. “I understand how this looks,” they said, their guard up, eyes staring Frigga down. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”   Frigga frowned. “No of course not. I believe you, Rosalind.”   Nodding reluctantly, their affect softened, and their gaze fell from her face. “I’m… I’m sorry about your brother. I hope he recovers soon.”   “You…did you notice your mother acting strange at all? Like she was planning something?” Frigga asked meekly.   Rosalind frowned with obvious offence. “No. You might not appreciate this, but her energy since… for the last year and a half has been unstable, so if she was more unhinged lately, I did not think it unusual.” They looked her over and settled after seeing Frigga’s sorry expression. “Believe me, if I had found out her plans sooner, I would have acted sooner. Do not think of my mother’s failings as mine.”   Before Frigga could answer, Marcus walked over to the two of them having finished his discussion with Sapphire and Theodore. “Shame that!” He exclaimed, earning an exasperated look from Rosalind and a weary smile from Frigga. “I fell asleep halfway through. Kind of boring when you know the ending.”   Theodore bade Marcus leave with him. Before he followed after his father, Marcus took Frigga’s hand and placed a gentlemanly kiss on it while flashing his charming smile up at her. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Frigga merely nodded in response. Marcus then turned to Rosalind. “Will you be coming up to the library today? I guess not, huh?” The two of them left together, which Frigga thought was weird, especially when she spied a smile on the witch’s face.   But she diverted her thoughts back to the afternoon’s meeting, still disturbed by what she’d read and heard. It wasn’t surprising Victoria tried to overthrow Sapphire, she had always been the vengeful type. Rosalind’s behaviour, however, was shocking. Frigga didn’t think poorly of them, but they always seemed indifferent. Not heartless, per se, but certainly emotionally distant from coven matters. That they’d stepped in, to the detriment of their mother and to their own desires, was unexpected to say the least.

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Painted Door Shaina Tranquilino September 13, 2024

Nestled deep within the fog-shrouded moors of the English countryside stood Bellingham Manor, a grand yet melancholic estate that had seen better days. The once-majestic home now wore its age like a heavy cloak, its stone walls weathered and cracked, its windows grimy with years of neglect. Yet, it was not the crumbling facade that whispered of the manor’s dark past, but a single door hidden deep within its bowels—a door that had been painted over countless times but always returned.

No one in the family spoke of the door openly, though everyone knew of its existence. The tradition was passed down through generations: paint it over, and do not question why. Each year, without fail, one of the household staff was instructed to repaint the door, burying it beneath layers of thick, white paint. And each year, without fail, the door would reappear, its once-buried mahogany surface emerging like a ghost from the wall.

This eerie ritual had persisted for over a century, ever since the manor's original owner, Lord William Bellingham, first ordered the door sealed. His instructions were clear and unyielding: the door must never be opened, no matter what. He had scrawled the command in his will, sealing the fate of all who would come after him.

But tragedy followed the Bellingham family like a shadow. Each generation was marked by untimely deaths, all mysterious, all unexplained. The manor’s inhabitants died young, often found cold and lifeless in their beds, with no signs of foul play. Whispers of a curse filled the corridors, but no one dared suggest the obvious—the door was the key.

In the autumn of 1923, the last of the Bellingham's, Jonathan, returned to the manor after years abroad. A somber man in his mid-thirties, he had inherited the estate after the sudden death of his uncle, the latest victim of the family's tragic legacy. Jonathan was a man of reason, a scholar, and he had little patience for the superstitions that plagued the manor. Determined to uncover the truth, he resolved to break the cycle of fear that had bound his family for generations.

The door was his first target.

Jonathan descended into the manor’s basement, where the door was hidden behind rows of dusty crates and cobweb-covered furniture. It looked ordinary enough—solid, dark wood, the kind of door that belonged in a stately home. But as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface, a shiver ran down his spine. There was something unsettling about its presence, something that defied logic.

He retrieved a can of white paint from the storage room, just as his ancestors had done before him, and began the task of painting over the door. With each brushstroke, he felt the weight of his family’s history pressing down on him. When he finished, the door was once again concealed, nothing more than a blank space on the wall.

But the unease lingered.

That night, Jonathan dreamt of the door. In his dream, it stood before him, its surface unmarred by paint, gleaming as if freshly polished. A whisper called to him from the other side, a voice that was both familiar and foreign. It spoke of secrets, of truths hidden for too long. The door, the voice insisted, held the key to ending the family’s curse.

Jonathan awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to know what lay behind the door. Perhaps it was madness, but he could not ignore the voice.

The next day, Jonathan returned to the basement, armed with a crowbar and a lantern. The door was no longer hidden—somehow, overnight, the paint had peeled away, revealing the door in its original state. Taking a deep breath, he pried the door open, the wood groaning as if it had not been moved in centuries.

Beyond the door was a narrow staircase, leading down into the darkness. The air was cold and damp, and a faint, musty odor wafted up from below. Lantern in hand, Jonathan descended, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The stairs seemed to go on forever, spiraling downward into the earth.

Finally, he reached the bottom, where a small, stone chamber awaited him. In the centre of the room was a wooden coffin, its surface covered in strange, intricate carvings. The sight of it sent a chill through Jonathan, but he forced himself to approach.

As he drew nearer, the carvings became clearer—symbols of protection, of binding, and of something darker. Hesitating only for a moment, Jonathan reached out and touched the coffin’s lid. It was ice-cold to the touch.

He pushed the lid open.

Inside lay the skeletal remains of a man, dressed in the tattered remains of a once-fine suit. But it was not the sight of the bones that made Jonathan recoil in horror—it was the face. The skull, still mostly intact, bore a striking resemblance to his own.

A journal lay atop the bones, its leather cover cracked with age. Jonathan picked it up with trembling hands and began to read.

The journal belonged to Lord William Bellingham, the manor’s original owner. In its pages, William confessed to a terrible crime—murder. He had killed his own brother in a fit of jealous rage, sealing his body in the coffin and binding it with dark magic to prevent the spirit from seeking revenge. The door was painted over each year to keep the spell intact, to keep the restless spirit contained.

But the spell was weakening.

Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat as the truth dawned on him. The curse that plagued his family, the mysterious deaths—they were the work of the vengeful spirit, slowly breaking free from its prison.

And now, Jonathan had set it free.

A cold wind swept through the chamber, extinguishing the lantern. In the darkness, Jonathan felt a presence, something ancient and full of rage. The door slammed shut above him, sealing him in the tomb with his ancestor’s ghost.

The last of the Bellingham's was never seen again.

But the door remains, painted over each year, only to reappear, waiting for the next curious soul to set the spirit free once more.

[utterrandomnesswithlulu]

Under the Radar: SurrealEstate

Following a real estate agency Roman Agency, this real estate not only lists houses but also cleanses them of negative entities, spirits, and monsters.

SyFy aired this series in 2021 and unfortunately canceled it after one season. Or so it was thought, SurrealEstate was resurrected in May 2022, and it was un-canceled and green-lit for a second season, which will air sometime in 2023.

SPOILERS, obviously.

THINGS THAT GO BUMP

Luke Roman (Tim Rozon) is the boss of a particular real estate business, The Roman Agency. Not only do these agents sell houses, but they also deal with the beyond. The Roman Agency specializes in selling and helping those unable to sell their houses without a much-needed cleanse.

The Agency is small but close-knit and scrappy. It consists of Luke, boss man extraordinaire, Father Phil Orley (Adam Korson) a lapsed priest, August “Auggie” Ripley (Maurice Dean Wint) the tech king, Zoey L’Enfant (Savannah Basley) the office manager, and new-comer Susan Ireland (Sarah Levy). Susan originally came from another estate agency, and unfortunately, is a fish out of the water with this new group of agents. She is kept in the dark about the Agency’s specialties, but does know it by reputation.

Luke and Susan take on their first job together at the Lenore household, who are at their wits’ end with objects randomly flying around their house. Believing that the house is haunted by a poltergeist, they send in Auggie and Phil, who reveal that all their tests come up negative. As things escalate at the Lenore house, Luke has taken a special interest in another holding, the Donovan household.

The Donovan house is special and immensely haunted. Off-the-charts metaphysical disturbances plague the house, and its current occupant, Meghan (Tennille Read).

As The Roman Agency fights demons, ghosts, and possessed houses, the Donovan house makes reoccurring appearances because of the sentimental attachment it has to Luke. Years previously, Luke’s mother went into the house and never left. Luke has seen her ghost several times lingering in the house, and she is not a nice person. But Luke’s father (also a ghost) says that she was a sweet and kind person, but didn’t seem like she could handle Luke’s gift of seeing the other side. Leaving him and his father behind years before.

The season comes to a head at the Donovan house, which has been gaining strength steadily thanks to the misguided attempts by the Roman Agency. The portal in the house, which they thought allowed ghosts and spirits in, actually allowed them to cross over. Because they closed the portal in episode one, all of these ghosts and spirits haunted the house in agony, unable to leave. The house was able to make a personified incarnation of itself thanks to the lost souls stuck within its walls. Auggie, Zooey, Susan, and Phil all encounter lost loved ones, a wife, a mentor, a father, and an ill-fated sweetheart. Luke also sees his mother, or rather his sister.

Luke was a twin, and the woman he believed to be his mother, is actually his sister who lost her life when Luke’s umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Because she died during Luke’s birth, his abilities came from being born in the shadow of death. His twin wants to switch places with him, and the only way for that to be achieved is that he dies. As she strangles Luke, in the basement, the crew is able to open the portal and all the trapped souls are sucked into it, including Luke’s sister.

The Donovan house is purged of its ghosts, and the crew stumbles outside, grateful to be alive. However, Luke distances himself from everyone. Why? He’s lost his ability to hear and see the spirits that had attached themselves to him since he was a child.

RESURRECTED FROM THE GRAVE

The paranormal drama was canceled originally. Ratings and viewership seemed to have been the main reason for its cancellation. George R. Olson, the creator of SurrealEstate, tweeted in October 2021 the unfortunate news that SyFy wouldn’t be moving forward with a season 2, but to not give up hope and they were looking for a new home for the paranormal procedure.

Hulu began streaming season 1 of SurrealEstate starting October 6 and it was revealed on May 2022 that SyFy had decided against officially canceling SurrealEstate when it talked about new and returning series in an article.

CONCLUSION

I rate SurrealEstate 3.9/5, I’ve loved Tim Rozon since his days on Wynonna Earp as the immortal gunslinger Doc Holliday, which was also unfortunately canceled after its fourth season by SyFy. No worries, Melanie Scrofano (Wynonna) guest starred in episode three and played a fanatic homeowner trying to sell her cottage (such a fun episode).

SurrealEstate is character-driven, and with a heavy-hitting cast, the characters are believable and loveable. Even with the extra bits thrown in (Roman’s ability to see ghosts, and Ireland’s telekinesis and pyrokinesis) and the haunted houses, the heart is still there and beating strong. It was sad that at first it looked like we would be leaving on such a cliffhanger, with Luke losing his powers and knowing his mother was alive somewhere.

SurrealEstate is ALIVE and will be airing on SyFy sometime in late 2023. As of October 12th, you can catch up on season one on Hulu.

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers and Side Characters Play the Sims

I don’t know what possessed me to make this but WHATEVER. I’ve been playing the Sims since I was a wee little girl, and I’ve seen my fair share of weird Sims stuff that I feel would fit these bozos perfectly.

My Sims have a Functional Family Life Because I Don’t (Lucifer)

God dammit Levi’s obsessed with another game... ugh.

Spends 5 minutes in Create-a-Sim and hops into a starter home.

Lucifer’s the type to start with all the average stuff and then build their stuff up as his sim gets promotions.

It’s just... so peaceful...

...he’s adopting a dog.

Look at his new little virtual family... his sim-kids are self sufficient and getting A’s in school, his Sim spouse MC or Diavolo take your pick loves his Sim-self, his sim-dog-

WAIT NO- THE DOG’S AN ELDER?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

...

He’s fine. It was just a virtual dog. *sniffle*

He’s now spending his free time drinking Demonus and playing the Sims.

What’s a mod? Levi why does your sim have gun?

Behold, My Gorgeous Home... It’s a Box (Mammon)

Mammon, like the rest of the HOL, is mooching off of Levi’s Origin account.

“AW SHIT! This house looks awesome! I’m gonna build it for Sim-me to live in!”

Mammon proceeds to build a box with rooms. Yay...

He just picks the funnest sounding job if he picks any job at all for his Sim. That’s how he ended up making 9 dollars an hour in the criminal career.

Didn’t stop Mammon from buying that solid gold bathroom set from Get Famous... a box with solid gold bathrooms.

His Sim is broke send help-

“Leviiiiiii my sim needs money... the people my sim kidnapped and is forcing to paint aren’t making enough money...” “Ugh... press control shift C and type ‘motherlode’.”

...Levi made a mistake.

“FUCK YEAH! MOTHERLODE!”

His sim’s life is so chaotic, he has a piranha pool that his sim has almost died in twice, the sim is carrying on several torrid love affairs, his sim got struck by lightning, his sim has nearly died in a grilled cheese making accident twice... in the same day.

At least once Sim-Mammon and Sim-MC get married things calm down a little.

Mammon finds out what custom content is and proceeds to download EVERYTHING HE CAN FIND.

And now he’s asking Levi why his computer is running so slow.

Expansion Pack King (Leviathan)

He got into it back when the Sims 2 was new, he’s a veteran fan.

“Bro remember when Agnes Crumplebottom would show up and whack the shit out of your sims if they were flirting?”

“Remember when that witch would show up randomly on the lot you were on if you had Makin’ Magic?”

“Remember when Bella Goth was abducted by aliens and we just... didn’t question it?”

He whines about the Sims4 and how crappy it is but still buys every expansion pack, game pack, and stuff pack.

This boy watches like 40 hours of built tutorials and ends up sobbing over his weird roofs.

“WHY DOESN’T IT LOOK AS NICE AS THE ONE I’M LOOKING AT?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

The mod folder is so full istg-

Levi gets custom content for the sole purpose of making his favourite fictional characters.

This is why Henry and the Lord of Shadows are married and Ruri-chan and Sim-Levi are roommates.

Oh my god they were roommates-

Levi also added his brothers to the world and uh... Sim-Mammon died in a tragic pool accident F.

Levi then proceeded to befriend the Grim Reaper.

He’s anxiously awaiting the release of Paralives.

Wait Gameplay? In This Build Simulator? (Satan)

Satan’s here to build and leave. Gameplay who?

Our favourite bundle of rage is a master architect and the amount of followers on the Gallery he has shows it.

He takes up those build shell challenges and always ends up making them look positively perfect.

Asmo’s always using his houses, and Satan often takes requests when he gets bored.

No Mammon, he reserves the right to refuse to build a golden castle for you- YOUR SIM HAS 40 SIMOLEONS-

No mods, no CC, he’s building with what EA gave him.

