#to anyone who wants someone who will allow your writing & character development to flourish

[number-one-crush]

LF DoL M!LIxF!PC RP! (w/ me as the LIs and you as the PC!)

What an absolute fucking MESS of a title that is, lmaoooo TT

ASSORTED WARNINGS: 22+!! TW: dead dove and shit, it’s Degrees of Lewdity, please be careful people who don’t know what that is!

Hey (maybe future) friends! I’ve recently gotten into DOL and have been pretty obsessed with it lately. It’s got all the things I love, and by all the things I love, I mostly mean: EVERYONE LOVES ONE PERSON AND NO ONE IS HAPPY ABOUT IT and TOXIC FUCKING OBSESSIVE RELATIONSHIPS. So, without further ado…

THE PREMISE:

My favorite characters by far are Whitney and Kylar. I imagine I’d also probably really like Eden, too, but I actually haven’t really tried anything with him yet, and honestly, as much as he sounds like a real catch, I just really, really thrive off all the jealous drama between Whitney, Kylar, Sydney and Robin at school.

So like, I’d really like to RP that. And by that, I mean that I’d like to write Whitney and Kylar… and to a lesser extent, (mostly for drama) Robin and Sydney, as being wildly in love with and obsessed with your PC so we can explore the absolute mess of a fall out that inevitably causes. :v

My favorite thing to do with characters I love is to write for them: there’s something really fun about getting into that headspace and exploring the way they feel and how they’d behave, and I love it. I could write fanfiction, and I can’t lie: the temptations have been there! But honestly, it’s hard for me to motivate myself writing fanfiction when the chance to write against someone else and geek out over the absolute fucking disaster-nonsense our characters get up to together is so much more fun. ):

SO: DETAILS! 

I really only do MxF, with me playing the LIs as dudes and you playing the PC as a lady. Sorry for any other pairing combination, I just wouldn’t have the same inspiration to write for other configurations. ): I’m not going to tell you how your PC should look or really behave, and I look forward to hearing about her from you! I love getting excited about other peoples’ OCs!

I’ve got headcanons for the boys (which are pretty typical, honestly!), but I am of course open to input from you on what you’d like to see, too. :> 

Since this is DOL, obvious content warnings apply! Noncon/dubcon, abusive and messed-up situations… they pretty much come with the territory, though I’m not looking to make anyone uncomfy and I’ve got no problem toning some things down or ratcheting things up based on what you do or don’t feel comfy with! I’d like to feel comfortable talking OOC to make sure everyone feels okay about stuff. 

Which brings my rambling to my next point: DOL is obviously a sex game and I’m not opposed to raw smut or anything. But what I miss from the game is the emotional turmoil and fucked up sense of longing – and an obvious desire to possess PC – that I feel Kylar and even Whitney are drowning in. We get to see their actions, but not their thoughts, and I really want to do this to develop and dwell on those feelings! I want to see them and the PC involved in situations (fucked up as they are) that allow those things to really flourish and shine. I am an absolute slut for deep, anguished, sometimes violent obsession in characters… I just think getting to explore that is SUPER sexy in fiction, so maybe expect a like 80/20 plot to smut ration. Maybe 70/30? I feel like the smut hits a LOT harder if you’ve got a lot of pent up feelings behind it. 

Honestly, I don’t even NEED smut, but like, it’s DOL, so it kinda feels like it comes with the territory? Your girl here really lives the tumultuous, angsty emotional foreplay, whoops. ): I just really wanna write a bunch of really fucked up dudes falling in love with PC – bullying her, stalking her, meekly trying to protect her… you get the vibe!

ANYWAY, some things I’d hope for/need from you!:

+ Absolutely, positively, with no exceptions, you need to be like, middish twenties or older. I’m older myself and I absolutely have no desire to interact with teenagers. No offense to teenagers, you all can make great writers – just as someone who is absolutely not a teenager, it’s just what I’m comfortable with. Even if the subject matter wasn’t super-ultra-fucked, I wouldn’t feel comfy with it.

+ I’d like someone who understands that, as an adult, I have a job and a partner and a relatively active social life with my (one) good friend, so I will probably manage a post or two a day, sometimes a post every two! It might be more than that if I really get into the vibe, but ya know…

+ I like to be descriptive when I write, somewhere between pretentious-fuckoffery and wordy-but-functional. Sometimes I’ll do a few paragraphs… sometimes, I really get into it and it can be a couple pages. I tend to be reactive to what is needed for a scene: flashy back-and-forth dialogue is gonna make for shorter posts, but sometimes I really like getting into my character’s headspace and waxing poetic about how much they want their love interest for like, a few paragraphs or more. I’d like someone who can at least manage a few paragraphs! One liner stuff does nothing to me; I want to be able to feel like my characters have a reason to WANT your character, so I need something to work with! Please have a pretty good grasp of grammar and what not, too! Obviously stylistic choices can make for some fun grammar fuckery, and I’m not about to judge for some spelling errors, but like, please please have a pretty good grasp of writing! I live for good writing partners. ):

+ TENSE/POV: I am not super picky, but I admit I love the present tense second person of the game. As someone who was super into Homestuck, that shit just jives with me. That said, I’m open to a lot of different things, just absolutely NO FIRST PERSON. I cannot stand it in RP, it really takes me out. We can hash it out!

+ The ability to advocate for yourself OOC! The subject matter is icky, and I don’t want to traumatize anyone. We don’t need to be best OOC friends, but I hope we can feel comfortable with each other enough to hash things out outside of RP so we can both feel okay with whatever is going on! I’d also really like to just be able to gush about our characters OOC, please! TT Like, let’s be dumb and make playlists and pinterests, ahhhhhh! If you got a song you got that reminds you of things, PLEASE TELL ME, I wanna be a total fucking nerd about our fucked up children!

+ Discord! I tend to use discord to RP because servers make things easier to organize! Please use it! I don’t really like using anything else, womp womp. ):

So! If you’ve read all that, and you’re interested, please hmu here on Tumblr! I hate the ask/messaging system here, so like, you can just drop me some info on your PC and maybe your discord handle via one of those, and we can move to Discord to see if we’d make good RP partners! 

Thanks a bunch and looking forward to hearing from you! 

PS: Please excuse the Dabi theme-ing, I’m too lazy to change my very basic theme-ing. I love love fucked up dudes, and I cannot lie.

[cultleads]

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙸𝚂  𝙰  𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙸  𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙾  for  my  beloved  fiancé  Snow  /  @timbremorse​.     He  is  the  person  who  has  saved  my  life  in  more  ways  than  one,    the  person  who  brought  light  to  a  VERY  dark  world  I  was  living  in.     Because  of  him,    I  have  something  in  my  life  that  I  never  would  have  imagined  ever  having  and  not  only  that  but  he  reignited  my  ability  to  create  and  write  through  motivation  &  inspiration.      Snow  is  a  rare  talent  in  that  his  writing  is  as  realized,    skilful,    and  unique  as  his  equally  astounding  ability  to  draw  &  create  artwork  that  blows  me  away  every  single  time  I  see  it.      He  manages  to  produce  the  most  amazing  pieces  in  every  form  of  creativity  there  is,     all  the  meanwhile  staying  true  to  his  ideas  and  working  hard  at  his  job.

His  writing  captivates  me  -  cause  he  knows  how  to  create  a  scene,    the  emotion,    and  the  dialogue  necessary  to  illustrate  the  images  in  his  mind.      He  does  this  in  such  an  artful  way  that  I  actually  forget  I’m  not  reading  a  novel  that  I’ve  become  addicted  to  -  Reading  for  me  and  staying  engaged  is  no  easy  feat  but  Snow,    no  matter  the  content,    has  a  way  of  keeping  me  gripped  and  I  highly  encourage  everyone  who  enjoys  good  writing  &  reciprocation  for  their  characters  to  write  with  Snow  because  you  will  never  be  disappointed.

Worldbuilding  &  creating  characters  with  him  is  one  of  a  million  things  about  him  that  I  thoroughly  enjoy.      Before  I  met  Snow  I struggled  fiercely  with  motivating  myself  to  keep  building  on  my  OC’s,    and  to  keep  on  writing  as  a  whole.      Same  with  artwork.     But  after  seeing  his  exquisite  work,    it  inspired  me  to  get  back  into  it  all  as  well  as  work  on  myself  &  heal  from  things  nobody  else  has  given  me  the  chance  to  heal  from  before,    because  not  only  did  he  inspire  me  to  continue  my  creations  but  he  inspires  me  to  do  better  &  continue  working  hard  at  self - improvement.      He  is  the  most  amazing,    generous,    selfless,    funny,   talented,   comforting,   gorgeous,    forgiving  and  loving  person  I  have  ever  met  and  each  day  I  thank  whoever  was  responsible  for  leading  me  to  him.

This  is  to  you  my  dearest,    to  remind  you  of  your  infinite  worth  and  to  remind  you  of  how  important  your  creations  are.    To  yourself  and  to  me.    They  have  made  such  an  impact  just  as  you’ve  made  the  biggest  and  most  positive  impact  on  me.    The  world  should  see  how  talented  &  special  you  are  -  which  is  partially  what  influenced  me  to  make  this  post!     I  miss  you  so  badly  but  being  able  to  speak  to  you  each  day  and  work  on  our  character  content  has  been  a  lifesaver.     And  I  hope  you  enjoy  your  vacation,   it  is  MUCH  deserved,     I’ll  miss  you  intensely  but  each  day  is  another  day  closer  to  our  reunion.      I’ll  never  stop  reminding  you  of  how  breathtaking  your  talents  are,    nor  how  breathtaking  YOU  are.      Keep  up  all  your  hard  work  and  keep  looking  forwards.     You  are  an  inspiration.

[cherripeach]

Chapter 14

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:11-12 good credit, bad credit, you dead: ghost credit

Running to the store on campus, so cute.

Warnings: Curse words, implied violence

Words: 3.1k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

Ace groaned while face planting on the counter, “We finally finished peeling them all!”

Deuce moaned in pain, “My arms hurt…” He, then, stretched his arms and popped some of his knuckles while rolling his neck. 

You agreed with the two boys, “Yeah, I don’t wanna move for the next decade.” You made your seat on one of the stools next to the counter to take a break after standing for what felt like hours. 

Trey chuckled at your reactions, “Great work. I’m sure that your hard work will all be worth it.” While you three were sulking, Trey began cleaning up as much as possible by putting things away and putting things in the dishwasher. 

Grim grumbled, “I’m getting hungry just by the smell, yanno.” The cat had tried to take as much of the ingredients as possible while you were preparing, but barely managed to get any.

Trey took a sheet of paper out from a binder and sorted some of the ingredients next to some cooking utensils, “The marron base uses butter and sugar. And then, I also added some oyster sauce as a secret ingredient.”

Ace and Deuce jumped up from their positions of dread in shock, “Oyster sauce?!”

Trey placed the sheet down and grabbed a bottle of the sauce,  “Exactly. The savory flavor of the chestnuts gives the cream a rich flavor. And then, to make it better, I use this,” He motioned to the sauce in his hand,  “‘Walrus-brand young oyster sauce’.  There’s no famous pâtissière who doesn’t use this for their tarts, you know?” He ended it all with a closed eyed smile. 

Deuce mumbled, “Really…? It’s a pretty salty sauce, isn’t it?”

“You know how they put chocolate in curry, too?” Ace gave an example,  “It kinda makes sense…”

You were,  on the other hand, not having it, “Naw, dude. It doesn't; sweet can't just nullify salt or reverse. It’s practically impossible.” You shook your head while the two idiots were just pouting in their confusion. 

Trey chuckled while clutching his stomach, “You're right! I was just joking! There’s no way I’d put oyster sauce in a dessert, you know? How’d you know?”

The two idiots never would have guessed that. 

Ace’s hand’s shot up in his defense, pointing at his senior, “What the heck!? Are you making fun of us!?”

“It’s obviously impossible if you think about it a little.” Trey’s lighthearted giggle switched to a more wise old lecture, “The moral lesson here is that you shouldn’t believe anything you’re told. Learn to doubt a bit, okay?”

You nodded your head, “See, Ace. I don’t gotta learn that because I knew right away.” 

You were a genius. In all eyes besides Ace’s, that is. 

Ace snorted, “I bet it was a lucky guess.”

You fought back, “Pshhhh. No way.” You knew this was just the start of one of your many squabbles. 

Grim whispered to you behind his hand, “This guy looks nice, but he’s the type who can tell lies with no problem, huh…”  

“I guess so.” Your eyes widened at Grim’s statement. 

Trey rallied you all together to begin the next step, “Next is the fresh cream!”

A shrill scream ran through the air.

Ace bounced up and questioned Trey, “What’s wrong?”

You joined Ace with your question, “Are you okay?”

“I got carried away with the chestnuts you picked that I went overboard with making the marron base.” Trey laughed at himself and rubbed the back of his head, “We’re a little short on fresh cream.”

Deuce offered, “I’ll go buy some. Do they sell it in the school store?”

Trey explained,  “That shop sells pretty much anything, so I’m sure it should be there. Can I ask you to buy some other stuff while you’re at it? Two packs of milk, two cartons of eggs, silicon cups, and five canned fruits…” He writes down the list of items and hands them to Deuce. 

Deuce reads the list before commenting, “I don’t think I can carry all of that alone…” 

This was your chance, “I’ll come! I need to see if they have uniforms there, anyway.” Maybe you could find some uniforms or even some other clothes for a nice price as if you had any money. 

Grim interjected,  “I’m going, too! I don’t wanna mix more dough!” He raised his little paw as far as his body would allow it. 

“Understandable.”  You did not need to lose your arms over baking. 

The three of you began your walk to the grocery store on campus with only some light chatter about how excited you all were to taste the finished product and how Grim shouldn’t steal it all. 

The grocery store was the size of a drug store, but apparently from what Trey said it had everything anyone at this school needed. It’s gotta be a magic store.  

“We sure this is it?” You questioned Deuce because he was sure to know more than you, right?

Deuce pointed out, “I haven’t heard of any other shops here.” 

Grim quickly agreed, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s get a move on!”

While still warry, you approached the place behind the two overexcited shoppers, both who had stars in their eyes as someone from a novel would say. 

Deuce gazed around the place with wide eyes after opening the door where a little bell rang, “Pardon us! Whoa, what an amazing shop… Crystal skulls, magical texts, and… wh-what sort of animal is this…?” Deuce motioned to an animal’s skeleton that was just laying out on one of the shelves. Grim and Deuce took two steps closer to inspect the animal while you took two steps back. 

Grim, who began to travel by himself around the store, questioned Deuce and you, “Can we really find some fresh cream here?”

“I’d be surprised if we couldn't find it.” You opened a box that was filled with dusty books while nodding to Grim. 

Out of nowhere came a voice near the counter,  “Hey! Little lost lambs, what can I help you with? Welcome to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop.” The man had one of the oddest outfits with a bright pink shirt but then a black and dark purple jacket. His fashion sense was certainly new, but his vibe was what shocked you the most. Almost like he knew too much. What is it that you wish for today? A charm against cheating?” He pulled out a slip of paper from his chest pocket, “ An ancient king’s mirror?” a small mirror from his sleeve,  “Or maybe, some cursed tarot cards?” He even pulled a box out of thin air. 

Grim was frozen in shock for a moment and joined the conversation with a breath, “Ah, you startled me!”

You added on, “He reminds me of those characters from video games and movies that are just normal store owners or vendors that have some of the oddest items.” Looking at his shop, you believed yourself for a moment. 

The three of you made your way to the little counter at the back of the store. 

Deuce took out the list from his pocket and handed it to the man, “Um… We would like to buy the things written on this note.”

Grim used his arms to pull his face onto the counter as to be seen and begged,  “And I also want some canned tuna!”

“With what money?” You waved at him in disbelief,  “And I have a question for you, Mystery man.”

Deuce pushed Grim off of the counter,  “No! We will not buy any canned tuna!” which only caused Grim to growl at Deuce. 

The male scanned the note while tapping his finger in his chin,  “Mhmm. What do we have here? Fresh cream and eggs… Oh, my! What a pretty sweet line-up” He gave Deuce a thumbs up, “OK! I shall bring them out now. And I’ll get back to you in just a minute.” The male nodded at you with a small wink at the end of his sentence. 

Totally an odd vibe.

Deuce gasped in disbelief letting go of Grim’s fur,  “Whoa… Will he really have some here?”

You voiced your thoughts, “Maybe the back is just really big?”

The man returned with five bags full of items on your list, “Here, thank you for the wait. It is rather heavy, so are you sure you can carry them all?” The male, then gestured to a sign right next to the cash register about a special bag to carry all the items, “If you act now, I can throw in a special bag to carry all of those things for 30% off of its original price!” Deuce took out the money Trey gave him and handed it to the shopkeeper. 

Grim blurted out, “What did you say? Hey, that sounds interesting!” The cat grabbed your clothes as he normally does pointing at the sign to get your attention focused on it. 

Deuce shook his head while grabbing three of the five bags, “We. We will have to decline! Let’s go, Grim!”

“But why?! I wanna play more!” A pointing Grim was not resulting in a good day for anyone, but at this rate you couldn’t spend money on any food. 

“About that question,” You brought it up to the shopkeeper. 

The off-vibe man nodded,  “Ok, what's the problem, little lost lamb?”

You asked, “Do you sell uniforms or at least know where I can find one?”

“I should have some, but they're all used ones. I’ll even cut the price because of how damaged they are.” He then told you the price which was great for uniforms but as someone who owned no cash, not the best.

You thanked the male as you picked up the last two bags while the other two began to walk out, “Thanks! I’m gonna come back once I have the money, but please save them for me.” 

“Ok! of course, little lost lamb. I’ll have them in stock just for you.” He winked at you again, and at this point and time you’re just gonna assume it’s normal for him. 

“Thank you so much!!” You responded while finally walking out of the shop. 

Once outside, Deuce began a new conversation, “That was a very amazing shop, in a way…”

Grim was still pouting at the two of you for not giving him free food, “Boo, you two are so stingy.” His arms were snuggly crossed over one another and even his ears were flattened against his head. 

Deuce swung around to ask Grim, “Who are you calling stingy?!” This, however, almost resulted with Grim getting a concussion because of how the bag of canned fruits and heavy cream knocked Grim to the ground. 

Deuce quickly apologized, “Sorry!”

You placed your bag to check on Grim by feeling on his head for any bumps or any scrapes from the bag,  “Well, no one would give a brat what they want now would they? I know you want some tuna, but money is tight right now and I can’t get you any for a while. Once I save up enough, I promise I’ll get you some.” You brushed back his hair before flicking at his forehead, “Just remember to keep that ego in check. Soon, who knows, maybe I can even buy a hairbrush and maybe even a phone.”

 Deuce coughed before fixing the bags in his hold to reach his hand out to you, “The bag with the milks is heavy, isn’t it? I’ll hold it for you. I’m experienced with carrying heavy loads.”

You shook your head, “No way, lover boy, I can handle myself just so you know. And besides that's an odd area of expertise. Any reason why?” You kept walking to distract the male from taking your bag.

Deuce flushed red before starting his explanation, “Yeah, Mother always takes me with her during timed sales. She buys a lot, so I end up helping her with the bags. I’m the only man in the family, so I’m used to helping a lot with hard labor. Ah, I’m sorry… I keep talking about myself.” His face flushed even darker. 

You rolled your eyes, “That is incredibly sweet of you, Deuce. Don’t be scared to talk to me about anything. We’re friends. You must care for your mother a lot with how you talk about her.”

Deuce stuttered, “No… That’s not true at all. I… Mother was…” Deuce flies back onto the ground after connecting with someone’s chest, “Ouch!”

All of the materials that Deuce was holding fell to the ground, but the biggest problem was that the eggs were now completely broken and leaking everywhere on the sidewalk. 

Grim gasped and fell to his knees to try and save the groceries, “Ah, the eggs!!”

“Hey, you ok?” You reached out your hand to Deuce who grabbed it so that you could pull him up onto both of his feet. 

Deuce locked eyes on the bag of now broken eggs and cursed, “Damn it!” He picked up the bag of eggs and began to check to see if any of the eggs were not broken and could be used, “All the eggs in the carton broke! The plastic bag’s now reeking with eggs…!” Deuce tossed them in the trash while Grim squirmed to grab the bag from him. 

A white haired familiar looking male scoffed at the three of you, “That hurt! Where the hell’re ya lookin’ at,” His eyes darted to each member of your little group before continuing, “Wha? You’re the guys who ruined my carbonara’s soft-boiled egg during lunch today!” 

Another familiar red haired student was right on his side, “Damn, it’s you guys again. Ya better give us a break.” 

You grabbed as many bags as you could carry that Deuce had before, and you snorted, “And I thought I already crushed your egos, but I should have known you can't break a brick for a brain.”

The white haired boy snickered at the three of you, “Well it seems the little supervisor can’t even get us in trouble so no need for fear. You can’t harm us.” 

Deuce had been standing in place for the last couple of seconds with his eyes on his feet, “…Aren’t you the ones at fault for bumping into me?” His sharp gaze met that of the duo of delinquents, “Even during lunch. The egg wasn’t really that badly harmed, but you made a huge scene out of it. Our carton of eggs is totally ruined, though.” Deuce rolled up the sleeves to his jacket. 

Grim agreed standing as tall as he could across from the two upperclassmen, “He’s totally right!”

You walked over to where Deuce and Grim had made their little fighting stance, “Let’s just leave. They’re not gonna listen and we shouldn't get into a fight with idiots.” To further get Deuce’s attention, you pulled into the shoulder of his jacket to motion toward the bags, “We can always replace them. Let’s just get what we have back.”

The white haired boy swore, “The hell? You sayin’ it’s my fault, then? And idiots? I’m much smarter than any of you. Respect your elders!”

Deuce paid no mind to you or your constant poking on his shoulder, “Yes, please pay us back for the eggs. And also, please apologize to the chickens.”

“Hah?” The red haired boy quipped at Deuce, “Makin’ a ruckus over eggs, are we?”

Deuce grunts, “Hah?” before turning to you, “Remember the promise right?”

You nodded at him. 

“Then, back up.” He lightly pushed you to make you back up, “And don’t get involved.”  You locked eyes with the male only to see his eyebrows furrowed and a large scowl on your face. And as much as you wanted to help him and get him out of this situation, there’s nothing you can do against magic users. At least not yet.

The two other students did not realize how ready Deuce was to make this physical or how personal this was. 

The whit haired boy groaned, “It didn’t hit the ground so you can still eat it. Stop makin’ a fuss over little things.” The boy slapped his friend before whispering something to him. 

The other boy snickered before adding, “Ya better be thankful they broke inside the plastic bag!” 

“Not only are they dumb, but blind too,” You mumbled to yourself which Grim could hear from his small chortle. 

Deuce still had not lost his eye contact with the other two boys, seemingly eyeing them down to wait for the perfect moment. 

Both of the boys let out the largest giggles possible that a teenage boy could without sounding like girls gossiping with their heads thrown back and their hands clutching their stomachs. 

“Laughing at something that is surely your fault.” You rolled your eyes while trying to get the boy’s attention on Deuce who was in your eyes about to murder a bitch, “I think you should just pay us back for it. Maybe some extra too for having to deal with your terrible attitude to even it out.” 

