#i am projecting my stress from my real life play to this fictional one because i have an outlet and am going to annoy people by using it

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | One | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 3,432

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Heavy world building, funeral scene, mentions of death (elderly), brief mentions of toxic relationship between reader's mother and grandmother (not too serious), mentions of ailing mental states of the elderly, physical altercations (Jimin and reader fight this is action fantasy ok), Jimin is toxic (hard to understand what he wants, is prone to some violence), threatens to kill/ dismember reader (EMPTY THREATS HE THINKS HES TOUGH), mentions of daggers and swords, use of magical abilities, sexual tension, Fae Jimin is a warning in itself. 

❀ Published: May 25, 2022

❀ A/N: I am so thrilled to be writing this finally. Fantasy writing is my element - I feel like I write fantasy genre so much better than any of my other content. I do find a lot of people are as enthusiastic about it, but I really hope you enjoy this. Please note that this story is only 5 full chapter long - this means that each chapter I write will ALWAYS be around 20k-30k per chapter, because I'm doing this as a mini series. I find it much easier to do large works like this because it's less likely I lose motivation.

This first chapter does not have smut - I hope that does not turn you off, however I wanted to establish the dynamic between Y/N and Jimin before I really played up that part. I do promise for those of you just looking for some filth that it will be in the next chapter.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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You know that funerals are meant for crying, but you find it difficult to produce tears. The folded chair beneath you is damp with the rain misting under the black umbrella held tightly in your hand. A morbid thought crosses your mind as they lower the casket into the freshly dug grave - it looks exactly like a scene from a mafia movie. The gray sky swollen with rain, the clusters of dark umbrellas catching droplets. 

Next to you, your mother sniffs, wiping her tears away. You can’t imagine what she is going through, but you think there is guilt there. Guilt for not being there in her mother’s last days. Guilt for writing off the ramblings and confusion of an old woman. 

In her last days, your grandmother was a nuisance to your mom. An old weight stressing her out with ailing health, a reason to take off numerous days from her incredibly important work as a fashion designer and owner of her own company. 

The fact that she is crying tells you how little your mother knew about grandma in her dying days. She wouldn’t want anyone to cry. She was old and lived a full life, and she had wanted peace in her last days. Waiting to join your grandfather, who had died much earlier. 

So you don’t cry. For your grandmother, for her legacy. Because though you’re sad, and though you will miss the soft stories whispered at your bedside as a child, you know that she’s wherever she was meant to be. 

That’s enough for you. 

Funerals, as expected, are a bleak affair. The gathering after is even worse. Catered food that is colder than it should be, dishes made in haste by neighbors and mourners. Escaping the stale perfume of your mother’s friends and those who knew your grandma is imperative. 

Your grandmother’s house is old, built in the 1800s with nooks and crannies and rooms leading into rooms in a dizzying maze. It’s well-kept, though some of the porch out front leans and the screens in the windows could do with replacing. 

It doesn’t matter. The home holds sentimental value to you. You wander up the creaking, carpeted stairs. It still has shag carpet, holding in every smell familiar to you as you climb. Your room is on the second floor facing the north and front of the yard, in the rounded part of the house above the reading room on the first floor. It’s quiet upstairs as you pause in the hallway, looking at the frames mounted in the hall, a wall of memories.

Your childhood stretches behind each piece of glass, contained within the woodwork and cardboard backing. 

After admiring each fragment of your history, you trail to your room. The door creaks when you open it. Gray light filters in through the window, the gossamer curtains pulled back. Dust motes float in the room. It is completely undisturbed. Your old twin bed is tucked neatly in the corner of the room, pink sheets tucked neatly. You sit on it, feeling the bed springs give under your weight. 

A mural painted with your grandmother’s careful hand stretches on the wall opposite your bed and around the wooden door leading to your closet. You look at the greenery and the vines crawling up old castles, faeries and sprites dancing around under the moonlight. A glowing sword held by a warrior maiden with a circlet of moons and stars around her hair. 

The painting is a collection of hundreds of stories your grandmother has told you growing up. They all revolve around land called Faerie, where creatures beautiful and deadly exist. The maiden in the story was always your favorite character, fashioned in the likeness of your grandmother herself. 

Sighing, you finally feel the threat of tears. You swallow past it and lay down on the bed, content to be in the room again. The bookshelf with the music box is untouched, but free of dust. Though time seems to freeze the room in place, you can tell that your grandmother kept it clean. The thought makes your lip wobble.

Instead of crying, you turn on your side and close your eyes. You imagine that she’s there next to you, brushing your hair with her soft hands and murmuring, There once was a princess without a crown. Don’t worry, she got her crown eventually, but she had to fight a monster to earn it… 

-

Darkness covers the room. You groan when you stretch your limbs, sore and cramped from sleeping on the uncomfortable bed. You’re still dressed in your funeral clothes. Grabbing your phone from next to the fairy lamp, you click your lock screen open. It’s near midnight. 

You see texts from your mother and roll your eyes. Of course she thought you left early - she hadn’t even bothered to check the rooms upstairs. Groaning, your joints pop as you get out of the bed, shuffling to the center of the room. Slipping your shoes back on, you make to leave the house and head back to your apartment. 

The hallway is night-still. Your steps break the silence as you use the screen of your phone to navigate the hall. Nearing the stairwell, you pause. You don’t know why, but something makes you turn and look at the opposite end of the hall. The small door that leads up the stairwell to the attic above your room beckons you. 

Something in you buzzes. The urge to walk to the other end of the hall and open the attic takes over. You don’t know where it comes from, only that you haven’t been in the attic in years. You were never allowed up there alone - it kept some of your grandparents most prized possessions. 

The world seems dull as you take a step towards the end of the hall and away from the stairs. A dull buzz enters your ears as you take another step, eyes fixed on the door. It would take only a moment to go up and look at what is there again. Trinkets and curiosities that you always loved to admire under the strict supervision of grandmother. 

Suddenly you’re outside the door. You reach for the knob and it feels like a tremor of electricity vibrates down your arm. Up up up your hand goes, closing around the brass knob and-

Your phone ringing makes you scream in surprise, dropping it entirely. You press your hand to your chest, heart pounding. The adrenaline shoots through you like an arrow, immediately making you feel sick from the sudden fear. 

Spell broken, you reach down, shining the phone face toward you, blinding you. It’s so much darker in the hallway than you remember. 

You slide your finger across the screen. “Hi, Joon. Yeah - sorry, I fell asleep after the funeral. I’m going home now - let’s have dinner tomorrow? Sounds good.”

You rarely blow off your best friend, but Namjoon is the kind of person who understands people the way you wish you could. He reads you like a book, always anticipating when you need space and always knowing what to say. He has been your rock during your grandmother’s ongoing health issues and passing - and he’d have been with you today, if you hadn’t assured him that his presentation at work was more important. 

The attic is forgotten about as you shake off the tired feeling. You head back to the stairs, jogging down them and shoving your phone in your pocket. Yawning, you lock up behind you and leave your grandmother’s old house standing alone in the night. 

-

Fabric clings to your shoulders uncomfortably. The blazer you’ve pulled on for your meeting is too tight in the arms, not allowing you to reach too far upward and feeling awkward as you shuffle out of the car. You reach to close the door, the sleeve straining against you. 

Formal wear isn’t your forte. You find it uncomfortable and you rarely need to use them unless you’re doing a signing or something official. Your usual clothes involve anything comfortable for writing children’s stories, weaving the tales from your childhood. Your grandmother had helped illustrate more than a few.

The thought makes you smile as you shift in the padded seat of the reception room of the legal office. You check your watch - the lawyer in charge of divvying up your grandmother’s estate is late. But so is your mother.

Next to you, the door opens. Your mother breezes in, dressed in a wonderfully tailored pantsuit and heels. She looks effortlessly beautiful, smiling when she sees you. You stand and press a kiss to her cheeks. You always wished you looked like her when you were younger - lithe and graceful with a sort of effortless movement. 

Now you’re happy that you look exactly like your grandmother - commanding and firm. You’re not graceful, but you’re strong. People listen to you when you speak, though that’s the one thing you share in common with your mother. 

“You look nice,” she says, sitting down next to her. You accept the comment, though you hate the outfit. “You should dress like that more often.” 

You love your mother. She is a strong woman who raised you primarily on her own while creating a fashion empire around herself. Though your childhood was filled with living at your grandmother’s when money was tight and more often than not having your grandparents keeping you during fashion weeks and long-weekends, your mother loves you. She isn’t unkind, and she tries to be supportive of your whimsical dreams. 

It’s just that you’re nothing like her. You’ve inherited the wandering mind from your father, his enchanting fascination with worlds of fantasy. And though that had attracted your mother to him in the first place because it reminded her of her mother, after your dad passed, her passion for anything magical vanished.

The struggle between wanting you to do something corporate and letting you live your dreams was constant for her. And you knew that she tried - she bought your books and she asked you about them. But the pinched brow and the twitch in her mouth always told you that she was disappointed. Because you reminded her of her late husband. Reminded her of the struggles with her own mother.

So you let the comment pass. It’s not an insult - she just wishes you were more like her. Carried you for nine months, she would joke. All for you to come out like grandma and your dad! 

“How’s your new book doing?”

It’s a question to broach the silence. You answer anyway, “Good. I’m glad grandma was able to illustrate for me.”

“She loved that you made her stories your own. I don’t know if you realize how much that meant to her - means to me.” You look up at your mom. For a moment, her face is older than you remember, more open and vulnerable. She touches your hand and you feel emotion well up inside you. “I’m glad we have those, for her. So thank you.” 

When the lawyer opens the door, the moment is gone. But you’re glad that it happens. 

Standing, you smooth your blazer and follow your mother into the man’s office. It’s stuffy and you feel claustrophobic. It smells like peppermint oil and tea tree. You notice that there are crystals lining his bookshelves, your eyes recognizing obsidian, tigers eye, smoky quartz. 

The lawyer himself is wire-thin and skittish, pushing his glasses up his pointed nose and apologizing profusely. He was dressed in jeans with paint stains and a shirt tucked in, evidence of a donut on his collar. You don’t know why, but he makes you smile as you sit down. You immediately imagine him as a willow man from one of your stories, a type of dryad made of willow bark, as flighty as the breeze. 

“I apologize for the delay,” he says again. “The lock box and papers went wandering off on their little feet - critters drive me nuts!”

You raise your brows. Your mother raises her hackles, fingers digging into the arms of her chair. “You almost lost my mother’s belongings?”

“Not permanently!”

Her nose flares. “Make this brief, please.” 

The lawyer - Mr. Willow, which makes you suspicious of your own mind - goes through the papers outlining your grandmother’s estates. It’s mostly split evenly, with certain heirlooms and keepsakes going to your mother. You can tell your mother is struggling with some of the items mentioned, something personal and meaningful to her.

The surprise comes when you get the house and specific belongings inside of it. You recognize objects kept in the attic that Mr. Willow goes over. Your mother goes rigid for some of them, and though you don’t know why, you find yourself nodding along. 

At the end of the meeting, you are much wealthier than you imagined being in your lifetime, and you have a house full of curiosities and memories.

Outside, the world is gray. It has rained most days since your grandmother has passed away. The imaginative side of you feels as though the world is weeping for her loss. The realist in you knows the rainy season is approaching. 

A touch on your wrist draws your attention to your mother. Her mouth is pinched, and nostrils are flared, sure signs of her annoyance as she tightens her hold. “You should sell off those items in the attic. No good comes from them.”

You frown. “Why?”

“They’re trinkets that inspired the delusions of your grandfather - grandmother too, in the end. You should be rid of them. They have sour memories.”

“I love the attic,” you protest. “I loved when grandma took me up there.”

“I can’t make you do anything, but you should think about what I’ve said. Objects have a weird way of holding memories that warp the mind.” She lets go of your wrist. It’s the most she's ventured to imply that objects can be mystical in years. “Try not to get lost in the stories. They’re nothing more than that.” 

With a firm kiss on your head, she turns and walks away. People look at her as she passes by them, heads turned to watch her go. She has always had a magnetic beauty, drawing people to her wherever she went. Your grandmother had that same quality, moving about the world with an intense gravity. 

Your drive through the city is aimless. You have nowhere to be. Nothing to do. The music is so low that you turn it off, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Your hands guide you on instinct until you’re driving through winding hills toward your grandmother’s house. It isn’t until you’re stepping out into the silver moonlight that you realize you’re there. 

Pulling your phone out, you text Namjoon the address. You’re supposed to meet for dinner, but you want to explore a little. The house will be less creepy with him around. 

The house is dark. There are no lights in the window as you close your car door, a noise so loud that it makes you flinch in the silence of the night. You don’t move for a while, just examining the house. Vine climbs up the side of the house and tangles in the eaves. There’s a porch on the front, a single swing still hanging. Above it is a large balcony attached to your grandmother’s room, the furniture and plants still waiting for her return. 

Your eyes drift to the rounded front of the house - the reading room on the first floor, your room on the second, and the attic on the third. You used to have dreams about creatures slipping through the floor of the attic to come through your ceiling and fall on you while you slept. 

The dreams you had when you stayed with your grandmother were always strange. Filled with something other and always like you were waking from a memory, you sometimes recalled pixies and brownies creeping on the edge of your mind, speaking to you in hushed tones at the foot of your bed. 

Now, you’re alone without having one of those dreams in years. You walk up to the house, letting yourself in. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, though it legally is. You cross the threshold and stare out at the dark home. Most of the things inside belong to you, a reality that seems far away. This will always be your grandmother’s home. It will always have her things. 

Your mother’s suggestion to sell off the items in the attic gnaws at you. Flicking the lights on in the home so you don’t feel so alone, you ascend the stairs. The clock in the reading room ticks loudly, a steady staccato as you climb the stairs, footsteps quieted by carpet. Your fingers trace the flowered wallpaper, some of the edges peeling where it meets the next panel. 

A memory comes to you and you smile. There was a time when you were around five that you got in trouble for drawing near the crown molding, sitting on the stairs with your Crayola and pressing the waxy tip into the wallpaper with vigor. Your grandmother had not been bothered and your mother was mildly annoyed until she saw the subject of your drawings: a warrior queen with stars in her hair.

You don’t remember what her and your grandmother fought about, but it had been loud and you waited in your room with tear-stained cheeks for it to be over. 

Hundreds of memories echo in the home. You feel them all as you open the attic door, looking up at the dark stairs. You flick the light up before taking the stairs carefully. They creak under your weight and you see the way the cobwebs dance as you walk by. 

The ceiling is low and you can see the little black spiders spinning away, wrapped up in their own machinations. You leave them to their spinning, sweeping your gaze around the room with a mix of excitement and sadness. It’s been years since you’ve been in the attic, and you don’t know where to go first. 

Following your own whims, you brush your finger along an old book collection. There’s dust on them, old folklore books and poems that your grandfather used to read often. Your grandmother had no interest in them when he passed, but she always kept them. Your finger tapped the cracked and aged spine of The Knight of the Cart, trailing to The Song of Roland. 

That one makes you smile. You imagine yourself as the Knight Roland, wielding his mighty sword Durendal, or sitting at the round table. 

A heavy chest with artfully crafted metal leaves and a gilded latch sits in the corner. You know it contains objects you were never allowed to see - a heavy lock keeps the polished leather lid shut. You go to it anyway - you’re sure there’s a key somewhere, perhaps in the safety deposit box you were given. Your fingers are curious as they trace the metal leaves. They're artfully done, with jewels set in, a green that is so vibrant you swear they’re emeralds. 

Your favorite part of the attic is the old school boudoir. You sit on the cushioned stool carefully, worried that the old wood will crack under your weight. The mirror is covered in dust. You carefully trace your finger through the dust, instinct guiding you before you realize what you’re doing. 

Mirrors can lead to other worlds your grandmother had whispered once. Maybe even different places of the afterlife. 

So you trace a single sentence on the mirror. I miss you. An oidche. 

You hope that wherever she is, your grandmother receives the message written in dust. 

Nudging around the items at the table, you pull open a drawer. Dust clouds out of it, making you wave your hand back and forth to try and clear it. Inside are some perfumes and a lethal looking letter opener. You take out the letter opener, eyebrows raised. It’s a little larger and heavier than normal - you dare to call it a dagger - with an ornate grip decorated with silver stars. The blade is thin and dark silver. 

Static crackles in the air. You feel something sizzle in your palm, sparking your skin. You yelp, dropping the letter opener to the floor. It clatters, but you ignore the dagger, looking at the palm of your hand. You swear theres a pink, faded outline where you gripped the handle, but when you blink, your hand is normal.

Picking up the letter opener from the floor, you put it back in the drawer. You start to close the drawer, but a velvet box captures your eye. You pull the midnight-blue box from the back of the drawer. It’s velvet and obviously a ring box. You pop it open, curious. A simple band of metal is inside, stars carved into the metal. You pull it from its snug seat in the box, holding it up toward the shotty light to examine it.

The band looks too large for your fingers. The metal is dark like the letter opener, almost black and yet shimmering somehow. The stars aren’t like the normal five-pointed drawings in popular media, but bursts that are all unique and beautiful in their own way. 

Experimentally, you slid the ring on your pointer finger on your right hand. It’s too loose at first - you blink in surprise. The attic is not brightly lit, but for a moment you swear the ring pulsed and grew smaller. It’s snug on your finger now, not too tight but not loose. You hold your hand up, admiring it. It isn’t full of diamonds or jewels, but there is something about it that glows from within. 

A tremor goes through you. You flinch and look around the room. You swear you felt something like a pulse of energy shiver through you and outward. The room is dark - your vision fades in and out for a moment as your eyes adjust from staring at the ring so much. 

Nothing seems amiss, but you feel… off. 

Shrugging you pull at the ring, ready to return it. The metal doesn’t come off. You frown and pull harder, but it doesn’t budge. You try a few more times, but the ring fits snuggly. You look at it again, frown deepening.

“What the fuck,” you mutter. 

No matter what you try, the ring won’t come off. You pull open other drawers, looking for lotion of some kind to help slide the ring off your finger. You find none. 

Something makes you acutely aware of the silence in the room. You look up at the mirror - it’s still dusted over, not showing a true reflection, but you see a figure in the corner near the door. Screaming, you shoot out of the seat and turn around, crashing backward into the boudoir. 

“Woah woah woah!” Namjoon holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself against the wall. “Relax it's just me!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“You texted me to meet you!”

Oh yeah. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and the sudden urge to vomit from the terror. You close your eyes, letting your breathing regulate. When you open them again, Namjoon is still waiting for you. You relax, letting the breath woosh from your lungs. 

“Sorry, I think I’m just paranoid,” you say finally. 

“House is a little creepy at night.”

“A bit.” Shrugging off the weird thoughts of the ring, you cross the attic and beckon for him to follow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

-

After a few days, it’s easy to forget about the fact that the ring won’t come off. On closer inspection, it appears that it’s made of something like iron. At night, you lie in bed and stare at it, hand held above you. It seems to glow whenever the sun sets, coming alive in the night. 

Though you never feel the same pulse of energy you did the night you put the ring on, you feel something. You can’t put your finger on it, but it lingers in the night. Though you were always a night owl, a new kind of insomnia slowly begins to take over. You find yourself inspired the moment the sun vanishes from the sky to write, creating your grandmother’s stories into something else fuller, more expanded. 

You’re suffering from another battle of insomnia as you stand in the kitchen, sipping chamomile tea in the dark. The ring reflects the night light hauntingly. Your eyes drift to inspect it again, following unknown constellations mapped in the metal. 

There are seven stars on the metal, dotted carefully. Something prods your mind. You narrow your eyes, staring at the constellations. They suddenly look familiar, almost like a distant memory. It’s on the edge of your thought, lingering there as you rotate your hand, holding it close to your face to get a better view.

Seven stars. Each burst its own shape and size. Your frustration mounts like an itch you can’t scratch, a pressure building as you struggle to think of where you know this pattern from, where you know those stars. 

You blink and almost drop your tea. You set it down quickly and rush to the light in the kitchen, flicking it on and making yourself flinch. When your eyes adjust, you hold your hand up, mouth agape as you count the stars. 

One star for winter, the first in the skies

One star for spring, when winter dies

One star for summer, cold winter’s twin

One star for autumn, when the veil is thin

One star for day, the brightest glow

One star for night, when the world is slow

One star on high, to rule alone

The soft rhyme your grandfather used to whisper to you comes back to you with a wave of emotions. You clutch the counter, trying to catch your breath as the rhyme circles your mind over and over again.

The seven stars of the faerie realm. You remember both of them telling you about it, the way each star represented a court. Those stories were your favorite. Your grandmother always wove beautiful stories about the warrior princess of the Night Court who fell in love with a knight of the Summer Court. You remember their story, remember the way they united to banish the power of the High Court, an ancient court draining the power of the six courts.

Grabbing your keys, you don’t even think. Trees and headlights blur by as you drive to your grandmother's house, hands twisting on the steering wheel. Something settles over you - a sense of foreboding that begins to twist in your stomach. You know what you’re going to find. 

And yet when you run through the house and up to your old bedroom, falling to your knees to inspect the mural your grandmother has painted you, you’re surprised. The warrior princess with stars in her hair holds her sword high over her head, ring glowing on her finger with power. 

You look down at your hand. It’s the same ring. 

Rushing up to the attic, you’re already convincing yourself that you’re going mad. Your grandparents were huge storytellers - your father too. It was something so consuming to them, their world of fantasy and mythological creatures. You wanted nothing more than for it to all be real as a child. 

You think of the way your mother purged your home of stories and fantasy when your father passed. How she hated any time your grandmother filled your head with those lies and fantasies. Of the way your mother told you to toss the items in the attic out.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there is a madness that runs in your family, a sickness of the mind that weaves fantasies and makes you think they’re real. There is nothing wrong with your grandmother having a ring she’s painted in your old room. There’s nothing wrong with a ring that won’t come off - it happens all the time. 

Upstairs in the attic, you’re rooting around the bookshelf for the tiny journal your grandfather kept with poems and pages filled with his delicate, slanted writing. You don’t bother to turn the lights on, spying it and snatching it. You crack it open, the yellowed pages familiar as you pace, flicking through the pages. 

You find the entry you want, stopping your pacing to pause and read the poem over again. It’s there, the seven courts of faerie, all ruled by the powerful High Court. You trace the words, shaking your head. Their twisted imaginations are so much more than you could have thought. Their stories are so heavily intertwined that it feels… real, like some sort of past they have shared.

But that is not possible. You write children's novels, inspired by your grandmother’s bedside tales, but they are nothing more than that. You can’t… you can’t fall into delusion that this is real, that these little snippets of this world they spoke of are tangible. 

You know it is. You don’t know why, but the word real pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart. Real real. Real real. Real real. 

It’s all real. 

“Has this world erased any sense of self-awareness you have?” 

The voice makes you scream in surprise, clutching the journal to your chest as your heart beats so wildly you think it’s going to explode. The soft purr belongs to a man standing in the corner of the attic, staring at you with keen eyes. 

“Do not come any closer!” You scream at him, the first words that come to your mind. 

He looks amused. “You were always a brat, but you’re in no position to order me around anymore.”  

Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You stare at the man who stands with his hands behind his back in the corner of the attic. He looks entirely out of place - a shirt made of a soft material that is almost see-through hangs loose on his narrow frame. It’s the shade of cotton candy but somehow brighter. The collar is open, revealing smooth skin and layered necklaces with pearls and other small jewels. His pants are tight fitted, something similar to leather and tucked into supple boots. 

There is a circlet resting on his silver head - something that would look ridiculous in any other situation but now commands power. It looks right on him - makes him look otherworldly and deadly.

His eyes are green, nearly glowing in the shadow of the attic. He looks out of place here, a being that isn’t made for your world. He steps forward and it’s soundless. The aged and cracked floorboards don’t dare to make a sound under his feet, the dust of the attic doesn’t move.

He’s not human. That’s for sure.

Something pulses in you. You stare at the strange intruder, ethereal and lost in his eyes but there’s something else you can’t place. You fight the urge to cross the space to him, something pulling on you like an invisible force. Your breath quickens as you fight something that feels like a physical tether pulling you toward him.

He watches you. Silver hair delicately styled back, his circlet like moonlight spun among the strands. There’s jewelry dangling in his ears, more exquisite than you’ve ever seen. An emerald dangles delicately, reflecting light so much that it almost pulses. Your eyes drifted up the silver cuff, made in the style of vines to the top of his pointed ears.

Your breath is stuck in your chest. 

Faerie.

Your mind races to put together the pieces of the tales your grandmother told you, of a world not your own. A world with sugared candies and blood oaths, of drinks so sweet they’d kill you but music and dancing so wonderful you could cry. 

The faerie watches you, head cocked to the side, a predator examining its prey. You clutch the book tighter in your hands, knuckles bone white.

“Why do you look so afraid, Yvaine?” 

You suck in a sharp breath. This faerie knows your grandmother’s name - thinks that you’re her. You’ve been told countless times how much you look like her - young portraits nearly identical. 

Every story she ever told you as a child comes rushing back to you. The way she described a knight who loved her deeply, the way she learned to wield a sword and go on glorious adventures. 

The fae are fickle beings, she once told you. Cruel and intelligent, but with the capacity to love and create in ways that you can hardly imagine. Never trust them implicitly, and always keep your name close to your chest.

“You startled me,” you finally answer. If he knows your grandmother, perhaps he’s one of the good fae she spoke of. You try to relax visibly. “It’s not every day-old friend appear in attics.” 

His eerie eyes drop down to your hand, zeroing in on the ring on your finger. You cover your hand with your grandfather’s journal, shielding the ring from his view. His eyes flash and he smiles. It’s not kind - it’s something else entirely that makes you want to back away from him. 

The faerie tsks, siren eyes dragging back up to fix on your face. “You’re not Yvaine.” 

“What a ridiculous notion.”

He scoffs. “Nothing startled her, much less me. And,” he adds with a saccharine grin, “Yvaine would hardly call me a friend. Pray tell, who are you?”

“Grandma told me to never speak names to the fae.”

His smile sharpens, teeth on display. He is beautiful and terrifying. His canines are sharper than normally as he bows slightly, a ridiculous notion with how exquisitely he’s dressed. “A good piece of advice. How about I introduce myself first: You may call me Jimin.” His eyes go back to the ring you’re hiding. “And you’re wearing something that does not belong to you.” 

“Everything in this house belongs to me.”

“That ring is not from this house.”

“Well it’s where I found it.”

“It does not change the place of origin.”

“Finders keepers,” you sneer at him. 

He frowns. “I am unfamiliar with the meaning of that phrase. Is it perhaps a greeting among thieves?” 

“So you admit you’re a thief.” 

Jimin is so painfully beautiful that only your fear keeps you snapping at him. You retreat backwards slightly, bumping against the boudoir. You remember the letter opener, positioning yourself so that your hand is behind your back, slowly opening the drawer. 

“I’m many things, a thief among them.” His eyes are glittering as he walks around the room, observing the bookshelf. You take the distraction as a moment to put your hand in the drawer, searching for the letter opener. It’s missing. “Looking for something?” 

Your eyes shoot up. Jimin is standing in front of the bookshelf, letter opener in hand. Your anger flares through you and you feel an energy ripple through you again. Jimin’s face twists, becoming unsettled as you yell, “See, you are a thief!”

“This belongs to me. Show me your hand, girl.” 

“Give me my letter opener.”

He makes a sour face. “Letter opener? This knife has belonged to An Oidhche for millennia. It is hardly made for opening letters. It was my-”

“What did you just say?”