...and EA gave him debug objects, and he’s not going to explain how to get them.

The one time he did actually play with a family... it was one sim and seven cats.

He tries to play without cheats... and ends up getting frustrated and turns on cheats.

All hail the Pets Expansion Pack.

Custom Content Soap Opera (Asmodeus)

Asmo spends 5 hours in Create a Sim then just... clicks out of the game.

That’s how it goes most of the time, buuuuuut when he gets super invested in a family he’s made, boy howdy is he INVESTED.

Sim A is carrying on an affair with Sim C who’s in love with Sim B who’s married to Sim A but Sim D wants to kill Sim A and C even though they’re the illegitimate child of Sim C-

When Asmo realizes that in the Sims 4 he needs to manufacture all the drama himself and he can’t just sit back with a glass of wine and watch the fireworks, he switches to the Sims 2 and 3.

“...why is this old lady beating up my Sim..?”

He immediately recoils in horror upon seeing how ugly the Sims are pre Sims4.

HE NEEDS TO FIX THIS-

Ah, there we go, perfect. Custom Content to the rescue!

He ends up remaking the entire world just so he doesn’t have to look at weird looking Sims.

Asmo is the only one to have finished a proper Legacy Challenge, but it gets crazy chaotic after gen 3.

“My sim just got abducted by aliens and now he’s pregnant- WHAT?!”

He has about 40 saves and only two he actually plays.

Just a Big Ol’ Happy Family (Beelzebub)

Beel found the game, proceeded to make everyone in create-a-sim to the best of his abilities, and made everyone get along.

That’s why Sim-Lucifer and Sim-Belphie are on a swing set together, they’re friends :D

“Hey Luke do you think you can make this?” “I-is that a cake shaped like a hamburger?” “Yes. Please make.”

He took one look at the cooking options and decided to max out his Sim’s cooking skill to unlock all the options.

Beel proceeded to drool all over his keyboard. Gross...

Boy howdy did he have some crazy dinner suggestions!

Overall, very wholesome Sim-life, except for the time Sim-Levi died because the toilet caught fire, don’t worry, Sim-Beel knows how to make ambrosia.

All is good in the Sim save...

...until Sim-Beel ate pufferfish nigiri and fuckin died-

Wait Did I Not Pause- (Belphie)

Huh, this game looks fine... I’ll play for a little- *SNORE*

Belphie makes some sims, plops them into a starter home, plays for an hour, then falls asleep.

He wakes up five hours later to absolute carnage.

Three sims have died because someone decided to make Mac and Cheese and the oven caught fire, the kids were taken away by social services, and the dog ran away.

“...heheh, holy shit everyone look.”

He doesn’t play often, but when he does, death occurs. He has found out every death method for every game from Sims 2 to 4.

And that INCLUDES the Sims Medieval! You guys remember that game?

Sometimes it’s not intentional, but Belphie got bored with the totally normal life his sims were living and decided to spice it up.

“Why are the ghosts breaking my showers..?”

Help There’s a Bug- (Diavolo)

The Crown Prince started playing when he noticed Lucifer was playing it.

He was immediately obsessed.

Dia mostly plays the Sims Medieval because he likes the feeling of achievement after completing a quest!

“Barbatos... why isn’t my Sim completing their task? The icon won’t show up.” “My lord it appears the game is bugged.” “:(“

No one thought to tell Diavolo that EA doesn’t plan on offering bug support to a game made in like... 2009

This doesn’t matter! Look at how great his kingdom is doing- oh no his hero has the plague-

He plays through the Pirates and Nobles expansion and manages to get the peaceful ending, he’s so proud of himself.

“MC! Look! My Monarch’s sword is permanently on fire and I’m fighting an evil wizard!”

When he does play the other Sims games he’s pretty basic, though, he does a great job at furnishing!

Dia gets crazy sad when his Sims die... he turns off aging.

Builder no. 2 (Barbatos)

Barbie doesn’t have time for this... but when he does, he builds.

No create a sim.

No playing the game as intended.

Just builds.

It’s relaxing, okay? A nice little suburban house he’s never going to play in, maybe a treehouse, maybe a big Hollywood Mansion...

The only time he actually plays the game outside of build mode is when someone needs his help to fix something in-game.

He does download custom content build items if he feels bored by the current selection.

Oh Crap What Am I Doing?! (Simeon)

Help him. Please.

He’s so confused.

“Luke, why is my sim upset?” “He’s hungry, Simeon.” “Oh, how do I fix that?” “...Simeon-”

There’s a toilet in the middle of the living room.

The fridge is facing the wall.

There’s no bathtub or shower.

The house is on fire- there is no god- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Okay, once he gets the hang of it he’s sitting pretty. His sims have good jobs, the kids are getting good grades, everything’s fine.

...

But Simeon won’t forget the nightmares.

What Even is This Save? (Solomon)

Solomon’s save is the definition of chaos.

One sim’s a vampire, the other is a spellcaster that really wants to fight the Callientes for some reason, there’s one normal sim that’s always sick for some reason,

It gets weird, confusing, and horrible.

Just how Solomon likes it.

His house makes no sense, like, what even is architecture?

Money cheats are needed because Solomon‘a goal of chaos and confusion is proving to be kind of expensive.

Square up Mortimer Goth, Solomon’s sims are here to steal your weird knight statue that’s worth a shit ton of simoleons for NO REASON.

He joined the scientist career for the sole purpose of getting to the alien planet and kidnapping adding an alien to the household via cheats.

The vampire ended up dying on their wedding day because Solomon forgot that he gave them the sun weakness.

Oh well, the ghost got added to the household! VAMPIRE GHOST!

The Child (Luke)

Before you say Luke’s too young to play the Sims, you should know that I was nine when I first started playing, and I turned out fiiiiiiiiiine.

He’s just happy to be playing.

Look, his sims are gardening :D

Look, two of them are getting married :D

Look, they had a baby :D

Look, his sims are building a rocket ship :D

Look, his sims’s rocket just crashed-

The concept of death hit the little angel right in the face that day.

“*sniffle*... my sims...”

Don’t worry, with tears in his eyes, Luke quit without saving and everything was fine!

Speaking of My Sims, Luke played MySims Sky Heroes and that was when Luke had his first bout of gamer rage.

MC came over to hang out with Solomon and Simeon, and in the distance they could just hear:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY TIME WASN’T FAST ENOUGH TO CONTINUE THE STORY!? I’LL SHOW YOU FAST ENOUGH TIME!”

Okay, maybe Simeon should take the game away... just for a bit... he should take heed not to be bitten by the incredibly angry chihuahua.

Bonus:

MC: Why are our Sims married?

*Insert Boy Here*: Uh... that’s weird... I have no clue why they’re doing that...

[rax-writes]

Enchanted - Part II

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina Pairing:  Caliban x Reader Warnings:  Violence, death + resurrection Notes:  Part I ♥ Here’s part two! Hope you all like it!

Your relationship with Caliban did not remain a secret for long. Your sister was the first to know.

As you jogged over to her at the carnival the following weekend, you said, “Sister, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I know how the Plague Kings’ plan to overthrow you. They’ll be keeping an eye on you for any missteps, and once given probable cause, they will force you and Caliban to embark on a quest to retrieve the Unholy Regalia.”

She was visibly stunned, and understandably so. “That’s great! But how did you find all that out?”

“That would be the bad news.”

As if on cue, Caliban then materialized, and wrapped an arm around your waist – which was immediately noticed by Sabrina.

“What did you rope my sister into?” she snarled at Caliban, but you held up a hand to silence them both before the bickering began.

“Caliban came to me and stated that he wished to court me. I first tried to convince him to end the coup in exchange for courtship, but he explained that even if he wanted to, he is unable to stop the Kings. So, instead, the exchange became useful information for courtship.”

“Mhmm,” Sabrina mused disbelievingly, glaring at the man at your side. “And for how long does she have to date you?”

“The only requirement to fulfill our agreement is a single date, hence our presence at this mortal affair,” Caliban answered, then smiled warmly at you. “After that, the status of our courtship is up to my lady.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad,” Sabrina muttered, then shrugged as she turned to you. “At least you can get this night over with and never have to see him again.”

“In all honesty… I am not entirely opposed to seeing him again,” you admitted hesitantly, and Sabrina’s jaw dropped slightly as her brows furrowed in agitation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sister. For Satan’s sake, have you seen him? He’s more than a little easy on the eyes.”

Caliban chuckled, both at your compliment and your sister’s obvious annoyance. “Come, little dove. Let us explore this fanciful event.”

Though the evening had been a delight, and you enjoyed your time with your date, you couldn’t help but notice that Caliban seemed slightly on edge all night. After the sun had gone down, and you’d surveyed the majority of the carnival, Caliban requested to take you to dinner in a nice restaurant. You agreed, and he thoroughly surprised you by taking you to a quiet, romantic rooftop restaurant in Italy, having remembered you stating that Italian was your favorite food. It was the following morning before you realized that he’d been sensing the impending danger of Herod’s attack. Coincidentally, he had disappeared for a short while during dinner, and although he’d claimed to have gone to the restroom, you learned from Sabrina the following morning that he’d actually returned to Greendale to collect King Herod's crown.

Naturally, the two of you had bickered about him cheating your sister the next time you were together, but his soft lips and skilled hands had done wonders to dissipate your anger. Although you refused to admit it, you were positively hooked from thereon out.

You told yourself that you continued the dates and the trysts simply because it was merely an enjoyable pastime. But in truth, it was because you were slowly falling for the prince. Knowing it was a mistake due to his allegiance to Hell, and his position as the enemy of your sister, created a forbidden nature to the romance, and it only made you crave him more.

Little did you know, Caliban felt the same for you. Your smile set his soul aflame, and your laughter made his chest tighten with affection. The sight of your hair fanned across your pillow, mouth slightly agape in pleasure, was not one he would ever grow tired of. He had fallen well and truly in love with you.

This information was kept secret from one another, because both of you were scared to admit such a thing and risk scaring the other away.

It wasn’t long after your mutual realizations that he met your aunts and Ambrose. Although they were all pleased to have met the object of your affection, and they remained civil with him, it was evident that each member of your family distrusted him, and questioned his intentions with you.

Their distrust turned out to be short-lived.

Immediately following your coven’s Hare Moon celebration, one of the Pagans had developed a very intense dislike for you. All it took was for her to sense that you were a very powerful member of your kind – that is, until your powers faded – and she, being a harpy, notorious for their insatiable hunger and lust for torture, had decided that she would feast upon your witch flesh as her next meal.

It was that evening when she appeared. You had been relaxing on the front porch of the Spellman Mortuary, and at first, you thought she was merely a mortal woman – then her wings spread out from behind her as her glamour faded, bird-like legs sprouted from her torso, and her face became hideous, decayed and rotting. You had instinctively tried to run, but it was futile. After all, harpies were originally thought to be the personification of wind, so it was unsurprising that you were in her clutches before you even made it to the door.

The harpy’s sharp talons dug into your shoulders, and you screamed for help as she launched you into the yard. You fell flat on your back, which knocked the wind out of you, and she was on you again in the blink of an eye. As you felt the most impossibly intense, agonizing pain across your abdomen, you screamed again as you glanced down and realized she had torn you open. She began feasting on your flesh and organs, blood dripping from her claws as she ravaged you.

You were vaguely aware of a horrified scream from Sabrina somewhere behind you. She had just swung open the front door of the Spellman household to see the ghastly scene before her, Aunt Zelda, Aunt Hilda, and Ambrose right behind her. With a roar of pure rage, Ambrose charged at the harpy with his blade drawn, which drew her away from you. Sabrina and Hilda then kneeled beside you, the former with tears in her eyes and a terrified look on her face as she held your hand, and the latter clearly trying to hide her panic as she unsuccessfully attempted to heal you. But your injuries were far too extensive, and your loved ones’ magick was far too weak.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced through the night air, and you weakly turned your head to see Aunt Zelda holding a shotgun, Ambrose a few feet from your attacker, and the harpy lying dead on the ground. The two then ran over to you, both dropping to their knees at your side, their faces just as solemn and fearful as Sabrina and Aunt Hilda.

It was then, looking upon the panic-stricken faces of your family, that you knew you were going to die.

Darkness began to cloud your vision, and you vaguely heard your sister sobbing, and aunts and cousin begging you to stay conscious, giving you empty promises that they would find a way to fix this, and that everything would be alright. In the midst of all their hysterics, it seemed an idea donned on Sabrina.

“Caliban!” she screamed desperately into the night, her voice breaking from the force as she put behind it.

He appeared instantly, the usual vortex of flames escorting him onto the scene. He opened his mouth, no doubt to make a smug retort to Sabrina’s unceremonious summoning, before his eyes fell on you.

“No,” Caliban whispered in disbelief, still frozen on the spot. Blood poured from your abdomen, and the sight of you torn open and half-dead filled him with a sense of gripping terror and worry he had never before experienced. He ran over to you, skidding to a stop on his knees and gently cradling your head in his hands.

“Do something!” Sabrina begged, a sob raking her body. Caliban panicked for a split second, then a solution came to him. It was a last ditch effort kind of plan, but seeing as your eyes had already drifted shut, and your body was growing colder by the second, he knew that he must do something that would absolutely ensure your survival.

“With a desperate heart and no time to waste, I call upon all three Fates!”

In a cloud of smoke, three hooded figures appeared. Each had clouded eyes, long white hair, and greenish-gray, wrinkled skin.

“Fates, I beseech you to save this woman’s life,” Caliban pleaded.

“In exchange for our aid, you must give up the fate you have been pursuing so fiercely.” The Fates spoke in unison, their voices raspy and eerie. “You must cease your pursuit of the throne of Hell, and no longer seek to make Earth the tenth circle.”

“I shall. Here and now, I end my quest to become King of Hell, and remake the Earth as the tenth circle,” Caliban vowed. The lack of hesitation and conviction in his voice astounded each of the Spellman’s, although that was but a minor thought in the back of their minds at the moment. “Just save the woman I love, please.”

The Fates disappeared without another word in another cloud of smoke, at the same moment that a ragged, desperate gasp tore from your lips. The Spellman’s and Caliban all snapped their eyes back down to you. The fatal wound had been healed, and even your clothing was fixed. You sat bolt upright, as if you’d just been necromanced back to life – and, technically, you had. As you looked around at your loved ones, the realization that you were alive and safe sunk in, and you immediately began to cry.

“I saw Dad. I saw him,” you sobbed pitifully, and your family took you into their arms. You despised how weak you sounded, but seeing your father was something you were entirely unprepared for. Caliban rubbed his palm up and down your back, not wanting to interfere with your familial embrace. Still crying into Auntie Zee’s chest, you explained, “I died. I died and Dad was there waiting for me. He hugged me and told me that he was happy to see me, but it wasn’t my time yet.”