Neither student responded to you only grunting out stiffles of laughter for the next couple of seconds. 

Deuce muttered to himself breaking eye contact with the two to gaze down at his hand which was clenched like in one of those TV shows when a character is going to do something he regrets, “... Mess with me, will you…”

White haired kid raises his eyebrows in confusion as Deuce looks to be slowly going insane,  “Huh?”

Deuce exploded at the two, “I told you to stop laughing, damn it!!” His feet began to move closer and closer to the two who just stood in horror for the boy who was once silent, “You ain’t got no choice but to apologize for something that’s your fault! These eggs will be used to make a delicious tart in place of turning into chicks, bastard!! Do you understand me, huh!?”

“Wh-what’s with him all of a sudden…?!” The red haired boy was backing away from the approaching student and had a look of disbelief on his face. 

Deuce grabbed his fist in one hand and cracked the knuckles of the other one, “If you’re not gonna pay me back for the 6 eggs, I got no choice but to beat the hell out of you six times.”

The white haired male faltered, “Huh!?” before seeing the blue haired male coming straight for him with his fists in a fighting position. 

 “Grit your teeth, you little bastards!!” And with that Deuce began his little fight by pulling at the kid’s clothes and punching them a little too hard.

“Where does that phrase even come from?” But what could you do besides stand there and wait even if you didn’t want the two to get hurt going into the fight now would be harmful.

You really need to stop getting involved in fights. 

[hrhbella]

Are You?

Pairing: Tom Riddle x OC [Isabella Rosier]

Word Count: 1.2k words

Summary: Someone(s) from Isabella's past appear in their future.

Warnings: N/A; [While other characters I have little to no grasp on (I.e. her brother, Evan Rosier, etc.), Isabella's existence in the Harry Potter Universe is entirely my own creation. I can show you the forethought of her, if you wish.

Author’s Note: This multi chapter work started its planning back in late 2019. Since I have sporadically wrote chapters in no particular order, but because of this I am thinking through changing a large aspect of my plot, which renders this posted edition (found here) of the work useless. Please enjoy, but reach out if you have time to help brainstorm and/or proof reader on an ongoing basis. Desperately want to put this idea onto paper in an orderly fashion. -B

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December 1996

Isabella had been researching in the Rosier library for most of the morning when the yew doors swing open with poise, something that the patriarch of the family was not possessing as he storms into the Victorian-accented room,

“When in Godric’s name did you think it would be fitting to mention you were being shagged by my old schoolmate?" Mr. Rosier’s grip on the back of the settee opposite his daughter was stiff, the wood within creaking under the pressure.

“What?” Isabella murmurs, deep in concentration with the pages in front of her.

“Or was it you who persuaded him into being intimate?" Louis Rosier waves his own words away, pushing a hand through his greying hair, "Oh, of course not.” He watches impatiently as her slim finger follows a line in the tome.

“Rosier, I must ins-“ The young man whose gaze hadn't left Louis Rosier's daughter starts, though this only seems to animate the poorly veiled distressed look on the older man.

Paying no mind to her father, Isabella stumbles upon a most interesting passage: An underrated and forgotten hex is the Knee-Reversal hex. Developed prior to the year 1000, the Knee-Reversal hex has proved to be withstanding of the tests of time, though the same cannot be said of those on the receiving end. The incantation, Genu Transuerso, can be translated to-

Without looking up, Isabella reaches for her tea, “Have you been nursing that decanter of yours again? My, it’s only Tuesday, Papa.”

“Isabella Catherine Rosier!” Louis breathes deeply, “Are you or are you not copulating with the Dark Lord?"

His face flames a deep shade of scarlet and his left hand is itching to grab hold of his wand. He was slowly losing his patience, something that had become increasingly difficult over time, and now he was having a difficult time keeping his voice in check.

The remaining two young men, who have their eyes glued to the scene folding out in front of them, both attempt to swallow their anxiety. The thought of looking to the young man, the one they have just started to call the Dark Lord, between them seems to ping between them but both keep obedient eyes on the two Rosier's.

Isabella stills the tea with her other hand as the cup hovers over the book, though she is tracing the wand movements on the page with her eyes. “Papa, I only was allowed at a meeting just last-“

Louis wallops a vase and its plate off the hall table, gripping the settee’s edge with a new force. “Were you bumping uglies with Tom Riddle? Or are you still?”

The volume of his voice fills the vaulted room. Two of the young men flinch, though unnoticeable to anyone but their companion between them, and Isabella jerks her teacup causing a fair amount to slosh onto the diagram below.

“Shite! It simply is-“ Isabella started, though she still hasn't truly registered the words he's verbally hurling at her.

“It simply, what? You simply fell onto him? I know he is a fit young man, believe me, I am aware, but what possessed you to- to do it?” Louis rounds the back of the settee, putting a heavy hand onto its arm.

"Scourgify!" she harshly murmurs, waving her hand flippantly over the page while setting the cup away far from the various tomes stacked in front of her. “Really, Papa? I was under the impression you had more decorum than that.” Bumping uglies? Do it? Seriously, was he a second year?

“Did Malfoy put you up to this? We both know how low they have fallen but you mustn’t think that jumping onto Tom Riddle and-“

“Draco wouldn’t ever ask me to remedy a situation for him, do you even know the Malfoy’s, Papa? I can’t even believe you wou-" She slams one hand onto the tome, rattling everything on the cocktail table. The other shoots up to feel for the necklace hiding beneath her top. "Tom?”

Isabella’s head snaps towards her father, who seems to be physically forcing himself to take a breath in and push the air back out. Her cerulean eyes quickly fall onto the young men standing just within the threshold of the room. It takes reminding herself of all the years of formality her father and brother ingrained into her very soul to keep her mouth from meeting the carpet.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” Isabella breathes out.

“Yes. Merlin’s beard," Louis grinds out, forehead scrunching up, "You see, I was going to approve the monthly expenditures from Twilfitt and Tattings, Flourish and Blott’s, the likes.” He shoves a finger towards Isabella “I do have to discuss the ungodly amount spent at Cobb and Webb’s with you. But instead of an unoccupied office, I found myself digging through my desk. You must understand how this might have me bothered as not only I was already in my office, but as was Theodoros Nott and, as I am now aware you have been more than acquainted with, Tom Riddle.”

The pregnant pause that fills the library is heavier than a troll.

“Papa, this is not the best time to delve into this. It is quite a complicated circumstance.”

She steadily said, but her eyes kept darting from each of the men in front of her, not knowing where it was worse to look. She was starting to trace the outline of the metal beneath her top, letting the fibers rub into the pad of her finger.

“Oh, is it tea time?” Another vase shatters onto the floor, “Forgive me but I seem to be presenting more pressing matters." Louis locks his gaze with Isabella, willing her to show an ounce of remorse for him having to push through with this conversation. "Now, Bella darling. My only daughter. Are you having sex with Tom Riddle?”

Isabella can feel her mind starting to throb as she searches for something appropriate to say,

”Are you intimate with the Dark Lord?” Louis rasps out.

The rooms, walls, and chests inside of Isabella’s wits begin to crumble on themselves, leading to, by far, one of the most embarrassing responses she could think to give to her dear Papa.

“Evidently, yes.”

Louis Rosier could no longer hold himself up, collapsing onto the settee with a hand to his chest. His next words came out close to a whisper, “Merlin’s beard, Isabella.” He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, “Do you know who he is?”

She stares into Tom Riddle’s deep chocolate eyes, “Yes, Papa.”

The two Rosiers seem to find anything but the other pulling their gaze until a voice sound from just in front of the door,

“Blimey, have I always been like this?” Sixteen-year-old Louis Rosier speaks up, glancing disapprovingly towards the aged wizard in front of them.

“Quite.” Theodoros Nott quips, eyes zipping towards Tom. One could never be too sure of what might prompt the young Dark Lord.

“And you most definitely have not gotten better with time, Rosier.” Tom watched the older Rosier pulling at his hair but turns his attention back towards Isabella with a charming smirk. "I apologize, Rosier. I am afraid I did not have time to owl ahead."

------

> If you wish to write a formal letter to Her Royal Highness, please do so here.

> If you wish to see Her Royal Highness’ completed list of works, please do so here.

> If you wish to see some of Her Royal Highness’ most frequently asked questions, please do so here.

[jebazzled]

Level Up! Upcycling an Intermediate App

Hello friends and welcome to another unsolicited writing tutorial, aka my bread and butter! Today we’re going to build off of ground covered in my earlier tutorial, Level Up! Beginner/Intermediate/Advanced RP and You. 

As always, I’d like to point out that there is nothing wrong with being a writer more naturally suited for intermediate sites! But if you’re looking to write in the more ~advanced or ~literary space, you will need to adjust your writing to fit the community standard. While your writing will likely improve over time as you write with more advanced writers, step one to threading in such a community is getting an app accepted there.

In today’s tutorial, I’ll be talking about how to revise an existing intermediate application to make it more suited for an advanced site. Let’s begin! 

As a staffer on an advanced site, the note I most often have for applications that we pend or decline is: this feels very telly. 

I don’t mean “telly” as in Telly the Sesame Street character: 

I mean “telly” as in extraordinarily expository. 

An intermediate freestyle application often looks like a straight-up timeline of a character’s history, delivered without much style or voice. It might feel like a Wikipedia article, or a very long explanation like you might see in a shipper. 

I often find that it can help streamline the writing process to write a handful of telling anecdotes, rather than rehashing a character’s complete history, infancy to present. More on that in my freestyle application tutorial here!

But if you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around anecdotal-style applications, particularly if you’re accustomed to application formats that have you write a “history” section as opposed to a freestyle, you can improve upon your current app to make it more suited for an advanced site. It will take some work, and certainly more than ten minutes of it. Writing on a “reach” site can be very rewarding, but only if you’re willing to put in the effort. 

TELLING

Before we solve the problem of “telly” writing, we need to establish what “telly” writing is. For purposes of this tutorial, I’ll be using my one application that is a full rehashing of character history. Below is a “telly” take on Sadie Shunpike: 

Sadie grew up in a working-class neighborhood of London with her twin brother, Sam. Neither of her parents were very good at magic, but hid their insecurity in the belief that any magic at all made them better than their Muggle neighbors. Sadie and Sam weren’t educated at the local primary school, but were homeschooled by their mother until they could read. From there, Sadie and Sam would check out books from the local library and teach themselves, with Sadie helping Sam. 

Sadie was very smart, but Sam struggled more with learning. As they got older, Sadie started to read books she ordered from Flourish and Blott’s, learning about magical theory. Sam started to show signs of magic, which he hid from Sadie. When they turned eleven, it became clear that Sadie was a squib. She resented Sam for being magical, especially when he went to Hogwarts and needed Sadie’s help to do his homework. Sadie continued to educate herself.

Sadie developed an interest in the Dark Arts and got mixed up with Death Eaters in a research and study group she attended at Flourish and Blott’s. One of them promised her a Ministry job and ensured her safety if she acted as a spy in the Ministry for the Death Eaters. Later, she got placed into a safehouse, and began to spy on the safehouse network for the Death Eaters. 

This tells you a lot about what Sadie has been up to, but doesn’t tell you much about Sadie, or about my skill as a writer, or about how someone else might expect Sadie to behave in threads. There is no voice, no personality, no interest - just rote explanation. 

As a staffer on an advanced site, when I see an app like the above, I know I will be pending or declining the application. The question I ask when making that distinction is: is the character development strong enough to merit working with the writer on the prose? Is the prose strong enough to merit working with the writer on the character development? 

If the writing itself or the character development is there, it can make sense to help guide the writer - though this is more the case with character development issues than with prose. Character development can be improved with specific notes and adjustments, whereas generally speaking, improving prose is a gradual process over time. 

It is entirely possible that a writer might have much better prose in their threads than in their application! However, your application serves here as a writing sample. which is why it is imperative that it be good writing on its own. I have said it before and I will say it again: I don’t care how much you hate writing apps, lmao! You’ve got to write a good one if you want to do well on sites that use them! 

SHOWING

Writing communities are always talking about show vs. tell. Unless you’re writing stage directions, it is always better to show than to tell - or at least, there aren’t enough exceptions to the rule that you shouldn’t be aiming primarily to show. 

So how do you communicate a character history without making it too telly? 

DESCRIPTION

Here, I’ve described Sadie’s neighborhood as “working-class” and left it at that. What if I went into a little more detail? Explained to you what I imagine when I imagine her upbringing, and shared with you what’s going on in my head between the lines? 

In a small, shabby house in a small, shabby suburb, a small and shabby family lives a small and shabby life. Samuel Shunpike, Sr. sells advertisements for the Daily Prophet, tossing a handful of Floo powder into the minuscule fireplace in the sitting room every morning and getting ash on the threadbare round braided rug every night. 

This has more flavor, doesn’t it? The repetition of “small, shabby” is a deliberate style choice that communicates an idea of how I write in practice when I’m being ~artsy, and the image of a man in a shabby suit crawling into his fireplace and messing up an already messed-up rug builds Sadie’s father as an NPC that will come into play later in her app. Dynamic NPCs - whose actions impact your character, who are more than wooden cutouts - help build the fictional world of your character’s life. They don’t even need to be vital to playing your character - I’ve never really had anyone in Sadie’s family in play onsite, despite how heavily her brother figures into her character development - but they can be very useful in understanding your character. 

DIALOGUE

Ha, irony, that dialogue can make an app less telly! Dialogue gives your reader an idea of how your character interacts with the world in concrete situations, not merely in the abstract. It also helps build the dynamic NPCs that make your character’s history feel more real, and feel like something that genuinely impacted them rather than something manufactured for plot. 

While the Shunpikes are nobodies in the circle of wizarding society, Margie and Samuel Sr take comfort in the fact that they do have one thing making them better than the Muggles who live the small shabby lives on either side of them: the Shunpikes are magic. small, shabby magic, but magic nevertheless. "You lot are better than this," Margie says, smoking a pipe on the stoop, gesturing at the sidewalk where children walk to school with their parents. Sam and Sadie don't take their eyes off their Exploding Snap game. It's no use arguing with Margie, they know. When she goes inside, grumbling about Muggle trash, Sam and Sadie train their eyes on the walk outside. The parade of children their age, all wearing matching khakis and polo shirts. "What do you think they get up to?" Sam asks, glancing at Sadie. "Same as us, i imagine," she says, "but probably, y'know, more guided."

This brief vignette tells us a few things:

Margie Shunpike, Sadie’s mother, is mean, and relies on what little magic she has to feel like she has worth

Sam looks to Sadie for leadership/guidance

Neither of these are specifically about Sadie, but having this background information about her mother seen in action rather than merely mentioned will impact how we digest the news that Sadie is a squib. Sam, as a recurring NPC, will inform how we see Sadie develop, and seeing his changing relationship with her will give another metric for the reader of how Sadie has changed. 

DETAILS

Details build your world, make it feel more real. When I wrote earlier that Sadie ordered books from Flourish & Blott’s, they could have been any books - they could have been the magical equivalent of ABC “First Concept” books - they could have been magical erotica. Don’t details tell you a lot about a person? If I tell you that Renee Rye Bread reads 50 books a year, what have you learned about her? What if I clarify that it’s 50 romance novels? 50 crime dramas? 50 political biographies?

When Sam and Sadie were younger, Margie would sit them together at the kitchen table and clumsily teach them letters and numbers. Once they could put together sentences and basic sums, she happily stepped back and let them figure it out on their own. On an average day, Sam and Sadie will watch the parade of schoolchildren, finish a game of Exploding Snap or Wizard's Chess, eat an early lunch, and spend the rest of the day doing their best to get an education. Sadie tries the hardest, dragging Sam with her to the Muggle library around the corner to read Muggle fiction and do basic research on whatever catches her fancy. She saves her allowance and coins from doing chores for the neighbors and orders secondhand books from the Flourish & Blotts catalog, poring over wizarding texts and trying to make sense of magic beyond even her parents' meager skill. Sam sometimes gives her his sickles, too. He isn't doing anything with them, and everything makes more sense with her in charge.

These details - what Sadie and Sam’s homeschooling looks like, Sadie’s attitude towards books and learning, Sam’s support in her academic endeavors - are building blocks in your understanding of Sadie’s personality. She is driven, self-directed, curious. She doesn’t ask Sam for his input. She is, perhaps, a little selfish. 

DIORAMA

Trying to keep to a “D” theme here for an easy mnemonic device here! What I mean by “diorama” is that even in an app not specifically built around anecdotes it is good to provide a few key slices of the character’s life - a clear window into specific scenes and moments. What strikes you as more impactful: me telling you, “there’s a scene in Heathers (1988) where Veronica’s boyfriend has put a bomb under the bleachers during a pep rally. It’s fine, it doesn’t go off,” or me describing to you: “the gym is full of stamping feet and shouting cheerleaders; no one could hear Veronica and JD fighting under the stands even if they were interested. The bomb is beeping so loudly but no one is paying attention, no one can hear it. It’s a pep rally and everyone is cheering at their own wake.” 

Rather than saying:

Sam started to show signs of magic, which he hid from Sadie. When they turned eleven, it became clear that Sadie was a squib. She resented Sam for being magical, especially when he went to Hogwarts and needed Sadie’s help to do his homework. Sadie continued to educate herself.

I went with the below: 

In June, Sam is sitting in the kitchen while Sadie makes a solo trip to the library, folding paper airplanes and flying them with no success. After a dozen failures, however, he watches in amazement as a piece of notebook paper folds itself up into a perfect airplane and flies around the room on its own. He's done magic, and he has no idea how. And he keeps it a secret from his parents, but more importantly, from Sadie, who he now knows is not going to be coming with him to Hogwarts after all. Later that week, while the family is tucking into ham sandwiches for dinner, the owl arrives, and Sam's stomach sinks when Sadie proudly carries it from the sitting room window into the kitchen on her forearm. She unties the letter from its leg, looks at the front of the envelope, grinning. Samuel Sr and Margie see a shadow pass over their daughter's face for half a heartbeat before she slowly hands the envelope to her brother. But Sam sees it all: her smile cracking like broken china, her eyes widen just a little, the furrow in her eyebrow. He catches the hitch in her voice as she congratulates him. He senses her anxiety in the lightspeed jiggle of her left foot under the table, as he stares at the letter, unable to make sense of the words, as worried as he is about Sadie. She excuses herself early, and Samuel Sr and Margie exchange a look, as if they've forgotten Sam is there. Sam doesn't know what any of them were expecting, but it wasn't this. The next few days, during which Sadie does not speak to him at all, are the longest of his life. Then, one morning, as he sits at the kitchen table having a silent breakfast with Samuel Sr and Margie - who are still flabbergasted to have a squib in the family - she comes down the stairs from their shared attic bedroom. She sits across from Sam at the table as if nothing has happened. She helps herself to a slice of toast from the stack on a plate in the middle of the table, and takes a piece of bacon off Sam's plate. "Since i won't be going to Hogwarts as expected," she says, folding the toast to make a sandwich and taking an enormous bite, "I'll need to arrange for a more formal education.” She swallows her bite and pours herself a glass of orange juice. “I’m happy with our current method of self-directed study, of course, but - i intend to supplement it with the odd lecture or class audit in the city.”

We get a few things here:

Sam’s anxiety/guilt about being the magical one, a dynamic that informs how Sadie will use him later

Sadie quickly hiding her actual emotions and performing fake ones, which comes up later when she manipulates people at the Ministry and in safehouses as a spy for the Death Eaters

Sadie’s decision making, which doesn’t allow room for input, feedback, or disagreement

Think of your favorite books and characters. If a novelist gave you a quick description of a character in one paragraph, you wouldn’t feel the close connection to them that you feel after reading even just a few chapters of them acting, reacting, interacting. Of course we don’t have as much time for that in an app as we do in a novel, but there’s a happy medium between the shallow understanding we get from pure exposition and the deep one we get from 50,000 words and a hardcover. 

IN PRACTICE: HOW DO???

So we’ve got our intermediate app. We’ve got our Four D’s: Description, Dialogue, Details, Diorama. We’ve got an advanced site we are lusting over. 

How do we Frankenstein this all together?

STEP ONE: REREAD YOUR ORIGINAL APP

Give her a look. Get the basics in your head. Think about how you might be able to repurpose this writing for your shipper. Because, hey! It’s already done! And at least in my experience on advanced sites, shippers are a TL;DR for your app, so a quick expository jaunt through the highlights fits the bill just peachy. 

But you’re not going to be able to work from that app directly for version two, okay? Be honest with yourself. How much do you ever revise things? Because this isn’t a “change a word, add one (1) sentence,” project. This is an overhaul. 

Like I’ve said! Going from intermediate to advanced is HARD WORK!

STEP TWO: GET WRITING

Start writing that app from scratch. Think about the Four D’s. 

If you’re approaching this as a straight history of your character, have at it wherever you want to get started. But before you move on to the next phase, address your Four D’s. 

Susie was a difficult baby. 

STOP! Give me the D. Was her nursery hyperfeminine? Did her nannies gossip about her parents behind their backs? Was Susie a fussy baby, or was she sickly? Show me her cold and distant mother awkwardly holding her before passing her off to her father!

If none of these D’s feel important to this phase of the character’s life: don’t include it in the app! A character history does not need to cover every minute! You can just hit the important phases, and you should! Believe me: staff usually do not want to hear about how mom and dad met each other unless it actually has a major bearing on Susie’s life! 

Once you’ve given the moment its due (Due, the fifth D), move on to the next, and consider the D’s every time. 

STEP THREE: REREAD & REVISE

Before you submit your app, give it another look. You’ve likely done a lot of character development between your original application and the fully-overhauled version. Is your characterization consistent? Do your character’s motives make sense? Have you left any gaping holes in their story? Look back at your shipper, especially if you used your original application to build it out. Does it align with the new application? What edits do you need on the shipper to have it describe the same person as your app?

STEP FOUR: PROFIT

Obviously, as with anything else, your mileage may vary. It might take a few tries, or even a few different characters to land on something that works for an advanced site. But the practice of implementing the five D’s - and keeping them in mind subsequently as you post with and develop your character - will be instrumental in growing your abilities as a writer, and isn’t that what this is all about? Wishing you all the best in writing as in life - let me know how you’re doing, and what other tutorials you’d like to see from me. Cheers, and happy writing!

[chaoticgeminate]

Plagg’s Intervention

After the AMAZING response to Exposed I wanted to thank you guys somehow for the likes and reblogs and follows. Seriously, I’m super touched and each new like makes me super giddy. So I decided to write a tale of one of my favorite Kwami, our very own Cat-Dad, Plagg!

This is mostly just fluff, like there’s maybe a dash of salt aimed at Lila (because why wouldn’t I?) but it goes right back to that sweet fluffy goodness.

[AO3]

Plagg knew the other Kwami were using their powers to help Marinette survive the stress of her day, he couldn't miss the way she began showing up to class on time every day looking better rested than she had since he'd first seen her, or the way she was able to disappear in a crowd easier when things got dicey. He had once been envious of the others for having helpful powers, things like shields and illusions and altering time.

But he long-since figured out that Destruction had a place, there were things he could do if he practiced his control again, Tikki confirmed his suspicions on a day Longg was there; the class was allowed to study outside because of how conveniently nice the weather was, not a hard line of spots to connect to the Dragon. "I think it is time we have the two of them finally do a reveal, Plagg, if not for Marinette then most definitely for Adrien." Tikki and Longg both looked firm on the idea, it meant they had argued with the other Kwami about it already.