“For Makers sake,” he growls and moves forward across the attic. He’s fast, faster than your eyes can follow before he’s in front of you. He smells like orange blossoms and a summer’s night, nearly hypnotizing you. Up close he is so angelic that you fight the urge to sink to your knees and bow. “Give me that ring, girl, or I will rip it from your dead hand, allegiance to Yvaine be damned.” 

“An Oidhche - that’s what my grandmother called me.”

“Congratulations.”

“What does it mean?”

It seems Jimin has met his tolerance for you leaning away from him. He reaches for you, lightning quick. Before you can defend yourself, energy ripples out of you. It hits him and you smell something sharp and metallic as he’s stunned backwards, nearly losing his footing. He looks up at you, eyes round and plush lips open in surprise.

“There’s no way,” he whispers, his lip curling. Shocked, you look at the ring on your hand. It’s glowing, a tingling sensation vibrating up your hand. “Iron?” 

You use his shock to your advantage. Grabbing whatever you can reach, you launch items at Jimin. He’s fast, but not fast enough, his shock still dulling his senses. A bottle of perfume hits him in the head. He snarls, the sound feral and deep as you bolt past him. 

Jimin is quick to recover. There’s a soft whistling sound before you're ripped backwards, a loud thwack startling you. You turn your head to see that Jimin threw the dagger at you, catching your shirt and pinning you to the door. You scream in frustration, pulling at the dagger. It doesn’t give as Jimin smirks, swaggering toward you.

“You tried to kill me!” you scream at him, enraged. Whoever this faerie is, he is clearly not one of the nice ones your grandmother spoke of. “You fucking bastard.”

“Told you I’d pry it from your dead hands.”

Jimin is only a foot away from you. Your instincts scream. You don’t even think. You kick out with your foot, hitting him in the chest. He hardly moves, pain shooting up your shin as though you kicked a wall. It doesn’t stop you. You scream at him, kicking out the other foot, pushing against the door for leverage as you aim higher at his head.

Jimin catches your foot this time, yanking you and the door forward into him. You use the momentum to throw your head forward, slamming your forehead into his face. Jimin curses as pain explodes through your head, stars blinding you. 

Pain. Dreadful, swelling pain spreads through your head. You’ve never headbutt someone before, but it looks so easy when the Avengers do it. You’re dizzy, the room spinning on a crooked access. You go limp against the door, unable to focus on anything but the way you can barely focus on Jimin in front of you.

Your vision is hazy on the edges as he holds a hand up to his nose. It comes away crimson. His green eyes are glowing, brighter than they were before. He surprises you as he begins laughing, tilting his crimson and moonlight face up to the ceiling as he laughs, full-bellied. The sound is like trickling water, trilling and beautiful.

“Fuck, you are certainly of Yvaine's bloodline.” The words reach you like they’re spoken through syrup, sticky and slow. “I cannot believe you headbutt me. And you did it all wrong. You used half your brow bone- oh lovely.”

You feel Jimin’s hands smacking your cheek lightly. You can barely register the touch beyond the pain. You feel sick - you know you’ve damaged yourself. At the least you’ve given yourself a terrible concussion. You feel heavy as you blink, Jimin swimming in your vision.

Jimin reaches for the ring again. You moan, trying to ask him to stop, to leave you alone. He doesn’t. His fingers brush the ring and he curses, yanking his hands away from it. “Fuck,” he spits, nursing his fingers, now tipped red. “Hey – come on, are you alright? Girl? Don’t pass out on me.”

A part of you is smug knowing you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he asks. Because being left alone with him after he’s attacked you is the last thing you want to do, but your vision is fuzzy on the edges and you feel a voice sweeping toward you to swallow you whole. 

“Fuck off,” you manage to slur, going slack against the door and letting the darkness drag you down.

-

Lilac skies stretch overhead. The water around your ankles reflects the same color. There seems to be no horizon in any direction, making you spin in a slow circle. Your feet don’t disturb the warm water as you shift. 

It’s hard to tell what is up and down, forever twilight everywhere all at once. 

“Where am I?” you wonder out loud. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

You whip around at the voice. Your grandmother stands a few yards away from you, younger than you ever remember. She’s in a gauzy dress, the material swaying in a breeze that isn’t there. She looks beautiful, face glowing as cool, silver eyes regard you. 

“Grandma,” you whisper.

“We must be quick.” You take a step toward her and she shakes her head, holding a hand out to stop you. “You must not step further into the twilight. You do not belong here.”

“Where is here?” 

“The twilight between life and death. I felt your pull when you entered the In Between.”

“I’m dying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re at the space between worlds - the road between Faerie and Earth and other realms.” You swallow and nod. At least you’re not dying. “You are with Jimin.”

“He’s awful.”

Her smile is fleeting. She looks so much like the woman she painted on the walls of your bedroom - she is that woman. “Jimin is a product of his environment. Given the chance, he usually chooses the lesser evil, however he is ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his. I am fond of him, in a way, but don’t mistake me - Jimin is cunning and not to be trusted. What is he after?”

“This.” You hold up your hand. Your grandmother’s eyes widen, and she takes a hesitant step forward. 

Suddenly, you’re freezing cold. You shiver, the tips of your fingers trembling with the biting cold.

“Oh Jimin, what are you doing?” Your grandmother whispers. In a rush, she says, “Get away from him as soon as you can. Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. He will portal you south of his court near Hoseok’s home. If he takes you to the Night Court, you will not escape. You must not let him introduce you to Seokjin – the faerie who can lie.”

Again, cold douses you and the world around you dulls. You feel yourself moving away from your grandmother, the twilight shaking itself free of you. You cling to the image, begging, “What? What is that supposed to mean? What is this ring?”

“It isn’t about the ring anymore,” her face is pained. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you - just get away from Jimin and don’t let him take you to Seokjin. Jimin won’t realize the mistake he’s making, he doesn't know that Seokjin isn't who he thinks – he doesn’t know Seokjin killed your grandfather-”

Freezing cold water burns your face. You sputter, gasping for air. You choke on the icy tendrils, wiping your eyes with numb fingers, shaking. The dream - the place of twilight between life and death - vanishes and you’re stuck somewhere unknown dripping with cold.

Jimin is crouched at eye level, hypnotizing face fixated on you. He looks perfect as ever - the blood is gone though it stains the collar of his gossamer shirt, and there’s no bruising. No evidence you hit him at all, wiping out any satisfaction you have.

The cold is so bad it claws at you, head throbbing where you headbutt him. There’s a dry, bitter taste in your mouth. You cringe, unsure why you’ve woken up with something like hangover mouth parching you. 

“Finally,” Jimin mutters. His hands come to cup your face. You flinch away from him, earning a curled lip and a feral growl as he forcibly holds you face, tilting you upward to examine your forehead. Your eyes go upwards to look at the sky and the breath leaves your lungs. “Swelling is going down. You’ll be fine in a moment - forced some tonic in your mouth. I’d apologize for the bitter taste in your mouth, but I’m not actually sorry.” 

You ignore the rude comment. The pull toward Jimin is there again, making you stare at him for a few moments in silence. He lets you, eyes wandering your face, though you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

True to his word, the pain begins to fade in your head. Jimin stands up next to you, trailing towards a massive horse. You gape. It’s beautiful with a midnight coat and dark, leather saddle. The horse’s mane and tail are silver like starlight, silky and smooth as Jimin adjusts the saddle.

“Your horse is beautiful.”

Jimin’s mouth twitches. “Thank you. Her name is Umbriel.”

You look up at the sky. Constellations and colors like you’ve never seen swirl above, the black sky saturated with purple and pink stars, swirling galaxies that make your head spin. It’s so beautiful you can’t look away.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. You drop your gaze and look around. The forest is dark, but there are bioluminescent plants swaying in the breeze that smells like jasmine. A glowing, white butterfly brushes by you and you smile, despite yourself. “Everything glows?”

“It’s the Night Court,” Jimin grunts as though this is a huge fact you should have known. “Of course everything glows. Now get up.” 

Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. Your grandmother’s words ring in your head as you slowly stand. Your limbs are still cold. You spot a slow-moving stream a few feet away - perhaps the source of the freezing water Jimin doused you with several times. 

Jimin rolls his eyes when you stand, steady on your feet. He gestures to the horse. “Come on, human. We don’t have all day.”

“It’s night.”

“It’s only night here. But it is day in your scope of time.” 

“What direction is south?”

Jimin pointed behind you, face pulled into a sneer. “Do all human women ask such ridiculous questions? Now let’s-”

You don’t care what he’s saying. You pivot and run. Your shoes aren’t made for athletics - you’re still I fluffy slippers, leggings and a baggy sleepy shirt. The right shoe comes off and you leave it. The ground is soft under your feet, springy and damp. You lose the other shoe, arms pumping at your side as you race downhill. 

Colors blur on either side of you. You don’t hear Jimin behind you as you nearly trip over a vine. Your breath stings in your lungs and - 

A body slams into you. You screech as you crash into the bushes, the breath leaving your lungs. The world is a kaleidoscope of neon as glowing things flutter from the bushes, flying upward in panic as you wheeze in the bushes. Jimin’s grip on your wrists is like iron, pushing your hands into the foliage as he straddles your waist. 

The prince is gone. He is replaced with an angry, wild faerie, Jimin’s canines sharp as he snarls at you. There’s something alien about his face - he’s no longer the beautiful man who was standing in your attic. His eyes seem sharper and his features are too lupine to be anything but faerie, shocking you straight from panic to utter terror. You cringe away from him, screaming on top of your lungs. 

A hand clamps over your mouth as he growls at you to shut up. You squeeze your eyes shut, kicking underneath him and crying under the vice grip he has on your mouth.

This has to be a nightmare. You will yourself to wake up, for the weight of Jimin to vanish. You hope you’re just sleeping in your room, thrashing at the sheets as this strange nightmare continues.

Maybe your mother was right. There was some sort of twisted sickness in your family, an obsession of the mind with fantasy and creatures, and your mind is poisoned now. 

“You’re going to get us both killed if you don’t stop screaming,” Jimin seethes, his voice darker than you remember. You open your eyes as his grip on you lightens a fraction. He’s no longer the terrifying face he was a moment ago, but he’s serious as he lowers himself further to murmur, “The Dreadwolf is probably prowling about these parts. I’m not trying to hurt you.”  

Slowing your breathing, you try to run through your options. Jimin is faster than you and stronger than you- not to mention he has Umbriel at his disposal. He’s armed- you now see the dagger at his waist, next to a sword you did not see before. His grip on your wrist is bruising and he’s looking at you, waiting to see what you’re going to do. 

You’re not going to get away from Jimin. That much is clear. You swallow thickly.

You can’t remember the name Jimin. Your grandmother has talked about many names, but Jimin is unfamiliar to you. But you’re in the Night Court - Jimin said that himself. The place your grandmother told you not to let him take you to - or perhaps she meant it's a palace. 

The Night Court brings up a shiver as you gaze up at him. You remember your grandmother’s words, saying the Night Court is both the most beautiful and one of the deadliest places. A place where it is always night and glowing, full of magic and ancient fae. The Court of Mystery it is also known as - it is the second court to exist in Faerie after the High Court, home to the oldest fae. 

“Are you ready to listen to me?” Jimin’s voice is velvet again. It has a soothing effect on you and you melt into the ferns and nod. He removes his hand slowly, palm hovering over your bruised lips as he waits for you to scream again. “You cannot scream in the Night Court,” Jimin murmurs. A micro-expression you cannot decode flits across his face for a moment as he brushes your hair from your face. “There are things that live off of screams here. I don’t wish to introduce them to you.”

“Don’t you want me dead anyway?” you shoot back. 

His face doesn’t show a single reaction. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. But if you fight me, I’m going to have to. I don’t… know how else to do what I need to do.”

“Maybe try telling me what you need and being partners instead of kidnapping me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I won’t kill you. I believe Yvaine will haunt me into eternity if I kill you. Grandmother, you called her?” You nod. His eyes are searching your face. “You have her beauty - not her eyes, though. What was your grandfather's name?” 

You hesitate. “Oberon.” 

Pain. Acute pain flickers across Jimin’s face as he rolls off you. It’s so fast you blink in surprise, a world of stars and sky greeting you. Jimin is several feet away from you, running a hand over his face. For a moment, you just watch him. His composure slips for only a second - and then he’s facing you again, giving you an impatient expression, hand on his hip. 

“By all means,” he gestures. “Lay in the ferns. You should know that you crashed into a massive web of spiders.” 

Alarmed, you roll to your feet, brushing yourself off anywhere you can reach. You hop around barefoot and disheveled, running your hands through your hair trying to free it from any creepy crawlies. Jimin whistles and beckons you. “There weren’t really spiders there, but at least you’re on your feet.” 

“I thought the fae couldn’t lie.” 

He arches his brows as you approach him. “So you do know of the fae.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I didn’t lie. I said you crashed into spiders - I wasn’t specific about where and when. It was when we portaled here, landed right on the web earlier. I omitted the time.”

“Art of deception,” you mumbled. “Where are we going and what do you want with me? I’d give you this stupid ring if I could, but it won’t come off.” 

His smirk is rueful as he gestures to the horse. Though he’s shorter than Namjoon and floats like a wraith, he’s still taller than you. Dancer thin, but strong, muscles moving under his breeches and - you drag your eyes up, face red at the way you were drawn to the tight pants. 

“It won’t come off unless its maker takes it off you.” 

“Then why did you try?” 

“I had to be sure it was the ring I was searching for.” 

“What does a faerie want with an iron ring anyway? Isn’t it like kryptonite to you people?”

Umbriel is far too tall for you. You put your hand on the horn of the saddle, struggling to lift your foot. Jimin grabs you by the waist and lifts you like you’re nothing, placing you on the horse. He frowns as he hauls himself up behind you, setting your cheeks aflame and heart racing. “Like what?” 

“You don’t spend much time on earth, do you? Kryptonite - the one thing that can kill superman.” 

“He doesn’t sound very super if this… kryptonite can kill him. Iron won’t kill me, it just hurts.” He lifts his chin slightly. “And of course I don’t visit earth. I’m a crown prince of the Night Court, the Evening Star and heir to the High Throne of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re not surprised - Jimin was obviously a prince. But of the Night Court - and the High Court? From what you can recall, the High Court had long since been removed as the seat of power in Faerie. There had been a dark king who was abusing his power over the courts. That power had been taken away - by your grandmother and a knight of the Summer Court, if your grandmother’s tales had been truthful. 

So did that mean… your eyes dart down to the ring, thinking about the way it showed the seven stars of the courts. The pulse of power you felt when you put it on, the way Jimin said the ring was his... 

A nasty feeling twists in your gut as you swallow, knowing there is only one reason Jimin could want the ring so desperately as the heir to the High Throne. 

“This ring has the power of the old High King, doesn’t it?” Jimin says nothing. He clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward. “Why else would you want it - as an heir? You said it was yours…” 

“It does - and it is.” 

“Then why is it made from iron?”

He sneers. “Because your grandmother is a clever little witch.” 

“She was not a witch!”

“You're right. She was a wicked little half-fae who became a hero.” He heaves a sigh. You feel the air expand in his chest before he lets it out. “But look where we are now, living the consequences of her actions. Her fix, however noble, was temporary and made without thought of the future. Of my future.” 

“My-” you shake your head. “My grandmother was not half-fae. She was human, like the rest of my family.” 

“Of course she was. Why do you think she lived in Faerie at all? Where did she get her gifts? Or how does she have fae artifacts in that creepy little room? The only reason you lived portaling here is because you’re part fae.” 

“Me?” 

“Is there an echo out here? Yes you - do you know nothing about her? You know things about the High Court and you don’t seem completely perplexed about where we are, but you know nothing of your history? Your grandmother was the bastard daughter to the old king of the Night Court and your grandfather was Oberon, one of the greatest knights this realm has ever seen. Ever.” 

You blanch. “We’re related?” 

“What?” He seems disgusted, pulling away from you slightly. “No - King Samar was not my father. Yvaine was whelped by Samar and a human housemaid whose name no one remembers. Queen Eun was my mother. My father was…” Jimin searches for the words. “King Malik of the High Court. He was once the High King of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence as you ride. You picture your grandmother and father as… fae. It seems both ridiculous and yet, your instincts don’t rebel at the thought. You think about how you’ve always had dreams of strange places and creatures. How sometimes things happened around your grandparents that didn’t make sense - you always blamed it on your overactive imagination. 

“I didn’t know that about them,” you murmur. “They were only ever human to me.” 

“Well, settle in. You’re about to learn plenty about your family tree.” He glances at you. “You still haven’t given me a name.” 

You hesitate and decide to give him only your first name. He nods after hearing it, humming. “Beautiful,” he says so softly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t give you time to second-guess the compliment. “Sleep if you wish, Umbriel and I will not let you fall. We have a bit of a ride to Hoseok’s cabin where we can rest.”

-

You can’t sleep. You settle for uneasy silence, watching the world around you. You spot pixies and dryads floating between trees, and you hear things skitter underfoot.

Once in a while, Jimin reroutes Umbriel. Once, he even hissed at a dark alcove as you passed a copse of trees. The trees grow thicker, moving downhill as you enter a forest proper.

It’s hard to stay focused when you’re pressed against Jimin – he’s warmer than you expected, and he smells like orange blossom and late nights. 

You don’t care. You remind yourself that he’s a liar – in fae terms. And he’s kidnapped you, despite the draw you feel to him and despite his beautiful face.

The world around you has your attention instead.

The sky is a mystery in itself, shifting colors of dark twilight. You can’t get over how it looks like the entirety of space and all of the worlds are suspended above you, shifting with the ebb and flow of the aurora borealis back in your home realm.

Everything around you is both dark and glowing. The shadows are thicker and longer, but the world is line with soft color. Your hands brush branches as you ride – flowers vanish into their stalks at the touch of your fingers, lichen grows bright green at the heat of your hand.

“Stop touching the trees. You’ll wake them and I’ll have to threaten them to keep our passing to themselves.

You frown. “For a prince you’re not very nice. Aren’t you supposed to be polite to your subjects?”

“They aren’t my subjects,” Jimin snaps. “The Night Court answers to my adoptive brother.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you-"

“No. My mother, who was my only claim to the throne is dead. Jin lets me act as an emissary because I am little threat to him. He’s a Shade- only true heirs of the Night Court command the shadow flame.”

“Is he nice?”

Jimin doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, he offers, “The High Court are my people by blood. They’re why I need that ring that refuses to come off of your finger. Without the power of their court, they’re dying. Their lands are poisoned and being consumed, and neighboring courts are taking advantage of that. They’re-” He breaks off and growls, the sound vibrating through your back. “They’re hurting the high fae and they’re abusing them. I want that power back. Not for me, but for the faeries who are dying without it.”

“Isn’t that power what got them hurt in the first place because it was abused?”

“King Malik was sick. He didn’t deserve the power of the High King, but what’s happening in his abandoned lands isn’t right.” Jimin’s knuckles are bone white on the reigns. “A court is only as strong as the power in their lands. They High Court has nothing and no one, and the only heir of Malik doesn’t have so much as a drop of high fae glamour.”

“Oh. You weren’t born with it?”

“It was taken from me the same day it was taken from my father.”

Sadness stirs in the pit of your stomach. On one hand, Jimin seems to generally want you out of harm's way, despite his actions. Though he can deceive, the root of his goals is to protect his people. It’s obvious he cares for them, the way he grows angry at the thought of their suffering.

“You pity me.”

It wasn’t a question, but you shake your head. “I just wonder what you could have been if things weren’t taken from you. You sound like you have the potential to be kind.”

Jimin says nothing.

Instead, there’s a long, terrible howl that shatters the night. You suck in a sharp breath as Jimin stops Umbriel, who begins dancing back and forth nervously as Jimin swivels in the seat. The howl lowers, but the world feels colder now. A breath of wind tickles your face, blowing your hair northward.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, turning in the seat. He wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you to his chest. “Hold on to me. The Dreadwolf knows we’re here.”

Umbriel takes off faster than any horse you’ve ever ridden. Her hooves are like thunder, echoing in the forest as the world moves past you impossible fast. You dig your fingers into Jimin’s arm around your waist, letting him hug you as the horse picks up speed, guiding herself through the trees with little nudging from Jimin.

Panic begins to seize you when you hear the howl again – it’s further away, you think. You’re not sure, clutching to Jimin and trying not to unseat yourself as you turn to look over your shoulder.

“Sit still!” Jimin snaps.

You obey.

The rubbing of the saddle chafes you as Jimin navigates through the forest. The world drops dramatically into a dell, and he slows the pace, navigating Umbriel carefully down the slope. You feel him turn around for a moment, but you don’t dare look behind you. It feels like it’s been almost an hour since you’ve heard the Dreadwolf.

The name sounds so familiar and yet… you’re unable to place the label of something so dark that it scares Jimin.

A tiny, log home sits on the edge of the dell’s rise. Green smoke curls out of the chimney, the lights inside the windows a muted gold. Jimin leads the horse around the home, soundless. He stops at the front of what you suppose is the yard, sliding off gracefully and helping you down. You almost thank him but decide against it as he murmurs to Umbriel in a language you can’t understand. She takes off running and you make a sound of distress.

“She’ll lead the Dreadwolf away.” Jimin looks at you as he walks towards the steps leading up to the home. “Don’t worry – he won’t harm Umbriel. He’s rather fond of animals. If he so much as hurts my horse, I’ll give him hell.”

You scramble after him, trying to mute your steps as you cast your eyes to the owl watching on top of the roof. It’s so black it’s nearly invisible. You wouldn’t have seen it if not for two glowing eyes of gold.

At the front of the home is a small porch. There are plants hanging from the eaves and lining the windows. A small chair next to a table ringed with water stains stands alone.

Jimin raps his knuckles on the door thrice. There’s silence surrounding the home, the unsettling kind that has you shifted from foot to foot. The owl on the roof hoots loudly, making you flinch. Jimin eyes you from the side but says nothing, lifting his hand to knock again when the door opens suddenly.

“You’ve brought the Dreadwolf to my lands,” a hushed voice says. Jimin yanks you inside the cabin.

Quickly you feel warmth seep into your bones. You don’t realize how cold your extremities are until you feel the heat of the fire. You’re drawn to it, holding out your hands to feel the licking warmth of the green flames.

“These aren’t your lands,” Jimin huffs.

“I tend to them when your brother does not. Therefore – my lands.”

“Sounds like the human’s ridiculous phrase of finders keepers.”

You turn your head to look at the stranger whose home you’re now in – he has on a cloak and he’s rushing about the house shuttering the windows and blowing out the candles. It’s a small room with a single bed, a kitchen table, and a humble kitchen. There’s a door that leads to another tiny room, but it’s firmly shut as the man rushes past you to shutter the windows facing the dell.

All that remains is the green fire – dimmer than you remember it being – and a single orb of fire hovering over the man’s shoulder.

When he turns to greet you, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Like Jimin, he’s wonderful to look at. Smooth skin and high cheekbones, kind eyes that are playful and light brown. His ears are tipped with the sharpness of the fae and when he gives you a quick smile, you see the pointed teeth. Still, he does not terrify you the same way Jimin does.

“They call me Hoseok, though you may call me Hobi.” He bows at the waist before meeting your eyes with a smile. “I apologize we must meet under such circumstances.”

“And what are those circumstances?” Jimin asks. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s lounging in the bed, legs spread wide as he gives Hobi a pointed glare while leaning back on his hands. He is every bit the arrogant prince now and yet… painfully beautiful. “Go on, Hobi.”

“Ignore him. I usually do,” Hobi says to you. He brushes past you and touches your shoulder gently. “Let’s get you a change of clothes.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Um – you can call me Y/N.”

“Oh I know,” he assures you. He opens a heavy trunk at the foot of his bed. Jimin watches with a silent glare and something verging on a pout. You’re pleased by this, for some reason. “You look just like Yvaine.”

“Why do you know her name?”

“I know more than you, Your Highness. That’s what watchers do – we watch.” Hoseok stands, clothes folding in his hands. He holds them out to you. “It’s spider silk,” Hoseok explains. “Tough, but light enough to travel quickly. The cloak is lined with fur – you’ll find it warm but light. You can change in the washroom.”

You don’t accept the clothes, eyes flicking up from the clothes to him. “They are lovely, but I don’t accept this gift.”

Hoseok lights up like a fire, smiling at you as he looks at Jimin, laughing with unfiltered glee. You’re unsure why he’s so happy – you’ve rejected his gifts in an attempt not to bind yourself to him. Another lesson from your grandma: never accept gifts from the fae. Acknowledge that they are lovely, and politely decline to accept them.

“She knows of the fae?” Hoseok asks Jimin, turning to you. “I offer these with no bargain, Y/N. These are gifted freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

You hesitate. Jimin groans. “Faeries cannot lie, human.”

With a growl, you accept the clothes and storm to the washroom.

The moment you close the door to the small washroom, you hear whispering on the other side of the door. Hoseok sounds angry - you can’t make out what they’re saying, but even after thirty minutes of spending time with Jimin, you can recognize the softness of his voice. 

A shiver wracks your spine unbidden. You shove away thoughts of the prince just beyond the door and turn to look in the small mirror framed with antlers. You look disheveled and dirty. There is a slight bruise on your forehead, but Jimin was right - there’s no lump from where you tried to headbutt him.

The thought makes you smile. Causing him any amount of grief has quickly become your favorite thing to do. You don’t hate anyone that you can think of, but you already hate Jimin. Hate the way he ambushed you, hate the way he spoke to you, hate the way he looked down on you.

But most of all, you hate that he’s kidnapped you and brought you to Faerie- and that it excites you above all else.

Your grandmother told you terrifying stories of human children taken from their bed and replaced with faerie changelings. The children would be brought to Faerie and used as slaves and thralls, pretty pets for faeries to look at and taunt as long as the human lived - which was longer than usual, in Faerie - and how they lived lives both terrible and wonderful.

You couldn’t imagine being raised in a world like this - beautiful, surrounded by so much delicate beauty but filled with so much violence. And you know there is violence ahead. 

Hoseok hasn’t just given you soft leather breaches lined with a thin layer of wool and a long, black tunic - he’s given you a leather belt with a small dagger buckled to it. You slide the breaches on, raising your brows in surprise. They fit perfectly, if not a little long in the ankle. The tunic is long and green, embroidered with gold thread in swirling designs you realize are flames. Your fingers trace the fire on the sleeve.

The cloak is wonderful, thick to keep out the cold but light as a feather. In a sweeping motion, you tie it at your throat. Your hair is tangled, making you pull it up high in a ponytail and out of your way. 

You leave the dagger for last, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink as you take time to wash your face. The water is freezing cold, burning your skin the same way the water had from the stream. There’s a soft linen rag and you use it to dry your face before glancing back up in the mirror. Not perfect, but doable. 

With curious fingers, you pull the unadorned hilt from the weapons belt. The blade is nothing special. It’s made from the same dark metal as the knife Jimin has taken from you. You have no idea how to use it, but a strong piece of advice from Game of Thrones comes to you: Stick them with the pointy end. 

It’s a good piece of advice, you think as you slide the dagger back home. The leather belt is snug around your waist. You’re unsure if Jimin knows Hoseok gave you the knife - somehow you think Jimin wouldn’t appreciate you being armed - so you hide it with your cloak. 

When you step out of the washroom, Jimin straightens on the bed. He goes quiet as Hoseok moves about the small kitchen, green eyes only for you. You swallow and shut the door behind you. 

Jimin’s gaze is unreadable. He stands and crosses the space to you, steps gentle. You freeze in place - not out of fear, but out of the way you feel the pull to him again. You clench your teeth, hating that something deep in the pit of your heart draws you toward him. 