It was several minutes before you were able to compose yourself, although you supposed that was somewhat to be expected for someone who had just died then came back to life. After your aunts wiped your tears, you turned around to look at Caliban.

“I know you had something to do with this. We’re all powerless right now, so that is the only explanation,” you whispered. “What did you do?”

Caliban hesitated a moment, so Ambrose answered for him.

“He called upon the Fates. They demanded that he give up the fate he has been pursuing, in order to save you. So, he vowed to give up the throne of Hell, and said it was to save the woman he loves.”

You looked slowly from Ambrose back to Caliban. He appeared slightly perturbed that Ambrose revealed what he’d said in that moment of fear-fueled vulnerability, but didn’t bother to deny it.

“Caliban… is that true?”

“As I’ve told you before: anything for you,” Caliban answered, giving you a soft smile. You threw your arms around his neck, and he immediately wrapped his around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmured, your face buried in his neck. Caliban held you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“And I love you, little dove.”

[hexandbalances]

BEER HAS BEEN AN ESSENTIAL aspect of human existence for at least 4,000 years—and women have always played a central role in its production. But as beer gradually moved from a cottage industry into a money-making one, women were phased out through a process of demonization and character assassination.

It’s telling that the oldest-known beer recipe comes from a Sumerian hymn to the goddess of beer, Ninkasi. It also includes a description of how the fermented beverage was made in ancient times:

[…]It is you who bake the beerbread in the big oven, and put in order the piles of hulled grain. Ninkasi, it is you who bake the beerbread in the big oven, and put in order the piles of hulled grain. It is you who soak the malt in a jar; the waves rise, the waves fall. Ninkasi, it is you who soak the malt in a jar; the waves rise, the waves fall. It is you who spread the cooked mash on large reed mats; coolness overcomes. Ninkasi, it is you who spread the cooked mash on large reed mats; coolness overcomes [....]

Sumerian women brewed low-alcohol beer for religious ceremonies (including ones dedicated to Ninkasi) as well as for daily food rations. Ancient Egyptians worshipped a beer goddess named Tenenet, and hieroglyphics have been found depicting women brewing and drinking beer. Baltic and Slavic mythology both include a goddess, named Raugutiene, who provided protection over beer. And the Finnish told of a legendary woman named Kalevatar who invented beer by mixing honey with bear saliva.

Egyptian hieroglyphics depict women pouring beer. PUBLIC DOMAIN

The image of the woman as ale-maker persisted well into the Middle Ages, moving from a sacred role to an everyday necessity of homemaking, historically typified as “women’s work.” Water in cities was unsanitary, at times bringing with it deadly diseases. But the process of fermentation created a sterile drink, so beer was considered a safer option. Most ale was very low-alcohol level, while more potent ales were reserved for special occasions such as holidays and weddings. So even before the year 1500, nearly all women in England knew how to brew.

Making beer is difficult and time-consuming in any age. But given that a typical medieval family of five might have needed roughly 9 gallons of beer to subsist per week, and said beer spoiled quickly, women had to get creative. They then began sharing the workload with friends and neighbors, a system that often involved one woman making extra each week to sell to other households. As this culture of shared work evolved, some women in England began making ale more professionally, with some providing a constant flow of it for sale. Occasionally, these women might open makeshift bars located in their own homes, where people could sit together and drink. And so the term “alewife” (or “brewster”) emerged, referring to a woman who brewed beer for a small profit.

Professional brewsters and alewives had several means of identifying themselves and promoting their businesses. They wore tall hats to stand out on crowded streets. To signify that their homes or taverns sold ale, they would place broomsticks—a symbol of domestic trade—outside of the door. Cats often scurried around the brewsters’ bubbling cauldrons, killing the mice that liked to feast on the grains used for ale.

If all of this sounds familiar, it’s because this is all iconography that we now associate with witches. While there’s no definitive historical proof that modern depictions of witches were modeled after alewives, some historians see uncanny similarities between brewsters and anti-witch propaganda. One such example exists in a 17th-century woodcut of a popular alewife, Mother Louise, who was well-known in her time for making excellent beer.

Mother Louise, a popular alewife. FÆ / CC BY 4.0

While the relationship between alewives and witch imagery has still yet to be proven, we do know for sure that alewives and brewsters had a bad reputation from the jump. Beyond the cheating that some of their counterparts engaged in, brewsters also had to deal with the bad rap their entire gender suffered because of original sin. “The ale trade was (and is) filled with trickery—poor ale substituted for good, pint measures that were just a bit too small, inflated prices, and of course, inebriated customers who found they’d been robbed or cheated,” explains Dr. Judith Bennet, author of Ale, Brewsters, and Beer in England: Women’s Work in a Changing World 1300-1600. “For medieval people, it was easy to link these deceptions with women. Were not women, as daughters of Eve, naturally more deceptive and wicked than men? By such logic, any alewife, no matter how friendly and open, was suspected of being a secret swindler.”

The medieval Church was also not a fan of brewsters. They saw these early female entrepreneurs as temptresses who used their wiles to get pious men drunk and spend money. The Church also saw alehouses as playgrounds for the devil, where the cardinal sins of gluttony and lust ruled supreme.

Furthermore, as Bennet notes, one of the most iconic images of feminine evil in the Middle Ages was that of the alewife in hell: The Church specifically taught that alewives would be the only people left in hell after Christ freed all the damned. “Enacted in plays, drawn on the walls of parish churches, and carved into wood, it was a fate that medieval people imagined with resentful glee,” Bennet details.

The Church equated alewives with damnation. PROJECT GUTENBERG

Brewsters’ bad reputation didn’t help their case when wealthier, more socially-connected men started taking up the trade. After the devastation of the Black Plague, people began drinking a lot more ale, doing so in public alehouses instead of at home. This also marked a shift in people’s relationship with beer, which moved from being just a necessity and occasional indulgence to something closer to what we have today. Men suddenly saw they could make a real profit off of what was once seen as a semi-lucrative side gig for women. So they built taverns that were bigger and cleaner than the makeshift ones that alewives provided, and people flocked to them to revel and conduct business alike. Over time, alewives grew to be seen not only as tricky, but also dirty and their beer unsanitary.

Women continued to make low-alcohol ale for their family’s daily consumption after the Industrial Revolution increased production methods, which made buying beer cheaper and easier than making it at home. But that died in the 1950s and 1960s, when marketing campaigns branded beer as a “manly drink.” Companies such as Schlitz, Heineken, and Budweiser depicted beer as a means of unwinding after a long day of work, often featuring women serving their suited-up husbands cold bottles of brew.

That’s been a factor in why the contemporary brewing industry is a notorious boy’s club, but the craft beer industry has helped moved the needle a bit: A 2014 Auburn University study found that women represented 29% of all brewery workers. It seems that the brewing industry has taken a circuitous route, moving away from small homebrewing methods to large-scale production, and back again. These days, the sky’s the limit for brewsters. They don’t even have to ride broomsticks to get there.

Recommended additional reading: How Women Brewsters Saved the World by Tara Nurin

[jimlingss]

Moirai [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.2k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You turn the corner and dart down the hall.   “My lady!”   There’s a parade of maids chasing after you, Joan included in the bunch, and a frightened guard whose metal armour clanks with each movement. You grin, swinging your wooden sword around at them with a ‘huzzah!’. Pretending you’re a champion, you twirl around the pillar with one arm. But even with your theatrics, they’re still meters away and out of reach.   “Please! Come back! You have your dance lessons!”   You stick out your tongue. “Then catch me!”   It’s been one full year since you’ve started learning swordsmanship and admittedly, it’s become one of your most favourite times of the day. It beats sitting at a desk with the old fart droning on and on about dumb things you already know or having your posture criticized over and over again during dance lessons.    You’re frankly getting tired of having information and insults shoved down your throat.    Sword lessons are the only time you can be out in the sun and do whatever you want. You can tell that you’re improving too. It’s a pain in the ass to get the guards to take you seriously, but sometimes the tips and tricks they give are pretty helpful.   It’s fun.   Especially when there are people desperately chasing you.   “P-Please!” one of the girls cries out, running out of breath.   One of the best perks about being a five-year old is having endless energy in your body. And you’ll happily take advantage of that while you still can. “Pirates never give up! Argh, matey!”   But your play time is unfortunately interrupted by a deadpanning voice—   “What are you doing?”    The familiar sharp voice sends shivers up your spine and you freeze.   Your parade halts on their heels as well, immediately dropping their heads to the ground and placing one hand over the other reverently. “Your grace.”   “What is going on here?” Your mother’s footsteps echo through the marble hall, ball gown dragged behind her as her scrutinizing eyes lay on the help, the knight and then to you.   “I’m so sorry,” Joan is quick to confess, “The lady refuses to attend her dance practices.”   And she’s quick to throw you under the bus.   If you could, you’d stick up your middle finger at her.   Your mother turns, her glare laid upon you. You brace yourself.   “This is not how the future Devereux head should act.” Her voice is above a slight murmur, yet chilling and heavy. Her narrowed eyes have dimmed as they look upon you. She doesn’t need to yell to be frightening. “The Chevalier household has their youngest daughter playing piano and they recently went to the castle to show her talent. How will you compete, Anastasia?”   “I—”   “Or will you continue to tarnish our family’s name by being a child?”   You are a child. Technically.    The woman looms over you, her demeanour imposing and the burden of the household’s name lays upon your shoulders. You can’t help but feel small. It’s no wonder Anastasia took the Prince’s kindness as love and fell for him so quickly. Moments with him were her moments of freedom.   You stay quiet, solemn, knowing it’s not worth arguing. Your eyes instead focus on a younger maid who’s silently snickering to herself and before you can make note for later, your vision blurs.   “From now on, your swordsmanship lessons will be retracted until you’ve caught up with the rest of your lessons,” she says while looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance. “The only places you are to be permitted in for the next month is your room and the study—”   It’s unfair. A punishment that doesn’t fit the crime.   But your voice doesn’t come out of your mouth.   The world tilts on an axis. It swirls. Your head is lightweight.    And before you could figure out what’s happening, there’s a shrill cry for you — “my lady!” — and you feel yourself falling back before the universe becomes pitch black. An abyss of nothing.   //   “Why did she faint?!”   When you come to, your first thought is that you’ve died. Again.   Illness. Heart attack. Maybe from the plague.    Fuck.   It’s frightening and you feel an urge to cry, knowing that you yet again didn’t complete your goal of living a long and fruitful life. That the years spent fighting for your survival were ultimately useless. But then you hear far away voices and realize your fingers can twitch. The soft mattress underneath you registers soon after and it sinks in that you’re in your room, bedridden.   “Well….your grace…”   “On with it! I didn’t bring you here to waste my time!”   “Herrick…”   Oh right. It’s the Eve of the Solar Festival, isn’t it? A day where commoners celebrate the empire and wish for its everlasting prosperity. You remember since you’ve never gone before. Around this same time last year and the year before that, you fell ill in the exact same way — cold, chest aching, dizzy spells.    It’s odd. Usually you aren’t so weak and yet somehow, you always get better in the morning once the festival is over. You don’t remember this ever being mentioned in the original game either. Or at least Anastasia never said anything about it and she would’ve totally milked it for the Prince’s attention if she could’ve. But maybe it’s an outside detail. Something the game developers were going to include in a future DLC.   “We don’t know what’s happening to the lady, your grace,” the healer says.   Your father bellows from his stomach, “Excuse me?!”   “H-Her pulse reads well and she has no fever either. I-It’s a very unusual case.”   In your half-consciousness, you perceive the bitter silence.    “Heal her at all costs.” Your father’s footsteps fade and your mother sighs.   You wish you couldn’t hear. Otherwise, it would be easy to demonize the pair as unsympathetic, psychopathic parents who only consider their daughter a chess piece. You’re sure the only reason they’re expressing so much concern is because you are the only heir after all. They really have no future if Anastasia dies.    But it’s still hard to quell the hope that they actually care for your wellbeing.    Still, you wish you couldn’t hear their desperation. It wouldn’t have to be so conflicting. Or bittersweet. The only time they show an ounce of their affection is when you’re on your deathbed.   You muster the strength to open your eyes once everyone’s left the room.    Most likely, you’ll live through this. You still have yet to have any of the game’s encounters or even start. Anastasia was alive for most of it, enough to terrorize the main character, so you’ll live too.   Shit. When does the game start again?   The opening scene was right before the debutante ball was held for all the girls in the empire.   You count on your fingers — give or take, there’s twelve or thirteen years left….   But you remember from the wiki fan page that Anastasia became engaged to the Crown Prince when they were kids.    Oh god. If you weren’t so weak, you’d roll over and scream into your pillow.   There’s an unsettling feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach.   No matter how much effort you put forth, you don’t know how you’re going to avoid that arrangement.

