#this is long and wordy but you get my drift i got carried away

[oldcoyote]

Hey I know this is kind of random, but do you have any advice on how to handle a PC death in D&D? Our lawful good, absolute angel of a character died tonight, and it feels so much like real grief. Plus my girlfriend is our DM, and she's so upset that things turned out this way because she really had no choice in the moment. There's a very small chance we'll be able to ressurect her, but it's very unlikely :( I'm just so sad, and I love her so much :'( :'(

i am so sorry for your loss! it’s so hard, and i think people who don’t play may not understand that when you immerse yourself in these characters, it can feel so real to lose someone like that. it can genuinely hurt so much, and your body doesn’t know that it’s any different from losing a real person - you feel grief either way.

i want to preface by saying i don’t have experience in this field, as i haven’t had a player death in my game yet. which may seem odd for having played for three years, but not if you’d met my team. they are incredibly careful and tend to err on the side of extreme preparation/caution in every situation, avoid being impulsive, and have a very determined cleric with Revivify - who also has a homebrew item (Amulet of the Medic) that doubles her speed for a round provided the next act she takes is a healing spell, effectively turning her into a little paramedic. because of those things, and having had no encounters where the dice rolls were outright disastrous (which does happen, even to the best of us), they’ve been quite fortunate.

that said, i have thought about it a LOT, because you never know when it’s going to happen. sometimes, despite the best of intentions, despite the best laid plans, even if they do everything right - the dice aren’t on their side. as the DM you have to do what you have to do, and that means following through on what the monster would do. 

now, i talked to my party before we started about death and about what would make the game most fun for them in terms of it. i don’t know if your DM did this with you guys or what the feeling is at your table but it varies from group to group. some feel that deaths need to be permanent so the game feels real and has genuine risk. some feel that death ruins the game completely as it stops being fun anymore. how to process and cope with the loss will depend on what your party feels and what your DM decides to do if the res doesn’t work out, if that makes sense?

personally, i agree with what i call the Mercer principle - that outside of Revivify the spells used to resurrect players remove any element of actual risk in the game. having Raise Dead, Resurrection and True Resurrection just, bam, wake up the dead individual with little or no actual cost is too easy and removes any gravity from the game. should any my players make it to that point, i’ll be using his rules for a resurrection ritual - which relies on the party’s RP offerings to lower the DC of a final roll that determines whether or not that character revives.

some of my party have outright said that they will not accept death, that they will pursue into any realm necessary the soul of their lost party member to get them back. i have a contingency for this situation as well, whereby the deceased party member player would come up with a new (possibly temporary) PC and given a page of what that character knows, and they would take the rest of the party on a quest to fight hard to regain their lost member. it carries on the story while letting the players process their grief and actively do something about it, lets the player who lost their character adjust to playing someone else and be partly settled into their new character should the quest fail, and it eases the grief a little to have that player still at the table and working with the team despite the character being gone. this may work for you guys as well, if your DM is on board, but your party may agree that it would feel too much like drawing it out/more painful. it differs from group to group, and you need to do what best serves you as a team.

i’m not sure what your DM has planned for you, it could be that the line ends here. it could be that she has a backup plan. either way, the best thing i can suggest is to remember and let this affect your character, change your character. feed your RP. let them grow, and learn, maybe take an element or two from this character they loved deeply. that’s what death should do, to me, in life and in rpg. it should teach us not to wait to be more like the best parts of the people we loved and lost, the people who inspired us.

[spinster-sisters]

Sailor's Wife. psh

Pirate au

TW: ngl this gets kind heavy right in the beginning then it gets kinda soft right at the end so like idk. dom seonghwa, sub reader, degradation, use of the word whore(also wench cuz like pirates), oral, edging, possessiveness, breeding kink. oops, manhandling.

Normally i try my darndest to not get too wordy but for this I let it happen.

@xiuminswifeforever this ones for u. also this got a little carried away but heyyyyy what can ya do.

Also @multidreams-and-desires @a-soft-hornytiny and @eonghwa may possibly probably will enjoy this to so have at it

Perhaps you should be more understanding with your husband Seonghwa. After all, your ship had a name and a reputation to uphold, which would not be possible without the efforts of both him and your captain Hongjoong. But you were still stuck on a ship at sea, without much to do. It had been 4 days since you last made port, and it is likely you wouldn't dock for at least another 10. And with your husband ignoring your needs for the sake of maintaining perfect order on board as First Mate, you were feeling a little stir crazy.

Of course as the First Mates wife, and notable figure amongst the crew you had your own reputation to uphold as both a devoted wife and skilled sailor. So when you and your closest confidantes on board tried to blow off some steam by dipping into the bottles of rum during broad daylight on the top deck of the ship, your antics turn more than a few heads among the lower-ranking members of the crew.

It's true that Seonghwa had been neglecting you, instead spending the hours of the night pouring over maps and charts with the Capitan. And San and Wooyoung had always given you all the attention you missed. So in your slightly inebriated state, your place on Wooyoungs lap touseling his long hair felt more than natural.

The three of you were causing quite a ruckus, laughing, shouting, knocking over barrels and crates, and other general tomfoolery. It was only a short while before your Husband came bursting through the door on the far end of the deck (Capitans Quarters) scanning the ship for the cause of the disturbance.

Once he found it his eyes narrowed. He stalked over to your happy gathering, which had only briefly acknowledged him, with furry radiating of every step. Once he stood glowering before you, you finally gave him your attention.

"Seonghwa! Darling! How nice to see you!" You called, still on Wooyoungs lap. You swung your arms out to him and gestured for him to come to you but he ignored it. The slightly shrill cry of your voice had once again attracted the attention of the crew.

"We don't pay you to gawk. Back to work all of you!" Seonghwas powerful voice carried over to the men, who sprung into action, heads turning quickly away. Seonghwa turned his hard stare back to the three of you.

"I want all three of you off this deck, in your quarters in the next 5 minutes," he began low and growling, "or so help me God I will throw you overboard myself!" As he carried on his voice grew in both anger and volume. But the three of you, foolishly perhaps, did not heed his warning.

"Oh, come on now Seonghwa. Don't be such a hard ass" San remarked giggly. Seonghwas gaze snapped to the man and opened his mouth to speak but Wooyoung interjected.

"We were just showing your lovely wife a good time," he spoke with a lopsided smirk, hand coming down to your thigh. And the Frist Mate followed the action with dangerous eyes.

You stood from your spot on wobbly feet, taking a step closer to your husband, and took the front lapels of his long sea-worn jacket into your hands and practically hung on the man.

"Come now, Seonghwa. Won't you find it in your heart to be lenient with your darling little wife," you pleaded jokingly, batting your eyelashes. Seonghwa was not amused.

He took your wrist into his hand and with a strong grip, he pulled you away from him so quick you almost toppled to the floor, but not before he yanked your arm back with equal strength, leaning down to be right in your face as he spat.

"I do not see the darling wife you speak of, all I can see is a drunk ship wench without the mind to Do. As. Shes. Told. Now go back to our room and hope with all your might you sober up before I get there."

As his speech concluded he pushed you away again, this time in the direction of the stairs that led below deck. You were practically in shock as you bowed your head and stumbled to wooden stairs, the distant yells of your husband now directed at the other two men. taking the stairs down to the first floor where there were 7 small rooms for the officers aboard, including you and your husband's room at the end of the short hall.

Now perhaps you were drunker than you realized because the gentle swaying of the ship with the waves had you practically falling over with every step and by the time you reached your room you had all but collapsed onto the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness with the tides.

Perhaps, Seonghwas words had been empty threats as when you finally awoke (unfortunately sober) you could see the dusk sky shining through the small window at the back of the tiny room. Your head pounded when you sat up, but the uncomfortableness of your day clothes was undeniable.