You think it’s because of how beautiful he is. The siren eyes as he stops in front of you, eyes dipping up and down. The sultry curve of his sinful mouth frowning slightly. You avert your eyes, feeling heat creep up your next at his proximity and the tiny displeasure in his expression. 

“You were not made for Summer Court colors,” Jimin whispers. You glance at him, surprised. He brushes his fingers against the flames on the sleeve peeking out from your cloak. “You belong in midnight blue and silver.” 

Jimin doesn’t give you a moment to ask what he means. He drops his hand and brushes past you, joining Hoseok in the kitchen. 

Warily, you watch the two of them prepare a meal. They move in sync, leading you to believe they’re old friends. You hesitantly sit in a chair by the bed, eyes fixed on the pair of them. Jimin, though mostly polite and a bit cold, smiles more when Hoseok murmurs something to him.

Hoseok himself is like fire and warmth. He feels the room with a brightness than you can appreciate, and you feel like if your grandmother knew him, he was one of the good fae that she spoke about. She never mentioned many names, but you wish she had told you about Hoseok.

Other names you’re familiar with. King Samar of the Night Court – ancient and ruling for hundreds of years. Your grandmother always spoke his name with a hushed fear and a faraway look. You imagine now that she was remembering a father – a father, as it seems, who had little time or desire for her.

King Malik is a name you know even more. The High King of Faerie, who ruled for so long that he became mad. If your grandmother's stories were true, the death of his one true love began driving him to madness. He became obsessed with resurrection and violating the afterlife, looking for ways to bring back the woman he loved.

Your eyes trail to Jimin, who is rolling his eyes at something Hoseok says.

Eun. You realize the woman that King Malik went mad over is Jimin’s mother. Despite having a bad taste in your mouth for the prince, you feel yourself soften. It must be difficult, to lose one parent and the other go mad. What you don’t understand is how your grandmother came to take his father’s power, and how his father ultimately came to pass.

The High Court had dispersed after his passing, either becoming solitary faeries or joining other courts.

You wonder if Jimin knew them well. He had said the Night Court were not his subjects…

“Dinner is ready!” Hoseok chirps. “And don’t worry,” he adds at your wary look. “It’s not going to spell you to dance until your feet are blood stumps or sing until your bleeding from your throat.”

“Is that real?” you ask, inhaling the scent of the spiced stew.

“Of course it is,” Jimin answers around a mouthful of cheese. “On Beltane we make the humans-”

Hoseok hits Jimin in the back of the head so hard the prince chokes on the cheese. You widen your eyes as Hoseok levels a glare as he sits down at the small table, pulling a chair out for you. His burning gaze is on Jimin as he says, “We don’t do that anymore.”

Jimin says nothing, glowering as he bites into his bread.

After that, dinner is held in relative silence. Hoseok asks you about your life and your heritage, but you answer in hesitant pieces. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here or what is expected of you. To his credit, Hoseok never asks about the ring on your finger. Never even looks at it.

By the end, you’re full and satiated, drowsy as you help Hoseok with the dishes while Jimin peers out of a curtained window. When you’re done, wiping your hands dry, Jimin gestures to the bed. “Sleep. We have a long ride in a few hours.”

“I thought you said it was day. Shouldn’t I stay awake?”

Hoseok shakes his head, answering, “Asleep at true night in the Night Court is a bad idea if you’re not in court proper. It’s okay.”

Jimin scoffs, but you feel comforted. Hoseok leads you to the small bed, giving you blankets and a cup of tea before he joins Jimin in the kitchen, their conversation too quiet for you to hear.

The tea makes you sleepy. You fight it, too nervous to fall asleep. The bed dips suddenly next to you, making you flinch and open your eyes. Jimin murmurs and apology. Perhaps you’re already dreaming – you imagine that he brushes your hair back as he sits on the edge of the bed and murmurs, Sleep. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

As you drift, you believe the only one who can hurt you is him.

-

A long howl wakes you up. You shoot forward in bed, panting and searching in a fright. You find them both silent and near the window facing the dell. Hoseok looks at you and holds a finger to his lips, then beckons you. A nervous tingle goes up your spine as you cross the space hesitantly, taking place next to Hoseok. Jimin glances at you around Hoseok, frowning.

Perhaps that makes you a fool. You know how easy it is for the fae to deceive humans with false niceties. But there is something about his aura that feels warm. Standing next to him, he smells like citrus and blossom, the same way your grandfather used to smell.

The realization makes your eyes watery, and you glance at him as Jimin peaks out the window. “Are you Summer Court?” you whisper, voice barely audible. Hoseok looks shocked, nodding his head. “You smell like my grandfather.” 

He nods and whispers, “Oberon.”

“Shut up,” Jimin hisses and closes the window. “The Dreadwolf approaches.”

Something deep within you curls in fear.

Suddenly, you remember the name. The Dreadwolf was one of the darker parts of your grandmother’s tales. A faerie loyal only to the king of the Night Court, he was a servant and hunter to the king. Merciless and terrifying, the Dreadwolf could shift forms into a large, black wolf, hunting his prey to the ends of the realms.

Your grandmother assured you that he never lost his prey. Ever. 

Anxiety began to chew at your stomach. Jimin softly walked the circumference of Hoseok’s home, his eyes focused somewhere else, as though he were watching the wolf through some other lens. Your heart skipped in a nervous rhythm, moving from foot to foot as the silence pressed in. 

Jimin stopped walking in front of the door to the home.

Sensing your eyes on him, Jimin looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are dark green, shining at the bottom of a deep lake. His eyes flicker for a moment before he looks at Hoseok and murmurs, “I apologize, Hoseok. I hoped to avoid going to the palace but...”

Hoseok looks as confused as you do when Jimin opens the door to the home. Hoseok makes a startled sound but Jimin is stepping outside, calling “Jungkookie,” Jimin calls as he looks back at the pair of you - regret flashes so quickly on his face, you’re sure you imagined it. “The watcher has found what we’ve been looking for. Don’t touch the girl or I’ll skin you.” 

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok swears, unsheathing his dagger. You do the same, holding it awkwardly in your hand as Jimin steps to the side of the doorway, refusing to look at you. “They will kill me.” 

A deep growl comes from somewhere outside. It’s low, like the churning of hell underneath your feet, the house trembling. Your heart pounds faster as Hoseok shoves you behind him. “You cannot fight here. Go through the window behind us. Run south.”

A figure enters the doorway. Your breath rushes out of your lungs as you stare at the fae in front of you. Black hair hanging in his dark eyes, broad shoulders and ripping muscles. There are dark marks running down his arm, tattoos of glyphs and swirling ink that you can’t decipher. He’s much taller than Hoseok and Jimin, and his eyes are focused on you. He is impossibly handsome, your heart flipping. 

“Hello,” his voice is phantom soft. “Come out from behind Hoseok, won’t you?” 

A flash of blinding heat and flame erupts from the fireplace in the direction of Jungkook. You scream as you turn and bolt for the window. Hoseok is shouting something at Jungkook as he wields flame behind you, a fiery whip in his hand. Jungkook snarls, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You sheath your dagger, clambering onto the dinner table and pulling the window open. You haul yourself through it, trying not to panic with the sounds of snarling and yelling behind you. You freefall for a moment until you hit the ground and roll. Your breath is knocked out of you for the second time that night, leaving you wheezing and holding your arm, sore from absorbing the fall. 

Crawling to your feet, you look up as a shadow looms over you. Jimin frowns. “You’re not very graceful.” 

You don’t think. You let survival instinct take over, ripping out the dagger from your belt and swiping at him. Jimin backs up, dancing away from you with a twitch of his lips. “He gave you a dagger?” 

“You betrayed him.” 

“Court is a game of betrayal, get used to it. Hoseok will be fine. Jungkook won’t kill him.”

“I thought perhaps you were different than you first appeared. Turns out I was wrong – do you even care about your people or was that another twist of words?”

Something like rage heats his face. You manage to get to your knees and swipe out again. Jimin dances away from you as a sharp, animal cry comes from the house. Jimin looks at the window, brows raised. “Good for Hoseok, sounds like he managed to wound the pup.” 

Jimin may not be able to lie directly, but he’s a deceitful bastard. He almost had you, telling you that he was worried about his people, that the absence of the High Court was poisoning the land. Now you knew what he really wanted - the ring, the power at your hand. For his selfish purposes, for the Night Court. 

On your feet now, you feel a tremor in your hand. Energy lights you up from the inside out. It’s a familiar sensation, one you felt when you put the ring on or when you touched the dagger you found in the drawer. It’s something like rage, hot and crackling. You remember how the ring defended you and channel it, launching a hand at Jimin. 

A dark flame ripples up your arm, and though it doesn’t burn you, you can feel a hot, decaying heat. You thrust your hand outward, urging the flame to shoot out at Jimin. It obeys, a blast of black fire licking toward him. He rolls away from it easily, the flame hitting a tree and turning it to… ash. Your face whitens as you drop your hand in shock. Jimin is on his feet again, surprised with his mouth parted. The flame dances along your arms, tingling your skin as you stare at the grayed ash of the tree. 

“Interesting,” Jimin murmurs. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, Shade.”

Somewhere you can’t see, Jungkook snarls loudly, followed by silence. Your flame gutters out immediately, thinking the worst. Terror shoots through you for Hoseok, for yourself.

“For what it’s worth,” Jimin murmurs softly, “I have no desire to hurt you. None at all. I apologize, but this is the only course of action. I wanted to take you to the Winter Court, but we have a new plan. I'm sorry.” 

Before you can figure out what he means, Jimin is in front of you, slamming you to the ground so hard it feels like the world shatters. 

The world fades. 

-

You drift. You search for that place of forever twilight but cannot find it. Your thoughts are nothing at all. They drift, unable to form memories and strings of ideas. You struggle in the space where you drift, unable to remember where you are or where you’re going. What you’re doing, or who you’re with.

There is dull pain. It might be your head, it might be your heart, it might be your toe. You don’t know where the pain comes from, but there is pain as you drift. 

Sometimes you feel almost awake. Other times there’s nothing- not even pain. 

Time is meaningless as you drift. You don’t know how long you’re in that space where there is nothing, but slowly your thoughts connect. You can identify it’s your head that hurts - and the rest of your body throbs. There’s a dullness to your senses like fog - you no longer feel that pulsing energy you located to try and fend off Jimin.

It’s just cold and muted.

With a groan, you open your eyes. It’s dim in the room, a single purple light burning low at the far corner. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth like sandpaper. Movement in the corner of the room catches your eye. Fear seizes you as you push yourself away from the dark figure. You push yourself into a corner of the cot you’re on, sheets tangling you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmurs. “It’s me.”

Blinking away the blurriness on the edge of your vision, you realize it’s Hoseok. 

You’re both in a small room with two cots, end tables next to each. There is a tiny rug covering the stone floor, and a heavy wooden door without a handle. The purple light follows Hoseok - you realize it’s a tiny purple flame, licking the air and snapping next to his shoulder. A pair of glowing, white eyes blink to life in the flame and you squeak, wide-eyed and pushed against the wall. 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok grins, looking at the fire. “I didn’t introduce you at the house because Jimin was there. This is Flare. He’s a fire spirit.” 

“Hello, Flare,” you croak, voice like sandpaper. Still, Flare snaps and pops with happiness, glowing pink at the edges for a moment. 

Hoseok rushes to your end table, grabbing a waterskin and passing it to you. You take it with greedy hands, uncorking it and chugging the cool water. It calms your throat immediately, earning a sigh. “Thanks.” You wipe the water running down your chin with the back of your hand. “Are you okay?”

You look at Hoseok - really look at him. His brown hair is matted and dirty, and there’s a bandage on his neck darkened with blood. You panic, sitting forward to tend to him when he holds a hand with a kind smile. “Already taken care of. That dog almost killed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Jimin is a traitorous bastard and Jungkook gets too enthusiastic. It isn’t the first time he’s bitten me.” 

“I thought you were friends.”

Hoseok snorts. “You never know where you stand with Jimin. He does everything on his own, that clever little mind of his making plots within plots. I think he did what was best in the moment, which meant letting Jungkook take us.”

“Why be friends with him at all, then?”

Hoseok looks sad when he glances at you. “Because he wasn’t always this way. Jimin is a product of his environment. He makes decisions that he thinks are best for his people, even if it puts friends in danger. His intentions are pure, his methods are brutal. But he is a prince of his people, for what it’s worth.” 

You think about that. It sounds like what your grandmother had told you. He is a product of his environment. You assume they’re talking about the Night Court. You think of the brief warmth in Jimin’s face in Hoseok’s home - those had not seemed fabricated, but you knew the fae were famous for mimicking emotion.

It really had been a ploy.

Knowing that bothers you more than you expect. You’ve only known Jimin a day, but something about him being exactly as you expected is incredibly disappointing. You fell for it just like he knew you would, and you’re all the dumber for it.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Hoseok sighs, settling next to you on the cot with his back against the wall. “He may yet still be an ally, who knows. It’s hard to tell what his plans are.” 

“I don’t care what his plans are. I just want to go home.”

“You’re going to have to accept that going home is not an option.” 

“I have people there who are going to freak out that I’m missing.” 

Namjoon. Your mother. Your editor. The list is small, but it’s still a list of people who will look for you.

“Time moves differently here,” Hoseok explains. “What feels like a year in faerie might only be a minute in your world.” He glances sidelong at you. “That being said, I won’t tell you there is a guarantee that you’ll ever go home again. My best advice is to learn how to survive her first. Focus on home later.”

It’s an honest piece of advice. You know this, but it doesn’t hurt any less. You lean against the wall and close your eyes, feeling the urge to cry twist in your throat. If Hoseok notices, he doesn’t say anything. He lets you grieve in silence, mulling over the series of events that have landed you here in a room with him, held against your will.

You lift your hand, examining the ring. It glimmers in the dark, the seven stars looking at you. Tentatively, you pull at it again - it still doesn’t come off. You sigh heavily, dropping your hand to the bed. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask softly, not looking at Hoseok but staring at the door. He nods. “This gives me power, right?” You hold up your hand, showing the ring. “I turned a tree to ash with a black flame. Was aiming at Jimin, though.”

Hoseok leans forward. You glance at him to see his brows knit, head tilted. “You summoned shadow fire?” You nod. “Huh. That is not a power of the High Court. That’s a gift unique to King Samar. You’re his descendent, though.” 

You pale. You hadn’t thought of that when Jimin told you of your grandmother’s heritage. You look up at the ceiling, chewing on the new information. You’ve never done something like that before. When you tell Hoseok as much, he seems lost in thought. 

“Have you touched anything beside the ring that was new? Anything that felt powerful?” 

You’re about to tell Hoseok no when you remember the spark of power you felt when you had picked up the dagger that Jimin now has at his waist. “The dagger,” you whisper. Hoseok looks confused so you elaborate, “There was a dagger in a drawer I thought was a letter opener. Jimin has it - he said it’s belonged to the An Oidhche for millennia.” 

“It’s your grandmother’s.” Hoseok smirks, leaning back against the wall. “A gift from Jimin’s mother to Yvaine on her birthday - a way to tell Yvaine that Eun didn’t hate her. Even if Eun wasn’t her mother.” 

“No wonder he didn’t give it back.”

“When you touched it, you unbound your power. Similar to the ring, but not nearly as powerful as a spell. Have you experienced any other powers?” You shook your head. “Hm. If you learned, you might be quite the fighter.” 

Silence envelops you. Flare floats closer to you, hovering near your face. You smile a little, feeling his warmth as you hold a finger out. He dances around your point finger before settling on the tip, balanced like a small bird. He makes a chattering noise and changes color, turning to a blush pink.

“He likes you,” Hoseok murmurs. “He’s afraid of most Night Court fae.”

“Why?” 

“They are dark.” 

You don’t ask him to elaborate. Instead, you welcome the silence. 

So much has happened in a few hours. You’re unsure how to keep track of everything. The urge to cry swells again. As though sensing your distress, Flare hops up your arm to jump in front of you, hovering just in front of your face as he takes different shapes. 

You watch him - he turns into a pink unicorn, a blue dragon, a purple serpent. Flare is magnificent, a tiny spirit of flame and colors and shapes. You don’t realize you’re crying until he squeaks, a distressed sound as he ping pongs back and forth in front of you, flashing from red to orange.

You laugh and wipe the tears, aware that Hoseok is watching. “I’m not upset,” you whisper to Flare. You hold out your hands, cupped. He lands in them, warming your skin. “You’re very beautiful. I’m crying because even though this is very scary, there is beauty here.” You sniffle. “Because everything my grandmother ever told me… it’s true.” 

-

A loud clang startles you awake. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the room is dark. Flare is nowhere to be seen, and Hoseok is gone. You scramble to your feet as the door opens, a burning torch appearing in the doorway. Jimin appears, settling the torch in an empty sconce on the wall. He slides in the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Hatred bubbles up immediately. You reach for the swell of power, but it still feels muted, like the magic so new to you is locked behind a door. 

Jimin scoffs. “You were drugged so you can’t turn me to ashes, Shade.”

“So you’re afraid of me.”

“I take precautions for even the smallest ant that stings.” Your ball your fists at the insult. 

Jimin is dressed differently. Gone is the silk pink shirt. He’s in all black now, the collar opens loose at the neck to reveal glittering necklaces. The cuffs of the fine shirt are stitched with silver, phase of the moon artfully placed on the material. His dark pants are tucked into soft leather boots. The circlet in his hair is different than before - there are stars and moons in this one, glittering diamonds catching the firelight. 

He looks so beautiful that you avert your eyes, shame coloring your face pink. The draw to him again is so strong you want to bend over at the waist and gasp for air. It’s a magnetic pull that threatens to drive you to insanity, especially when he steps forward. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brows pinched. 

“Like you care.” 

Something flashes in Jimin’s eyes. He straightens, looking down his nose at you, face impassive. “You’re right,” he deadpans. “I shouldn’t care about a half-human brat. Come. You’ve been summoned by the King of the Night Court.”

“I won’t help you. I don’t care if you torture me. You betrayed Hoseok, who was your friend. That bullshit you fed me about helping suffering fae? It was some sort of wordplay, wasn’t it? You want whatever this is,” You hold up your hand, “For yourself. Be honest with me.” Jimin opens the door, staring at you without a reaction. This enrages you further. Of course he’s unaffected. He doesn’t care.

“If you’re done with your speech, there are things to be done. You need to change for the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

Jimin winces then. He turns on a heel and storms out of the door, boots echoing in a hallway. After a moment’s consideration, you hurry after him.

The hallway is long and dark, lit with orange torches. Jimin is several strides ahead of you. You run to catch up with him, falling into pace as he marches, staring straight ahead. There are no windows, but doors line the hallway. You have no idea what horrors could be behind them.

You grab Jimin to stop him and he reacts immediately. You’re pressed against the wall in a moment, torch crackling next to you. You hold your breath as Jimin invades your space, pinning a wrist to the wall as he lowers his face to glower at you. “Don’t,” he growls lowly. “Touch me like that. Not here. Not during the ceremony. If you show an ounce of that disrespect, they will make me kill you.”

“Why should I believe anything you say? You deceive me and your friend and you ask for blind loyalty when you haven’t learned it. You’ve told me nothing.”

“I’ve told you what won’t get you kill. You may be able to lie unlike the fae, but you’re not trained in the world of deception and the practice it takes. Faeries made a game of lying and you have no idea how to play.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re panting with rage, twisting in his grip. Jimin tightens his hand, pressing his waist against you. You freeze as the smell of orange blossoms and night fall over you. It’s hard not to shiver in his grasp, especially with his breath fanning you.

Jimin loosens his grip slightly as he lowers his face further, making sure he has your eye contact when he says, “I am going out of my way to value your life while I complete what I must. I cannot lie.”

You jut your chin out. “Faeries made a game of lying,” you quote back to him. 

“I’m not lying to you. I swear on the Maker and my mother Eun the Lightspear that I am not lying to you right now. I am trying to protect you. You have complicated this in ways you cannot fathom, but I will try to spare you.”

A beat of quiet passes between you to. You see the seriousness in his gaze, the way his breath quickens. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him swear something – and though you’re unsure what swearing in Faerie does exactly, it feels important. It feels binding.

So you nod. “Okay.”

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Jimin sighs as he lets you go. He backs up a few paces and you try not to follow him across the hall. “I mean it when I say I’m trying to keep you alive. But if you behave like that at court, they will eat you alive and call it entertainment.”

“Okay.”

You rub your wrist where he gripped you and his expression softens, just slightly. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Instead of telling him it’s okay, you ask, “What ceremony were you talking about?”

“I’ve claimed you for the Night Court.” Jimin begins walking again and you scurry behind him to keep up.

“What?”

“Your grandmother is Yvaine, Daughter of Samar. She’s the half-sister to my adoptive brother, Jin.” He grimaces. “You have little claim to the throne has a half-fae, but you’re a Shade, which means something to the gentry around here. To save your life, I’ve pledged you to me. You cannot under any circumstances let my brother know that you're a Shade, he will see it as a threat.”

“What does that mean?”

Jimin opens a door at the end of the hall and ushers you through. There’s a set of stairs that you climb together before you’re outside in a beautiful garden. A found trickles in the center, a centaur depicted spitting water from his mouth as he plays a harp. There are birds singing and glowing butterflies flitting from tree to tree.

“It means I’ve claimed that you’re a personal member of my court and that you will swear fealty to me in front of the King and the Night Court.”

You look at him with wide eyes. “The fuck I am.”

“You’re right, how silly of me. Let me skip on up to dearest Jin and tell him that the descendent of Yvaine Darkbringer and Oberon Fireborn who also happens to be a Shade like her grandmother, and who also happens to be in possession of a ring with the High King Malik’s glamour bound to it doesn’t want to be here and we should let her go. That will work.”

You open and close your mouth. He’s using names and terms that you don’t understand. You don’t know what Darkbringer and Fireborn means, or the fact that he keeps calling you Shade. None of it makes sense, but Jimin’s implication is enough: it’s pledge yourself to his court or die as a threat to this Jin he mentioned.

“I’m not swearing an oath to you.”

“What does it matter? You can lie. Any promise of loyalty you make to me means nothing.”

“Fine.” You straighten your shoulders. “But don’t treat me like I’m a child. You will be respectful.”

“Respect given is respect earned,” Jimin quips, walking away from you and toward a maze of hedges. “Come along, Shade. I hope you’re as good at lying as you are at annoying me.”

-

Two fae move around you in a circle, their fingers working on pulling on the gown while the other pulls strands of your hair. In another life, you would appreciate the room. It’s massive, with one of the walls made up entirely of rockface, a waterfall dripping down the cool stone. There are glowing flowers on the rockface, pale in comparison to the side of the gardens below the balcony.

Curtains dance in the jasmine-scented breeze. They’re gauzy and dark blue, twisting in in their holdings. There are no doors that lead to the stone balcony that overlooks a dizzying garden-forest of glowing flowers and chittering creatures.

The main chamber of the room is commanded by a four-poster bed with live glowing vines crawling up the columns, their ends vanishing into the sapphire, velvet curtains secured to each post. The bed is larger than any you’ve ever seen with dark, rumbled sheets that smell like orange blossom and a smell you’ve begun to associate with Jimin.

Jimin.

The name ignites a war within you. It is both full of a bitter tang and a sweet… something that you’re unsure of. The walk to the bedroom was silent after declaring you were to pledge yourself to his court. He explained that if you were bound to his court, you had his protection.

Meaning the king – Jin – couldn't murder you for inheriting a power that should belong only to him.

You look anything but unassuming. You stare in the mirror as the fae move around you. You’re unsure what they are – they’re genderless and they look more like moving smoke than human beings. Their hands fade in and out of existence and their eyes are glowing white, like stars. The color of their cloudy skin shifts with shadow, and when they step toward the light, you can see through them.

Unassuming is not the word you would use. They have smeared a shimmering substance on your arms, chest and neck. Your eyes are lined with dark coal, a contrast to the silver glitter on the tops of your cheekbones. Your hair is pinned in a low bun, some curled pieces falling out. There are pins with stars in your hair, a constellation of stairs among the strands that the two smoke-faeries have managed to tame.

You look startlingly like your grandmother. Not the eyes, though – those still look like your grandfather. But the sloping features, the intensity in your gaze and the way you hold your shoulders back with purpose… you blink in surprise.

It’s the way you’ve always wanted to appear like your mom. Confident. Fierce.

An ache starts in your chest at the thought of your mom. You cling to Hoseok’s works and hope that time back home is moving slowly. You’ve been at the Night Court for over two days. Jimin had the heart to tell you that you were in that room for a while after he knocked you out, and even more when they had received Hoseok.

Jimin wouldn’t answer where Hoseok was. You have every intention on finding out.

Though you’re aligned to this plan for now, taking Jimin for the oath that he swore, you’re crafting plans of your own.

It was difficult to memorize the steps to the room, but you’re confident you can navigate down to the garden and the wall of hedges that you passed on the way to the room.

The two faeries step away from you. The motion drags your eyes back to the mirror, focusing on the way you’re dressed. You must admit that you don’t look human at all. Your hands drift to the tips of your ears – still round, though maybe a little pointed, you note. But not faerie ears.

Silver beading makes up the entire bodice of the gown. It’s form fitting, hugging the swells of your breasts with a unique keyhole design, baring the sparkles on your chest. The sleeves cut off at the arm, sheer black material falling behind you at the shoulder like a cape, stars and diamonds catching the lighting.

The beading disperses at the waist, trickling into a twinkling pattern in layers and layers of black material, sheer but soft. It gives the illusion that you’re wearing the night sky when you move, the beading and jewels catching the light to create a beautiful allusion.

You wear no jewelry save for the iron ring on your finger. The pins in your hair paired with the spectacle of a gown command enough attention.

The door opens, making you turn as Jimin enters.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see him.

Jimin is stressed in equal extravagance. There are silver threads laced in his hair, emphasizing the grey of his styled hair. The crown of stars and moons is atop his head once more – you realize it looks exactly like the pins in your hair. The black shirt he wears is scandalously sheer, showing the strong body beneath. You can tell his skin is glittered beneath the shirt, hard planes of his abs catching the light as he approaches you slowly, green eyes pinned to you.

And his eyes. His eyes are lightly kohled, intensifying his already burning stare. There are no necklaces around his throat – where you’re determined to keep your gaze and not trail further to the abs – but he has diamonds in his ear, a cluster of stars climbing up the pointed edges.

Jimin is a dream. He is every lullaby you’ve ever heard murmured come to life. He is spun from moonlight, and he is the light of the stars himself.

Something so beautiful should not be so rotten inside, you think.

“You look exquisite,” Jimin says after a while. His hands are still clasped behind his back, his haunting eyes only for you. “Better than the gold and green of summer, but still not as good as the blue and silver.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jimin smiles – it’s so rare that he smiles that you find yourself opening your mouth in surprise. It’s tiny, but it isn’t filled with malice.

“I brought you something.” He removes his hands from behind his back. There’s a bracelet in his hands, a cluster of stars and planets. You hold out your wrist and then retreat it, eyes narrowing. He chuckles. “I offer this with no bargain. I gift this freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

With a hum of approval, you hold out your wrist. His fingers are nimble and quick as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your skin feels like it's on fire where his fingers brush your skin – more so than necessary when he pulls his hands away, running his fingers along your palm.

“It was your grandmothers.”

You look up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I can show you to her old room, if you like.”

“I would like that very much. You knew her well?”