Turns out, it’s unavoidable.   It begins two years later at seven years old, the D-day that you were dreading, the first domino that begins all the others.   “No! Please!” The entire household is stunned at how you’ve grabbed onto the Duke’s leg and wrapped your limbs around his appendage, practically dead weight and not allowing him to move a single step.    All your life, you’ve kept a good amount of distance between your parents — never daring to overstep your boundaries or sass them back no matter how much you wanted to. It’s more trouble than it’s worth anyway and it’s better to play on their good side.   But you’ve thrown in the towel. This is your last desperate attempt.   “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll go to all my dance lessons and all my history lessons and all my math lessons. Please, papa! Please!” You’re practically crying aloud. You wish someone would help you. “I don’t want to go to the Royal Palace!”   Edith is shaking her head while Joan is mortified at the sidelines.   Your mother’s expression is twisted in disgust while your dad is wholly aghast. Hey — it’s not like you wanted to do this either, alright?!   But your pleas fall on deaf ears. To them, it’s merely the whining of a child. A temper tantrum.   “My lady, please stop this,” Joan harshly whispers and rushes to pry your grip off of the Duke’s leg. Several others come too, maids and kitchen staff alike. Your strength is no match for theirs.   “My stomach hurts!”   Your father has no sympathy. “We’ve delayed enough times, Anastasia. If we postpone the meeting with the King again, it would be shameful to our house. Now get up.”   He’s done hearing the excuses — and while you’d usually internally call him out for being an ass, the moment you heard he wanted to take you to the palace, you did claim you have a fever.    Then you claimed diarrhea. A cough. Hid for several hours.   You’re actually surprised you managed to delay it for this long.   “There’s no choice, my lady,” Joan mutters quickly as she fixes the ribbons in your pretty hairdo. “You must go with the Duke today.”   Deep down, you know it’s true. You’ll be pulled along anyhow.    But you wish they would understand that this is a matter of life and death for you.   Your silence is a sign of raising the white flag and Joan retracts back to her place as your dad turns to leave the manor. He adjusts his hat as he’s escorted to the carriage and you’re about to trail after him, but your mother stops you.   You expect her to reprimand you, give an earful of what you should and shouldn’t do. But you’re surprised when she lowers herself down to your eye level.    She catches you off guard when she reaches out to button up your pea coat, attentive and careful in each swift movement. “This is a really important meeting, Anastasia. Do you understand?”    Her voice is soft, quiet enough that no one else aside from you can hear. You nod.   “You must be on your best behaviour. Your father, me, all the workers here, and the whole House of Devereux will be relying on you.” Wow. Way to not pressure a seven year old. “Today is the day that might change our lives for the better.”   As she finishes buttoning, her hands stroke your shoulders down your arms. The Duchess smiles gingerly, tiredly. For a moment, you feel guilty for being so selfish — for prioritizing your own survival and desires when everyone else was quite literally relying on you for their livelihood.   You find yourself swallowing hard before nodding again.    You get into the carriage without another word.    Well fuck. What now?   A part of you wishes you ran away when you had the opportunity — even though there was a good chance you would’ve been kidnapped and sold at an underground market or gone hungry or be shipped back right to your parents. Ashea, like any other place, doesn’t take kindly to wandering children.   But at least then you would’ve had more control and choice.    You know this isn’t just a fun field trip to the palace. The only reason the Duke and the King would meet like this is to seek an engagement. Your engagement with the Prince’s.    Half an hour later, you peek out the carriage windows to see the castle at the horizon.   Stone walls, seven towers, lookouts, the empire’s flag fluttering in the breeze — it’s a beautiful place with rolling green hills and beds of flowers that wind up the path. It’s a hundred times more grand than the Devereux estate and ten times the size too, stretching across for miles. But it’s also the location where all of it happens.    The beginning. The climax. The end.   “Anastasia.”   Your attention is taken when your father steps off the carriage. You take the servant's hand and hop down onto the cobblestone, following your father closely. He greets an important person or two and you lower your head to them in greeting as they complement how mannerly you are.   The two of you are led through open, lavish halls full of life-sized portraits and marble statues, and then through the garden. Even in both your lifetimes, you’ve never seen so many different kinds of flowers and vivid hues in one place.    Pansies. Orchids. Marigold.    Magenta. Lavender. Marmalade.   But you don't get to admire it for long. Not when the gazebo comes into sight.    A man with straight posture, dark hair streaked with gray to show his age and deep set eyes sits at the rounded table. Even with the absence of his crown, his status is shown through his navy cape ornate with golden swirls held together by an emerald jewel embellished with the royal crest. Wrinkles around his mouth, he has a fiercely stern expression until he cordially smiles as your father approaches.    Beside him is a spitting image, a smaller boy slumped in the white chair, visibly bored.   “Herrick! Good to see you, my old friend.”   “Your Majesty.” Your father bows and you follow suit, giving a curtsy and lowering your head. But at the same time, you can’t help peeking at the boy. His eyes meet yours and you look away.   Oh fuck.   It’s the first meeting between the Prince and Anastasia.    You’re sure for her it was impactful, nerve wracking, life changing. And it’s like that for you as well, but not so much on the positive side.   “Please, the formalities. Is this the daughter you've been speaking so highly about?”   “Yes, this is my only child, Anastasia.”   You plaster on a perfect, little smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”   The King hums. “A very lovely child indeed. The Devereux House is blessed.”   The Duke smiles. “Thank you.”   “Please sit and make yourselves welcome.” The King gestures and the servants nearby scurry over, pulling out your chairs, pouring tea and placing plates of biscuits on their table. In a blink, they’ve finished and you can’t help but muse how much better they are than the servants back at home. The King smiles and looks at his son. “Jungkook, don’t you have anything to say?”   “Nice to meet you,” he deadpans before his doe eyes wander out to the gardens.    Jungkook is wholly disinterested in you and this entire affair — you don’t blame him. You bet any seven year old would be itching to get out of their seat. But looking at him, you can’t believe you liked him so much in the game. You even had him as your phone wallpaper for a few months.   But from the perspective of Anastasia and knowing your outcome and your impending demise, he’s not even cute as a kid.   If anything, sitting across from him stresses you the fuck out.   You weren’t supposed to even meet him. This was the exact opposite of your battle plans. And yet the engagement is going to happen whether you like it or not. The greatest irony of all is that you know he’ll end up falling in love with the main character anyway instead of you. Aka. the orphaned girl who ends up adopted by a baron.   This whole ordeal only serves to make you suffer.   The only way you could sabotage this meeting now is by slamming the teapot over Prince Jungkook’s head. And that would either get you thrown in jail for treason and executed or sent back to the Devereux estate on house arrest where your mother would kill you.   Oh god. It’s death either way.   “Are the sweets not to your liking?”   It takes a second for you to register that the King is looking at you. That he’s speaking to you.   You go wide-eyed, realizing you haven’t had a bite of the cakes, the biscuits or sipped on any tea. You’ve completely tuned out their conversation. But he’s been watching you and Jungkook from the corner of his eye, assessing your interactions closely.    Your palms go clammy as you open your mouth before closing it.    “She’s just shy,” your dad swiftly informs with a polite smile. It’s a complete lie, but one the royal monarch believes.   “Ah. We shouldn’t bore them with adult talk then.” The man turns to his son. “Jungkook, why don’t you go off and play with Anastasia here?”   “Okay,” he mumbles and slides off his chair.   You follow suit, a bit relieved that you were dismissed from the overly formal atmosphere.   The two of you go deeper into the gardens until the gazes of your father and the King’s fade from view. Jungkook is wearing a white ensemble with a cape which he dirties with the way he’s kicking rocks in his path. He seems burdened that you’re beside him.   “What do you like playing?” he asks.   You’re perplexed on how to answer. You’re not sure how you should play with an actual seven year old. Then again, you like to run away from the maids and swing your sword around on your down time. But that’s just because you like their reactions.   “Sword fighting.”   Jungkook blanches as if he just bit into a lemon. “What kind of girl plays with swords?”   Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to kick the royal prince right in his shin.    But as the annoyance floods you, an epiphany comes along with it — if you can’t avoid Jungkook, maybe it’s time to switch strategies. Maybe you can start sowing the seeds of your future survival right here, right now. If one day, he’ll be condemning you of countless crimes and looking down at you as an evil villain, maybe you can turn his perception in the opposite direction.   Harmless. Overbearingly nice. Arrows that practically point ‘I’M NOT A THREAT WHATSOEVER!’.    You’re a genius.   You force the highest pitched giggle you can. “Really?”   Jungkook kicks another rock. “Girls have flimsy arms and trip every time you touch them.”   Ah. The ancient version of: girls have cooties and so you should stay away from them. Alright, alright. You can work with this.   “What do you like playing, Your Highness?”   “Anything that’s not with girls.”   You pause and laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff.   Jungkook suddenly lifts his head and turns to you with the swivel of his heel. You stop as well and his index finger juts right in your face. “Since I’m the prince, I’ll have mercy on you. We can play servant and king.”   “What’s servant and king?”   “I’m the king.” His thumb pokes himself and then he’s back to pointing right between your eyes again. “You’re the servant. You have to follow me and all my orders or off with your head!”   What a little shit.   How is this going to be any fun for you?!   But you draw an enormous grin on your face, left eye twitching in the process. “Sounds like fun, Your Highness!”   He strolls off. “Let’s go, dumb dumb.”   Your teeth grit and you inhale a deep breath. It hurts your pride to be insulted by a literal seven year old, but you can handle it. When it comes to life or death, you’ll easily befriend the hero.   “Fetch that stick, peasant!”   The prince points at the distance and looks at you expectedly.   Your teeth grit. But you muster a smile and dash forward.   When it comes to life or death, you’ll befriend the hero……….probably.   “Here you go, Your Highness.”   You present the stick to him with both hands and the brat smirks. A rush of air leaves his nose and then he takes the stick. You’re not sure what to expect, but your entire body freezes when he hurls it as far as his arms can go. He points between your brows a second later. “Go get it!”   Motherfucker. “Yes!”    Once Jungkook’s tired of having you fetch like a dog, you trail after him closely. The green hedges are triple your size, acting like corridors of the garden before they open up to certain areas filled with beds of flowers or a fountain. Some paths are unpaved, so you listen to the crunch of rocks underneath his shoes amidst the quiet.    When you’re not out of breath and running at his command, it finally sinks in that it’s the first time you’re with a main character of the game. For the seven years of this lifetime thus far, there was only really you. Your parents were supporting characters at best who just took the opportunity to slyly diss the main heroine a few times at royal gatherings. But other than that, you’re currently facing the backside of someone you know a lot about.   Who he will become. What his future holds. What his desires are.   You pipe up, “Prince Jungkook—”   “That’s Your Highness, peasant!”   You clench your jaw. “Your Highness…”   “What?”   You quicken your steps until you’re beside him and he turns his head. “I’ll support you forever if you want to fall in love with anyone! I don’t care about being the crown princess or the queen!”    For good measure, you flash a wink and a thumbs up.   “What?” His boyish face is twisted up in disgust. “Why would a peasant be a queen?”   You hold in your sigh. “I’m just saying. If we ever get engaged or something, it can always be annulled when we’re older. So feel free to love on, Your Highness. Make love, not war!”   Your words completely fly over Jungkook’s head.   His face reads that he has no clue what you’re talking about.   And he turns away from you. “You’re weird.”   You scoff.    You’re not sure how you can become friendly with a seven year old when you’re internally twenty years older than he is. If you had chocolate on you, you’d use that as a bargaining chip. But clearly, you only have your body, brain and the surroundings at the moment….   What do seven year old boys like?   What do they like?   As you scan your surroundings, your eye catches something in the bushes. You stop and get closer.   At the same time, Jungkook realizes you’re not following him anymore and turns around. “What are you doing, peasa—” His words are cut short by a shrill shriek of absolute terror.   Your brows furrow and you thrust your hand closer to him. “It’s a ladybug.”   The tiny red and black polka dotted bug is crawling in your hand. Jungkook screams again.   He’s stumbling back, nearly tripping onto his butt, doe eyes reflected with complete horror as if you just chopped off his mom’s head. “Get that thing away from me!” his voice cracks up and down two different octaves and realizing his weakness, you grin.   You know your plan was to seem as harmless as possible, but it’s just too much fun teasing him.   “What thing, Your Highness? Your servant is merely showing you a small forest creature.”   “No! Stop!”   He scrambles and starts running away.   You chase after him while giggling manically. “Prince Jungkook! Where are you going!”   “Get the bug away from me!”   He turns over his shoulder with eyeballs nearly falling out of their sockets, face bright red, and you take the opportunity to toss the ladybug at him. Jungkook’s shrieks echo, pitched and earsplitting.   You’re forced to stop with how hard you’re laughing and by then, he’s ran for the hills, completely gone from sight.   Oh god. You can’t believe he’s so scared.    You can’t believe you were so scared — he’s just a kid.   Your giggles taper off as you wander the gardens by yourself. It’s freeing to stroll at your own pace without a brat demanding you to fetch sticks or barking at you to do this and that. It’s a chance to finally admire the surroundings.   You’re sure the first time Anastasia saw the castle, it became her dream home. The place is similar to the aesthetic background graphics of the game and it was always described as beautiful by all the characters. And it really is that way.   But this is also the place of her demise and possibly yours.    You’re sure the only time you’ll be able to enjoy the palace and be this carefree is right now.   You’re admiring the blooming carnations, peony and roses as you turn the corner. The figure standing by the sprouting fountain doesn’t register until after a delayed moment and your eyes lift to see a woman — mysterious in her gray dress. It’s simple attire, but the fabrics are layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow to the breeze. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you.   You realize you’re staring and you blink several times, approaching her politely.    She pulls her charcoal shawl closer to her and smiles. The light wrinkles around her kind eyes crease. “Are you lost, child?”   You shake your head. “No. I’m just looking.”   She crouches down to match your height, gazing at you tenderly. “Where are your parents?”   “My dad’s talking to the King.” You point off in the distance as curiosity eats at you. She doesn’t look like an ordinary worker but not a visitor of the castle either. “I’m Anastasia.”   She searches your expression as if she’s endeared by you. “That’s a beautiful name.”   “Thanks! Who’re you?”   She’s soft-spoken, voice above a quiet murmur, “My name is Erena Robane.”   You frown. The name rings a bell. “Lady Robane?”   “No.” Her laugh tinkles. “I’m no lady.”    Before you can press your mind any further and pick apart your brain at why her name sounds so familiar, she reaches into the small pouch she was carrying and hands you a wrapped piece of candy. “Would you like one?”   Your eyes light up at the pink square. “Yes, please!”    You know better, as an internal twenty seven year old, than to take candy from strangers, but the Duke and Duchess never give you any sweets. So you’ll happily take what you can.   Erena smiles and drops the treat into your outstretched palm.   Not wanting to risk getting it confiscated by Edith, Joan or your mother if you brought it home, you quickly unwrap it and throw it into your mouth. It’s peppermint and it’s pretty damn good.   The woman looks at you patiently, waiting for a reaction, so you give her a thumbs up and a “Yummy!”   She laughs faintly. “Do you like candy?”   “Yep!” You hold out both hands as if you’re trick-or-treating. “Can I have another one, please?”   Might as well seize the chance while you can. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.    “You have very good manners.” She smiles, taking another out of her endless pouch and dropping it in your hand. Oh man, you’re starting to really like this lady. “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.”   You chew the hard candy in your cheek, crunching down on it. You hope it rots your teeth and makes Edith’s life a living nightmare when she has to deal with it. “Your son?”   Her lips part to speak. But she’s interrupted—   “Mom?”   By sheer coincidence and coincidence itself, a boy with floppy, brown hair turns the corner of the garden. Thin lips, but chubby cheeks and bright eyes of deep mocha. You’ve known him the second your eyes have laid on him. A younger form of the person you fear most.   Taehyung.   You gasp and immediately spin around, hoping he didn’t see you, pretending you didn’t see him.   “I have to go now!”    Before Taehyung’s mom can utter another word, you run away. You don’t notice how Taehyung slows as well, brows furrowed at your receding form.   To see Jungkook is one thing. But to see Taehyung, the one who will use, coerce and lead you to your doom, is another. Jungkook handed down your judgment, but Taehyung is the one who led you there.   He’s the villain.   //   “You did decently,” your mother informs a few days after the whole affair. “We might have to go to the palace more often from now on.”   You nod, unable to dwell in her approval, mind still lost in a daze.    Taehyung — a half prince born a year before Jungkook. He has the blood of a royal with his father as the King, but his mother is merely a palace maid. You remember that he seeks revenge for her death after she’s poisoned by the jealous Queen.   But if she’s still alive, that means it’ll happen soon.   This year.    Springtime.    You’re slowly recalling the details of the event, the catalyst that begins Taehyung’s descent into madness, how he became the game’s villain. But you can’t involve yourself. You just can’t.   You shouldn’t have met any of them in the first place.   You shouldn’t get entangled in their story, in their lives. If you want to live, if you want to survive, you have to avoid Taehyung at all costs. So you can’t. You can’t. Can’t.   A day passes as you focus on your studies.   You can’t.   Another two days goes by, six meals eaten.   Can’t—   On the seventh, your silver spoon clanks noisily against the porcelain bowl, slipping from your grasps, dropping downwards in your deep trance that throbs your temples. Joan turns at the ruckus and you look at her, already standing up.   “I have to go to the castle.”   The guilt eating at you has won its battle.    “Pardon me?”   “Today. Right now.” You rush out of the room and down the hall, determination set in your strides. Maybe you can avoid this. Maybe if you do, he won’t become the game’s villain. Then he won’t be a threat to you, and you won’t be a threat to anyone. You’ll live and so will his mom who’s done nothing wrong.   The maid struggles to catch up to you. “My lady! Please! Wait! What do you mean?”   “I forgot something really important!”   “Y-You can’t just go. My lady! You must ask permission from the Duke and Duchess!”   “There’s no time to.” You’ve never been more serious and somber. There isn’t an inch of mischief, no childish selfishness. Twenty seven years has amounted to this very moment. And you use your status as the Duke’s daughter to command the girl. “Come with me. If the Duke or Duchess gets mad, I’ll take the blame.”   Joan sighs, annoyed as she looks around as if someone else could reason with you. But as you turn to her, looking her dead in the eye, she shifts on her feet and hesitantly calls for a carriage.   You’re in it before you can blink again.   There must be time. There hasn’t been any news yet. No reports of a death in the castle.   You can warn him. You can avoid this tragedy.    “We’re here, my lady,” Joan informs, peering out the window at the enormous stone walls and towers looming high above the clouds. The carriage doors open and she guides you out.    Your feet land onto the cobblestone.    But there isn’t any welcome. No guards that ask what your business here is. No servant passing by.   Instead, there’s chaos in the distance.    Your head whips to the noise and Joan shouts as you dash off towards it. Yet no one notices you in the midst of the pandemonium. No one would pay mind to a small child. You’re left to linger in the open halls, butlers that quickly walk past, maids whispering amongst themselves—   “Did you hear?”   Your head turns towards two girls.   “The King’s mistress just died!”   You came a moment too late.