You slipped out of the hard leather of your coat and boots and pulled the linen shirt over your head. After removing your ragged pants from your body you moved to pull your soft nightgown over your head but stopped when the door open. Ready to scream at the person who disturbed you in private you only stoped when your eyes landed on your cross-looking husband. You scoffed at the man in the door and turned your back to him.

"Oh no darling, you can't run away from me this time," he said rounding the bed to stand behind you, "your actions today were absolutely inexcusable, no matter what marriage you benefit from" he growled at you.

You scoffed again and whipped around to face him, still completely bare.

"Darling? Who on earth could you be talking to, certainly not me. As I recall I was nothing more than a ship wench." You spat his own words back at him.

"Don't try to be smart," he snapped at you, taking another step closer, " Today you behaved like nothing more than an attention-hungry whore, and if you expect me to set that aside simply as your husband you are far from wrong darling," his voice spoke dangerously even.

"Perhaps I have a right to be starved for attention! As you seem certainly more than willing to leave me alone for days on end," you returned with equal venom. This seemed to shock Seonghwa, though his anger did not lessen he remained quiet.

"What kind of husband leaves their wife for days on end without so much as a touch! Perhaps I should go find Wooyoung? As I know he would be more than willing to give me the kind of attention you have been denying me,"

As soon as the words left your mouth you knew they had been a mistake, you opened your lips to take them back but Seonghwas hand caught your throat in an instant, catching your breath.

"You want me to act like a husband? Perhaps I should treat you as a husband should treat their wife when they say such things," he glowered, eyes sharpening with rage.

He released his grip on your neck only to push you back onto your creaking bed. As you caught your breath Seonghwa tossed his own coat away from him and loosened the ties of string keeping the top of his shirt together, but not removing it completely. He climbed onto your exposed body, keeping you trapped beneath his weight. He ran one lean hand from your neck down to your breast and groped it with rough hands. You moaned in pleasure, finally, your body practically screamed. He scoffed at you.

"You want to be treated like a wife yet you sound like such a whore, crying out for me at the slightest touch, perhaps I should teach you how to appreciate what you are given."

He moved away from your body before wrenching your legs apart. You blushed madly at how his words and touch had affected you, your cunt was already sopping wet at the idea of your husband finally putting it to use.

"Tsk, so desperate. Have a taught you nothing?" he grumbled to himself.

"Sorry, sir" you whined. He meets your eyes for just an instant, showing him that you had not forgotten all of your manners with him. He wasted not another moment before pulling your hips twords his head and licking up your dripping folds. A strangled cry left your lips.

Just as he set to work, licking and sucking all of the places on you that he knew to be useful. His hand returned to your breast, kneading the flesh between his long fingers with a rough grip.

You were at his mercy. Your body was his to toy with and he knew how to play you well. His tongue dove into your slit, further than should be possible, using the muscle to open the neglected hole and taste the essence now running down his chin. He lapped away at your cunt, taking all he wanted from you while you lay there limp and twitching with the occasional cry of ecstasy.

His fingers pinched the hard bud of your nipple and pulled on it, bringing a cry from your lips. Normally cries like these were reprimanded, but you had a feeling your husband wanted the whole ship to know exactly what he was doing to his wife.

You were coming closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed. Your body was reacting to every touch with increased sensitivity as it hadn't been used in so long, and Seonghwa was oh so skilled at pulling these feelings out of you, the fire burning in your belly was twisting and reveling, begging to be realized.

You cried out again, feeling you're about to get that sweet sweet release you so craved.

When it all stopped.

You cried out again but this time in strangled desperation and confusion. You locked eyes with your husband and plead you were wrong about what is happening.

Seonghwa simply pulled away, unbothered, he stood from the bed and you felt your heart shatter as he moved across the floor. He picked up a rag and wiped his face clean before turning back to your still panting figure.

"Remember, when you married me you gave your sweet, soft body to me. And now any pleasure it receives is mine to control. I want you to think about what you just experienced and learn to appreciate all that I give you. Now, I am going to return to my duties, and when I come back if I believe you have earned it I will treat you like my wife, and not some common whore."

And without another word, he left.

-

You laid their flabbergasted and unmoving for what felt like hours. As the sunset behind the horizon, you pulled your body up into a sitting position with your legs cradled to your chest. You don't dare act on the burning emptiness in your core, as you truly felt you had learned your lesson.

The minutes ticked on. Occasionally you heard the sound of feet coming down the ladder from down the hall and your stomach lept, but every time they continued down to the lower deck for the crew. Your mind wandered to your wedding day.

It had only been 4 years since that day. It was before you had joined the crew, but Seonghwa who you had known since your childhood had already been called to the sea by his friend and now captain. He had asked you to marry him the day before he left on his first voyage and you waited for him without a second thought. Once he returned months later he had already been made First Mate and you only had a week before he would be out at sea again. On the day of your wedding, you were scolded by your parents for allowing a lawless pirate to take you, but your father gave you away regardless. By the end of the night, you were already miles out to sea with your new husband and he showed you for the first time how well a wife could be treated.

Needless to say, you rediscovered your appreciation for the man.

So when the door finally opened once again, you only gazed at Seonghwa with stars in your eyes. He approached your side of the bed and took your chin into his hand, aiming your face up at his.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked. You nodded.

"Yes, sir," you spoke with a creaky voice. He cracked the smallest hint of a satisfied smile.

"Why don't you lean back, my darling"

And so you did. You fell back onto the blankets and watched as your husband finally pulled his shirt over his head and rid himself of his distressed pants. He climbed over you and took your head in his hand again and muttered,

"Now remind me, sweet girl, who's are you," he asked in a firm guiding voice.

"All yours, sir,"

"Wonderful, should I take what's mine then?" He asked in that same tone.

"Please sir," you replied.

Seonghwa leaned down to connect your lips in one sweet kiss that lasted only a moment before pulling away his demeanor changed. Hands ran down your sides pulling your legs to wrap around his thin waist.

"My darling wife, waiting so patiently for me," he mused. The tip of his cock teased your wet entrance, only pushing in the slightest bit but you clenched instinctively regardless.

"Maybe it has been too long," he chuckled darkly in your ear, "I almost forgot how eagerly you wish to be filled," he chided taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth. Your breath hitched, scared to make /the wrong move that would bring this all crashing to a halt.

In one fluid motion, Seonghwa pushed the rest of his length into you to the hilt. You whined desperately at the slightly painful stretch and screwed your eyes shut as the pain morphed into the sweetest pleasure.

"Ready, my darling?" He mumbled into your ear, a slight smirk in his voice.

"Please,"

And so he began. Pulling all the way out before slamming back in with the same force and speed. You cried out again.

Every time his hips met yours for that brief moment you relished in the feeling of being completely filled up by him. His length was long and he used it well. He knew your body well enough to know exactly how to angle your hips to be hitting your more sensitive places inside you every single time he thrust.

You clung desperately to his broad shoulders, allowing your body to become plaint again and for lewd sound to tumble past your lips into his ears. Each sound seemed to give him newfound strength, picking up speed and force every time.

"Oh, my sweet wife, letting me have my way with her," he mumbled, gripping your hip for leverage, the other hand gently caressing your body. "So desperate to be filled," he chuckled. You whined in agreement, pulling yourself tighter to his body as your sensitive walls clung and stretched around him.

"I could fill you up even more darling, would you like that?" He asked, panting slightly at the exertion.

You nodded blindly.

"I could fill you up with my cum, fill you up with my child," he groaned at the thought, "oh you would love that wouldn't you darling, letting me put a child in you," you clenched around his cock once again as he punctuated his words with one, particularly hard thrust into your special spot.

"Yes, sir" you replied breathlessly "please, fill me up with your child," it came out as nothing but a whisper, "want- want your baby,"

"I know you do darling, don't worry," he groaned. You were clenching around him madly and your orgasm was fast approaching. His grip on your hip and turned to iron and your body was convulsing.