Truthfully, he wasn't against it, his Kitten could finally stop pining after the Bug and get real love in his life; but Plagg didn't think they were ready, in fact, he knew they weren’t ready. "Trust me, Sugar Cube, I would love for the kid to be done pining and writing flowery poems for the Bug. They aren't ready for it, think about how often those supposed friends made these elaborate schemes to push them together, as well as how Marinette handled those times, it's just like that and this is something they have to do on their own." He felt odd being the one to defend Marinette's sanity here but Plagg knew his kid, Adrien's shitty relationship with his dad and lack of a social life made him clingy to what he did have, once the reveal went down the Bug would never have a moment Adrien wasn't trying to be glued to her side.

Tikki hesitated but nodded and even Longg looked like he was reconsidering. "I get it, you want her to be happy and have someone she can talk to about the Box and us, it'd be nice for the kid to be included and all but he's going to jump right to romance and she isn't ready to see Chat Noir and Adrien as the same person." Which would cause a problem in their partnership, make one or both of them a target for Hawkmoth, and ruin any chance at them being happy. "We can nudge them along and plant the seeds to start a reveal, casual comments or pointing out similarities, but we have to let them do it on their own." Tikki's eyes softened and Plagg purred as the duo of red Kwami curled around him, he wanted nothing more than to nap with the others in the Miracle Box once they had Nooroo and Duusu back.

But they had to be patient.

Once lessons were called back to the classroom, with Adrien holding the door for Marinette as the young heroine tried to avoid his gaze, Plagg knew he'd have to do something to get Adrien not prioritize romance over friendships and himself.

He had a bit of a chance to start something when they got back after classes, once fencing and basketball practice were over, Plagg jumped at the chance as his Kitten waxed poetic about the equally socially awkward fencer. "Kid, is Kagami the type of person who will accept being second?" Plagg earned a look of surprise, the ramble about the fencing form pausing, but the Kwami was relieved to see his kid shake his head. At least he understood her well enough, Plagg supposed, it was a decent sign there; a shame he couldn't be as observant where Marinette was concerned.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, but I think you need to hear this, try not to be upset or angry as a reflex." Adrien blinked again and turned in his seat, Plagg had to admit that it was sweet when Adrien gave his full attention to whomever was speaking to him, the only time it failed before was when the kid was too wrapped up dreaming about his lovebug. "Creation has to win, if something happens to the Bug it's over, you know this and I know this; that's what the Black Cat is for, your Bug can't conjure a weapon so we have to be her weapon." Adrien nodded and Plagg knew his kid knew this, it was why Adrien got himself tangled up in all sorts of insane situations.

Luckily for him, though it was a bit annoying too, Adrien was raised not to interrupt. "Sword girl doesn't like coming in second, she's too proud and stubborn to accept defeat, but as long as you're the Black Cat you cannot pick anyone over the Bug at all. Ever." Plagg hated doing this to his kid, really he did, Adrien deserved a taste of happiness. "I don't mean chase after the Bug with flowers again, Lord knows she'd punch you worse than she did your cousin, but what would Sword Girl say if an akuma was attacking across the city while you're on a date and you had to ditch? She knows your schedule, her Mother is your father's associate, you can't use your pops as an excuse to get away from her." Understanding flickered in Adrien's eyes, which lowered as he looked at his hands, Plagg sighed and landed on his Kitten's lap.

He hated having to be responsible. "You have choices, you always have choices, but I can't make them for you and I don't want you to put off choosing and lose those choices. If you want to pursue sword girl's heart, kid, you need to ask Ladybug to give you a different Miraculous to use and let her choose a new Black Cat; the Bug has way more on her shoulders now that she's also protecting the Miracle Box, she can't afford to have a Black Cat that can't put her first. If you had a Zodiac or one of the Wu Xing then you could skip a few fights to keep sword girl happy." Adrien scooped him up and Plagg sighed as the kid's eyes glistened with unshed tears, the Kwami rubbed his face against Adrien's and purred to try and calm him down.

Tikki would slaughter him if his Kitten got akumatized over this. "But it wouldn't be you, Plagg. I don't just like being Chat Noir because I get to partner with Ladybug or get away from this place when it's too lonely, you're important to me too." Plagg purred louder and his tail wrapped around Adrien's finger as he laid there in his Kitten's hands.

"What I suggest, kid, is that you stop pursuing romance completely and focus on your friends and yourself. In three years you'll be able to leave and live on your own, right? Do you even know what your hobbies are outside of what's on your schedule? What's Marinette's favorite place to get coffee? Where does Alya go when she's frustrated with her siblings? What kind of food does Nino like to eat? You don't know any of that stuff because you aren't asking, you're focusing so hard on romance like your anime that you aren't developing the same solid friendships those characters have." Plagg earned wide eyes and a slightly open mouth, wanting to argue no doubt, but then his Kitten seemed to think and nodded.

Adrien's voice was sad but steady. "You're right, Plagg, and for all I know I could find someone else later that makes me feel different than both of them and find out that's really love." Plagg nodded and earned an extra wedge of Camembert, watching his Kitten take a breath before calling Kagami, it was an easy conversation too.

"I think we should try and learn more about having friends before pursuing romance, since we're both so new to both things."

"Are you certain this isn't about the other girl?"

"No, I just want to learn more about myself and I know I'm not ready to put you first like you deserve if we became a steady couple."

"Thank you for your honesty, Adrien, I'll have to beat you in our next training for not saying something sooner."

"I'm saying it now, Kagami, but thank you for understanding."

"Thank you for caring for me enough that you're preventing me from being hurt, Adrien. Good night."

"Night."

Plagg spent the night curled up purring in Adrien's hair as his Kitten began trying to find things he liked, learning about himself and who he was outside of the perfect son his Father wanted him to be, it was a start and Plagg was glad his Kid had listened.

"I'm sort of mad you never said anything sooner, you Stinky cat, but I think it was for the best."

Plagg curled around Tikki as she snuggled closer to him, their holders were on the roof of Ivan's apartment building with a massive projector screen to watch a movie with their friends, now that they weren't focusing on romance the pair of teens began to flourish in and out of the suits. To the point that Marinette had confessed her crush and told Adrien she wanted to focus on herself for a little while, but that she felt the need to apologize for not seeing him and instead seeing what his Father wanted people to see, which led to Adrien openly paying more attention to Marinette.

Really, the Kwami couldn't ask for more from his kid if he tried, over the past several months they had become good friends and Adrien was finally able to see just how bad his relationship with his Father actually was for him. His kid had even shut Lila down in front of the class, when she tried to force him to study with her again, by telling her that if she needed more help that she would need to find a designated tutor and that he wouldn't fall behind trying to help her play catch-up again. The others had gotten upset with him and Marinette, who defended his right to prioritizing his own grades, before Adrien reminded Lila in front of them how she lied to Nathalie and the Gorilla to get into his house and forced a kiss on him he didn't want.

Adding to the School Board intervening, since Marinette had finally gone to her parents about Chloe's bullying and using her Father as well as why Lila targeted her and used her Mother's status as a diplomat to keep the Principal from questioning her, Plagg was a content cat knowing Lila had been caught for felony level truancy and forced back to her real home in the coastal area of France with her Mother. Bustier had been suspended along with Damocles, the kids now had a teacher named Baxter Kennedy, bullying seminars were required too. "Me too, this is nice." Along with bullying seminars there were meetings with therapists, public awareness of how words and actions could be misinterpreted, with Alya spearheading a campaign to be kinder while Hawkmoth was on the loose.

Which actually isolated and created a suspicion Plagg wished wasn't looking truer, the most recent string of akuma were all people pissed off at one Gabriel Agreste, for all the good people were doing to help others he was getting worse and it would make sense if he was Hawkmoth. Like Marinette theorized before, rather, with Mayura only able to be Nathalie if that were the case. "Sugar Cube, if it is him then we're going to need a reveal first, my Kitten can't take that hit without being one-hundred percent sure he's got people in his corner." Tikki hummed and Plagg found himself miserable as he looked down to where Adrien offered his side to Marinette, the latter huddled and cold despite her fleece pajamas, the weather was getting colder and soon Marinette would start to slow down.

Holders developed traits the stronger the bond with their Kwami was and Marinette was very deeply bound to Tikki, the pair would slow down and be weaker, while it meant their powers would be much stronger and be able to be used more often without needing a recharge... it meant in the late fall and winter that the Bug would be at severe risk.

They needed a reveal yesterday.

But first his Kitten needed to know just how dangerous the coming season would be, since Hawkmoth had a very poor bond with Nooroo the Butterfly wouldn't be weakened, the Bug would need to do unity transformations to not possibly drop out in fights. "What'cha doin’ there, kid?" That night Plagg noticed Adrien deeply concentrating on his computer screen, pink wool yarn and knitting needles in hand, frowning at the attempt of whatever he was doing.

Adrien hummed without much thought. "Marinette was really cold tonight, I'm trying to make her a shawl so she can wear it over pajamas and stuff." Plagg's purr rumbled as pride burned in his chest at the kid, talk about a change of character, the Kwami hummed as his Kitten frowned at a bad segment and tugged the yarn back through to fix it before Plagg hovered down.

"Like this, kid." It was an easy pattern, smart for a first-time knitter, the motions became easier for Adrien once Plagg helped guide him. A look of warm surprise made the Kwami huff, feigning hurt at the look even as he puffed his chest, stupid Kitten and his new observant ways. "I know a lot more than you think, Kid, there's a lot of years I spend in the Miracle Box with the other Kwami and the Guardians sometimes give us new things to do every so many decades. Add to the number of Chat Noir that I've worked with? I'm a cat of many talents." It piqued the curious little part of his Kitten that was hidden behind the polite facade, just what Plagg wanted.

Adrien didn't let it distract him from his task though. "Do you miss them, the other Kwami?" Plagg shrugged as his eyes scanned the pattern on Adrien's computer screen, this was something his Father would have been great for, leave it to Gabriel to allow a God of Destruction to raise his son and teach him how to knit.

"Sometimes. I shouldn't tell you this, kid, but there are nights I fly over to Ladybug's place to check in on her and Tikki. She doesn't know who you are, before you ask, but her bond with Tikki is strong enough she's adopting bug traits. Tikki warned me that they're both getting slow, the colder it gets their bodies want them to hibernate. If she gets too cold, she'll go to sleep and won't be able to wake up until her body thinks it's spring." Adrien started in alarm and Plagg watched the trembling in his hands, setting his attempted shawl aside to avoid stabbing himself.

He grabbed his phone and opened the app that the pair agreed to download, to message outside the suits and come up with plans to catch the Butterfly. "I don't suppose we can just bundle her up in a thick coat, huh? There really isn't any avoiding a reveal, is there?" Plagg watched his Kitten sigh, tapping out an answering message, the Kwami hovered to see what was on the screen.

The Bug was reluctant but willing, only asking that he lower his expectations when he found out who she was, Plagg really wanted to know where the confidence was that he knew Marinette had. Just what happened to make her think so little of herself where Chat Noir was concerned?

Tikki cuddled close to him and Plagg huffed as Orikko caged him in on his other side, each kid wearing as many Miraculous as they could, the reveal hadn't gone sideways at all; with their much stronger friendship in place it only led them to crying about 'it's you' and 'I knew I was right' before they threw on their warmest pajamas and played video games until Adrien had to sneak back into his room.

But these nights were his favorite, when Plagg was surrounded by the other Kwami and his Kitten was cuddled in bed with the Bug, nights where Adrien and Marinette could laugh softly as they recounted all the events they'd experienced and all the things Marinette was going through as Guardian. "Bug?" Adrien's voice was soft and Marinette hummed as she curled closer to him.

"Mm?"

Plagg almost laughed at the sleepy response. "You know you were the girl I was chasing after, right? Even if I didn't know it was you?" Tikki perked up at this, the nosy Creation Kwami was a sucker for romance and Plagg didn't miss the way the rest of the Kwami were suddenly awake either.

Marinette spun around to face Adrien now with a faint blush on her cheeks. "Y-yea, I figured that much when the masks came off, I didn't know your name but I knew you loved me." Adrien's face turned a very Ladybug shade of red, enough that the Bug's nerves seemed to face a little. "Chat?" Her voice wavered.

"Mm?"

This made Roarr snicker, muffled by the other Kwami, the strangled whimper of a reply was enough for Plagg to groan softly. "Dammit kid, all you had to do was stay cool for ten minutes." He wanted to bang his head on the floor, how was Adrien so damn confident and smooth as Chat Noir and then a fumbling mess as Adrien Agreste?

Marinette's little chirp of laughter faded to a sigh. "You know I liked Adrien, I told you this, you know that's why I refused your advances as Chat Noir... right?" The revelation hadn't seemed to strike, as Adrien had definitely come to value his friendship with Marinette, until he was reminded of her confession and apology as well as her desire to find herself.

The blush brightened but his voice was smooth as silk when he did manage to reply. "Have you- have you found Marinette yet, my Lady? Is it too late to ask that you give me a chance?" He had taken her hand now and his hopes were laid in front of him, Adrien was vulnerable and at her mercy.

"Always the cat chasing the bug, why isn't it ever the other way around?" The playful jab from Trixx was silenced by Ziggy as she shushed the Fox.

Tikki, the traitor, let out a soft chortle. “My bugs are above all that nonsense, Trixx.” Plagg leveled her a look and met her twinkling eyes with his, he knew all about how hard Marinette had drooled for his kid.

Marinette made a soft sound, a breathy little noise, before speaking up again. "I think I have, Chaton, and I'd love to take on the world with you."

Plagg purred noisily as the kids shared their first kiss (the first one his Kitten remembered), Tikki swooning happily, but they all forgot one detail and that was just how Xuppu acted for moments just like this. The monkey erupted from the pile, sending them all tumbling, with a wail of delight as he zoomed in to cheer around the new couple with squeaks of delight.

"This calls for a party!"

Plagg groaned and Tikki laughed as the other Kwami perked up. "Party?! Let's have a party! Can we please, Miss Marinette?!" The Black Cat hissed when someone tugged his tail.

"No! No parties! Marinette's parents are downstairs and we can't be too loud, take the other Miraculous off before you two get caught." Plagg stomped his foot and glared at the now alarmed, happy, and just confused couple. "I did not put all this work into being the responsible one for them to screw it all up!" Adrien chuckled and reached out, bringing Plagg close to press their foreheads together.

Marinette had Kwami hovering around her. "Thank you, Plagg, for looking out for us. How about we celebrate this weekend? My parents are going to China for a week to visit Nainai Cheng and the rest of Maman's family, they want me to stay for school." It wasn't like she couldn't just keep Kaalki with her and portal back if she had to, after all, but she did have class and couldn't miss too many lessons thanks to how many the class missed as a whole from akuma attacks.

"Yay! Weekend party!"

"Marinette? What's all that noise?"

'Nothing Maman, just a video Alya sent me, I didn't think it was that loud!"

"Get some sleep, it's late, you do have class in the morning. I love you."

"Love you too, Maman, see you in the morning."

Adrien took that as his sign to begin removing Miraculous and put them away, Marinette following him until only Plagg and Tikki remained. "That was close, next time don't have Xuppu out if something good happens?" Adrien's remark made her giggle.

They shared one more kiss before Plagg was drawn into the ring so his Kitten could get back home safe. As they got ready for sleep the Kwami hummed at the soft touch of Adrien rubbing his head. "Thank you, Plagg." Two sets of green eyes met.

"Sure, kid."

There was one more hurdle to jump but this time Adrien had support and love, Plagg wouldn't hesitate to gut Gabriel if the man tried anything with his kitten.

[forsakenflora]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; mun & muse - meme.

TAGGED BY: @dolcetters / ( thank you bb !!! ily !!! )

TAGGING (don’t feel obligated to do it!): whispers anyone who sees this !!

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multi-muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

—————————————————-

MY MUSE IS:  CANON / OC / AU / CANON-DIVERGENT / FANDOMLESS

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES  / NO / IDK  ( people have said she’s pretty? i mean she is, so ) 

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK  ( by a good majority, if we go by 03 standards ) 

Are they underrated? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO / MAYBE  ( again, by 03 standards; kind plot-device-y ) 

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG ( i mean .... AGAIN, 03 .... ) 

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO / MAYBE

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON? not that strictly. she loses the pregnancy through a trauma-related miscarriage. back when i rped her years ago, i did not write in the fact that she had a child. i think i didn’t want to ... really write the parts with dante / the gate / etc. i could still in a separate AU where it’s strictly canon, but for just my writing sake, i decided no. she goes through having her rapist’s child, and that can be heavy for some. the assault alone is traumatic enough. but it’s real. so her story, at least in 03, does deserve to be told with sensitivity. 

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS. do you like flowers? yes? good. do you like pretty, sweet girls? yes? ok great. please, allow me to introduce you to a person who combines all three !! rose thomas, a wholesome girl who, while living in a terribly hot city, will make you forget all about the heat with her charming smile and adorable laugh !! with her heart of gold, she will help out anyone and stand up for those that cannot !! while a little hot-tempered, rose truly has firm beliefs, but doesn’t mean she won’t learn from her mistakes and grow, flourish, like that of the flower she is named after !! so come visit liore and meet the city’s own pink-haired angel !! 

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?).   .... well, first off, in 03, people disliked rose for the fact that she was seen as a threat to the pairing EdWin. which, ofc if you read the manga, doesn’t happen so. and idk if people couldn’t really relate to rose back then, much less in BH where she barely shows up (as story-line goes) and she isn’t as fleshed out as prior. umm. i think from what i’ve seen (even if it is canon) people didn’t particularly like that they “white-washed” her, even though technically she was meant to be originally light-skinned (she’s a desert child yet she’s white .... she’d burn but ok) and i think just how she came off originally really made people dislike her vs 03. and maybe her storyline in 03 wasn’t as interesting and maybe a little dark, given that she’s a WOC who is raped by a soldier(s) and had the child, then was used by scar, and then used again by dante, so maybe they figured she’s a weak person who gets manipulated a lot? (writing this is making me mad but from again, what i’ve read LMAO) and just the plot device with the child / gate opening. 

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE? honestly? cause she was pretty LMAO. but mainly bc she (in 03) was a brown girl, like me. even though you don’t know her race, i saw myself in her, and she was so sweet and wholesome. she lost her first love and was desperate to do whatever it takes to get him back and i think she was lost, uncertain, and i really felt that. as time goes on and you find out that she changes her tune and grows and uses ed’s words to help herself back up again from being in a war-zone, it’s inspiring. she didn’t just stick to her ideals, she really changed. and then she is assault. and you just feel furious for her bc she didn’t deserve that, after having just felt empowered to do the right thing. i think initially it was out of vanity, but as i continued on with her, she just grew to be apart of me. she was one of my longest played characters, so i do have a sentimental attachment to her. 

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? umm. it’s hard more so now bc she’s no longer my main muse. so finding her voice now, a decade-plus later, can pose as a challenge. but i guess other than having writing partners who love her just as much as i do, i think just thinking about what would ( 21+) rose grow up into? what sorts of complex thoughts would she have? music helps me mostly if nothing else tbh. 

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO ( MAYBE IDK )

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES  / NO

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?  YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO ( MAYBE ) 

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO 

Are you a sensitive person? YES  / NO 

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?   tbh i think i’d feel a little hurt only bc i do feel attachment, but i’d have to be open to criticism if i want to get better at developing her. at the end of the day, she’s not my character. 

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER? of course !! i’m rarely on, but if i get them i’d love them. 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?   i’d be willing to know why, and see their pov, and we’d have to agree to disagree if it’s something that i personally feel in my heart of hearts that you’re allowed to have that .... but since this is my headcanon, then .... let it be? 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT? i’d be like okay, then you write her? like. be a duplicate and write her. no one’s stopping you. write your own headcanons, do whatever you want. i think at this point it’s like, you’re right to your own opinions but then you’re kinda just being a dick about it. like. do i go to every other rose (or hinata on my main blog) and be like nooo you suck?? no, that’s rude. do i agree? not always, but hey if it makes you happy then fuck it be happy ?? LMAO but really, it’s fine, it’s for fun and i’ll try not to take it personally. 

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?   i’ll laugh. grow up?

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?  please ..... please tell me. i may have gone to uni but english is ..... tricky. even certain punctuations like this ( ; ) thing still consumes my nightmares when it comes to writing. if we thread and you see the error, please fix it for me and don’t let me see it or notice it. save me from shame. 