No one cries.   The arrangement is short and unluxurious, the bare minimum of what would be acceptable for a royal family. A priestess in front drones on impassively about the afterlife, but as you look around, no one grieves. After all, they wouldn’t shed tears for a mere maid.    This is merely a charade to quell away scandalous rumors and to give nobles an excuse to come to the castle and be acknowledged.   You’re overwhelmed in black, a tulle skirt and puffed sleeves. Your parents stand on either side of you, your father in a jacket with the house’s emblem and your mother with a veil covering the right side of her face. Like many others, your family has come for appearance sakes.   But for you, it’s different.   The woman inside the closed casket has shown you a kindness that you so seldom receive.   And because of your hesitation, because of your self-preservation and selfishness, this happened.   Once the burial ceremony is over, your parents mingle amongst the nobles, laughing cordially behind gloved hands as you follow after them and cutesy. It feels like you’re a show pony, brought around to show what the future of the Devereux looks like.   But after a while, you manage to slip away from the scrutiny.    And by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you find him.   At first it’s the noise of heart wrenching sobs. It’s unrestrained wails and choked hiccups in between that attracts your attention. You twist through the familiar hedge corridors and the moment you turn the corner, your eyes lift to a small figure underneath an oak tree.    He sits alone. He cries to himself.    The boy with floppy, brown hair has his knees pulled together. He incessantly rubs at his eyes as if that alone could stop the tears that well and pour. He cries enough for the tens of people at the funeral, substituting their apathy with his anguish. His entire body wracks and the moment he whimpers “m-mom” in-between, it’s shaking to your core.    This is the beginning. The start of his path of destruction.   In this entire castle that stretches across the horizon, only his mother ever loved him. The half-prince. The Forgotten Prince. The one dirtied by regular red blood, not blue enough for the golden crown.   Taehyung mourns, vision blurred by his grief.   But as he rubs his eyes with his small fists, black shoes appear between the gaps of his hands.   He looks up. Your arm is extended in front of him.    Taehyung looks down to your folded, pink handkerchief. He looks stunned for a moment, as if he’s surprised that there was someone here. That someone actually heard him. That someone came.   He takes your handkerchief and sniffles.   “I’m sorry,” you murmur.    Sorry that she passed away, that he has to endure this, that you didn’t save her when you could’ve.   This isn’t just a game you’re playing anymore. All these people aren’t just characters.   You’re living a new life. And all these people have emotions, desires, thoughts of their own.   You’re not sure how you can comfort Taehyung. What you can say to make it better. “Your mother loved you a lot. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to be crying so much by yourself.”   He hiccups, snivelling uncontrollably. “B-But if I don’t cry for her, who will?”   You don’t know what to say.   Tears continue to slip down his cheeks and as you linger awkwardly, you decide there isn’t much that you can say. So you sit beside him. You sit underneath the canopy of the tree and branches of rustling leaves, on the soft bed of grass, looking out at the garden.    This is all you can do.   You don’t notice the way Taehyung looks up in-between his mourning, glossy eyes pinpointed on the profile of your face.    The pair of you sit next to one another in the silence of his sniffles until it levels. Until he can breathe again—   “Anastasia!”   There’s a sharp call of your name, one that can only belong to your mother. You immediately come to your feet again as if a dog whistle has been blown. But as you hurry away, you turn over your shoulder. Your eyes connect with Taehyung’s brown ones, and for a moment you slow.   You leave a second later.   You twist down the hedges and turn the corner, nearly bumping straight into her. She looks down at you with her brows furrowed. “Where did you go?”   You smile. “I got lost.”   It’s futile. You know it now.   Trying to avoid the three that will lead you to your demise is like trying to wish you’d suddenly vanish off these lands. You know it won’t be the last time that you see Taehyung. It won’t be the last of Jungkook either. Or whoever the heroine will be. It seems like the more you try to run, the more you inadvertently become involved. But you’ll hold your head up high and face whatever is to come head on.

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

[garrlous]

earl of percy, henry percy 

a dunce at the best of times, henry was named after the great henry tudor in recognition and admiration - though, the percy family secretly despised his venture from the catholic church, leaving henry a hybrid of goodwill and fury. 

STATS.

name: henry percy age/dob: twenty two / 29th january 1537 status/rank: earl of percy & lord of northumberland country of origin: england place of birth: alnwick castle, northumberland, england birth order: youngest living child of richard percy mother & father: duke richard percy of northumberland & duchess jane talbot-percy of northumberland siblings: lady eleanor percy of northumberland sexuality: bisexual horoscope: aquarius virtues: engrossing, considerate, tolerant vices: garrulous, philanderer, hesitant religion: anglican reformist (but he doesn’t really care for either side of what plagues england) marital status: n/a issue: n/a alliance(s): king william iii, the percy household, wip.  adversaries: wip

find more here. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

lovers (men, women, people), his merry band of friends (mostly made up of boys, thinking about fellow hunters and gamblers), people trying to get power - who hate the percy and their ambition ?? wip. 

TIMELINE.

1537 - henry percy is born at the hereditary estate of alnwick castle 1543 - moved for education purposes 1546 - begins to spend his winters at court 1557 - king henry viii dies, and henry is moved to court to spend time near the new king 

BIOGRAPHY. 

The Percy name had grown full-bellied by their close friendship with the new queen, Anne Boleyn. It seemed that their fortunes depended on the union of head and neck, as if one slice of skin and an axe’s edge could tumble a long-adorned family name. Some would claim that Fortuna herself sat upon the Percy family’s righteous head - after all, Richard Percy had been the second born son of his father, and was not meant to inherit the prosperous dukedom of Northumberland; but with the unfortunate death of the older brother, Richard inherited - thus taking his small and joyous family into a new age of wealth and prestige. Henry, Richard’s youngest child and only son, was just as lucky. 

Though not afforded the luxury of being a Prince, Henry Percy was offered the strain of being an only son - for passing the odds of childhood death and health, he was coated in the finest linen, presented to his father as the future of a family beneath Tudor reign. Before long, the infant who barely ever cried, grew to an overgrown height - with a bush of brunette hair curling atop his head. He was a Percy if there ever was one - a sight to behold, a gentle handsomeness that’d lead him down various paths of good and bad. 

A boy of modest intellect, Henry grew talented at jousting, reading and writing - but he was in no way academic nor talented beyond his means; in fact, it’d be a blessing indeed if his father could pay his son’s way to Henry Tudor’s son’s council. Whilst kept at court to be tutored as a future courtier, Henry followed his father around as his ghost - his protegee, his squire that’d soon age into a man of his own. But that took time, and Henry often disappeared from his father’s glaring eyes to escape into the surrounding city, villages or fields - absconding as a young man would do; chasing skirts, hose and stray dogs he had befriended. 

Henry, whose parents were ambitious and eager to see their children fly higher than any other Percy had done, was definitely the lesser of the family. He wanted fun, he wanted to enjoy his life - to bargain for place and money was beneath him, or so he thought as he dodged his tutor’s lectures and chose instead to play in the tennis courts with the younger men of court - resulting in various scars that rose on his hands and back; whippings intended to a unorganised and rebellious offspring. 

But, with the death of the King who his father had keenly supported, Henry is forced to evaluate his way of life. Is he to change every thrill into something to appease his father? Is he bound to prepare a lifetime of loyalty to the new King William III? As the younger of the Percy siblings, it seems more likely that he is due to hide behind his sister’s skirts - using her place to cultivate a friendship with the King and his merry band of peers.

[sclczcr]

( jon kortajarena,  cis male, he/him, thirty ) ** ♔ announcing ANDER SALAZAR,  the KNIGHT from SPAIN ! upon closer look, they resemble JON KORTAJARENA. it is a miracle that HE survived the last five years, considering they are CYNICAL, RESILIENT, and INDUSTRIOUS. i hope the plague has not changed them. they are FOR working together with the other kingdoms. 

BASICS

GIVEN NAME: Ander Salazar AGE: 30 DATE OF BIRTH: April 13th PLACE OF BIRTH:  Salazar Valley, Navarre GENDER: Male PRONOUNS: he/him SEXUALITY: bisexual, demiromantic    RELIGION: lapsed Catholic OCCUPATION: knight

PHYSICAL TRAITS:

HEIGHT: 6’5’’ BODY TYPE: lean, built for agility HAIR COLOR: brown EYE COLOR: brown BIRTHMARKS/SCARS: no birthmarks, plenty of scars, none of them particularly serious looking NOTABLE TRAITS: jaw that could cut glass RIGHT HANDED OR LEFT HANDED?:  ambidextrous, originally left-handed

PERSONALITY

FIVE TRAITS: diligent, adaptable, charming, dishonest, impetuous MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Evil MBTI TYPE: ESTP-A ( the Entrepreneur ) STAR SIGN: Aries PHOBIAS/FEARS: failure, being judged for his birth (or lack thereof) BEST QUALITY:  doesn’t quit, really difficult to offend WORST QUALITY:  liar, occasionally resentful  ELEMENT: Fire

BIOGRAPHY

Ander doesn’t remember much from his childhood, other than being an orphan handed off to the church. One day, a man came riding in on a black stallion and took him away from the monks without so much as a grunt in his direction. His memories of the journey are hazy – he couldn’t have been more than four or five, and he hadn’t understood much at the time, or for a long while after.

He was raised in the duke Sotomayor’s holding, training to become a household guard, which for years only meant he got the most menial and unpleasant jobs, in between bouts of brutal training. Mocking the charity case was a favorite pastime of the younger lordlings and he’d ignored them at first, playing dumb, biding his time until he was strong enough to toss them on their finely clad arses.

He took his time, waited to catch each alone, and it worked for a while, until they teamed up and ambushed him. The beating that followed had been so terrible he was certain he was going to die right then and there – and he’s still convinced he would have, had the lord of the manor not walked in at an opportune moment. To Ander’s surprise, he actually seemed furious with his grandchildren and his punishment lasted for months. He even called a physician for Ander, to make sure the damage would heal right. It was more of a kindness than he’d expected out of the world, and particularly out of the man who’d barely said more than two words to him since he took him from the church orphanage all those years ago, but he hid his surprise, no matter how tinged with skepticism, when expressing his gratitude for the generosity.  He realized the old man was cannier than he’d given him credit for when his only response was a scoff of amusement.

It seemed the lord had a better grasp on Ander’s character, than he did on his. Because while he was nothing but an orphan, abandoned on the steps of a church when he was just a babe, he had his pride, and even some ambitions. There was a reason he worked so hard at being a squire, and why he wouldn’t complain even during the most backbreaking of tasks – he wanted to make sure he had it in his to succeed and make something more of his life. His attempts to ingratiate himself to the lord of the castle had a lot more to do with that, than with any genuine esteem he held for the man – while not ungrateful, Ander harbored no uplifting sentiments for the one who plucked him out of a life of prayer and humility. He only wanted the chance to prove himself.

So he put himself forward, doing his best to make an impression, working even harder to ensure he would be noticed. His efforts were fruitful, at first, the old man seemed to develop a soft spot for the orphan boy, and would include him in hunting parties organized in the area. He became his squire and found himself in the presence of other noble families with increasing frequency.  

He became a favorite in the household, gaining the reputation of being quick-witted and capable, and while he was no longer a child, he was still years away from adulthood, and thus given some lenience, so that he could experience how enjoyable life could be.

He got his first taste of romance during those days – some of the last good days he’d have in a good long while – and while their interactions had been brief and quite innocent, they both became quite evidently besotted with each other, drawing the attention of the household. She was one of the duke’s many grandchildren, but for a brief, shining moment, Ander was convinced they could be together, the old man must surely have gotten soft in his old age, and he’d figure out a way to sway him in their favor, but before he even had the chance to begin his machinations in earnest, the duke coldly informed him he was banished. 

The second home he’d had – the only one he remembered, and he was forced to leave it in short order, barely given enough time to wrap his head around it. He was put on a horse, a satchel and sword thrown at him and was unceremoniously escorted out of the castle, the gates shutting firmly behind him.

The first day he wandered aimlessly, mind wiped of all thought, but when night came and he found himself without shelter, he forced himself out of his daze and struggled to come up with a plan. They’d given him a good steed and decent equipment, and even some coin – just not enough to settle somewhere. He joined the army, figuring that was what his training prepared him for, anyway and then spent years fighting other people’s battles, distinguishing himself as a natural solider, but lacking the name, or the family to help him raise within the ranks, bound to always keep to the fringes of power.