"What kind of husband would I be if I didn't give my wife a baby,"

At those words, your body began to convulse. You finally felt that sweet really you had been denied for so long. Your eyes rolled back and your cunt was clenching frantically as the waves of pleasure came over you so strong you lost control of your limbs, crying out weakly Seonghwas name. Seonghwa kept his steady pace all the while until he himself was thrown over the edge.

You recognize the feeling of thick ropes of cum pouring into you. Seonghwas own cries had increased in volume as he emptied inside you. It took several seconds, but when he had finally milked the last of his orgasms from your body he pulled away.

You lay spent but completely content on the bed before him with what could only be described as a dopey smile. He always looked so beautiful when he came and even coming down yourself you had to admire the gorgeous man you married. He cracked his own smile at your face and leaned to give you a lingering kiss. And your eyes dropped closed.

"Go to sleep, darling, ill take care of you in the morning."

[yayninjabob]

Update 1/20/21

It's been swell having my freedom again now that I'm covid-free.  I'm not going anywhere or anything.  But things like gardening in our backyard, taking my dog-kids Fable and Riot on walks, cuddling with my wifey on the sofa and watching netflix or whatever, and just being able to cook again for myself in the kitchen... I've missed all of it so much.  So much in fact that I've been slacking on editing more than I should, whoops.  SORRY, GUYS.

But I did finish up all my rewrites yesterday FINALLY so the new chapter is nearly done.  All that's left is another swoop of editing and maayyyybee swapping out this one scene I have for another that I originally had planned for 13 instead.  So give me a day or two to decide what feels best for the story while I start tinkering with 13 a bit.

So basically I'm stepping away from 12 today to work on the scene for 13.   Depending on what I decide to do with that scene, I might finish chapter 12 tomorrow night after work, or I might need another day after that.  But I don't think so.  I'm already like 90 percent sure on what I'll probably end up doing lol.   Just gotta write this up first to be sure and it will EASE my perfectionist mind.  Once that's done, then it's final editing and formatting stuff which takes me usually a day or two.

Alright that's just a really wordy way to say I will have CHAPTER 12 up this SUNDAY, JANUARY 24TH.  PROMISE GUYS.  

I feel so bad it's been so long since our last update that I'll share one scene with you guys from 12.  I mean, if you’re checking this blog you're probably looking for an update, right?  Well for now, I hope a little sneak peek will suffice until Sunday.

Personally, I think it's kind of a cool sneaky peeky because honestly it doesn't really give away much of the plot of the chapter and still leaves the suspense of where we last left off pretty much.  SO.  If you wanna read a little bit of 12, here's scene #3 for you guys early.  If you want to avoid it and remain pure, I’ll see you Sunday I guess lol.

Uh... heads up, it's got some gore lol.  A creepy little horror comedy scene, really.  One of my personal faves of the chapter, too.  PLEASE ENJOY.

SNEAK PEEK:  Chapter 12, Scene 3 under the cut....

scene 3

The green Powerpuff lay in the dark unable to sleep.  Even though the teenager had turned out the light hours ago, there was no stopping the never ending loop of the night which still replayed over and over within the young hero's mind.  Buttercup had done nothing but tossing and turning in an attempt to try and find rest that night, and had managed to kick away all of the bedding and sheets.  Laying upon a bare mattress and still hopelessly waiting for sleep with eyes shut tight, there was a sudden faint knocking sound heard coming from within the bedroom.

Buttercup sat up in bed with a jolt the moment the sounds began in the dark.   Immediately the Puff's emerald eyes fell on the door to the bedroom closet.  The door to the closet was shut, but the noise was definitely coming from behind it.  Buttercup watched the door intently, while silently and cautiously moving towards it.  With super hearing activated, the Puff listened to the sound of something rustling about inside, and as the young hero crept closer and closer, there was a rotten, burning stench in the air.  Buttercup reached for the closet door's handle and opened it.

"Where is it?  Dude, it's gotta be somewhere around here!"

Buttercup blinked at the blood soaked kid for a moment before a look of annoyance came next.  The sixteen-year-old Puff watched as the thirteen-year-old apparition  dug around the heap of dirty laundry that littered the closet floor.  The kid had her back turned as she knelt upon both knees over the large pile of laundry and searched frantically for something.   Buttercup groaned, still holding the closet door open, "Oh no....  What are you doing here?  Dude, really, I'm just trying to get some sleep tonight and you showing up now just isn't-"

"Where is it?!" the kid jumped onto their sandy wet sneakers and began to search the shelfing within the closet, "Where the fuck is it?!"  As the thirteen-year-old removed an old snowglobe from the shelf and tossed it carelessly over her shoulder, Buttercup caught it and glared at her.

"Where's what?!" Buttercup snapped at herself.

The kid stopped suddenly and slowly glanced over her shoulder with her ghostly, opaque white right eye.  "Where's the mask?"

"Oh," Buttercup's angry expression softened.  "...It's... gone...."

"...Oh...."

"...Yeah...."

As Buttercup reached over her to return the snowglobe to its spot on the shelf, the kid turned round to face them.  "Can't you get it back somehow?"

The green Puff sighed deeply and floated slowly back over to the bed, "Nah, Dude..." Buttercup reclined upon the bare mattress again, "I think... I think that shit's over now....  I mean, shit's getting pretty serious now that Mojo knows about us.  I'm hoping it all works out tomorrow, and he's really not gonna make me do something fucked up in return for his silence, but... even if he does keep his word..." Buttercup shut both eyes and yawned, "It's just gettin' way too risky, Dude...."

"Huh..." the kid stood at the teenager's bedside, "I thought we were just startin' to have some real fun...."

Buttercup's eyes remained shut, hoping the illusion would go away soon.  "It was fun while it lasted...."

"Sucks, Man....  Say, you got anything I can eat?  I'm fucking starving, Dude-"

"Dude," Buttercup interrupted with annoyance, "Why are you here?"  The green Puff sat up in bed once more and looked towards the kid and saw that she had made her way across the bedroom.  The blood soaked child stood in front of Buttercup's dresser, staring at the pair of birds that sat within their cage.  Her back was towards Buttercup, but Buttercup could see that the kid suddenly gripped something shiny in her right glowing green, acid burnt hand.

"Same reason I always drop by," the kid answered with her back still turned.  The apparition turned her head slightly, and even in the dark Buttercup could make out the devious glint of a small, sly smile as she still gripped whatever was in her hand.  "I'm here to help you out, you know... since you got nobody else, right?"

Buttercup continued to stare at the kid, but chose to remain silent.  The green Puff watched as the illusion returned her attention to the birdcage, and with her left, seared bloody hand, she reached for the cage's small door and opened it.  Both Snot and Pus instantly tried to dart away from the sizzling glowing green acid drenched palm that reached for them, but the kid easily managed to yank the fluttering green bird from the cage.  Buttercup's eyes widened in shock as she watched the kid cut into the squirming, live bird with a shard of glass, slicing the helpless creature straight down the middle.  His yellow companion fluttered about within the closed cage behind them, squawking loudly as the kid raised the green bird to her lips and began to slurp loudly.

All the green Puff could do was look on in stunned silence as the kid continued to suck the blood from the slowly dying bird.   As many times as the green Puff had received a "visit" from their former, "dead" self, this sort of thing... was definitely new.  As Buttercup continued to watch, the green Puff tried to keep in mind that what was being witnessed... could definitely not be happening.

The kid used her tattered black jacket's sleeve to wipe away the fresh blood-stache from her face, before turning to Buttercup.  "Did ya want the other one?"

The green Puff shook their head.

"Suit yourself," the kid shrugged and tossed the dead green bird over her shoulder, before she repeated the same act with the yellow bird next.  

Buttercup still could not look away.  "Dude... what the actual fuck...?" Eventually, the Puff's green eyes drifted slowly back to wear the discarded dead green bird's drained body lay on the floor of the room.   There was a gust of wind and Buttercup watched as the wooden floorboards of the bedroom and the dead bird began to blow away like strange particles of sand.  The green Puff rose from the bed mattress as it next faded away into the dark atmosphere around them.  "Ah, shit, no wonder..." Buttercup laughed a little nervously, "I'm dreaming...."