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?   i want to say yes, but others may think otherwise bc i’m not them therefore i don’t know what you think of me. i may come off a type of way that may rub you the wrong way without my intention, and that’s just me being honest. if i’m not on this blog and on my main one, i’m sure by now you’ve gotten a decent sense of who i am ooc. i do try to be kind, but i know i can be absent at times only cause i’m overwhelmed and i use writing as an escape ... and then i get comfortable with whoever i write with, which i don’t want others to feel like i won’t give you a chance. maybe our writing styles will click, maybe not? but outside of rp i really am supportive (overly, disgustingly big-sister like supportive) and just quiet and chill, so please feel free to come to me if you ever need to !!! life just gets chaotic sometimes and i apologize for that !! but i’m super harmless, i’m awkward, but i am open and i welcome you all !! ;_; 

[betsyandmaxwellandduchessohmy]

concepts: dadsona is one of the dads that joseph did away with in the cult ending. imagine the absolute FREAKOUT when he opens the door to find dadsona beaming at him with a plate of brownies, laughing. (Good thing we had good medical insurance, right?) But dadsona's hands are so cold. They talk at length, but never seem to stop for breath. no blinking, either. (1/2)

(2/2) and every goddamn night, joseph can see them, standing out in the street and watching his bedroom window. just watching, ever-polite. he visits their grave the next day, and it's still there. dead, but not gone. very very angry at you, joseph. So Very, Very Angry. (SORRY IF YOU DONT LIKE HORROR JUST THOUGHT IT WAS NEATO)

((ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS NEATO BURRITO! I don’t know how good my response will be since, for all my interest in horror, I actually don’t write horror a lot. I kinda rushed through the end of this so I could post something this week, so sorry if that's a little obvious

I’m kinda on the fence about the cult ending as a whole, because the developers already messed with Joseph’s character enough by not allowing him a truly happy ending, and it just feels like the icing on the cake of that whole shitshow. But, part of me also kinda likes it? I can’t explain why. I think any story with a More Than Meets The Eye element, I kinda like a little. And I like horror! I understand that this wasn’t the most appropriate place for it, but I like it! So! CULT ENDING WARNING FOR PEOPLE WHO DON”T LIKE/DON”T WANT TO SEE CULT ENDING STUFF