He was making friends with important people, at least, and close to power was still better than out there in the camp, so he took the little he could and held on to it. One of those friends proved quite important indeed, and Ander suddenly found himself orbiting around a member of the royal family. During a skirmish, he succeeded in saving his life and turning the battle around just at its most hopeless, and this time, the rewards were more than empty words and scraps. He was invested as a royal guard, part of the royal retinue and now in between fighting, he found himself in the safest place in the kingdom, patrolling the corridors of the palace. He was still only a solider, but now, finally, a comfortable one. Still on the fringes of power, at least now he’s closest to the greatest one. And when the plague came, and then the fires, at least he found himself on the right side of the wall separating those who have from the have nots.

He might have spent the last five years with his nerves drawn taught as a wire, but at least he was removed from the immediate danger, and living in relative comfort. Nonetheless, he is eager to put the confinement behind him, ready to deal with danger head on, rather than drive himself mad waiting for it every shadow to become an assassin, or hearing the distant shouts, but unable to see his enemies. Anything that would make things return to normal sooner, is at least worth a try, in his eyes.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Basically, this guy is ready to start living again - so partners in mischief and adventure are eagerly awaited: friends, frenemies, rivals (for whatever reason: they think he cheated at cards/dice (he probably did, but good luck proving it), an unfortunate pub brawl, etc.)

someone from the Spanish court he saved in battle. they would have meet on the front before the whole plague thing, struck up a friendship in their downtime and then during a fight gone terribly wrong, Ander stepped in and saved their life. It would have to be a member of the higher echelon nobility, or please, please, please ( !!! ) someone from the royal family.

he’s a bastard from a Spanish noble family - his mother was unwed and she died in childbirth. I imagine that in private this was quite a big scandal and put a lot of pressure on the family, especially when his grandfather (feeling guilty and regretting his attitude towards his daughter since she died) took him back from the monastery they abandoned him at and raised him in his household for a little over a decade. So...any trueborn family members who feel some kind of way about all of this - Ander didn’t realize who his sponsor was until after he’d already left the castle, when he heard the rumors about the family from outsiders. 

these are the only somewhat crystalized ideas I have for him, but if anyone else comes up with anything, please drop me an IM! I’m always, always up for plotting!

[shredsandpatches]

ficbits for everyone

@themalhambird tagged me in a “post six sentences from your WIPs” meme and I actually have a few fairly active WIPs going so I thought I’d go for it.

Pretty much all of these are more than six sentences because I like posting bits where you can tell what’s going on.

Untitled sequel to a chance that doth redeem all sorrows: set a few years after the original fic where Anne of Bohemia recovers from the plague. Deals with Henry Bolingbroke’s remarriage and how his kids are adjusting, also with succession issues and probably other stuff (I’m still kind of pondering what sort of plot elements will be in it).

"Your Highness?" Thomas says, in a small voice, his eyes downcast and his cheeks red. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said to you before. About how you should have died."

"I understand," Anne says. "You miss your mother, of course."

Thomas nods, looking up at her briefly before lowering his eyes again. "It's just—I don't want you to be dead," he says. "I want her not to be."

The Bad Pregnancy Timing AU: In which Anne is pregnant during the appellant crisis in 1387, which is, initially, a severely mixed blessing since it means that the line of succession is clear and that there is someone the appellants can put on the throne in Richard’s place who is also extremely easy to control, being a newborn and all. On the other hand, the process of getting him is very bad optics. (Eleanor in the following bit is Eleanor de Bohun, the Duchess of Gloucester.)

"You and your sister will need to take him in," Arundel says, "until we can arrange a household for him. Mary's staff can do double duty for a little while, can't they?"

"He needs his mother, and you have the Queen under guard," Eleanor says. "Where do you think they could possibly go? She can't even leave her bed!" She turns to Thomas. "She tried to go after him," she says, indicating Arundel, "when he came to take her baby away. She could have bled to death."

"She was hysterical," Arundel says. "The prince will be safer with you."

Eleanor grits her teeth, breathes in through her nose, recites an Ave in her head before she answers him. "She was hysterical because you took her child out of her arms and he is not two hours old." She addresses Thomas again. "If our places were reversed—if the King had done this to me—you would not stand for it."

"Of course I wouldn't," Thomas says. "It's not the same, though. This child is the son of a king—he belongs to the realm, not only to his parents. He can't be allowed to turn out like his father. He needs to be raised right."

Eleanor's throat tightens and her eyes burn. They're going to do this, she thinks, and they're going to get themselves killed and we will all be ruined.

"If you fail in this," she says, "the King will have both your heads."

Untitled fluffy student au thing: Richard/Anne first time fic set in this au. Contains gratuitous Oxford references and neon green condoms.

"Better?" she says, and Richard nods, very carefully. "You don't mind that I took you back here, do you?" she adds. "I thought maybe I should have taken you back to your flat, but I couldn't remember where it was, and I didn't have your cousin's phone number…"

"Anne," he says, "we didn't have sex, did we?"

"No!" Anne almost cries out, her face pained. She takes his hand in both of hers and squeezes. "I would never do that to you, not when you were drunk," she says. "I promise—I thought maybe I should have slept in the common room, but then I was worried about you, like if you got sick or something, and you wanted to snuggle, so—"

"Anne," he says again, "it's all right. I trust you. It's just that…I don't trust me."

"I'm sorry," Anne says. She wraps an arm around him and snuggles up against him, and Richard turns onto his side so that they're face to face. "I trust you."

"I know. It's just…" Richard swallows hard. "I've done some stupid shit while I was drunk, before, that I only sort of remember, and—if we slept together, I wouldn't want it to be like that. I'd want to remember it, because—Anne, you're really special, and really beautiful, and I would want it to be special and beautiful because you deserve that."

[black-wolf066]

AU where Five dies young in the apocalypse part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[A03 link if it’s easier to read]

Our Place to Call Home

Being homeless had never truly bothered Klaus after he had left the academy behind him. Especially not when he had chosen it of his own free will.

At the ripe age of seventeen years, four months, and twelve days old (“Yes Ben, I remember the exact date I left. No one can forget that week of utter fun; no matter how hard one tries.”), Klaus hadn’t had very many choices laid out for him to pick from. It had been either leave everything behind for the streets (where he had a better chance of making it on his own) or stay and deal with a cruel man who had never cared for him—or any of them for that matter—and never hesitated in reminding him of his uselessness in that household.

Sure, leaving would have entailed wandering into the unknown, with food, shelter and his next fix not ever being a solid guarantee, but staying hadn’t exactly been an option for him either (not after Five, and certainly not after Ben—still so very fresh in his grave at that point in time). Staying would have required him to accept the knowledge that Reginald would end up killing him—or his remaining siblings—with the missions the old man continuously forced them on.

In the end, the streets were the lesser of two evils in Klaus’ opinion.

(As he crept out late in the night with nothing more than a knapsack, three hundred some odd dollars pilfered from Luther’s shoe box hidden under the floorboard beneath his bed, and the clothes on his back; Klaus spared one fleeting thought to the rest of his brothers and sisters; hoping they too would be smart enough to leave before it was too late.)

Once out there, he—and by extension, Ben—had finally been free to do whatever he had damn well pleased. To go wherever his feet led him, without a single care in the world. Sure it hadn’t been easy; some days worse than others (a fight here, a drug deal gone south there, the lack of food or a warm place to sleep when the nights would get too cold), but he had finally been handed the reigns  of his own destiny and nothing anyone could do or say would have stopped him from enjoying that high (not even a concerned Ben dogging his every step).

It took plenty of trial and error on his part (but Five wasn’t the only one capable of adaptability in the family), and plenty of months honing the skills he had learned for a different purpose then what they were originally intended for. Nevertheless, Klaus had made his new lifestyle work.

And for seven blissfully, foggy years, it did work.

Then Five up and died, came back from the future (“Called it!” “Congratulations, you’re not a complete idiot.” “Hey! I could deal without the sarcasm, Five-y, but I’ll still take the compliment!”) to haunt him, and suddenly Klaus’ blissful little world went up in figurative smoke and flames.

His lifestyle, he knew, was no longer a viable option; not with his resolve to stay relatively clean for Ben and Five’s sake. Not with the streets being a vixen of temptation he would succumb to the longer he was out there, and certainly not with the end of times looming like a distant gale in the background of what his life had apparently become.

God, no one told him being a responsible adult would suck quite this much.

(***)

“Sorry, occupancy is full.”

With a tired sigh, Klaus turned on his heel and left the shelter for the park.

“You could try another one rather than just giving up, you know. It’s not even that late out.” Five griped.

No, it wasn’t late at all, but Five didn’t know the streets like Klaus and Ben did. Five didn’t know each and every shelter within the city limit or that that particular establishment didn’t have a very reputable reputation to begin with. Herman Housing was usually the homeless’ last pick; the staff habitually rude and ill-tempered, the food border-line questionable, and the water from the showers leaving one feeling dirtier then when they first walked in. So, if Herman Housing—of all places—was full at this early hour of the day, then there was no point in wasting his time and energy trying for a bed somewhere else.

He was too tired and grumpy to communicate any of this information to Five.

Ben—bless him and his knack for knowing just what he’s thinking—voiced this for him.

“Well, you still can’t just sleep out here on the bench, Klaus.”

“Watch me.” He flopped back dramatically in his seat for added effect and grinned as Five looked for all the world like a riled cat.

“Klaus,” Ben cut in sharply before the argument could start. “You saw the news at Griddy’s. A blizzard’s coming and it’s going to be bad. Just go to Diego or Vanya, please—you know they won’t turn you away.”

No, they wouldn’t (not with the incoming threat of four feet of snow looming on the horizon), but his wounds were still fresh from their blatant dismissal when he tried to tell them Five had finally showed up to haunt his pathetic ass. It shouldn’t hurt, not when none of them every really believed him to begin with (even before Ben), but it did and still does. Ghosts were his thing after all, it shouldn’t have been that hard to believe. Sure, the drugs fundamentally nulled his powers almost completely, but his siblings should know by now that nothing he put in his system would stop Ben—or Five or any of them—from manifesting if they wanted too. His siblings were just that right side of stubborn pain in the asses that Klaus hoped none of the other spirits ever caught on too or he’d really be in trouble.

As the temperature continued to drop, and his brothers continued to pester and hound him like the mother hens they freaking were; he threw up his hands in defeat with a frustrated “Fine, I’m moving, I’m moving, you happy?”

He went to Diego.

(***)

The next incident, was just two weeks before Vanya would begin writing her book (not that Klaus would know that). It was just a normal night, the chill not as biting despite it being the dead of winter, when Klaus’ past actions finally came to bite him annoyingly in the ass.

He fought as hard as he could—he can honestly say that he did try—against his ruthless ex-drug dealer, but hand to hand combat had never been one of his strong suits growing up, and even if it had been; eight pitted against one simply wasn’t a fair fight (and a little over kill if you asked him). Being nimble and light on his feet also didn’t help when his exits were being blocked at every turn.

He managed to take out one fellow and roughed up two more before he was down for the count; knocked out cold and still being beaten and shaken down for what little money he had left in his pockets.

Ben and Five watched it all happen fearfully and angrily; helpless to do anything but be silent witnesses as their brother was beaten black and blue in the alley he was chased into.

When he eventually, and thankfully, awoke the next morning, he didn’t go to the Emergency room despite their concerned prompting (“You could be bleeding internally, Klaus!” “Don’t care, Ben, still not going.” “You’re a dumb-ass, you know that?” “Why thank you, Five.” “That’s not a compliment asshole, go to the damn hospital!” “Nope.” “You are insufferable!”). Hospitals were as bad as graveyards, and Klaus avoided them both like they would give him the plague.

Instead, in the early hours of the morning, with the streets and sidewalks still quiet with the sun not yet out to wake the living; he shuffled and limped his way slowly and blurrily towards Vanya’s home; her apartment being closer than Diego’s place of current residence or an emergency room either way.

Vanya took him to the hospital anyway.

(***)

Within a span of five months after the incident, bouncing from homeless shelter to endless homeless shelter (occasionally crashing at Diego’s or Vanya’s when the nagging got to be too much) and applying for whatever aid the government would be willing to give him; found Klaus with his very own studio apartment to call home.

The building was washed out and unkempt, the neighborhood he was located in looking as though it had never seen what better days even looked like. The apartment itself made even his old room seem bigger, but it was affordable with the temporary grant given to him (and would continue to be affordable once he found a job to better sustain himself) and that was enough for him.

No matter how small, it was his, and between the three of them, they filled it with everything their father would have hated. With bright colors, tacky furniture (that was cheap, and well used, but still comfortable to sink into) and wacky patterned curtains, pillows and throws, that shouldn’t normally go together but somehow Klaus had made work (despite Ben’s and Five’s obvious doubt before seeing it themselves).

Ben finally had the library of his dreams. It wasn’t nearly as big as the one back at the mansion, but it was an ever growing collection that Klaus continued to enable (sure he had to hold open the books for Ben to read, but if it made the book-worm happy, he was willing to do it; a small price to pay for all the shit he’s put him through over the years). There was even a section for Five’s theory and mathematical volumes and an even smaller section for Klaus’ own collection (nothing noteworthy, just a few comics and fictional works of fantasy and romance).

The rest of Ben’s knick-knacks were just as random and odd as Klaus’, but the Polaroid camera and the photo albums Klaus began to fill up for him; were definitely among Ben’s top favorites.

In the beginning it was hard to figure out what Klaus could bring home for Five to make him feel included. Five’s interests geared more toward having to be tangible to do them (much to his displeasure). That still didn’t stop Klaus from buying the chalkboard easel he later found at a second hand store, and on days when Five would get restless and fidgety, Klaus would humor him for a few hours and write whatever complicated and convoluted equations he wanted written out on that very same easel (“No Five, I’m not writing on the walls.” “I don’t care if there isn’t enough space left on the chalkboard, you aren’t gonna be of any help when I have to paint over it now will you?”). He ends up buying another chalkboard and a white board to appease the irritable gremlin.  

The dart board he had found not long after, had also been a nice addition as well; it wasn’t as nice as the one Five had back in his old room, but it still played a melancholy homage it (to the fonder memories Five had of challenging Ben or Diego or Klaus during their down time between training—more so Ben and Klaus, since Diego’s power was essentially cheating).

Ben and Klaus also learned—along with Five himself it would seem—that the forever stuck thirteen-year-old held an interest for anything nautical or tropical in nature; having seen him eye certain pieces every time they’d walk into some of the antique stores Klaus liked to frequent.

The spyglass, the random colorful sea shells, the oceanic themed paintings, and the little anchor shaped paper weight— the metallic object situated on Five’s side of the bookshelf—went without much fanfare, but that was okay, the smile on his brother’s face when he placed them in their home was reward enough.

Their place might not be much worth noting—maybe even a little crazy, and a little over-crowded with nonsensical junk to the outside looking in—and though his brothers really didn’t need the space or any of the knick-knacks Klaus continued to buy for them; it was their home regardless.