"We're dreaming," the kid added as she stood beside herself with a grin.

The green Puff glared briefly for a moment at the unwelcomed tag-along before looking around once more.  The once empty black void that was the adolescent's default dreamscape had changed as of late.  It was still a mostly desolate land, but no longer shrouded in total darkness.  Now, the sky shook with thick, dark and thunderous clouds which boomed with a growing, green electricity inside them.  The fiery green light that crackled within the black storm clouds illuminated the land with an eerie green glow.  The earth was cracked and dry and as the storm ahead continued to boom above, the windy weather of the vast wasteland kicked up the sandy dirt around them.

"Well, whaddya  know?  Ya changed up the place, huh?  I like it!" the kid grinned as she cupped one bloody beaten hand over her brow and looked about the dreamscape.  The thirteen-year-old turned back around and saw that she had been left behind as the green Puff continued to float on ahead without her.  "Yo! Wait up!"

The green Puff carried on without stopping, moving towards a large, distant shadow in the east.  After several minutes, the kid managed to catch up, loudly wheezing and gasping for air as she tried to catch her breath beside the casual floating Powerpuff.

"Dude! I told ya to wait up!" she socked Buttercup on the shoulder with a bloody, bruised fist, "I don't have my ghost powers in this dream world!"

"What sorta sense does that make?"

"I dunno!" the kid threw up her hands, "You tell me!"  the kid paused to cough a little, splattering the dirt with blood.  She wiped at her mouth with her tattered sleeve, as she walked quickly beside the Powerpuff, "Here, I'm just like you were when Goody-Goody left ya behind on that island!   Weak and human-y and useless and burning alive!  You remember?"

The green Puff glared at the kid for a moment before muttering, "Yeah.  I remember."

"So, where we goin' anyway?"

As the two approached a tall arched golden gateway, the green Puff stopped and turned towards the kid.  "No way.  You ain't comin' with me, alright?  Why don't you run off somewhere else, and I dunno... play."

"Why?" the blood-soaked kid strained her eyes as she tried to peer through the thick golden bars of the gate. Besides only having one functioning eye, there was a dense mist in the air that made it difficult to see. "Where are we- Oh-" she stopped as her vision focused on a short redhead walking her pet Pomeranian through the garden.  "Her?" the kid laughed a little, "Dude.  What do you see in her, anyway?   Like... do you like gettin' bossed around, or is it the big boobs, or-"

"Shut up," the green Puff rattled the gate a little to get the kid's attention once more, "Look," the skinny teen's scarred hands grasped the kid by her hooded jacket and spun her to her left, "Go that way, alright?  You'll find Ace's place and have a good time."

"OK, cool!" the kid thankfully agreed, "Which building is it?  That one or that one?"

"What are you talkin' about?  There's only one other build-" the green Puff stopped mid sentence, noticing for the first time a tall silhouette in the distance.

The thirteen-year-old watched as the green Puff shot off for the tall structure with a flash of green light.  "Shit!" she started to chase after on foot, "Wait up!"

As soon as the structure came clearer into focus, the flying teen halted mid-air, "The water tower...?"

For a while, the green Puff remained suspended in the sky, watching the tower intently from afar.  As far as the hero could tell, there were no signs of anyone there, but the scene still felt too ominous.  It was several minutes before the teenager worked up enough courage to continue forward.

Touching down on the metal landing of the water tower, the structure was so high up in the eerie green atmosphere that the darkened mist was especially thick and overpowering even for superpowered vision.  The green Puff gulped nervously, walking cautiously around the platform, tense and ready for anything.  Both green eyes glowed as they searched around the labyrinth of the thick metal beams that supported the tower's massive water tank.   As the teenager reached the railing on the other side, far below could be heard the desperate wheezing and coughing of a struggling thirteen-year-old attempting to climb the tower's ladder.

"Oh, Man!" the kid shouted from below, "I don't think I'm gonna make it!  Dude... a little help?!"

The teenager sighed before zipping downward to retrieve the kid from halfway down the ladder.  The green Puff carried her back up to the metal landing and set her on her feet, but the kid instantly collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily from exhaustion.  

"You know..." the wheezing thirteen-year-old spoke between hard breaths, "That's hard enough... without powers... but climbing really sucks... when your hands... practically have no skin..." she sat up and coughed as she struggled to climb back onto her feet.  The kid stood silent for a while as she watched the green Puff continue to intently search around every metal beam of the platform.  "So what's up?" the kid finally asked after a while.  "What're you lookin' for?"

The green Puff came to the center of the landing, and turned to look back at the kid, wearing a somewhat disappointed frown.  "Nothin', I guess."

[bitchfitch]

Me: now would be a great time to work on the writing for the bunny-cule comic

also me: hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhg Royal AU Fluff

The candles on his desk flickered as the burning embers left in the fireplace slowly died.

Cailean was exhausted. But his work was not done yet. The scroll in front of him was already longer than his forearm and he was still less than half way through it. He knew it was overly wordy, that it would bore the duke, but there was a lot that needed to be discussed if the trade routes were going to be redirected in the duke's favor.

He sighed and sat back in his chair, letting his quil sit in its ink pot as he closed his eyes to rest them for just a minute. He was never supposed to be a crown heir. His cousin should be the one to bare this particular burden, but Lou was bearing the burden of the dirt above his grave at the moment.

Cailean jumped despite himself as his window creaked ever so slightly. Seeing that red masked face through the crack of his eyes was a relief beyond reliefs. Despite himself, he held an arm out for the thief, beckoning him closer.

"You look like hell," The Rabbit's soft voice was just barely muffled by the ceramic mask, as he leaned against the wall.

"I feel it, now, come here darling, I need you." Cailean knew he shouldn't be so comfortable with The Rabbit, but a prince had to get his rebellion in somewhere.

"Is that so? hmmm, I don’t think I will." his voice carried a hidden little smirk,

"Please don't be like this tonight. we only have one or two hours before the maids are in," he groans, unfortunately it wouldn't be good for word to get out about his affections for a particular thief, so their meetings always had to be cut short.

"Hound, Come here," he crooks a finger, the metal claws attached to his gloves glinting in the candle light, "Its cold out there, I'd appreciate a little warmth,"

Cailean stands from his desk brows drawn together in confusion, "You're up to something," he said as crossed the room regardless.

The soft huff that came from beneath the mask as Cailean crowded into The Rabbit's space made him feel a little warmer even as the smaller man's hands felt like ice through the fabric of his nightshirt. The Rabbit fit nicely between him and the wall, pinned and out of trouble as he shivered beneath his damp overcoat.

"You made me promise not to bother you while you were working…" he trailed his fingers up and down the front of Cailean's shirt, "I spent ages by your window waiting for you to leave your desk." Cailean wishes he could kiss the pout hidden behind that mask.

Cailean hummed as he pulled The Rabbit closer, pinning his hands between their chests. The rabbit didn't hesitate to press the front of his mask to Cailean's shoulder. The chill of its surface wasnt pleasant but Cailean would never ask him to move it. "My apologies, I think I'm finally done for the night." he let his hands drift up The Rabbit's sides, trying to rub warmth back into his thin frame, "In the future, when it's late and I should be relaxing, you are more than welcome to come in, though I may not be able to give you the attention you deserve right away."

The Rabbit nods and makes a sleepy noise as he leans a little heavier on Cailean.

"Have you eaten today?" Cailean asks as he slowly guides The Rabbit to his bed,

"Wasn't hungry," he mumbles as he sits on the bed, yanking his muddy boots off before undoing the fastens of his iron legs and letting them fall to the floor. Cailean could see where the metal had frozen against the scarred skin.