This one really got away from me, and it came out way more Amanda-centric than I think Nonny intended, but I love the idea of Amanda practicing any kind of witchcraft. I just wish dadsona had been alive to have a talk with her about practicing dark magic responsibly.))

~~~

Amanda didn’t question it much, when the book showed up on the doorstep while she was cleaning up the house. She almost tossed it out - It was an ancient thing, the edges of the pages in tatters, the title on the leather spine almost completely lost to age. But out of curiosity, after glancing around briefly and finding no one in sight to have left it, she brought it inside.

She sat in the half-packed living room, intending to look through the fragile pages for some note to give her an explanation, and then set it aside and leave it be. She wasn’t in the mood for pranks and if this was Emma R.’s idea of a funny joke now, she was going to kill her.

A page near the back of the book was marked with a lump of dried root, and Amanda felt her throat close up a little when she read the title at the top of the page.

Returning The Wrongfully Taken

She inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to toss the book as though it had burned her, the way her instincts told her to.

Instead, she tentatively picked up the root, setting it aside as she read through the ingredients. And the ritual. And the incantation. The root, she figured, was probably the mentioned aconite. It was the only ingredient she didn’t at least have a vague idea about. It was all very complicated, but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d played witches with Emma when she was little, and had started taking an interest in wicca a few years ago without really pursuing it, but this seemed like the kind of book the Wicked Witch might’ve had on her shelf. And that actually made her hopeful, in a tentative, scary kind of way, that it was real.

She didn’t know what the book meant by Wrongfully Taken. A quick glance through the table of contents said there were other necromancy spells for people who died before their time - even one specifically for people lost to the sea. But whoever had left this on her doorstep had marked “Wrongfully Taken”, and given her one of the ingredients that wasn’t found in any of the other dead-raising spells. Were they mistaken, or was she missing something?

In any case, she decided she had to try. What did she have to lose, anyway? A few bucks on ingredients and one night of her summer.

She would give up a lot more, if there was even a scrap of a chance that she could see her dad again.

~

Almost every family in the Cul-De-Sac had offered to let her come stay with them until she went off to college. Robert offered condolences, and Joseph told her to come by the church any time when he brought a plate of cookies by a few days after the funeral, but she understood neither of them were really in a position to take her in, even just briefly. She didn’t want to impose on anyone, but she just… couldn’t live in that house by herself, even if she could afford it. And none of her old friends seemed interested in offering.

In the end, she’d accepted Lucien and mister Bloodmarch’s offer. Damien knew a lot about plants, which was useful, and she felt a little less awkward about the whole thing since she was living with someone closer to her age who didn’t currently hate her.

And missus Christiansen came to visit quite often, which surprised her a little. She hadn’t known Mary and Damien were friends. Good friends, too, considering the way she just let herself in. It was always a little unsettling when Amanda came downstairs after all day in her (Temporary, Still-Packed) room and found her in the sitting room.

Much like today.

Lucien had called her from the door on his way in, saying she'd gotten a package (more of her ingredients, she was sure,) and she came down to find Mary sitting in the red room, drinking tea like she lived there.

“Hey there, Amanda,” she greeted casually, taking a sip out of Damien’s delicate teacups. Amanda had used them a few times, but she tried not to because she was terrified of breaking them.

“Hey, missus Christiansen,” she replied, giving her a friendly smile before turning toward the kitchen. “Lucien? Where’d you put that-” the package dropped into her hands. “Thank you.”

Lucien gave her a nod and a smile, passing her on his way up the stairs and left her awkwardly standing on the landing.

“What’d you get, kiddo?”

Amanda felt a lump in her throat as she turned from the stairs to Mary. Damien and Lucien mostly left her to herself. Offered themselves up if it seemed like she needed an ear, but letting her grieve alone when she needed. So they hadn’t really asked about her packages, or why she asked the questions she did. Maybe that was why, after a beat, she decided to share.

“Oh, you know. Dittany, copal incense, myrrh oil,” she hummed casually, giving a shrug as she pulled the tape off the box. It looked like this one also contained the death’s head hawkmoth she’d gotten from an online specialty store that worked with a butterfly sanctuary. She figured she could give it to Damien once she was done with it. Mary gave a hum of interest and Amanda paused, catching a whiff from her cup.

“What’re you drinking?"

“Elderflower tea. With a little chervil and mugwort. Little something a friend of mine cooked up, thought I’d bring some over for Dames. You wanna try?” she asked, lifting the pot. Pausing a moment, Amanda gave a small nod, taking a seat across from her and setting her package aside as Mary poured her a cup and held it out. There were still flecks of ingredients floating in her cup - she knew people did that, but it struck her as odd for some reason.

“Never took you for a tea drinker, missus Christiansen,” Amanda hummed thoughtfully taking the cup as carefully as humanly possible.

“I’m not really. But I’ve been told it’s in bad form to have wine before noon,” she returned, leaning back and taking a sip through her smile. “And call me Mary, kiddo. I’m not the stickler for formality that Damien is.”

Amanda managed a chuckle at that, taking a sip and feeling… strangely comfortable, for the first time in a while. She hummed in satisfaction, leaning back a bit herself.

“This is really good,” she hummed without really realizing she’d spoken. Mary smiled, and suddenly looked very tired.

“I’ll pass along the compliment,” she stated, setting her cup aside. “My friend’s a real hippie type. Apparently this stuff is supposed to heighten your connection to the spiritual plane,” she added, her tone a little intentionally dramatic. Amanda nearly spit out her tea, but she managed to maintain composure and swallow like a normal person.

“Oh. Really?” she asked carefully,

“Oh, yeah, she’s really into all that stuff. Tarot and lunar cycles and all. Not really my thing, but hey, tea’s good,” she hummed. Amanda paused a moment, taking another long sip from her cup, almost forgetting how delicate the porcelain in her hands was. This all seemed… a bit too convenient. Mary had a friend who was into what sounded an awful lot like witchcraft. Mary brought over tea that was supposed to help someone connect to the spirit world. Mary lived right next to her old house and would certainly not look out of place leaving something on her grieving neighbor’s doorstep. Amanda swallowed hard.

“Mis- Mary, I-”

“I’m home!” Damien called from the door, moving through the house with a dramatic flourish that made his cloak whirl.

“Welcome back, Sweetpea,” Mary called. Amanda swallowed her words, forcing a smile when she felt Damien place a hand on her shoulder, clearly glad to see her out of her room. Mary stood to hug him and Amanda finished her tea, standing carefully to go rinse out her cup.

On her way toward the kitchen, she glanced back, and managed to catch the meaningful look Mary shot her. She gave her a nod, and the older woman seemed to relax just a touch further into Damien’s arms. Swallowing hard, Amanda turned and retreated. She had work to do.

~

Amanda felt drained, but satisfied. She’d followed the instructions to the letter. She’d performed the ritual exactly as the book had said, and now she knelt before her father’s grave, quietly counting the weeds that had started growing on the turned earth. The book said the spirit might take a few minutes to manifest, so she wasn’t going to get nervous about whether or not it had worked yet.

She hadn’t gotten another chance to talk to Mary, which was regrettable, but otherwise didn’t bother her much. She couldn’t tell if it was just bad luck or if Mary was actively avoiding her, but she chose to believe it was the former. Still, she could’ve used some help with all this. Even if Mary actually didn’t know, she would’ve liked to meet this mysterious ‘friend’.

She shook off the thought and crossed her legs, picking up a thermos full of the tea Mary had given her - Well, given Damien. Semantics. It wasn’t bad, just weird. The moon was full and bright, casting white light on her as she turned to lean on the headstone and took a swig of the earthy, almost bitter mix.

“You gonna share?”

Amanda gasped, nearly dropping the thermos as she looked up at the voice.

“Dad!”

She threw herself at you, and you grunted when she pushed you to the ground, landing firmly on top of you, arms around your shoulders. Groaning, you hugged back, smiling as you looked down and ruffled her hair.

“Alright. Let me up, sweet pea. Dead or not, being crushed isn’t great for the old man bones,” you hummed, coughing for emphasis. Amanda laughed through her tears, kissing your cheek and sitting up.

“God, I’m sorry, I just..” She leaned in as you sat up, wrapping her arms around you and burying her face in your chest. Your clothes felt wet and salty, but she chalked it up to her tears and didn’t question it. “I’ve missed you.”

Your smile softened and you tucked your daughter close, resting your chin on her hair.

“I missed you too, Panda,” you murmured, kissing her hair. Clearing her throat, she sat back again, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her jacket.

“Okay, first things first. I need to know. The spell I used, it implies that you were taken, not that you just died. What- did something happen? Before the boat sank? After? I just. I need to understand.”

You paused a moment, expression going cold as you remembered. Flashes of ropes. Of warm water getting quickly colder as you sank. A dark cave rank with the stink of rotten earth.

“Joseph,” you murmured, though it came out more like a growl.

“Mister Christiansen got out alright. The coast guard picked him up and-”

“Of course he got out. He’s the one that sank the boat,” you murmur, something dark coming over your look. Amanda froze up a little at it, zombies and vengeful spirits catching in her head for a moment. She shook them out and reached up, placing a hand on your face.

“Dad?”

You sigh, placing your hand over hers. The darkness faded and she let out a tiny sigh of relief.

“It’s… A long story, Manda Panda. I don’t think I understand most of it myself, but…"

“Dad. Tell me.”

So you did.

~

Joseph blinked in surprise at the knock on the door, setting aside his book and pushing to his feet. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe someone from the church? It was fundraiser season, too, he recalled, the mere thought of cheap-tasting chocolate bars making his expression sour briefly.

Clearing his throat, he straightened his clothes and put on a charming grin before reaching for the door knob.

“Hey there! How can I.. help…”

“Hey there, Joe! Been a hot minute, huh? It’s good to see you!” you greeted jovially, quietly relishing the way the color drained from his face.

“Oh. Um. Yeah! It. It sure has,” he nodded, eyes flickering from your smiling face to the plate of brownies you held, to the clothes you wore - just slightly damp, the same ones you were wearing-

“These are for you, by the way. Make sure you get one before the kids get to ‘em, kay? Made ‘em with hot fudge,” you grinned. Even with the cheerful curl of your mouth, Joseph could see something in your eyes. Something not quite right. They were the same shape, same color, but… brighter. Too bright. Just on the near side of glowing. You were still talking, something about his kids and the recipe you used and health insurance. You went on and on, and never took pause long enough to breathe, nevermind get a word in. So he feigned listening until you finally stopped. It took him awhile to realize that you were waiting for an answer to a question.

“Oh, I, uh,”

“Joseph? You alright, man?”

Joseph looked past you, spotting Mat out on the sidewalk, giving him a smile that betrayed concern.

“Oh, I’m alright, Mat. Just enjoying the morning air,” he assured, cheerful as ever. You raised an arm to wave, but Mat was already moving on, not even acknowledging your presence. Turning back to Joseph, you kept smiling, still unblinking, placing the plate of brownies in his hands before he had time to realize he was taking them.

“He’s a real sweetheart, that Mat,” you hummed thoughtfully, cocking your head slightly at Joseph in a way that made a shiver shoot down his back. “But most of the people around here are good folks. If anyone did anything to hurt any of them- why, I might just have to kill them over it!”

You laughed, even as Joseph suddenly felt very cold. Words like that should not make someone like him shrivel and retreat, but under normal circumstances, you were mortal, which you clearly weren’t anymore because he’d felt the life drain from you and how was it you were even standing here?

“Heh, sorry if I spooked you with that one. Amanda’s been getting me on the “Fatalistic Humor” game her generation’s got going on. Figure it’ll give me an edge with her friends,” you added with a shrug. “Anyway, I gotta get going, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You started away from the house, still smiling over your shoulder, waving at him. He paused a moment before the feeling came back into his legs and he stepped inside, closing the door with a sour expression and dumping the plate into the trash.

“Like home you will.”

~

The thing was, he didn’t stop seeing you.

You were in the window at the Coffee Spoon. Crossing the street downtown. Ducking into shops to escape the rain or the heat. And no matter where he saw you, you always met his gaze. Always with that same cheerful grin and those dead, cold eyes. He’d thought himself impervious to intimidation up until this point, when he started panicking in front of his neighbors. They didn’t suspect anything though - save Robert, perhaps - just thought he was a man wracked with guilt over the death of another neighbor. He actually said your name once, when he saw you over the fence during a barbecue, and Brian had reassured him that it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

No one else had seen you.

He could go into a shop you had just left, describe you to everyone in there, and none of them would have seen you.

Not that he did that. That would make him look like a crazy person.

But it was unsettling. You shouldn’t be here. Even with the level of ability humans had, necromancy alone shouldn’t have been able to bring your soul back from where he’d stuck it. But here you were. Everywhere. He couldn’t go more than a few hours without seeing you, unless he stayed inside all day with the curtains drawn.

Even when he did just that, the nights were worse.

His dreams were plagued with you. They could start innocent, even sweet, before devolving into a horror show, his own tactics and methods turned against him in a way that made him sick. And when he woke, he automatically looked to the window - the only dim source of light from the streetlamps outside. And there you stood, still smiling with cold, dead eyes.

He had guided evil this far. This should not be enough to turn the tables on him. But here he was, more and more scared of a dead man.

How the mighty fall.

[vincent-frankenstein]

Someday, Somewhere, Somehow

Summary: Beckett has always been cursed, or so he believes. Every time he tries making friends, he either ends up getting too attached and being hurt, or just pushing them away out of fear of getting abandoned. His dad Flint gives him an ultimatum: he has to find a friend before the end of the school year. When he meets Lev and Reese, two kids from his English class, he thinks he’s going to screw everything up again. Maybe, just maybe, they can prove him wrong.

Commission from the lovely @ask-villegas-sides ! i had so much fun writing for their characters and working with them on this story. check out their blog, it's really cool!!! thanks for the commission <3

Warnings: feelings of inadequecy and self hatred, implied past toxic friendships, a panic attack

Beckett was cursed.

Yeah, he knew how stupid that sounded. Sure, he could be edgy sometimes, but he wasn’t usually the kind of person to attribute his (many) problems to some fantastical curse or some shit like that. But this… this problem was different.

He couldn’t keep a friend.

And you’d think, y’know, that that’d be because of his personality — he was hardly charming, after all — but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference what personality he used. No one ever stayed. He was always too… something. Too much, too little, too loud or too quiet; too kind or too foreboding, too stubborn, too unpredictable. A walking contradiction, a patchwork mess of personalities, mask after mask after mask in the hopes of finally finding the one people would like.

But no matter how he acted — no matter who he was — they always left.

So. He was cursed. What other explanation was there? Could he really just be that… that unlikeable?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t, okay? Sure, it hurt like hell sometimes, that gnawing emptiness in his chest — that longing, deep down, for something, someone, to tell him he was okay, he was worthy — but he was fine. Sure, he was terrified of the oncoming school year — oncoming death sentence, more like — and the loneliness it would bring, but —

It was fine. He was fine.

And maybe if he told himself that enough, he’d begin to believe it. He was fine as the first day of school rapidly approached, a harbinger of doom looming on the horizon. He was fine, the night before — and he was fine, the morning off, standing in the bathroom with his fingers curled around the sink, unable to meet his reflection’s eyes, begging begging begging for something to change, for this year to be different —

No. No, he was fine.

“Are you ready?” his father asked as Beckett came downstairs. He sat at the kitchen table with a black coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Beckett shrugged, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his checkered hoodie.

“Sure,” he said, as convincingly as he could manage — in other words, not convincingly at all. His father raised an eyebrow, raising his head to look at him.

“Beckett,” he began, setting his newspaper down, and oh boy, Beckett could practically feel him gearing up for a lecture. Flint Villega was, among other things, very fond of lectures. “I understand your reservations about high school, considering your past experiences. However, I hope you won’t allow said experiences to prematurely sully the coming years. Primarily, I… I hope you will at least attempt to make friends.”

Because he obviously hadn’t been trying before. His hands closed into fists in his pockets. “Sure, dad,” he said shortly, because if he spoke any longer it might all burst out, and he refused to let that happen. His father was practically allergic to emotions; he didn’t wanna send the old man into anaphylactic shock with his bullshit.

“Don’t dismiss me,” his father said, voice sharp. He sighed as Beckett brushed past him, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You cannot isolate yourself forever. It is unhealthy. I’m… worried about you.”

“I’m not isolating myself,” Beckett said, rolling his eyes as he searched the pantry for a granola bar to shove in his backpack. “The world is isolating me. Not my fault, not my problem.”

A sharp exhale; his father was reaching the end of his remarkably short patience. “So you’ve said. Beckett, you cannot truly believe that your… socialization issues are the result of a ‘curse.’”

“I can do what I want.”

“Not when it could so drastically affect your development,” his father said, turning to face him. Beckett could taste the suggestion in the air, the word ‘therapy’ sharp on his father’s tongue. “I want you to view this new school as a new beginning. I… I don’t want you to be alone. I know things have been hard —”

“Dad,” Beckett cut in, holding up a hand. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, and — oh, wow, was that an Emotion™ on his face? Beckett had forgotten his father knew how to experience those. He seemed genuinely worried, lines of concern etched across his sharp face. Beckett held up his hands placatingly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Look, I get that you’re worried about me. I don’t know what to tell you. This stupid curse…”

His father sighed, and Beckett trailed off. “Listen. I’ll make a deal with you,” his father began. “I want you to make every attempt you can to make friends this year. If you are unsuccessful by the time this year ends, I will admit that perhaps your ‘curse’ isn’t as fictional as I currently believe, and I will do everything in my power to reverse it.”

Out in the hall, the clock began to chime. The bus would be there any moment. “Sure, dad,” Beckett said, if only to have an excuse to leave. It wasn’t like he was actually going to make an effort; he didn’t care whether his father believed him or not. 

He shouldered his backpack, gave a two-fingered salute, and ducked out the back door before his dad could say anything else. The bus was just pulling up around the corner; he took a long, deep breath, hid his shaking hands in his pockets, and stepped inside.

He didn’t talk to anyone. He didn’t look at anyone. He sat in the back — on the bus, at orientation, in every class that came after — and pretended to be fine, all the while wishing, praying for the final bell to ring so he could just go home already. And all throughout the day, his stupid brain couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid conversation with his stupid dad.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t have any friends. It didn’t! His dad should have been happy; fewer friends meant fewer distractions meant better grades. His grades sucked regardless, but. Still.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

He fell into a seat in the back of English, yanking his hood up over his head and slouching in his chair. It was his final class before lunch — which he really, really wasn’t looking forward to. Sitting alone was a surefire way to feel as un-alone as humanly possible; all eyes would be on the newest case of social suicide, the reject sitting in the corner.

“Lev. Lev! Lev!”

Beckett raised an eyebrow, shifting his head ever-so-slightly to get a look at the nuisance that had decided to sit beside him. A Perfectly Pretentious Popular Plastic with his perfectly pretentious, perfectly expensive sneakers propped up on his desk, his chair leaned back on two legs.

The kid on Beckett’s other side giggled. “Yeah, Ree-ree?”

“Did you see that kid in Algebra today? The one with the weird hair?”

The other sighed. “Reese, that’s mean,” he said sternly, sounding more like a father than a 14-year-old dork. “I saw him, and I thought his hair looked lovely.”

“You’re too good for this world, Lev-ly,” Pretentious Plastic said with a laugh. “That’s not the point, though! He tried to copy off some other kid’s quiz. I pretended to drop my pens so I could stay behind while Mr. Berry chewed him out. He dragged his ass! It was so funny.”

“Reese,” Lev scolded. Beckett rolled his eyes and dropped his head into the crook of his arms, blocking out their conversation. Class would start in a few minutes, thank god. Then they’d have to stop talking. He —

He jerked away from the sudden touch on his arm, swatting away the hand. Reese burst out laughing and Lev yanked his hand back as though he’d been burned, his eyes widening. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare ya!” he said quickly, holding up both hands in a show of peace. 

Beckett shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “‘S fine,” he muttered, though his heart surely wouldn’t stop pounding for at least ten minutes. Thanks, adrenaline. “Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself!” Lev said. He held out his hand again, slower this time, as if he was afraid Beckett would bite or something. “I’m Lev. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Beckett raised an eyebrow. “Beckett,” he said. “I’m uh. New.”

“I figured! It’s nice to meet you, Beckett.” Lev smiled earnestly. A flicker of warmth burst through the darkness in Beckett’s chest and he stomped it back down and set it on fire for good measure. He didn’t have time for that shit. “This is my best friend Reese!”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Reese said, swooping a hand through his ridiculously fluffy hair with a flourish. Beckett simply stared at him, and was pleased to see his over-confident expression falter in the face of Beckett’s deadpan one.

“So I was wondering —” The teacher stepped into the room, cutting Lev off. He shared a look with Reese and pulled out his books, and Beckett propped his head up in his hand and blocked out the class. He just wanted to zone out again, speedrun the day until he got to go home —but his brain wouldn’t shut up. What was Lev wondering? What did it have to do with him?

What if he was wondering if he wanted to be their friend?

No. No, no, no. Full stop, end scene, exit stage left, pursued by a bear. Even if that was what Lev was going to ask, it didn’t matter. Whatever friendship Mr. Perfect and Mr. Pure would try to strike up with him would die out in a matter of days, like every other relationship he’d ever had in his life.

Class came and went, and he shouldered his bag and left as quickly as he could, before Lev could stop him. He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt at leaving him behind, snuffing it out as he stepped into the overcrowded, overwhelming cafeteria. Oh, he hated this place.

He dopped into a table in the corner, as concealed as possible, and dug a granola bar out of his bag. In the middle of searching for his headphones — all the better to ignore all the eyes on him with — someone dropped into the seat across from him.

“Hi!” Lev said cheerfully, as Reese sat beside him. “You looked sorta lonely over here, so we figured we could give ya some company!”

“He figured,” Reese said, raising an eyebrow at Beckett’s hunched form. “Personally, I thought you looked just fine on your own. It fits your… emo aesthetic.” He waved a hand through the air, gesturing to Beckett’s jacket. 

“Thanks,” Beckett deadpanned.

“Anyway!” Lev clapped once, making both Reese and Beckett jump. “What’d you get on the math quiz today?”

“Uh. I — I didn’t check,” Beckett said. Lev slipped into conversation so easily, like he’d known Beckett his whole life. “I don’t really care, so.”

“I can’t believe he sprung a pop quiz on us on the first day,” Reese said, rolling his eyes. Everything about him — from his voice, to his enunciation, to the way he moved — screamed theater kid. He was so dramatic. “I’ve always said math is the devil’s work, and now look! We have Satan himself for a teacher!”

Beckett snorted. He hid it behind a cough. 

“Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad!” Lev said, giggling into the back of his hand. “It was just a review, anyway. I got a 96.”

Adorable and smart? Beckett raised an eyebrow. Reese laughing, digging his test out of his bag. “Twinning!” he declared, proudly showing off the bold red 69 on the top of the paper.

“Nice,” Beckett quipped, shooting finger guns on instinct. With a snort of surprised laughter, Reese finger-gunned back, and Beckett realized with a dawning horror what the warmth in his chest was.

He was getting attached.

“What?” Lev asked, looking between the two of them. “I don’t get it.”

“Tell him and you die,” Reese threatened, and Beckett lifted his hands placatingly.

“I would never.”

“Well! I’m confused,” Lev said with a laugh. Beckett felt a hint of fondness lace through the warmth in his chest as Reese laughed, and he stomped it down. This — whatever this was, this fluke, this mistake — it wouldn’t last any longer than lunch. The bell would ring, they’d go their separate ways, and —

And —

And they’d walk with him to their next class, which they also shared, and they’d exchange phone numbers before they left, and they’d wave to him as they parted ways for the day, and they’d leave him with an overwhelming sense of warmth that crawled up his throat and choked him to death.

It won’t last, his mind whispered, again and again and again, until every last bit of that hope had been crushed back down into the darkness. Even if they hung out with him the next day, and the day after that — no matter how many times they tried to break down his walls — eventually they’d see that it was a pointless venture.

...Right?

Apparently not. A week passed, and then two, and though Beckett tried at every turn to push them away, they didn’t leave. Reese seemed as reluctant as he did, at times — but Lev, impossibly stubborn Lev, stupid or brave or maybe a bit of both, he was determined to make Beckett his friend. And that terrified Beckett in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

Being alone sucked. But somehow, somehow, having friends was worse. It was so much easier to brush off rejection if he was already at rock bottom. But Lev was dragging him up, up, up out of the hole the world had dug for him and onto a pedestal of friendship that would never last. It would crumble, and he would fall, and the impact at the bottom would break him.

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to leave them before they left him. It would hurt like hell, but… it was better than the alternative. So — three weeks exactly from Lev’s first attack on his walls — he vowed to avoid Lev and Reese at all costs. The nuclear option: the cold shoulder. He faked sick and stayed home from school, much to his father’s chagrin, and he ignored every worried text sent his way.

Or, well. He didn’t ignore them. He stared at the notifications flying in — “are u okay?”s from Lev and “where tf are u”s from Prince Perfect — and wanted so, so badly to open them, to respond, to explain. Every ding from his phone was another spike through his heart.

He put his phone on silent, shoved it under his pillow, and rolled onto his floor for good measure. He couldn’t break now; he had to stay strong. Isolation was the only way he could stay safe.

But he couldn’t hide forever. He’d have to go back to school at some point — probably tomorrow; he doubted his father actually believed he was sick — and then he’d have to face Lev and Reese. Would he be able to ignore them, face to face?

He had to. He had to protect himself.

The day passed in slow, endless agony. He barely slept that night. The next day loomed like a titan on the horizon, a beast poised to crush every last bit of hope Lev and Reese had inspired.

A beast he had no choice but to face.

His heart pounded against his ribcage as he rode the bus to school, a frantic beat to accompany him as he marched off to war. His thoughts swirled and swirled, growing more erratic as the day went on, as English grew closer and closer — and they reached a panicked crescendo as he dropped into his seat in English and shoved his headphones over his ears.

“Hey.” Reese sat beside him, one eyebrow quirked. “Where were you yesterday? Lev was worried sick.”

Beckett bobbed his head, pretending to listen to the nonexistent music playing through his headphones. He didn’t even glance at Reese; he couldn’t let him know he’d heard.

“Hey!” Reese shoved a hand against his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. Beckett shifted away, turning his head and propping it up boredly in his palm. This was safe for the ten seconds it took for Lev to enter the room and sit on his other side, his face lined with worry.

“Beck, what happened yesterday?” he asked softly, and in the split-second before Beckett turned away, Lev’s confused expression almost broke him. “Are — are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?”

Ow. Beckett silently prayed for class to begin. He couldn’t take much more of this. 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Lev-ly,” Reese said with a sneer. “I guess someone thinks he’s too good for us now. A weird hill to die on, really, considering we’re his only friends.”

Ow^2. Beckett’s heart dropped into his stomach and shattered into a million pieces. He ignored the pain, ignored the way Lev’s voice faded, ignored Reese’s angry scoff, ignored ignored ignored until the teacher finally arrived and class began. And the moment it ended, he bolted out of his seat and vanished into the crowded hallway outside, striding right past the cafeteria as quickly as he could. He didn’t think he could handle the sheer noise contained in that hellscape right then.

The hallways emptied. Silence fell across the world like a thick, suffocating blanket and Beckett leaned against a locker and fell to the ground, dragging his knees up against his chest with a log, shaking sigh. This pain was all-too-familiar; this wasn’t the first time he’d distanced himself. Still, he preferred this pain to the burning agony of being abandoned. He just hoped no one found him out there.

But hope was a deceitful bitch, and he was found within minutes — by the two people he least wanted to see. Reese slammed a hand against the locker Beckett was sat against, making him jump to his feet in shock.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, grabbing Beckett’s arm before he could run off. Behind him, Lev lifted his hand, as though he was going to admonish Reese for being so forceful, but his eyes never left Beckett’s face. The shattered remains of Beckett’s heart crumbled to dust and choked him.

“Beckett,” Lev began, his voice ever-so-soft, “if you don’t want to be our friend anymore, that’s okay. You don’t have to stay with us. But —”

“But you have to tell us why,” Reese cut in, his eyes narrowed. “You owe us an explanation, at least.”

Beckett shook his head, trying to wrench his arm out of Reese’s grip, but it was no use. Reese was twice as strong as he was. His grip only tightened the harder he struggled. Lev stepped forward, his face a kaleidoscope of doubt-worry-fear that made Beckett’s heart clench. “Please,” he said, far too gently, and Beckett yanked his arm out of Reese’s hand and stumbled backward as words he’d never meant to speak yanked their way out of his throat.

“Because I don’t want to lose you!”

It was ironic, really, how deafening silence could be. It crawled down Beckett’s throat and stole away his words, everything he could have said to brush off the painful truth of his statement. Reese blinked, eyebrows furrowing.

“You’re leaving us because… you don’t want to leave us?”

Beckett’s hand curled towards his chest, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. His breath quickened, sharp, erratic bursts through his lungs. “I don’t — I don’t want you to leave me,” he managed, and immediately wished he hadn’t, because god, were those tears in Lev’s eyes?

“So you’re leaving us first,” he whispered, understanding swirling through the hurt in his eyes. Beckett nodded slowly, lowering his head to stare a hole through the floor, his face burning.

“Too — too many people have, y’know. Left. I’m… I’m not the easiest person to be around, I-I guess. I couldn’t — I can’t —” He cut off, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the way they shook. His eyes began to sting. “I knew it was only a matter of time until you —”

Something crashed into him, and it took him a long moment of panic to realize that he wasn’t being attacked — he was being hugged. Arms wrapped tightly around his middle, so tightly that he could barely breathe — or maybe that was just the disbelief, welling up in his chest, tangling in his lungs and stealing his breath away.

“L-Lev?” he managed, hands hovering awkwardly out to his sides. Was he supposed to hug back? Was that how this worked?

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” Lev whispered into his chest. “Ever. Never ever. Neither of us was.”

“Yeah,” Reese said, his eyebrows furrowed, something angry shining in his eyes. “I don’t care what the idiots you used to hang around with told you. You’re ridiculously easy to be around. And even if you weren’t, you’re worth hanging around anyway.”

Beckett didn’t respond. He didn’t move, barely even dared to breathe. He didn’t find his voice until Lev pulled away just enough to look up at him, his eyes red-rimmed and hopeful.

“I… I’m a handful,” he said, because how could he re-enter this friendship fairly without warning them first? He had to, at least, let them know how deeply he felt things. How badly things could hurt him, and how badly he could hurt others. He opened his mouth to say more, but Reese rolled his eyes.