It was the home the three of them were making for themselves and it was enough.

(Oh, and they bought a coffee machine that Klaus honestly has no idea he will even use, but said why the hell not anyway ‘cause fuck you dad!)

[rattmemes]

Beetlejuice: the Musical OBCR Starters! ACT 1

((>>act 2<<))

all changeable titles/pronouns will be in [italics and bracket!]

PROLOGUE: INVISIBLE

“ in times like these, we have no words, we only have each other ” “ we only have each other ” “ today we come together to mourn ” “ scripture tells us: “sorrow not, for we do not walk alone” ” “ sorrow not, for we do not walk alone ” “ you’re invisible when you’re sad ” “ clocks tick and phones still ring ” “ the world carries on like mad ” “ the world carries on like mad, but nobody sees a thing ” “ nobody sees a thing ” “ whispering behind their hands, lost for kind words to say ” “ nobody understands, and everyone goes away ” “ nobody understands ” “ everyone goes away ” “ grownups wanna fix things, when they can’t it only fills them shame ” “ they just look away ” “ is it being greedy to need somebody to see me and say my name? ” “ seems when you lose your [mom], no one turns off the sun ” “ folks carry on, that’s that ” “ holy crap, a ballad already? ” “ such a bold departure from the original source material! ”

THE WHOLE BEING DEAD THING

“ hey folks! begging your pardon! ” “ hey folks! ” “ begging your pardon! ” “ ‘scuse me! sorry to barge in! ” “ ‘scuse me! ” “ sorry to barge in! ” “ let’s skip the tears ” “ let’s skip the tears and start on the whole, y’know, being dead thing ” “ you’re doomed! ” “ you’re doomed! enjoy the singing ” “ the sword of Damocles is swinging ” “ if i hear your cell-phone ringing, i’ll kill you myself ” “ the whole being dead thing! ” “ death can get a person stressed ” “ we should have carpe’d way more diems, now we’re never gonna see ‘em ” “ we should have carpe’d way more diems ” “ i can show you what comes next ” “ don’t be freaked ” “ stay in your seats ” “ don’t be freaked, stay in your seats ” “ i do this bullshit like eight times a week ” “ so just relax, you’ll be fine ” “ drink your fifty-dollar wine and take a breath ” “ welcome to a show about death! ” “ you’re gonna be fine on the other side ” “ DIE! YOU’RE ALL GONNA DIE! YOU’RE ALL GONNA DIE! ” “ i’ll be your guide to the other side ” “ oh, and full disclosure: it’s a show about death! ” “ everybody gets on fine here ” “ everybody gets on fine here, like Rodgers, Hart, and Hammerstein here ” “ the women’s bathroom has no line here ” “ just... pee where you want! ” “ you’re just gonna love the folks here ” “ yes, i know you’re woke, but you can take a joke here ” “ i do, like, a TON of coke here ” “ nobody is bullet-proof ” “ “i work out! i eat clean!” jesus, pass the Dramamine ” “ jesus, pass the Dramamine ” “ time to face the brutal truth ” “ we’re all on a hitlist ” “ might not live ‘till christmas ” “ choke to death on Triscuits ” “ hey, that’s just statistics ” “ take a little break here ” “ kinda like a wake here ” “ the scenery is fake here ” “ there’s a giant snake here! ” “ how you doin’? not good! ” “ seriously though, this is a show about death ” “ death is taboo, but it’s hardly something new ” “ there’s nothing medical professionals could do, ‘cept maybe just bill you ” “ if you die while listening to this album, it’s still gonna keep playing ” “ there’s no destiny or fate, just a terrifying wait filled with people that you hate, and on a certain date, the universe kills you ” “ that’s the thing with life: no one makes it out alive ” “ toss that body in the pit ” “ gosh, it’s awful, ain’t it tragic? ” “ blah blah bible jesus magic ” “ when you’re dead, who gives a shit? ” “ pilates, no more yoga ” “ namaste, you fuckin’ posers! ” “ from the cradle to cremation, death just needs a little conversation ” “ i have mastered the art of tearing convention apart ” “ how about we all make a start on the whole being dead thing ” “ god, i hope you’re ready for a show about death! ”

READY, SET, NOT YET

“ look at this crib ” “ look at this crib, in all of it’s glorious antiquary ” “ every curve and surface speaks to me, saying pamper and spoil me, sand me and oil me; come on ” “ i know to the untrained eye it’s boring ” “ nothing’s a chore when you’re restoring ” “ apart from frustration, pain, and financial drain, it’s fun! ” “ why do you polish your crib when you don’t have a kid? ” “ even if you did have a kid, this crib is too precious for placing a baby inside it ” “ it simply exists to remind you your sense of perfection is just a reflection that you are not mentally prepared to make room for a kid ” “ why don’t you live? ” “ just make a start ” “ are you willing to take the next step? ” “ ready, set - ” “ look at these jugs! ” “ amazingly glazed and terracotta-ery ” “ i took some clay and made you pottery ” “ the world will never wreck you, i’ll protect you in a mother’s embrace ” “ why can’t you see that ceramics is simply a manifestation of [motherly] panic; by making a baby that’s breakable aren’t you creating a way of translating the terror of making [maternal] mistakes into clay, hiding away so you don’t have to face being a bad [mom]? ” “ that’s what you’ve done, ___ ” “ here we stand at the end of a 10-year plan ” “ a house, a yard, a minivan, a baby should be next ” “ together let’s leap off the cliff, fall forever, then smash to bits ” “ trapped in a terrifying viper pit ” “ trapped in a terrifying viper pit of diapers and regret ” “ are we willing to take the next step? ” “ ready, set - not yet ” “ why rush? ” “ soon enough our hopes and our dreams will be crushed ” “ but not yet ” “ not now ” “ we can’t start a family in a house with creaky floorboards ” “ you are absolutely right, let’s add it to the list ” “ with the cracks in the plaster ” “ the wi-fi should be faster ” “ this sofa needs a castor ” “ the bathroom’s a disaster! ” “ what about global poverty? ” “ what about world peace? ” “ then there’s the whole darn economy ” “ the whole middle east ” “ we should learn mandarin ” “ yeah! or spanish at least ” “ no habla espanol, dos cervezas por favor ” “ and that’s all we got, and that’s not a lot ” “ do we want a bilingual household or not? ” “ so let’s go slow, no breaking a sweat ” “ what’s the point of having children if we’re drowning in debt? ” “ see, i wasn’t kidding, it’s a show about death! ”

THE WHOLE BEING DEAD THING PT. 2

“ ready? okay! ” “ hi! i’ll be your guide! i’ll be your G-U-I-D-E to the other side! ” “ don’t go to the netherworld ” “ netherworld? ” “ did i say netherworld? never mind ” “ jesus, i can’t spell ” “ he’ll be your guide! ” “ let’s all get naked! ” “ let’s all get naked! eh, worth a try ” “ what is happening?! ” “ i understand that it’s a lot to process ” “ the good news is you and our spouse died in your own house ” “ that gives you clout ” “ that means the two of you should stick around ” “ lucky for you i dropped by ” “ yeah, you seem like nice guys ” “ a little on the pottery barn and dry white wine side ” “ as for me, i’ve been scaring for millennia ” “ i’m the bio-exorcist giving houses enemas ” “ push out all the breathers so you can breathe easy ” “ just stick with me ” “ i’m like a ghost zombie jesus ” “ ghost zombie jesus! ” “ i do it for the love of it. money? ah, who gives a shit ” “ i think we’re a perfect fit, c’mon let’s make out a bit ” “ it’s the perfect day to die ” “ it’s the perfect day to die, ‘cause this guy happened to be passing by ” “ to give you control of your soul ” “ to give you control of your soul for the whole being dead thing ”

DEAD MOM

“ hey [mom], dead [mom] ” “ hey [mom] ” “ i need a little help here ” “ i’m probably talking to myself here ” “ i gotta ask, are you really in the ground? ” “ i feel you all around me ” “ are you here? ” “ i’m tired of trying to iron out my creases ” “ i’m a bunch of broken pieces, it was you who made me whole ” “ i’m a bunch of broken pieces ” “ it was you who made me whole ” “ every day [dad’s] staring at me, like all “hurry up, get happy” ” “ move along ” “ forget about your [mom] ” “ [daddy’s] in denial, [daddy] doesn’t wanna feel ” “ [he] wants me to smile and clap like a performing seal ” “ ignored it for a whole, but [daddy’s] lost [his] mind for real ” “ you don’t believe the mess that we’ve become ” “ you’re my home, my destination ” “ i’m your clone, your strange creation ” “ you held my hand, and life came easy ” “ now jokes don’t land ” “ no one sees me ” “ nothing seems to fit ” “ are you receiving? ” “ i want something to believe in ” “ take me where my soul can run ” “ i’ll be in my bedroom, wake me when i’m twenty one ” “ won’t you send a sign? ” “ i’m running out of hope and time ” “ a plague of mice, a lightning strike, or drop a nuclear bomb ” “ no more playing [daddy’s] games ” “ i’ll go insane if things don’t change ” “ whatever it takes to make [him] say your name ”

FRIGHT OF THEIR LIVES

“ okay, listen up, i’m not gonna lie; right now you couldn’t frighten a fly ” “ you ever stop to ask yourselves why? ” “ both of you are super polite, middle class, suburban, and white ” “ well, all of that is finished tonight ” “ take your places ” “ i want scary faces, now go! ” “ bigger! ” “ further! ” “ harder! ” “ not bad! ” “ i want scary faces, now go! bigger! further! harder! -- not bad! ” “ sever a head, preferably someone you know ” “ look at me, i’m so scary! ” “ don’t be so vanilla, would a little anger kill ya? ” “ c’mon drop your panties i’m trying to fill you -- with wisdom and skill ” “ and the instinct to kill ” “ again, we do not want to kill anyone! ” “ fine, but somehow, someway, you gotta make ‘em see ya ” “ i’m talkin’ jumpscares, the jerky japanese ghost-walk ” “ learn how to throw your voice! -- fool your friends! -- fun at parties! ” “ now THAT is cool! i wanna do THAT! ” “ whatever it takes to make ‘em go crazy ” “ raising the stakes by punching a baby ” “ scare ‘em away till they break ” “ they’ll be quaking in fright ” “ you’ve got some evil deep down inside you ” “ put all the farmer’s markets behind you ” “ you’ve gotta work, gotta haunt till it hurts through the night ” “ give those guys the fright of their lives! ” “ let’s start with things that you hate ” “ hate’s a very strong word ” “ perhaps when people are late ” “ or getting pooped on by birds ” “ no, what fills you with rage? ” “ what fills you with rage? ” “ being mean to a pet ” “ chefs who use too much sage when they make beurre noisette ” “ over-glutinous food ” “ when kids call me dude ” “ oh, i find that so rude! ” “ well, there’s lots there to use ” “ take a deep death and give me your best primal scream ” “ [weak, lame scream] ” “ that was brilliant! ” “ try it again, maybe this time pretend like you mean it ” “ [lame scream but deeper] ” “ that was even better! ” “ i want freedom ” “ to get my freedom i need to get a living person to say my name ” “ i know that beggars can’t be choosers, but do they have to be such losers? ” “ both of them are deathly dull and lame ” “ why God slash Satan did you send these bed wetters? ” “ even, like, a tax attorney would’ve been better ” “ somebody with gravitas, somebody to fear ” “ excuse me, ___, we can kinda hear you ” “ yeah? well that was a soliloquy, so you’re the one who’s being rude ” “ turn all the lights on ” “ dress like a baby ” “ ___, i don’t even -- no. ” “ get your heads in the game ” “ let’s hide their phones! ” “ screw their phones! ” “ ugh, these dopes are hopeless ” “ how will i ever survive? ” “ unless they get the fright of their lives ” “ yes, we’re feelin’ it! ” “ they gotta get the right of their lives ” “ we’re scary, very very scary! ” “ they’ll never get the fright of their lives ”

READY, SET (REPRISE)

“ that needy pervert was right ” “ if we want our house back, we have to fight for it ” “ how? no one can see us! ” “ we’re ghosts, damn it! let’s haunt this bitch! ” “ oblivion calls ” “ we might as well walk through some walls ” “ i’m sure we can haunt our own halls ” “ we’re ready as we’ll ever get ” “ i gotta get right outside my comfort zone ” “ we’ll rattle chains and, i don’t know, just wail and moan until they go ” “ ready, set let’s oooOOOoOooOooOo [ghost noises] ”

NO REASON

“ the universe is more than just space with no end ” [sung] “ la-la-la-la-la! ” “ just think of the universe as a female best friend ” “ hey, universe, what’s happening girl? ” “ oh nothing. just running the world ” “ you’re on the right track, [girl], i got your back, [girl] ” “ i’m helping you grow ” “ think positive, act positive, you are a child of the Earth! ” “ life coaching! nailing it! ” “ time to take command you dictate the hand the universe deals ” “ look, science makes no sense; who needs evidence? ” “ go with yours feels ” “ i’m like a radio tuned to the stars ” “ i found my frequency, crystals speak to me ” “ what are they saying? ” “ buy more crystals ” “ everything, EVERYTHING, happens for a reason ” “ be a beacon of light in the world, put a little alright in the world ” “ there are spiritual guides above, look up and see ‘em ” “ perception is reality ” “ just listen to the melody the universe sings ” “ everything happens for a reason ” “ gee, i hate to break it to you: the universe is just the contents of time, matter and space ” “ ninety-one billion light-years across and the Earth’s a small place ” “ good people die in famine and wars ” “ the pacific islands are sinking, but negative thinking is hardly the cause ” “ you think life is all unicorns and rainbows ‘cause you’re bored ” “ positivity is a luxury that few can afford ” “ we’re gonna die, yes you and I, in meaningless and alone ” “ no no no! no! ” “ one day you may wake up alone ” “ your husband and his boyfriend bought a boat and then they sailed away to Rome ” “ that’s specific ” “ so you cry yourself to sleep in deep despair, talking to the walls ‘cause there’s no one there, and you have to buy a cat ‘cause that’s your last chance to have a family ” “ take it from me, your aging ass will have to believe that everything happens for a reason ” “ put some more fun in the world, a little “I AM STILL YOUNG” in the world ” “ be prepared to take your eggs and freeze ‘em ” “ is this still about me? ” “ sounds like terrible things can happen ” “ because the universe is random ” “ yes, but, random for a reason ” “ no reason ”