He knelt to rub warmth into the skin, it had taken many months to get The Rabbit to trust him enough to take his legs off during their trysts. "I'll go get you something from the kitchen once your situated," Cailean was glad that The Rabbit had stopped bothering to lie about how frequently he chose not to eat.

"No," The Rabbit wined as he looped his arms aroumd Cailean's neck, "I'll eat when I leave, I don't want to lose time with you," he tried to pull Cailean up onto the bed with him.

"Rabbit," he scolded lightly as he went with the tugging. "either you eat something small now or have a full meal with me tonight." he pressed a kiss to the forhead of the mask before laying on his side and wrapping his arms around the rabbit as they got comfortable, "I've seen you pass out to many times to let you go without food for to long."

The Rabbit groaned, "That only happened once,"

"You only passed out in public once, I've had to catch you at least five times and pull out at least twice because you stopped responding." he brushes a hand up and down The Rabbit's back, "I don't think I could ever make you fully understand how scary it is every time it happens, I've specifically studied medical books just to try and make myself a little more useful when it happens."

hes quite for a moment, "Can we compromise? a small meal later, and I promise to behave myself all day and not steal anything."

Cailean sighed, "Sure, but I get to pick the meal, Deal?"

"Yeah,"

"Good, then meet me on the edge of the gardens at eight, if you are even a moment late you will be punished." he tried to sound stern, to use his 'royal voice' that The Rabbit had helped coach him into developing.

The Rabbit snorted, "Yes your highness, though I dont know how our country will ever thrive under such a tyrant."

Cailean laughed along with him.

"What's going to happen when you become king?" The Rabbit asked tentatively, "To us I mean,"

"I'll have you pardoned as my first act as king, and then my second would be marrying you," he said frankly, there was no doubt in Cailean's mind that the only person he wanted at his side was The Rabbit.

The Rabbit didn't say anything, just held still with his emotions hidden behind his mask.

"Unless that's not what you want. I- You know you never have to give me something you don't want to? This is no different, if you'd rather our relationship stay a secret I'd keep my peace." he adds a little too quickly after too many seconds tick past

"You want to marry me?" The Rabbit asked after another quiet and nervous moment.

"Of course, I told you I was yours and yours alone, and that in turn you were wholly mine. That hasn't changed, and it never will."

The Rabbit pushed away, reaching for the drawer of the nightstand without another word. Cailean said nothing, too scared for what might come next. Would The Rabbit reject his affections?

The blindfold that his Rabbit held answered his question. He smiled as he lifted his head enough for his Rabbit to tie it in place.

He got comfortable while he listened to the soft metallic sound of the clasp of his Rabbit's mask being undone.

The soft kiss that pressed to his lips told him more than his Rabbit ever could in words.

[luluwquidprocrow]

fight me

originally posted: august 1st, 2017

word count: 1,281 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

domestic fluff, fluff and humor, established relationship, honestly not much else happens here

summary: No one has reasonable conversations at one in the morning. Lemony Snicket is proof of this; Beatrice just wants to go to sleep; Bertrand is a horribly affectionate enabler.

Lemony talks, because he apparently doesn't sleep like a normal human being. It should be dark and quiet and peaceful at one in the morning, but it isn't, because Lemony Snicket talks after sex and all Beatrice wants to do is sleep. (She doesn't even know what Bertrand does. Stare at the ceiling and smile? Beatrice has never bothered to check because she is trying to sleep, thank you very much.)

"Do you think," he's saying, somewhere near Beatrice's elbow, jolting her out of the three minutes of sleep she managed to get between this and the last monologue, "that if one were to try and explain the feeling one gets when one is home alone, which might be something like biting into your favorite cream-filled chocolate only to find out there is no cream this time, in order to compare it with—”

"Oh my god," Beatrice says. She rolls over and jams her face into the pillow. "You need to shut up. I love you but you need to shut up."

"I didn't quite catch that, Beatrice," Lemony says, and damn him, he sounds like he's smiling.

Beatrice lets out a noise that she thinks would be a lot more threatening if her face wasn't in a pillow, but she's not very keen on moving at the moment. "I will fight you, Lemony Snicket."

"I wonder who would win," Lemony says thoughtfully, and Beatrice will kill him, really.

"Beatrice, probably," comes Bertrand's voice from the other side of the bed, and then he turns on the damn lamp.

"Don't encourage him," Beatrice says, shoving her face further into the pillow. "Do not encourage him, Bertrand."

"I mean," Bertrand says, and the mattress shifts when he sits up, "Beatrice fights dirty, so I don't think Lemony has much of a chance. But then again, Lemony has a considerable amount of upper arm strength from carrying an accordion, so if he could successfully throw at least one punch—"

"Oh, please," Beatrice says. "I could take him! Arms or not!"

"When I think about it, though," Lemony says, "I probably wouldn't be able to go through with it."

"Fight me, dammit!" Beatrice shouts, pounding her fist on the mattress. "Prove your worth, Snicket!"

"However," Lemony says, "for the sake of speaking hypothetically, if it came down to hand-to-hand combat, I'd probably lose. But if we were, say, fencing—"

"You would win," Bertrand says.

"Are you saying," Beatrice says, finally pulling her face out of the pillow and looking up to stare at Bertrand, hoping she looks reasonably incredulous, "that even though I taught Lemony how to fence he'd still beat me? Bertrand, I never knew you could betray me."

Bertrand reaches over and brushes a strand of hair out of Beatrice’s face.

“Don’t be cute,” Beatrice mutters. “I am thoroughly shocked.”

“You taught him to fence well,” Bertrand said, and Lemony glows between them.

“Fine,” Beatrice says, and she sits up, resting her elbows on her knees and looking at the two of them. “So, I win in hand-to-hand, and, alright, I’ll concede Lemony wins at fencing. But Lemony, if you fought Bertrand, who do you think would win?”

“Who do you think would win?” Bertrand asks her.

“Lemony,” Beatrice says immediately. “I’ve seen Lemony barge into a room brandishing an accordion and incapacitate at least one person. He’d win.”

“Where was I when that happened?” Bertrand says, raising an eyebrow.

Lemony frowns. “You may have actually been the one I incapacitated,” he says. “I really did barge into the room without considering the consequences or who was in there. I am sorry about that.”

“All is forgiven,” Bertrand says. He takes Lemony’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, and Beatrice is momentarily distracted by the small smile on Lemony’s face. It does awfully nice things to her chest.

“Okay, so that one’s settled,” Beatrice says, giving herself a shake. “Now, you and me, Bertrand.”

“You’re surprisingly into this for being irritated that I woke you up,” Lemony comments.

“I’m learning to pick my battles,” Beatrice says. “Like I’m doing right now. Come on, Bertrand.”

“I think Beatrice would win,” Lemony says, finally sitting up. “Like you said, she fights with a certain tendency to bend the rules—”

“That was one time!” Beatrice exclaims.

Lemony raises his eyebrow, and Bertrand’s expression verges on severely skeptical.

“Okay, twice,” Beatrice says. Her shoulders slouch a little. “But Olaf had it coming—”

“Whereas you, Bertrand,” Lemony continues, “have a very definite form, which means you two might actually be evenly matched.”

“Alright, so, hand-to-hand, fine,” Beatrice says, trying not to glower too hard at the amused smile on Bertrand’s face. “I’d win if we fenced, though.”

“Have we explored all possible fight options, do you think?” Bertrand says, and there is a gleam in his eyes now that Beatrice likes. She’s awake now, she might as well enjoy her stupid boys.

Lemony hums in thought. “What are we considering a fight, and what are we considering a weapon?”

“Anything,” Beatrice says delightedly. “Any situation where you’ve got at least two people, and anything you can say or get your hands on.”

“We may need to keep track of this,” Lemony says, and he clambers over Beatrice to grab her notebook from the nightstand.