“Well enough. We were allies, though perhaps not friends.”

“Why not friends?”

His smile is sad. “To save Faerie from the High King, she had to hurt me.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. “I suppose it seems the obvious answer among destruction: sacrifice the one to save the many. But she was warned of the potential consequences.”

“I saw her in a dream,” you mention. “She seemed just as conflicted about you and your choices. Perhaps we cannot judge others with such limited point of views.”

“Keep thinking like that and you’ll die in minutes. There is no time to question if someone is good here.” Jimin steps back from you and holds out the crook of his elbow. “Come. It’s time to tolerate me the best you can.”

You cut him a dull stare. “Aren’t I doing well enough already?”

“I suppose.”

Heat radiates from where you loop your arm in Jimin’s. You steady a breath as he leads you out of the room.

The halls to the main palace were twisting, no room or wall the same. You passed a large courtyard with no ceilings, the night sky shimmering above. There’s a large, black tree in the courtyard, lights like stars dangling from it. There’s a power there, throbbing through the roots and through the floor of the yard. Will-o-wisps flit among the bare branches, dancing among the gnarled arms.

You hesitate as you pass it, looking over your shoulder, fixated on it.

“The Midnight Tree,” Jimin murmurs. “The palace was built around it. It was placed there by our Maker at the beginning of our time.”

“Why would the Night Court be built around it? I thought the High Fae came first.”

The corner of his mouth drags upward. “Someone has been listening. The High Court came first – but the first High Queen – the Maker, for we don’t know her name – was very in love with a handmaiden of hers. The handmaiden was in love with the night and the night sky, so the Maker planted this tree here. The power you feel. It’s what keeps the Night Court in eternal night. The Maker made it for her lover, so that she may live in her favorite scape.”

“That’s beautiful,” you murmur.

A hum of voices reaches you as you walk toward closed double doors. Guards line the doors, two to each side. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Jimin’s sleeve, going rigid. They are dressed in all black, tunic, leather vests and grieves over the dark material, inlaid with silver material depicting the moon and stars of the Night Court. There are swords at their hips, their eyes trained on you.

None of them move to stop you, but a shadow appears down the hall, whistling lightly to catch Jimin’s attention. Jimin freezes. You feel him go rigid as the figure steps into the light of the hall. The guards fidget as Jungkook grins at Jimin, waltzing to the pair of you.

Fear trickles down your neck as you watch him. His long hair is styled back, a single messy strand falling against his brow. You realize the underneath of his hair is shaved, shorter than the rest. The new look lets you spy a small, white brand behind his ear.

Jungkook is not dressed in finery like Jimin. He is in the same black shirt, open to reveal curls of tattoos on his chest that vanish into his sleeves. His pants are tucked into high boots. A belt hangs snug around his narrow waist, knives and a sword belted to him. A leather harness stretches to his leg, holding another sheath, bone handle gleaming.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous,” Jungkook teases, earning flared nostrils and your eyes snapping up to his dark ones. A single earring dangles in his right ear, a dagger at the end of it. He is devilishly handsome, but there’s something unhinged in his gaze. “You’re a pretty little thing when you’re all dressed up.”

“Back up, dog,” Jimin growls, eyes like a dark, green storm. “You might rub your stench off on her.”

“I don’t answer to you,” Jungkook says to Jimin, never taking his eyes off you as he smirks. “I might answer to you, though. You look good enough to eat.”

“I’m not looking to adopt a stray animal,” you smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have fealty to pledge.”

Jungkook drops the smirk, his e expression murder as you grin, pulling Jimin further. Jimin smirks as the guards open the doors for you, casting them open to reveal a room filled with a dizzying assortment of creatures and colors. You focus on Jimin’s low words as he says, “Impressive.”

“Hardly. He hurt Hoseok.” Jimin dips his head in the direction of a humanoid tree that is seven feet tall, his skin nut-brown and patched with bark. He is dressed in green finery, blinking two sleep eyes at you. “You will show me to Hoseok after this.”

“Oh? Will I?”

“Yes. Or I’ll tell everyone here that you’re having me pledge falsely so you can use my shadow fire and new ring to take over.” Jimin growls low in his throat. “Checkmate.”

“I haven’t an idea what that means.”

Faeries and creatures part like a sea as you walk through. You try not to look at the alien faces around you – fae with green skin and big, black eyes, trolls and faeries that look like wolves watching you with predatory interest. There are others who look like Jimin, beautiful and feather light on their feet as they trail after you.

The room is very obviously a throne room, a raised dais at the far end of the hall. The ceiling is... nothing. Faerie light hovers around the room in soft-white globes, but the ceiling is a churning black mass of nothingness. It unsettles you as you let Jimin lead you to a silver throne, a man who looks like an avenging angel rising to his feet from it.

Around you, the whisper of clothes move as the room bows. Jimin bows low at the waist, dropping your arm from his. You do the same, careful not to lose your balance.

When you straighten, the king of the Night Court is watching you. His tan skin is smooth and ageless, ancient charcoal eyes studying you. His lips are sinfully full and pink. Dark black hair is brushed delicately back, a silver circlet of silver with no adornment in his hair. He's dressed in a black tunic with diamond-studded cuffs and a silver tree with stars stitched among them. A single dark cape is on his shoulders, pined to his shoulders with moons.

“She certainly looks like her,” the king says to Jimin. “It’s uncanny. There’s no doubt of her heritage, you’re right.”

“I’m standing right here,” you blurt.

You snap your mouth shut audibly when Jimin stiffens next to you and the king turns his dark gaze on you. You feel hypnotized, unable to look away from him as his gaze sucks you in. His eyes are bottomless and you’re falling, falling, falling.

Suddenly there’s nothing else in the world. There’s just the darkness of the king’s eyes and you feel boneless, alone. The world is muted and you’re lost in a dark sea.

A despair unlike anything you’ve ever felt pulls at you, drowning you deeper and deeper. You begin to suffocate, the world closing in on you-

Jimin’s hand brings you back. The king adverts his gaze with a smirk, glancing at Jimin. “Mouth just like my sister, it seems.”

“Seokjin, please,” Jimin murmurs.

The name rings through you. Your grandmother standing in twilight rushes back, her words. You realize with horror that the man in front of you is Seokjin. You realize every time Jimin mentioned his adoptive brother Jin – it was short for Seokjin. The faerie who could lie. The man who killed your grandfather.

Seokjin grins at you, venomous. “Hello, niece.”

Next Chapter

#jimin smut #park jimin #jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #faerie jimin #park jimin bts #jimin bts #bangtan boys #jimin fic #park jimin x reader #minors dni #minors do not interact

[whimsy-of-the-stars]

whimsy-of-the-stars: a writeblr re-re-intro!

hey guys, it’s been a minute! I’m whimsy-of-the-stars, and since my main projects have kinda shifted around, I thought it would be a good time to update my intro! ngl it’s a pretty inopportune time to do a re-intro, since I’m close to the end of one draft and planning two more… it’s just overdue!

some info about me:

I’m gonna start college in the fall majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing! :D

learning languages is a passion of mine! I’m focusing on Spanish right now but I’ve dabbled in both Esperanto and Toki Pona (yeah I’m a nerd!)

I’m a video essay enjoyer and possibly maker, eventually

fiction podcasts and actual plays slap???

I have “I want to do too many things” disease and want to try making stories in many different mediums!

ttrpgs are really cool but I have yet to play them with other people! does that stop me from trying to make games… no

elements I like to write: Found family! Chosen ones (+ the subversion of)! Big Emotion™️! Organized crime (idk why it doesn’t leave me alone)! Gay people, of course!

genres I like to write (YA and middle grade): high fantasy, low fantasy, different -punk stuff, sci fi maybe, superheroes, fairy-tale esque, romance, coming of age

I also write poetry! You can find it in this tag: whimsy of the poetry

ALSO, I did DraftDash in January 2024, which was fun but I did end up petering out halfway thru. Follow my journey in the tag draftdash!

ok, now onto wips!

I am in a weird stage with a lot of my wips, but a re-intro was overdue so I decided to do it anyway!

wips I am currently writing:

apocalypse story!

status: first draft, 24k (almost done with part 1)

the basics: mg/ya apocalyptic + queer ?coming of age? story and its sequel, except they’re both short so they’re melded into one two-part book! it’s told thru diary entries with lots of extra ephemera glued in! part 1 of 2 is ALMOST done but I’m not inspired to finish it rn! ! I’m not gonna continue with part 2 right after, though, since I still need to plan it!

summary: stressed-out eighth/grader Allison goes to her old hideout in the forest to decompress, but one thing leads to another and she can’t find her way back home. the forest is seemingly ever-expanding, ever-changing, and even when she finds her friends who’ve come to rescue her, they still have to face the actual, real life botanical apocalypse that’s becoming more and more of an issue for the outside world. can they find their way home alive and well? and if they do get home, what will their home city even look like?

extras: fun fact I started this in April 2023 for camp nano and it has taken me this long to write the next 10k words! Also the main character is a bit of a self-insert, but of the person I was in lockdown in 2020!

um. That’s it for wips I’m currently writing rn lol

wips I am “revitalizing”:

(aka taking old drafts/concepts and turning them nice and new!)

Both of these have existed in different-ish iterations for years, however I am currently in the weird process of developing both of these into all-new things from an existing groundwork! Neither of them currently have “statuses” because it’s hard to explain where exactly I am right now!

heist story!

the basics: ya fantasy heist novel (maybe eventually a trilogy?) set in a faerie world that rapidly advanced not too long ago into a dieselpunk/decopunk society rife with corruption and crime!

summary: Logical and inquisitive teen Calliope is relatively normal. Her offbeat parents, however, have raised her in a house full of strange curios and old tomes of faery stories. But only when she starts to exhibit unwieldy shadow magic, and her parents invite a prim woman she’s never met before into their home do things really start to get strange. The woman whisks Calliope away through one of the aforementioned curios to a noir hubworld where ancient faerie bloodlines and newfangled magitech collide. Why? To take part in a high-stakes heist with a surprising trio of other teens who want nothing more than to take down the crime boss who runs their town.

extras: this one’s a weird one imo. it’s one of the oldest wips that I am still working on, tho this one had a break of about 3 years!!! also I originally wrote it in hot pink comic sans XD

new superhero story!

(I am also revitalizing this one, but it’s in a way less put-together state! not much to say yet lol!) (also it’s not very new I just call it that)

it’s a ya superhero thing that features teenage (often queer) antiheroes trying to balance their heroic + civilian identities!

featuring: the shittiest entertainment/hero management company you’ve ever seen, shared trauma, gray morality, two different rock bands, and heroes that are at once government agents, influencers, and corporate concoctions!

considering making a “help me name my characters” post because i desperately have to name/rename like 3/4 of all of these characters!!!

more ideas I have bouncing around:

(lightning round!)

old ya romance wip i need to revitalize about two teens enter a competition to make a demo album and end up falling in love in the process (also they’re lesbians XD)

offbeat, ya supernatural + historical fantasy about a girl university student who is buried alive, and upon getting rescued, starts to transform into a strange underworld creature. also features a cute gravedigger :D

a musical about standardized testing (yeah lol) that’s goofy and queer and explores how seniors + juniors are so freaking stressed out all the time lol

that’s all folks! :D

#writeblr intro #writeblr #FINALLY #it’s been two months #here we go again ig

[poppywriter]

❀ Pansy n°8 = Who are my / our Husbandos ?

*sigh*

You know how therapists say - at least tiktok ones :/ - that to be ready for a relationship you have to break off your imaginary ones first ? Well for me - and many people I’m sure - it is complicated to say goodbye to thousand that much fictive lives and lovers… Especially when it’s the only way I get to fall asleep, making up fake scenarios.

I dream so much about love, I’ve got to have it in some way, no ? Be it with fictional characters, celebrities, voice actors or even made up characters, I have to dream about a significant other loving up on me. Am I exposing myself too much ? Yes, yes I am … :/ But, f*ck it.

It is really easy to imagine a life with a celebrity as they are public personalities and we know so much about their lives. Too much… Moreover, your brain - and heart - does not make the difference between real people and fictional ones. That’s why you can feel truly heartbroken when a character you’ve grown attached to is sad or dies. Real or not, it makes no difference when emotions are thrown into the mix…

→ The way I realized this was true is pretty embarrassing but I’ll tell you anyway… I was young - around 17 - and in a big as well as deep spiderman / Tom Holland period. So much that it was concerning… :/ Then, pictures of Zendaya and Tom kissing came out and their relationship was outed. And… *sigh* My first reaction was crying. I felt heartbroken but mostly pathetic and embarrassed to be affected so much by it. I was disgusted by myself, because I was crying over something - someone - that had nothing to do with me. Yet it was a true awakening. After that I stopped - or at least I think I did :/ - to get THIS attached to my dumb celebrity crushes.

It also made me realize something really important.

We don’t know who our celebrity crushes are, not really. What we see of them is only through media, dramas, speculations… Their images are controlled and a source of income for many - *cough cough* paparazzis :/. Sadly, they don’t have the chance to live freely, away from camera lenses…

And we, their fandom, play a part in their objectification. It’s important to know that the person we have a crush on, write fictions about and obsess over is a made up version of them. It’s only how we picture them, how we’d like them to be. Not how they are, because we don’t know. We can’t know. And we shouldn’t, because they have a right to privacy.

We don’t know them, exactly how they don’t know each one of us.

So now, I see it more like having a crush on a fictional character. Because that’s what they become. They have made up lives and personalities. It’s fake, it’s fictional. And it’s okay. I think it’s better than knowing every detail and overstepping boundaries in their busy and stressful lives. It might be okay to admire and be attracted to them, but it definitely isn’t if we don’t respect that they stay humans and that in their place we wouldn’t want our lives to be invaded by strangers.

Nevertheless, drawing this conclusion makes me feel even more lonely. Plus, all these imagination filled scenarios definitely don’t help to have a realistic idea of love. I feel bound to be disappointed by life and love - especially by men :/. That’s the problem with overthinking, dreaming and projecting too much… You always end up falling from the high cloud you set yourself on.

Maybe one day I’ll find “the one” - whoever it may be or if they even exist. Only time will tell, for now I’ll try and deal with the loneliness.

✿❀✿

🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

#aspiring writer #diary #journal #my diary #my thoughts #self expression #thoughts #aspiring author #english #idealism #idealization #love #lovers #i love him #longing #feeling #crush #man crush forever #my celebrity crush #crushes #celebrities #unrealistic #unrealism #loneliest #lonelihood #lonely #loneliness #husbandos #wifey type #waifu

[hatboyproject]

This is very long, but it might be of interest to someone, somewhere. I was asked recently about the direction I'm taking this romance in and whether or not I'll be addressing certain disability specific subjects within it. The answer, of course, is yes - I have always planned to do this in one form or another. Whilst no single piece of media can address everything I'd like to say on the subject, and I am working within the bounds of a larger story with its own pacing and focus to consider, there's still room to touch on some of these things.

I'm aware that my interpretations won't always be the same as others'. They are my interpretations, coloured by my experiences and feelings, and ultimately, this is my mod - I'm writing it for everybody who 'wears the ballcap,' so to speak! But, it's my interpretation of this character that I'm trying to share with everyone. Different people "took the helm" (laugh, I'm hilarious!) on writing Jeff across the trilogy, and as time has gone on I've been trying to convince myself that it's okay to have my turn at doing that, too - albeit in a non-professional capacity. So... Let's get into my interpretation of Jeff, where his stuff comes from on my view, and how things went to get him to where we are at the beginning of ME3, where the romance can occur.

A lot of how I interpret him comes from experiences in my own life with my own issues, and with those of my loved ones, some of whom are physically disabled in similar (but not identical) ways to Jeff. Some of this carries an element of catharsis for me.

Mechanically and narratively speaking, what draws me to writing this romance is the contrast between how these two characters are strong. It's this core idea that strength doesn't have only one manifestation in a person. That loving somebody doesn't have to be done only one way, that it can be beautiful and passionate and fulfilling - even if, when it gets physical, the headboard can't exactly be made to shatter with the force of it all. For me, it's also an exercise in insecurity and dealing with feelings of frustrated inadequacy - something that has plagued me my whole life.

Yes, yes, he's fictional - but the only way for me to really get into a character is to think about them as if they're a real being. When I look at Jeff as a person, I see many things... Some very positive, some pretty negative... I try to see him as a complete person with strengths and flaws.

On the surface he is often defensive, dismissive, sarcastic, and emotionally avoidant. But why is that? He is highly skilled, dedicated and capable, and knows it, but at the same time is a person who is constantly overlooked, underestimated, and asked to work thrice as hard to get the same considerations. Even then, his validity is questioned often by almost everyone around him. Over time, combined with the realities of living with his physical condition, this has given him some deep-seated insecurities. He feels the need to brag about his skills because they are, ultimately, the one thing about himself that he is absolutely certain has real worth. He overcompensates for this by abusing rules and technicalities wherever he can, because I think he knows that if he played life by the rules, he'd never have gotten anywhere. It's a stacked deck, so why not hide some aces up his sleeve? When you don't fit in the box provided, you question the value of every box you see.

When a person lives with this long enough, it can get hard to swim against the tide of society's expectations and still remain chipper about it, let alone not internalise some of it. It can cause a person to create a shell constructed out of distrust and untruth.

Living with a disability can really suck sometimes, and the suck is compounded when having to deal with your own frustrations plus those of others. In my personal experience, that happens a lot.

There is a certain sense of alienation that it can create, and it can become a kind of Sword of Damocles. It can be easier to anticipate rejection and others' assumptions, inabilities to understand or relate than to keep reaching out, only to have the same tired conversations about being different. I see a lot of this in him. I understand the chip he has on his shoulder.

I also see an extremely sensitive, empathetic, devoted and boundlessly loving person under all that. In fact, it's because of these things that I think he actively tries to distance himself. At the core of his being, I see Jeff as somebody who loves quickly and completely. I think he sees that as a vulnerability, incompatible with what he's learned he has to do to survive... and also with the machismo thing that comes with being a pilot. I think on some level he's terrified of that about himself, but he also can't help it. Jeff is ride or die. So, he tells himself he doesn't care and never lets anyone in. Any time anyone showed interest, he'd shut them down, alienate them, distance himself, and get in the seat of something that flies.

I think up until now, (ME3) he's seen intimacy both as a thing he longs for, but is also afraid of because of his fundamental knowledge that he is different. He thinks he can't "measure up" to what he sees all around him. He sees romance as something that will lead to his inevitable rejection and being crushed, emotionally - and if he's not careful, physically, too. I think he's embarrassed about that as well. He's very interested where it comes to all that, but the things he likes to watch, he knows he can't do like that. His only experience is second-hand as a voyeur, so some of his perceptions about that are unhealthy for him. I think any kind of attempt by the medical professionals in his life to broach the topic and offer support on, he's angrily changed the subject, or stopped listening to, because of the entire mess above. I think Jeff is kind of a lonely person, and some of it is self-imposed, though the reasons for him thinking it's the right thing to do aren't all within his control.

All this is difficult for him to reconcile with, because he has been desperately in love with his commanding officer since almost the moment s/he met him, but entirely unprepared to face it.

I think at first it was easy for him to dismiss it as a stupid crush. Everyone gets them when cramped up in close quarters in stressful situations and the Commander's magnetism was hard to ignore. But then it became clear that Shepard really hadn't read his file and really hadn't made any assumptions at all about him. S/he just wanted to know him, and as time progressed and that actually bore out, it got hard not to really feel something powerful, even though s/he was the Commander and it wasn't strictly appropriate to think that way. But, then there was that thing about not fitting in the box provided...

I think he agonised over coming to Shepard with it, but ultimately decided it would be selfish with everything they were going through. I think there was a part of him that decided s/he'd never be interested anyway, not when there were other, healthier people to choose from... People who didn't have these hangups or need special accommodations made for them. I think he decided to keep it to himself, for what he felt was both their sakes.

If/When the Commander quietly hooked up with someone else, I think he had a lot of feelings all at once. On the one hand, the person he cared for most was finding some peace in all the craziness. On the other, he wished that particular brand of peace was shared with him. Most of the time there were more important things to worry about, but during downtime, I think it was on his mind a lot.

I think he feels very sheepish about it, but occasionally his jealousy got the better of him and he interrupted Shepard at moments that got too hard to watch on the security cams. He watched the cams around the ship lot, and listened in on all the others a fair bit. I think because he saw himself as being at a remove from most people in a lot of ways, it was easy to justify that to himself. I think he saw it kind of like listening to a podcast or a soap opera or... Nature documentary, almost, or something. He got to know all of them in this way... Parasocially at first, but gradually, socially too. He felt better about trying, because he had this secret edge. Not the greatest stuff he's ever done, but... Complete person. Strengths and flaws.

And then, the unthinkable happened. He couldn't accept that the ship was dying. He was sure he could save it... But when Shepard's hand touched his shoulder, when s/he'd come back for him, he knew it was over. And then, it really was over. Shepard paid the price for his arrogance. The person he wanted to protect the most spun off out into space. The communicator between his mask and that helmet was still in range for long enough that he could hear the choking. For a long time afterward, even hearing people cough made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The Alliance grounded him. I don't think he even had the capacity to be mad about it. I think that was a hard time for Jeff. I think between being burdened with the knowledge of the Reapers, the loss of Shepard, and the weight of his guilt, he was pretty close to the very, very edge when Cerberus knocked on his door and made him a bunch of promises. Pretty sure those promises had nothing to do with leather seats and everything to do with Project Lazarus. I'm very sure that the promise of Shepard coming back is the reason he even let Cerberus pay for the surgeries he agreed to undergo, because I don't think he valued himself much at all at that point. I'm pretty sure it was being ready to help Shepard that he was thinking about when he was learning to walk on his painful legs without crutches for the very first time. When Cerberus offered him a big shiny reset button I think he took it without hesitation because there wasn't anything else to hope for. I think seeing Shepard in the docking bay galvanised him and without ever telling them so, he pledged his life to them even harder than before. I think he told himself that he would support Shepard in every way he could. He would go wherever, do whatever, and when dealing with him, try to give them what he knew they needed; a goddamn break.

So, fast forward again, and now we are here. With all of this in mind... Shepard might have had a dalliance with someone else, or might've been too damaged by their previous love interest on Horizon, or whatever. Either way, I think Jeff saw it as not his business to even dream about that. I think the guilt tore him up every time he looked at Shepard. I think he felt like on some level, he deserved the pain of unrequited feelings which only ever got more intense. If he didn't think himself worthy of it back then, doubly so now. I think during the six months of house arrest, he tried to visit, but the Alliance denied his every attempt. Then the attack on Earth happened.

And so now we have Jeff, who, just like other humans is confused and groping about for a sense of what's up and what's down. Fortunately for him, Shepard is part of that sense of stability. He's just better at hiding it, because avoiding it and telling himself to focus elsewhere is second nature to him by this point. But things are a little different, now. Shepard seems looking around for a connection too. Future days seem short in number and the rulebook less and less important by the minute. Denying it to himself becomes impossible, and even EDI prods him about it. Shepard won't stop being so goddamn nice to him and even responds with things that if he didn't know better, he could interpret as... But then all the old insecurities come rushing back and he's walking on his own damn eggshells again. Fuck it. It's time to admit it. To come clean. S/he has to know.

So he asks. And s/he accepts. He's equal parts thrilled, stunned and terrified. He's even on some level, suspicious. Is s/he setting him up for a fall? Are they angry about his responsibility? What do they want out of this, actually? He hasn't explained what it'd be like. That what they're doubtlessly expecting of him is unrealistic. That he's completely inexperienced. I think at this point, he's a bit pissed off with himself and feeling a lot of dread because he's pretty sure how this is going to go. He realises he's got so caught up in it that he's done things in the wrong order. Damage control. He has to talk with Shepard and explain what s/he should expect from him, because it will be different. Manage expectations because he's had to manage his own. He goes in steeled.

But s/he knows it will be different, it turns out. As ever, Shepard has made no assumptions whatsoever. S/he only wants to get to know him. Wants him for everything he is, and accepts what he is not. It was never an issue for them beyond understanding how to work with it, because he is worthy just as he is, and has worked hard enough. He has to teach them about his limitations, about underestimating and overestimating... But where there's a will, there's a way. Time for a few shared moments of peace before the end of days, and through all the craziness, something feels right at last. He feels safe enough to let Shepard in properly. Thus begins his reassessment of himself and reckoning with letting go of the insecurities he has that aren't actually his own, but come from outside.

Also he totally gets to sext the Commander now when s/he's on missions. Nice.

So. There's a lot more I could say and expound upon but it's been hours and I have stuff to do. That's my direction. It's not going to suit everyone, and I doubt I can get everything across... But I'll try. I'm just one person, with just one perspective, with just one version of this story. But I hope people like what I come up with surrounding this framework, because I have lived a lot of it myself. Just a few less Reapers in my version. Not everyone's experiences and responses will be the same.

#shoker #shoker mod #hatboyproject #jeff joker moreau #character study #my approach

[utilitycaster]

What’s your thoughts on tm9 suggesting working with Trent? Do you think tm9 are being “bad friends”? I have seen a lot of discussion on it and I was wondering what your thoughts are. Apologies if you have already shared your thoughts.

Hi anon,

I have shared at least some of my thoughts but, as always, give me an inch and I will take one thousand miles and then take one thousand more. If you wanted a normal answer, please click on that link and then feel free to stop reading. If you want me to yell about behaviors in fandom that fill me with rage (and also some additional thoughts about the Mighty Nein in this episode, to be fair, which I’ve marked so you can skip to it), read on.

GOOD FUCKING LORD I AM PRETTY SURE A CERTAIN SMALL BUT LOUD PORTION WITHIN FANDOM, AND THIS IS ABOUT FANDOM IN GENERAL AND NOT SPECIFIC TO THE CRITICAL ROLE, ACTUAL PLAY, NOR D&D FANDOM, HAS NEVER HAD A FUNCTIONAL FRIENDSHIP OR RELATIONSHIP IN THEIR LIVES WHAT WITH THE WAY THEY TALK ABOUT CHARACTER INTERACTIONS. LIKE WHAT THE FUCK.

I don’t think that any of the Mighty Nein were being at all inappropriate during this conversation in the first place, and more on that below, but also like, people say insensitive things to their friends all the time! It’s impossible to account for every situation that could potentially upset someone, and sometimes people need to have difficult conversations! I’ve said this before with people in private conversations but there is an exhausting amount of discourse for CR (but also, like, in general about fictional media by people who are Way Too Online) regarding who really understands and cares about whom and it’s like. They are all friends. They have all referred to each other as found family. They all care about each other. And with that in mind, it’s also true that if you or anyone else were to give me literally any pairing of two characters in the Nein, romantic or platonic, I can without considerable effort name an interaction in which one of them said or did something hurtful or insensitive to the other, because this is a thing that happens when different people with different perspectives and experiences talk to each other for any length of time.

A not-insignificant amount of discourse, in my opinion, has nothing to do with how real interpersonal relationships work and is entirely "this is my favorite/least favorite character (or ship) and I think everyone should also think they are flawless/terrible” and if I had to guess this is probably more of the same. But even if it’s not just that, the idea that the only “good” friendship is one devoid of arguments, slip-ups, and even the most minor of transgressions and anything else is “bad” or “toxic” is so divorced from reality I absolutely cannot engage with it without wanting to scream. Which is not to say that a single action by a friend, even a close one, could never be enough to invalidate the friendship. But it has to be a pretty significant and deliberate violation, and in my opinion the events of this episode do not even budge the needle.