“We’ve got four hands, dumbass,” he said, as Lev pulled away to do jazz hands in Beckett’s face.

Beckett couldn’t help it. He laughed — snorting giggles dissolving into full laughter dissolving into tears. He wiped at his face with his sleeves and shook with something between giggles and sobs.

“Are — are you okay?” Reese asked, sharing a look with Lev, who only managed a few moments before breaking out laughing too.

That day, for the first time in years, Beckett brought friends home after school. He caught his father’s eyes for only a moment before Reese dragged him upstairs, excited to see how “horrendously emo” his room could be, and in that moment he felt a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

His curse was broken.

His father smiled.

[sometimesrosy]

The person that send the ask about JRoth refering to Echo and Madi in the past had/got made me take a sec and think because i understand refering to E in the past because i think that BE are going to break-up but why would he refer to Madi in past tense? and then i remembered aa spec that you sai regarding Madi staying in the planet and Clarke leaving with the others, i think? do you really think that would happen and can you talk more about it? 1/2

2/2 i mean i just don’t see Clarke leaving her daughter alone in another planet, altough there is always the whole flame thing, idk how that is gonna affect their relationship but i mean, would Jason really take away her daughter? that’s a new low, even for him lol

He might just have spoken about them in the past because he was speaking about what happened to Clarke and Bellamy over the time jump. That was all in the past. What happened OFF screen affected who Clarke and Bellamy were in the current timeline. 

As he’s writing, or storyboarding, that means that he’s developing THEIR story based on the past. It might have been a mistake just based on his focus as he writes. None of what they say in cons is edited, you know? You can’t expect them to be perfect or precise.

My speculation about them leaving Two Suns Planet is PURE speculation and just something they COULD do based on certain themes and foreshadowing and tropes and archetypes. It doesn’t at all have to be story they go for. Just ONE story path. 

But you say that taking a characters daughter away and leaving her on a planet alone with others is a new low for JR?

I think that is the EXACT SET UP OF THE 100. Abby Griffin lost her daughter, who was sent down alone onto a poisonous planet with 100 delinquents. 

New low? Or, hey, what this show is about?

Oh. Is it different because Madi is so young? 

Charlotte. Tris. Baby Lovejoy. Aden. Ethan. 

Kids don’t escape violence, loss or death on this show. This is BUILT IN to the narrative. 

Don’t confuse a plot line that you don’t like with something that doesn’t fit. Because it DOES fit. It’s pretty standard that kids on this show grow up a LOT faster than kids irl. And Madi HERSELF was left alone at the age of FIVE. So the concept that JR wouldn’t POSSIBLY leave a child alone is ABSOLUTELY FALSE. BTDT. Pay attention.

In many ways, this show is about the new generation, THE KIDS, learning to find their own power and stand up and change the world for the better. All our delinquents except for Bellamy were kids when they landed on earth. That is the NATURE of this show.

You identified with the kids, so you didn’t notice, except for occasionally, that our kids were actual kids, because you were inside their heads and instead you saw the freedom and the power and the challenges and the heroism. When we looked at the PARENTS, we saw them as characters who did stuff TO the kids, who abandoned them or abused them or sent them to earth or betrayed them or whatever it is. Maybe you didn’t notice because all the actors were playing younger than their real age, because the show WANTED you to think of them as active adult principals. But Jasper and Monty? What were they? 15? That’s only a few years older than Madi. And they had NEVER been left alone to survive by themselves. They weren’t as capable. Maybe the subtle shift of adults playing kids to kids playing kids means that the writers want you to think about what it means to grow up, to be responsible, to be an adult or a parent. Remember, their initial thought was to make the commander a child. They’ve actually gone BACK to their original concept. 

NOW you’ve got YOUR kid as the parent, as the person who is the hero with the motivation and desires and goals. So you see Clarke as the active principle and Madi as the passive one. But it’s the SAME story. 

Clarke raised Madi to be independent, she was driving and going off alone at 11. Hunting and gathering and facing a post apocalyptic earth alone. That’s how she raised her. Now that people are back, Clarke is clinging to Madi and trying to keep her safe when before she’d raised her to keep HERSELF safe. 

We’ve already seen Clarke struggle with the same thing Abby struggled with. Learning to LET HER DAUGHTER GO TO MAKE HER OWN DECISIONS. The audience is sometimes outraged that anyone would allow Madi to make these life or death decisions intended to save Clarke, but Clarke was making life or death decisions from ep 1, and we were outraged that Abby would try to stop her and keep her a child.

So what I’m saying here? This is a THEME we’ve seen in The 100. Madi is a bit younger, but she is also just as capable as Clarke. We have SEEN her be capable. 

Would JR have Clarke lose Madi? 

He had Abby lose Clarke, didn’t he? So yeah. He would. It isn’t some worse horror inflicted upon her. It is a cyclical story. The parent must release her child to her own future as her parent released her. The youth shall inherit the earth.

Actual literal line of dialogue. They PASSED THE BATON. 

So, we need to pay attention to these things if we want to understand something more about the story. 

so my theory about return to earth? ok

so the idea is that they will have to leave planet two suns, that they will have to DESTROY the comfortable, peaceful human society on the planet because it is, like MW, evil. I think we’ll have a parallel to MW. We already know that the eligius 4 mission was a colonization mission, intent on USING the planet for resources because the earth was used up. This is the bad kind of colony. 

We’re also contrasting “doing what is good for you people” with “doing what is right,” and I’m afraid that joining Russell in a peaceful world where their people can finally live life, which would be GOOD for their people, will actually be harming the planet and either another segment of humans OR the native aliens on the planet. 

So in order to do the right thing and be the good guys, they’ll have to destroy this “peace” and sacrifice and easy life for their people.

This would help Clarke and Bellamy resolve their trauma in MW, where they had to DESTROY an entire people, and never made peace with the fact that they HAD to because those people were not JUST another society, but a TOXIC one who was using other human beings as cattle and torturing them, and intending to take over the surface. 

So while this made her think maybe there were no good guys, the truth is, that even though they committed genocide, it was because that society was EVIL. They WERE the good guys. Sometimes you HAVE to do harm. 

So I think we’ll see this again and this time they will recognize that the choice is to let evil flourish through passive inaction and possibly benefit, or GIVE up the soft life and save a planet and a people from subjugation and STOP the cycle of violence that humanity spreads.

See, we’re working on making sure that Humanity DESERVES to survive. So being faced with a pretty, peaceful society that does not DESERVE to survive, means they have to make active choices against it.

The thought here is that they are subjugating or enslaving the aliens or alien/human hybrids or lower class humans of this planet. ECHO, being a child soldier and slave for the throne, while not feeling like she belongs to spacekru, will feel a kinship with the slaves on the planet and she will stay with them.

The other possibility is that Becca has given an ALIE AI to the new planet, so the flame is not irrelevant. Because the flame was created to STOP ALIE. So if there’s another ALIE helping to subjugate these new people, then the FLAME, aka Madi, is there to stop that. COULD someone else take the flame? Yes, because they’re all going to have to be nightbloods. But it’s possible that Madi herself feels too much responsibility and wants to stay to help the new people. but the story here would mean that Madi wouldn’t be alone, but Echo would be staying with her, as her protector. IDK. 

I don’t know it’s an idea. I got it when I realized that Raven said, “Just once I wish I could take off of a planet without it being on fire,” and she did that TWICE, which means the magic number three might have that coming true. So then I imagined raven taking off of this new planet, NOT on fire, but still needing to leave because they destroyed the “peaceful” society. Like breaking the cycle means they leave it a better place, rather than the earth, which humanity has killed. 

Also with the way the time is going, it took 75 years to fly to the new planet. If they go back to the earth, that’s 200 years total, which is the ORIGINAL speculation for how long The Ark would have to stay in space before Earth would be livable. That’s just too neat a coincidence for me. Makes me think that in, maybe s7, they might be back on the earth again. 

All just ideas. I know it’s wacky. But I’ve had a lot of wacky ideas, like using Cryo sleep to escape praimfaya. Or the exodus after they lose Eden. Heck, I told y’all after hakeldama that this show requires Clarke and Bellamy to be TOGETHER in order to work. So I have wacky ideas that I put together when I think about various narrative elements. So here. Have some more.

Also. Because we’re all responsible for our monsters when we let them out, right? Well humanity destroyed Earth. Do they really get to just ditch it and find .a new planet to ruin? I feel like they need to go home and face the mess they made of their planet. To EARN their survival, they have to fix what they did. They have to make amends. Stopping it from happening on another planet might do that, but also, taking care of the planet they hurt. 

[mirandashadowborn]

(warning- I have another idea. Mind-blowing right? Ok but this one has two things I REALLY want in game (a character development arc involving a bad guy, and a place to live), and maybe some of you do too! Ok listen…)

So you see a yellow quest dot in Firgrove. You take a trailer (cause who really wants to run all that way? Not me!). Mrs. Packard asks that you pick up some eggs from Andy, and you’re like ok whatever as long as you bake me another one of them pancake cakes. Mmmm good. 

Andy is not there, but you find him down by the chicken coop. He’s looking down over the Silverglade Mine, and asks if you know what they’re building, since he sees construction going on. He tells you he’ll deliver the eggs himself, but that you should go investigate and see what they’re doing down there. You head down to the mine and see a familiar sign…

Uh no.. what the hell is this guy doing back?!?!?! (not the actual dialog).

You’re a little concerned about confronting this guy, since he must REALLY hate you by now, so you decide to ask the Firgrove mayor whats up and why are they allowing this?? Mr Franklin is all like “Uh, sorry, anything south of the sandpit is considered Silverglade. That’s out of my jurisdiction!” 

You ride to Silverglade (or take a trailer, whatevs) and the Councilman says “Oh I left Mr Bucket in charge while I took a few days off. Let me look at the paperwork here. Yep, looks legit. He purchased the mine and got all the required documents signed. He owns it and there’s not much we can do about it, except maybe next time I’ll have Mr Bucket wait on me for any property matters”. 

You decide to confront Mr Kembell. 

You ride over to the mine and see him standing there, looking at blueprints, but there isn’t as much construction going on as you thought. You ride up and he sees you and… sighs? 

Kembell pulls out the paperwork and hands it to you, tells you he owns it, fair and square. But.. his dream isn’t turning out the way he thought it would. 

You’re like.. “dream?”

He tells you he got an inheritance but not enough to live on. His parents always pushed him to make money any way he could, and he tried- but found that cutting corners and doing things unscrupulously didn’t work out for him. He realized that he’s taken a lot from the community here and wants to give back. He was hoping to purchase the mine and renovate it. His ‘dream’ had always been to be an interior designer or architect but his parents insisted on something more lucrative. You almost don’t believe him until he sighs deeply and asks if you want to see what he had planned. A cut scene reveals his ideas… 

At the lower part, a stable, since he’s come to understand the bond the people of the island have with their horses. 

a walkway to the apartments. The structure would be divided into spacious lofts, with a bathroom (where we click on to change our hair or makeup, which we will be able to do after this update XD).

The little courtyard would have a cafe and maybe a furniture store, where he can sell his designer furniture (another couple slides, that I did not bother to draw, sorry, but everything is cute and homey - you can buy all the sleek modern stuff in Governers Fall). There would even be a storage space (for additional storage since what the hell would be the point of buying a place to live otherwise?)

He would live at the top, and be security and landlord, and be able to retire from scheming. He apologizes for the way he’s treated you, says he’s been taking anger management classes. And says he really just wanted to give back, only his contractor bailed at the last minute so… it was all for naught u_u

But wait! You know a contractor! You rush over to Jarlaheim to speak with the builder. Does it involve water or heights? No not really! Ok then he’ll be over tomorrow! 

You go back to the site the next day and construction is underway. Kembell thanks you and says he hopes people and their horses are happy here. He admits he’s always been afraid of horses and asks to pet yours. he wonders if anyone will ever lend him a horse since everyone seems to hate him! 

But wait! You know someone with a horse they aren’t using! You ride over to Bjorn and ask to borrow the old horse he gave up on riding. Agnetha asks why and you tell her. She says if they get the exclusive contract to do the landscaping, he can borrow the horse. 

Kembell writes her an offer and she refuses it and they go back and forth (through you cause we know how this quest ends, and no ones gonna make it easy for you lol). They finally settle on a number and you lead this horse whose name I forget over to Kembell. He asks if you would guide him on a trail ride one day, as he just wants to get used to the horse first, you agree. He tells you to come back the next day. 

The next day he tells you he isn’t sure about the cafe idea. He was just going to put one of his old employees in the position of running it, but they’re all so scary. Do you know anyone whose young and hip and maybe wants a better job and might have a future in the food industry? Of course you do! 

(pic from starstablestudies) As you approach, Conny is being yelled at by the older worker. He messed up again. You ask him if he’d like to run a cafe, thereby getting a start in the food business and one step closer to being a sommelier ?(which why didn’t we get the Baroness to hire him?? but oh well). He says he’d love the job! You run back and tell Kembell. He is thrilled, and starts to get working on the designs for the cafe. He tells you he’d love some wrought iron chairs and you say you’ll ask the blacksmith….. 

Only Conrad is all like 

He says he can’t believe you would help that guy after what he tried to do to Moorland. He’s ashamed. Your rep with the druids go down (jk)

A clock appears over Kembells head….. 

You come back the next day with a plan: You’re going on that trail ride. And its gonna be a doozy. 

First you ride over to Firgrove. You bring him to Mr Franklin and have him apologize for whatever he was trying to do at the spies house. Mr Franklin shakes his hand and forgives him. You tell him to take the trailer to silverglade vineyard. 

You ride over to the Baroness, where kembell is apologizing. The Baroness accepts his apology, but only since her grapes have been flourishing now that he’s left. 

At this point, you ride together to Moorland. He makes little comments about how nice it is, and how he sees now that it would’ve been ruined by his other development. You ride down to Mr Moorland, where he apologizes to Thomas and offers him a very nice wooden bench or something, of his own design. Thomas accepts. THEN you ride to Conrad, and they talk it out. Kembell tells him he’s using only recycled material, and the surrounding land won’t be too affected by the construction. He wants to keep that area as close to its natural state as possible. Conrad forgives him and agrees to make chairs and a sign for his cafe. 

Maybe a day after this- after a few finishing touches (Agneta and Bjorn with plants, Conrad with furniture, Conny with a menu) - the homes are open for business! 

I was thinking- if you are lifetime, you can buy a loft. If you aren’t, you can rent (for a reasonable fee). (I honestly feel like it would be SCs taken out early on but then he never really asks you for rent after cause what would you even charge for that per month? If you end your Star Rider, the furniture goes into those little rooms in your stable.) 

This would of course come after you’ve thwarted Kembells last business (The house in Firgrove afaik), and then after that you’d see him in a polo shirt, bermuda shorts and flip flops, drinking a frosty beverage up in his little cottage. You can make this your home stable of course, and after this they would introduce rooms at the other home stables that you can decorate and stuff. Maybe you can have parties here (music and dancing), click on the bed to sleep to skip through on quests you have to wait a day, or just display things. It would all be customize-able - paint, carpet, wallpaper, curtains. There would be more furniture places in towns after this, natch. 

Anyway, that’s my second idea for the day. #starstable I’m here if you want to taco bout them. 

[mysnarkyslytherinsecret]

Hey! Your writing is brilliant and your portrayal of Severus is spot on! Writing such a complex character mustn't be easy, so congrats! I was wondering if you could write Severus struggling to confess his feelings for his SO (it can be Hermione, if it's easier for you to write the scene with her). Let's face it, he would be so freaking nervous and cute while trying not to make a stuttering fool of himself! I just want to read a oneshot about that :-) PLEASE and TY

Severus forced himself to look into the mirror and attempted to smile at himself.

“Ugh,” he muttered, a scowl creasing his forehead several times over. “That’ll never do. I look like a creep.”

He did not say like a fool, but then again, self-evident things did not need to be said aloud.

For as long as he could remember, Severus had gone through extreme lengths to retain his dignity and gain the respect of others, but it seemed that Fate had other ideas.  There was, however, only one thing that he hated more than being seen as foolish or disrespected.

“No. I refuse to be a coward,” he said to his reflection. “Today I shall tell her.”

Hermione Granger had been scarred and traumatized at least as much as the rest of them, but she endured.  Flourished, even. But tragedy had its way of striking.  She’d been set to marry the youngest Weasley boy when he’d died heroically protecting a school bus full of muggle children from a rogue Death Eater’s explosive curse magic.  Not two days after the funeral she’d just thrown herself even more tirelessly into her work, writing papers on Transfiguration on the side and publishing them, much to the delight of the Transfiguration community, which hadn’t seen this much activity since the 1800’s. As Minerva had grown older and more comfortable in her Headmistress duties, she’d been thankful to give Hermione as much extra work as her heart desired.  She’d been promoted from Transfiguration professor to Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress in slightly under a decade.

Tonight would be her thirtieth birthday, and Severus knew that his luck would only hold out for so long before someone finally came along and snapped her amazing arse up and rode off into the sunset with her or whatever horrible cliched metaphor his brain had decided to trot out to the forefront of his imagination each day.

He hadn’t meant to fall for the brazen Deputy Headmistress, but then again, he hadn’t expected to survive, much less return to Hogwarts.  Minerva still ruled the roost as Headmaster, but as soon as she’d found out about his postwar dire straits, she refused to leave him alone until he’d returned.  He wasn’t exactly a professor any longer- a former Advanced Potions student from Hufflepuff, Vivianne Tempson was an exceptional Potions Mistress, but she was also gifted in the art of teaching.  It was an art, Severus supposed, one that he’d never had much talent for.  

Had he not been forced to stick around due to finances and the fact that even with his name cleared, he was still largely despised by the Wizarding World at large, Severus might have moved into a new line of work. But in his mind, that ship had largely sailed.  He’d lived most of his life within the stone walls of Hogwarts castle, and he felt vulnerable anywhere else.

“Pathetic,” he’d mutter to himself on particularly despondent nights.  His dungeon quarters were just as he’d left them, as no one had wanted to live there if they didn’t absolutely have to. They made a perfect place for skulking, which was one of his favorite activities when he had nothing else to do.

After Madam Pomfrey had retired in the south of France, Severus had become, for all intents and purposes, the new Mediwizard.  The truth was, he actually had seventh year prospective medi-magic students run the infirmary as part of a prerequisite for studying at St. Mungos, and he only ever really consulted in on dire cases, which were few.  Instead, he mostly spent his time in his lab brewing various potions and experimenting on more potent blends. This was just fine with him. He didn’t have to subject himself to the inanity of whining students, and the students did not have to be subjected to his abrasive personality.  He filled in for the odd class here and there- Severus knew pretty much all of the classes by heart and could substitute on a moment’s notice, though the students often dreaded these days for the same reason that Severus did. He also no longer worked as Head of Slytherin House. That honor went to Draco Malfoy, who’d become the Flying professor after Madam Hooch had retired the previous spring.

Oddly enough, it hadn’t bothered him much to find the halls of Hogwarts filled with professors who’d been his own students. After all, Minerva had been his professor for seven years before she’d become his colleague. It’d taken slightly more than a year before Severus had felt comfortable enough to have a less-than-professional conversation with her, but from there, a close friendship had blossomed.  They’d raged at each other about Albus and his quirky behaviors. They’d spent time developing inside jokes that could instantly be understood by a knowing nod and the quirk of an eyebrow.  But Minerva had always been more like an older sister or a cool motherly sort of figure, not a romantic prospect.

Once again, Severus felt the sour twist of shame in his belly.  He felt like some sort of cradle-robbing pervert despite the fact that he’d never so much as laid a finger on Hermione in an untoward manner.  Of course, he’d helped administer the salve treatment to help Hermione transform back to a fully human body in her second year after her disastrous PolyJuice accident, but none of that had been remotely sexual, and Madam Pomfrey had been attending in any case.  The whole time she’d been in school, he’d had the same irrational protective-yet-irritated frame of mind when it came to anything involving her. She’d stood out in her intelligence and drive to learn more, but that had been completely academic.

Now, though…

Severus thought back to the Thursday evenings in the professor’s lounge where they’d go on for hours and debate back and forth on current events, or new potions versus old standards…anything and everything, really.  It had started a few years earlier and become something that Severus looked forward far too much for his own good.

Not that he’d allow himself to admit that to anyone.

On top of that, she’d invited him to help her with a new brewing project she’d been working on to reduce the symptoms of those affected by lycanthropy throughout the month. As someone who’d brewed Wolfsbane perfectly for years and had a personal potions lab set up in the dungeons, which was connected to his quarters through a hidden passageway, Severus had been all too happy to offer her the space.  At first, they’d worked at separate sides, but she’d come up with reasons to disturb him, to brush against him…to…Severus shook his head.  No. It was all in his head…but then again…what if it wasn’t?

It was Saturday morning. She would probably be in the lab already, as he’d given her the password to the armor that guarded the door to his lab.  Rather than go around, Severus decided to take the secret passageway from his quarters, if only to get a bit more time to himself to decide on whether he was going to put everything on the line just to confess his ridiculous, traitorous feelings.

Severus was an expert at suppressing his feelings, but this was different.  It was impossible for him to deny how she made him feel.  His heart ached when she said his name.  No amount of occlumency could keep his shields up when she looked up at him with her amber eyes and smiled in that confident way that made her eyes crinkle a bit at the corners.

Oh, how he craved that smile.

Severus came through the swinging bookcase, his head still filled with anxiety, and nearly barreled full-tilt into Hermione, who was in the process of putting on a thick pair of rubber gloves.

Severus let out a yelp just as Hermione turned and squeaked in surprise, her leg caught on the edge of the bookcase.  Unconsciously, he reached out and grabbed her as she began to fall and pulled her close against his chest. For a long moment, they both stayed like that- Severus with his arms grasping her tightly and Hermione with her head folded against his chest, her heartbeat slowly going back to normal.

“Severus, I didn’t see you there!” Hermione said, finally, her voice a bit muffled.

Severus immediately released her and took a step back, his face growing hot with mortification. “I…it was…I was late…and…I apologize for manhandling you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione replied with a smile and a shrug. “At least I wasn’t handling anything caustic when you came through.  Where, exactly does that passageway lead?”

“My…er…quarters,” Severus admitted.

“That’s rather convenient,” Hermione said, nodding sagely, “I bet you can come and check on long-standing brews with ease.”

“Yes, that was the intended…er…rationale,” Severus replied, relief washing over him.

“Hey, maybe you could invite me back for a cuppa while I’m waiting for my Lupislazurary to steep,” Hermione said with a smirk. “I mean, you have to admit that the chairs here are murder to sit in.”

“I’d like that.” Severus blurted the words out before he could properly think of whether it would be the smartest thing to say.

“Oh?”  Hermione seemed surprised.

Severus inwardly cringed. Of course she wouldn’t be so impolite as to actually invite herself to his quarters, but he’d taken the words at face value, largely because it would make this whole maneuver so much easier if he could actually figure out if she felt the same way about him.

“You’re welcome to come anytime. In my quarters.” Severus winced. God, he was cocking it all up. “I mean, I’d love to have you-have…tea with you…”

Hermione’s eyes widened and something like recognition filled her expression.

Severus felt his own eyes mirroring hers. “What I mean is…I…”

He was stuttering as she pulled the single rubber glove off of one of her hands with a loud snapping sound reached up to cup his face under the right side of his jaw.  

Merlin, her hand is so soft and warm.  Despite his anxiety, Severus closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

“Ah,” Hermione’s voice was soft, but there was so much wonder in that soft breath of a word, that Severus could feel his pulse begin to race.

“Ah, indeed,” Severus replied, his voice catching slightly as he opened his eyes again and looked at her with a mixture of sadness and longing.

“Oh, Severus, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Hermione said, her voice slightly husky.

“I…am not good with words,” Severus replied numbly, feeling almost as though the words were being said from outside of himself.

Are we really speaking about the same thing?

“I thought…Minerva said…she said you’d never…”

“Never what?” Severus could feel his voice go gravelly as he struggled to swallow the lump that had mysteriously appeared in his throat.

“That no one could compare to the one you lost, so it was a fool’s errand to try,” Hermione said, taking her hand back and looking away from him.

Severus stared at her for a long moment.  And then, a tiny giggle escaped his lips, growing until he was practically roaring with a hysterical, uncontrollable sort of laughter.

“She said that I….Merlin’s pants, that’s…that’s…the most…ludicrous…” he gasped and suddenly he could feel all of the doubt and the anxiety drain from his body as though it had seeped from the soles of his dragonhide boots. It was time. He would tell her. “Hermione…this is how I feel about you.”

Threading his fingers through her wild, curly hair, he leaned down and kissed her.

[destination-of-fate]

(English) Interview with Soraru, Mafumafu, and Satou Tatsuo on the production of “Kaidoku Funou”

Original interview here After the Rain sat down with director Satou Tatsuo to discuss the production of the anime Atom: The Beginning’s opening theme “Kaidoku Funou” for the website Natalie.mu. They spoke about the music, lyrics, and the ways in which Director Satou asked them to include things or change parts of their song. It was a really interesting read so I went ahead and translated it. Please let me know if you spot any typos or inaccuracies (especially since I’m not very familiar with ATB or Astro Boy), and I hope you enjoy! :)

Soraru: We were allowed to observe some of the recording for the anime earlier, and I believe that what they recorded today was an anime-original story, right? I didn’t remember it from any of the manga that I read. Satou: That’s right. It’s centered around the manga’s story, but there are quite a lot of original parts as well. Soraru: I’m looking forward to seeing what the original episodes will be like. For the two of you in After the Rain, what were your impressions after reading the manga version of “Atom: The Beginning”? Soraru: It was really good. It’s been a long time since I read “Astro Boy,” so I only have bits and pieces of it that I remember, but in “Beginning” there’s names throughout it like “A106” and such that foreshadow the events of “Astro Boy.” The setting isn’t too futuristic, but it’s more like a future that’s within reach, and I liked how it gradually connected things to the story that we are already familiar with. Also, A106 is really cute. Mafumafu: Since we’re responsible for this anime’s opening theme, rather than just reading the story, I tried to understand the mental state of each main character as I read the manga. I felt that I needed to figure out what their personalities were like first. As for A106, when I read one certain scene, I thought, “They have an almost human-like sense of self here.” I made sure not to miss things like that as I read through it. Satou: I said this when I spoke with Fujisaku (Junichi)-san who is in charge of series composition, but for Umatarou and Hiroshi, I feel that I want to draw their best times together. Eventually more distance will grow between them until they’re the Dr. Tenma and Professor Ochanomizu in “Astro Boy,” but I think the time they spend together in “Beginning” is really nice. What did you guys think of Tenma Umatarou and Ochanomizu Hiroshi? Soraru: I feel like the two of them were always aiming for something that seemed similar, but was actually different. It’s like they believe they share the same thinking, but in reality it’s different, or something like that. Hiroshi says he “wants to create a friend,” and Tenma says he “wants to create a God.” Even if they create the same kind of thing, the way they do it and their thinking behind it is different most of the time (laughs). It’s the same with music. You bounce ideas off each other and run into conflicts. Sometimes you get in fights with each other too. The future for those two characters was probably a result of them being unable to deal with that kind of stuff. Mafumafu-san was nodding his head a lot while he listened to you just now (laughs). Mafumafu: Eh?! (laughs) Well, I think that’s true. We’re not exactly the same as those two characters in the manga, but we do have disagreements like they do (laughs). I read the manga while really feeling like, “Ah, yeah, I get that.” But with pairs like that, I feel like it might be a bit better to have differing opinions on some things, rather than completely agreeing on everything. Mafumafu: That’s true. Complete agreement isn’t everything, and I think a relationship where you can stimulate each other’s minds is a good thing. So while I look at Umatarou and Hiroshi and think, “How nice,” I’ve also been thinking, “They’re definitely going to have problems a lot later on,” ever since I read the first volume (laughs). Satou: Well, they both tend to do whatever they want (laughs). Right now they both have the same objective of completing the AI called “Bewußtsein,” and Umatarou is the type to open up new paths while Hiroshi organizes things, so they have different roles like that, which I think makes them a pretty good combination. I think relationships where both sides are jealous of the other person’s abilities are quite nice. Director, have you ever had someone who was like both a partner and a rival? Satou: Not really. I’ve pretty much always been a loner (laughs). I’d like to ask Mafumafu-san to describe the lyrics and music that he wrote for the opening theme “Kaidoku Funou.” Mafumafu: Anime theme songs aren’t like normal songs, and they’re difficult, but that’s what makes them fun. Though this makes it sound a bit casual, when you have a big drawing board with endless possibilities, you can draw whatever you want, right? But when you’re told, “Please draw it like this,” it’s fun to cram everything you can do into a single sheet in a way that doesn’t stray from the limited outline you’re given, and I think that’s work worth doing. In particular, what parts are difficult?