They take the next hour and a half to write down every single possible fight scenario, which ranges from considering how lethal a pen could really be (“Have you seen Geraldine,” Lemony says, looking horrified), which fruit is the most dangerous (“Watermelons,” Bertrand says, nodding), to formal wear (“Are you telling me I couldn’t kill a man in my heels?” Beatrice says. “I’m saying I’d rather you didn’t,” Bertrand says.)

It’s two-thirty when Bertrand starts yawning, two forty-five when Lemony rubs at his eyes, three in the morning when Beatrice slouches against Lemony’s shoulder. It’s not long after that when all of them sink back against the pillows and Beatrice takes her notebook back and tosses it onto the nightstand. Lemony has a hand in her hair and an arm around Bertrand, Beatrice has an arm draped over his chest, Bertrand is sound asleep against Lemony, his hand on top of Beatrice’s.

“You know,” Lemony begins.

Beatrice has had enough of this. “Why do you do this,” she says to Lemony’s shoulder. “Why are you so wordy tonight.”

Lemony is quiet for so long Beatrice thinks she might just drift off before he answers. But then he does.

“I missed you two,” is what he says.

Beatrice forces her eyes open and tilts her head up to look at him, at the little pinch between his eyebrows. It’s not like she forgets. It’s not like she can ever forget, really, what they do. It just feels easier when both of them are there, so much that she almost forgets the space in her apartment when Lemony isn’t there, the silence when Bertrand isn’t, because those things are filled by the safety in Lemony’s arms and the openness of Bertrand’s.

They’re all in this room tonight when none of them were last night. She had missed them so much. Like an ache in her chest, one skirting just close to the edge of a worry that it’d never go away again. She gets it.

Beatrice kisses the side of his jaw. “Missed you too,” she says. She kisses the side of his face. “Missed you with everything I have.” Then she climbs over him, ignoring Lemony’s mmph when she jabs an elbow into his stomach, and kisses Bertrand’s shoulder. “Missed you too, Bertrand. Horrible betrayer that you are.”

“Are you two having a serious conversation without me?” Bertrand mumbles.

Lemony laughs, soft and quiet, and he reaches over and turns off the light.

ending notes:

consider this happening sometime afterwards –

“beatrice,” ramona says, “why does your commonplace book have a list of—what is this, even? you’ve got ‘lemony’s rhetorical skills’ next to ‘bertrand’s shoes’—”

“NO REASON,” beatrice exclaims, “NO REASON AT ALL, RAMONA, GIVE IT BACK.”

[adiwriting]

3, 5, 14, 23, 24, 38!

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

This is a great question. I will say that one of the very first fics I ever ready WAY back in the day... And I mean I was 12 so... take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt- was a NSYNC fan fic that focused a lot more on trauma and personal growth than it did on romance and that story has always stuck with me to this day. So I think that when I’m approaching a fic, I try and make sure that my characters all have their own personal journeys they are on and that the romance is a secondary piece. That being said, I certainly write fluff still that centers romance. 

As for fics that have inspired me currently? I would go back to The Infinite Love series by @realityisoverrated-fic. Though I’m not writing in the Arrow fandom anymore, the way that those fics were all built in one shared universe that tells such in depth stories has stuck with me. It’s the main reason why I’ve fallen in love with the idea of writing a series of one-shots rather than primarily multi-chapter fics. There’s a freedom as a writer to writing the stories that demand being told in the moment, but having a verse that you can go back to and fill in missing moments as the inspiration strikes. 

I’ve read a lot of good RNM fic recently that has helped me broaden my view of who the characters are and the possibilities for writing, but I don’t have a running list right now of fics. 

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

I don’t like fics that bash characters, especially if one of those characters is the main relationship lead. I believe that characters should be allowed to make mistakes and deal with the consequences of their actions, absolutely. I like exploring in fics the consequences for bad decisions that canon rarely allows characters to experience. But I believe that the human condition means that we are all at fault in some way for the state of our relationships... and unless somebody is truly an abusive asshole *cough*Jesse*cough, then they have genuine reasons for making the bad decisions they make that should be acknowledged. If I open up a fic and it’s clear the author is going to spend the entire word count shitting on one of the characters, I X out real fast. I can see enough of that on my dash in various episode reactions and metas. 

14. Do you have a personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

I am a wordy bitch most of the time so word count minimums are rarely an issue. But I do often defer to the idea that if a drabble I write is under 1k, then I usually stick it on Tumblr and don’t bother posting it to AO3. I’m not sure why that became my rule, but it did. 

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

I’m not sure what you would label this- but I absolutely LOVE writing fics in which a couple breaks up, usually because one or both of the characters have internal issues that present themselves in unhealthy ways, ergo- breakup. But the characters spend a significant period of time apart, changing and growing as people, and in the end find their way back together- affirming that what they shared, really was true love. 

I think that a lot of characters I gravitate towards and write tend to be the kind of people who push others away when they are hurting (Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Oliver Queen, Alex Manes, Michael Guerin - both OG and RNM), and it’s nice to see those characters deal with the consequences of that action, grow as people, and find that love again. 

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

Haha. I honestly don’t know. Most tropes that I tend to avoid, I’ve seen done really well... so I’m of the “never say never” camp. That being said, I tend not to read a lot of AUs that drastically change who the characters are as people. For example, an AU where Alex and Michael went to UNM together after high school, but Michael is still an alien- cool! An AU where Michael isn’t an alien at all and didn’t grow up in Roswell? I likely won’t read it unless its written by a trusted author or is highly recommended to me. I felt the same way when I was reading more Arrow, and they didn’t make Oliver Queen a vigilante. 

I respect AUs and I don’t avoid them because I think they are gross or anything... I just gravitate towards a show often because of the premise and the characters combined, and if a fic drifts too far away from that, I’m not as drawn to it. 

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

It’s probably a solid 8. I have 3 documents up right now of the exact same scene written three different times, three different ways. I hate all of them, but I love them all enough to refuse to erase my words. When I first start writing, I often let a stream of consciousness out that gets me a lot of dialogue and little else. Here’s an example that not a single person asked for: 

Draft: 

Michael. Guitar. Truck. He’s hiding away from people. Isobel is being weird. DESCRIBE THIS. 

He’s been playing music more. Growing more comfortable with the various chords and stuff. HE CAN’T HEAR BUT HE FEELS THE MUSIC IN HIS BONES (VIBRATIONS) WEREWEWERWEREW. Write more shit here. Set the mood. Make sure he’s feeling broody so that when Alex comes we feel the change in him. 

He’s got his eyes closed and is enjoying the warmth of the sun (TALK ABOUT THE COLD SO WHEN THE ENERGY IS WARM WE FEEL IT). 

Suddenly, his eyes fly open as he looks up at Alex, who looks pissed off. <--HE DOESN’T KNOW HIS NAME. FIX THIS LATER. 

Despite not knowing Alex, Michael feels safe. 

"you can’t just steal instruments out of the music room, this is mine,” Alex says (GLOSS THIS, HE’S SIGNING). 

Michael nearly falls out of his truck in shock. 

Compare that to... 

Finished: 

(From Sanctuary) 

Michael is sitting on his tailgate with the same borrowed guitar, strumming out a melody and enjoying the way the vibrations move through him, calming his nerves. It’s his new favorite activity. He parks behind the bleachers, away from the rest of the world. With Isobel being weird the last few weeks and Michael getting mentally prepared for the transition to college, he’s started taking more time alone for himself. He’s been playing music more. 

He’s growing more comfortable with the various chords and switching between them with each passing day. He can’t hear to know if he’s any good, but he can feel the music in his bones. It gives him something to focus on that isn’t worrying over Isobel’s reaction when she’d found out about UNM. Or stressing about if Max will be alright on his own when he leaves to travel the world. Or obsessing about the piece of spaceship he’s still carrying around in his pocket. Or his insecurity over if he’s going to be able to handle life outside of the safe cocoon he’s built for himself in Roswell. 