With that out of the way before I return to it at the end: I think the overarching attitude of the Mighty Nein on the whole is “this is going to be an incredibly difficult fight, and we need to discuss all of our options, even distasteful ones that none of us particularly like.”

The linked post talks a lot about why I think Fjord brought it up in the first place, but from there, I would say that Yasha was the only one who was consistently on the side of “No,” which is in line with her character. We know Caduceus is fairly sure they’re going to die without additional help and has seen by far the most terrifying visions of what happens if they fail; that Jester likely has some similar ideas to Caleb regarding “if Trent’s with us, at least he’s not going after Marion”; and while Beau brought up the downsides of working with one’s abuser it’s highly worth noting she was still entertaining it: she floats that maybe this could kill two birds with one stone [2:01:10-ish on the Twitch video].

Veth strikes me as the one who came closest to “pushing” Caleb, and this has been a theme recently. I’m not fully sure about this - Veth is often a character I struggle to get a handle on - but I think it’s a combination of her family being at risk in the same way Jester’s is, her own feelings of guilt or shirked responsibility about leaving the Nein after this before Caleb has achieved his goals particularly given how instrumental he was to achieving hers, and a little bit of still seeing Caleb how he was earlier on, when they first met. That last reason is definitely frustrating when it happens in real life, but it’s a very real phenomenon, the first one is wholly understandable, and the middle one is both. Basically, are those actions a little selfish? Yeah, but people are selfish sometimes. There’s a reason why even when I don’t understand her Veth (and, tbh, all the Mighty Nein) feels like a wholly realized person, and it’s because of things like this, where she has real reactions and emotional turmoil in response to an incredibly stressful situation instead of being blandly understanding.

On top of that, anything that denies that Caleb was not entertaining it, particularly after he quite literally says he’s considered it, feels like ignoring his response because it doesn’t fit a particular narrative. It ignores the entire conversation with Essek, in which Caleb is the one who brings it up first, Caleb is the one who continues to argue for it after Essek expresses his discomfort, and Caleb is the one who says he’s frustrated that his attempt to persuade Essek fails.

Returning to the generalized rant but at what point do you (the abstract you, not you the anon) stop overlaying how you think someone should react and actually listen to people? One of the things in this world that genuinely angers me the most that isn’t, you know, atrocities, is when people assume how someone feels instead of asking them and persist in doing so even when told otherwise, and this is probably why the whole “the Mighty Nein are bad friends” statement has prompted such a strong response from me here. I don’t think I’m saying anything revolutionary here but all the arguments in favor of that statement are stupid! If you don’t ask for a hug, sometimes you won’t get one! If you don’t say you’re uncomfortable you can’t assume people will be aware of it! The realest distinction between good and bad friends, actually, is whether they listen to what you’re saying or if they just project what they think you should be saying, and whether they tell you what they want from you or if they make up elaborate unspoken rules that you’re supposed to magically intuit and follow. Not whether they never make mistakes, or disagree, or bring up difficult topics.

Uh, anyway, this is probably a whole lot more and maybe not even related to what you were looking for but really, the idea that a deep friendship can be reclassified into a binary from good to bad based on two conversations, and the related idea that every interaction that isn’t perfectly harmonious must have someone to blame instead of acknowledging the full depth and breadth of normal healthy interpersonal interactions, are both absolutely terrible ideas and I would love if people in general would immediately stop having them.

#long post #i should state again on the record i've been scrubbing down my kitchen all day and also my blood is full of spike protein mrna #and i already love yelling about my opinions #critical role #critical role spoilers

[hecksee]

Stained Flowers

Hi this is angsty af but im struggling right now so imma project onto fictional characters

Sorry @lumosinlove I like making Leo suffer

this is my entry for the @hpbrokenhearts ​ contest, i started out writing this when i was struggling, and tbh i still am, but it’s gotten a lot better. 

Much thanks to the wonderful @iswearimnotanaestheticgirl for editing this monstrosity. You wrecked carnage on it, but it helped so much and I love this end result so much. 

Thank you so much to @peggyrose19 and @marauderss-hp for looking this over and giving me suggestions! 

This is probably inaccurate but I don’t know anything about hockey, and this is fanfic so who cares about the accuracy. 

THIS COULD DEFINITELY BE TRIGGERING, PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF

TW suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, its got a TINY bit of spice sprinkled in (i would rate this teen probably, mature if i was being extra safe), major character death, stress, homophobia, one sided pining, hanakhai, vomiting, something thats sort of like a suicide note, and a shit load of angst

Read on A03 here

Leo knew he was screwed the moment he saw Finn O'Hara on the screen for the first time. He knew he was gonna fall hard. It didn't matter that they had never met or that Leo’s attraction was purely physical. He knew that he would want everything with Finn.

But then Leo started to fall deeper and deeper over time, time that was spent mostly spent obsessing over Finn. Only a few weeks after Leo saw Finn for the first time, it started.

Everybody knew about hanahaki. When someone felt unrequited love, a seed sprouted in their lungs. Nobody knew how or why the seed appeared but it was inevitable. 

The victim would start coughing up flower petals, and if their feelings grew, the flowers would grow larger until the victim couldn’t breath because their lungs were filled with nothing but blossoms.

There were only three things someone with hanahaki could do. The main solution was to surgically remove the flowers but have all feelings of love vanish. And some said it was impossible to ever love another person.

So Leo knew exactly what was going on when he started coughing up small yellow petals a few weeks after he first saw Finn on screen. 

But, over the next few months he learned to recognize the signs. The tingling in the back of his throat before he started coughing up the silky yellow petals. The itch in his left lung when people mentioned Finn O'Hara. The stabbing pain toward the left of his chest when his teammates threw around homophobic slurs and comments like beads at Marti Gras is nothing new, but now it's accompanied with a burning sensation in his lungs and bloody daffodils.

The daffodils. The fucking daffodils. He decided to look the meaning of the cheery flowers up one day. Unrequited love. After that Leo laughed humorlessly, and decided that hanahaki had a fucked up sense of humor.

Somehow, Leo made it through a full year while coughing up a mixture of blood and petals. He learned how to hide it, how to excuse himself from a situation, and how to choke the petals back down while playing. He made sure that nothing would impact his career, no matter how much longer he had left.

Leo feared that his time was almost up some days. On those days, he wondered Why was he alive? Why did only the left lung sting? Wouldn't it just be better to end it than to live through the constant pain?

He almost made it through a year keeping his hanahaki a secret. 

Well, almost. His mom walked in on him cleaning the daffodils smeared with red off the floor, and he had promptly broken down in tears.

He had ended up telling her everything, how he was gay, how he hated himself for it, how he sometimes thought it would be better to just end it all instead, who he loved and why.

His mom had made him tell his coach, insisting it was for the best. There had been a major fight between the coach and him. Leo was yelling and crying but standing his ground about how he needed to play. How playing was the only thing he was living for, damn it. Leo had ended up winning, so he kept playing. And just like before, he kept the hanahaki a secret from everyone, especially his team.

But then, he found out why only his left lung stung. Logan Tremblay. The latest player that was drafted to the Lions. He was newly minted, fresh from Harvard university. Short, broad, brunet, green eyed rookie Tremz. 

As soon as Logan stepped out onto the ice for the first time Leo felt that telltale sting. But it was on the right side of his chest for the first time. Fuck, I'm not having unrequited love from one person, but from two?! 

His right lung had irises. Royalty, the Fleur-De-Lis, France. Leo didn’t know how those things related to Logan but he could take a guess. Logan was French Canadian born and raised, that had to mean something. 

Leo’s life went on. Now he had double the work of fighting the flowers down. Two names instead of one. Leo could tell there was something between Fish and Logan. The intense stares they gave each other across the rink meant something. The tension between them one day had just disappeared. Leo saw something as Logan's hot temper reared up whenever Harzy got into a fight or got hurt. 

The signs grew. Rainbow tape on their sticks, posting LGBTQ+ supporting messages on the team Instagram; small things you’d need to look out for, or know exactly what they meant to know the significance. 

The real confirmation was when the official Lions Instagram posted the picture of Logan and Finn kissing at a pride parade, smudged bi flags painted on both of their cheeks. 

The caption read “We are aware of the homophobia in the league, however, two of our players aren’t willing to hide their relationship from the public anymore. Both Tremz and Harzy have our full support.” 

The moment he saw it, the feeling of petals started to itch in the back of Leo’s throat, but he gagged them back as he scrolled through the comments. They were filled with the expected bigotry and homophobia with the occasional biphobic comment. Yet scattered in were the kind comments, full of support, rays of sunshine on a raining day.

Leo started typing out a comment of his own, telling the happy couple how happy he was for them. But the lie was rancid in his head. The flowers Leo had been choking back came up in a wave of blood. 

Before Leo got hanahaki, the few dreams he had were filled with a faceless man. One that would kiss him and fuck him, but now, now there were two men. And they had faces. 

Finn O'Hara and Logan Tremblay haunted Leo's dreams in the best way possible, more nights than not. Sweet soft kisses, hands tangled in auburn or brown hair, gently worshiping the hard planes and angles that came from a lifelong dedication to hockey were commonplace in Leo's dreams. 

In stark contrast, some nights were filled with sloppy, urgent kisses, nails scratching on backs, and a pure need for release. But the dreams would always end, and Leo was left with the burning pain of self loathing building up in his throat before the flowers would make themselves known.

During this dream, Leo had been on fire all night, and it was thanks to him that the team had been led to victory. So here he was with his boyfriends, celebrating. 

Leo leaned up to give Finn a soft kiss before turning onto his side and beginning to kiss Logan's neck. Finn had started to ruin Leo and didn't stop until Leo had hit the peak of his pleasure.

However, the aftermath of Leo's pleasure was slowly but surely turning into pain. Suddenly the metallic tang of blood was clogging his throat and the familiar smooth petals were filling his mouth. 

The flowers and blood were dripping out of his mouth, and seeping into the white bed sheets. Even worse was that Finn and Logan seemed unsurprised.  no, they were almost happy. Their gentle murmurings of praise turned into cold raucous laughter. In between the harsh laughter they told him how stupid he was, how he was a nobody, how they would never love him.

As the flowers only got worse, coming up in waves and mingled with the tears that were rolling down his face, Finn and Logan vanished. Then he was falling, falling, falling. 

He woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, lungs gasping for air in between choking sobs; lying in a combination of petals and blood. His face was sticky with tears and warm, wet blood, and a few stray yellow and white-ish purple petals stuck to his skin. The only indicator that Leo's dream wasn't all bad was the stickiness in his underwear. But the worst part was that he was alone, stuck with only fantasies, once again.

The next day, Leo knew that practice would be bad. Even though yesterday his team was idolizing the Lions, they sure as hell wouldn’t be idolizing them right now. Practice was full of his teammates throwing around a myriad of slurs. The locker-room was even worse, where the coach wasn’t there to monitor their comments. 

Leo fidgeted with his bracelet, uncomfortable with the comments that were flying around, with the flowers edging up his throat. He didn’t remember what happened next. 

One minute Leo’s fidgeting with his bracelet, the next he’s yelling. Yelling about how people aren’t judged by their sexuality, how hell, maybe there even was a gay person in the room! To that he was obviously asked if he was the gay one, to which, he responded yes. Leo stormed out of the room to a soundtrack, suppressing the flowers fighting their way up his throat as soundtrack of cruel laughter and biting words rang around the room, just like the ones in his dream. 

The next day he dreaded going to practice. He knows he won’t be welcome on the team anymore, so what’s the point of going?

Leo ended up just texting his old coach that he was resigning. His team broadcasted the fact that he’s gay on their Instagram. Now Leo’s the target of the myriad of hate that Finn and Leo faced. It made him sick to his stomach. Seconds later, he was puking into the toilet. No flowers this time, but still unpleasant. 

He still walked with dragging steps to the rink and practiced, of course. He didn’t want to lose his skills when he attempts to go pro. Trying to ignore the fact that he knows no one will take him now. 

Out of the blue, three days after Leo outed himself, his phone rings shrilly. Marlene McKinnon. The Lions announcer. Why was she calling him?

Marlene asked him to play for the Lions because he had great potential. Leo hesitated. Did she not know that he was gay? He pensively inquired about his sexuality, how would that impact his place on the team? 

To his surprise, Marlene told him it wouldn’t influence anything. Leo was shocked, but in the happy way. Then she asked if he had any health conditions. Just like the thing about his sexuality, Leo hesitated. Eventually he nodded and said yes. 

It’s hanahaki, he told her in a slow voice, but it doesn’t impact my playing.

Fucking lie. 

Marlene was silent for a moment but then put him on hold with some shaky words. 5 minutes later, she agrees to let him play, on the condition that his hanahaki doesn’t get worse, and if it does, he needs to have them removed. Leo agreed, and suddenly, Leo was going professional. 

Sure, Leo was worried about becoming a Lion; his subjects of affection were there and they were in a happy relationship. But over time, and many, many practices filled with words thrown at O’Hara and Tremblay, he had learned to choke back the petals. 

After a few months, the day came where Leo was leaving. With many tears, and a lot of goodbyes, Leo left for Gryffindor. After a couple long flights, and a short taxi ride, Leo stepped out of the car to Hogwarts. 

Inside the rink, he was greeted with the signature smell of a hockey arena, he couldn’t quite describe it, but it was pleasant, and reminded Leo of home. 

In a blink, he was bombarded with maroon and gold, hugs and welcoming words. When he turned his head from the excitement, he saw them. Finn and Logan, standing back with Pascal Dumais, who he was going to move in with. 

After meeting everyone and flipping out while Finn and Logan give him a hug while swallowing down the familiar liquid and petals that up, Leo was informed that he won’t be living with the Dumais’ after all. 

“You’ll be living with Finn and Logan, I hope that’s alright?”

Leo quickly excuses himself to the bathroom to let the mixture of flowers, blood, and bile out. 

But Leo ended up moving in with Fish and Tremz. However over the weeks, he formed a close bond with both Finn and Logan. Of course, he became closer with the rest of the team, Loops especially. Hell, Leo has a feeling that Loops knows what it feels like to love someone who will never love him back. 

But after Sirius and Loops get together, Leo knew that he’s the only one who will never get the privilege of having requited love. 

Leo was glad that he had managed to keep it a secret from the team. Well, there were some people he had to tell. After all, Remus was the team medic. Remus was keeping it a secret from the team and the public. But Remus didn’t know who was triggering Leo’s love. The only people who knew were Leo and his mother. 

Each practice where the two of them do anything lovey dovey, Leo needs to be excused while he chokes back the flowers that are bringing themselves up his throat. But his goalie face hadn't been developed over happy things, so he shoved his feelings back and forced himself to remain calm, pretending to support their relationship; which he did, of course he did, but Leo wished more than anything that he was there with them. Leo wishes he was there in between them, wishes he was the one holding hands with them, and sharing sweet soft kisses with them. 

Hell, more than once in the time when Leo was with the Lions he considered ending it all. The thoughts weren’t new, no, he’d been struggling with them since he had realized he was gay. But now, with the objects of Leo’s affection so close yet so far, he didn’t know if it would be worth living.

But then one day, about three years after the hanahaki had started, Leo woke up with agonizing pain in his chest, like someone was squeezing a palm around his heart. He thought back. The aching had worsened every time he interacted Finn and Logan. Now the flowers were coming up almost every hour of every day. The tingling feeling is now always at the back of his mind. As soon as Leo thought about Finn and Logan he felt flowers coming up. 

The flowers are accompanied with a burning pain instead of a small stab. All of the flowers are full blossoms, a few with stems and leaves. They’d be perfect and prim, beautiful, if they weren’t coated in enough blood to look like a murder scene. 

This was it; this was one of his last days, if not his last. 

With slow robotic steps, Leo stands up, taking some deep breaths. He fished a pen and a notebook from his cabinet, and started to write four letters.

The words to his family tell them how sorry he was at how bad he was at hiding his worsening hanahaki, how much he loves them, and how he wishes he could have said goodbye in person. 

“I’m sorry for causing you pain.”

In the letter towards the team he apologized for hiding his disease and explained how thankful he was to be a part of his dream team. He told them how different the Lions were to his old teams, how they were a family and how they loved each other no matter what, regardless of their differences.

“Thank you for being like a family to me.” 

In the one addressed to Logan and Finn, Leo explained how they were the subjects of his attraction, how much they influenced his life coming out by choice, consequences be damned. Through blood, sweat, tears and flowers, he found himself rattling on and on about how much he loved them, how he fell in love with them, and how much he valued the friendship they had; even if it was just friendship. Leo’s hand lingered as he thought about it. Would this letter cause the two of them to blame themselves? Should he really write it? 

No. He had to. Leo added a note telling them not to. It wasn’t their fault, it was his choice. 

He brushed away the crimson mess. With droplets of blood staining his fingers, Leo starts on the final and most formal letter. 

Leo wrote vaguely in this letter. He told that he did have hanahaki, and how he had dealt with it for years before he joined the Lions. He publicly commends the Lions for being so accepting of him, even though he had hanahaki and he was gay. Finally, he thanked his fans for staying with him through it all. 

Then, with all the letters finished, Leo sealed them in envelopes and wrote to whom they are addressed to. Gingerly, Leo placed them on his nightstand and prepared for his final practice. 

During practice Leo told everyone how much he appreciates them, which wasn’t too unusual, so nobody took much notice. Otherwise, practice was uneventful. Leo blocked some passes as they prepped for their game with Hufflepuff next week. 

Leo was coughing almost nonstop during practice but he chokes back the blood, bile, and flowers. He allowed himself to think that this is the last time he’d have to push it down. The aching pain in his chest doesn’t subside, if anything it only grew worse the longer practice goes on. 

Leo walked into the locker-room, preparing to take a shower and stretch before heading home when the aching in his chest grew. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears and the world around him blurred. He swayed, unsteady on his feet, trying not to cry or scream. His breaths were labored, he was becoming lightheaded and his heart was pounding in his chest. The pain became too much to bear and Leo’s legs failed on him.

The team rushes over with concerned expressions on their faces. On his knees, the flowers, stems, and leaves start to come up, splattering all over the cold ground, no matter what Leo does to try and keep them back. The team became frenzied, calling for Remus. 

It was too late. Leo knew that this was his end. 

Once, when Leo was little, he asked his grandmother why people didn't just get the flowers removed. She smiled at him sadly and told him that, there might be a person you loved so much you couldn't bear the idea of not loving them. Even if you died for it. 

At the time, he brushed it off as stupid but now, now as tears sqeezed through his blurry vision and the feeling of the cold tile floor disappears, he understands exactly what she meant. 

The last thought that went through his mind, before the petals, flowers, and blood came up for the last time, was of his two loves. In an instant, all of his fantasies of Finn and Logan melted into the reality of their friendship and flew past his eyes. With one last satisfied smile, Leo closed his eyes. His grandma was right. 

Some love really was worth dying for.

Just a quick reminder, this is my entry for @hpbrokenhearts so if you liked this fic or it made you cry/broke your heart, please put a broken heart in the comments, either in emoji form or not! Thank you so much for reading!!!

#lumosinlove #coast to coast #sweater weather #c2c #lumosinlove coast to coast #lumosinlove sweater weather #finn O'Hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #o'knutzy #angst #leo x logan x finn #hanahaki #im sorry #tw suicidal thoughts #tw blood #tw hanahaki #tw dark #tw major character death #tw nsfwish #nswfish

[amethystpath-writes]

Can Only Move the Eyes

Original Work

Can Only Move the Eyes

@badthingshappenbingo

Small Description: an immortal sorceress is trying to rid herself of immortality by taking the life of the one she loves.

******

You're strong, the lady's voice said, but not strong enough to counter my powers.

If Tysin could growl, he would have, but he couldn't move. Even his breaths were controlled by the sorceress at his side.

Have you had training? Defense against magic? the sorceress, named Giladiasana- Sana, for short- asked Tysin in his head. He could answer if he wanted, think a response loudly enough that she would hear, but he didn't care to talk to a woman who was about to bleed him dry.

Sana pushed a hard barrier on his mind, causing a sharp sting, one that would have made Tysin take a sharp intake of breath and even hold his head, but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut. That was meant to happen differently, she whispered in his head.

When Tysin opened his eyes again, he glanced around, head unmoving, but eyes darting about. There was glass everywhere. Mostly bottles full of discoloured liquids. Other pieces of glass- colourful ones- dangled about on strings. Tysin assumed it was sea glass. The sorceress's hut was an alcove by the beach so it made sense.

You're ignoring me. Very nice. Sana purred in his mind and it felt to Tysin like it wrapped around his brain. He felt dizzy despite being entirely still.

Why shouldn't I? he finally replied. You pretended to be a friend and now I'm paralyzed. He laughed mentally and added, But let me guess. I should be grateful that I can move my eyes, right?

The sorceress crossed the room. She left Tysin's field of vision as he was laid down. Still, she reached out to his mind. How powerful was she? Depends, Sana sighed. Would you feel better if I kept your eyes closed while I did this?

In truth, he wasn't sure if not seeing was better or worse. Sure the sorceress' home was somewhat fascinating to look at- even if his vision was limited- but wouldn't it be a taunt when she finally dragged a blade across his arm and he began bleeding out? He'd rather see the sky while he died than a bunch of dried roots, twigs, and strange shapes made of clay.

Why are you doing this? Why me?

Which should I answer first?

Sana entered Tysin's sight again. If he could have, he would have lunged at her from his table. Just answer.

You're angry, she observed first. You don't have to be. I don't intend on killing you. I like you.

Tysin would have scoffed at this, except he couldn't imagine scoffing without his chest huffing, and his chest couldn't move. It was like his mind forgot what scoffing was without actually having the action. Whereas laughing was mostly a sound, scoffing required an attached feeling. He didn't have that feeling. It was odd. He blamed Sana.

As for why you...well it's what I just said. I like you, and I don't want to get rid of you. If you had been someone else, I might have killed you to complete my goal. But... Tysin rolled his eyes. The sorceress needed to stop pretending she had any amount of feeling for him. She was cleaning a damn blade so that she could cut him open. She didn't like him. She was keeping him, like a pet. You knew I was different from the moment you met me. You're observant like that. You knew there was something dangerous about me, but you still befriended me.

And this is how you repay me. Again, he wanted to scoff, but the concept was absent. Will it hurt? he asked instead. When I bleed out, will it hurt?

The cut would hurt, but I'll make sure you don't feel it, she said. Tysin was pissed hearing the genuineness in her voice. He refused to believe she felt any remorse for this. And anyway, I'm not bleeding you out, not fully. I'll have to do this a few times. The worst to happen is you'll feel faint and get a few headaches, but I have herbs to help with the latter.

Tysin didn't reply. He was confused- and angry, but mostly confused. Because she did sound sincere. She did sound like she cared, and like she didn't want to hurt him. But if she didn't want to...then why was she? What do you need me for? Why my blood? What are you using it for? He wanted to ask again, why him? Why not some other man or woman she'd met? Why did it have to be someone she apparently cared about? There were too many questions, and it seemed like there weren't enough answers. What she was doing was heathenish and no explanation could be enough.

I'm selfish, Sana told him. There was a long pause and Tysin's chest rose suddenly as the sorceress' did, too. She must have accidentally projected her own actions onto him. His eyes went wide at the swell of feeling. At the same time his chest had rose, he felt something ripping in his arm.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-

The pain in his arm increased and he screamed, his arm jerking to his chest. The skin on his chest felt warm, and he discovered he had mobility in his neck again as he looked down. Sana's control over him had slipped and he felt the pain she caused. She'd stuck the knife in his arm and it was bleeding now, bleeding through his shirt and settling on his skin.

"Tysin, I didn't- I'm sorry. I meant to numb you, but I- What am I doing?" sana sounded angry with the last question.

She rushingly put a hand on Tysin's shoulder, and he fell still again. His arm stung as it slammed against the table. He would have grunted but Sana had control again. His eyes were stuck in a pained squint. They burned as he couldn't blink.

"I've never-" Sana paced beside the table. Tysin didn't see the knife anymore. Had she dropped it. "I don't want to do this," she stressed. "But it's all I want, too." Was she sniffling? "You can still feel. Shit."

In the next moment, the pain in Tysin's arm was gone, and so was the warmth of his own blood on his chest when he cradled his arm. His eyes could move again, too, and he found himself actually be grateful that she'd decided to let them move unlike the rest of his body.

"You know what, I'm just going to say it." Sana took a deep breath. "There's a lot to it, but I'll simplify it as much as I can." Another breath. "I'm not just a sorceress, or a witch, or whatever you want to call me. Before that, I was- you'll never believe me..." Sana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm a god. Or was. I was a god before I was made a sorceress on this Earth. And I'm immortal. I know it sounds crazy; I'm not even sure that you believe in the gods, but they do exist. The gods are real and they're the reason that I'm here as I am.

"I wanted to be mortal. I didn't want to be a god anymore, and they called me cowardice for wanting to abandon my powers and control. But I...life isn't worth living if you can't die. Why should I like to create if what I create has an expiration date and I don't? I want to die, Tysin. I don't want to live forever."

What does this-

You can talk. Sana nodded at him.

Tysin let his lips part before licking them. He tested his jaws, opening and closing his mouth and letting his teeth clack together. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth and along the skin of his cheek.

Finally, he spoke, "What does any of that have to do with me?" he asked. He didn't say whether or not he believed her outlandish story.

She swallowed. "They punished me," she explained. "They put me on a land of mortals and made me into another immortal, a one-of-a-kind. They made me into a target on this land. Witches were a scary tale created by mortals and the gods made it real, made me into that fictional form. I still want to die, so they surrounded me with death, and made it so that I can still never die."

Tysin gave a blank look. This still had nothing to do with him. She was avoiding the answer.

Sana caught onto his impatience and nodded, getting on with it all. "They have given me a choice. I still value the mortals as my creation. They are precious to me. So..." She sighed like she had done so often today. "I can obtain a mortal life for myself, but only if I kill a mortal I love." Sana walked closer to the table so that she could look Tysin in the eyes. "And I love you, but...I can't kill you. I won't." Her brows pinched together. "But I have to." Sana shook her head.

"You asked if it would hurt and before you asked that, I was still considering following through. I'm selfish, I'll say it again. But when you asked me that...I couldn't let you die. So what I want to do now is..." She grunted in aggravation. "There's so much playing into this. Okay, there are about 5.7 liters of blood in a human's body. And since blood is what allows for life, I must take yours for myself- drink it. What I want to do now, because I won't kill you, is I'll take 5.7 liters of your blood, but over a course of time. I'll take some today, let you recover. Take more another day, recover. And I'll keep doing that until I have enough to equate to one life."

Sana smiled, for the first time today. "Then we can both be mortal and I can love you until we both die. I won't have to be afraid of the person I love dying and therefore having to live on my own without them."

Tysin was almost in shock at the overload. "That...wasn't very simplified."

She gave a huff of a laugh, eyes bright.

"Let me get this straight. You want to take my life so that you can experience death?"

"In a way. I'm not actually taking your life because I won't be killing you, but yes. I am taking your blood so that we can be together."

What makes you think I want to be with you? Who was she to believe he would just be okay with her taking his blood? Sana was out of her mind! Sure she was a sorceress; he believed that in full. But an immortal god? One that needed his blood to overcome a neverending life? No. No, she was crazy.

But, he supposed, this is more up to my own selflessness now.

Sana could find another person to love. Love was limitless and could be presented in many forms. There's motherly love and platonic love. Romantic and admiration. Sana could make a new friend and do this to them instead of Tysin, but it didn't seem okay to do that. This was now a test of Tysin's morals, not the sorceress'. Could he be as selfish as her? Put someone else's life at risk or have them bled out day by day like Sana was proposing she do to him? No. Absolutely not.