Mafumafu: For an anime’s opening song, you have to make it so that an intro, development, climax, and resolution all fit within 89 seconds. Then you have to work on the rest of the song so that it matches that part. With the robots that appear in “Atom: The Beginning,” it has something like a steampunk feel to it. You have to first choose sounds that don’t get in the way of that type of world-building, and that kind of thing takes a lot of thought. Since there were fight scenes in the manga as I was reading it, I thought, “There will probably be fight scenes in the anime around the time the song gets to the chorus, so I should improve the beat here so that it’s easier to attach to scenes with movement.” That’s the kind of thing I get to decide. So to some extent, you picture the visuals in your mind while you make the song. Could you tell us about the lyrics? You spoke earlier about “reading the manga so that you can understand the characters’ emotions.” Mafumafu: In the second verse, there’s the line, “Why do I raise my voice if it will never reach anyone,” but that used to be in the first verse. That change actually came from the director’s instruction himself. Satou: That’s right. In the start of the anime, A106 isn’t speaking with the assumption that anyone will hear them. They only ever speak the words that they’re programmed to. I even instructed Inoue (Yuuki)-kun who voices A106 to “speak each word flatly, one after another” for that part. Mafumafu: He told me, “In the first stages of the story, A106 can’t yet imagine that they’ll ever say, ‘My voice will never reach anyone.’” That’s why I moved it to the second verse. The first verse now begins with the more obscure line, “Even though the transparent sky should have looked blue to me.” Soraru: They don’t yet have a “self” in the first verse’s lyrics, but by the end it finishes with a hint of, “Maybe they’ve developed a bit of awareness now?” I feel like the lyrics gradually develop more and more emotion. Satou: I told them that I wanted the song to begin from when A106 did not yet have a consciousness. The manga begins with them acting consciously, but I spoke with the original author Kasahara (Tetsuro)-san about the anime, and we believe it starts before that part. It is the beginning of “Atom: The Beginning” after all. I asked for them to please reflect that fact in the song’s lyrics. Is it common for you to make requests from the artists like that for their theme songs? Satou: It depends on the timing and the artists themselves. If the scheduling behind the whole thing is too packed and you don’t have any time, you often meet them (the theme song’s artists) for the first time at the post-production party. For this opening I only asked for something “fast-paced,” and I just wanted them to write something first. But then as they were working on it, we ended up saying, “Let’s have a meeting about it,” and there we were able to talk face-to-face. So you were able to have a real meeting on the topic. Was there anything else that you talked about? Satou: I feel like we spoke about this same topic for the entire time. Soraru: Yes, we discussed the lyrics a lot. Satou: I also made some requests for the pretitle (parts before the main title). First of all, there are pretitle parts before the opening song that introduce the story. There are also some set pretitles in “Beginning” that don’t change. Ran narrates some explanatory parts, like, “After the great disaster, robots began to flourish.” I suggested that it would sound really good if the long intro could be connected to the anime’s opening, and they responded, “We can do that.” So while anime openings are typically 89 seconds long, they also created a 120 second version as well. So the pretitle BGM is the intro, and it connects to the opening song itself. Satou: There are some episodes that use the 89 second version, so there are 2 different kinds in total. I see. Do the two of you in After the Rain, as the creators of its OP theme, have any messages you’d like to convey to readers who will be watching the anime? Soraru: All I can say regarding the anime is that I’m looking forward to watching it too, as a fellow viewer. But I would definitely like for people to watch shows that we’ve been involved with. I didn’t write the song so I feel like I can say that it was written with lots and lots of thought put into it, and it’s really cool, so I hope everyone listens to it. Mafumafu: You might discover new things if you listen to our song again after having watched the anime. I tried to write the song to include that fun aspect to it. As the director, what impressions does “Kaidoku Funou” leave you with? Satou: The lyrics look at the “self” and ask, “Where am I going to proceed from here?” They took this perpetual theme for humans and summarized it into something simple, and I think it’s a great song. When you have a song written for an anime, sometimes you have cases of, “I ordered something, but nothing happened.” However, they were very sincere as they worked on this song. Thank you for that. Soraru: Thank you very much! Satou: If you reflect an anime’s story and themes very directly in the song, it actually has the reverse effect of making it seem more distant sometimes. However, in “Kaidoku Funou” there’s the perfect sense of distance when expressing the anime’s feeling and the overall mood. That's why I hope that people who listen to this song will have even more things come to mind regarding the anime and the original work, or they can simply enjoy the music as well. The opening animation is currently being produced, but we’ll have to do our best to make the art live up to the song itself.

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLEOPATRA. It’s extremely rare for an applicant to convince me they’re the right person for the role before I even get to their in-character writing, but Lia, you did just that. You made it abundantly clear from the beginning just how well you understand Calina, and because she’s a rather hard character to nail down, it was so refreshing to read. Your interview and sample were lovely, but what really sealed the deal was the drabble you posted on your mockblog; it was short and sweet, but it packed quite a punch in terms of characterization, and I loved it. I trust you’ll do our Queen of Spades justice. Welcome to DiVerona! Your request to change her faceclaim to Aisha Hart has also been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

                                                                          WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lia

Age | 21+

Preferred Pronouns | she/her they/them

Activity Level | 8-10/10 I can usually be around every day. ATM I’m slightly busier than usual since I’m the most mobile person available (my parents both just had hip replacements) but that should be easing off within the next couple of weeks.

Timezone | GMT

In Character

Character | Cleopatra, Calina Sokolova. FCwise Aiysha Hart (or any actor fc of your preference tbh? the only reason I’m requesting an FC change is my discomfort with fcs who aren’t known for playing characters, so apologies for that)

What drew you to this character? | Well, first of all I’ll have to mention what drew me to the roleplay (as though this is a legacy interview and you’ve instead asked about my six ex-husbands). Since fruition I have been lurking diverona, with every intention to apply. I have watched my favourite potentials be claimed by much more talented and capable writers- and it has brought a lot of strange feeling; obvious annoyance that I couldn’t apply at the time, and ridiculous gratitude that I’d get to see them all come to life in such a beautiful setting. I’ve vaguely mentioned the reasons in my Activity Level section, but suffice to say it was always beyond my control to apply here before now. I could have, but never would have been able to guarantee activity or dedicate myself in the way this roleplay and all of the members deserve. At the very beginning of my rp experience, I adminned and was member of an rp where we only wrote lengthy paras, but there were merely a handful of us for a core group of two plus years, meaning not a lot of major plots or developments were able to happen. Imagine my delight to find an rp with similar essence and many more characters for lives to be tangled in. Diverona is an Oasis. And so my longing had settled soundly on Cleopatra. Unfortunately the timing still wasn’t optimum, and once again I pressed my nose to glass and stared in. It feels almost fated, to my mind, that she is available for application. For whether I am accepted or not, this is an opportunity I have been granted. (Also s/o to Minnie for encouraging me to take it)

As for the actual question, I will have to admit that it has been a long time since I have written anyone who could be considered with heart tainted to the evils of the world, to desperation, like Cleopatra has experienced. My characters of choice seem to, these days, always be the innocents and the gold of heart. Calina is one of those, and still she is not. She has layers and layers of memories and identities and vulnerabilities all hidden behind the titanium of her mind. Her heart is gentle but fierce, fluttering as a hummingbird in her chest at the idea she could return to that vision of bright star in someone’s life- as she was for her mother. And yet her ribs have caged it in very purposefully, her skeleton demanded to action (as a more brutal ally) by that cunning mind. She is both a mess of contradictions, and not. A contradiction in itself. There is softness to the way she appears, relief in her freedom, but only hardness renders her as survivor, commander. Even in her role as advisor she must be both strong, steadfast in the face of changeable tides, and delicate, willing to accept when her course of action can not continue, withdraw from conflict herself. There is no room for anything but brain. Her blood may call out for anything it desires, that which stems from the heart or the throat; revenge, violence, acceptance, union; none of it finds sanctuary in her plans for Faron, for the Spades. She is indifferent to her own motivations, dedicated to their cause. She is not heartless, and truly those who claim to be are always the ones who fail, they have underestimated their enemy their ally. Her heart is of use because it has been targeted time and time again by sorrow, and she has melded it for better use- it is not untouchable, but it is proof of her ability to rise triumphant (heart bruised but beating) from the remains of the beasts that would try to tear it apart. She knows better than most that subtle, gentle things (creeping illness and whispers of doubt) can tear your world apart instead.

To me she is incredibly multi-faceted, with room for every version of her to take centre stage at some point- to be given credence. And what more could be asked of a character, a person, but to allow opportunity to get to know them for their strengths and their weaknesses- even if hers are gripped tight in hand and revealed with a flourish, settled before her enemies as though a ruse. Try if you dare.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

[Paradise Circus] This is such a basic thing, but I just can’t wait to see Calina’s interactions with everyone. I’ve mentioned that she’s very detached and logical in her plans, so I could absolutely see her able to maintain relationships with people she would willingly sacrifice. It’s just war. They may be on opposite sides, but that does not need to permeate their very beings in such visible ways as spite or ignorance. It will be a real test to see if she is able to befriend someone or develop some sort of feeling about them, before removing herself from the thought of it completely when the success of the Spades deems it necessary.

[Dirty Whirl] When browsing the locations page I have wondered time and time again on what her thoughts are on The Dark Lady. I’d really appreciate being able to explore whether it’s an uneasy reminder of her past, or how she feels about the treatment of employees there, even if she would return to her old career if it were to benefit some plan. If that is the one limit she would set in her loyalty to their cause.

[Lift the Curse] ‘Brutal and gentle things alike have always left a bitter taste in her mouth…’ and I can utterly understand her motivations in that; how they remind her with such punctuation of her past lives, of her own suffering. And while I feel that is of such significance to her, I also wonder whether her thoughts will change, whether she will push herself to check if she can avoid reacting to them. Calina doesn’t like having any tells but feels she is most likely to show her hand in this case, with her immediate distaste for these extremes of character. When faced with Trinity or Maeve or anyone so firm in form, I want to see her thought process and her interactions with them developing, to a point where I can actually answer whether this is something concrete and unchangeable for her.

[The Boxer] Calina doesn’t get her hands dirty. She had far too much of that with her previous occupation, with the grime she could never quite wash away, and the stains upon her ghost. She had to be more than capable of it, however, with the life she lived. She’s only ever played at being submissive, so it stands to reason that she has confidence in her own physicality as well. Another simple idea, but I’d like to see her in training when it isn’t just about her mind; when she might be preparing herself for the worst case scenarios. After all, she can take care of herself but doesn’t usually have to.

In Depth

I hope it’s alright but I imagined the questions as taking place at different times with different people.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “My favourite place in Verona” the words curl thoughtfully from her lips, the hint of a secret behind them. She is relaxed back into the leather chair, body soft, no angles about her.And though her elbow is propped against the arm of the chair, her wrist curves fluidly, fingertips grazing through the air, an artist with her brush relaying words. She thinks of the obvious answer, the one she knows in her bones as well as heart, the Cathedral. A lifetime passes behind her eyes as she recalls every association to her mother; the way she had whispered to the crook of Calina’s neck as she tucked her in ‘oh how I prayed for you’, the sunlight that seemed cast from heaven itself to spill across the woman’s face and lighten her in near-death ‘you have your faith and I have mine’, the sound of Calina’s words tearing from her throat in the abandoned church in Novosibirsk ‘We are all our own gods’ as the very reason for her repeated visits to the Cathedral. No matter that she didn’t believe, when it would honour her mother’s choices instead. The lifetime passes but is not betrayed in time. The perceived secret allowed only seconds to be shaped by her. “Well” she leans forward just a tad, coquettish grin on her face as her gaze scatters, both eager and uncertain of sharing such a story. The enticed and trusting tourist, with inhibitions cast away as holiday allowance. “if you promise it’s between us.” She shakes her head, sinks back in retreat, moves forward again, hand lifted and settled into her lap. All in the blink of an eye. Go on, ask me again. Force my hand. The grin is eaten by presumed uncertainty and the curve of her mouth, lips flexing and dropping, a glance at the pearls her secret is shielded behind. Pretty girl, food for the wolf. “I’d have to say the Tempest Lounge.” Oh it’s unbearable for this tentative youth, so enamoured by the interest and terrified the words might betray a scandal. Calina brings her voice to a hushed whisper, shifting her full body forward now, palms pressed against knees or brushing hair behind her ear in furious submission. “I hope that isn’t a terrible answer?” her gaze fixates on the speaker for just a second, confirmation sought, before she casts it down to her hands. “I mean, nothing too salacious has happened when I’ve been there.” her voice returns to a more reasonable volume, “And certainly I’ve never .. I wouldn’t be involved in anything so.. but I have heard rumours.” Her hands twist together, and she watches the reflection of the sun in her rings, the light of virtue. “I didn’t realise when I went first of all, so please don’t think that’s what appealed to me. I just..” a sigh of defeat, she’s making this worse. “It almost seemed the heartbeat of the city, with it’s bold lights and sounds. It made me feel less alone, less scared somehow. There’s always someone wherever you look. I really..” the tiniest huff of inhalation through her nostrils, bolstering herself against having admitted too much, this girl this dove. “I really hope my answer doesn’t reflect badly on me.”

What does your typical day look like? | “A typical day, hmm?” she tends to repeat questions back, confirmation she has been listening, fuel for the ego as way to ingratiate herself. “Shall we start with waking?” she reclines against the desk chair, busying herself with tugging her sleeves back. All business. And still she waits for confirmation, when this is not intended as negotiation- the interviewer is there for guidance and she is there for declaration. “Alright then,” she nods firmly, wrapping her hands against the arms of the chair before she continues, “I seem to have a habit of waking five minutes before my alarm.” A crease of forehead, the tensing of eyes, “Most unfortunate if you ask me, for now I’m stuck with the question of what would happen if I simply didn’t set the alarm. Would I awake as usual, body expectant of the noise? or would I be left to sleep in peace, only to later find out that I’ve wasted part of the day?” Her right pointer finger taps against the chair, the root of emphasis. A break between speaking. “And then of course there’s breakfast, rather a dull tale I’m afraid.” She corrects the straightened posture, though it has barely slipped, head inclined to the right, offering herself in half-profile to her questioner. Her lips purse mildly, expression neutral as she clutches at significant details to relay. She turns back after a moment, lips slipping from plumpness to an awkward flattening, enquiry written across her brow. “I suppose I’ll have to blanket the ideas as touristy things, when really every day I take in another sight. Not so familiar yet with the best places to spend my time.” The roll of her fingers tapping against the chair arms in order, left to right, covers the noise of exhalation as her face settles to neutrality again. “In the evenings I like to find a new eatery to try for dinner. Thankfully there’s been no true disasters yet.” The profferred facade spends the rest of the time offering the most vague overviews of the night prior to returning to her hotel room. Calina Sokolova finds joy in the idea the questioner is more bored by her answers than she is, which seems to be an incredible feat. She might never have been able to answer the question truthfully anyhow, when every day seems as different and as similar as the one before. They have not fully stepped into the breach, and still she can not call any day typical. Perhaps she could mention her morning coffee with Faron, or the way she checks in with someone new every night to subtly question them on Boris, or how she buys a single flower from the market every day and drops it from Castelvecchio by the set of the sun. Except she’s already telling so much of herself in her answers, it is not her fault that they can not see.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? | “Oh goodness, hit me with the hard one why dontcha” she slaps at the table, the noise reverberating in unison with her laughter. Her eyes light upon the neutral expression of the asker and perceive it as something more. Laughter subsides and energy dissipates. “Now darlin’ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all upset. It’s just a bit surreal to me, ya know?” The hand that had slapped the table is led to touch it once again, this time fingers unfolding and laying flat against the wood, gliding forward in direction of the interviewer with soothing stokes of motion. “I’m here for ye if ye wanna talk about it, ‘course I am. It’s just my momma warned me about it, she didn’t want me to come here at all..” Eyes widen in sincerity, those fingerlengths tapping against the desk. “So what a fine fool I was to ignore her. Thought it was all a bunch of hooha. And then i get here and well.. you know the rest.” Her accent is still tinged as stereotypical Eastern European, but coated with a Southern lilt most likely learned from television. It’s sloppy with intent, for had she meant to pass herself off as some Southern Belle she would have done so. While the listener will question her origins and authenticity, they may not question her sincerity. “God have mercy on all their souls.” The question is not novel, but somehow still leads her to be thoughtful, long after she has left the room. Her thoughts thus far on the topic having been we will use it. She hasn’t particularly considered what she actually thinks of the war beyond how it can benefit the Spades.

In-Character Para Sample: tw for allusion to abuse, prostitution

He comes in with mouth wide and teeth bared, desperate to sink the grimiest venemous parts of himself into her, as though the balm for all his ails. She comes to hours later with purple blossoming and bones sinking to water. It is in submerging herself, with lungs burning more intensely than any other ache, that she can finally let herself wake. Calina. The moon is out still, resplendent in freedom, and she stretches her hand to it. “You’re late for shift Calina” the frantic voice of her …coworker? the frantic voice of her ..cellmate batters against her heart, jumping the rhythm and fraying her nerves, as knuckles batter against the bathroom door. Her fort breached with a warning She turns her back to the moon, afraid to gaze upon it or she will be transfixed. Scrambles to robe herself instead.

Every footstep against the stairs echoes with the force of a wardrum, or so it seems to a head so tender. In truth she is the most graceful of dancers, gentle and light in her descent. It could be that her head has prepared her for the noise, the ringing reverberations of Marda’s shriek in her ear. The one that joins the hand tugging at her hair and pulling it from scalp, the signal that she is late. “They have hands to put to use” is her reply, even when she knows it will earn her (and does) a mark of wild red across her face, and stars against her eyes. She can be grateful for the stars at least, the thought of their fellowship with she and the moon. And now she has an excuse even further than the last beast she has not recovered from. This most recent beast, the one of her choosing, has her wrist caught in vice. Calina tugs her arm away, “Marda” with name she can defeat it as Rumpelstiltskin, if only for a moment. Her hand drops to the delicate bow of her robe, just as jarringly misplaced as she, and she pulls in spite of the twinge of pain. The robe falls open, for she will not tear it asunder, and reveals her naked flesh beneath. “You may cover my face but not this.” the words lie heavy in their logic, that most of the time her face does not matter, she needs no identity.

—

It is a full hour before Marda’s grudge against her has waned enough to invoke sense. The madame bites the words and chews them before they are spat at her employee. “Swap with Yuliya, she’s not showing yet.” It is of little consequence when Marda finally permits her exit. For Calina could have easily conducted her business during her shift. Still, it settles much easier in her head as a certainty, when she has a particular assistant in mind. She is draped in wool and cotton, high neck and long sleeves to cover as much skin as possible. It may not be as questionable as she likes, so she continues to tug at her sleeves and pull them further, forming the temporary habit with every step toward the bar. She reaches the door and mentally checks the contents of her pocket, determining she has enough for one drink to nurse. She can make it last for an hour or two, secure in the idea he will appear before then. Still she lingers in the cold outside, gaze stretched to meet that of a patron or two behind the glass. It doesn’t take more than minute for one of them to open the door and guide her in. A test of her persuasion before the task. He buys her a drink and she adds two hours to her clock, just in case.

It is 32 minutes before she sees him enter. Another 16 before she takes to watching him. She isn’t dismayed he has not noticed her, for she has pressed herself against a darkened booth, arm stretching across the table for her drink, the light of the room beyond displaying her skin as the loose sleeve falls at every motion. A full hour has passed before he brushes past her booth to reach the toilets. She settles her half-full glass of vodka and apple just the right amount across the table that her sleeve will drop. Watches the hallway behind her through reflection on the tv screen. He is returning from the bathroom when she stretches her leg out from the booth, forcing him to pause before her foot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise someone was there.” she is still hidden in the booth, but it is he who peeks around the corner to hear her words more clearly. “Calina?” his face lights immediately, and she rewards him with confirmation. “Dima. I did not know you came here.” She doesn’t move except to draw her legs back, does not offer him invitation to sit. Still he lingers, cheeks ruddy and eyes ablaze with delight. They exchange pleasantries, and he offers tale of how often he frequents the bar, expresses confusion she has not seen him there, asks what her plans are for the evening. When sufficient time has passed to ensure he is engaged effectively, she reaches for her glass. The notion of wetting her lips and soothing her voice for the conversation. His gaze has followed every slight motion from her, as though drinking her in, this vision suddenly before him in life as well as fantasy. When her sleeve falls back to reveal the unnatural colours blotching her arm, she glances up to him. He catches her eye and she wrenches a breath from her lips, surprised, while moving swiftly to correct her mistake. She falters in grasping for the glass, almost knocking it over in her haste to cover the offending sight with her sleeve once more. A likely story.

—

When the wolf is declared missing, Calina’s only reaction is to offer Dima first choice of his regular timeslots. There is no business lost due to the clamouring of men Dima introduces her to. Three years later surprise registers when one such man does not want her for body, but offers identity instead. Faron Vasiliev is her reward for never strictly using the words ‘I want him dead’. She is his reward for ambition.

Extras: I didn’t have a chance to get to this til late, so if I do have any extras they will be posted here. Thank you so much.

[atopiarp]

site guide

Joining

We have a roster of diverse characters in our story and we’re always looking to expand. If you’ve read over our information outlining the group and found yourself interested, then this is your first to stop to begin joining the group. We’re looking for people who are interested in writing, creating, and growing. If you can’t handle criticism or have a hard time keeping up with timely posting or if communication is at all an issue for you—we’re probably not the group for you. If none of those things are an issue for you, then let’s jump right into it! You’ll need to familiarize yourself with some of our terminology, words like “vessel” and “normal” and “synth,” or “senate.” In a separate location on our content page there is a listing with all organizations and functions of world building - it’s called “lore.” Be sure to read the lore in order to better understand the world of Atopia. Once you read everything and have a basic understanding ( I want to be clear that you don’t have to understand everything like the back of your hand. ) you should shoot us a message on our admin page, which is also linked in the navigation.

If there are any questions you have that you were unable to find in our content we have an open door atmosphere, we encourage anyone to come to us with their questions. No question is a dumb question. If you think you’re familiar with some of the words and understand the basics, try to check out our wanted ads. If one of those characters strike your fancy, message us about their availability. We stand by another policy: all roles are up for negotiation, meaning that you may request face changes or gender changes, as well as differences in personality and so on. We do not wholly expect everyone to play them to the “T” to how they are written. It’s very likely that we’ll encourage you to make the character your own and add or change whatever you feel fits your vision or muse for the character.

Probational Period

In Atopia all members that are new or have just joined are immediately placed on a one week probationary period. Meaning, we expect them to be into a thread or writing as their character within a week. We attempt to maintain a specific activity standard due to the amount of care and passion our more generous writers within the group have. This probationary period is a standard week from the time the person joins the group or is listed as being a member - until the seventh day at midnight. What we expect: we would love to see any sort of contribution. The probationary period ends after the first week. New members can abide this policy by writing a muse post, communicating daily in the group chat or group activities, or reaching out to members to get plots moving and a single thread posted.

Activity Standards

As a group our plot is very fast paced. We tend to have members who write or reply daily to their threads. We are however, very, understanding of our member’s schedules and real life happenings. If a member needs to take a week or two away, a single notice is all that we request to one of the admins. A notice or any sort of communication regarding the absence. Once the notice is given the member is exempt from resignation for the allotted time discussed between the absent member and the admin whom was given the notice. The truth is, members who tend to be more active within the group usually have more from the group. They have the better stories, the most development and are most connected to each character. Their stories tend to flourish and thrive and due to this, they are promoted more in promotional material. Not out of favoritism but simply because of the amount of effort they’ve contributed. It becomes clear to the admins within the week probationary period which new members have come to write, and which are there to chit-chat solely. We have no issue with small-talk, status-play or comment-back-and-forths, whatsoever. We do STRESS that our main story happens within our group forum and members are highly expected to post in threads actively each week. There is a two-week probationary period on all seasoned members at all times. If a notice isn’t given and a member has become absent, they are liable for removal after a two-week period.

To help you better understand why we have these guidelines for activity standards — We pride ourselves on being a group of writers first. We, as a group have always put writing first, and likely will continue to do so. We chit-chat, we share ideas, we converse out of character and we befriend one another; we chat about gaming, movies, television shows, etc. If in no way this hinders our ability to contribute. We do not mind being friendly, social or contributing to that circle; if anything we encourage our members to connect with one another and develop that chemistry.

Writing Format & Style

Atopia is a group that is based on forum-style writing. We have our admin account for help, aid, and communicating with potential new members. Our main writing occurs within the group in the group section of the site. Our group is used as a one-column, all-necessary information hub with the forum attached to the navigation. All of our canon, main story threads are archived publicly to other members, in our forum. This can all be accessed by those who have been invited or have joined the group. If you’re new to forum-style writing, don’t be afraid; someone within the group will without a doubt help you get more familiar and comfortable with it. The pros of hosting our threads in the forum for all members to read is that our story becomes more immersive. The world tends to feel more organic when writers can thoroughly enjoy the avenues and journey of their peers. We tend to love every character in the group as much as our own and follow their journeys equally. This allows us to really gain a full scope of the Atopian story and world.

Members are able to plot privately or publicly in our group chat. Most of our plots are member plotted, which means you are likely depended on to conceive your own plots and story path within the group. If at all you find this is difficult for you, members or admins within the group who are seasoned will help you without a doubt. We encourage you, once again, if at all you find yourself having trouble to message an admin! We love to help, we enjoy it really. If you get stuck on a plot with another member, message us! Main Plot

Our group is somewhat of a sandbox style role-play with an overall mega-plot in mind. Our main plot centers on the “vessel vs. government” struggle. Most—if not all—characters are tied to this conflict in some way, shape or form. Some characters who are more seasoned become reliant on their character-to-character connections for most of their present plots. ( this is the dramatic story telling of - he said, she said - which then creates ripples and so on ) We usually find ourselves plotting event-driven plots, or personal-driven plots. An event driven plot is when a single event triggers multiple characters to be in the same place at the same time, or react to a specific event equally. This helps connect characters. Personal driven plots are when person A goes to person B about what person C did or said. Which could cause person A to trigger an event plot via his/her actions.

Our main plot stands as an outline, a foundation for what our story overall has become. People in this world now have abilities, how do you react? What do you do? Does your power change who you are? Does it make you better or worse as a person? Where do you go from here? Are you being hunted, by who, for what reason? In addition to our main plot, we have seasonal plots.

Season Plot

A season is a time period that stalls over the group as a whole. It’s a mega-plot, and it replaces the main plot for the group for a specific time period. The season plot is usually a very wide-spread sort of plot that affects every character equally and forces them to react. It can be several events or a single event, usually changing the world as a whole as it concludes. Season plots happen in spaced time-frames. There will never be a season immediately following a prior season, members will be allowed a grace period between seasons.

In this grace period, we refer back to the main plot to write our stories. So, to sum it up, if there is a season in effect - we write that plot as a whole. If there is no season, we write according to the main plot. Every plot, whether season or main, are expected to contribute to the group or characters involved in some way. Whether to worldbuild, or character develop.

Character Types & Classes

So, we begin our breakdown of what our classifications are at this point and what sort of characters we expect or desire out of our interested party. If you’ve managed to read our “lore” section you’ll find that there are three known classifications in terms of where people align within Atopia: Vessel, Normal, Synth. So, let’s go over each one of these.

A Vessel is a person, any person, who has gained abilities through whatever means. Typically, most characters inherit their abilities on a genetic level. There is no specific age in which they acquire them; only that most do so before the age of fifty-or-so. There have been plots that outline exactly how or when people began inheriting abilities. If a reader is interested in that summary, please message the admin account for further information!

The Vessel genetic began to develop almost eighty years ago from our current timeline when a radical new disease called Hitchken’s Illness began to spread, altering the anatomy of those it infected. From that point on, it was stated that those with abilities would continue to evolve per generation. A person capable of fire abilities would go from lighting a torch to burning an entire building as natural evolution occurred with the species.

To this date this is no sure way to treat the Vessel and rid him/her of their abilities. Early on Hitchken’s Illness faded and the term “Vessel” replaced those infected, until eventually the scientific community dismissed it altogether as illness. Instead choosing to refer to it as a chain of evolution.

A Normal is any person without supernatural gifts. While about 65% of the population are Normals, they are considered mostly the minority by the newer, younger generation. Studies have shown that Normals will be replaced entirely within the next twenty years or so, as the rapidly increasing population of Vessels continue to take root in society. The common Normal is quite mad, or in fear of their species being generic, basic or going extinct.

There have no doubt been talks on the media outlets of Normals being “outdated” lifeforms as Vessels continue to take footing. This has sprung forth a plethora of Vessel-only jobs in the occupational market, further fueling protests and riots; however, most Normals still live as they would in a world without Vessels. It’s quite common for Normals to commit crime, same as a Vessel would, or even want to defend themselves with different weaponry: guns, knives, etc.

This brings us to a Synth. In fear of being outdated or left behind, technology has given Normals an answer to their fear -- synthetic upgrades. This allows a Normal to become a Vessel via technological implants. Synths aren’t just those who use technology to gain strength, torches, speed, etc. It’s the people who depend on it to live. Those with implants behind their eyes to cure blindness, or ears for deafness. Synths have various categorization, mostly depending on whether or not it's a lethal Synth or a dependent Synth.

Metal arms, legs, etc. Any sort of prosthetic is still enough to consider a person a Synth. In recent times the government has taken a lot of interested in Synths - in the story.