His mind is chaos. Never ending, relentless chaos. And he has no compass. No clear direction to tell him the decisions he’s making are the right ones. He has no answers. But when he plays music, something settles within him. He can focus on the vibrations and everything else quiets. 

He’s got his eyes closed and is enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face after a freezing night spent sleeping in the desert. He’s playing the latest melody he’s learned when the guitar is ripped out of his hands. His eyes fly open and he looks up at a boy standing in front of him, looking pissed off. 

Michael would worry. He would get defensive. But he doesn’t get the sense that there’s a reason to. Michael knows violent people. He’s been around them his entire life to be able to read the body language of a person who’s about to hurt him. This boy doesn’t hold himself in a way that makes Michael feel threatened. In fact, Michael trusts him. Despite not knowing him, he has the strong feeling that he should have faith in this kid. 

Though they’ve never talked, Michael recognizes him. He’s Liz Ortecho’s friend. He’s seen him plenty of times in passing. He’s seen him coming out of his classroom a few times this year after lunch. His teacher hadn’t told Michael his name, but she had told him that she was helping him with a project. 

YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL INSTRUMENTS OUT OF THE MUSIC ROOM. THIS IS MINE, the boy signs and Michael nearly falls out of the truck in shock. 

[dalathin-archived-blog]

⚡️💧💕 (!!!)

@birthwrought | how my muse experiences emotions | acceptingSorry this took forever! And sorry it’s so long. These are the big three and I got… wordy….

⚡️ ANGRY Anger is a difficult emotion for Séaghdha. It is so opposed to his typical empathetic nature that he struggles to process it, often feeling foreign in his own skin until he’s able to release or manage it. In short, sadness is a much, much easier emotion for Séaghdha than anger. How anger manifests in him is actually rather predictable, to a point, and there are three specific paths his anger takes.

First, usually seen regarding subjects or people close to his heart, he will have a burst of emotion and then quickly quiet and internalize. His emotional response can make him irrational and sometimes weakly accusatory. His feelings become hurt, even if the subject of his anger performed no slight against him personally, and he responds in a way that shows he has taken it to heart. The burst of temper, however, quickly dissolves into quiet melancholy as he somehow manages to twist the situation (no matter what it is) into his fault, quickly internalizing that guilt and perceived failure and banking it away to torture himself with later.

The second and most common reaction, and what the general public has been exposed to, is an instant switch to icy, intense calm. He adopts a cutting professionalism, merciless in execution and brutally honest in delivery. There is no holds barred, and he will tell you precisely what is on his mind in a calm, cold tone and steely eyes. While he will not mince words, he speaks in fact and observation, turning conversations around on people and trapping them in their own defense. It is a stark contrast to the warmth of his personality, seeming almost as if a different person entirely. He can, and will, make a person feel three inches tall and worth less than dust without any hesitation or remorse. This manifestation of his anger, however, is also not particularly long lasting. Once he has said his piece, he softens. He does not usually internalize unless the situation was particularly weighty.

The third and most  (read: exceedingly) rare form of anger for Séaghdha is only brought out in the most severe circumstances, such as harm coming to a dear loved one or great betrayal. It is unpredictable, unrestrained, and wild. This is the type of anger where it is best to stay the hell out of his way. Thankfully it, too, does not last long, usually dissolving into an emotional breakdown of sorts. It could be compared to a flash flood - it comes out of nowhere, viciously engulfs everything without bias, and goes away as quickly as it came, leaving behind a chaotic disaster area to try to manage.

💧 SAD Sadness is a very fluid thing for Séaghdha that ebbs and flows, sometimes soft and gentle, and other times crushing and oppressive. It is by far the easier emotion for him,  and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he is experiencing some kind of quiet melancholy beneath the surface at any given time. It is an emotion that he feels deeply in his core, and it is one that has and continues to shape him. There are two primary modes of his experience of the emotion, both of which are easily observable.

Above all, though, it should be noted that Séaghdha will go to great lengths to assure everyone that he is fine, even when he knows it is obvious to everyone he is not. It is not a matter of pride so much as not wanting to be a burden, which he feels he is by venting or asking for help. He very much has the attitude that everyone else has enough on their plates and does not need to be dealing with his problems too, and that it is his responsibility to handle whatever is within his purview. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and would willingly let it crush him if people do not step in to help, whether he likes it or not.

His natural state and thus the most common mode is that soft and gentle sorrow that drifts beneath the surface of his day-to-day life. His guilt complex and self-doubt are the greatest contributors to this, and it is his perceived failures, losses, and ineptitudes that are the main focus. He overthinks excessively, running over scenario after scenario of what he could have done or said differently and bombards himself with ‘what ifs.’  Physically what people will notice is a tiredness to his posture and the hush and distant eyes of one lost in thought. Occasionally he will offer a small, sad smile to any company, and will always politely decline to share his thoughts. However, while it is a thing that permeates his life, it does not stop him from functioning.

The other mode, which is substantially more severe, comes in stages and starts with a complete emotional shutdown. He adopts a detached stoicism to protect himself from total emotional collapse, opting not to feel at all over drowning in feeling too much. He becomes singularly focused on work or study to the exclusion of almost everything else, including self-care such as eating or sleeping. This tunnel vision eventually shifts into a kind of manic obsession as emotions come back in a flood, and he assumes a state of desperately trying to make everything better again. It’s at this point where he is most prone to the breakdown he was hoping to avoid, and if that point is reached, a collapse of sobs and a rapid decline in health is typical. After some rest, he is usually able to recover, although he does bank the occasion as yet another failure on his part to internalize.

While such a thing has not happened in his life to date (it would require something truly catastrophic [like your best friend betraying you and trying to take your arm] to cause it), there is a sort of ‘end all be all’ stage to his depression that crops up after he’s cycled through his usual modes. He slips again into an emotionless existence, though more akin to a catatonic state than detached stoicism. He will sit and stare into empty space for hours, neglect to get out of bed entirely, experience crying spells without warning before sliding back into empty staring, and fail to eat, speak, or sleep for days on end. He is mostly a danger to himself in this state, and if left unchecked could very well wither away.

💕 IN LOVE Continuing the theme of Séaghdha feeling things so very deeply, love in all its forms is an emotion that is all-encompassing and permeating in his life. It is something he feels in his core and his soul. Romantic love specifically is something he feels intensely and without restraint, and he would not have it any other way.

When Séaghdha is in love with someone, there is no possible way one cannot tell. It shows in everything that he does, right down to the way he lights up at hearing their name. He gives of himself unreservedly in love, trusting implicitly and without hesitation. He experiences love as a form of freedom, seeing it as an opportunity to grow and share with someone freely without borders or the pressure and restrictions of possession. He wants to be emotionally known as much as he wants to know his partner, to be as familiar with each other as they are with themselves.

In short, Séaghdha is capable of and experiences love with indescribable depth. There’s really no other way to put it.

[andeasariana-official]

Carrytale - Chapter 2: Chara

With Frisk in her arms, Toriel began her trip through the ruins. The ruins were full of puzzles. Toriel explained to Frisk that puzzles were integral to monster architecture and defence. Frisk did wonder how some of them were considered puzzles due their, simplistic nature.

“Who were the puzzles meant for?” asked Frisk. 

“They were meant for our human enemies. Even outnumbered a lone human has a good chance of defeating mere guards. Thus puzzles were created by mandate, a fusion of diversions and doorkeys!”                                              Toriel uttered the line passionately but spoke as if her words were rehearsed, perhaps she had explained this many times before; ‘was she a teacher?’ Frisk wondered what her job as caretaker meant.

“Aren’t these puzzles a little simple for defence?” Frisk queried

“They are child but i chose to edit the puzzles myself, to make them less deadly and to make solving them faster. It’s odd luck but human children always seem to survive the fall into the ruins and human adults don’t. Its not right to throw a child into a situation where they could die horribly.” Toriel certainly was a wordy woman, though passionate. Frisk was growing fond of her.