"It's okay," Tysin said to the sorceress leaning over him. It wasn't okay. Not at all, but he wouldn't risk someone else's life for his own. Wouldn't make someone else go through being cut open ever day or week or however often it might happen to him. Tysin considered asking Sana to go ahead and kill him, but he knew she wouldn't do that. She loved him so much that she lost control even when she'd first hurt him with the knife. "Do what you must."

******

#original work #can only move the eyes #badthingshappenbingo #whump #whumper #whumpee #sorceress #magic whump #magic whumper #human whumpee #human whump #lady whumper #self sacrifice #sacrifice #remorseful #guilty whumper #ritual #long post #whumplr #writeblr

[quasieli]

top six: fictional characters that give you gender envy, flowers, little things that make you happy and d&d moments :D

Ooh lotsa questions!

Gender Envy:

1) Bow from She-Ra (2018). Something about buff athletic dude who wears crop tops and is soft as hell is very Gender to me.

2) Vax from Critical Role. Pretty boy, kinda goth rogue? That’s sexy as hell and I wish that was me. 

3) In a wildly different idea of gender envy, I’ve been thinking about it lately and @quantum-lesbian’s character in the Frostmaiden game I’m in with them, Ambrose, is Big Gender. Beautiful non-binary drow with a starry and kinda witchy aesthetic that dresses super grandly and ostentatiously no matter the occasion? Yes please.

4) Pete from The Unsleeping City, specifically season two. I adore season one Pete but season two Pete that works in a queer bookshop and has a teapot arcane focus, is artsy and is unapologetically a trans man who doesn’t give a shit about gender roles? Sign me the fuck up.  

5) Beau from Critical Role. Buff GNC lesbian mixed with academia, but like academia from the prospective of a grad student with ADHD trying to learn everything about their special interests? A+, I love her and I’m jealous. 

6) I’m gonna cheat a lil bit for this last one. I know the prompt is fictional characters, but Julia Lepetit and Jacob Andrews in their Hitman streams? Simultaneously both of them were Gender for me. Jacob esp felt like that for me, which is weird cause dresses can make me dysphoric, but I am also slightly envious of the Dude in a Dress type of gender presentation. 

Can you tell that I’m a confused trans masc enby

Gonna put it under the cut from here cause oof, there’s still a lot more.

Flowers:

1) Big slut for Sunflowers, always have been, always will be.

2) Fun fact, my dad’s family used to own a flower shop (in like the 70s, so I never got to see it :(), and one of their big things was hydrangeas. My dad has always loved them and now I love the snowballs too!  

3) A recent favorite, the Baker’s Globe Mallow. It’s a type of flower that only grows from the soils of forests that have been affected by wildfires. It’s a simple little flower but I love the idea of something beautiful rising from the ashes after tragedy. A little dramatic, but I’m queer, ofc I’m dramatic.

4) Roses are another important flower to my family (Rose was a family name for a couple generations), and ya know, they’re a classic. 

5) There’s this beautiful magnolia tree in front of my house that blooms with the most beautiful white and pink flowers every spring, and it’s one of my favorite things to see every year. 

6) There’s so many different types of Lillies and they’re all very pretty, but the Purple Stargazer is prob my favorite.

Little Things That Make Me Happy:

1) My cat, Maddie. She may be a cranky girl at times, but she is also very sweet and will always be my baby (even though she is 12). 

2) Not a little thing really, but my best friend. Just getting a sweet/silly text from her or the two of us chilling in a room, sitting in a comfortable silence because we just like being together, nothing better. 

3) Baking, esp if I’m doing it for others. I’m not much of a sweets person myself, a little treat every once in a while type person, but I love baking. It’s a very relaxing process for me, even when it can sometimes get stressful, but seeing people enjoying something I made, especially something that brought me great joy to make, is simply the best. 

4) In the same sorta vein, crafting and other art, but that’s a bit more personal. I love making things for others, but art, particularly drawing, is something I do more for me. It’s such a great feeling when you can get into a really good art mood and just sink yourself into a project. I love it.

5) My plush toys. Yes, I am a 23 year old, no I will not stop loving my plushies. I just got a few new friends, which I made a post about recently, and they such good cuddle buddies. However, there is one king amongst them all. I have this old, beat up christmas puppy beanie baby, on his tag named Jingle Pup, but I just call him Jingle. I had one version of him since I was like 6, but he currently lives on a shelf cause he is very beaten up and fragile, but his “brother”, who I got when I was 8, is still in kinda good shape and is currently chilling on my chest as I type this lol.

6) Again, not a little thing, but it’s important to mention; D&D. The game itself is such a joy, but truly the best part of it is the people. I love creating stories and memories with people through this weird little game. Truly one of my favorite things to do.

D&D Moments:

These are all gonna be personal moments, rather than anything from actual play shows/podcasts. RC is Reforged Campaign, where I play Saube, and FM is Frostmaiden, where I play Sparks.

1) RC - Meeting Mahety, Saube’s girlfriend. We met her way back in session 12 and we are now up to like session 73. Saube saw her and was immediately big heart eyes at her but also felt a bit awkward and shy. So, being a game a dice, I decided to roll. 10 or higher, Saube would talk to her, 9 or lower, she’d stay put. I rolled a 17, 17 is now a lucky number for me. I love Mahety and I’d die for her. 

2) FM - This was an insane fight that should not have been so crazy, but in a fairly early session, my group went up against an angry druid and her awakened animals. So much batshit stuff happened in that fight, and we unfortunately lost our bread loving bard (RIP Agneyis), but one of my favorite combat turns happened in this fight. Our artificer, Omaren, has a robe of useful items and one of the patches on it creates a large pit. Thinking quickly, Omaren tore off the patch, slid it under one of the dire wolves we were fighting and created a looney tunes style pit under it, allowing us to take it out easily via pot shots. Such a clutch move and such a funny visual, especially because the dire wolf kept failing the checks to get out of the pit.  

3) RC - Saube’s Zebrith (I will never remember how this actually spelled RIP). So, for context, Saube ended up with a death curse (long story) that mechanically meant they had disadvantage on any death saving throws. Scary as hell, need to get that fixed! So, Saube and their party had to be smuggled into another country to talk with some religious leaders of a goddess known as The First, the goddess of death. They were told that Saube would have to go through the aforementioned ritual, which included her soul leaving her body for a short period of time. During this ritual, her friends had to call back to her, to say things that would bring her back to her body and I still cry thinking about that game. That ritual was not only important for Saube bodily, but spiritually as well. After that ritual, Saube officially became a cleric of The First! 

4) A real sappy one, RC - Saube meeting all of her friends. Anyone who follows along with the rantings on my blog probably knows how important this game is to me. I met this random group of strangers on tumblr and formed a D&D party with them and now, a year and a half later, I honestly think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I know that sounds silly and dramatic but not only has this game brought me so much joy and comfort, but I also gained a group of really amazing friends who have been nothing but amazing since day one. As much as Saube knows she can depend on SICL, I know I can depend on my group of weirdos lol. We both love our friends very much and even though we’ve all been through some crazy shit, we wouldn’t change it for the world.    

5) RC - Just playing Saube in general. I really didn’t intend for it to be this way, but Saube is very much a reflection of myself. She is the first long term character I have ever played and so much of me is in her. I try not to treat D&D like therapy, because that’s unfair to my DM and fellow party members, but playing Saube has allowed me to work through some of my own problems, especially social anxiety, in a lot safer of an environment. It isn’t so much that I’m asking this game to help me fix my life, but playing out these scenarios that, in the real world, would make me anxious or make me freak out, I can stop, take a moment to breathe and work out these issues in a way that makes sense to me. Playing her has led me to understanding myself a bit better, as well, and that’s truly such a wonderfully unexpected gift from this whole experience. 

6) Lastly, a silly one: RC - Getting a crit 6. The last session of this game got real interesting. Saube’s party ended up in the ethereal plane and magic got real fucky there. So, any time any of us tried to cast a spell, we’d roll a d20, not look at the result, and then try to guess what number rolled. The closer to the number, the better the result. A few times, a few people managed to get within like 3 or 4 of their roll, but oh the power I felt when I rolled a 6 (on Saube’s die!) and guessed it correctly! So, not only did the spell (Bless) work, but it worked super well. So instead of getting +1d4 to attack rolls and saving throws, Saube and two other party members got +2d4 to attacks, saving throws and skill checks. So powerful I broke the rules of D&D lmao. 

#asks #ask games #floralprintshark #D&D #Flowers #Saube #Sauhety #SICL #Sparks #long post #thanks <3 <3

[they-call-me-megs]

Let It Be Me - MLQC - Gavin x MC

Well....hello there.  I’m new to Tumblr (or, new to being back--I was here for a while but fairly quite and then left for a bit, only to return once I realized I still was regularly checking some of my favorite pages/writers!).  I’ve been reading fan fiction for a looonnnggggg time, but have only ever been and enjoyer and not a contributor.  I don’t know if I will ever be a regular writer, but decided to give it a shot.  I saw some writing prompts posted by a writer I really enjoy, and as I was thinking through a request I would like to make and stories I would like to see, I got the bug to just give one a try myself!  So here we are.  I’d like to shout out @hifftn​ for taking the time to read my rough draft and give me some suggestions--this was my first time reaching out to her and she was so kind and amazing and I have been following her page for a good while now, so thank you! I love the MLQC and Voltage fandoms and I’m excited to actually be active now and to give kudos to some of my favorites writers where they are due (because I am convinced that some of the best writers out there are housed here!). 

So here’s my very first stab at writing.  I don’t expect it to be read by many (or maybe any) but I think it’s good for me to try new things every once in a while.  If you do happen to read it and want to give some tips/suggestions/encouragement/anything I’d love to have it!  Here’s hoping the format isn’t crazy--thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Warnings: some language. No smut...yet ;) 

_______________ 

Gavin.

The boy who everyone seemed to fear when you were growing up—including you. 

Gavin.

The now man who took his job seriously to protect those around him…and as he regularly stated--to protect you.

Gavin.

The one who, after time, had been such a confidant and the one you could always rely on. Through job stresses, and heartbreak and messy break ups and all the ups and downs of life. A firm and steady rock when you felt like the waves—constantly raging. Constantly changing.

Gavin.

The one who you viewed as just a friend until more time went on. And the more you got to see who he truly is—the Gavin that only you seemed to get to see, the more you wondered “what if”.

But you.

You were too afraid of losing the person that meant the most to you, afraid he may not see you that way.  So you decided to keep those “what ifs” at bay and push them out of sight and out of mind, satisfied knowing that he really did mean it, that he would protect you and be there for you forever. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that his words were true. And you were stuck chasing the wrong person and after the wrong person hoping maybe someday someone squash the “what ifs” away.

_______________ 

After a great finish on your latest project, Willow, Kiki, and Anna insisted on a night of drinks and dancing. You weren’t one to typically go for that, but you’d been working so hard and sometimes it really was nice to let loose with your friends. You agreed to at least one stop and you’d take it from there.  The four of you walked into a crowded bar with live music and found a small table towards the back as your home base for the evening. A couple of rounds in, you could feel yourself loosen up and were ready to see where the night would take you. 

“Next round is on me! I’m getting us shots!” you told the girls as you headed to the bar. 

You had been waiting at the bar for a couple of minutes when you “ahem” and a deep voice that exuded confidence. 

“My, my. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before and I know that I’d remember your face if I’d ever seen it. I’m Michael—and you would be?” 

You rolled your eyes as you turned his way, only to be pleasantly surprised.  The man talking to you had reason to have confidence in his voice.  He had dark hair that was just long enough to slick back with a small piece that hung just above his eye.  He was well-dressed--maroon slacks and a button-up shirt that had obviously been tailor to perfectly show that he was fit underneath it all. 

“MC”, you tried shouting back over the music and the crowd noise.

He slid right next to you and leaned in closer to your ear—a bit closer than you expected from a stranger you had never met, but you didn’t immediately blow him off. 

“I didn’t quite hear you, and I want to make sure I don’t miss the name of the most beautiful girl in the room”.

“I said my name is MC, and while I appreciate the compliment and you’re not too bad on the eyes yourself, I’ve really got to get going. I’m here with my friends—have a nice night”.

You gave him a wink and turned to walk away, but he grabbed your hand right before you were out of reach.

“At least consider saving a dance for me before the night is over. I’ll make it worth your time,” he said winking right back at you after pulling you closer.  

You couldn’t help but smirk—there was no lying to yourself. He was an extremely attractive guy with a smile that was dripping with charm. Not wanting to commit to anything while fully knowing you’d end up dancing, you left him with a flirty: “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” and turned to go back to your table.

“Who was that? He was cute.” Kiki couldn’t help herself--she had a radar for attractive men and she was always in favor when you considered chatting one up.

“His name was Michael—he very much so wants to dance with me tonight—I don’t know. He’s cute, I guess. I think he thinks he’s a real smooth talker…maybe a bit pushy, though.”

“Maybe pushy could be a good thing! You’ll get to find out if you actually go dance with him, if you know what I mean. He’s still got his eye on you”, Kiki said smiling at you and nudging your side with her elbow. 

She wasn’t wrong. He was looking your way. And his look seemed to follow your every move.

“He seems a little creepy to me,'' Anna said. “I’d steer clear”. It was from her expression that she was not Team New Guy.

“I’m with Anna,” Willow said. “Besides, I still don’t understand why you even give some of these guys you talk to the time of day when you have the perfect person for you right under your nose”.

They all saw the way you were around Gavin. You tried to play cool but every once in a while, there was a crack in your façade and your friends could recognize the change in your eyes and the way your shoulders seemed to relax in a way they normally didn’t when he was around.  You always got flustered when they brought Gavin in any way that involved you being more than friends--it was easy to push down any budding feelings when it wasn’t brought to your attention. 

“You guys need to give it up. I care about my friendship with Gavin way too much to risk it. And besides—if he was interested in being more than friends with me, he’s had a lot of opportunities to take a shot. He hasn’t, and that’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. And I’ve also come to terms with the fact that one dance with Mister Following Eyes won’t hurt anyone”. You downed another shot and marched back to the bar to find Michael, confidence coming from you to rival the confidence he had earlier.  You insisted he’d buy you a drink before taking his hand, leading him to the dance floor.

And you danced. You closed your eyes and let his hands wander on your hips and you let your imagination wander into the idea that it was actually Gavin dancing with you, because no matter how many times you said you had come to terms with it, you really hadn’t and you wanted nothing more than for him to be the one touching you. 

 What you didn’t know was that Willow had called Gavin to come out and celebrate your success with you all. And that while you were grinding up on Mr. Smooth Talker, Gavin was walking in the door.

After losing yourself in the music and dancing, you finally “came to” when the house band took a break and lighter music began to play over the speaker. You started to turn back around towards Michael when you caught a sight of Gavin out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t know he was going to be here and you didn’t know how long he’d been there—or what he had seen. Gavin was always the one to let you cry on his shoulder when you’d go out with some guy you met at a bar or on Tinder after he’d stand you up or finally show you his true ugly and awful colors. And he was never critical. And he was always gentle. But that didn’t mean that you wanted him to see you dancing with someone else when you just wanted it to be him.

Michael pulled you out of your head when he grabbed your hand and pulled you back closer to him, this time face to face, moving in closer to whisper.  You could feel his breath on your ear.

“If you move like that with your clothes on, I can’t wait to see how good it is once they’re gone.”

That’s when you knew your time with this guy was over.  You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Why must men always do this? You knew why—because an MC a few more drinks in would entertain the thought of it and might just go home with him. But you were a few shots short and had one set too many eyes on you to agree.  The freedom and fun you were feeling was put back in it’s box to make sure this guy knew you were serious.

“I think you might be moving a bit too fast pal. Thanks for the dance, but I think I’m going to go back to my friends now.”

You tried to push him away so you could leave when he decided to double down and grab your hips a bit tighter, this time in a way that caused the exact opposite of pleasure.

“Come on, MC. We’re just getting to know each other, and I’m not ready for the fun to be over” he said.  He tried nipping at your ear and you felt sick to your stomach.  You just wanted to get away from him.

“Stop it, Michael. You’re hurting me. I don’t know you and you obviously don’t know me if you think aggression is the way into my pants. So if you could kindly back the fuck up, I’d appreciate it,” you said, pushing him harder to get him off of you.  You were all for having a good time and had had your fair share of one night stands--but they were on your own terms and they didn’t start with a guy trying to suffocate you with a handful of red flags to get you to cave.

“Stop being such a bitch—I buy you a drink and show you a good time and this is how you repay me?”

A clearing of a throat came from behind you and you saw Michael’s face change as you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“MC—is this guy bothering you?”

The sound of Gavin’s voice and the anger in his eyes was the encouragement Michael needed to finally ease us his grip on you.  Thank God he was stepping in to help you. But also, oh shit—because Gavin did not act kindly to asshole dudes who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Hey buddy—why don’t fuck right off and mind your own damn business?” Michael said, annoyance clear in his voice and on his face.  He had no idea who he was talking to.

And then came the crack. And a howl. And an asshole falling to the ground after Gavin decked him for not giving up when you asked him to. Gavin grabbed your hand and started walking towards the door. Anna, Willow, and Kiki met you there.

“MC, are you okay?” Kiki asked.  She was worried about you, and you could tell she felt bad about encouraging you to talk to Michael after the initial introduction.

“I knew that guy was a creep,” Anna said with crossed arms. She always seemed to be right about these things.

“How about we all go outside and I’ll call us an Uber,” Willow said, pulling out her phone.

“You guys take care of getting yourselves home,” Gavin said, handing them some cash. “I’ll take care of her—my apartment isn’t far from here”.

You felt awful--what was supposed to be a night of fun had turned into a nightmare. “Sorry for ruining the night guys. Maybe next time I’ll learn to just dance with you guys,” you said with your head downcast, taking the helmet Gavin handed you before patting the back seat of Sparky. You knew the drill. You hopped on and wrapped your arms around Gavin’s waist as he told you to hold on tight.

_______________ 

“You’re soaked,” Gavin said. “Go hop in the shower before you catch a cold. I’ll never forgive myself if you get sick because I chose to drive Sparky instead of my car. I really didn’t know it would start raining. I’m sorry MC.”

“Why are you sorry?! You saved my ass back there when that guy wouldn’t leave me alone. You’re always saving my ass. I don’t mind waiting—you can go first.” 

“No—I insist. I’ll be fine. My hair will dry fast anyway. You can use the bathroom in my room. Feel free to use anything that you need. Once you’re in the bathroom I’ll just come in to grab something from my drawers and I’ll be out so you can have some space.” He spoke to you with gentleness and care in his voice. You could see from his face how concerned he was for you, even though he was the one that just punched a guy.  That was so typical Gavin. Always putting himself last. Always taking care of you first. Never showing any sign of frustration or anger at you.

A quick 5-minute shower to clear your head of the evening’s events and you were done.

“Shit—I thought I had some clothes in here.”

This wasn’t your first time at Gavin’s place—you had become a regular here for movie nights and after it led to you falling asleep on the couch a few times, Gavin suggested you just leave a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt at his house so you could always feel comfortable there. Apparently, you forgot to change out of them the last time and brought them home with you, leaving you scrambling for something to wear. You panicked for a moment before looking through his closet and found the biggest t-shirt you could find and threw it on before heading back into the living room.

Gavin was in the kitchen making you a hot tea (your favorite) when he heard you come out of his room.

“Listen, MC. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m trying to tell you what to do or how to live your life…I’m just trying to understand what it is about some of these guys that you find…”

It was at that moment that he walked out of the kitchen and saw you standing there looking through his movie collection, reaching to grab a DVD from the top shelf, causing the shirt to ride high enough to hit just shy of your ass. His shirt practically cradling your ass.

“Ah...are you wearing my shirt?” There was a bit of hesitation in his question that made you give him a soft laugh. 

“Ha...yeah—I’m sorry. I thought I still had clothes here, but I guess I brought them home, so I had to borrow some of yours again. Just another thing you’re having to do for me. Clothe me. Pick me up at any hour of the day when I need it. Scare off the sleazy guys I always end up getting mixed up with. You’re the one thing I can always count on to be the same for me.”

“But what if I don’t want to stay the same?”

The hesitation he just had disappeared and he looked at you with a resolve in his eyes that he’s never seen before and you thought you saw his eyes go black for a moment. You wanted to think maybe he was messing with you, but Gavin wasn’t much of a joker and there was only seriousness in the way he was keeping eye contact with you.

“What?” You felt your breath catch in your throat. What was he trying to say? Was this moment where he had really had enough and didn’t want to deal with you anymore? You stood frozen and just looked at him as he slowly walked up to you…not quite touching but closer than he normally got outside of your rides on Sparky together. He reached out and lightly ran his thumb and his index finger across the hem of his shirt—the one you were wearing.

He kept his eyes down, watching his fingers on the shirt and you felt his grip on it tighten, pulling the shirt flush to your chest. 

“What if I don’t want to stay the same with you? What if I don’t want to be the guy that scares off the sleazy guys you dance with? What if I want to be the one dancing on you. The one touching you.  What if I don’t want to be the guy that just loans you clothes anymore when you come over? What if I want to be the one that takes them off of you?”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. The only thing that could be heard was the rain falling on the window and low music playing from Gavin’s record player he must have turned on while you were in the shower. You saw his Adam’s apple move as he silently gulped, still too nervous to look up, continuously moving the hem of the shirt between his index finger and his thumb.  You couldn’t believe what you were hearing--you wished that you could stop time to give you a moment to process what was happening.  This was what you had wanted to happen for so long, resigning yourself to your wants believing it would never happen.  But it was. And it felt real. And you made the decision to not hesitate or ask questions or wonder what might happen next because you would be damned to do anything that might make him change his mind.

“Then do it.”

He finally looked up at you with his beautiful amber eyes that were full of wonder and surprise and a fiery lust that was thirsty to get out when you broke the silence. His gaze refused to leave yours when he opened his mouth to speak again.

“What did you say?”

You grabbed his free hand and guided it to the bottom of your shirt to join his other. Locking eyes with him and bringing your face as close as you could without touching, you slowly lifted your arms above your head.

“I said, if you want to be the one that takes my clothes off, then do it.”

#mlqc gavin #mlqc #Gavin #oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh #I can't believe I'm doing this #please excuse me while I go throw up #nothing like quarantine to get you out of your comfort zone

[b0ttl3d-up-st4rs]

Well I'm gonna do what I do best and self reflect to an insane amount. This is probably gonna be a long post so buckle up.

To be honest my behavior for nearly the past year now is concerning to say the least. There's this little voice in my head that just desperately wants to get more and more hurt, more and more traumatized. Why is that? At first glance the negative approach could be to say its some sort of masochistic behavior and any negative repercussions as a result of this behavior is deserved, but I don't really think thats the case.

Self sabotage is a characteristic that can be exhibited in many mentally ill people and I am no exception. I think this behavior, of seeking to be hurt by grown men on the internet is partially self sabotage.

And I remember when I first started this shit show, I just wanted attention. Sounds mean to say, but craving attention is something the human soul desperately wants. And I was starting to feel some sense of self beauty but I didn't feel as though anyone around me was appreciating it so I tried to get attention from grown men because being showered in compliments and attention felt so good when my whole life I've never gotten any of that.

I think there's more too it, though. Looking back my whole life it's almost as if I've wanted to get hurt. In books I liked to sit around with the pain the characters felt. And its almost like I wanted to get traumatized. I've heard that people with trauma that they don't acknowledge is trauma or think its bad enough to be traumatizing seek put worse forms of trauma, in order to feel that pain is valid. And I think that's part of my issue too.

I do have unaddressed and repressed childhood trauma. I was given unrestricted internet at a young age and was exposed to the horrors of the internet. Nothing like straight up porn, but a lot of suggestive content. And in general being exposed to that caused me a lot of catholic guilt as I was raised catholic. I remember feeling like knowing these things were my fault. Many days I felt so guilty that I would pray to god to let me not wake up in the morning.

As a child I also questioned my religion a lot, which i think was traumatic in itself. Religion is a big thing. And as a kid I had a big issue knowing reality from fiction. Heck I still do. I remember as a kid my friend telling me that we were all demigods and one day we were going to run away to camp half blood. That the percy jackson books were real. It sounds stupid now, but I processed that as real and it was so stressful for me.

And I remember being 12 coming out as trans and as a part of the lgbtq community to my parents. They didnt react well. They said I was confused. My mom said I was both too young and too old to know. I fought a lot with my mom. And in general have a lot of unhappy memories from then. I was outed multiple times in my life.

My relationship with my parents still isnt good. My mom has a tendency to be toxic. I hate that I have to stay in the closet around my family its so painful. Like a month ago I mentioned the lgbtq community for the first time in years, asking my mom her opinions on it and if it changed since 2017, and it turned into her yelling at me and making herself a victim. It really hurt. I forgot how much it hurt.

I don't really have much of a relationship with my dad. We barely talk. Hes very emotionally distant. When I'm at my dad's house I sort of fend for myself. Its the exact opposite at my moms house. She's overbearing and never leaves you alone. It's like going between to extremes.

And honestly I can't wait to move out. My mom and I have arguments a lot. But hey at least I have some relationship with her, I don't really have a relationship with my dad.

I remember one time this year, I was during the end of a school semester. I needed to catch up on work because after talking to my abuser for like 5 months and then unlocking him I was left in shambles and fell into a really bad depression to where my motivation for school just disapeared. Im still dealing with that tbh. Anyways I had to go to a online meeting to choose my classes and I didn't get to choose the classes I thought I would be able to, and that made me really upset. But after the meeting I had to go to do am act of kindness (I chose picking up litter at a graveyard cause i like graveyards) for my school project but I was still distraught. If I was given some time to myself I probably wouldve been able to go without issue, but my mom wanted to go immediately. We argued. And when I got there I refused to leave the car because I felt so much like shit. We argued more. It was the worst argument I ever had. She even swore at me. Which she's never done before. And she ended up playing victim again. She does that a lot I guess. And doesn't really listen to my feelings. Whenever I try to communicate about my feelings with her it turns into an argument and she makes it about herself. So yeah our relationship isn't the greatest. And I think having mommy and daddy issues is a trauma in itself. Ppl deserve to have happy healthy supportive families.

Oh right and another trauma I completely forgot (funny how that happens) is when I was 14 and admitted to a mental hospital because I tried to off myself. It was so surreal and they forced me to learn how to make eye contact with people cause apparently thats "how they know im doing ok". Which is kinda fucked considering the fact I recently realized I might be autistic. And eye contact is literally so painful for me. It especially was back then. Anyways the place itself wasnt too bad but the feeling of being trapped overall sucks and being disconnected from the rest of the world isnt fun either. Also I dissociate all the time but I especially dissociated hard thru the whole experience. And sort of made myself into the perfect patient, repeating all their bs and literally lying to myself to convince myself that I was ok so they would let me go. So that was kind of weird.

Anyways I know I have it better than others. And honestly sometimes it's hard to tell what exactly was traumatic in my childhood. I probably forgot and repressed other parts of it too and am forgetting things. But needless to say these unaddressed traumas didn't help my mental state. And i do think that's a big part of the voice in my head begging me to just get hurt more.

Overall my mental state is fucked, It's been really hard for me not to be taken advantage of by another internet pedo. Heck the only reason that isn't happening rn is because no ones dmed me yet. Also I unblocked my old abuser and we are talking again now so thats fun. It definitely doesnt help the cognitive dissonance in my brain of him being actually a nice and supportive dude. I think thats also a part of me wanting to get more traumatized. Since my abuser is a nice person that should counteract all the fucked up sexual things he said to me in the past right? I mean others have it worse, had worse abusers that were actively cruel. That's part of the bitch in my subconscious brain talking. It sucks tbh.