Alignments & Organizations

Here we’re going to be breaking down each organization within the story and the different sides that all play a vital part.

Government

The governing body of Atopia is known as The Senate. It is a council board of corporate leaders in the world. Each seat, which there are seven of, hold a percentage of distribution of wealth in Atopia; together they collectively are the most powerful, wealthiest people on the planet. They make every decision regarding the longevity of Atopia life, safety and policy. Beneath them are handfuls of politicians and senators who enact a specific role in the branch of government whether for judicial purposes, marketing realestate, distribution of consumer products, food, social technology or arms and safety.

A team of senators are employed by the council of the Senate to govern over the societal systems in each city: a team for Yorkshire, Hazel, etc.

Beneath these senators are the law firms, and multiple branches of enforcement.

This is where EXO and the PD come into play. For Normal related crime there is the casual PD; a policing department. They handle most commonly known crimes, bribes, thieves, grand theft, domestic disputes -- however, if the crime reported involves a Vessel, EXO takes control of the scene.

EXO is a branch of law enforcement that specifically handles all Vessel related crimes; the illegal use of abilities, etc. In the world of Atopia, all Vessels must be documented and their power recorded for safety purposes. A method referred to by protesters as “tagging” as if Vessels are animals. Documenting Vessels is done via a chip inserted into the body of the Vessel which alerts EXO whenever a person’s ability is being strained or overused. This warrants a patrol to appear and question the use of the ability. Aside from tagging, EXO agents also investigate murders involving abilities as well as hunt untagged down. It’s is generally their primary focus.

Which brings us to NEST, a government funded off-book surveillance / intelligence organization. NEST was founded almost twenty - or - so years ago with the idea of being a general intelligence agency. Their goal is to monitor the world as it changes and document the various unique abilities of Vessels. They are the first line of defense against threats similar to that of Abel from season one. NEST is led by twelve council members, some of which have even sat on the Senate.

NEST, has at its disposal the world’s greatest technology which allows it to be connected to the Grid on a pure observant level. The Grid is a super-computer-connected system that relays 90% of the power to technological powered systems in the cities. Traffic lights, cash registers, banks, automated gates, or civilian systems, etc. NEST, has various branches within its organization; that of data analyzing, ability documentation, profiling, investigative services, as well as geologists who are dedicated to the origin of Hitchken’s Illness and its connection with Aypos, the lost continent. ( which can be read in our setting section via the navigation )

Finally, the last organization worth mentioning is Blackwell. At some point early in Atopia’s history, Blackwell was an organization that turned out children Vessels into assassins with the intent of performing tasks to secure the Atopian society or government. They were a specific line of defense. However, that program was terminated and covered up. Blackwell subsequently became Blackwell Holdings, a front, a financial company. Further information about each of these can be found in our “lore” section.

Corporate Atopia

Let’s get into some of the companies that are connected to the Senate. Keeping in mind that the Senate are the top wealthiest company owners in the world, beneath them are the very companies they own.

Vylon Foundation

The Vylon Foundation, founded by Abraham Vylon over seventy-or-so years ago was once one of the largest distributors of common technology. At a point in time, they were the only source of technology; everything from phones, cars, and even traffic signal lights were manufactured by the Foundation. Once Abraham passed away the company was handed down to his son Benjamin, and eventually to Lauden prior to being imprisoned in which then it was handed to Layal, his sister. Who is the current CEO of the company. As it stands now, the Foundation is very low in the totem pole in standing with the Senate, even so much as close to losing their spot on the board to newer and more expanding companies, like Stryker Industries.

Stryker Industries

A tech-based company similar to that of the Vylon Foundation, however more specifical handles arms dealings - supplying local law enforcement rather than solely EXO, as the Foundation had been doing. Stryker has bought up quite the reputation with the local community of Normals, even so much as being used upon the tongues of protesters against Vessel-related companies and occupations. Stryker Industries was formerly ran by chairman, Carter Stryker but was purchased by a mysterious benefactor, who has allowed Carter to remain in a position of power as the face of the company. Moving forward, Stryker Industries is in quite the position to make a move for a Senate seat.

Porter Tech

A pharmaceutical company, leading in the distribution of medication in the medical market. Porter Tech, formerly in the tech running race same as Stryker and Vylon made their switch to primarily sell to the medical field some years ago under the handle of a prior CEO. Now, with Sidonia Porter running her family’s empire she intends to buy up as much space in the medical market as possible to privatize the sells of specific brands, forcing the common consumer to purchase Porter distributed medication only. This ingenious move has led the Porter family right into a Senate seat of their own, pushing the competition out. Sidonia has been described as cut-throat and ruthless in business negotiations. 

Society & Atmosphere

Atopia isn’t much different from Earth. It can be described as a somewhat 90’s inspired architectural concept with technology from the post-era. Perhaps, technology at its current level of growth but in the year 2030. Fashion on Atopia varies from black leather and futuristic design to common 2000’s fashion. Food is similar, if not the same, and days, months, years still occur in the same cycle. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, etc. — Those are all correct measures of times. There aren’t however, nations or different ethnical backgrounds—most simply consider each other, Atopia.

Music is the same as it is in Earth and it’s common for writers to mention songs from our modern era in the real world, placing them into Atopia. Actress and film industries still exist as do animals and preserves for them; most of those laws are still intact too. It works best to assume that Atopia is a version of Earth itself. If there is something you’re not sure about, but insist on adding or contributing to our world - please message the admin! We’re very open to any sort of additions that help make our world come to life further.

Most Atopians have switched to a more mobile form of currency, using their embedded chip within their arms, or eyes to check-out at registers using digital or virtual account space. Typically displayed via an augmentation in their eyes, depending on their implant. This, since considered a societal norm, is not considered a Synth implant.

Much like Earth there are also sports, and games - football, baseball, etc. Feel free to state things in your character or post that use these simple tools of worldbuilding.

Setting & Development

If you haven’t had the chance to check out our “setting” section on our content page, you should do so! This is just a more thorough breakdown of how Atopia, the planet, is mapped out. We hope this helps you get a more full and broad understanding of just what Atopia is.

Atopia, because it has no nations and is a single continent, is depicted as having several major cities that act as the source of attraction for its citizens. Each city described in our setting section has a unique history and background as well as plot-position in the story. As the story continues to unfold it’s possible that more locations can be revealed.

These cities are typically spanned hundreds of miles away from one another with roads and smaller towns in between by the thousands. Some of these smaller towns may have history of their own as well. Again, this is the part where we encourage our members to be creative and contribute! Feel free to design a town and throw the concept at the admins.

We welcome more thinking minds to our concept. If you want to add a town or location you feel really contributes to our story and atmosphere, please do so! Don’t be afraid to throw names of towns into your topics or stories without question. We encourage you to add your own twists to our world, the only thing that we ask is that any changes to a solidifies and posted city be discussed with the admins before the change is posted!

Creating A Character

You’ve made it this far in our adventure through the Site Guide. Which finally, finally, brings us to character creation. The whole reason for the guide to begin with. If you’ve read through the lore section, the setting section and managed to make it through this awfully lengthy guide -- and you’re still interested -- let’s begin creating a character.

I think the most important piece of any character is to make sure the muse for this character comes from within and not a trendy tv show. Here’s why, musing from a book or tv show that’s happening right at this moment, tends to create temporary inspiration for a concept. The concept needs to be the inspiration alone. Because if the tv show dies off or gets canceled, and is the sole inspiration for your muse -- your muse tends to die with it. Find a concept that you really relate to, that doesn’t get boring or old too quickly and then begin designing a character. Okay, so let’s start with alignments. Do you see them with EXO? Blackwell, maybe the Senate? Maybe none? Perhaps a Doctor, or some unaffiliated occupation. After this what sort of classification do they have? Are they a Normal? If so, where do they stand in relation to how the general percentage of Normals view Vessels? Do they protest or live peaceful?

Now, what about a Synth? Are they a Synth, if so why? What motivated their augmentation? Maybe they’re a Vessel, what ability do they have if so? Why is that ability good for your character? It’s important to pick a power that may work against them rather than for them. What sort of face are you picturing for this character, and the last and most important question — what’s special about this character? What makes them so important or unique in this world / story? These are all questions that should be within your mind as you venture through the creation process. Ask yourself, if a part of this world can exist with or without this character, how do you insert them to change that? How do you give them relevance? It’s important to try to stand out from the characters already in the group. So be sure to read up on who and what we already have! As always, if you need—any—help at all, message the admins! They’d love to help you in any way possible.

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Dean, 21 Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Timezone: EST Desired Character: Tristan

◆Character Information◆

1. What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?: 

Male, Tristan identifies as heterosexual. This does not mean that this can not change as I am both chemistry and plot driven and so if those things just happen to come with another male character or otherwise, I don’t see why not. At this time though that isn’t entirely likely.

2. Any changes or comments? None.

3. Why this character?

Initially, I was very wary about writing for a character of this kind. He’s rather shallow in my opinion and I am someone who appreciates depth and finds myself comfortable in it. Despite this, I gave him a try and found some common ground for us to relate on. This is a new experience for me but I think he has a lot of potential and I would really like to drag him through the mud a bit and teach him a few lessons about the world. There is very much a depth to be found in him because I think he lacks a lot of information about himself. Tristan always seemed to be told what he was rather than given the time to figure it out for himself. He’s very sheltered and I think he could use a good push. I have a real interest in the reality of the prophecy made and to walk along that path with him as he deals with whatever it is he is going to face in the year to come. His entire world is going to shatter and that excites me a lot. I really look forward to building to that and I feel like it really adds the depth I was so eagerly looking for.

4. Interpret this character:

Perhaps if the ‘prophecy’ had been made later, when Tristan had already grown and developed a sense of person, he would have been different. There’s something about being raised told you are special that changes the way a person develops, something damaging to their person. I imagine without that consistent ideology he would have grown quite humble, being the youngest of so many siblings. given that wasn’t the case he was constantly catered to, always being watched and treated with respect, a dangerous thing to grant a child. He developed under the circumstance of being above others, his looks and strength only adding to that. He never played well with others, always seeing the advantage to his status and so his demeanor began at a young age. He never felt the need to develop a true bond with anyone when easily he could always have company at the simple wave of a finger. All he had to do was initiate a conversation. His childhood was full of others, Tristan always surrounded by others and being included in almost every thing he requested with the exception of official business but even that changed with age. His training was extensive, hours a day spent on it and with his delight and to no surprise, he was good at it. Just another reason why Tristan was special.

Spiritually, Tristan doesn’t spend much time or effort on it. He believes that because he was chosen so clearly by mother Gaia herself, that they already share a close bond and taking the time out of his day would not be entirely necessary. This, at the very least, is an excuse he tells himself as to worry less on the fact because he knows very well how important this connection is, how much Gaia is a part of his person. The truth of the matter is he doesn’t feel much of a connection at all, when he prays he feels he gets little in return and it frustrates him given he was chosen by her himself. He often wonders why it is she doesn’t try as hard as he once did as a young lad to fill that space. Now, he waits for her in belief that she is just waiting for his time.

It is rumored that Tristan was conceived on the eve that the dragons from Dragos were set free from Vinsor. How true this is, Tristan himself doesn’t know. He never asked but he likes to pretend it’s true. He would never straight up say it but he does imply it when conversing with others. It is very possible he was, his time of birth indicating that he was conceived roughly about that time. Tristan never bothered to ask as he was already chosen by Gaia and he didn’t find it necessary. He could always just pretend anyway and as long as he didn’t know, he wasn’t exactly lying. Still, he’s vague just in case. He can’t think of anything worse than being caught lying about how special he really is.

Tristan is very obscured from the truth of his future and finds himself only troubled by the present and what obstacles lie right in front of him. He only worries as far as his eyes can see and while he is aware that he is to be the next alpha, he feels he has more than enough time to prepare for that. To anyone who knows the truth of his prophecy, Tristan’s troubles seem rather trivial.

The general demeanor he carries can be summed up with the word arrogant. He only showcases the skills he does well and either hides or fabricates the others not only to those around him but to himself as well. Just as much as he doesn’t want anyone else to think poorly of him, he doesn’t want to think unfavorably of himself. He gets a form of high off of seeing himself as superior along with being seen as such. Internally though, he deals with some questions he hold on himself, these are all obscured of course, kept far out of mental reach and are not likely to surface any time in the near future, but it’s to be assumed that with in the season, this will sneak up on him.

Despite this, he can be quite pleasant. When he doesn’t feel threatened (judged, disliked, unwelcomed) or simply wants to impress someone his smile warms, eyes crinkling at the skin crinkling under his eyes and a wrath seeming to emulate from his lips. His words become silky, a seemingly easily obtained charm flowing from him as if he were born from the sun. Sometimes, it is easily obtained. When Tristan feels liked and respected, the things that sum up to comfortable, he quite enjoys conversation, his shoulders relaxing, laugh coming much more easily. Something about being unliked causes him anxiety despite what he might try to convince himself.

Within his pack, Tristan’s place is a bit controversial. He is aware that he isn’t entirely liked through out it, knowing very well that his attitude and general way of being cause most of them to be a bit wary of him and his intentions as they have proven not in the right place of multiple occasions in the past. These opinions are easily masked from himself with the idea that people are simply jealous and lack trust due to his age but that over time they will all begin to understand the seriousness of it. He feels that that alone carries most of the burden of his lack of popularity. Being born only thirty years ago, Tristan has always had the privilege of both forms. He is equally as comfortable in both his wolven form as well as his human.

Aside from his pack he holds a place in the community in which Tristan feels his popularity flourishes at least a good measure more. His carpentry skills are much less questionable than those of his leadership and people are much quicker to accept these. It seems voices grow much sweeter when they are requesting help in these general waters and Tristan is usually willing to give it, enjoying being appreciated for something. He tries to do the right thing, his upbringing and views often making that difficult, but his heart is usually in the right place. That is, at least as far as Tristan is concerned.

Just as much as Tristan wants others to think well of him, he wants to think well of himself. He feels he shouldn’t question himself of the things he does as he was chosen by Gaia herself and there must be reason for that. Due to this, he lacks an understanding of his being, ignoring parts of himself all together if they don’t match up with what he believes he should be. He doesn’t have a thorough understanding of himself due to this though he likes to believe he does.

Both within the pack and outside of it, Tristan enjoys working hard and proving himself. He knows that without exercising his skills he has nothing to brag about regardless of how good he may be in that particular department. He doesn’t particularly believe in waste despite being as spoiled as he is. He finds his skills a blessing and doesn’t think it would do any good to leave them unused. There’s also a kind of contentment that comes with completing a task others appreciate. He enjoys being admired and praised regardless of what for and so the added pleasure only pushes him further in his work.

I feel Tristan is less serious about the rivalry with the vampires as his father. What leads me to this conclusion is his connection with Nadine. While not developed it shows that while he may not trust them, he at least doesn’t find them as much of a threat as some of the others. This could be a strength or a weakness, I don’t think I will be sure until I get him in game and the situation arises to test this but I do see it causing conflict within the pack.

When it comes to quests I would like to send Tristan on I don’t have a set idea. I think I will know more as I go along, taking what feels right to his current plot and allowing him as a character to develop naturally without too much interference of my own desires. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I fully plan to send him on a journey of self discovery because he has a lot to learn about the world and I think it is very important he does that, regardless of how soon or late that comes because I do want it to happen naturally and at plot pace.

◆ Interview Questions ◆

Question One:What is the furthest you have traveled? Did you make the journey alone or did your pack mates come with you?

“Well it most certainly wasn’t alone, I can tell you that much.” The words escaped me in a gust of air of a chuckle, my shoulders vibrating with the singular action. I suppose it wasn’t humorous so much to someone that lacked knowledge on the situation as it was myself but I was amused none the less. I was honestly shocked they allowed me to go to the bathroom by myself sometimes. Obviously this was an exaggeration. With age, I was given a bit more leniency, the general area of home being deemed safe enough for me but when it came to leaving Vargulf territory it seemed my protection remained pretty unyielding. As a kid I thought it was cool, enjoyed all the top pack members hanging around me but age brought a lot of realizations. It was annoying but I understood, I suppose. I didn’t much mind it most of the times. The company was nice, the guarding on the other hand had it’s ups and downs. Mostly downs if you were me, though I imagine they weren’t having all that pleasant of a time themselves.

More air seemed to press itself out of my lungs as I sighed in thought, my shoulders lifting and rising again with the additional exasperation. “The castle I suppose. Never seemed top be much reason for me to travel further.” Wasn’t that the truth. I never really found the same desires for travel as some others seemed to do. I think most of our kind find comfort in a home. We find that comfort in numbers and numbers came easier with a stationary position. That was my logic anyway. “Castle seems far enough for me though.” I chuckled, again the humor only halfhearted in it’s lack of it’s potency. “Across the country in the vertical sense at least.”

Question Two:Have you witnessed death?

“Have I ever seen death?” I stared at them from under my brows, the thick hairs there obscuring my view at the top corners, my tongue running over my teeth as to remove whatever food was left there from my current meal, taking my time with it as to fill the space while I let my gaze sink in, give my expression some time to force them to see the nature of their own words. It was a weird question, one I found rather stupid, actually. “Animals, sure. ” Wasn’t that a given. Ugh, also, was I grumbling? Sure as hell sounded like it. I was about to get annoyed with myself, almost was before I realized that it was an appropriate reaction to such a ridiculous inquiry. It wasn’t so much grumbling as much as a hint of the action, a small underlining that expressed the complete lack of impressed I felt with thew conversation piece. More to myself than anything I shrugged on one side of my body, the muscles of my shoulder and neck too large, pressing together on my collar bone, the other hand still gripping the chicken leg I had been working on before I was so rudely interrupted. Being large had it’s disadvantages but I wasn’t one to complain about that. They were well worth it. Anyway, if anything, they were intrusive for asking. What was it any of their fucking business anyway? There was a pinch in my brow, a pull at my lips that was probably too familiar to me, a sneer. That’s what the fancy folk called it anyway, the sheep. I preferred to call it a snarl, felt more bad ass, more appropriate, at least in reference to myself.

“I’m assuming you meant people though.” I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes at this. 'People’. What the hell was considered a people anyway? Humans? Garou? Fariae? Cadaver? I didn’t like the term, it actually kind of pissed me off but for the sake of argument I used it. The annoyance most likely came across. I was never good at masks. “In that case no, not up close at least.” My eyes narrowed, curiosity seeming to flash across my face but it had nothing to do with them or their fruitless conversation. “I’ve seen one or two from afar, good clearing away, a large few yards at the closest.” My tone was casual. Wary, but casual. I felt like this was leading to another question, something even more intrusive. Probably about how it made me 'feel’. What death did to my psyche. Honestly, I didn’t feel anything about it. Death was just apart of like, people lived and then they died. It was senseless to spend too much time thinking on it, everyone always got so hung up on it. It was just a thing. Curious though. Suddenly I was amused. I don’t think I feel amused the way most people describe it. It feels almost…wrong. Probably the timing due to the fact I’m an 'insensitive moon-calf’. Idiots. Regardless, a smirk crept across my face, the space between my eyebrows seeming to grow back at the sudden mood swing. I jerked my head up in a nod, the seemingly forgotten chicken finding it’s way back to my previously occupied mouth. “Why? You have something plan stewing up there Giagantor?”

◆Writing Sample:◆

Insanity- (noun) doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

By this definition, Tristan was insane. Memories have a way of manipulating people, contorting and changing; forcing one to believe in a course of events that perhaps, hadn’t happened at all. Standing in the prodigiously ostentatious ballroom that he endured such a protracted journey to be in presently, this became abundantly apparent to him. The sensation that came with the experience that he once again and more than willingly agreed to partake in were always lost, missing from his rationalization until he found himself here recurrently.

Firstly, there was always the overly restricting attire. The abundance of layers, often flamboyant in both pattern and color felt strangulating on the skin, almost always leaving him with the feeling of being baked in an oven, over heated and uncomfortable. It was foreign to him, an awareness that this was not a place he belonged. The differences between the elaborate ways of life here and the ones that he was accustomed to back in the Vargulf Territory were showing themselves in a way beyond ignoring. Tristan didn’t much mind clothing, the necessity for it being more than obvious to him in a society setting. Still, the dress code enforced on him now was far from satisfactory. The fabrics he was forced to wrap himself in were the least of the bothersome points that clotted his mind.

There was no need to go over each individual point of discomfort. The details of the differences that separated the lands just a few days journey away to a point of them feeling like different worlds. To most, they weren’t. No, what made the contrast for Tristan was his no more than the point of his status, the way he was both seen and treated. Outside of the territory in which he was raised, the lands in which his name was engraved in what felt often like solid gold leaf, was just that. He hated any world in which he wasn’t unmistakably special. Of course, he remained treated with respect, given the same cousin and maintenance as the kings other guests but the faults that troubled him so did not lie with the king but rather those considered to be equal to him. Most of this was very possibly a figment of his imagination, a conjuring of his own doing to excuse himself for being the cause of his own discomfort. There was no way of knowing, not that it mattered. Even if there were, Tristan would have been sure to push it aside, shove it in a drawer to the far end of his mind as to obscure it from himself.

The trust that enabled him here in the first place was the single thing that kept his memories warped in his time away, the reasoning that time and time again he would agree to make this journey and weather the company that took such a straining tariff on his mental being. When it came down to it, the truth was that despite the horrid time he bared, he could go home and say anything it was he wished. As far as his people knew, he was granted a gift, a responsibility that brought him indulgent experiences that none of his less superiors would have the luxury of undergoing. He had bragged and fed on the concept of it for so long that the sheer idea of backing out of these indicated events now was far beyond considering. No, for the sake of his reputation, he would continue with the arduous facade. It would pay off in it’s own time.

Tristan’s teeth gritted, the sound of enamel and bone grinding together echoing against the walls of his skull as he smiled, the gesture appearing almost leather with his falsified amusement. What truly caused him so much displeasure was his own lack of ability to permeate himself to those around him. Authority was easier when it was demanded of those around you by someone other than yourself, enforced by an additional entity. Here, his power didn’t hold the same stature; things had to be earned by Tristan and Tristan alone.

One, two- It only took a matter of subordinate seconds for the expression on his tediously kept company’s face to make it indisputable to him. He was being unpleasant. Their face twisted in front of him, eyebrows knitting together so that the space between them dissipated and their mouth gaping open slightly with shock and distaste at what must have been a threatening expression on Tristan’s own part. Things were to be controlled here, Tristan was to be controlled. He took another moment to feel this new agitation, to allow it to add itself onto the other, sear through his veins like melted led and force his ears warm, red hues finding themselves around the tips. Half a second. With the clearing of his throat he composed himself, blinking away the grit from his teeth, the tightness ridding itself from his mouth, as if a new person stood in his place. He opened his eyes, revealing a calm sea of blue. If they thought they knew what they were facing before, they surely questioned it now.

It was entirely their fault. Who did they think they were? What rights were granted upon them to speak to him in such a way? This was hypocritical, of course. The way he spoke to such people was often passive with underlining meaning that no one needed an education to guess at. He was rude. But as these things went, Tristan was oblivious to faults of his own, only currently seeing the faults of the short, round man that placed himself in front of Tristan’s line of view, a man who dared to say such condescending things. When it wasn’t this presumptuous man, it was surely someone else, someone equally as deserving of Tristan’s rage. It would never cross his mind that this was an antic simply made for the sake of amusement. This man obviously didn’t know how pompous an antic was when directed toward the overgrown boy whom stood in front of him in this instance. No, jokes were only funny when they were directed at the faults in others. These were the bearings that only the amenities of home could suppress.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time.” A hardness arose in the shades of dark gray that consumed most of his eyes now, the way they narrowed at his own set of words only confusing his point further. It laid way to a realization of the underlining tones that resided within each syllable that left the seemingly tight space between his still twitching lips. That of course, was likely to go unnoticed. The physical inductions were almost unrecognizable, the only perceptible proof of it’s existence was the addition it placed on the already mountainous pile of annoyance that seemed to be cultivating throughout his rib cage, adding a heat to his already too warm chest.

How many times already Tristan had to force a reminder upon himself, to admonish himself of the consequences his actions had he not demonstrated restraint consistently through out his business here. That was what this was after all, business. While entirely tedious, someone had to do it. Frequently, Tristan’s thoughts on the matter teetered between two very opposite possibilities, two heavily contradicting reasoning for his involvement with the entire affair. His emotions were often uncertain, always fluctuating from one extreme to another until he felt entirely sure of his beliefs; his morals. More often than not, he reacted on the frustrated side before a conclusion. Often times, that was where he sided. On the one hand, Alastair could have sent anyone for these events. There were more than enough wolves, his Beta, Inga for example who was more than an obvious choice. Tristan hardly felt that his father would miss her presence that the few days of absence in exchange for the continuation of a smooth peace treaty would hardly be a loss. It had crossed his mind that perhaps it was an excuse to get rid of him for an exiguous moment to sort out the trouble that he felt Tristan had caused. The far less dramatic, but equally as irritating alternative was that his father simply placed him in a controlled environment with dire consequences in the hopes Tristan would learn even an inkling of self control. Somehow, this frustrated him just as much as the previous. Ah, but how counter productive it was to think in such ways, to allow one’s mind to fester on such malicious thoughts. No, what Tristan usually sided with was that which held the most appeal to him, that he simply needed to learn the diplomatic etiquette required of him. Naturally, the guards he was often sent with would bring no consolation but this was nothing new. Extensive protection was something Tristan had been raised on, a nature that came to him as mindlessly and contentedness as his own senses and so to Tristan, this was just a formality. Regardless of the reasoning, he knew better than to allow himself to become lost. This was not the time or place.

Impulse abscond through his muscles, rippling an urge to ball his fists tight, to feel his nails embed themselves into the rough skin of his palms as he kinked his neck to the side forcefully as to attempt to crack the frustration from the base of his skull, to release the pressure that manufactured itself there. The physical restrictions only added to his frustration, the depths of his eyes hardening still as his jaw tightened once more from behind his closed mouth smile; his composure slowly slipping from him. He clasped a hand on the man’s shoulder, his hands seemingly damp from the intensely raised body temperature. The grip was, perhaps, too hard, the man cringing from underneath it. More than likely, this was from fear but it was presumable that his grip only emulated that, supplemented to the feeling. It took too much effort not to squeeze down on the place his fingers imprinted themselves, to force the man to his knees. It would probably be more from shock than pain; or well, at least in that order. Tristan inhaled, the breath sucking in so that his ribs expanded to a point of feeling as if the nonsensical shirt he was wearing would tear off of him, the spaces between the bone stretching the tissue. He allowed it to all leave him at once, the discontented gust of breath that left him bristling what was left of the hair at the side of the stout man’s head. “If you’ll excuse me.” Despite his efforts there was nothing polite about his words, nothing that brought idealism of civility or etiquette.

Faster than was necessary, Tristan’s ostentatious shoes carried him through the center of the overly crowded room, the unconscionable bright colors and excessively ample sounds blending together into an innumerable blur of unfocused indignation. He felt his shoulders bump others, the hard muscles of his own body unmoving as they plowed their way through the thronged space. Every other body that he mowed down with his own gasped, contents of drinks being spilt onto ladies shoes, sounds of disconnectedness that were not his own trailing after him in addition to the glares and judgmental looks that followed his footpath to the captious, double wooden doors. Because Tristan was a gentleman, he let few of them go unreturned, graciously taking a moment out of his obviously busy schedule to reward them with a glare of their own, his mouth twisted with annoyance as his eyes appraised them from head to toe. What he saw left him entirely unimpressed, the sentiment coming across in his already appalled expression. Still, it was in his best interest he left before the inevitable damage was caused, taking a few personal moments to regain himself if not for their sake then purely for vigilance sake.