As they went through the ruins Toriel deftly solved each puzzle and reset them when she was done. Before long Toriel’s stride had carried them to a cute looking house, in front of it was a leafless tree and piled up across the court were red leaves. “This is my home, You’ll be staying here with me child”.       “thank you miss Toriel!” replied Frisk who was ecstatic at the site of the house. “you can call me Toriel, child”, Toriel felt cool as hell saying the line and wore it on her face, Frisk began to smile, there soul filled with DETERMINATION.

Toriel escorted Frisk to a dining table, oddly there was no door into Toriel’s house, only a door frame. In the room with Frisk was a roaring fire, a bookshelf and a large reclining chair. Toriel sat Frisk at the table and sat next to them on a separate chair.                                                                                                 “Now child let’s celebrate your arrival, how about a Pie?” Frisk felt a twinge of fear, they weren’t a big fan of Pie. “what kind?” Frisk asked, Toriel smiled anticipating what was coming “How about a Cinnamon and butterscotch pie?” Frisk was excited just thinking about it and gave a hearty thumbs up to the idea. “wonderful, I just need some ingredients, I will be back soon” Toriel went to the kitchen to grab a bag                                                                                “uhm, Toriel!” Frisk cried trying to intercept Toriel. She turned back to Frisk “what should I do while you’re gone?”                                                             Toriel pondered it momentarily before picking Frisk up and placing them in the large reclining chair, she followed up with the question “would you like a book?” she asked whilst holding a random book.                                                               Frisk accepted the offer, they glanced down at the cover ‘1000 outrageous snail facts!’. “I’ll be back soon!” Toriel had skipped on out before finishing the sentence, Frisk could tell by her voice that she was excited. As interesting as snails probably were, Frisk wasn’t in the mood. They looked at the fire which burned with no fuel source and they began to drift off to sleep; just before falling asleep completely Frisk faintly heard the words “good night”.

Frisk dreamed, they dreamed of the mother who didn’t last and the father that couldn’t stay. They were forever motionless and wordless like photographs. Then that same nightmare: endless darkness and a thousand prying hands pulling and tearing and grabbing every inch of their body. This time however the hands were thorny and dug and million tiny cuts into their skin.

Frisk bolted upright, sweating, gasping for air, coughing; running their hands over the non existent bruises and cuts from the dream. Frisk’s eyes scanned the room, it was an unfamiliar room and they were in an unfamiliar bed. The room was dimly lit by a nightlight. There were only two curiosities about this room, first was the slice of pie left on the floor, second was the person slumped against the wardrobe staring at it.

They appeared to be much older, Frisk thought and they wore a green jumper with yellow stripes. The person was staring in Frisk’s general direction and remained that way only for a moment. Realizing Frisk was looking directly at them gave them a fright. “Wait can you see me?!” exclaimed the strange person. Now in Frisk’s mind there was lunacy, but believing you're invisible was a new kind of bizarre.

“Yeah of course I can see you.. are you okay?” Though Frisk wanted an answer the list of possible answers didn’t look promising.

“I.. My name’s Chara, I’m.. a.. ghost”. Frisk couldn’t have imagined a more perfect answer. “Whats your name!” said Chara, her voice brimming with her excitement. “My name is Frisk.. ‘ts pleasure to meet you” Frisk put their right hand out for a handshake, half courteous habit, half ghost checking. Chara, acutely aware of what was going, and annoyed by it, accepted the handshake and watched Frisk freak ever so slightly at the sight of her hand moving through theirs. 

“Anyway Frisk, I was with you all the way back at that hole you fell into, but only now you are able to see me.” Frisk, after calming, interrogated Chara; “Why can I only see you now?” Chara pondered briefly they responded “Its probably your determination that’s changed-” Frisk guested to their confusion “It’s a human souls power, as far as I understand it. They were still studying it when I was alive. If you have a lot of DT it could be why you can see me now”

“well-” began Frisk “why don’t you tell me all about yourself Chara?” asked Frisk with a huff.

“Well I’m Chara Dreemurr, my mom is Toriel, my dad is Asgore and-” she paused, “my brother was Asriel, I was 15 years old when I died”. Frisk wasn’t oblivious to her reaction, but remained wary. “Was your brother younger or older than you?”                                                                                                   “younger, maybe your age” Chara buried her head in her lap, trying to avoid Frisk’s gaze. 

Frisk looked away from Chara, unable to think of something to say and glanced up to the door. In doing so they clearly noticed Toriel staring through the a gap in the doorway. Toriel realizing she had been seen quickly moved away. Frisk called out to her “Toriel?”.Chara looked up to the door as well. Toriel sat still for a second or two before opening the door again. “Child would you like something to eat?” frisk nodded. Toriel grabbed the pie and frisk and brought them both back to the dining table.

Toriel sat Frisk down at the dining room table, “have you tried the pie yet?” she asked. Frisk made a gestured no; “well go on” Toriel watched on in anticipation. Frisk took a bite of the Pie, the taste made Frisk’s face light up, such a wonderful sweetness! thought frisk. Toriel didn’t need to be told, expression was enough. “Should’ve tried it sooner child, I’ll get the rest of it for you”. Toriel went back to the kitchen and brought back several slices of the pie. She then returned to wash up.

Frisk turned to look at Chara who was sitting against the table itself. “Chara, when you said your mom was Toriel, did you mean that Toriel?” Chara looked to frisk, alarmed, then her eyes darted to the kitchen which had become oddly quiet. “Yes she is my mother” 

Chara paused to gather her words. “I’ve been dead a long time, I wonder if she remembers me.” Chara was clearly somber. She continued, speaking slowly trying to fight the weight of it.

“I’ve haunted these ruins just as long as she has, the humans that ended up here, I sometimes got to speak with them too” Chara began to sniffle and hack, despite being a ghost.                                                             

“but... she doesn’t even hear my voice, she can’t see me either” Chara began to moan through her words, Frisk too was beginning to feel the weight of that sorrow. 

“I just want to tell her, tell her that i’m sorry; Azzy died and its my all fault, I just wish I could even beg for forgiveness for getting my brother killed like a fucking idiot” Chara slammed the table but her ghostly fist made no noise.

Frisk fought hard against tears of her own, Chara’s sudden downpour left them unprepared and startled; they learned too late that it was her sore spot. Chara had clearly been suffering a long time. “I’m sorry Chara, I shouldn’t have said anything”; Toriel’s voice could be heard, “Child?-” Toriel called, her voice full of fear “is someone there with you child?” Frisk looked to Chara and she looked back; 

nothing was said. 

Toriel looked back into the room, Frisk avoided her gaze. 

Toriel broke the silence, “Child, I decided I would give you a phone, just in case you need me. it should be there on the table”. Frisk checked the table and found the old looking phone. It was ‘functional’, the only number in the contacts was Toriel’s.                                                         ��                                                   Frisk suddenly had an idea, they whispered to Chara. “Chara, do you wanna test something for me”

Toriel worked slowly, listening intently for the child’s voice, but they had gone silent . Suddenly her phone rang, It was coming from the phone she had given to the child. She looked around the corner to see the child was indeed waiting for the responce.                                                                                                           She accepted the call “child what are you doing?” she asked. 

Toriel watched as the child held the phone out to the air. A voice came from the aether 

“Mom, mom can you hear me?” 

the trembling voice was unmistakable “Chara?” replied Toriel.

Frisk looked on at the tearful Toriel and the sorrowful Chara, a mother and daughter re-united. In seconds the pair were losing the ability to speak clearly through all the moaning and the sobbing. Despite that they were happy; how many life times had they spent apart? Frisk didn’t know but they knew it didn’t matter. Toriel managed to pull herself together long enough to run up to Frisk, she picked them up and hugged them dearly before spinning around the room, kissing them and thanking them.

Such overwhelming joy, such unbridled happiness; Frisk felt it was one of the best moments in their whole life. The joy of reunited a family filled Frisk with DETERMINATION.