Anyways yeah I probably need therapy but I don't feel comfortable talking about this to my current counselor and honestly its really hard to say out loud. I can talk forever about it by writing it down but the moment I speak words from my dumbass mouth I break down in tears and can't do it. Plus idk, I'm scared if I say anything she'll have to tell my parents and that my phone might be taken away or I'll have less privacy and for a closeted queer where my only current life line is the internet and my online friends: that is a terrifying idea. Idk. I'm fucked basically.

#long post #like long long post #rambling #tw csa #tw grooming #tw suicide attempt #vent #ramble #oof #yeah #mine #actually traumatized #trauma #autistic #depression #ptsd #c ptsd #maybe i dont fucking know #dissociation #traumatized #derealization #depersonalization #online csa #rip to me i guess lmao

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Soulmate Shenanigans Five: The Order Of The Shenanigans

Hey! Guess who has returned? 

Me!

Just the March doing her prompt writing thing, as seen on previous episodes :)

Parts one, two, three, and four here!

Prompt #5

Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience

Warnings for kidnapping mention and gifted kid “potential” mention

Okay. Not going to lie, I kind of tweaked the concept, but I like how it turned out. The idea of the sides having sides in human AUs has been in my brain, and now it’s in yours!

World Building

At first, the symptoms of having a soulmate was seen as symptoms of witchcraft

It was a reasonable assumption to make, as seeing into someone’s head and emotions wasn’t really a thing that humans did. 

However, as the population grew and communication across the globe became a thing, the instances of people finding their soulmates grew as well, and not everyone could be a witch (or, if they were, being a witch was simply being human).

It took a while for the culture around soulmates to shift, but shift it did, and people eventually figured out “Oh, that person is my soulmate, not my eternal enemy that I need to destroy via my demonic powers, which I totally have”

But people’s minds are kind of a lot, and it’s hard to process it all.

So, in modern day, people have learned to separate the pieces of their soulmate’s personality that they get bombarded with into different pieces, or sides

The sides are Logic, Morality/Emotions, Creativity (with there sometimes being a divide between dark and light), Self-Preservation, and Anxiety.

Characters

Roman: Roman is looking forward to meeting his soulmate so much!

Just...later.

When he’s a famous writer and people know about him and he’s evened out his insecurities and he deserves them!

Being perfect for them is going to take work, but most people meet their soulmates over 30, so he’s got at least fifteen years to prepare.

Until then, he was working on his fantasy story and dreaming of the day he’d get published or get the lead in a school play.

The writing club had been his idea, so you could say that everything that happens in the story was his fault. He’d just wanted to be around people who liked the same things he liked!

Roman’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Note: Names are hard. Aaaagh.

Magnus, his creativity, romance, passion, etcetera. Magnus is really the one who calls the shots around here. He’s just as goofy of a fifteen year old (if not more) as Roman, but he has the unenviable position of running a mind palace and being the ego of someone who hates himself.

This guy just wants to listen to Hamilton, but noooo, he had to have an evil reflection of himself and self-worth issues.

The Count, his self-preservation and pretty much Roman’s inner Roxie Hart/Velma Kelly. Randomly suggests poisoning their mortal enemies a lot (note: they don’t have mortal enemies). 

The most like canon Janus out of any of the self preservations, except instead of “we live in a society” it’s more “fuck it, we’re going to be *famous*!”

The other sides will pay him to stop saying, “that’s showbiz”

The Medic, his morality and emotions. Sort of has a medieval healer thing going on (which means herbs in a satchel, not plague doctor mask).

A lovely person on his own, but when he and The Guard team up, it’s ✨Guilt time!✨

He has the question of “Am I a terrible person?” on his hands, so...good luck to him. He’s trying to hold the five of them into a cohesive unit, but it’s hard!

The Guard, his fears and anxious thoughts. He has a shield and a spear, and is kind of dressed like a (dark and stormy) knight.

No one particularly likes him, but it’s his job to recognize The Shadow, so they all need him.

He hangs around on the outskirts of the mindscape, ever vigilant.

The Alchemist, his logic. No one listens to the voice of reason in this house. Al isn’t really a fan of this, and being Roman’s logic, he thinks that if he can find a way to prove himself it’ll turn out okay.

The Shadow, everything Magnus discarded. You could call him dark creativity, but he’s a lot more. 

They used to call him Rex, when they were kids.

Patton: Patton isn’t thrilled with having to move to a new school, but he’s keeping a positive attitude

The new town is creepy and making friends is harder than he thought, and he just wants to right a sappy love story about ghosts without feeling sad.

But if he keeps his chin up, he knows it’ll all be fine!

And hey, maybe he’ll find people who like him in this writing club thing!

Patton’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have: 

Patrick, his morality and emotions. Patrick feels all of the loneliness and desperation that Patton feels daily, but pretends he doesn’t feel it, since he has to be there for them!

Them meaning his family, meaning the rest of Patton’s mind, as well as Patton, since he’s kind of an older brother/role model to the guy.

Covering the full scope of human emotions isn’t great when the other half of your job is enforcing the sense of right and wrong (and the general consensus in Patton’s head is showing negative emotions = burden = wrong).

None of them can cook, but that won’t stop him from trying!

The Canary, his fears and anxious thoughts. Constantly popping up to remind everyone that they’re failing. It’s kind of his job.

Stress plays the piano when things get to be too much.

The Gardener, his creativity, romance, and passion. Conjures flowers a lot. Projects wishes for a soulmate into the sappy ghost love story, which he’s mostly in charge of writing.

Hasn’t split yet, but that’s mostly because nearly all of Patton’s negative impulses that would be considered “dark creativity” already come from The Miser.

Dr. Picani, his logical side. Knows everything about cartoons, and tries to be professional, but a complete sweetheart.

Secretly knows his name is Emile, but is waiting for the best moment to tell everyone.

The Miser, his self-preservation and deceitful side. No one’s a fan of him. Patrick is kind of his mortal nemesis (in the sense that Patrick claimed the title and he just kind of went along with it?)

Everyone else in the Pattonsphere refuses to curse, but he says many a “fuck” with ease

Trying to protect The Gardener from splitting by taking responsibility for most of the things a dark creativity would do.

Virgil: Virgil just didn’t want to join the yearbook committee. 

It was irrational, maybe, to have a deep rooted hatred of the yearbook committee. 

They were just trying to categorize things, design pages-it wasn’t malicious! 

And yet, being in that classroom and seeing Amelia’s dead eyes and smile near rang every alarm bell in his system, so he needed a way out this year.

His parents weren’t going to let him not choose an activity, so he flipped a coin and ended up in some writing club.

He came into the club determined to fake some pretentious poetry about death. Just because they say the club’s about expression or whatever doesn’t mean that they can know anything about his comics.

Virgil’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have: 

Dante, his fears and anxious thoughts. Dante has too many eyes. Dante is lowkey a cryptid, but he’s sadly a cryptid in charge of life decisions.

There’s no way to dance around it. Dante’s a spider-human hybrid.

Dante would prefer they never be perceived by anyone for anything. He does not want to be seen, he does not want to be heard, he does not want to be perceived. Period. 

But he’s a very conspicuous spider-human hybrid. 

The Competent One, The One Who Can Actually Do Math, Steve, whatever you want to call him, he’s Virgil’s logical side.

His theories are just....

See that image? That kind of sums up his characterization.

Parker, his creativity, romance, and heroic side. He’s the one who got them obsessed with comic books, and is trying to write his own. If people don’t like the comics, he’ll probably just start screaming and never stop

He gets the purple eyeshadow!

Remy, his self-preservation. He mainly just wants Virgil to just...rest

Nap. Sleep. Take a self-care day. This is Remy’s goal.

Also to continue to have the most style out of anyone in the Virgilsphere

Remy has a talent for never being anywhere at the right time, and then popping up at the worst moments, caffeine in hand.

Tam, his morality and emotions. The most into the emo phase out of any of them, since he feels all angst!

Sometimes just hovers and screams. Everyone’s pretty used to this.

Logan: Logan was trying to ignore the things he’d seen

Logan was a scientific guy. He knew that magic wasn’t real, that the fae were just stories.

So, clearly, the nightmarish things he’d seen that night were just that: nightmares. Just nightmares caused by stress over his academic struggles.

That was the immediate problem at hand: academic struggles. Logan was always the top of his class his whole life, and words like “gifted” were thrown around. Lately, however, things have been harder to keep up with and pay attention to, and it’s a bit of a mess.

Logan joined the writing club because he thought it might help him with English class, and he did like speculative fiction.

But, more importantly, he joined it because he thought it would be a simple task he could easily ace, so he wouldn’t have to keep being told that he wasn’t trying.

Logan’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Mimir, his logical side. Mimir is pushing himself to take care of all academic matters and keep Logan afloat.

Mimir is over his head, but doesn’t really have anyone to talk to (or so he thinks), so he’s just putting Warby Parkers over his panic and faking cold distance to make everyone think he’s doing okay.

Alastor, his moral side. Half of his job is repressing Logan’s emotions, which isn’t a great thing to be doing, but he think he’s doing it for a good reason.

Kinda strict and blaming Mimir for everything going wrong. He does care about the others, he’s just bad at showing it.

Cassandros, his fears and anxious thoughts. 

This dude-

He’s basically just [puts feet on coffee table] “Hey, did you know everyone hates us?? I made a PowerPoint that proves it!”

He’ll get character development, though.

The Chessmaster, his overdramatic self-preservation.

Tries to be clever, walks into walls.

The Detective, his creative and fanciful side. He wants to swashbuckle, but instead he’s restrained to geometry. 

But now he has a project in the writing club! He has something to do!

And The Mad Scientist is trying to ruin it!

The Mad Scientist, Logan’s dark creativity.

They never used to care about the creative side one way or another. There was no need to make a dark side when it was already looked down upon.

Now, however, there are things in Logan’s mind that he’s trying not to think about, and so the Mad Scientist has joined the fray.

The Actual Plot

This is going to be an actual fic that I write. So, I’m not going to fill out the entire plot here.

I can, however say a few of the plot lines

Plot One: Everyone’s sides are in a state of constant screaming and must learn to communicate.

They also need to let their main guys figure out they have soulmates, because they’re all repressing that information for their own reasons.

Plot Two: LAMP in a writing club, falling in love and being disturbed by first drafts!

Plot Three: The fae are kidnapping people.

And everyone needs to get them to Stop.

I guess you could call this a trailer??

I JUST REALLY LIKE THIS IDEA

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #virgil #logan #roman #patton #ts sides #ts fic #sanders sides #sanders side fic #sanders sides fic #soulmate shenanigans #beware the drafts of march #soulmate au #fan fic #fan fiction #lamp #lamp/calm #human au

[mannatea]

Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!

By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.

Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)

As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)

As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.

In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.

If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.

I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable. 

As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.

I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.

I have the power to choose.

A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.

Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.

A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”

Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)

A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature. 

I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.

You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.

Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?

I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.

My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody’s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.

What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send? 

Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.

Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.

#long post #thoughts about writing #nacrene-archaeologist #answered mail

[punkscowardschampions]

James & Ava

James: Good morning

James: how are you, darling?

Ava: Sleepy 🥱

Ava: but all the better starting my day with you, of course

Ava: how about you? 😊

James: hopeful that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, because likewise

James: & my cautious optimism doesn’t extend to the viewing I’m currently heading to

Ava: Oh, how have they oversold this one, I wonder

Ava: the adverts are nothing short of epic fiction

Ava: there should be awards for how they can spin any - into like +++

Ava: Where are you headed?

James: it would be inspirational if I were solely doing research for the novel but alas I need a suitable study first

James: [somewhere that’s one of the places we discounted]

Ava: I can believe estate agents are all unfulfilled creatives, definitely

Ava: I’ll 🤞 all my fingers and toes that it’s the one

Ava: though I could tell you more pubs and clubs in that area than nurseries…

James: absolutely up there with the teaching profession in terms of both dashed dreams setting them on that path & a litany of thankless tasks once they get there

James: thank you though

James: I’ll let you know if it constitutes enough of a disaster to warrant theoretically drowning my sorrows, after all, there isn’t a huge difference between some of the clubs Teddy frequents & soft play so I’ve no doubt my aide for today would be thrilled to hear every suggestion

Ava: You cannot make me feel bad for teachers today

Ava: not when Mr Hawthorne has beat you to it with the against argument in the form of his 🥱 inducing lectures

Ava: 😅 I don’t think foam parties are safe for anyone, 1-year-olds especially so though

James: there’s an argument to be made that I possess the ability to do so, however, if I’m going to use my powers of persuasion for anything 😈 I would argue it is indeed wasted on Mr Hawthorne

James: oh well in that case, the hunt for my sister’s baby shower venue also continues

Ava: If you used your powers of persuasions on Mr Hawthorne, I might be a tiny bit jealous

Ava: not to mention almost as confused as he would undoubtedly be

Ava: Joy of joys

Ava: it would be typical for that to be added to your to-do list as well, but at least a place for grown women to eat chocolate bars out of nappies isn’t as much like gold dust as a decent place in central

James: I’m jealous that he’s spending time with you right now, despite your attention being less than rapt & therefore promise to do nothing that benefits him in any way whatsoever

James: including, but not limited to, refusing to assist you in the homework he intends to set by being as distracting as I can later as well as now

James: you’re not wrong, but she is her belief that to this day I remain blacklisted by an extremely high percentage of clubs, thus sparing me being delegated the role even in these hypothetical planning stages

Ava: That would be a wild rumour, even for this place

Ava: and what can I say? You’re more worthy of my time and attention

Ava: as you’ve just proved 😍

Ava: Definite blessing in disguise

Ava: Will it be a women-only event?

James: I’d be lying if I didn’t say I miss you & am always willing to prove how much at every given opportunity

James: god, I hope so, even a foam party isn’t enough of an incentive to get me there if I am expected

Ava: I miss you too

Ava: I can come see you tonight though, if you’re free

Ava: sadly, I don’t think I can make a soft-play date so that’ll have to be just you two

Ava: and you’re lucky, I’ve been to so many baby showers it’s not even funny

James: I’m supposed to work late to make up the time I’ve taken off this morning but I can do that when you’re busy

James: that’s a shame, I’ll have to throw myself in the ball pit

James: time will tell if you have an invite to Diana’s, what’s incredibly lucky is that she won’t expect you to actually attend regardless of how you RSVP

Ava: Only if you’re sure

Ava: my plans can always be more fluid than yours

Ava: Ugh 😞 I’d LOVE to push you into a ball pit right now, life is unfair

Ava: I don’t think she was impressed with my party-planning skills enough to put in that call

James: I am very sure that I want to spend tonight with you instead of at the office

James: & I’m also suddenly determined to create our very own ball pit in the new place

James: [pictures like which room do you think we should fill with plastic balls lol but let’s say it’s all really small]

James: having to forgo a traditional master bedroom isn’t at all unfair, I’ll obviously sleep like a baby among the balls

Ava: 🥰

Ava: An absolute must

Ava: why brag of a ‘cosy’ third bedroom when you can boast a gigantic ball pit

Ava: I bet the girls would be more than willing for you to do that too

Ava: Party house has a whole new meaning 🥳

James: indeed

Ava: I hope there’s not too many people there this time though, really

James: I think there are more people here than at the last viewing we went to, impossible as that sounds

Ava: 😫 How, where do all these people spring from?!

Ava: At least you’re far more eligible than most young professionals

Ava: If I was looking for a model renter

James: what a pity you aren't, your rooftop garden has much greater appeal for this particular young professional, not least because I've seen its existence with my own eyes

Ava: If my landlords weren’t so involved…

Ava: This place is far too big for us now

James: hopefully they won't drag you along on yet more insufferable viewings if, or when, they decide to downsize since you're an undeniable pro now, because for that, there would only so many apologies I can offer you

Ava: I’m sure mum’s already getting the planning permission sorted for if and when

Ava: Sadly their portfolio doesn’t extend to a reasonable price range, I did ask

Ava: but if it isn’t something that would get her in Architect Digest, or whatever, she’s not interested so

Ava: As you said, it would be fun in a way, if all this looking didn’t mean you were still without your perfect family home

Ava: It takes people watching to a new level, and seeing the landlord’s ‘decor’ choices is also as revealing

James: it's okay, being indebted to my own parents is quite enough

James: it's becoming clear if my father visualizes me living here it's because he's done a drastic rewrite of the type of young professional I am

James: I could see you here, for instance, in a draft where I don't exist as your love interest, but in terms of a family home, perfect of otherwise, where we'd put Frank & the children is anyone's guess

James: perhaps some of these people are imagining wild architecture projects the likes of which your mother would have to act undaunted by, who's to say

Ava: I don’t love that rewrite

Ava: Frank is particularly demanding with how much space he needs to recline, relax, snooze and sleep…

Ava: You’ll find somewhere soon, I know it

Ava: If nothing else, this dull lesson is giving me all the time to refresh and refresh and repeat every listing I can find

James: cautious optimism as ever for our 2nd attempt

James: [deets because I'm gonna say that this is one he ends up loving that falls through somehow at some stage because how real and frustrating and then she can be the one who finds their forever home and they can look at it together]

Ava: Okay, I can picture that one

Ava: light and airy isn’t actually a lie this time, what a concept

Ava: 😍

Ava: All the rooms are a good size so you wouldn’t feel as if either girl was getting the short straw, and you won’t have to settle for sleeping amongst the balls either

James: I do have a genuinely good feeling about it, terrifying as that is to admit in our present surroundings where it feels as though someone will sense it & immediately swoop in, but yes

Ava: I know

Ava: It’s one of those things

Ava: You have to be cautious, because so many roadblocks are between you and the end goal

Ava: but similarly, how can you be, when it’s such a big life thing

Ava: You can be as honest and optimistic as you like with me, it doesn’t need to go any further, shark-like buyers and the girls alike

James: we aren’t anywhere close to the stressful moving in stage & I’m already acutely aware that I wouldn’t have survived up until now without your help, so I will, as long as you know the continued support is appreciated beyond words or any other measure

Ava: Stressful, but fun

Ava: you get to pick what colour your new room is 😌

Ava: It’ll be reward enough, to see you get the fresh start you deserve

James: [whatever her fave colour is] of course

James: then you won’t mind seeing me covered from head to toe in it, potentially indefinitely, when we discover I can’t fit in the tub at the new place either

Ava: Oh, I don’t think I would mind that no matter the colour

Ava: but I also would not mind you having an amazing shower so we could take care of that

James: if there isn’t I won’t mind adding it to my renovations to-do list

Ava: As long as I’m on that list too I’m happy

James: the top of any list I write is where I’m happy to put you

Ava: If you put in a bid, you should do it at/even over asking price, so they’ll take attention of you and then you can make a list of repairs/quality checks etc you want done before you agree to move in, then if they do them, they’re done for you, but more likely, they’ll not want to, and you can say take that cost off my offer then

Ava: one of the 💡 tips I’ve picked up and you’d undoubtedly thought of yourself but there we go

James: here’s where I could nod & keep up the pretense to avoid giving away what a total novice I am, but there’s very little point given than you know I’ve never done this, & a list of countless other things as long as my arm, for myself before

James: instead I’ll just take your advice & thank you accordingly

Ava: There’s so much we don’t get prepared for

Ava: even under normal circumstances

Ava: It isn’t as if I was told that at school, or I get told anything vaguely useful on the day-to-day by Hawthorne or any of the others worse or marginally better than him

Ava: You shouldn’t feel like you’re alone in feeling unprepared, is what I’m failing to say

Ava: Lots of people feel it, that’s why I could never just stay here, in the bubble of SW forever

James: don’t worry, you aren’t failing at anything where this conversation is concerned & whilst it is somewhat overwhelming at times, I don’t feel alone because I’ve got you to talk it through with

James: what that school taught me, all that living here has taught me, was how to avoid facing up to situations by lying & name dropping, which probably would assist me in climbing the property ladder but I’d rather be honest, if the bubble bursts as a result, I’m prepared for that from now on

Ava: I’m proud of you

Ava: and the girls will be too

Ava: It can be fun, and there are some good people here, just as there are everywhere

Ava: but outside of the postcode, the currency of who you know and where you went to school, it’s just not real, irrelevant

Ava: I don’t want to rely on my parents’ hard work, let alone someone else’s father knowing the crest on my blazer, you know

James: yes, I know exactly what having to rely on my father feels like, it isn’t fun or something to be proud of & it definitely isn’t a precedent I’d like to keep setting for my daughters

James: the stark reality & contrast of this fresh start needs to happen soon, while I still have Jay here to teach

Ava: She’s not going anywhere

James: she’s going to have to meet him eventually even if that’s under the guise of him being one of my old friends or your brother

Ava: And I understand that that’s fair

Ava: to him, I don’t know how to feel about it in regards to Jay, and it’s not even my job to so I know how hard this must be for you

Ava: but that doesn’t mean he should get to ‘keep’ her, for God’s sake, she has had no idea who he is until now, you’re her dad

James: I have to hope that he’ll understand that too, he’s not the villain here, as much as it would make my life easier to paint him as such

Ava: I hope so too

James: it’ll be okay, for her, I don’t know if I can make the same promise for us but I want to be able to

Ava: Don’t put yourself down like that

Ava: It wouldn’t be okay if she lost you

James: she isn’t going to lose me whatever Buster decides to do next, things may have to change but never that drastically, I’ll always be in her life

Ava: Providing he plays that nicely

Ava: I’m just scared he’ll do something that drastic, and stupid

James: if he doesn’t I won’t, I’m not afraid to fight fire with fire should that be the only option he leaves me with

Ava: Good

Ava: I wish I could promise it won’t be

Ava: but I don’t know what he will be prepared to do, so you should be prepared for any and all eventualities too

James: I am, my marriage made sure I was equipped to anticipate the unexpected & not to expect rational responses

Ava: Yeah, of course

Ava: Still no word from Chloe?

James: no & no trace of a belated birthday card

Ava: Typical

Ava: Good thing Mattie got spoiled by you and had a great party already

James: Jay is devastated she has to wait so long for you to throw one for her though, maybe we can find a way to cater the housewarming party to her

Ava: Awh, bless her

Ava: If there’s one thing Chelsea HAS taught me, is that you only need a vague notion of an idea to have a party and celebrate

Ava: Does she like fireworks?

James: she LOVES fireworks, if you weren’t in Dublin she’d have insisted you come with us to [wherever we’re gonna go see some on the night]

Ava: I am pretty gutted I can’t

Ava: but I’ll have to get some sparklers, probably not Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles, and do a belated bonfire themed do for her

Ava: smores are a good idea any night

James: I wonder if she’ll expect us to dye her hair red, orange or yellow this time

Ava: 😬 accidentally set a precedent

Ava: thank god for washouts

James: I’ll do what I can to have her convinced that face paint is a much better idea by the time you get back but she’s no Mr Hawthorne so

Ava: I admire a girl who requires more than a persuasive essay

Ava: you’ll have a great time

Ava: 🤞 the endless family drama doesn’t get in the way of me having one too

James: no amount of Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles could prevent me from being on the end of the phone whether you aren’t having a great time or simply want to tell me how much fun it is

Ava: You’re the best ❤️

Ava: It should be fine

Ava: If anything, hopefully someone else is bringing more drama than my parents or siblings could accuse me of, then it’ll really give them a bit of perspective 🤫

James: if your family resembles the dynamic of mine even slightly I won’t have to keep anything crossed in order to make that happen for you, but of course I will nevertheless, just in case

Ava: How soon is too soon to clue you in on my mad family dynamic 🤔😅

Ava: Maybe when you’re in your new home, so you have a door to politely shut in my face

James: having never kept an air of mystery there I can understand why you’d want to, but I would never christen my new front door like that

Ava: It was like an unspoken rule, when Buster was here too

Ava: I don’t really care that much, and anyway, he broke it big time

Ava: Every family has struggles and secrets, or are long overdue their share if not

James: I couldn’t agree more, my mother acts as though nobody else has skeletons hung up next to their hideously expensive coats & we must stay silent come what may, but she’s the last person to feign shock when any of said secrets inevitably come out

Ava: It’s such a waste of time and energy

Ava: not to mention resolves precisely (0) of said troubles, if and when they can be

Ava: I’m so glad you don’t want to keep up pretenses together

Ava: wouldn’t make for a very interesting story

James: exactly, if I adhered to her code of silence I wouldn’t have gone to rehab or spent any time & energy on recovery, god knows what trouble I’d be in right now in that instance, but we certainly wouldn’t have this plotline to delight in

Ava: Being dubious about the potential results, maybe

Ava: but the idea your own mum would rather you suffer in silence, literally, is beyond me

James: it’s an attitude worthy of an outdated classic novel, for sure, that we can all take ourselves in hand & address our flaws with a firm word or two but she isn’t alone in her 'you don't need outside help, you just need to learn and then follow through with setting your own limits' mentality

James: in my parents' defence I was still young, despite the baby I wasn't looking after properly or the wedding I don't remember very much of at all, & I know they'd argue, if pressed, that was the main reason for their anti-rehab stance

James: therefore, I'd like to believe, however naively perhaps, on this occasion it isn't entirely about saving face with yet more pretense but rather a glimpse at some character development for both of them, if only so the novel isn't doomed by one dimensional subplots, naturally

Ava: I can see that too, again, a lot of people’s problems go unaddressed or at least are allowed to get worse because the person is ‘too young’ for it to either be a problem, or it is something they will ‘bounce back’ from once they ‘calm down’ and mature

Ava: It doesn’t make your parents the devil, I wouldn’t suggest as much, nor the first people to fall into that trap

Ava: There are definitely instances of the exact same mindset I can point to within my own family

Ava: We’d all like to see the best in people, and sometimes, that desire lets us down

James: regardless this viewing has yet to let me down unlike the previous

James: I wish you were here

Ava: With any luck, I’ll be able to come see it with you next time

Ava: The pictures look great, trying to keep the optimism at the cautious level still but 🤞🤞😌

James: need I remind you I like your optimism as unabashed as your excitement

Ava: You don’t need to

Ava: but I wouldn’t be opposed

James: [tell her about whatever cute and romantic plans you've sorted for you two tonight so she'll be happy and excited]

Ava: How have you managed to sort that whilst at these viewings and also with Mattie 😍

James: it appears I’m guilty of similarly high levels of enthusiasm & so the greater crime would be letting it go to waste

Ava: AND being an excellent multi-tasker AND AND an even greater romantic

James: Mattie can & will take full credit for the former but the romanticism is a newly acquired skill that I’m still trying to find my feet with, & entirely down to you

Ava: I should feel bad for keeping it all for myself

James: I disagree but I’ll happily rush through the book’s publication if sharing will make you feel better

Ava: Should doesn’t mean would or could

Ava: because I don’t

Ava: It’s nice not being secret, but I’m still happy keeping you to myself for a while longer

James: oh good, because I’d rather continue to multitask like this than on a novel deadline

Ava: Being anything but a reprieve from all the other drains on your time is not very romantic heroine of me, so never

Ava: what would the readers think

James: you’ve got me there, by evoking how fickle our readers are more than likely to prove themselves to be, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about

Ava: You either think the protagonist is ‘relatable’ or you hate her because you deserve the love interest far more than her

James: nobody deserves me more than you, they’ll have no choice but to appreciate you

Ava: James

James: Ava

Ava: I can’t wait to see you later

James: can I pick you up from school or do you need to go home first?