INVISIBLE (REPRISE)/ON THE ROOF

“ you’re invisible when you’re me ” “ there’s no one to see my truth ” “ if they could look up they’d see: hey! somebody’s on the roof! ” “ god, it’s mortifying, what’s the point of even trying? ” “ now i’m trapped with no escape ” “ banished! disavowed! i vanished like a cloud of dirty hipster vape ” “ i vanished like a cloud of dirty hipster vape ” “ nobody said life’s fair ” “ guess they will never see the demon who isn’t there ” “ whoa, what have we got here? ” “ by the time you read this, I, ___, will be gone ” “ there’s nothing for me here ” “ i’m alone, forsaken, invisible ” “ that makes two of us ” “ who the hell are you? ” “ can you... see me? ” “ yeah...? ” “ you can SEE me! ” “ I’M GONNA HAVE A NEW BEST FRIIIIIIEEEENND! ”

SAY MY NAME

“ you could use a buddy ” “ don’t you want a pal? ” “ yes i do! yes i do! ” “ the way i see, your [daddy] should be leaving and you should stick around! ” “ and kill him! ” “ ... what? ” “ nothing! ” “ don’t end yourself, defend yourself ” “ [daddy] is the one you should maim ” “ together we’ll exterminate, assassinate! ” “ the finer points can wait ” “ first you gotta say my name! ” “ go ahead and jump but that won’t stop [him] ” “ here you got a solid plan B option ” “ i can bring your [daddy] so much pain ” “ all you gotta do is say my name ” “ just say it three times in a row ” “ you won’t believe how far i’ll go ” “ i’m in the bench, but coah, just put me in the game! ” “ i don’t know your name ” “ well, i can’t SAY it ” “ how ‘bout a game of charades? ” “ yes, let’s play it! ” “ close, but no ” “ wow, i’m impressed ” “ all you gotta do is say my name three times ” “ three times in a row it must be spoken, unbroken ” “ you’re so smart, a stand-up bro ” “ i’ll think about your offer, let you know ” “ i prefer my chances down below ” “ being young and [female] doesn’t mean that i’m an easy mark ” “ i’ve been swimming with piranhas, i don’t need a shark ” “ yes, life sucks, but not that much ” “ be a doll and spare the lecture ” “ i’m offering you a full-time specter! ” “ are you any good? ” “ you bet’cha! trust me, baby! ” “ really, it’s a flattering offer ” “ don’t you wanna see [dad] suffer? ” “ i think i’d rather just jump off ” “ i may be suicidal but ___, it’s not as if i’ve lost my mind ” “ so, playing hardball, huh? you are tougher than you look ” “ just wanna make sure i know who i’m working with. go any references? ” “ ___, there you are! ” “ get away from [her] ! ” “ this is a dangerously unstable individual ” “ ___ is sexy! ” “ ___ is smart! ” “ ___ is a graduate of Julliard! ” “ [he] can help, we found [him] on yelp ” “ our troubles all ended on the day that we befriended ” “ every word is the truth ” “ what the heck was that? ” “ so violating! ” “ there you go, kid, couple of five-star reviews ” “ that was possession ” “ any ghost can do that in less than one lesson ” “ pretty much any ghost’ll do, sure ” “ then, ___, what do i need you for? ” “ woah, woah, woah woah woah! hold up! ” “ hold up! i’m your pal! ” “ they’re sweet, but i’m a demon straight from hell ” “ i know, i went a little hard on the sell ” “ we’re BF-F-F-F’s forever! ” “ what? he was already dead ” “ we don’t need that demon ” “ together we can make a grown man weep ” “ we got a dinner date to keep ” “ okay, so what’s the plan? ” “ [he’s] gonna freak when we possess him ” “ i’ll lead that lamb to slaughter ” “ yeah, i got game! ” “ i’m gonna make [him] say my name ” “ not running away ”

DAY-O (THE BANANA BOAT SONG)/ACT I FINALE

“ what’s going on ___? are you alright? ” “ i don’t -- i dont know what just happened ” “ ___? do you need to lie down? ” “ what is happening to me? ” “ work all night on a drink of rum ” “ daylight come and me wanna go home ” “ stack banana till the morning come ” “ wait, why aren’t you dancing? ” “ it’s like i told you, ___, this house is haunted, and the ghosts who live here want you OUT ” “ who wants bacon? ” “ no! no! i’m a vegan! ” “ shut up, you moron! don’t apologize, we’re gonna be RICH! ” “ a genuine haunted house? it’s a goldmine! ” “ these ghosts are gonna make us a fortune! ” “ no! you’re supposed to be scared! ” “ there’s one thing that can still stop [him] ” “ ___, no! you don’t know what’ll happen! ” “ i can’t keep living like this! ” “ oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! i’m so glad you changed your mind! ” “ you are never gonna regret this! ” “ we are gonna make such a great team! ” “ give me just... one... more... ” “ it’s SHOWTIME! ” “ it’s our house now, kid! ” “ looks like we’re not invisible anymore! ”

[geminiamethyst]

Possession. Chapter 9 (FINAL CHAPTER)

FINALLY! AFTER ALMOST A FULL YEAR, I have finally reached the end of Possession. Sorry it took so long to get to the end of, I just didn’t originally plan for it to be this long. But, you know what? I’m glad it did anyway.

Okay, because this is the final chapter, I can not stress enough to tell you guys to skip this chapter and read the previous chapters using the links below if you have not done so already. If you don’t, trust me, you will regret it.

I’d also like to say a final big thank you to Schusseltier, avril-circus and laambart for allowing me to write this story as they are the ones that came up with the original comic strips that inspired me to write this. Please give them all your love as they are amazing artists.

Enjoy the chapter.

The road to recovery was easy enough physically for Snufkin. All the bruises had cleared up and his body no longer felt like fragile glass that threatened to break at every move he made. However, it was mentally that was the challenge. For a whole week straight, he woke up in the night screaming from the nightmarish memories of when he was possessed that plagued him. Joxter was by his side at every scream he made and comforted him back to sleep, but it did nothing to help sooth his mind from going haywire. Though it was only for a week that the nightmares had gone on for, to Snufkin it felt like months. He hated feeling trapped like that. The spirit was gone, he knew that. But he had suffered so much when he was a prisoner in his head. He would look over his shoulder at every noise behind him when he walked and if someone had snuck up behind him without saying something, he would either flinch badly or scream in a panic when they place a hand on his shoulder. It had gotten terribly bad when Stinky (who in no time at all learned about what had happened somehow) played a nasty prank on him when he was in the forest getting some supplies for his winter wandering. He had frightened him by using a horn to project his voice around the area, making it impossible for Snufkin to pinpoint where it had come from. If that didn’t freak him enough, Stinky had then screamed down his ear so suddenly that it almost gave the poor traveller a heart attack, literally. It was so bad that Snufkin was curled up like a frightened child and wasn’t willing to move until Moomin, Joxter and Little My found him.

He was that scared of being possessed again.

Madame Portia had been doing everything she could to help him through the healing. She had been making him come up to Moominhouse daily to make sure that he was fine. Results were the same with physically, with the mental recovery becoming slightly better each passing day. She feared that the encounter with Stinky’s bullying would have set him back terribly but he surprised her greatly the day after the incident.

“He truly is you brother, isn’t he?” The medium had teased a bit at Little My that day, further commenting that Snufkin was stronger than he looked.

“You should never doubt my family!” Little My only smirked, earning a smile from Snufkin. Ever since that night, even after all the secrets that were kept, Snufkin felt like he was closer than he ever was with his family since he was reunited with them. It made him all the more determined to see his mother during his Winter wandering with Joxter.

Madame Portia had left a week after that, feeling the need to leave the valley before Winter and help another household with a spirit problem. The family said their goodbyes to her, with Moominmamma giving her some Jasmine tea to have on her travels. Madame Portia too had left some gifts with the family. She gifted the Moomin family a talisman to hang up on a wall to help protect the household from evil spirits and a beaded bracelet made out of turquoise for Snufkin with the same purpose. Despite Little My teasing him a little, Snufkin gratefully slipped the spiritual jewellery on, again fearing for him being possessed again. Feeling that she had done enough for the family, Madame Portia left, promising the family that if they ever meet again, she’ll only bring good fortune upon the family.

Sadly as the time went, Winter had finally creeped in. It felt like it had come quicker than it should have. The frost remained permanent on the ground, making the once lush, soft, green grass dry up and become nothing more than had brown coloured stems. Flowers wittered and died, driving off all the insects that had decorated them in the Spring and Summer. The trees were striped completely of their leafs, making them look like nothing more than tall, menacing figures, especially in the dark of the long nights. Clouds covered the sky, blocking the sun and the beautiful blue that was the sky. The air constantly looked like it was damp and it was also bitter, the wind becoming harsh and icy. No matter where you stepped in Moominvalley, it felt like the Groke was standing right next to you, or it felt like you were looking into the eyes of the Lady of The Cold.

Everywhere you looked in Moominvalley, it seemed like Summer was no more than a distant memory.

Snufkin sat on the handrail of the the bridge, just like he had started doing, waiting for Moomin to come out to say goodbye (A/N For those that don’t know, I’m referencing back to episode 85 of the 90’s series). His camp was packed up, leaving behind nothing more than a rectangle of flattened and worn out grass. A circle where he would have his campfire stayed, blackened permanently on the ground. His things were packed into the knapsack that was beside him. The only difference was that Joxter was standing by, waiting to go. He blew out a puff of smoke from his old pipe. He looked up at the clouded sky, noticing that the smoke blended well with the grey that blanketed the sky. He impatiently tapped his foot, knowing full well that it’ll start snowing any second. As much as he didn’t mind waiting, he’d rather get going before the snow gets too deep to walk through. His prayers were answered when he heard the sound of running feet coming towards the bridge. Snufkin stopped playing his harmonica, hearing Moomin approaching as well. He looked towards the young troll, feeling a smile spread across his face. Moomin stopped on the bridge, catching his breath from the running. He glanced at Snufkin’s knapsack, noting how full it looked despite Snufkin not owning very much. His heart sank a little, remembering that he wouldn’t see Snufkin until he awoke from hibernation and Spring had once again returned, bringing the valley back to life.

“Time to leave?” Moomin asked, feeling a little stupid as he already knew the answer.

“Yes. Everything is just going as they should now that some things are back to normal.” Snufkin smiled sadly, hopping off of the handrail. He slipped his harmonica in his pocket before looking a little sadly at Moomin. “Just remember that I’m going to be a little late coming back.” Moomin’s ears drooped a little and his tail became limp. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten what Snufkin had told him on Halloween.

“You’ll be seeing your mother though. Like I said, it’ll be worth the wait for you coming back. I hope everything goes well with meeting your mother.” He smiled a little, trying to make himself feel better. Snufkin only smiled at him a little, trying to reassure him that everything will be alright. He grabbed his knapsack and slipped the burden on his back. Moomin could do nothing more than watch sadly at this sight. He hated this time of year to say the least. He hated to see Snufkin leave for the Winter, knowing that he would never see him until Spring. It eased him a little as he reminded himself that he would be hibernating during that time. However, it still felt heavy on him. To him, it was not fair. But he knew that it would be unfair to Snufkin to force him to stay. Snufkin, after all, was a vagabond, a free spirit. It would be cruel to chain him to one place. He knew that it would be better to let Snufkin go, but it still didn’t stop him from being sad.

“HOLD IT!”

Snufkin, Moomin and Joxter turned to see Little My running towards them from Moominhouse. With the speed she was running at, you’d think the Groke was chasing her. The trio caught sight that she was carrying something in her hand, but her arms were going so fast that all they could make was a blurry white object. She skidded to a very sudden holt on the bridge, almost slipping on the frost that had remained on the bridge.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to your sister, were you?” She shouted after catching her breath.

“Sorry My, but usually you don’t do that. I thought you were asleep already.” Snufkin said as he knelt down to her.

“Yeah, well, I’m only doing this once! So don’t expect me to do it all the time.” Little My smirked, hands on her hips. She suddenly looked at what she was holding. “Do me a favour will you?”

“Of course.” Snufkin said before the small girl thrusted an envelope into his hands.

“Give this to Mother for me. I owe her a letter.” She said, her face softening a little, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “And.....be careful out there, okay?” Snufkin smiled. He surprised her by pulling her into a hug as a thank you. At first, the older sibling was stunned, but patted his back a little. “Yeah, yeah. Just get outta here before I get too soft. And you!” Joxter jumped a little as Little My pointed at him after Snufkin let him go. Little My’s features turned serious but meaningful. “You had better take good care of my brother. If something happens to him I will personally hunt you down myself!”

“Of course.” Grinned Joxter in amusement, his pipe held between his teeth. It faded as soon as something small, soft and white made its way to the top of his nose. Everyone looked up at the sky. Snowflakes had finally started to fall, twirling and spinning gracefully to the valley, almost like a ballet dancer performing on stage. At first, they fell thinly, only one snowflake coming down once every second, before they multiplied. The snowfall had started to become so dense that Joxter started to worry that he and Snufkin might have to wade through ankle deep snow before they could leave the valley. As Snufkin placed the letter delicately in his knapsack, his father placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him that it was time to go. Snufkin stood up and slipped his burden back on his back.

“So long, my friend. And I promise that I’ll be back before Spring is over.” He smiled sadly, extending a hand out for Moomin to shake. Instead of shaking it in his paw however, the young troll pulled the traveller into a heartfelt hug. He wrapped his arms a little awkwardly around the knapsack, but he still held a little tight. Snufkin stood a little shocked at this sudden interaction.

“Come back safe.” Moomin whispered, his voice a little hoarse as if he was going to cry. Snufkin blinked, then brought his arms around his best friend, giving him a reassuring hug. It felt warm despite the cold chill in the air.

“I promise.” He whispered into Moomin’s ear before the best friends released each other. It felt empty now that they had let go. Became colder all of a sudden. Little My climbed up onto Moomin until she stood on his shoulder, holding one arm around his head to keep her balance. Moomin, unfazed by this, watched with envy as his best friend and Joxter walked away, leaving shallow footprints in the thin layer of snow that had already started falling. They slowly became nothing more than two green dots. Moomin promptly wiped a tear that had trailed down his cheek.

“GOOD LUCK, SNUFKIN!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t sure if it was the snow making him think it or not, but for a few seconds, he believed that he had seen Snufkin stop, turn and wave back at those he called family. Moomin and Little My waved back. They continued until Snufkin and Joxter disappeared for good. Now Winter has officially come to Moominvalley.

And Moomin couldn’t wait until next year, when Moominvalley is blessed by the return of Spring.

And Snufkin to come back with it.

The End.

That’s it everyone. Final chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it. Sorry if it feels anticlimactic, but I don’t care. I don’t know where to go next, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. If you guys want me to do a short story where Snufkin meets his mother or something like that, feel free to let me know.

In the meantime, have a nice day.

Here are the rest of the chapters, for those that are late to the party.

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 2: click HERE

Chapter 3: click HERE

Chapter 4: click HERE

Chapter 5: click HERE

Chapter 6: click HERE

Chapter 7: click HERE

Chapter 8: click HERE

Links to the original artists:

Schusseltier: click HERE

avril-circus: click HERE

laambart: click HERE