Ava: I don’t need to go home 😊

James: I’ll see you there then, unfortunately, I have work to get back to & I’ve kept you from yours for longer than I responsibly should have, lest you end up at Kings after all

Ava: 🙄 I’m sure my career’s officer would tell me they’re higher in the rankings or something else that isn’t going to change my mind more than your experience and my own, however brief

Ava: If I were rating them on chance, perfect meetings, however

Ava: A++

Ava: I’ll see you later then, try not to get TOO exhausted by soft play 😏❤️

James: I’ll be certain to tell them now that’s not a secret, it wouldn’t surprise me if they used us a ringing endorsement for some kind of meet-cute society to take place weekly in The Vault

James: the allure of soft play meanwhile needs no advertising, with or without any single mothers trying to engineer romantic entanglements of their own

Ava: I’ll square that with my conscience and you run that gauntlet, love

James: I’ll do my best

[jadelotusflower]

October Roundup

Happy Halloween!

It’s been another unproductive writing month for which I don’t have an excuse other than laziness not feeling it - I ended up getting an ultrasound on my shoulder and, as expected, tendonitis/bursitis and while that’s an excuse not to do certain kinds of cardio, it’s not really an excuse not to write. But it is what it is.

I’m still undecided whether to do Nano this year - the plan was to bash out some fic this month and then focus on my (poor, neglected) novel in November, but that didn’t happen, and I’m not sure I want to stress myself out over it. So I might do an informal nano and just try and get as many words done on whatever project I’m feeling and see how we go.

Anyway, on to what I did do while I wasn’t writing.

Katheryn: The Tainted Queen by Alison Weir - I’ve enjoyed all of the “Six Queens” novels so far; Weir’s prose style isn’t exactly poetic and she does have that annoying tendency to conflate her historian credentials and fictional narrative, but its detailed as to the day to day life in the Tudor court and is engaging enough for that alone. I’ve always felt Kathryn Howard’s story to be one of the more tragic of Henry’s wives, not only because she was so young (in this novel 21 at the time of her death, although her true birthdate is unknown), but because her life seemed to have been played at the whims of various older men eager to take advantage of her. All but abandoned by a disinterested father to the home of her grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, coerced into relationships with Henry Mannox and Francis Durham while still a teenager, pushed into Henry’s orbit by her scheming uncle, and pressured into an affair by Tom Culpepper. Weir’s Katheryn is naive and flighty, in and out of love with each of her abusers, but it’s not an unsympathetic portrayal. 

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett - this has been on my to read pile for years and I was finally in the mood for it. I was expecting it to be interesting, but I was surprised at how engrossing I found this book, knowing nothing about it going in other than it was about building a cathedral during The Anarchy. But I was drawn in by the interweaving narrative of Tom the Builder, Prior Philip, Lady Aliena, and the impact the tussle of power between King Stephen and Empress Maude has on their lives. 

The writing is a bit male-gazey - especially Tom’s lust for Ellen, William Hamleigh’s vile inner monologue (the rape scenes in particular are unnecessarily described), and did not need to hear (many times!) about Aliena’s huge breasts and pubic hair. That said, Aliena is a wonderful female character and along with Philip the most sympathetic and engaging. Jack seems a bit like Follet’s self insert and didn’t find the romance with Aliena that convincing, but overall I really enjoyed this book and will seek out the sequel/prequel.

Gutsy Women by Hillary and Chelsea Clinton - So, I am not the biggest fan of Clinton, but this was a gift and I am a fan of the subject matter, so... It is a nice introduction to some awesomeladies, and had certainly introduced me to a few I’d never heard of before and may seek our some full biographies.

Lucifer (seasons 3-5a) - I like this show, although I do wish they’d lean into the mythology side a bit more over the procedural/relationship angst. I really enjoyed seeing Tricia Helfer as the Supreme Goddess and Tom Welling as Cain, but both the latter and Eve are lost in plotlines that seem aimless rather than deliberate, and the show seems to take more delight in namechecking biblical figures than actually developing them as characters. Similarly, Michael is more an irritant than Big Bad (and Ellis’ American accent is terrible); he never seems truly threatening and the writing for Maze is just all over the place. I do continue however to appreciate the writers resisting the urge to pit the female characters against one another and it’s overall rather entertaining.

The Trial of the Chicago 7 (dir. Aaron Sorkin) - I have a love/hate relationship to most of Sorkin’s work - on the one hand I (mostly) find them engaging and eminently watchable, on the other hand he tends to veer into jingoistic cringe, sexism, and you can always pinpoint the exact moment the character stops speaking and Sorkin starts (the scene where Tom Hayden berates Abbie Hoffman’s activism as the reason why Democrats lose elections today is very yikes.) It’s important with any film based on true story not to take the filmmaker’s word for the events portrayed, as it’s always coloured by perspective and agenda, and Sorkin definitely has one. This is an interesting article about the real women excised from this film.

The Spanish Princess (Part 2, episodes 1-3) - Sigh. This show is definitely the “I don’t know what I was expecting” meme, but you know what, I was not expecting a bizarre Margaret Pole/Thomas More romance I ( mean, wtf?). But that’s not where the bullshit ends, we have the show, unintentionally or not, depicting Katherine as at least partly responsible for the death of her children, the first by leaving baby Henry on the cold floor all night why she prays for God’s favour (subtle, this show is not), and then (maybe) triggering a stillbirth by riding out into battle at Flodden complete with pregnancy armour.

This is what really annoys me with these shows that purport to tell history from a feminist perspective, is that they go for the nth degree and just make it ridiculous. It’s enough that Katherine was an excellent regent raising the army and rallying the troops, we doesn’t need to see her actually participating in the battle WHILE HEAVILY PREGNANT. It doesn’t make her look badass, it just makes her look moronic. They actually make Henry seem somewhat justified in his frustration with her! 

This is a hit piece on Katherine of Aragon in yass kween coating and I’m hate watching at this point.They also seem to be careening towards The Great Matter which seems to defeat the show’s purpose, to explore Katherine’s life as queen and marriage to Henry before all of that. There was enough drama in the years before Anne Boleyn came along, there’s no need for Katherine to stomp around in armor and Henry to declare he wants a “wife, not a solider”.

The death of Henry, Duke of Cornwall is one of those great “what if” moments, as if he had lived to adulthood there would likely have been no Great Matter, no English Reformation (at least in the way it happened), no Elizabeth I. For a while I’ve been mulling over an idea of an alternative history where Henry lived, which I know has been done before, but I’m more interested in Mary Tudor and how different her life would have been. Add it to all the other ideas for novels I think about a lot but will probably never write! 

#october roundup #personal #the spanish princess #the pillars of the earth #lucifer

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

POSITIVE 20 QUESTIONS TAG GAME

I was tagged by @peanutbutterandgrapejelly. Thank you for the tag, Peanut, this seems pretty loaded, but in a good way, so here goes!!

1. Name 4 fictional characters who showcase your personality the best, with explanations if you want.

Sue Heck! I don't think I let all of it out, but on the inside, I constantly feel like I'm extremely Sue Heck-y, :')

Amy Santiago, in a lot of regards, I'll say. Uh, cares a lot about her friends, ambitious, and would basically die/murder for organization, but also socially awkward and, uh, mostly percepted as a goody-two-shoes. Also, true nerd™.

Mindy Lahiri! (I mean, again, this seems more of a who I feel like I am, and not who I come across as, cause those two things tend to differ on a variety of levels?)

Sam Winchester (you know I had to) Basically, we're both INFJs. I'm not even close to his level, but my brain officially ran out of characters so uh, empathetic, constantly interpreted as "boring" and the "brains", patient, *yearns to settle down with someone they love*, believes in second chances. The whole nine, but toned down XD

2. Aesthetic:

I'd usually have a hard time with this one, but I recently did a long thing about my aesthetic, so! I'm going to say, soft pastel, beige, and shades of white!! A tinge of light academia, but mostly unassumingly modern, and faded rainbows as watermarks.

3. Favorite musical/play? If you've never seen a musical or play, one you'd be interested in seeing?

You got me ~ never seen any. (I mean, school plays don't count, right?) I honestly have a bunch of musicals I want to see, recommendations from friends online, but somehow it always slips my mind. But, off the top of my head, @spot-the-brooklyn-pirate wanted me to check this one out, and I am looking forward to actually doing it sometime: Book of Mormon.

4. What's the best compliment you've ever received?

Mostly, anyone who says I, in any way, made them happy, literally gives me the best compliment ever. And uh, my sister called me inspiring once, and it stuck. When I nagged her into elaborating, she said she thought I was functional in spite of all my flailings, and self-analytic, and it didn't make sense to me, but I still think about that.

And a few people, over the course of time, have named some of my fics as their favorites, and those stay with me for a very long time.

5. How many times have you been in love?

Hardly once. She's still one of the most important people in the world to me, but as somebody great once said, if you don't fight for it, it doesn't count. And we didn't.

6. Embarrassing story or fact about yourself which now makes you laugh?

By far the most embarrassing thing I've ever done, is written a fic on wattpad which revolved around my own life, except for the fact that it really, really didn't. Long story shortened, I was in sixth grade, and had a surface-level-y crush on this guy, and it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. In the story, we're all in senior year, though the authoress forgot pretty much all the real things about school XD it's not just cringy, but also extremely sixth-grade-y written, and it astounds me to this day that it went on to have like 18,000 views? (I managed to block the entire shtick out, until a few months back, when I randomly remembered and rushed to unpublish the work. *facepalm* it even had all our real names)

7. Favorite Disney/Pixar movie?

This one's so hard. Uh. Ratatouille, maybe?

8. Favorite flower/plant?

I regret having to confess that I probably don't have one :( but hey, my go-to answer for these ones is daisies, because they remind me of the lovely @daisy-jeon <3

9. What's your favorite holiday?

Holi :')

(I miss it being like the older times, though? Somehow it always clashes with my final exams these last few years, and Shelley is often not home, but it still really makes me happy, so just imagine how perfect it used to be, when I was a kid!!)

10. Name three things that made you smile/laugh this past week.

Rewatching The French Mistake!! A really great decision, haha!

The lovely comments an older fic of mine received, (about old Destiel, uwu) since a couple of big blogs happened to reblog it 🙈🙈🙈 and my activity started blowing up!!

A full-blown coffee high, which resulted in me being hilarious through a 98-message monologue to dish, eeeeee!!

11. What song would you play to introduce yourself to someone?

I'd been dreading this question the most, because I'm horrible at remembering good songs when I - need to be. Oofsies.

But I guess I could wing it with 'What About Us' by P!nk.

12. Name something that truly makes you peaceful even at your most stressful moments.

Writing about Character A of a ship going through said stressful moment, and Character B being the best possible responder to all of it. Projection's the key to functionality, kids.

13. What do you, did you, or would you study at college?

Would you, and will you, sound unfortunately like different questions to me, so I'm going to answer the one which is asked. I'd like to major in History, with a minor in English. (And to be crude for a bit, as my sister calls it, thus successfully be left solely employable as a teacher.)

14. This is kind of a weird one, but which outfit of yours makes you feel most like yourself?

My black Avenger's logo t-shirt, with this pink hooded, kinda-down-past-my-hips, not-warm-at-all jacket and any one of my numerous, mwuahaha, grey shorts.

I never said I'd go out of the house in that outfit, did I?

15. What is a quote you live by?

I don't think there aren't any. I'm just here, faking it till I make it. Still, if I had to choose? Misha's "Be Kind to Yourself so You can be Happy enough to Be Kind to Others" is something I aspire to live by.

16. Name the funniest playlist name you have.

I'm sad that I don't have any funnily named ones now. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm hoping that it counts a teensy bit that I have like seven playlists just for background shtuff when I'm working, and they're all named *extremely* similarly, with variations of the word "study" basically, but all have exceptionally different vibes.

But I really am sorry, and I'm going to try and up my playlist-humor-game.

17. Make a reference to an inside joke you have with someone you love with zero context.

'Time for tapwater'.

18. What is a message you'd give your younger self if given a chance?

Don't build your sense of self-worth over the people whose opinions you think matter. You don't have to get everybody to like you. (Oh, and probably don't switch between multiple first-person-pov's, even though you're just writing the most unrealistic self-indulgent fiction EVER.)

19. Who is your favorite family member? (If you have no good blood family members, feel free to mention someone in your found family)

Hands down, my sister. Shelley, didi, @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect, you're like the best part of my life, and you're probably going to be the longest part of it, too. Cause we might not have the best record for funny titles to call each other by, but we still nail the cheesy till the end of the line moments, ;)

20. What's a secret dream of yours?

I, uh. Want to run a completely-revolutionalizing-the-concept-of-education-style school ~ a boarding school actually, with my best friend dish. And as a means to acquire funds for it? We're going to do a whole lotta stand-up. :D

(Oh, and since i've already rambled for at least a thousand words, so what's the harm in a few more? At some point, probably on my birthday, I want to do a YouTube livestream, a pre-planned one of course, and everybody I've ever been frens with, on this dumb, wholesome hellsite???? They're all sent an invitation to join!! And there's nothing to do, really, we just talk and everyone's enjoying themselves, and I dunno, I had a dream about this once, and I've been so ridiculously smitten with the idea since!

Huh, maybe I could rally forces starting now, to make this possible by my eighteenth!!)

If anyone would like to play, these are really awesome questions! @3dg310rdsupreme @mystybloo @thotfordean @bcozwhythefuknot @theninthdutchessofhell @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @quicksilver-ships @all-or-nothing-baby @screamatthescreen @telefunkies @elvenlicht @facepalmmylifeu @specialagentrin @noemithenephilim @but-for-the-gods-three-days

#l o n g #long post #about me #i finally did it #stuff about me

[sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐀 𝐑𝐏 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓 / 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all had witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat. Long post!

MUN NAME: Bambi / Eden     AGE: 18       CONTACT: IM, Ask, Discord (search discord up on my blog)

CHARACTER(S): a shit ton

CURRENT FANDOM(S): Dragon Age, rdr2, assassin’s creed, star wars (sorta??)

FANDOM(S) YOU HAVE AN AU FOR:  Modern verse, r.dr2, da, skyrim (haven’t touched my bio for it for a while so I may have to touch it up a bit) and that’s pretty much it for any au verse. They’re just crossover verses.

MY LANGUAGE(S): English.

THEMES I’M INTERESTED IN FOR RP: FANTASY / SCIENCE FICTION / HORROR / WESTERN ( my brand ) / ROMANCE / THRILLER / MYSTERY / DYSTOPIA / ADVENTURE / MODERN / EROTIC / CRIME / MYTHOLOGY / CLASSIC / HISTORY (my 2nd brand) / RENAISSANCE / MEDIEVAL / ANCIENT / WAR / FAMILY / POLITICS / RELIGION / SCHOOL / ADULTHOOD / CHILDHOOD / APOCALYPTIC / GODS / SPORT / MUSIC / SCIENCE / FIGHTS / ANGST / SMUT / DRAMA / ETC.  ( I’m open to most things, it just depends on plot & muse )

PREFERRED THREAD LENGTH: ONE-LINER (it happens but I tend to not favor it) / 1 PARA / 2 PARA / 3+ PARA / NOVELLA. / ALL

ASKS CAN BE SEND BY: MUTUALS / NON-MUTUALS / PERSONALS / ANONS.

CAN ASKS BE CONTINUED?: YES / NO / OCCASIONALLY   - only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO

PREFERRED THREAD TYPE: CRACK / CASUAL / SERIOUS / DEEP AS HECK. / ALL

IS REALISM / RESEARCH IMPORTANT FOR YOU IN CERTAIN THEMES?:   YES / NO.

ARE YOU ATM OPEN FOR NEW PLOTS?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.

DO YOU HANDLE YOUR DRAFT / ASK - COUNT WELL?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. 

HOW LONG DO YOU USUALLY TAKE TO REPLY?: 24H / 1 WEEK / 2 WEEKS / 3+ WEEKS / MONTHS / YEARS. / DEPENDS ON MOOD AND INSPIRATION, AND IF I’M BUSY

I’M OKAY INTERACTING WITH: ORIGINAL CHARACTERS / A RELATIVE OF MY CHARACTER (AN OC) / DUPLICATES / CROSSOVERS / MULTI-MUSES / SELF-INSERTS / PEOPLE WITH NO AU VERSE FOR MY FANDOM (really depends on if you have oen in mind and we discussed it, it’s just not posted) / CANON-DIVERGENT PORTRAYALS / AU-VERSIONS.

DO YOU POST MORE IC OR OOC?: IC / OOC. ( varies, but overall I tend to post more ooc? )

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WITH FOLLOWING OTHERS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.  

BEST WAYS TO APPROACH YOU FOR RP/PLOTTING:  im me or talk to me over discord

WHAT EXPECTATIONS DO YOU HOLD TOWARDS YOUR PLOTTING PARTNER: Not too much? I’d like for there to be a plot in mind, but I can understand if that’s not the case. I’ve had instances where I want to interact with a character, but have absolutely no idea in mind. Usually sendign in an ask meme can help in that regard.

WHEN YOU NOTICE THE PLOTTING IS RATHER ONE-SIDED, WHAT DO YOU DO?:  I strive to not be one-sided myself, but I do have instances where I can’t think of anything. I’m not sure? Maybe ask the other person if they’re into it or if something else is at play (dealign with real life problems and it just affects their mood voerall).

HOW DO YOU USUALLY PLOT WITH OTHERS, DO YOU GIVE INPUT OR LEAVE MOST WORK TOWARDS YOUR PARTNER?:  I always try to give ideas of my own if I have any. Coming to a equally agreed, general idea is fine. I’ve had instances where I was on both sides of this, but I always try to add input and be equal with the other person.

WHEN A PARTNER DROPS THE THREAD, DO YOU WISH TO KNOW?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - AND WHY?: Sometimes I don’t notice it, but sometimes I do. Generally, I like to know, but I understand if someone doesn’t wan tto reach out. Just at least try to let me know and we’re fine. 

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY LEAD YOU TO DROP A THREAD?:  It depends really. Sometimes I just don’t have muse for a thread, or an instance where I have dropped a muse entirely. Sometimes it can be timing, but that’s rarely the issue. Most of the time it’s just I can’t think of anything and I feel like it hasn’t really gone anywhere? I have stuff in my queue for a while, so soemtimes it appears that way until it’s posted and I’m sorry about that.

WILL YOU TELL YOUR PARTNER?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. ( I do have instances where I was forgetful and I haven’t told my partner int he apst adn I’m sorry about that. )

IS COMMUNICATION IN THE RPC IMPORTANT TO YOU? YES / NO. - AND WHY?: I don’t need to be tlaked every day, but stronger friendships ( ooc & ic ) are formed when I talk to a person. It doesn’t need to be often, but it helps me understand your chaarcter and your approach. With that, I can come up with ideas and understand you rmuse more. I understand if people aren’t fond of ooc chatting, that’s completely understandable to me.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH ABSOLUTE HONESTY, EVEN IF IT MAY MEANS HEARING SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT YOU AND/OR PORTRAYAL?: Criticsm is a good way to grow. Criticsm is different from completely bashing a perosn’s portrayal and not giving any pointers (ex: “your portrayal sucks.”). Or even for a person. If you feel like I am portraying something wrong, like depression or something similar, let me know. If you feel like Lydia’s adhd isn’t properly portrayed, let me know. 

DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE SUCH SITUATION IN A MATURE WAY? YES / NO.

WHY DO YOU RP AGAIN, IS THERE A GOAL?: All of my muses are written and taken an interest in for different reasons, sometimes I don’t even know why I decided to write them. I roleplay because I love exploring different characters and dyanamics and it’s easier for me to write like this than forming my own story. But a goal in mind? Be a good rp partner I guess? Or at least try to make things interesting and try my best to portray my characters correctly or in an intruiging manner. 

WISHLIST, BE IT PLOTS OR SCENARIOS:  Varies on muse. I have different plots in my wishlist tag: ( wishlist ). 

THEMES I WON’T EVER RP / EXPLORE:   Potential triggering content ahead. Rape, noncon, abuse, incest, drug use -not alcohol- ( lyrium I can write fine, it’s just the realistic stuff I can’t do. ), inappropiate under age stuff. Themes where I write a stalker. Sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and racism will never be mentioned by any of my characters. I won’t write smut probably ever, so themes with that I tend to not write. Very likely more, I just can’t think of anything. Within dragon age, I do have a characetr ( Sera ) who will refer to elves as elfy-elves and be pretty anti-elf, which can be triggering to others. Also, animal abuse or gore of any kind.

WHAT TYPE OF STARTERS DO YOU PREFER / DISLIKE, CAN’T WORK WITH?: I can’t work with starters that don’t really have any dialogue (handing something over with nothing vocally said is fine, but when someone is just sitting there, that’s harder to work with unless somethign is plotted). Generally, I like outside circumstances to be explained (locaiton, where in a game/setting this might be occuring, etc), I really like when dialogue is added and body landguage is explained/noted.

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE MOST?:  Honestly? it varies. I tend to really be into deep, complex characters or characters that appear can be sterred in that direction with more added. Bubbly, energetic characters, fighters (typically female). Quick witted or flirty characters & mysterious types. 

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE LEAST?:  I hate using the term but mary-sue/gary-sue. I hate saying that, but if a character has no flaws, I won’t be interested. Or characters that seem to just be placed there with no development. 

WHAT ARE YOUR STRONG ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I try to add as much effort, or at least a lot of effort, in replies & interaction. I am very open-minded and when I get passionate about soemthing, you can really tell. I am easy-going, so feel free to tell me if you want to drop a thread or have a concern. I tend to work well of other’s people’s ideas, usually able to add my own.

WHAT ARE YOUR WEAK ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I am slow and my queue tends to be slow since I try not to overhwelm myself and stress myself out to the heavens. I try to reach out, but sometimes I just can’t think of anything to say. My muse can be very flickle at times, so replies to stuff can vary. My msue tends to be more for ask memes than replies at times. 

DO YOU RP SMUT?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. 

DO YOU PREFER TO GO INTO DETAIL?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. 

ARE YOU OKAY WITH BLACK CURTAIN, FADE TO BLACK?: YES / NO.

WHEN DO YOU RP SMUT? MORE OUT OF FUN OR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?:

ANYTHING YOU WOULD NOT WANT TO RP THERE?:  all of it

ARE SHIPS IMPORTANT TO YOU?:   YES / NO 

WOULD YOU SAY YOUR BLOG IS SHIP-FOCUSED?: YES / NO. ( I love ships, but I am selective with it and require chemistry -unless I know your muse and you occ super, super well-. It’s nice but it isn’t he full focus of this blog. I want to explore my characters and witness other people’s characters and their development. )

DO YOU USE READ MORE?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES WHEN I WRITE LONG STUFF.

ARE YOU:  MULTI-SHIP / SINGLE-SHIP ( Jacob ) / DUAL-SHIP  —  MULTIVERSE / SINGLEVERSE.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE TO EXPLORE THE MOST IN YOUR SHIPS?: Varies on muse, but for my rdr2 characters I’ve been really wanting a sorta of “outside” character where they aren’t directly involved in the gang, but they are in a relationship with oen of their members. Where my muse,w hose in the gang, will tell you rmuse about it and the whole aftermath of everything. Where their partner will understand to an extent, but try to undestand? if that makes sense? I also want enemies to work on a job/project together and deal with that. But this all also varies on muse.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.  ( I find it easier to write to assume people knwo each other, but an immediate friendship isn’t required. Like my muse may know yours or hear about yours, but they haven’t directly met you before ). 

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- WHAT COULD POSSIBLY MAKE YOUR MUSE INTERESTING TOWARDS OTHERS, WHY SHOULD THEY RP WITH THIS PARTICULAR CHARACTER OF YOURS NOW, WHAT POSSIBLE PLOTS DO THEY OFFER?: I have a large amount of different muses, but all of my muses all bring something new to the table. Want a guy who seems nice, but can be an asshole with a flick of a dime, who has a secret betrayal plot hidden behind his back? Pick Robert. Want a guy who’s humurous but seems to be hiding under a fake persona? Pick Charley. Want a female assassin who’s very talented anr professional in her work to a fault with her work-alcoholic ways? Pick Evie. Want a sweet and caring character with a heart of gold and will give you advice and comfort? Pick Cassie It depends on the plot, too, but I try my best to add as much to reply to to another. If you ever want more added, tell me! I could give multiple plots, so it’s really hard to put something down.

WITH WHAT TYPE OF MUSES DO YOU USUALLY STRUGGLE TO RP WITH?:  If someone isn’t interested or outwardly hateful of my muse without a valid reason when starting to interact. Beign enemies is fine, but maybe we could write how it became that way? This really varies, so don’t let this steer you away. Just give me something to work with, brign soemthing to the tbale, and I’m usually fine.

WHAT DO THEY DESIRE, WHAT IS THEIR GOAL?:  Varies on muse. Robert: fame/recognition, a legend made out of him. Charley: just to live life happy? He wants to be okay money-wise. Evie: to take down the Templars & help the people of London, not fail and always be successful and outwit her foes. Cassie: everyone around her happy. Sean: His gang to be successful, btu also be sucessful himself, he wants to be admired as well.

WHAT CATCHES THEIR INTEREST FIRST WHEN MEETING SOMEONE NEW?:  Just using the same muses lmao. Robert: Someone who just listens to him and isn’t quick to make fun of him. Charley: If they have a sense of humor and someone he can stand, he’s pretty much fine tbh. Evie: If they can give her any information or aid with her cause. Cassie: How they are feeling. If they let her just listen and seem more open than closed off. Very personality-based. Sean: soemtimes looks, but mostly if they have a similar personality as him.

WHAT DO THEY VALUE IN A PERSON?:  Evie: devotion, kind spriit, efficiency, loyalty. Robert: willingness and empathy despite having little himself. Charley: Honesty. Cassie: Consistency. Sean: reliability. 

WHAT THEMES DO THEY LIKE TALKING ABOUT?:  generally all of them like books (except Sean), events around them, their interests.

WHICH THEMES BORE THEM?:  For half of them, anything mundane or boring. Anything that isn’t relating to anything that’s spoken around / surrounds them.

DID THEY EVER WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TRAUMATIC?:  Robert & Charley (more Robert) witnessed a murder, Robert actually doing that act. Cassie: hearing about the violent nature of her father’s death. Sean: the things he went through with the bounty hunters.

WHAT COULD LEAD TO AN INSTANT KILL?:  A gunshot or anything that could overpower them.

IS THERE SOMEONE /-THING THEY HATE?:  Sean: rich people, Scots for some reason, English people sometimes. When someone disagrees with him on soemthing he is passionate about. Pronouncing and Irish word wrong. O’Driscolls & anyone that’s an enemy of the gang. Evie: Templars, Starrick & Lucy Thorne. People who lie or misled her or others. Injustice. Robert: Someone makign fun of him tbh. Charley: People who don’t plan out anything or are really reckless.

IS YOUR MUSE EASY TO APPROACH?: YES / NO.    - BEST WAY TO APPROACH THEM?: Talk to them. Initiate a conversation. Pretty much that across the board. 

SOMETHING YOU MAY STILL WANT TO POINT OUT ABOUT YOUR MUSE?: None of my muses are perfect. Some are worse than others, but generally msot of my muses will listen to you and usually be nice to you if you appraoch them well. All my muses are different from one another, so expect different results / reactions

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

TAGGED: stole it

 TAGGING: steal it and pelase tag me ! I want to see your results

#( ooc ) #( psa ) #// long post #( this was really fun tbh )